#but it’s been improving since all my siblings and I made it abundantly clear that if she talked to us about her asshole ideology-

[jasper-borealis]

This

people with siblings: how do you feel about them?

[stringsbasement]

Hey so did family odd parents get a new series? Who’s the purple hair guy you ship with who I assume is Timmy. I just stumbled upon you blog by chance and I want to know what’s up with your blorbos.

Who are these people and why do I recognize them?

welcome, welcome! i'll be happy to tell you all about it :) i'll try to keep it short:

to recap, the original fairly oddparents show mainly revolved around timmy turner, a 10-year-old boy who was given magical fairy godparents who'll grant his every wish to help him cope with his miserable life. in the show, his found family of fairies consists of cosmo (godfather), wanda (godmother), and poof/peri "purple hair guy" (baby godbrother). the show aired on nickelodeon from 2001 - 2017, and it was popular enough that even people who didn't actively watch it might recognize it

the new series, fairly oddparents: a new wish, takes place decades after the original show's events. it follows a similar premise with a (mostly) new main cast of characters: hazel (protagonist), dev (deuteroganist), and their fairies. cosmo and wanda came out of their 10,000 year retirement to godparent hazel, and dev later on acquired a now-adult peri as his godparent

peri (originally named poof), for the entirety of the original airing, was only shown as a perfectly marketable sphere baby. so when he showed up as an actual adult with design elements taken from both his parents blended in a unique, balanced way, with a personality reminiscent of pilot cosmo (suave gentleman)... something changed inside me

and now here i am

as for the ship, i think you've mistaken dale with timmy

it's the brown hair and blue eyes. don't worry, if i didn't know the lore prior, i could believe this was the same character too!

timmy is peri's brother, and they've been raised as such since peri was born. they were separated after timmy lost his godfamily (and his memories) sometime after growing up and becoming independent. godparents are only ever temporary, afterall. these siblings are made especially tragic by the fact that timmy is the reason peri was born— fairies were banned to have children, until timmy wished for cosmo and wanda to have one because he wanted to see them happy

meanwhile, dale is dev's father, completely unrelated to timmy. He's an antagonist, a terrible father, and the reason for dev's misery. he first appeared as a one-off character in the original show as a poor child laborer who got trafficked into a sweatshop working for a lemonade factory (i cannot make this up). in the current show, he's an irredeemable rich jerk for who i hold absolutely zero respect for. but, from a character perspective, he's fun to watch, and i love it when he shows up to ruin my mood

the shipping comes from the fact that peri and dev gets separated by the end of the first season, so lots of people headcanon that peri came back for dev by disguising himself as his human babysitter, which he'd of course have to be hired for...

those circumstances make for very interesting potential conflicts and dynamics, so it's not hard to see why some might take to it

(lots of people have shouted at me and made it abundantly clear that i may have accidentally fanned the flames for that one, whoops

it's hilarious, because i don't actually care much for the peridale ship at all. i might draw more, but it's far from what i like about the franchise)

a new wish was well received because it took many issues people had with the original and improved upon it. they gave cosmo and wanda a healthier dynamic, for one (it essentially used to be full of "i hate my wife" and "my husband is a moron" jokes, which didn't work well in the long run). the people working on it has also shown clear passion for the project, which i don't see much with show revivals these days. the jokes land and the emotional moments have their weight, and above all, it does it's job at being entertaining

for a show i didn't think much about as a child, a new wish has done well to revive my passion for absolutely overanalyzing and reading up upon every little thing within a franchise. it's kind of rare that i rant and rave about a show this often. the only other contender that reaches this level of insanity being... well, niche enough that i dont get the chance to talk about it online, unfortunately

but yeah, that's the gist of it! i hope i was able to satiate your curiosity

:)

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch6

This editions of Hedwig’s scribbles brings you a young TOS Jeff.  I’ve come to the annoying realisation that my camera squashes things down so the original actually looks a bit longer and narrower than this picture.  Unfortunately my scanner makes everything too white and you lose half the image.  *Sigh*

@willow-salix​ has been her superstar self again with both the fic and the art, I don’t know what I would do without her as a sympathetic critic, putting up with all my wobbles.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Six

It didn’t take long for normality to return for Gordon.  He had given one or two carefully selected interviews in the lull between his medal win and the closing ceremony of the Games but any requests by magazines had been vetoed by Jeff since his return stateside.  Any approaches regarding sponsorship opportunities had been similarly turned away.  Initially the reporters clamoured for the chance to speak to the elusive young star but in the face of continued rejections the requests tailed off.  His obligations were decidedly minimal as he slipped from the public eye.  

With no school making its demands felt Gordon was able to concentrate fully on his swimming; the World Championships and a national competition were both on the horizon and gave him something to aim for.  He often found himself heading out for an additional run or putting in more time at the gym, this was partly to keep in peak condition and partly to escape the oppressive atmosphere in the apartment.  

He had gone from being surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the Games with a team mate around every corner to home with its dwindling population.  

First Virgil had returned to Denver claiming he needed access to the technical facilities, then John had gone back to campus and finally Alan had been sent off to summer camp to spend time in the great outdoors.  If the messages coming Gordon’s way were anything to go by Alan was finding outdoors to be too full of bugs and too lacking in games consoles to be considered great.  

Now it was just him and his father.  Whenever they were in the apartment together he felt like he was under the microscope.  Being judged.  Being appraised.  He tended to stay in his room to avoid the attention.  With no one else around staying in his room was becoming a habit, even when Jeff was out at work.

He vaguely registered the click of the apartment door as his father returned but it was past dinner time and he had already eaten so he didn’t feel any need to emerge.  His father would likely be reading files late into the night.  He expected his contact to be limited to the standard ‘good night’ as he brushed his teeth before bed, he was therefore surprised when a sharp rap sounded on his door.

“Gordon.  My study.”

The footsteps retreated down the corridor leaving no opportunity to ask questions and he couldn’t think of anything he had done to warrant such a summons.  He also knew it didn’t do to keep his father waiting so he paused the film he was watching and made his way to the study.

The door was open so he went straight in.  His father’s big desk faced the doorway and Jeff was already sat back down behind it by the time Gordon entered.  He stepped up and patiently waited to be acknowledged, curious as to why he had been called for.  

“Gordon, I have to go out of town for a few days.”

“Ok.”  

“So you need to decide what you would rather do.  You have two choices; either I can arrange for you to join Alan at summer camp or you can go and stay with Virgil.”

“Honestly, you don’t need to do that.  I’ll be fine by myself for a few days.”

“You are not staying here alone,” Jeff’s voice was stern and intractable.

“I’m not a kid any more Dad.”

“Then maybe you should stop acting like one.  It’s time you grew up and started planning for the future.”

The thought that his father didn’t trust him alone in the house for a few days stung, especially given the number of times he had been responsible for not only himself but Alan too when their father got held up at the office until late.  He was seventeen, he had finished school and he had a gold medal.  Apparently none of that was enough to afford him the privilege of staying home alone.  The thought of being shipped off so his older brother could do babysitting duty was pretty bad but the idea of summer camp was much worse.  Being surrounded by kids mostly Alan’s age and having to take part in enforced activities was not appealing. 

“What about my swimming?”

“I’ve already spoken to your coach.  There are no major competitions for a few months so you can afford some fallow time.”

The thought that Jeff had bypassed him and gone straight to his coach was even more belittling.  It was like being ten years old again with the schedule of events stuck to the fridge and Jeff marking off which ones he could do based on the availability of a chaperone.  

“And you might need to ease up on your swimming anyway.  Now that high school is over you need to work out where you are headed in life.”

And there it was.  The not so subtle reminder that his father didn’t consider swimming to be a viable career prospect.  Even with an Olympic gold and a world record to his name, professional athlete was not on the list of Jeff Tracy approved jobs.  Everything he had worked for just diminished and relegated to the status of hobby.  That’s not to say that his father hadn’t been genuinely proud of his success so far but it was like he had reached the pinnacle and now it was time to move on.  It was one thing to have an Olympian as a son but the next Games were four years away and there was no knowing if Gordon would maintain his position in the world rankings.  World championships had their prestige in the sporting world but didn’t have the same gravitas as the Olympics to non-sporting folks.

Even if the uncertainty of future successes could be put aside Jeff had also made it abundantly clear that he disapproved of the selfishness of the sporting world.  Athletic success didn’t improve the world beyond providing entertainment.  It wasn’t a career that would make a difference.  It wasn’t useful, and just lately usefulness had become an overriding theme in the Tracy household.  

“I’m waiting, Gordon.  Which is it to be?”

He wanted to scream and shout but if there was one way Gordon was a Tracy through and through it was in his ability to keep his emotions contained in the face of adversity, or at least repressed until he was in a safe space.  Only Alan was yet to learn the skill; his youngest sibling wore his heart on his sleeve and Gordon often admired him for the way he could express himself freely, even if it sometimes led to blazing rows with their patriarch.   His broad shoulders slumped a little.  It was a done deal that he was being sent away for the duration of his father’s business trip.  He knew there was no point arguing and antagonising his father.

“Denver, please.”  Gordon’s normally cheerful voice was carefully neutral, a testament to the feelings he was keeping in check.  He wondered if he would ever be afforded the privilege of being treated like an adult or whether he would forever be a child in his father’s eyes; a person to be managed and directed rather than trusted as an individual.

Having received an answer Jeff considered the interview concluded and turned back to his tablet to book the required flight.  He might have a private jet at his disposal but he would need that for his own trip.  Gordon would be flying commercial, as usual.  An early morning flight was soon arranged and Jeff was able to return to his work, scrolling through the multitude of files related to his latest project.  He looked up to reach for his coffee and seemed surprised that Gordon was still stood in front of him.

“Go and pack, Gordon.”

Summarily dismissed Gordon returned to his room.  Clothes and toiletries were thrown haphazardly into a bag.  He took his anger out on the drawers of his dresser, yanking them out and slamming them shut.  The clothes hangers in his closet rattled and tumbled to the floor as he yanked down shirts.  He looked at his Team USA kit; the formal blazer and whites covered in a protective dust jacket next to the tracksuit worn poolside between heats.  The uniform was a painful reminder of his achievement that already seemed to be forgotten by the father he tried so hard to please.  The garments were thrown to the floor of the closet to lay in a crumpled heap on top of his shoes.

Just a few short weeks ago those two outfits had symbolised his achievements.  Proof that, as far as America was concerned, he was worthy.  He remembered the thrill of pulling on the garments for the first time, the cut of the blazer emphasising his broad chest and shoulders.  They were his uniform.  His battle dress.  After the Games he had carefully hung them up as a reminder of everything he had worked for, a sign that all the sacrifices had been worth it.  Now they screamed failure rather than success.  Failure to live up the narrow ideals of his father.  He kicked out at a trailing sleeve that had flopped over the threshold of the closet then slammed the door on the rumpled mess.

Gordon flung himself onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling.  He knew he was acting the petulant teenager his father viewed him as but sometimes it was hard not to revert to type when you never had the opportunity to prove yourself to be anything different.  Anger bubbled up inside him.   Just because he wasn’t like the others with their perfect grades and traditional life choices it felt like he would never be allowed to make his own decisions.  Even the career he had strived towards and made so many sacrifices for was being slowly taken away.  How dare his father speak to his coach about training commitments.  How dare he sideline the one talent Gordon possessed.  In all other areas he was measured up and found wanting but the medal above his bed and the world record in the history books were irrefutable evidence that he could make his mark in the world and be an individual in his own right.

The seething injustice coloured Gordon’s dreams that night.  His sleep was restless and more than once his legs became twisted in the sheets, dragging him back to wakefulness in order to free the constricting restraints.  When the morning alarm marked the end of the night, disturbing his dozing form and forcing away the last vestiges of sleep Gordon felt distinctly unrefreshed.  However, years of practice at taking himself to early morning swimming training meant he was able to resist the temptation to stay in bed and so he was ready, bag in hand, when the car arrived to take him to the airport.  Evidently his father’s commitments were too heavy to allow him to perform this duty and Gordon was graced with only a brief goodbye before being handed into the custody of a driver.

xoxoxox

Denver was tiny compared to Los Angeles.  It was still a sprawling metropolis compared to the backwater towns of Kansas but Gordon instantly felt more at home in the mid-western air.  He felt like he could finally breathe again.  He had never felt settled in Los Angeles with its inescapable traffic and permanent glow.  A city that never slept.   

When he had first been told of the move to the coast he had been excited at the prospect of living so close to the ocean that held his fascination.  It was an odd obsession for a boy brought up as far from the sea as it was possible to get but Gordon had always felt drawn to water in all its forms.  The few coastal holidays they had managed were filled with happy memories of rock pooling, snorkelling and learning the dangers of his beautiful aquatic mistress but in Gordon’s eyes the Los Angeles waterfront was a shallow imitation of what the barrier between land and sea should be.  The sculpted beaches filled with sculpted bodies held no appeal.  After one visit shortly after arriving in the city Gordon never went down to the waterfront again.

Virgil was there to meet him in the airport arrival’s lounge.  Dressed in his habitual plaid he was easy to spot.  Gordon soon found himself relieved of his bag as Virgil swung it over one shoulder with ease.  It wasn’t that Virgil thought him incapable, it was just the way he was.  Brother or not, Gordon was his guest and carrying your guest’s bag was a courtesy that had been instilled in each of them from an early age.  A brotherly arm was draped across his shoulders and he found himself drawn into a brief embrace before they walked companionably towards the taxi rank.

It didn’t take long to reach Virgil’s apartment which was situated a short stroll from campus.  The campus itself was still eerily quiet, mostly populated by faculty and a few postgrads like Virgil who had stuck around to work on projects.  Term, and the influx of undergraduates that came with it, was yet to start.  The streets surrounding the campus were free of the term time hustle and bustle created by the transient student population and the area had a calm serenity that contrasted sharply to the buzzing city Gordon had recently left.

The apartment was the epitome of masculine design, each item of furniture or decoration a clear reflection of its occupant.  There was an eclectic mix of high end items and junk store finds, set off by hand crafted pieces made by Virgil himself.  Comfortable, functional and strong, the whole ensemble coordinated perfectly.  Virgil’s habitat had grown organically over his few years of occupation, it was now as warm and friendly as its owner and a place that you couldn’t help but relax in.

It felt more homely than the Los Angeles apartment which always had an air of echoing emptiness.  Jeff had wanted to ensure that his older boys had a space to come back to and call their own and with money no object the city pad he had procured was obscenely large for a place normally occupied by just three people.  The executive styling added to the cold and impersonal air of the place.  It was an environment where people co-existed rather than lived and the extra rooms for absent siblings only seemed to enhance the feeling of loneliness.  It felt good to be in Denver rather than Los Angeles, even if the reason for the visit stung.

Gordon sat down on the couch, bouncing slightly to test its springiness.  The apartment was a compact, one bedroomed affair and he knew the couch would be his bed for the next few nights.  The sound of a coffee maker and the chink of mugs from the kitchen showed that Virgil still had his caffeine addiction and the warm aroma of good coffee was soon filling the space, adding to the general air of comfort.  Before many minutes had passed his brother was back beside him and two brimming mugs sat steaming the coffee table 

“Hey, so you decided to come check out my school.  It’s a great place here, you’ll love it.  I can show you around all the labs and things while it’s still quiet, maybe introduce you to some of the faculty depending on what area you want to specialise in.”

Virgil’s enthusiasm was met with stunned bewilderment.

“Dad said you were looking at college, right?” he probed, tentatively. 

Evidently this trip wasn’t just about Gordon not being trusted at home.  Even from afar his father was making his intentions clear and pushing his own agenda of what he expected of his sons.  Virgil watched as the teenager in front of him stiffened, a defensive shell seeming to rise up around Gordon and a sullen look appeared across the features which had seemed so relaxed and at ease until that point. 

“No, Dad just didn’t want me staying home alone.  Look, I’m sure it’s great for you but I’ve got no plans for college at all.  In case you hadn’t noticed I’m not exactly college material.”

Witnessing the self-depreciation from his brother stung.  Busy lives meant he hadn’t spent much time alone with Gordon in the last few years.  The young man in front of him was clearly hurting and Virgil’s caring nature was screaming at him to make it better but he felt woefully ill-equipped to counsel the troubled teen.  

“I’m sure that’s not true.  You’d be able to go to college if you wanted to.  You’re smart; you were hardly at school the last two years and you still managed to graduate with good marks.”

Gordon turned sorrowful eyes on his brother, he had never been able to be angry with Virgil and fighting with the gentle giant didn’t come naturally.  There was something about Virgil that reminded him of Mom; something that invited him to open up, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be judged.

“And what if it’s not what I want?  Sometimes it feels like I don’t have any say in my life.  Dad wants me to stop swimming.  Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

Truth be told, Virgil didn’t.  He had only ever met encouragement for his plans, he had been supported and his passions had been indulged.  Music lessons and art classes had co-existed with school, ensuring he had a therapeutic release from his more traditional studies.  His desire to study engineering had been greeted with enthusiasm and a generous allowance.  To hear that a brother was being expected to give up their passion was a surprise to him.

“I’m sure Dad only wants what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, it always comes down to what Dad wants.”  There was a snort of derision.  “But news flash Virgil, I’m not like the rest of you.  I’m never going to get into Harvard or Yale or anywhere else Dad would approve of.  And I don’t want to.  I have one thing I’m good at and now that’s being taken away.”

“I’m sure that’s not true Gordo, there are lots of things you’re good at.  Look, maybe college isn’t the right place for you but don’t sell yourself short.  It sounds like you and Dad just need some space apart from each other for a bit.  He’s got a lot on at the moment, there’s a big project in the pipeline and you know how focussed he can get when that happens.  You know, you are always welcome here if you need some breathing space.  And I promise, no campus tour unless you want it.”

“Thanks Virg.  Maybe a break will do me good.  It’s all just so tense back home.”

Gordon felt a heavy arm slung over his shoulders as he was drawn in to a hug that held more meaning than the brief embrace of greeting he had received earlier.  Virgil had always been the most free of the siblings in showing his love physically.  With Virgil moved out Gordon couldn’t remember the last time he had received a hug from anyone other than Alan and those were becoming more rare and awkward as the pair aged. 

His initial instinct was to push away but he didn’t want to hurt Virgil’s feelings.  He could feel the beating of the larger man’s heart and he found the rhythm soothing.  The tension he hadn’t even realised he was carrying began to slowly dissipate and he melted into the soft cotton of Virgil’s shirt.  He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before slowly pushing himself out of the embrace.  

“Better?”

He nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak.

Gordon settled back and savoured the coffee.  Perhaps the time in Denver wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

[anhed-nia]

BLOGTOBER 10/23 & 10/25/2018: HALLOWEEN (2007) & HALLOWEEN II (2009)

By the time Rob Zombie made the bold move of remaking John Carpenter’s name-making classic HALLOWEEN, the horror rock-star’s directorial career had already proved to be incredibly divisive. His 2003 film debut, HOUSE OF 1,000 CORPSES drew a cult from among diehard fans of his music, but was largely panned by critics who identified it as a ramshackle, self-indulgent disaster. The movie was little more than a Frankensteining-together of Zombie’s favorite things, but he managed to follow it up swiftly with 2005′s semi-sequel, THE DEVIL’S REJECTS. With this project, he appropriated three of the principle characters from his cartoony, ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW-like first feature, and reimagined them as the redneck antiheroes of a story that plays like a cross between THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE and THE WILD BUNCH. While DEVIL’S REJECTS showed major improvements in terms of drive and focus, it still felt unsettled. It is an emotionally confused movie that has trouble deciding whether its tale is more tragic for the innocent victims of its psychopathic protagonists, or more triumphant, for the Rejects’ anti-establishment swagger and charisma. Rob Zombie displays a refined aesthetic sense, and seems sincere in his storytelling, but he didn’t have much time to let these things ferment into a more potent cinematic brew before he stepped up to bat again with his controversial remake of the beloved HALLOWEEN in 2007. 

Reviled even by the likes of John Carpenter himself, Zombie’s dour, ponderous retelling of the archetypal slasher story was baffling to critics and genre buffs alike. Loaded up with clunky psychoanalysis that flies in the face of Carpenter’s original intention--Michael Myers is PURE NO-REASON EVIL, FULL STOP--this iteration of HALLOWEEN worked for few people besides Zombie’s hardcore stans. In spite of that very large and general problem, the writer-director was back again in 2009 with a sequel to his own remake. With HALLOWEEN II, he took two major creative risks: Bringing the ubiquitous Sheri Moon Zombie back even though her character died early in the first film, and centering the narrative on Laurie Strode’s psychological recovery, or lack thereof, from her original ordeal. It is easy to see how this setup would draw more complex and ambivalent responses. Mrs. Zombie’s appearance as the ghost of Myers’ mother, whose character is plagued by a lot of Jungian nonsense, was identified fairly as ludicrous by many viewers. On the other hand, Scout Taylor-Compton’s return as Laurie Strode takes a character who was little more than a cardboard cutout in the first film, and turns her into a convincing mass of trauma who undergoes a profound transformation over the course of this sequel. As with THE DEVIL’S REJECTS, HALLOWEEN II suggests that even while Rob Zombie can be an incredibly frustrating filmmaker, he still seems to be on to something. Even in my most stuck-up moments, when his smug use of slow motion and arias of unshocking cuss words make me want to forget everything I just watched, his movies nag at me in a way that I have a hard time describing.  I’m just now starting to formulate an understanding of why.

Often, I find myself asking: Who is Rob Zombie? First and foremost, he is a professional nerd. His music, art, videos, and feature films are strung together by his scholarship in all things genre, whether he’s invoking Tobe Hooper’s snuff-like realism, or the innocent sitcom pleasures of the Munsters. Zombie is vastly erudite about horror, and really anything remotely culty. This is actually to the detriment of HOUSE OF 1,000 CORPSES, which is so bloated with pop culture references that it almost chokes out the movie’s dubious originality. But while he has that irritating nerdy compulsion to competitively show off what he knows, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who buys and bags comics without even cracking them open. Rob Zombie is clearly, legitimately passionate; it’s heartwarming, and enough to make you want to root for him even when you don’t totally love what he’s doing. His craftsmanship is on point, too, as a multimedia artist whose talent has been abundantly evident since the early band flyer days. It comes as no surprise that he attended Parsons School of Design, and he occasionally shows his hand as an amateur film historian with a love for golden age Hollywood. So, whatever he wants you to think about his hellbilly stage presence, he’s clearly no hick, and no basement-dwelling dweeb either. He’s an educated artist with a background in New York City’s brainy ‘80s noise rock scene. It’s because of this that I find the worshipful attitude his films take toward their sociopathic murderers to be, well...kind of annoying. Why am I supposed to think it’s so cool, as the movies’ punk rock tone suggests, that the Firefly family tortures random bystanders to death for no apparent reason? Why doesn’t Rob Zombie know how tired the whole “scary clown” thing is, and has been for a long time already, even when it’s someone as magical as Sid Haig under the greasepaint? Why do I feel like Zombie’s interest in pimps and ho’s is deeper than just exploitation pastiche, which makes it potentially worse than if it were just a shallow affectation? The thought of this Massachusetts-born college boy fantasizing obsessively about being so crude and violent and salt-of-the-earth is kind of lame. So, instead of just, you know, being a hater as usual, I looked it up--and discovered that Rob Zombie’s roots are actually in the fairway. As Wikipedia aggregates from various interviews: 

While raising their sons, Rob's parents worked in a carnival, but they chose to leave after a riot broke out and tents were set on fire. Zombie recalled the experience in an interview, stating, "Everybody's pulling out guns, and you could hear guns going off. I remember this one guy we knew, he was telling us where to go, and some guy just ran up to him and hit him in the face with a hammer – just busted his face wide open. My parents packed up real quick, and we took off."

Suddenly, it all started to make sense. Sure, the costumed popstar isn’t an undead cross between Jerry Lee Lewis and Charles Starkweather in real life, but he isn’t a complete poseur either. It isn’t immediately clear, from underneath his mountain of collectory movie references, that he is, more or less, writing what he knows. He isn’t just emulating his cultural heroes, he’s mythologizing his own childhood. 

In view of this, the key to Rob Zombie’s movies is not an awareness of horror history and semiology; it’s actually all about outlaw culture. So, back to 2007′s deeply flawed HALLOWEEN. It’s a heavily bro-y movie, in its outsidery way, that breaks up the Dr. Loomis-Michael Myers-Laurie Strode love triangle, and focuses almost entirely on building a Myers biography. The fascinatingly sullen Daeg Neergaard Faerch plays young Michael, a fatherless boy on the verge of snapping from the relentless torment coming at him from all directions: his slutty sister, school bullies who fixate on his stripper mom (Sheri Moon Zombie), and his mother’s latest violent, depraved boyfriend. Michael follows the serial killer script perfectly, graduating rapidly from torturing animals to brutalizing other kids to annihilating his sister, her boyfriend, and his mother’s beau one Halloween night when his sibling chooses sex over taking her little brother trick-or-treating. He soon finds himself installed in a mental institution where he moves on to slaughtering the staff. Dr. Loomis (Malcolm McDowell) spends years evaluating the boy, though he is ultimately stymied by Michael’s profound lack of humanity. As Michael increasingly retreats behind the folksy homemade masks he spends all day crafting, the opportunistic Loomis gives up on him, instead committing his energy to a money-making true crime/pop psychology book about Myers. Flashing forward, we find the hulking adult Michael Myers (played by the 6′8″ wrestler Tyler Mane) getting ready to bust out of the asylum and wage war on his home town of Haddonfield. There we finally meet teen dream Laurie Strode, a spunky babysitter with a gaggle of gal pals who are perfect grist for the slasher mill. In the final leg of the film, Myers carves his way through Laurie’s social circle, in an apparent attempt to reunite with his sister: Laurie herself. Sheriff Brackett (Brad Dourif) reveals that when Michael’s despairing mother committed suicide years ago, he took her infant daughter and had her adopted out anonymously to insulate her from her family’s tragic history. Laurie, for her part, is unaware of anything other than her need to survive, which she only barely accomplishes.

Naturally, Laurie’s story is the weakest part of a movie that is otherwise so focused on male experience. That is, the experience of needing a father, the ambivalent and ambiguous craving for maternal intimacy, the trauma of having your masculinity impugned by your (fag-obsessed) peers, and perhaps even the undermining influence of academia and capitalism on a man’s natural-born strength and worth. When the newly-freed Michael Myers storms through a truck stop to begin his pilgrimage to Haddonfield, and Rob Zombie chooses to accompany this scene with Rush’s regal outlaw anthem “Tom Sawyer”, it tells you everything you need to know about this take on HALLOWEEN. Like the rampaging Firefly family in DEVIL’S REJECTS, Michael is certainly evil, but he also represents something essential about the formation of and reinforcement of one’s individuality in the face of castrating societal norms--something the carnies among whom Rob Zombie grew up would have found very relatable.

It’s worth noting here that, while the sexuality of the women in Michael’s life plays a role in his distorted development, he is not reacting to their sexuality in and of itself. Michael Myers is not driven by the kind of covetousness that we associate with the archetypal slasher, who gives sexually frustrated male viewers a vicarious thrill by punishing sluts and teases. Michael’s problem is that his mother and sister’s sexuality contributes to his isolation. His classmates use his mother’s profession against him, and that profession keeps her from being able to tuck him in at night. Similarly, Michael doesn’t get to enjoy Halloween with his family and the other neighborhood kids, because his sister is too busy getting laid. Michael is abandoned, even while he still has a home to return to, an outsider even in his own house. 

This leads me to an important point about why the portion of the movie that is devoted to Laurie's struggle is so ineffective. It is a flaw in the film, but a virtue of the director: Normal, attractive teenagers are not Rob Zombie’s people. He doesn’t even participate in traditional slasher movie misogyny, he’s so far away from thinking about them. His movies are full of badass women who are fully possessed of their sexuality, and who wield it like a weapon against hypocrites and assholes, and this is always shone in a heroic light. Moreover, he delights in casting women of all shapes and ages, often assigning them immense personal power, as in LORDS OF SALEM, an enormously satisfying movie about society’s original persecuted outcasts: witches. Rob Zombie is deeply committed to outsiders, and his definition of them isn’t limited to banal lawbreaking--he also rejects conventional beauty and our cultural obsession with youth. His films are populated by all manner of human beings, and the farther away they are from looking like model material, the more likely it is that they’re meant to be the heroes. On that note, whatever you think of his movies, you have to acknowledge that they are almost never dehumanizing. Zombie is an accomplished actor’s director who gets a full spectrum of emotion out of his performers, and who excels at creating a feeling of camaraderie within his ensemble casts. It is this surprising sweetness, and compassion even for the victims of the villains he lionizes, that makes HALLOWEEN II so peculiarly effective.

If 2007′s HALLOWEEN was a remake on which Rob Zombie couldn’t resist draping some of his personal hangups, HALLOWEEN II is almost a completely original and separate entity from what one thinks of as the franchise started by John Carpenter. In it, Michael Myers is presumed dead but his body is missing--and indeed, his character is missing for much of the movie. We find a disturbed, scarred-up Laurie Strode living with her surviving friend Annie, and Annie’s father, Sheriff Bracket. Laurie is dealing, poorly, with a heavy dose of PTSD. Along with nightmares and flashbacks, she also has trouble just being nice to people, or accepting affection. Annie and her father’s attempts to be charitable with their adoptive family member are no match for Laurie’s increasing surliness and mistrust of the world. Once a good-natured and optimistic young woman, her appearance becomes vagrant-like (curiously similar to Rob Zombie’s own casual look), her attitude is more and more nihilistic, and she develops a drinking problem. I’ve always wanted to see a movie with a slasher-like narrative foundation, but that focuses on aftermath and recovery, and recent gimmicky efforts like FINAL GIRL and LAST GIRL STANDING did absolutely nothing for me. HALLOWEEN II--at least, the superbly-acted Strode part of it--is the movie I’ve been asking for.

The other part of the movie is also interesting--or more specifically, it’s as ballsy as it is flawed. The movie gets off on kind of a bad foot when a title card quotes an obscure psychology text book called The Subconscious Psychosis of Dreams: 

WHITE HORSE - instinct, purity, and the drive of the physical body to release powerful and emotional forces, like rage with ensuing chaos and destruction.

This is the excuse we have for the fact that the ghost of Deborah Myers arrives with a white horse to compel her son to find his sister Laurie Strode, aka Angel Myers, to reunite their family, presumably in the afterlife. Deborah Myers is kind of a spectral cross between Glenda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West, at once welcoming and sinister, drifting in and out of Michael’s consciousness in the company of a sort of ghost of his childhood (Chase White Vaneck, who is no Daeg Faerch honestly). It might be easy to dismiss this anomaly as an expression of Michael’s mental illness, and his desire to experience an idealized version of his youth in which his mother still looks after him--except that later in the movie, during the final standoff, Laurie is shown to be physically affected by these spirits. Maybe the implication is that she and Michael suffer the same psychological ailments, but for them to share such specific hallucinations without speaking is borderline supernatural in and of itself. So, while Sheri Moon Zombie does her best with her impressive force of personality and compelling physical presence, it’s hard to say what this part of the movie serves. When I first saw the film, I was completely outraged by this, not only because it made no sense to me, but because it felt like a cheap ripoff of Sarah Palmer’s similar prophetic visions of a white horse in Twin Peaks. That was all I managed to make of it. 

Today, I still don’t love it, but I have more trouble faulting Rob Zombie for trying to make HALLOWEEN his own, something more than a remake. He also does this by truly letting go of the Shape. The famous William Shatner mask was blown in half by Laurie at the end of the 2007 HALLOWEEN, and scarcely makes much of an appearance in this movie. Michael Myers is a disheveled drifter, literally haunted by his past, whose only real aim is to find a place to belong. It’s sort of funny, in retrospect: When John Carpenter made the first HALLOWEEN, he-by-way-of-Dr. Loomis declared Michael an empty shell of a person, someone who was simply born evil, as reflected by the empty-eyed mask he wears. For some reason, though, a whole legacy of directors just couldn’t resist trying to explain Myers away. The original HALLOWEEN II then says, “Well...what if Michael Myers is on a rampage because LAURIE STRODE IS HIS SISTER? What’s that you say? Why is that a reason to rampage? Ummmm...” And then HALLOWEEN 4 sees him pursuing other young female relations of his, and then in subsequent movies there’s an accursed rune, and druids, and immortality rites, and by the time you get to HALLOWEEN 6 you have this absurd stone soup of bad ideas. It’s a miracle that this franchise became such a thing. Rob Zombie makes the same fundamental mistake, but at least he tries it in the simplest possible way, asserting plainly that Nurture, not Nature, made Michael into a killer. Now, terminally lonely, he’s like a clown waking up in his trailer to find that the carnival left without him. Exiled from mainstream society, he seeks out what remains of his family, who, due to his own violent actions, has grown up more like him than he may have imagined.

I’m not saying I think this was the best thing to do with HALLOWEEN 2. Personally, what I crave in horror movies is something that is farther beyond explanation than this--something that gesturally resembles my life experience, but that plunges past the veil of mundanity into a deeper, darker world of primordial fears and urges, addressing things that unsettle me because I cannot rationalize them. For me, horror is definitionally incomprehensible, and Rob Zombie’s HALLOWEEN diptych is fundamentally sane. But, I think what I’ve discovered is that these movies are not proper horror movies, in spite of their relentless sadistic violence. They are outlaw fables, with more DNA in common with something like EASY RIDER, than with FRIDAY THE 13TH. It’s funny to watch myself coming to a compassionate understanding of these movies that are themselves about outsiders and rejects who are specifically deprived of understanding. My goal in all this was not so much to convince people of the value of these movies, which one might reject on any number of reasonable counts, but to explain to myself why I keep coming back to them. It isn’t to condescendingly heckle them, and it isn’t just because they’re often handsome-looking, or because they’re so emotionally authentic even when the narrative is less than compelling. It must be because, even when I’ve found him challenging, I can’t help seeing Rob Zombie as a person with vision, someone who heroically eschews common consensus on taste and sense-making--the consensus even among horror fans and his own cinematic heroes--in order to say what makes sense to him personally. Finally, he has begun to make sense to me, too.

[theministerskat]

Finding Mac

Well, here it is, finally, my submission for The @thelallybrochlibrary Prompt Exchange.

PROMPT #11: Jamie marvels about how for someone who didn’t raise any children of his own he sure has a lot of children living here with him on Fraser’s Ridge. (submitted by @annalisedemoodboards)

This kind of got away from the prompt (and me) but the elements are there!

William arrives on the ridge in hopes of bridging the gap between the man he once knew and the one that stands before him.

Extra special thank yous to @whiskynottea and @ourkissgoodbye for all of their encouragement, comments, wording help, the list is endless. To @futurelounging for final edits and comments. And @smoakingwaffles who has no idea that she helped with small elements of this.

This does have spoilers from a Daily Lines that DG posted for book nine. They’re not obvious, but they are there.

AO3

It had been a month since William Ransom, the Ninth Earl of Ellesmere, met Mrs. Brianna Fraser MacKenzie for the second time. Shock had frozen him in place when he first saw her in that parlor in Savannah. He could tell she too was surprised by the sudden encounter, though the amused look on her face made him think that it wasn’t necessarily unexpected for her. The temporary paralysis of meeting his recently realized sister wore off quickly. They had taken to each other easily, as though they were picking up where they left off more than three years prior in Wilmington.

It was she who convinced him to return with her to Fraser’s Ridge. William accepted Mrs. MacKenzie’s invitation, under the guise that it would be a fine opportunity to inquire after the well being of Fanny. Truth be told, he wanted to spend more time with this intriguing woman who looked so much like him. He had never longed for a sibling, being content with just the company of himself, but he didn't want to let the opportunity to get to know her pass him by. And not just her, but the rest of her family as well.

They talked amiably during their journey together from Savannah to the Ridge. He truly enjoyed the company of Mrs. Mac- Brianna . . . Bree. She insisted on William calling her Bree, saying that no matter his feelings, Mrs. MacKenzie was just too formal. She was his sister. He still had a hard time wrapping his mind around the notion. He thought about her quite often after his rendezvous with Jamie Fraser that night when he put two and two together. William recalled when he first met Brianna, her husband, and their two children; remembered their effortless conversation and the feeling it left him with. He had instantly felt at ease with her, like meeting an old friend. The reason for the familiarity he felt back then was painfully obvious to him now. They were very much alike not only in physicality but in temperament and interests also.

As they drew closer to their destination, William could feel the anticipation rising in him. Fear, excitement, and apprehension mingled together in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t know what to expect of this visit, how he would be received, or even what he wished to gain from it. That day when Jamie Fraser left him standing in the middle of that small stuffy office, had left him with a desire to know more about the man who sired him. “I’m not sorry.” That’s where they had left it and it just wasn’t enough.

He would never forget the look on Fraser’s face, the face that looked so much like his own, when he caught sight of William and Brianna riding up the path. In seconds his expressions went from one of confusion, to recognition, then perfect contentment, before it set into one that couldn’t be read. He had greeted William with simple formality, “Lord Elsmere,” and a nod. William had returned it with a curt but polite, “Mr. Fraser.” Since then few words had been exchanged between the two of them. The majority of his needs he conveyed through Mother Claire, who had welcomed him with a motherly embrace. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed her. All of his thoughts before arriving had been solely focused on how it would be between him and Fraser, forgetting that he already had one person on the Ridge who seemed to deeply care for him.

After the initial sensation surrounding his arrival, William struggled to find a place amongst the day-to-day activities of the homestead. All the tenants, and his new family, had made him feel welcome. He tried to help as much as he could with daily chores, but everyone had their set ways of doing things that had him feeling as though he was in the way most times.

The one place William didn’t feel as though he was in the way was the stable. He was familiar with the care taking of horses and he found that this was where he could be the most helpful. The Ridge did not boast a large barn like those of his childhood, but it was still welcoming, more so even for its intimate feel. The others saw his expertise in this field and acquiesced the majority of the work there to him. He even found himself gravitating there when his situation became too overwhelming for him.

A week after he had arrived, the Frasers, MacKenzies, and Murrays, along with the few other Catholic families of the Ridge had come up to the big house for the christening of Rachel and Ian’s son. William smiled to himself seeing Rachel standing there with her son and thinking back to his first day on the Ridge when she had presented little Oggy to him with one of the biggest smiles he had ever seen. The happiness on her face made his animosity towards her and Murray fade instantly. Though Rachel, as a Quaker, did not subscribe to the idea of baptism, she had relented for the sake of her husband. The priest had come in from Baltimore to perform the sacrament and a small feast had been laid out in the parlor. Once everyone had gathered together, the priest began the ceremony.

He was only half paying attention to the things that were taking place in front of him, his mind elsewhere, but he came to himself as the business at hand reached its conclusion.

“I baptize thee-” William James. It hit him like a horse’s kick to the chest. He felt the bloodrush to his head upon hearing the priest’s words, “in the name of the Father, the Son, and The Holy Ghost.” They were the same words Mac had used when he had baptised William the night before he left Helwater.

“Amen,” the group responded to the priest’s prayer.

Those assembled began giving their well wishes to the proud parents and infant wiggling in his grandmother’s arms. Bringing his hand to his chest in reflex, he looked around searching for familiar blue eyes. William finally caught sight of him, back turned and making for the front door. He had come to the Ridge to speak with Fraser, get to know him, understand him, but thus far he hadn’t accomplished that. It was out of fear that he had been avoiding the confrontation; fear of losing the image of the man he once knew, fear of disappointing Fraser himself. Feeling overwhelmed with the memories that had begun to drown him, he turned and headed for the back door in search of solitude.

The warmth and smell of horses and other livestock hit him immediately as he slid open the door to the stable. A long sigh escaped him. It felt like home; no matter where you are a stable is still a stable. William relaxed against the door behind him, and he began to allow his mind to wander to the places he had been trying to keep it from going all week.

Every now and again he would catch Fraser in an interaction with Brianna, or Roger Mac, or any of his other children and wonder to himself what his life would have looked like if he had always been a part of this family. Would Fraser have sought William’s council on matters pertaining to the tenants and share a laugh about things their womenfolk had done like he did with Roger Mac? Would they have developed a sixth sense with one another like he had with Murray while hunting, always knowing where the other was and what they were doing without vocalization? Would the the drumming of Fraser’s fingers against his thigh be the same cadence that he had when thinking over one of Brianna’s improvements to the Ridge if William were to bring about an idea, or would he get his own special beat? There were so many what ifs that he couldn’t fully process them all.

What was abundantly clear to him was that Jamie Fraser loved his children dearly, even the ones that William came to understand weren’t his by blood. He knew that kind of love, was the recipient of it himself. Lord John had never treated William as anything other than his own, and he understood how deep a parent’s love could run for a child regardless of that one missing connection. The thought of Lord John made his heart wrench with guilt. He hadn’t come here in hopes of replacing his father, but it still felt like a betrayal to him.

He turned his thoughts to the times when he was little and just how much time he had spent with Mac over the course of those few short years. They would talk about everything and nothing, the towering Scot always taking the time to listen to his stories and troubles. There was so much already between him and Jamie Fraser in terms of a relationship, but it was hard for him to merge the two men in his mind even though they were one in the same. It had been so simple with Mac, just the two of them and usually the horses, no one else to worry over. But with Fraser it was complicated; there were others to think of now, entire families that would play a role in what they would be to each other from here on out.

Lost in his own mind, William didn’t realize that the soft lull of the deep Scottish burr wasn’t coming from his memories.

“Trying to escape the commotion of the house?”

William nearly jumped out of his boots, his movement startling the mule in its pen to his left. Turning to where the voice had come from, he saw Jamie Fraser in the far corner stall brushing out Miranda, an amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Allowing William a moment to collect himself, he continued whispering sweet Gaelic nothings to the horse. William’s chest tightened at the familiarity of the scene before him. Even after all these years the sight and sound were calming to him.

“It’s quiet here, save the noises of the animals.”

“Aye,” Fraser nodded.

“I remember,” William said before he could stop himself, “Mac … you. The night before you left.” Fraser stopped his ministrations then.

“I thought ye did. Ye looked like ye’d seen a fetch when the priest started wi’ the words. Knew ye’d come here to set yer mind straight.”

“You did? How?” It came out more accusatory than he meant it and he softened his expression to take the edge off the question.

“Just because we havena been talking, doesna mean I havena been watching ye. This is where ye’ve been comin’ when it all gets to be a bit much, aye?”

This small detail that Fraser had picked up on made it clear to Willie that they had both been doing the same thing over the last week; taking each other in little by little, getting to know the other again through small observations. Both unsure of how to proceed with the other.

“It’s more the feel of it than anything else. Reminds me of simpler times, at Helwater.”

“Well, ye were always a good hand in the stables and a fine rider, no matter how small ye were.” Jamie smiled at that, one that reached his eyes. There was something else to his face then also. Pride, William thought.

“I had a good teacher.” There was a moment when his words hung in the air between the two men. But when one pair of slanted blue eyes met its match, they both let out a round of laughter.

“I suppose ye did, no matter how stubborn a wee fiend ye were.”

“Did you teach Brianna?”

“No … I wasna the one who taught her to ride.”

“You weren’t? But why not? From what Lord John has said you weren’t sent to prison until after she was of an age to ride. I wouldn’t expect you to have kept from teaching her just because she was a girl.”

“I wasna there to raise Brianna.” William saw Jamie tense as he spoke the words. “I didna get to know her until she was a grown woman. I havena raised any of the bairns I consider mine … ” his voice drifted off as though there were more he wanted to say.

William could sense there was more to the story regarding Jamie and Brianna’s past, but there was time enough for that later.

“You have a lot of them here on the Ridge, with you. Children that is.”

“That I do,” Jamie said with a chuckle, the mood lightening, “And I love them all the same. Even wi’ all the trouble they bring me sometimes.”

They shared a comfortable pause. William was relieved that the tension and awkwardness between them seemed to have faded.

“But they don’t only bring trouble. The lass set this up, ye ken?”

“Who? Set what up?”

“Brianna,” Jamie responded, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “She told me after the two of ye arrived. She wanted us to finally have the same chance to know one another, like she and I did.”

“She is an extraordinary woman. I’m sorry for the time you may have missed with her.”

“Dinna fash, I have her now, and these moments I’ll have forever.” Jamie met William’s eyes then, “And you, I have memories with you. Even from afar, I got to watch ye grow … Weel, til’ you could ride that is,” he said with a slight chuckle, “Then ye wouldna leave me be.”

William made to interject, but Jamie stopped him.

“I was able to be there with ye, William, something I didn’t get with Brianna. Spend time with ye’, teach ye things. It was the first time I got to really help raise one of my bairns. And I can only hope I played a small part in the man that ye are today.”

William realized he hadn’t been the only one clinging to the memories they had shared in the past, and that they had meant just as much to Jamie Fraser -his father- as they had to him. He and Mac were the same man, all other circumstances be damned.

Jamie held out his hand to William then. He reached out and Jamie placed the small wooden rosary in hand.

“I thought ye might still have a place for it.” William knew very well the statement wasn’t solely about the rosary. He rubbed the beads between his fingers, worn smooth from years of consolation sought in them.

“Will ye stay then?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, I would like that.”