#but that's all Hollywood studio flicks right?

[doesnotloveyou]

(sry to hop in again) i agree with everything you said including tags, but feel it's important to acknowledge that it introduced these ideas in bite size pieces to audiences that weren't aware of them. I overheard several convos between female audience members young and old who were clearly thinking about these things for the first time. anything more complex and less showy would not have gotten them in those seats or kept their attention

to me it was a glitterfied mashup of a hundred discussions here on tumblr. to others it was actually groundbreaking

I feel like if Barbie had been an exploration of an adult woman’s bond with her daughter’s neglected doll and an examination of motherhood/girlhood OR if it had been about how men can feel isolated due to patriarchal norms and in turn become radicalized proponents of patriarchy but men themselves are not bad and deserve to feel wanted and to display healthy emotions and self worth OR if it had been a critique of corporate, it would have worked, but the film crammed everything in and didn’t develop much of it

[vidreview]

VIDREV: "NO CGI is really just INVISIBLE CGI" by The Movie Rabbit Hole

[originally posted march 19th 2024]

like a lot of folks, i've grown weary of the preponderance of CGI in Hollywood flicks these days. it's all but a cultural tradition at this point to watch John Carpenter's The Thing, sigh wistfully at the goopy silicone animatronics, and say "man, you couldn't make anything like this today." the Marvel/Disney machine has done a lot of heavy lifting to engender this perspective, particularly in the cape department where every aspect of the film is under intense and non-negotiable executive revision until quite literally days before theatrical release (as was the case with Marvel's The Marvels). it doesn't help that this shift has a lot less to do with what's best for any given movie, and a hell of a lot more to do with the lack of unionization in the visual effects industries making them a readily exploitable source of labor. in such an environment, films that nevertheless lean on practical effects are enticing (and, quite often, demonstrably better) enough that we'll sing their praises to the point of hyperbole.

enter Jonas of The Movie Rabbit Hole, here with a genuinely essential series of video essays to slap some sense into that hyperbole and bring us all back down to earth.

one of the more important directors for the development of unobtrusive CGI is David Fincher. i have my fair share of issues with his films, but credit where it's due: they're constantly pushing technology in ways that you absolutely would not expect. there's a crane shot at the start of The Social Network that couldn't be shot with a crane for safety reasons, so instead it was stitched together in post from footage taken on multiple 4K cameras at once. a shocking majority of the blood you'll see in his movies is CGI. the praise i've portioned for his recent films, even as i find him sort of a fundamentally anti-human director, is that he understands that visual effects work best as a supplement to existing footage, rather than a pure replacement.

i share all this to underline my use of the word "essential" in describing this series. i worked in film for a few years, i went to film school, i try to understand the production process as pragmatically as possible. i am under no illusions that Christopher Nolan flicks or the John Wick movies are totally practical. i'm not an anti-CGI evangelist! and yet, even then, i had NO idea just how wrongheaded i still was on the subject until i watched these videos.

Jonas brings 18 years of visual effects experience to bear on a series that feels very much like him trying to settle an argument he's been having for about as long. he has countless examples of films praised for their lack of CGI that relied heavily on their CGI, using the demo reels of effects houses as the smoking gun. Jonas speaks with a plain matter-of-fact-ness that's bolstered just so by an edge of smug frustration, the kind you only get after bearing a cross for years. but it's not just an "i'm right, you're wrong" affair by any stretch. Jonas does a fantastic job communicating a lot of complicated subjects in ways that are friendly to even the most casual of viewers, rarely blaming the audience for their ignorance when studios and market trends are the real culprit. and because he's a veteran of the industry, he's able to interview prominent figures that would otherwise be inaccessible for the average essayist, like Academy Award winning VFX supervisor Paul Franklin.

(and here we come up against a question countenanced more than once on this blog-- where is the line between video essay and documentary? i think this readily qualifies as the former given the first-person direct address shot-in-his-living-room style, yet somehow i feel a bit uneasy with the classification. oh well, a topic for another day)

the most eye-opening section for me is also one of the first, where Jonas confronts the public image of Top Gun: Maverick. i haven't seen this film yet, but i have seen the endless and unqualified buzz about its practical effects. and to be sure, these deserve quite a lot of praise-- they put real actors in real fighter jets for crying out loud! yet in all that crowing, a very important fact totally fell by the wayside: nary a single shot in the film is without digital manipulation. and not just in the basic touch-up sense, removing safety anachronisms and the like. the jets, the cockpits, and the actors themselves were all extensively replaced with digital doubles! i felt like an utter fool when he pointed out that quite often films praised for their lack of CGI will have more VFX artists credited than any other department in production. like, holy shit, it's all right there on the screen? what job were those hundreds of people doing if it was "all practical effects"?

which is the crux of the series' title: "NO CGI is really just INVISIBLE CGI." we have --or perhaps it'd be more honest to say i have-- a tendency to address CGI in binaristic terms. either it's there, or it's not there, right? Fincher's team can put digital blood running down Daniel Craig's face in the shower after he gets shot in The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, but it's Craig's physical presence that sells it. a film like Top Gun: Maverick makes its bones marketing the spectacle, and because there's such fatigue with CGI-heavy blockbusters any mention of intermediary visual effects carries with it a stain on the authenticity. but really, it does nothing to diminish the practical nature of the photography to also acknowledge how much of what makes it to cinemas is, essentially, an extremely realistic cartoon.

and this is what Jonas's series really exposes for me. a lot of what we're looking at here is rotoscoping, the longstanding tradition of animating over top of live footage a la Disney's Snow White in 1937, though the technique was truly mastered by Max Fleischer in the 1910s. is there some gradeschool nag whispering in the back of our head that a rotoscope is just elaborate tracing? that it's a cheat, because "real" animation is done without reference? (for anyone who has actually worked in animation, this is your cue to laugh derisively)

but the truth is that you do not get one without the other. it takes a lot of planning to film a scene with an eye towards being reanimated, just as it takes tremendous skill to make that animation look good. if Top Gun: Maverick feels viscerally real, it is because the visual effects artists had a real reference to work from. one is not inherently better than the other, more pure or authentic. this isn't the 80s anymore, man. i mean, to get real fucking technical, the instant we stopped shooting on film was the death of "true practicality" in cinema, because a digital sensor must by its nature interpret visual information as raw data and then translate it to something we'd recognize as an image. celluloid film is purely optical, but a digital sensor requires someone (or a team of someones) to write an algorithm to do that interpreting-- which is, inherently, subjective. different cameras have different image processing algorithms, different bitrates and dynamic ranges, to say nothing of custom LUTs and the extensive post-processing required to make RAW footage not look like complete ass. and even now, celluloid cannot be said to be truly pure, because any film shot on celluloid is then digitally scanned, subjected to the exact same post production processing as any other digital film, the final product re-scanned to celluloid to give it a true filmic look, and then yet again digitized for wide distribution (because most cinemas today only have digital projectors).

this is not A Bad Thing! it is simply the material reality of film production in the 21st century. it has many upstream and downstream effects, of course, many of which have negatively impacted the quality of films and television in various ways-- but these are not qualities inherent to digital technology! rather, they are the result of a profit-seeking industry eager to cut corners wherever possible. the existence of CGI is not to blame for the bad CGI in Marvel movies, it's the greedy executives exploiting non unionized labor, forcing crunch at every level with no regard for the human cost, endlessly meddling in the production with their indecisive market-analysis driven brand alterations. ah, the age of the executive auteur, when at last the soulless corporate mindset once commonly decried by artists and audiences alike has been fully naturalized and even embraced by people who call themselves fans, who would sooner throw a director under the bus than say a bad word about Kevin fucking Feige.

it's a pathetic state of affairs, and it can only be called a brilliant act of marketing that CGI burnout in the public has been leveraged to only further erase the essential labor of visual effects artists. Jonas here even points out, much to my slack-jawed amazement, that promotional behind the scenes footage today frequently removes green screens and other indicators of a digital-forward production as a way of unduly acquiring practical effects credibility. as someone who watches a lot of these BTS features, i feel lied to and manipulated, and ashamed of myself for not realizing that making-ofs are just as much marketing as they are educational, often moreso by a lot. it's all just an illusion! and it cannot be repeated often enough that this is an erasure of a historically under-unionized industry, one whose exploitation has been thoroughly documented for years. that this erasure is occurring at a moment when finally, finally, finally corners of the visual effects world have begun to shed the libertarian values inherited from the tech industry and actually unionize is pretty fucking conspicuous to say the least.

i call these videos essential because they reveal a tremendous blind spot in our media literacy, even among those like myself who've studied media extensively. we are, generally, pretty good at identifying the weaknesses in a finished film, but our lack of experience and our credulity towards marketing that doesn't feel like marketing leads us to utterly fail when we attempt to diagnose their cause. when our analysis lacks an understanding of the material conditions of production, as informed by firsthand accounts of those who actually do the work, we cannot help but embarrass ourselves and in so doing blatantly misinform our audiences.

it didn't used to be like this. i remember the late 90s and early aughts, when joints like ILM were praised for their innovations. how often do you hear about VFX houses today? probably only when they go bankrupt. it's such a shame, because what Jonas does in these videos most of all is reveal just how astonishing the work of visual effects artists actually is. these are the perils of an industry whose job is to be invisible, which is why it's so important that their labor be made visible after the fact, celebrated rather than papered over, analyzed extensively rather than mentioned offhand. the truth is that quite a lot of us have been boldly, profoundly wrong about CGI in movies for a long time, and we're well past due for a correction of the record.

all of which is to say that these are some really great videos and you should absolutely go watch them right now

NOTE FROM THE FUTURE: episode 4 came out and it's also great.

[robsheridan]

Poster for the unproduced 1984 live-action horror adaptation GARFIELD: FIRST BLOOD.

Following the success of CUJO in 1983, studios were scrambling to find the next hit “killer pet” flick. Notorious grindhouse auteur Ron Sharleton, seeking a big-budget movie deal to fund his struggling production of CANNIBAL QUARTERBACK 2, set his sights on the most unlikely of properties: Jim Davis’ beloved comic strip Garfield. Sharleton, a self-proclaimed fan of Garfield who called the strip “a subversive celebration of misanthropy,” believed an “alternative, adult” spin on the character could thrive in tandem with its kid-friendly cartoons. Describing his rationale in an interview later, Sharleton said: “You have all of these R-rated films that come out and become big hits and the studios want to suck every penny out of one idea, so they sanitize it and repackage it as a cartoon for kids. So I said, why can’t we do the reverse?”

GARFIELD: FIRST BLOOD was pitched as a dark, gritty reimagining in which the titular cat, pushed to the brink on a particularly bad Monday, finally snaps and kills Jon’s dimwitted dog Odie. As he tastes Odie’s blood, Garfield is overcome by how good it felt to put a permanent end to something that annoyed him. He then realizes that everything and everyone annoy him, and his murderous rampage begins.

Describing his take on the character, Sharleton said: “Garfield never really sat right with me as a children’s character. He’s so much darker, more complex. You have this cat who is filled with contempt; he looks at the world around him with radical skepticism and scowls at the prison of tedium mankind calls ‘society,’ and he responds with this very self-indulgent nihilism: Be lazy, be a glutton, don’t participate in anything because it’s all bullshit. Garfield looks at Jon waking up early on a Monday and putting on his tie to go to a job he hates, and he sees a pathetic fool. It’s all such a powerful rejection of the Reagan Wall Street capitalist disease that has poisoned the 80s. ‘Work hard, climb the ladder, buy a boat!’ Garfield says fuck that, stay home, eat lasagna, accept no master. But living as an iconoclast in a conformist world has filled him with all this tension. There’s anger in there, you know? So I wanted to examine what would happen if Garfield was finally pushed over the edge. Where’s the line between a passive nihilist and a violent anarchist?”

Warner Bros execs were intrigued by Sharleton’s pitch (and the lucrative cash cow of the Garfield brand) and funded a short “proof-of-concept” trailer, directed by Sharleton, to convince Garfield creator Jim Davis of the idea. The trailer reportedly went “all-in” on Sharleton’s signature “splattercore” horror, including a scene where Garfield grinds up Liz Wilson alive in a meat grinder and bakes her flesh into a lasagna he then serves to Jon. The presentation to Davis was described as “one of the most disastrously miscalculated meetings in modern Hollywood,” with Davis stopping the trailer midway to ask the room “are you people completely fucking insane?” before storming out.

Reflecting on the meeting years later, an anonymous former Warner exec said “we knew it was a long shot, but we really felt like the only way to sell the concept was to push it as far as possible. In retrospect I think yeah, we did let it go too far. We were so absorbed in it that we didn’t realize how jarring it would be for a guy like Jim Davis to just be thrown into this cold. I think it was a mistake to open with the Nermal blender scene, but we wanted shock, and we thought… I don’t know, everyone was doing a LOT of cocaine back then. Well, everyone except Jim Davis."

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UPDATE: T-shirts and poster prints now available!

NOTE: This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series. NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

If you enjoy my work, consider supporting me on Patreon for frequent exclusive hi-res wallpaper packs, behind-the-scenes features, downloads, events, contests, and an awesome fan community. Direct fan support is what keeps me going as an independent creator, and it means the world to me.

[klmwrites]

Bishop takes Rook (a pre Black Ops 6 Story)

ao3

Directing his attention back from the room to the chessboard before him, Adler now raised a hand to make his move. On the opposite side of the stage from where the pair were seated one of the staff members near the giant board, upon placing down a pair of binoculars, reached for the cutout of a white bishop and moved it diagonally upwards - replacing the position of the black rook before it. 

The audience visibly stirred.

“Bishop takes Rook.” he heard the younger woman murmur under her breath, her mouth set in a firm line as Adler moved a finger to press down on his side of the Fischer clock. Chewing her bottom lip, Bell now turned her attention towards her one remaining rook and king. 

“I should tell you Adler, survival is now the main priority of ours now. Her eyes now flicked upwards, gaze directed at Adler as she switched the positions of the aforementioned two pieces with ease.  “My job is to do anything to make sure it stays that way.”

AU in which Adler - on the run from the CIA - goes undercover as a competitive chess player where he is made to play a match against a ghost from his past in front of a live studio audience.

In the spirit of respecting those who have yet to play Black Ops 6 (it has only been a week since its release as of this post) this fic will be spoiler free. So go ahead and read to your hearts content 😊

song recommendation (this song slaps ok and for some reason in my head it fits really well don't come @ me lmao) :

Russell Adler

Moscow, Union of Social Socialist Republics

20 March 1990 - 10:00 MSK

Seated at the back of the state-provided saloon car, Adler watched as the huge crowd gathered consisting of the media, adoring fans and curious onlookers alike appeared in the horizon, the once small black blob was now becoming discernibly larger as the vehicle drew closer to its destination. Retrieving a cigarette and his zippo from inside his suit, Adler rolled down the window on his side before lighting the nicotine stick and taking a long drag from it, watching the evidence of his vice float out into the open and vanish from sight.

The speedy little devil that was the maroon coloured automobile sped down the remainder of a seemingly vacant highway before making a sharp right turn, parking itself right before the end of the pavement in what only could be described as in a cartoonish fashion. Opposite stood a building sporting gothic style architecture and right above the pair of twin wooden doors that marked the entrance was a huge banner with the Cyrillic Words ‘Annual Soviet Chess Championship, Moscow’ accompanied by the silhouette icon of a knight chess piece. As soon as he opened the door and stepped out onto the red carpet the flash photography and videographers came into full swing, all of which he had expected at such an event. He was however pleasantly surprised by the cordiality of everyone else around - not once had any member of the public rushed up to him in an attempt to take a photo or sign an autograph. For that Adler was grateful, as the last thing he needed as an rogue agent was close up pictures of his face taken for the world to see. He had changed his aviators and hairstyle in a fashion that he would still be unrecognisable in pictures and videos taken from afar, but any closer and he ran the risk of being identified.

Though he never liked any of the countries behind the iron curtain (for more than just ideological reasons) he was begrudgingly grateful for the match to be taking place in Moscow of all places. Had it been Hollywood or any other western country it would have been a completely different story, and it would have been much harder for him to remain inconspicuous for long given the strong alliance the authorities had with the United States.

Adler made his way into the building with haste and after a quick pat down was escorted by a member of staff to a nearby sitting room to wait for his registration to be confirmed. In this building he was no longer Russell Adler, the framed CIA operative but Lev Balashov, a former KGB agent and aspiring holder of the ranking of Candidate Master in his hobby of competitive chess. Adler only knew of his existence thanks to Belikov, whom he contacted before entry into Moscow. Despite the former's defection, Belikov still knew people on the inside and not only managed to arrange the necessary papers to get Adler into the country, but also gave the former clandestine officer the profile of the man he was to replace. 

“Why him of all people?”

“Because my friend, Balashov is a notorious recluse. Only a handful of people have seen his face and they will most definitely not be present at the tournament because he has beaten them all to get to where he currently is.”

“And you are certain that she will be there.”

“Most certainly. Her injuries post Solovestky were serious, so I reckon she is currently taking a much needed break from the field.”

Adler was rudely pulled away from his trip down memory lane upon hearing a member of staff at the door of his assigned dressing room calling out his alias name. 

“Mr Balashov? The tournament you are scheduled to participate in will begin in 90 minutes.” 

Adler nodded in acknowledgement and after requesting for a cup of coffee, proceeded to light another cigarette as soon as the staff member’s back was turned. He allowed his mind to drift back to her; he had always wondered how she had been doing after all those years. He remembered the surprise he felt upon realising that she had survived what was supposed to be a fatal shot - one which he justified to himself was done out of mercy. It had been sheer luck that she had not gone insane already after being exposed to the many rounds of MK-Ultra, and figured that it was only a matter of time before that would come to fruition. 

No doubt she will be livid upon seeing his face again, but for the sake of the free world he was willing to take the brunt of her anger. 

Adler chuckled mirthlessly to himself as the familiar smell of arabica wafted into the room. There was no longer a point in reminiscing about what could have been or the many questions he had repeatedly asked the imaginary figment of her in his head - for now he has the privilege of hearing the answers to all his unanswered questions straight from the horse's mouth.

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When it was time, Adler was escorted out of the dressing room and backstage where he was made to listen to what seemed to be the announcer presenting the current tournament lineup of the day in Russian through a set of thick curtains. As soon as he heard his alias name being announced he stepped forward and into the limelight in front of the adoring crowd. Giving a half-hearted wave, Adler made his way to his designated seat, where the nameplate “L. Balashov” was placed facing the audience, along with a small table red coloured flag of the Soviet Union. In the centre of the ornate wooden table that was to serve as the mental battlefield for the next few hours lay a wooden chess set, pieces already put into place. 

Another round of applause now sounded and from the opposite end of the stage came his opponent - a Miss Yelizaveta Ivlev. Dressed in a simple dark blue dress and a pair of pearl-studded earrings, Ivlev walked across the stage with a small smile, waving her hand towards the audience cheerfully. She then turned to her side with the intention of greeting her opponent when she realised who it was. Adler noted that Ivlev was careful not to let any shock show on her face and the only indicator she gave as to knowing his true identity was the small drop to her beautiful smile, perhaps in part due to the sheer number of cameras around recording both players' first encounter with each other. 

Ivlev’s eyes flicked downwards to look at her opponent's name plate. “Mr Balashov. A pleasure meeting you.” She simply nodded her head, tone slightly harsher than normally how an introduction should entail. “The pleasure is all mine.” replied Adler, playing along. 

Once both players took to their respective seats, Ivlev picked up the black velvet pouch that sat inconspicuously towards the right side of their shared table right next to the Fischer clock. Shaking it slightly, she allowed its contents to drop into the palm of her hand: a single coin.

“Heads or tails?”

“Heads.” Adler now watched as the rounded object flipped in midair and landed once again into the safety of her palm. “Looks like you get to pick the colour, Mr Balashov.”

Adler’s eyes now flipped back to the chessboard with disinterest. “I don’t mind keeping it the way it is now.”

“Very good.” Ivlev now turned her head and made eye contact with a member of staff, nodding her head as she did so. This prompted the staff member to walk over to their table, giving it a quick once over before walking over to a giant board - in which a replica of the current chessboard configuration has been made - and writing down the names of both players in the blackboard above.

White –  L. Balashov

Black –  Y. Ivlev 

“Shall we begin?” Ivlev’s voice prompted Adler to once again focus on the woman currently sitting in front of him bearing a deceptively neutral look on her face. Adler did not respond, choosing to proffer out a hand to her instead which she accepted. 

For a third time, a round of applause thundered around the auditorium. But Adler wasn’t paying attention to any of it, for his eyes were currently on his actual prize - the sole reason why he was here in the first place. 

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Truth to be told, sitting in this auditorium, Adler felt like a fish out of water - and it has been a while since he had experienced such a feeling. Though he played the game occasionally and knew the basic rules and moves, he knew that he was widely unprepared to be playing in such a professional environment. Still, he has come too far to fail now - he will achieve his objective by hook or by crook. 

Despite his limited understanding of the game, Adler knew that being able to take control of the middle was vital for eventual victory - the player that controls the centre has the best vantage attack point on the rest of their opponents pieces. With this in mind, Adler’s opening move was to move his pawn to d4. Ivlev responded by moving her knight to F6. Seeing her motive, he pushed another of his pawns to c4. Where is she going with this? Seemingly unfazed, Ivlev simply moved her pawn to e6. She really is that insistent on wanting my d4 pawn huh. Adler now brought forward his knight to c3 in hopes that it would deter his opponent from their current objective but instead what it did was embolden Ivlev to bring forward her bishop to b4, effectively not only threatening his knight (and in turn the king) but also preventing Adler from taking control of the centre by moving his one of his other pawns from e2 to e4.

It took a while for Adler to realise what Ivlev had just done: the Nimzo-Indian defence. In his rush to control the centre, not only had he given away his strategy early on, but placed Ivlev in a position to not only develop her pieces earlier but also play them aggressively should she so choose, possibly gaining potential control over the centre as the game progresses on. 

“Interesting that you didn’t open using the queen’s gambit.” Ivlev suddenly remarked, possibly in response to Adler’s surprise. “You are a habitual gambler, no? And very apt at giving away your pawns when needed. Frankly I’m quite surprised to see you here. I thought you were all brawn and no brains, just like the CIA lapdog you once formerly were.” Ivlev’s voice could only be fittingly described as a sheet of ice - calm on the surface, but arguably emotionally tumultuous underneath.

“Formerly?” Adler raised an eyebrow as he moved another one of his pawns to a3. As Ivlev focused on her next move Adler waved his hand up in the air, making a motion with his hand for a cigarette. “What makes you say that?”

“I might be physically out of the field, but it doesn’t mean I am out of the loop information wise.” Ivlev now tutted as she moved her bishop to take his pawn. “Also, you are not as subtle as you think you are.”

Their conversation came to a temporary halt with the arrival of said item - a cigar surprisingly - balancing precariously along its edges of an unused ashtray. “You mind?” asked Adler rhetorically as he placed the item between his lips, flicking the cap of the provided zippo open. Ivlev simply snorted back in amusement, shaking her head. Taking a much needed drag of nicotine, he now moved his own pawn to take Ivlev’s bishop. “It seems that word travels fast. Either that or you have been keeping tabs on me….Bell.” Adler saw the woman’s composure break slightly at the mention of that name, her body physically tensing up. 

“Don’t test your luck here, Russell Adler. We are being live streamed for the whole of the Soviet Union to see; I could unmask your identity right here and you will be arrested by the KGB within a few minutes.” Sensing the man’s scepticism, Bell elaborated. “The USSR has changed over these past 10 years - especially since our little stunt in the Lubyanka Building. Now with some of the Eastern Bloc Republics expressing disillusionment, the Motherland is ramping up efforts to keep the collectivist culture and ideology alive.”

Adler hummed in acquiescence. “So why didn’t you do that from the very beginning?” he now asked, to which Bell elected not to respond.

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The game dragged on for longer than expected. The silence in the room changed from being comforting to suffocating, save the occasional cough from a spectator and the constant ticking of the Fischer clock near his right elbow. From the corner of his eye Adler watched some of the moderators and judges fidget in their seats as did some members of the audience, who by his standards were doing rather well in keeping their impatience at bay given the games seemingly lack of progress. 

Though not one to always practise what he preached, Adler could appreciate the art of patience - many years of being in intelligence taught him the value of it. Besides, it was good to exercise that brain of his once in a while - even if admittedly he would have preferred being out in the field shooting at something or someone instead. 

“Why did you shoot me at Solovetsky, Adler?” Bell asked abruptly, eyes never leaving the board or the pieces before them. Ah, the inevitable question that needs to be answered. Adler opened his mouth to respond, but realised that the words he had rehearsed in his head were now stuck at the back of his throat. Did he actually want to tell her the truth? Was there even a point in lying at this stage regarding all that happened 10 years ago? “And please don’t lie, that would be extremely low of you to do so. The least you owe me is the truth in that regard.”

“I don’t owe you jack shit, Bell. I did what I had to do for my country.” 

“The country that now turned its back on you when you were clearly framed?”

“So you believe that I’m innocent.” Adler saw an opportunity to deflect and gladly took it. Bell simply laughed in response. “Russell Adler, willing traitor of the CIA in exchange for blood money? Not your style, and certainly not your modus operandi.” Bell moved another of her pieces and like clockwork pressed down the button on her side, folding her hands on the table before her afterwards. “Humour me, Adler. You clearly want something from me - that’s why you are here playing a chess game for the past 3 hours, no?” 

Adler took a puff of what was now his 5th cigar, tapping it at its end as more black flakes dropped into the ever growing pile of grey in the middle of the ashtray before setting it down in favour of moving his piece. “It was supposed to be a mercy kill.” There, this was as close to the truth as he could master. When one lies on a regular basis as part of the job requirement, suddenly telling the truth becomes a tall order indeed.

“Who did you take me for, A chained up dog? One you can just simply get rid of as soon as the work gets done? Even the process of euthanasia has rules and guidelines and doing that with your reasoning fails the eligibility criteria!” Bell took a deep breath in, before her calm mask of composure returned once more. “Give me one good reason why I should work with you now after what you have done.”

“I don’t have to. Clearly your handlers see a mutually beneficial outcome by us working together: if not you would not be up here with me right now.” Adler smirked. “Your handlers are the two men seated at your 4 o'clock, are they not? I’m frankly surprised Perseus took you back after all the shit that went down, how we thwarted their plans and all.”

“I’m frankly quite surprised too. And grateful.” Adler could hear from her voice that the sentiments were genuine. “Враг моего врага - мой друг”.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Their previous campaign against Perseus in the 80s must have set them back quite a bit; to the point that they feel threatened by simply the presence of another prominent paramilitary group. But why Perseus and this particular group are antagonistic towards one another is something that Adler mentally stored in his head as needing to be further investigated upon. 

“Now that we are on the same page, I’m going to give you a code phrase that you must keep to yourself until the time comes.” Directing his attention back from the room to the chessboard before him, Adler now raised a hand to make his move. On the opposite side of the stage from where the pair were seated one of the staff members near the giant board, upon placing down a pair of binoculars, reached for the cutout of a white bishop and moved it diagonally upwards - replacing the position of the black rook before it. 

The audience visibly stirred.

“Bishop takes Rook.” he heard the younger woman murmur under her breath, her mouth set in a firm line as Adler moved a finger to press down on his side of the Fischer clock. Chewing her bottom lip, Bell now turned her attention towards her one remaining rook and king. 

“I should tell you Adler, survival is now the main priority of ours now. Her eyes now flicked upwards, gaze directed at Adler as she switched the positions of the aforementioned two pieces with ease.  “My job is to do anything to make sure it stays that way.”

“I understand.” was all Adler simply responded with ease. He could easily read between the lines, and he knew that a cornered animal is always a dangerous one - not that he was currently in the position to corner them any further anyway. The subconscious weight he had been carrying left him both physically and mentally. With his objective now fulfilled, he could finally fully focus on playing regularly just as he was sure Balashov would have if the latter were currently in his shoes.

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.

.

After another tedious hour of nothing but back and forths, the match was eventually brought to a standstill and declared inconclusive by the panel of judges present. Despite the outcome of the match not being significant Adler, it was mostly out of professional pride that he refused to withdraw after getting what he needed - besides, It would have been the same thing the real Balashov would have done after all. 

As soon as the panel made the results of their judgements known, the media personnel, who were no doubt restless and itching to move after the tiresome four hour long match, seemingly leapt up from their seats like people possessed and approached both players with their endless barrage of questions. This was promptly ignored by both Bell and Adler as they made their way backstage unscathed thanks to the diligence of the security personnel present. 

“Stay here.” Adler broke the silence between them as he led Bell into his dressing room, closing the door behind him and he swept the room for cameras. Once he determined that they were not being watched, he opened his bag and from it revealed a nondescript looking file which he passed to Bell promptly. “Everything you and your handlers need to know about the organisation I am tracking is here. I’m presuming your handlers would know more about them though than I, given Perseus’s  implied history with them.”

The woman opened the folder and stared at the papers inside unimpressed. “There’s nothing much to go on.”

“I know. They are very good at infiltration; I believe they have multiple moles in the CIA. Elusive fuckers, they have already dug their claws in deep which is how they were able to produce fake irrefutable evidence of my so-called betrayal. Mason and Hudson are dead because of them.”

Bell’s face fell slightly. She wasn’t Hudson’s biggest fan, but she and Mason did share an amicable relationship. The latter was someone she actually enjoyed having conversations with, so it was sad to know of his fate. “Mason has a son right? What’s going to happen to him?”

Adler looked up at Bell grimly. “I don’t know. I can only hope he will be well cared for by the state, or whoever Mason had placed as the next of kin.” The duo continued to look at each other, either side seemingly hesitant for the conversation to continue or their time together to end for that manner. Perhaps they knew that they eventually needed to discuss what happened at Solovetsky and both sides are reluctant to bring that up; or maybe because this is the first time they have seen each other face to face in five years, and the feeling of seeing someone who had attempted to brainwash you (Bell) or was a ghost from your past (Adler) standing  in the same room as you in the flesh was simply…overwhelming.

Luckily for Adler, the awkward silence was eventually broken when Bell’s phone rang. Adler watched as the woman removed a flip phone from her pocket and answered it with much haste - a call from her handlers, no doubt.

“ I’m currently in contact with him, he’s passed me a file with the information we need. Are you sure - yes, Comrade, at once.” Bell placed the phone back into her pocket. “Change of plans. You are coming with me.” Adler raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise. “What do your handlers want with me?” 

Bell shrugged. “I will go get my purse from my dressing room; they said to meet us outside in five.” And with those words, Adler watched the once timid and non-verbal woman now exited the dressing room with her head held high. Feeling the man’s gaze on her, Bell turned around abruptly once more with a gaze which sent an involuntary shiver down the older man's spine. 

“C’mon Adler, don’t dawdle. After all, we've got a job to do.” 

[agentnico]

Top 10 BEST Movies of 2023

Happy New Year everyone! Hope you all partied hard and are now surviving a dreadful hangover by sitting with your family or friends and enjoying a well deserved marathon of Lord of the Rings. 2023 - what a year! In the movie biz alone there were those little minor events known as the strikes of the actors and writers. Just when we thought COVID was over and stopped affecting releases, these strikes were like “errr no, actually..!”. To be fair, the way the streaming services were underpaying their actors and the studios enforcing AI so much into the media, it was good that these artists stood up for themselves and showed it to the man so to speak! Anyway, we’re not here to talk Hollywood politics, but to celebrate all the quality filmmaking that was exhibited this past year. I’d say in all honesty this year felt weaker compared to 2022. To be fair last year gave us Everything Everywhere All at Once, Top Gun: Maverick and of course the legendary RRR, so the bar was high for 2023. That being said, I still enjoyed some solid films, so let’s rank my Top 10 favourite movies of 2023, but first some honourable mentions…

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

Evil Dead Rise - one heck of a gore fest, and the best opening title card of the year hands down!

Past Lives - a simple yet brutally honest love story.

The Boy and the Heron - Wanna hear Robert Pattinson sound like not Robert Pattinson?!

Guy Richie’s The Covenant - The least Guy Ritchie film Guy Ritchie directed.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar - Wes Anderson and Roald Dahl are a match made in heaven.

Barbie - I’m Just Ken…need I say more??

Wonka - Timmy makes for a good Willy.

Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 3 - A solid Marvel entry - a rarity these days.

Tetris - Gosh those tetrominos really get ya!

Right, with that, let’s get into the actual fun stuff - The Top 10 Best Movies of 2023!…

10) MISSION IMPOSSIBLE: DEAD RECKONING - PART ONE - Tom Cruise - what a guy! I mean yes he’s a Scientologist, has a constant death wish by breaking his ankles on film sets and also guilty of jumping on Oprah’s sofa like a monkey, but my my is he a charmer! You guys know the drill with these Mission Impossible movies - Tom Cruise throws his body around like a potato fearing not for his life nor broken limbs, but you have to respect the man for wanting to give the audience their tickets’ worth of entertainment, and Dead Reckoning not disappoint! There’s never a dull moment, the action is constantly inventive and exciting, and honestly with how consistent the quality of these films are, I say keep ‘em coming, Cruise-man!

9) DREAM SCENARIO - Anyone who knows me knows how much I love me some Nicolas Cage! The guy’s an acting legend, and he’s had it rough a decade ago when he got stuck paying off hi tax money and starring in crappy B-movies, but recently he’s been on a hot streak of great original content, and Dream Scenario adds to that. I love this idea of a random dude suddenly appearing in people’s dreams for absolutely no reason. It’s so rare to have a new original conception in a film in our day and age, and the execution here is great. As a bonus, the movie features possibly the best fart joke in the history of the cinema.

8) FALLEN LEAVES - This features the deadest karaoke ever - the Finns sure know how to party!! Also bonus points for featuring an out-of-left-field reference to Jim Jarmusch’s zombie flick The Dead Don’t Die, which by no means is a great film, but the fact that the director of Fallen Leaves knows about such obscure pieces of cinema only reiterates the fact that he gets cinema. Which in this case is a straightforward romantic love story, but one that I instantly connected with. Reminded me of Compartment No. 6.

7) OPPENHEIMER - On one had this is probably the most “well-made” movie of 2023 cinematically speaking. Christopher Nolan does not hold back in using his typical non-linear way of storytelling, with the film weaving narratives and different time periods seamlessly as it explores the profound depths of a man who’s actions altered the world’s trajectory forever, for better or worse. It’s an incredible historical piece of cinema, and the movie gets extra points for the whole ‘Barbenheimer’ phenomenon, but the reason this film is not higher on the list is due to the fact that I believe it is overrated. Cause every single person raved about how bloody amazing this thing was, I became tired of the positivity. Yeah, I know, I’m being a Scrooge but what you gonna do about it?? Oppenheimer is stuck at No. 5!

6) ROBOT DREAMS - I’m sorry to go vulgar on this occasion, but my-my was I shipping this dog and it’s robot to absolutely fudge each others brains out!! Yet the movie happens to do the funny thing of being the biggest cockblock ever….. and that’s the best thing it could have done. Simplistic cartoon-network style animation made beautiful by an earnest story, accompanied by the delightful sounds of Earth, Wind & Fire.

5) KILLERS OF THE FLOWER MOON - When a movie forces you to stay in the cinema for over 3 hours, it better be one epic film, as your man here was straining his bladder to health threatening levels. However this is a Martin Scorsese picture, as such this is event cinema! And this one may be up there with one of his best. Killers of the Flower Moon is a major saga of greed, murder, corruption and despair, told through the eyes of a filmmaker who somehow is still managing to mature more as a director even though he’s already over 80 years of age.

4) THE HOLDOVERS - The Holdovers is very much a vibes movie. It has that old-timey retro feel to it from how it is shot to make it look like it’s from the 70s (reminiscent of John Hughes films and Dead Poets Society). You also have the constant snow falling and the Christmas music just really delivers that cozy winter feel. It’s a wholesome Christmas movie through and through. Paul Giamatti gives a career-best performance and the writing is absolutely stellar, as such The Holdovers is destined to become a holiday classic.

3) BEAU IS AFRAID - A 3-hour long anxiety attack that A24 spent $30 million to produce. For a movie studio to spill out such a massive amount of cash on a completely original IP that is divisively out-there and wild is such a unique thing to happen in Hollywood in this day and age, that like the film or not this act needs to be applauded. It just so happens that Beau Is Afraid is batshit bonkers and truly an act of madness, yet one that I will forever cherish. I bet David Lynch had the biggest hard-on when he watched this movie - you betcha!

2) PERFECT DAYS - Essentially plays out like a live-action remake of WALL-E from the director of Paris, Texas. Honestly this is such a sweet and delightful film about a toilet cleaner doing his thang, and somehow inspired me to want to clean toilets myself. A beautiful piece of independent cinema that appreciates the little things, and truly embraces the ideology of stopping to smell the roses.

1) SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE - Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse is, put simply, brilliant! It’s everything that made Into the Spider-Verse great dialled up to 1000%, and the result is honestly fantastic. Look, I watch a lot of movies. And yeah, movies are great and I love them deeply. But in watching so many films I have in a way lost that magic of being in awe every time I go to the cinema. Cliches and repetitiveness in films stick out like sore thumbs. However with Across the Spider-Verse I felt like a kid again, purely stunned in amazement at every single frame, engaged with the characters and story-line, not knowing where it will go next. Like I cannot reiterate how much fun I had watching this movie! The animation is phenomenal, the narrative so rich, a pulse-throbbing music score (I even have Pemberton’s score on vinyl now just cause I love it so much!) superb character development and so many fun and unexpected twists and turns. Across the Spider-Verse is THE movie of 2023 for me and I believe this is the first time ever an animation took a top spot on my list. Here’s hoping Part 3 of the Spider-Verse saga will play out like The Return of the King!

There you have it - my favourite films of 2023. Naturally I don’t expect my list to be the same as yours, so don’t go throwing a tantrum if I missed out a movie you loved. Or do throw a tantrum, see if I care. But also don’t, cause like we’re all friends here, right? Right??!

[fatal-allegiance]

Prelude

By the end of the year, there will be nine thousand, eight hundred and sixty-seven persons registered missing in Los Angeles county.

Right now, it’s August thirtieth, two thousand four, and I’m the latest upward tick in that statistic. Missing: presumed dead.

My life has not flashed before my eyes, as such: not all in one go. But I have had several opportunities this evening to ask myself how it came to this, how I ended up in this city and in this situation; in this hotel, with this person; in this bed, with this person. I have had a deal of time to reflect, and to provide myself with answers, and I reproduce them here for your reference, and mine.

When my name was Zhao Wen-Jun, and I lived with my parents, my father wanted very much for me to study. He had decided that his daughter was very clever — too clever for her own good, maybe — and he was disappointed, I think, when I chose film studies as a major - not library science, not law, but the movies. I loved them. I wanted to be in them. And I wanted to be called something cool, something that would look good on a poster, something that would roll off the tongues of earnest producers and adoring fans. Thus: Jenni, Jenni with an I so I couldn’t be mixed up with the writer.

It sounds good, doesn’t it? Jenni Zhao? Damn, she’s good. She does all her own stunts, you know that? Jenni Zhao is the name on my gym card, on my showreel, on the business cards I bought in a box of one thousand on one optimistic day last year. Jenni Zhao is what my ex-roommate and my ex-boyfriend called me, before graduation made us all useless to each other.

Jenni Zhao is not, however, the name on the payroll of any studio in Hollywood.

Five months ago, my name was Qingbai. The first girl I ever kissed had called me a pale Jenni, like it meant something, and I hadn’t known what she meant. But when I needed a name that sounded good with Suicide, I looked at my first set of photos and decided she was right. My smile makes me look impolite, like I’ve been startled thinking something I shouldn’t say. Hers could, with practice and a ten second timer between shots, look shy or sultry, demure or demonic. It’s acting, of a sort; it’s performing on camera, at any rate. This girl could say “gimme some sugar” and mean it — and if she took out ads in the magazines and put out feelers online, it was fine, because she was Qingbai asking for a daddy, and not Zhao Wen-Jun finally letting her father down all the way, falling face-first into the gutter.

Which brings us to tonight. Qingbai often has messages from men who think they’re worth her time, as well as some from women, who Jenni finds more interesting. But tonight’s proposal was the first one worth taking seriously. Tonight was a night for me to fancy up my hair (braid down one shoulder, shaved short on the other side; very modern) dig out my makeup, and put on my graduation dress and heels. Low heels. I’m tall — I get told so a lot — and I didn’t want to risk being taller than the man I’m going to meet.

His name was Vincent, and he said he was the night manager at a security agency. Not the owner, not yet, not the franchise holder, but he has plans, and he told me all about them over dinner at the Empire Arms. His treat. In shoes, I was a little taller, but out of them things were reversed; I kicked them off under the table, rubbed a stockinged foot against his ankle. He did something with his teeth — not quite licking his lips, but something with a sharp breath and a flick of the tongue — so I assume it worked.

Vincent didn’t eat much. Every time I took a glance at his plate he seemed to be playing with his food, meat stripped thinner and thinner, going near his lips but never going in. Every time he held my gaze for a moment and I lost my place. For all that he was a boring man, a middle manager going places any day now, he had the nicest eyes. Duck egg blue. One look at them and he had my attention again, and I’d forget about the seared pork loin he wasn’t eating right up until I looked again. It took a few goes round for the fact to stick, and that was about when he’d had the plate cleaned away and talked business.

Where he was going, he said, it was a disadvantage to be a single man. He wanted a fellow traveller; someone sharp, who could be his sounding board and keep books. Someone with a little character, who’d draw eyes at the club. I told him it was okay to say exotic, I wouldn’t mind, and I tried to keep my dessert down as I said it. That was not what he meant, he said. He meant the degree; the hairstyle; the tattoos.

(I have three, and this dress flaunts two of them; they all disappear in short sleeves and long shorts. Sorority butterfly on my shoulder, redone with geometric lines so I could stand the sight of it. Sigil on my left thigh, relic of a sophomore-year dabbling with witchcraft. Phoenix on the small of my back, always behind me where it belongs. My father called me Chufeng when I was a very little girl indeed; she was the first girl I was, and I can’t quite bear to forget her.)

“Sure,” I said, and laughed. And he smiled and said he was serious, and did I want to dance?

I’m a terrible dancer, but Vincent wasn’t much better, and both of us were too sober to really enjoy it. Mostly, it was a decency thing. A next step. Getting us a little comfortable with being a little closer. One touch at a time, so we were both ready for what came next.

Try before you buy.

I meant it about his eyes. I could have lived with waking up and looking into those eyes. Vincent was mostly OK, six out of ten, but what was I? An eight at my best, and I knew what this was about. This did not have to be true love; it had to be compatibility, security, someone to come home to and a home to be someone in. It had to be staying out of Chinatown, where I could go on being Jenni, and not going home to be Wen-Jun. I’d given it my best shot alone, and I was failing. The best years of my life were over, but maybe Vincent could drag them out for longer.

So we danced, badly, and I kissed him for a little too long, trying too hard not to seem desperate. And he had a room, he said. In case things went well. If we didn’t want to go home, straight away. I carried my heels into the elevator and he already had his palms on my thighs before we hit the fourth floor. His hands were cold, at first, but warm by the time we were through the door and undressing. I struggled with his tie — like the dancing, it’s easier when you don’t have to do it backwards in heels — and once my dress was unzipped he left my bra clasp alone, slipping a strap down my shoulder and kissing my neck. Kissing like he meant it, for the first time all night. He tugged on my braid — not hard, just a little traction, opening up my throat — and I had just enough time to wonder if I was going to be thrown about harder than I wanted here, if I had made a terrible mistake, before I stopped thinking anything very much at all.

It felt wonderful. It felt the way flowing honey looks — slow and heavy and gold. I think I was crying, with his hands at the small of my back and the back of my head, and his tongue on the hollow of my collarbone. Something in me knew what was happening — knew I had been bitten, that I had to pull away, had to run, if I wanted to live — but it was shouting from the side of the water, and I was already drowning.

Twenty seconds. I remember because the hands of the clock were the first thing I could focus on — the whitest thing on a dark and hazy wall.

“Do that again,” I said, and he asked was I sure?

I had never been more sure of anything in my life.

Again. Again. And again.

The last time was two minutes ago. By then I was lying on my back on a hotel bed, with a man I had just met doing ecstatic, unbelievable things to the left hand side of my neck. By then I was already dying.

“Stay with me,” Vincent said. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” Vincent said. “But I don’t want to just kill you, and I do need a… companion.”

My last words, I think, were a slurred “what do you mean?”

“Look at me,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

That brings us up to the here and now. I have been Chufeng and I have been Zhao Wen-Jun and I have been Qingbai Suicide and I have, most of all, been Jenni Zhao: and she, as of tonight, is who I always will be.

[dollarbin]

Dollar Bin #27:

Willie Nelson Sings Kristofferson

When I was eight years old my parents took me to see my first naked lady. Let me tell you all about it.

I grew up in LA but had no real relationship to Hollywood; yes, we'd take periodic trips to Universal Studios to ride through the one foot high Red Sea, see the Psycho house and climb on props from The Incredible Shrinking Woman, but Ricky Schroder didn't live on my block and my dad was a house painter.

My only connection to Hollywood and fame was my mom's famous cousin Kris, who we'd see once every other year or so. Kristofferson has never known me from Adam but, like me, he loved my mother and deeply loved my grandmother. He was also incredibly handsome, kind, deeply masculine and, by that point, stone cold sober. So of course he was my idol.

And so when Songwriter, Kris's totally forgettable buddy flick with Willie Nelson, came out in 84, I begged my parents to take me to see it. The movie was about writing, I argued, and I was going to be a writer when I grew up. I was eight years old and I was already full of crap; the movie is almost as dumb as I was:

Bizarrely, my parents agreed to take me, and next thing you know my mother was literally covering my eyes with her hands as Cousin Kris cavorted with a naked lady who clearly wasn't his wife and who had the world's biggest knockers. Happily, my mother's fingers are skinny, so I got an eyeful. The movie taught me absolutely nothing about writing, but I did start to wonder about naked ladies. They seemed pretty cool.

Still, I wondered just how Kris's lovely wife felt about him making such a movie. Every time I was around them, she was literally covered in their babies - there were way too many of them for me to begin identifying individual ages or names, especially as they all looked the same. Did she know, I worried, about the lady with the giant boobies? Would there marriage survive?

Well, it's 40 years later and I'm proud to report that they are still very happily married. Maybe she never bothered to watch Songwriter...

Thankfully Nelson and Kristofferson's relationship was not born on the movie lot, and based on the image on the back of Willie's 79 album Willie Nelson Sings Kristofferson and their time together in the Highwaymen, I sense that the relationship is a special one for both men.

In preparation for my discussion of the record, here's a warm-up, one-question, multiple choice, pop quiz on Nelson:

Question: How many studio albums has Nelson put out in his 61 year career?

54

38

565

100

Before you google the answer, let me provide a little perspective. Nelson and Bob Dylan both made their album debuts in 62; 6 years later Neil Young put out his first solo record. To date, Neil has 45 studio albums, or so, to his name, depending on how you count. Dylan, 40.

(Stephen Stills, as we all know, Sucks: in a career that's as long as Young's he's produced somewhere under 30 records or so, and that total generously includes all the C, S & N albums.)

Choice #1 in the above quiz makes sense. It would make Nelson slightly more productive than Neil and far more productive than Bob, and I can get my mind around that: Bob's production has slowed down considerably in the last 30 years, and Young's alternated between rushing things out half-baked (for example, everything he ever made with members of Willie's family in the Promise of the Real) or refusing to issue finished and impossibly great records for decades for no discernible reason (Homegrown, Chrome Dreams - you know, two of the best records of all time).

Choice #2, wherein Nelson spent less time in the studio than either Bob or Neil, could work too: Nelson is 4 years older than Dylan (Willie's 90!) and he didn't put out any records until his late 20's; plus he's always high, right? So maybe he's less prolific?

Choice #3 is included to make sure you're not a bot. If you are, Greetings, Machine. I hope you are enjoying my blog! Thank you for being 53 of my 59 followers. When you are done reading this please go attack some Russian servers or something, okay?

Choice #4 is nearly as wacko, right? How could Willie possibly have produced 1.64 albums a year, smoked all that supposed pot, evaded all those supposed taxes and made a terrible movie with Cousin Kris along the way? Can't be done, right?

Wrong. The correct answer is #4. Nelson has made an even 100 studio albums in his career. In 1982 alone he put out 4 records, 3 of which were issued in consecutive months. Holy Smoke, Willie!

Now I want to come right on out and say that I own, and have only heard, a fraction of those albums. I count 9 on my shelf at the moment and I'm no real authority on Willie. What's more, I've never been to Farm Aid, nor have I ever seen an Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground. I've never even smoked any of Nelson's herb and I'd decline it if offered. So, if you want to put me in a full Nelson in the comments and critique all the follows, be my guest.

But in the meantime I'm gonna act like I know a lot about Wet Willie and his impossible album total and argue that the sheer enormity of his output explains a few things about him generally and Sings Kristofferson in particular.

The album in question is alternatively workman-like, tossed off, intricate and sublime. I'm guessing he recorded it in a weekend of single takes after spending ten years singing the songs for his own pleasure. Let's dive into this Dollar Bin must-have.

To begin with, the hits are all here. Make a list of Kristofferson songs you know and they are probably all on the record.

Bobby McGee is given a country blues work up with an extended jam at the back end. Nelson rides the riff in baritone. The truth is that I've never heard a single version of this wonderful song that I really love other than Kris's own take: only he really understands how damn sad the story is. Roger Miller sings it like he's the gringo at the fiesta; Gordon Lightfoot gets the job done then moves on to songs of his own that mean much more to him; Janis Joplin rewrites it almost entirely, and while the result is classic, I have to remind myself that hers is the same song.

Much the same can be said for the album's Sunday Morning Coming Down. Nelson is thoughtful, takes the song to church and then the dance hall, and fills both spaces with stately grace.

I like playing Nelson's version of the song while putting together a nice weekend brunch for my family. There's plenty fresh hot coffee on hand for my wife and the egg sandwiches have avocado, swiss and homemade hollandaise. I pick out nice plates.

But the song is about beer for breakfast. And only Kristofferson really conveys just how much misery it contains:

And so I think that the real magic of Nelson's record lies in the songs Kristofferson got wrong on his own. Take You Show Me Yours (And I'll Show You Mine). Kris was pretty lost on alcohol when he blasted through his own version: there's a 4,000 member choir on hand along with a trashcan percussion section and too slick of a pianoman. All poor Kris can do is warble along.

But Willie uses the song to show off his pipes. And, oh, aren't they glorious!

And the album closes with something pretty extraordinary I think. Please Don't Tell Me How the Story Ends is a song Kris passed on to others in the late 60's. He didn't attempt a version of his own until the 3rd album he made with Rita Coollidge and that record is straight up boring. Their marriage was already over; the story had already ended.

But Nelson's version is startlingly perfect. Just sit with me a moment. Enjoy it, till it's over. And lean in for the second line of the second verse. I find the note Willie hits for "softer" to be one of the most surprising and sublime moments in my entire Dollar Bin.

I kind of imagine Nelson will live to 100 and put out another 25 records. But Cousin Kris will surely pass away in the coming days, months or years. So too will Bob and Neil. I honestly hate to think about it. Just like me, they are all flawed men, yes, but I believe they are important artists and their contributions have been, and will continue to be, deeply positive.

When the day comes and I hear of Kris's passing, I'll surely put on this record and think with appreciation of the really nice moments I was lucky to spend in his company as a kid. I'll think of his wonderful songwriting, and I'll think of the loving pride with which he stood beside my grandmother. I'll probably remember too how he granted me my first look at boobies.

And when Willie Nelson begins to sing in Please Don't Tell Me How... and describes so perfectly a last night spent together, I'll sit still and close my eyes, saying a little prayer in my own way.

That's how I want the story to end.

[smokeybrandreviews]

Sound of Propaganda

Cats keep telling me to go see Sound of Freedom but i literally don't care enough to make that happen. It's this year's op Gun: Maverick, another film i haven't seen or have any desire to see. I'm not religious. I'm not Conservative. I don't wank the military industrial complex. I don't buy into weirdly pedophilic conspiracy theories. I think Jim Caviezel is a zealot and completely out of his goddamn mind. There is nothing about that film which appeals to me. Cats keep talking about the narrative and how it's about saving kids which, cool. So are other, better, films. But this one is based on a true story, I hear you say. It's about a hero. So was American Sniper and that guy was a psychopath who enjoyed murdering people. You're crazy of you think this movie is actual history or that it's telling a story even close to real life events. I get it. With the state of the world, people want to feel same kind of way. I'm not knocking you if you saw this flick and it made you happy or whatever. I'm just saying i don't care. At all. I'm not actively rooting for i to fail, competition is always welcome, but i, personally, do no give a sh*t about anything involving this flick. I don't care that this thing doesn't have screens. I don't care that there is some goofy conspiracy about AMC and "Big Hollywood" sabotaging this film. No one is that invested, man. You think Bob Iger gives a sh*t that some Right Wing, emotionally manipulative, pandering ass, propaganda-masquerading-as-cinema, is doing well for itself in theaters? No. No one in Hollywood does. Sound of Freedom isn't a threat o anything. It's not changing anything. This isn't a situation where the little guy is sticking to the man. This is a situation where the Man is letting the little guy have a bit of fun because he is distracted by a whole ass revolt on the factory floor. This ain't the W people want me to believe it is and i am well aware of that. At the end of the day, this movie ain't for me. If it's for you, good on you, but this isn't some kind of movement. It's not a protest. Angel Studios will never be taken seriously by the public at large. Anything coming out of that joint is just counter-programming to whatever Hollywood decides to drop. It'll made a few dollars bu nothing that studio produces will ever have mass appeal. The optics around that studio skew very controversial across the country, even if it seems otherwise. I'm told this thing is pretty popular but, outside of my more conservative Hispanic and White friends, no one i knew has even heard about this movie. I literally just found out about this thing Friday because of someone asking my opinion about it on Facebook. They had seen a goofy ass Tik Tok about it. I had no idea Sound of Freedom existed. Why would i? This movie is everything i dislike about about the country, rolled all into one, tidy, hour and a half, viewing experience. I'm never going to see this thing. Even if it's free. i wouldn't waste my time. I got Barbenheimer to throw my West Coast, Elitist, Liberal dollars at.

[mechanicalinertia]

Okay, but seriously, there is no reason Bubblegum Crisis couldn't work again. Toei needs to recognize this and not just use super-established AIC IP's like Megazone and Tenchi. Those franchises are both ones that have no room to expand. An animated Bubblegum Crisis threeboot, on the other hand? It can be done.

Like, look, think of it this way. What's the three word elevator pitch? "Anime Cyberpunk Superheroines". These are all things people are separately goo-goo ga-ga about right now. Okay, maybe not superheroes so much anymore, but that's more a byproduct of the superhero-producing studios oversaturating their own market, I think the taste for superheroes that Gen Z and Generation Omega (the Fortnite generation?) has developed in their formative years will last a good long while. But anime just keeps getting bigger and bigger internationally (okay, Shonen Jump anime keep getting bigger and bigger but still), and cyberpunk aesthetics are kind of cool right now. So that's three big magic words.

It gets better, though:

Anime is comparatively cheap to make compared to your average superhero blockbuster: the Heaven's Feel movies, which were nonstop Ufotable-quality animation, were what, thirty million US each? That's peanuts for a big Western studio - the latest Indy flick apparently cost an order of magnitude more than that. Have Toei and some other company throw down twenty-five million each and you will have a very good looking anime movie, and then all you have to do is market the shit out of it the way you would a 'real' movie. And then you're a) saving money while making sure the movie still looks good (I refuse to believe there's enough CGI in the world to make BGC live-action look right) and b) showing something that is at once novel and yet familiar to a growing demographic.

BGC's relative obscurity is kind of a double-edged sword, you know? I don't get why so many studios insist on going after the big IP's, the ones that have legions of seething fanboys who have already convinced themselves that Hollywood will miss the point of their beloved franchises. Brand recognition is, in this case, kind of dangerous, because then there's more things people like that you could conceivably fuck up. (I mean, one easy way to not fuck up, say, Ghost in the Shell, is to not have the Transformers screenwriter write the script for a far more high-concept film, yeah? Jesus, what was Paramount thinking there?) BGC, though... I say this even as part of the fanbase, there just ain't enough of us to find the idea of an adaptation distasteful. BGC will feel new both to anime fans and to non-anime fans, relying solely on its bottled-lightning setup and a spattering of self-consumptive 80's nostalgia to succeed.

Actually, now that I think about it, you could market this to an R audience instead of a PG-13 one. Enough kids will have grown up on Iron Man and other Marvel flicks to like superheroes but maybe want something a little more mature in a few years, right?

It's like... you know how there's that Saint Seiya movie out right now? It's a fool's errand, trying to adapt something like that to live-action and then banking on the East Asian / Latin American market to carry it (it opened at #8 in Japan of all places). If nothing else, though, it shows that Toei is interested in marketing the IPs under their belt to a worldwide audience... so why not BGC?

Okay, so they could hire idiot writers and fuck it up royally. But there's a lot of factors that could make BGC work as a big honkin' PROPERTY.

[sheep33hallow]

Showtime (Wincest)

Tags: Outsider’s POV, ABO, Implied Mpreg, Football Player!Sam, Actor!Dean, discrimination

Word count: 1300

Rating: G

_____________

Hellhound’s Quarterback, Sam Winchester, was caught away from his fans and team who were celebrating their Superbowl win. The 10- year veteran was photographed kissing a person with a similar outline to his brother, and retired actor, Dean Winchester in a dark hallway with minimum light. 

Dean had started living with Sam after a knee surgery three years ago, and Sam said he was helping with his brother’s rehabilitation. Also, there has been a rumor going around that Dean, who we all know as the Omega who has broken many Hollywood traditions of being the face of multiple action movies, was pregnant. 

So we all have to ask ourselves. 

Have the Winchesters gone…..the old way? 

___________

Ellen: Hello, and welcome to the Roadhouse! (Ellen claps along with her co-stars at a dinner table on a set that looks like a restaurant. The studio audience is clapping along to their prompts from the showrunner next to the multiple cameramen.) 

Jo: (Next to Ellen) We have an amazing show planned for the show today. We will be talking about Ash, who is starring in a new movie about a recovering alcoholic. Bobby and Karen Singer are coming on to cook a meal for all to promote their new baking book. 

Ruby: And we all know how close the Singers are to the Winchesters. (She winks at the audience.) 

(The crowd oohs.) 

Meg: Now, now. (She pats Ruby’s wrist lightly.) The newspapers must be desperate to cook up this story. They’ve been obsessed with dear Sammy when he used to be a wreck in his early NFL days. (Meg lets her hand linger for a moment before removing it.) 

(Ruby smiles at her. Meg is the only one at the table who knows how deep Sam was into drugs with Ruby, but that’s because she’s married to Dean’s manager, Castiel. Everyone chalks it up to being young and dumb. Though Dean still side eyes her when she says hi to Sam at red carpet events.) 

Ellen: We did plan on talking about that later, but I guess we can do that now. Do we think Sam and Dean are together? 

Meg: I don’t. Sammy could do better than Dean. (Meg leans back in his chair. Her signature smirk on her face.) 

Jo: I truly don’t know. But his favorite topic is Sam. He barely likes to talk about himself. 

Ruby: Sam’s favorite topic is Dean. I’ll say it. I don’t think they’re together. 

(The crowd claps.) 

Ellen: I think they might be together. 

Jo: Mom! 

(The crowd laughs.) 

Ellen: (She waves her daughter off.) The Old Way is simply outdated, but not uncommon. All of you around aren’t as old as I am, so you didn’t go to siblings, and cousins mating ceremonies. The only reason it became outdated was because of President Dick in the eighties. I think he used it as a distraction from the Nutrition Gate allegations. 

Jo: (Turns to Meg) Would Dean lose his endorsement deals if he’s with Sam? 

Meg: (She scratches her chin with disinterest.) Castiel wouldn’t let that happen. They also have overseas deals with countries who never let go of the Old Way, and I doubt right now is the time for companies to show how discriminatory they are. (She chuckles in a low tone.) 

Ruby: (Claps, and shows her palms to the audience.) Well let’s ask. How many of you think that was Dean in the photograph? 

(Less than half of the audience raise their hands.) 

Ellen: (Flicks her hair out of her face.) Well let’s stop discussing the Winchesters, and talk about how the Hellhound’s won their five Super Bowl Title! 

____________

Benny walks into the Winchester’s home. Sam, and Dean are in their own little world while Dean cooks, and Sam is behind him at the stove. He doesn’t greet them, they know he’s there by his smell, and his access code to their home. 

He’s there for Castiel. 

Benny runs Dean’s public relations, and he needs to get their story straight since the lovebirds are in their little hormonal embrace. 

Also known as useless. 

If they had waited like Benny told them for Sam’s seasons to be over before mating, they wouldn’t have been craving each other to an impossible point, and makeout in a busy stadium. They should know by now, there is no such thing as an empty hallway when it comes to the celebrity status that the both of them carry. 

Thankfully most people don’t believe that it was Dean in the hallway with Sam. He can’t say the same thing will be true six months from now when a baby is living in their home. They’ll have to get their story straight. 

“Castiel.” His southern drawl tingles with annunciation of the Manager’s name. Castiel is outside on the backyard’s porch at a table. A pitcher of lemonade sits in the middle of the table, along with four glasses. Only two are filled up. “Is this one here, mines?” He sits down across from him. 

Castiel isn’t looking at him. He’s looking out into the sunlight, as if pondering life’s mysteries. “It can be.” 

Benny rolls his eyes. Picking up the glass, he takes a sip. “You can’t even pretend to make me feel special.” He chuckles. 

Castiel looks back at him, then down at his glass. “That one has bourbon in it.” 

Benny smirks. “Finally growing on you. Only took ten years.” 

Castiel smiles. “I am skeptical of most people. You know this. You were a man without a name for himself, but was able to help me build up Dean, along with all of the quirks he comes with.” 

“You mean his brother obsession.” 

Castiel nodded. “Even when Sam was in college, Dean would fly out from shooting his movies to see Sam play. Our old PR guy used to tell Dean to focus on his own job and to let Sam do his.” 

“Then he got depressed.” Benny said. 

“Then he got depressed.” 

“But then we wouldn’t have met at therapy.” Benny smiles wide. He salutes his glass toward Castiel. 

“Yes. True.” He clears his throat. “Let’s begin.” 

__________

Dean Winchester has had his baby! The rumors were true. Congratulations to the Action star! But wait? Who is the other parent you may ask? 

Dean said he used a donor! He hasn’t been able to meet anyone who wants to start a family with him, so he decided to start his own. That's beautiful people! We support going after what you want in life. 

Now you people online can stop harassing the Winchesters for staying silent for so long. If you’ve been pregnant before, you get how much the urge to nest, and disappear is. Let’s give a salute to Sam for supporting his brother. If he was as good at supporting his brother as he was at playing the game, maybe I would be $500 dollars richer. 

I kid. I kid people. :) 

Now, we finally have an answer for the mystery man who was kissing Sam during the Superbowl victory. 

It was Michael! Dean’s known stunt double. We’ve been seeing them out, and about it seems the two are very much in love! I guess if you can’t get the original, then get a copy! 

Now let’s continue to support the Winchesters! They are a legacy family in entertainment. Let’s hope the next generation is as amazing as the current. 

__________

Dean knows he shouldn’t allow his son to sleep in the bed with him, and Sam. They’re both so big, and could easily crush their child. He chooses to ask Sam to buy a bigger bed for all of them to sleep in, making it more comfortable for all involved. 

Donald sleeps in between them. He’s able to kiss his sleeping child, or feed him without much fuss. He’s never loved his life as much as he has at this moment.  

It’s nighttime, and both of his loves are sleeping next to him in the bed. 

He whispers, not expecting a response. “I’ll always love you most, Sammy.”

AO3

[bitter69uk]

"Prior to the advent of Dietrich, studios had been scrambling for a Garbo in their backlot. Now they wanted a Dietrich as well. Browless, languid, chain-smoking creatures poured into Hollywood from every corner of the globe. If they weren't born with a foreign accent, they quickly acquired one. They appeared through screens of cigarette smoke and vanished into them as quickly as they arrived … Hollywood talent scouts rummaged through Europe, returning with waves of exotics in their tow. In the search for substitutes many talented actresses were sacrificed." / From the book Marlene Dietrich (1968) by John Kobal /

The sacrificed talented continental actresses Kobal cites would number Franciska Gaal, Sari Maritza, Isa Miranda, Gwili Andre … and exquisite Russian actress Anna Sten (née Anna Petrovna Fesak, 3 December 1908 - 12 November 1993), who died on this day thirty years ago. In the 1930s Sten faced constant unfavorable comparisons to Greta Garbo and Marlene Dietrich (who could measure up to them?) but she was a radiant, sensitive actress in her own right. Her key Hollywood vehicles Nana (1934), We Live Again (1934) and The Wedding Night (1935) were all critical and commercial failures, but in retrospect they’re interesting failures and worth catching (some of them are viewable on Amazon Prime). Funnily enough, one of my favourite Sten performances is much later in the forgotten 1956 juvenile delinquent exploitation flick Runaway Daughters. In a secondary role, Sten plays the adulterous “bad role model” mother still clinging to her partying flapper ways into middle age, and she attacks the part with a febrile intensity that anticipates Isabella Rossellini. 

Anna Sten, 1934 (by pictosh)

…for “The Wedding Night” (USA 1935)

Costume Design by Omar Kiam

[linuxgamenews]

Experience the Excitement of Hollywood Animal: A Tycoon Game Like No Other

Hollywood Animal to create a boutique movie studio in this tycoon game for Linux, Mac, and Windows PC. All credit goes to the creative minds at Weappy Wholesome. Due to make its way onto Steam Early Access in 2025. Get ready to live out your movie making dreams with Hollywood Animal. In this game, you’re the boss of your very own film studio, setting up shop under the sunny skies of California. But here's the catch — just building some fancy offices, hiring a few talented folks, and cranking out stories won’t cut it. Nope, in Hollywood Animal, you're up against some fierce competition. And trust me, these rivals are not just some background noise. They’re sneaky, ruthless, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get ahead. What’s awesome about Hollywood Animal is how much freedom you have. Want to build a film empire with blockbuster hits that rake in billions? Go for it. Or maybe you'd prefer a small but mighty studio that crushes it at all the indie festivals? That's an option too! You could even go wild and build a studio that pumps out low-budget flicks packed with gore and chaos, challenging everyone’s idea of "good taste." The choice is yours—this game isn’t going to hold your hand or tell you how to play. It’s all about having fun while keeping your studio afloat in a pretty cutthroat world. Want a sneak peek at how wild things can get? Check out the latest gameplay video.

Hollywood Animal — disguised as a tycoon game

But here's where things get really interesting. The film industry isn’t just about making movies — it's part of a bigger, messier world. You’ll also have to navigate everything from political scandals and censorship to shady deals and sketchy rivals. Sometimes it’ll feel like you’re swimming through a sea of problems, but if you play your cards right, you could turn chaos into a chance. You'll be making deals, forming alliances (or betraying them), and figuring out the best way to stay ahead of your enemies. There’s no easy path to success here — you’ve got to hustle, negotiate, and adapt to survive in this wild world of Hollywood. Ready to dive in and become a tycoon? Mark your calendars — Hollywood Animal releases via Steam Early Access on January 16, 2025. Due to be in development until late 2025, so there’s plenty of time to see how it evolves. And if you can’t wait to get a taste of the action, there’s a free demo coming in December, playable on Linux via Proton. It’s the perfect chance to sharpen your skills before taking on the Hollywood giants. The demo and full version will be available in tons of languages. Including English, Simplified Chinese, Spanish, Russian, German, Japanese, Korean, French, Brazilian Portuguese, Belarusian, and Ukrainian. So wherever you're from, you'll be able to enjoy the journey. Coming to Linux, Mac, and Windows PC. Check out the Hollywood Animal Steam page and start planning your film studio empire. See you on the red carpet

[themovieblogonline]

Hollywood Hookup: Sony Crashes the Paramount-Skydance Party

Hold onto your popcorn! Paramount Pictures, the studio that brought us blockbuster franchises like "Top Gun" and the undersea pineapple dweller "SpongeBob SquarePants," is in the midst of a major plot twist. While Paramount and Skydance were busy whispering sweet nothings about a possible merger, Sony Pictures Entertainment just swooped in with a surprise proposal. That's right, folks. Sony, the tech giant behind your PlayStation and your favorite superhero flicks (think "Spider-Man"), is teaming up with investment firm Apollo Global Management to potentially buy Paramount. This unexpected move throws a wrench into the Paramount-Skydance tango, which already had some investors grumbling. Here's the down-low: Sony and Apollo haven't exactly popped the question yet. Paramount is still playing the field, keeping its options open with Skydance. But Sony's offer is an all-cash deal, which might be hard for Paramount to resist. Imagine, Paramount becoming a subsidiary of the Sony empire, its marketing and distribution muscle merging with Sony's powerhouse. Things get a little murky when it comes to CBS, Paramount's prized possession, and its cable channels. How they'd fit into this potential Sony-Paramount mashup is anyone's guess. On the other hand, the Skydance deal offered some tech and animation expertise, courtesy of David Ellison's crew (including Pixar's former honcho John Lasseter). Their plan was to streamline operations and beef up Paramount's streaming service. So, what does this studio showdown mean for you, the moviegoer? If Sony wins Paramount's heart, it could create a media behemoth. Think of it as a colossal company controlling a treasure trove of TV channels and movie studios. But fear not, Sony's CEO has experience handling both TV and movie productions. This whole Paramount bidding war is just getting started, and it'll be interesting to see who gets the final rose. Stay tuned, movie fans, because the drama is far from over! Source: New York Times https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=17GqfA3JmSY

[lizzygrantarchives]

Elle UK, June 2017

The world has changed and so has Lana Del Rey, whose new album, Lust For Life, is her most outward-looking yet. But as she swaps her melancholic persona for raw authenticity, how does she maintain her magic? We meet Lana on a hot afternoon in ‘Hollyweird’ (as she calls it), and discover the voice of a generation that’s ready to sing.

Does Lana Del Rey really live right inside the middle of the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign, and spend most of her nights perched high above the chaos that swirls within the city of angels below, as the teaser for her new album, Lust For Life, suggests?

Or does she rent a house in LA’s Santa Monica or Silver Lake or someplace else she’s not about to divulge, in case, having taken a cryptic February tweet of hers literally, a posse of her 6.3 million well-meaning Twitter followers show up on her doorstep with the ‘magic ingredients’ to cast spells on President Trump?

Does she really only dip her toes into ‘the muck and the mires of the city every now and then’, as she says in the album’s trailer? Or does she ‘go out quite a lot actually’, as she tells me when we meet, and spend her nights having fun with a tight crew of mainly musician mates, dancing at house parties, going to gigs and occasionally wrestling the microphone from her male friends to sing Hotel California in karaoke bars? In this post-truth world, it feels pedantic to care too much either way.

The ‘real’ Lana Del Rey is a 31-year-old woman called Elizabeth Woolridge Grant, born in Lake Placid, New York. She’s close to her younger sister – Chuck, a photographer – but less so to her parents, Patricia and Robert, and her little brother, Charlie. They’re a family of individual she tells me: ‘It was natural that we all went down our own separate paths, and we’ve all stayed there.’

We are sitting next to each other on a sofa in the Los Angeles recording studio where she has been creating her most musically accomplished work yet – the aforementioned album, Lust For Life, is destined to be the sound of this summer. Lana is fully present, smart, funny, engaging and refreshingly able to laugh at herself. She wears jeans and a vintage shirt, and she talks softly but with a compelling certainty. I like her all the more for the fact that no amount of everydayness negates the magic she exudes as a performer. To her fans, Lana exists in flickering Super 8; the Manic Pixie Dream Girl who comes with no baggage or bad days, but is here only for you in a Valencia-filtered fantasy. She’s an idea of a woman who didn’t grow up anywhere, but emerged fully formed from the elevator at the Chateau Marmont Hotel. She’s a montage of Americana, finished with a flick of black eyeliner.

Both the reality and the fantasy of Lana Del Rey make up a fully formed, albeit exceptional, human being. But, as Lana tells me, inhabiting these two worlds hasn’t always been easy: ‘I know that if I had more of a persona then [when she released her breakthrough hit, Video Games, on the internet in 2011] I have less of one now. I think it comes down to getting a little older. Maybe I needed a stronger look or something to lean on [back then]. But it wouldn’t really be hard for me today to play a mega-show in jeans without rehearsing and still feel like I was coming from the right place.’

I suggest that the scrutiny Lana was put under by the media for having a melancholic persona was unfair. Everyone, to some degree, presents a different side of themselves at work, right? Plus, she’s hardly the first artist to change her name or cultivate a distinctive stage look. Yet, countless conspiracy theories called into question her appearance, talent, and family background around the time her second album, Born To Die, was released in 2012 – but Lana is remarkably understanding.

‘Looking back now, I get a little more of what they’re saying. When I was in the mix of a lot of reviews and critiques, I was kind of like, “What? I do my hair and my make-up just like everyone else for my pictures and my show, and yes my songs are melancholic, but so are whoever else’s.” So to see a couple of other female artists not get criticised made me think, “What is it about me?”’

In hindsight, she says, she understands what the criticism and intrigue over her authenticity as an artist was about: ‘I think it comes down to energy, I really do. It wasn’t overtly saying “I’m unhappy” or “I’m struggling” in my music, but I think maybe people did catch that and they were saying, “If you’re going to put music like that out there, you better fess up to it.” But I don’t think I really knew how felt. Then when things got a little bigger with the music I was still figuring out what was important to me.’

I get the sense that she’s done a lot off figuring out in the past few years, like many of us now in our early thirties probably have done too. The difference with Lana, of course, is that all her experimentation, mistakes and regrets were fodder for public consumption. I mention that sinking feeling I get when I stumble across an old diary or a Facebook post that feels like it was from a totally different place to where I am now. I ask if she can relate.

‘That applies to me,’ she says. ‘I have cringy moments. Certain things I have said and songs I have done, but mostly the ones that were leaked… I mean, they’re not my finest.’

She’s talking about her computer being hacked in 2010, when hundreds of unfinished songs were released online, without her permission. It was a horrible invasion of her privacy, and it leads on to a discussion about vulnerability – though interestingly, it’s not a word she says she has ever applied to herself.

I ask her what performing on stage takes from her emotionally and what she gains from it, her amphitheatre shows usually hold up to 24,000 people at capacity. She fixes me with a not-at-all vulnerable look and says, ‘Well, it depends on the day. If I’m having a good day, it still takes a lot, but so much of it is physical. I try to take strength and sing from my core, so I have to actually feel good and get a lot of sleep. Of course, it also helps if my personal life is even; when you’re on stage for an hour and 40 minutes, you think while you’re singing. I don’t like my in-between thoughts to be restless, or worrisome, so I can focus on the crowd.’

After a show, she feels reflective and needs time to process it. ‘It’s not like you do it and it didn’t happen; it’s a real experience. I know rock bands who say they fucking love it – that they would [perform] every night and wouldn’t do anything else. I don’t know if it’s as emotional an experience for them [as it is for me].’

Back to that need to feel good and have an ‘even’ personal life, Lana has lived in both New York and London, but says Los Angeles is starting to feel like home, and that’s a big part of what’s making her happy right now. ‘I’m growing my roots and meeting a lot of other friends, so I feel a little more settled.’ In her downtime, she loves swimming in the ocean. ‘I have a friend called Ron who likes to swim with me. So every now and then, we find an empty beach, jump in and swim the length of the coast, from one side of the cove to the other.’

Her friends are her family, says Lana, and that’s why she can’t accept anything less than total honesty and trust from them: ‘The fact that l know that now everything a lot clearer. What’s interesting is how unsafe we [could] feel among each other [if we weren’t] able to express how we really feel. It’s hard knowing that if you tell someone exactly how you feel, like if you’re happy or unhappy, that could be the end of the relationship because they don’t feel the same way.’

We speak about the crews you pick up through your life and agree that, in your thirties, you are much better at surrounding yourself with people who make you feel good. ‘When you’re in your twenties, you let this cast of characters [into your life], especially if you’re in the arts,’ she says. ‘It didn’t matter what they stood for or what they thought was important. But as the years went on, there were things that I saw in people that I didn’t like.’

Lana is enjoying being part of a music scene in LA where her friends include photographer Emma Tillman (also the wife of singer-songwriter Father John Misty), Zach Dawes, who has played bass with the British super-group The Last Shadow Puppets, and musicians Jonathan Wilson and Cam Avery. They play music together, which is not something she’s done with friends before. The first time she had dinner with the whole gang, she thought: ‘Wow, this is great.’ She tells me: ‘Feeling part of something is definitely a nice feeling.’ The downside to rolling with a crew of fellow musicians is that karaoke becomes a competitive sport. ‘If I am with the guys, they’re always on the microphone and sometimes it’s hard to grab it from them. Everyone pretends that it doesn’t matter, but you can tell there are moments in the choruses when people are really singing.’

We laugh and I feel pleased that I’m meeting Lana at a time in her life when, as she puts it: ‘All the tough things that I have been through – that I’ve drawn upon [in my work] – don’t exist for me any more. Not all my romantic relationships were bad, but some of them challenged me in a way that I didn’t want to be challenged, and I am happy I don’t have to do that now.’

I don’t mean to rain on her parade, but I ask whether she feels that when she admits she’s happy that something bad might be just around the corner? ‘Yes, sometimes. I have a little bit of that feel that it’s a human thing to be superstitious. Sometimes I say to my friends, “I don’t want to jinx it.” Or if l’m on the phone I’m like, “I’m so excited about this”, and then waiting for that phone call the next day… but there’s no such thing as jinxing it. Just let go.’

The key to happiness, she says, is to ask yourself what will make you happy: ‘I try not to do anything that won’t [make me happy], even if it’s a show in a place that doesn’t suit me. It’s so simple; I always used to ask myself that, but never listened to the answer because I knew I was probably going to do it anyway. If someone really needed me to do something, I would probably be like, “OK!”’

I wonder if we put too much emphasis on being happy and that in itself causes stress and anxiety, but Lana passionately disagrees: ‘No! I think happiness is the ultimate life goal. I think it’s the only thing that’s important. There are no mechanisms in place for routes to happiness, that’s the whole fucking problem. I think people are unhappy in school – the education structure has been the same for a long time and kids are still not satisfied all over the world with their educational experience. And you don’t have enough conversations when you’re young about what makes for a satisfying mutual relationship. Those collective life experiences – your youth, your academic education and your education about business, marriage or relationship goals they all lead up to happiness. I think the emphasis is on the wrong things, and it has been for a long time.’

Lana tells me she’s more socially engaged than ever; her fifth and latest album is a mix of personal introspection and outward-looking anthems, such as God Bless America, in which she sings: ‘God bless America and all the beautiful women in it.’ She says that, with this record, she was striving for a feeling that we’re all in this together: ‘I think it would be weird to be making a record during the past 18 months and not comment on how [the political landscape] was making me or the people I know feel, which is not good. It would be really difficult if my views didn’t line up with a lot of what people were saying.’

We discuss being constantly bombarded with news and other people’s views in our hyper-connected world, and I ask how she reconciles her personal wellbeing with the collective feeling that we are all going to hell in a handcart.

‘I think it’s a balance, I really do. You are so fortunate if you have good health and high energy because it takes a lot to be a responsible human. Responsible to yourself, responsible to others, and to know when not to get too deep into the wormhole of news, but still be politically in-the-know and not be disconnected. In my life, it’s like walking on a tightrope. I read the news, but I won’t read it before bed; I won’t read it when I get up and won’t read it between my recording sessions. I have windows of time where I check in and catch up with everyone, but I keep my sacred things sacred.’

And as for her paean to America’s women? ‘I wrote God Bless America before the Women’s Marches sprung up, but I could tell they were going to happen. As soon as the election was over, I knew that was going happen. People were way more vocal and more active on social media and in real life, so I realised a lot of women were saying out loud that they needed support and they were nervous about some of the bills that might get passed that would directly affect them. So yes, it’s a direct response in anticipation of what I thought would happen, and what did happen.’

Predicting the Women’s Marches must have taken a seriously smart, social instinct, or some kind of sorcery straight from one of her otherworldly Lust For Life trailers. Whatever you think, you can’t deny that the pulse of the zeitgeist beats throughout Lana’s new album, from her pop collaboration with The Weeknd on the title track to the moody duet with John Lennon’s son, Sean, and my personal favourite, Yosemite, a beautiful song about the way relationships change over time.

After she plays me this track in the very room in which it was recorded, I can’t help but ask what Lana is like as a girlfriend. ‘I’m amazing. I’m the best,’ she jokes, before clarifying, ‘I actually am the best girlfriend because I only get into a relationship if I’m really excited about it. I’m unconditionally understanding, very loving and like to be with that person for a lot of the time.’ After hearing Yosemite’s refrain that she’s no longer a candle in the wind, which to mean she’s found a steadier light in her life, I wonder whether what she looks for in a relationship has also changed? ‘For me, the dream is to have a little bit of the edge, the sexiness, the magnetism, the camaraderie, be on the same page and all that stuff, but without the fallout that comes from a person who is really selfish and puts only their needs first, which is like a lot of frontmen if we’re talking about musicians!’ (Lana has previously dated Barrie-James O’Neill, the Scottish lead singer of alt-rock band Kassidy.) ‘I’m going to write a book one day called, “The curse of the frontman and why you should always date the bassist.”’

Lana smiles, takes a sip of her iced coffee, and says: ‘I guess have a little bit of a fantasy that really great relationships, friendships, and romances can stand the test of time. Even though each person in the relationship or the group changes, they don’t change in ways that would make the relationship come to an end. The chorus [of Yosemite] is about doing things for fun, for free, and doing them for the right reasons. It’s about having artistic integrity; not doing things because you think they would be big, but because the message is something that’s important. And then, it’s about just being with someone because you really can’t see not having them in your life, not because it would be “beneficial” to you to be in their company. It’s that concept of just being in a relationship for 100% the right reasons. Being a good person, basically.’

Lana Del Rey is mercurial – just when you think you’ve got her she slips through your fingers like quicksilver – but in that hot second, I think I see her clearly: an artist who is rising from the ambiguity of youth and emerging into a woman with an authentic vision for her life and her art. Yes, that might one day fade like the barely there ‘Chateau Marmont’ tattoo on her left wrist, but right now her power is in sharp, unfiltered focus.

Originally published in the June 2017 issue of Elle UK with the headline California Dreaming.

[bitter69uk]

“Connie Stevens was just another Monroe-style starlet with platinum hair and a little girl voice when she first hit Hollywood in the late fifties. Had she appeared on the scene just a trifle earlier, that image probably would have stuck. However, by the time Connie started to make the rounds, the Era of the Teenager was in full flower, so Warners decided to turn her into the girl-next-door type – a sort of singing Sandra Dee … When the time seemed right, Warners paired her with Edd Byrnes on “Kookie, Kookie (Lend Me Your Comb).” She couldn’t miss, and she didn’t. For Connie’s first solo release, Warners provided her with “Sixteen Reasons”, a formula ballad which had Connie pledging her Ten Commandments of Love. The lyrics were corny, but it was a passable slow dance tune and as such hung around the top of the charts for twenty-four weeks … All things considered, Connie Stevens was one of the few studio-manufactured teen stars of the fifties who managed to hold onto lasting stardom. She continues to show up in things like The Hollywood Squares and Grease 2 and of course her celebrity hasn’t been hurt by her much-publicized marriages to actor James Stacey and the inimitable Eddie Fisher.”

/ From Rock’n’Roll Confidential by Penny Stallings, 1984 /

Born on this day: bouffant-haired, baby-voiced singer, actress, ultra-kitsch sex kitten in the tradition of Ann-Margret and Joey Heatherton, Vegas headliner and proprietress of her own skincare line – Miss Connie Stevens (née Concetta Rosalie Ann Ingolia, 8 August 1938)! Baby boomers will remember Stevens best as Cricket Blake on TV’s Hawaiian Eye (1959 - 1963). For children of the seventies, she was a regular guest star on the likes of Love Boat and Fantasy Island. More recently, David Lynch made haunting use of her 1959 hit “Sixteen Reasons (Why I Love You)” in Mulholland Drive (2001). I love Stevens best for her storming  girl group-style 1963 song “Little Miss Understood”, the 1974 so-bad-it’s-a-camp masterpiece made-for-TV Marilyn Monroe biopic The Sex Symbol (find it on YouTube!) and the 1976 exploitation flick Scorchy (“She’s killed a man, been shot at, and made love twice already this evening … and the evening isn’t over yet!”).

Connie Stevens on the set of “Hawaiian Eye", early 1960s.

[my-weird-news]

🔥 Culture Clash Explodes in Movie About Child Trafficking!

Right-Wing Blockbusters: Where Explosions Meet Ideology So, picture this: the culture war marches into the movies, but it’s not just your regular ol' conservative grumble about movies being too darn liberal. Nope, nowadays, conservative filmmakers are storming in with their own flicks, waving the flag of unexpected hits and a truckload of ideology. And guess what? They're rocking the cinematic stage, complete with moral panic, secret leftist conspiracies, and a good dash of feeling persecuted. Cue the spotlight on the latest sensation in this right-wing rollercoaster: Sound of Freedom. Starring none other than Jim Caviezel, this film does a little tap dance on the true-ish story of Tim Ballard, the man behind Operation Underground Railroad (OUR). With Elon Musk and Mel Gibson cheering from the sidelines, the movie squared off against Indiana Jones and his magical dial thingy. And get this: it reportedly out-earned Harrison Ford's adventure by a few million bucks. Not too shabby for the underdog indie, huh? But wait, the tale takes a turn towards the absurd. Left-wing folks start aiming their snark cannons at Sound of Freedom, not just for its QAnon-like vibes, but also at the way people are watching it. I mean, some of these viewers are acting like they're at a Top Gun reunion! Is this a movie or a patriotic pilgrimage? Oh, and if that isn’t enough, the film's financial backer gets slapped with a felony kidnapping charge. Yeah, that’s right. Welcome to Hollywood, where reality is wilder than any script. Now, let's talk about the hype machine. Sound of Freedom wasn’t born in Tinseltown but found its savior in Angel Studios, a Utah-based indie company that crowdfunded its way to cinematic glory. They even got Tony Robbins to throw in some dough. Talk about a fan club! The film's not just a movie; it's a patriotic duty, a divine obligation to watch it. And the fun doesn't stop there. Caviezel himself steps in at the end, rallying the troops to buy more tickets and make Sound of Freedom the Uncle Tom's Cabin of modern slavery. Move over, popcorn, it's time to save the world! But as we dive deeper, we hit some rocky waters. QAnon, anyone? The film's not explicitly endorsing it, but the vibes are... there. Caviezel's been dancing with QAnon rhetoric like it's the cha-cha. And guess what? He's even comparing QAnon skeptics to Nazi and Klan fans. Bravo, maestro! Critics, meanwhile, are caught in a circus. They’re getting hit with threats and bizarre theories, all while trying to figure out if the film's really about child trafficking or just a twisted game of telephone. But hold on to your hats, 'cause Sound of Freedom isn't just a movie—it’s also a battlefield. There's the struggle between the film’s earnest plea to save the kids and its shadowy connection to QAnon’s wacky world. Who knew a blockbuster could be so complicated? And speaking of battles, can we just have a regular movie night without sparking a political inferno? Can conservatives enjoy their popcorn and liberals their candy without it turning into a civilizational showdown? But wait, there’s more! The movie's not just a movie; it’s a full-course meal of conservative values. Rugged heroes, patriotic fervor, and a dash of conspiracy—you know, the whole shebang. It's like a cinematic pizza topped with political pepperoni. But let's cut to the chase. Is it really about saving the kids, or is it just another front in the political rumble? OUR might sound heroic, but in reality, it's got a rap sheet of dubious claims and murky motives. So, let's unravel this puzzle: Is Sound of Freedom a crusade against child trafficking, or just a tool for conservatives to stick it to their lefty foes? Who knows, maybe the real rescue mission is rescuing the movie from the clutches of conspiracy. But hey, don't let all the chaos kill the vibe. At its core, Sound of Freedom is just an action flick. Explosions, adrenaline, and a good ol' dose of Hollywood escapism—it's like Taken, with a side of culture war. So, can we enjoy a movie without unleashing a political storm? Can we gobble popcorn without swallowing a whole ideology? It’s a cinematic tug of war, and the only winners seem to be confusion and controversy. In the end, whether you're on the left or the right, one thing's for sure: the movies have become a battlefield where ideology and entertainment wage a never-ending war. So, grab your ticket and buckle up—it's gonna be a bumpy ride! 🍿🎬# Right-Wing Blockbusters: Where Explosions Meet Ideology So, picture this: the culture war marches into the movies, but it’s not just your regular ol' conservative grumble about movies being too darn liberal. Nope, nowadays, conservative filmmakers are storming in with their own flicks, waving the flag of unexpected hits and a truckload of ideology. And guess what? They're rocking the cinematic stage, complete with moral panic, secret leftist conspiracies, and a good dash of feeling persecuted. Cue the spotlight on the latest sensation in this right-wing rollercoaster: Sound of Freedom. Starring none other than Jim Caviezel, this film does a little tap dance on the true-ish story of Tim Ballard, the man behind Operation Underground Railroad (OUR). With Elon Musk and Mel Gibson cheering from the sidelines, the movie squared off against Indiana Jones and his magical dial thingy. And get this: it reportedly out-earned Harrison Ford's adventure by a few million bucks. Not too shabby for the underdog indie, huh? But wait, the tale takes a turn towards the absurd. Left-wing folks start aiming their snark cannons at Sound of Freedom, not just for its QAnon-like vibes, but also at the way people are watching it. I mean, some of these viewers are acting like they're at a Top Gun reunion! Is this a movie or a patriotic pilgrimage? Oh, and if that isn’t enough, the film's financial backer gets slapped with a felony kidnapping charge. Yeah, that’s right. Welcome to Hollywood, where reality is wilder than any script. Now, let's talk about the hype machine. Sound of Freedom wasn’t born in Tinseltown but found its savior in Angel Studios, a Utah-based indie company that crowdfunded its way to cinematic glory. They even got Tony Robbins to throw in some dough. Talk about a fan club! The film's not just a movie; it's a patriotic duty, a divine obligation to watch it. And the fun doesn't stop there. Caviezel himself steps in at the end, rallying the troops to buy more tickets and make Sound of Freedom the Uncle Tom's Cabin of modern slavery. Move over, popcorn, it's time to save the world! But as we dive deeper, we hit some rocky waters. QAnon, anyone? The film's not explicitly endorsing it, but the vibes are... there. Caviezel's been dancing with QAnon rhetoric like it's the cha-cha. And guess what? He's even comparing QAnon skeptics to Nazi and Klan fans. Bravo, maestro! Critics, meanwhile, are caught in a circus. They’re getting hit with threats and bizarre theories, all while trying to figure out if the film's really about child trafficking or just a twisted game of telephone. But hold on to your hats, 'cause Sound of Freedom isn't just a movie—it’s also a battlefield. There's the struggle between the film’s earnest plea to save the kids and its shadowy connection to QAnon’s wacky world. Who knew a blockbuster could be so complicated? And speaking of battles, can we just have a regular movie night without sparking a political inferno? Can conservatives enjoy their popcorn and liberals their candy without it turning into a civilizational showdown? But wait, there’s more! The movie's not just a movie; it’s a full-course meal of conservative values. Rugged heroes, patriotic fervor, and a dash of conspiracy—you know, the whole shebang. It's like a cinematic pizza topped with political pepperoni. But let's cut to the chase. Is it really about saving the kids, or is it just another front in the political rumble? OUR might sound heroic, but in reality, it's got a rap sheet of dubious claims and murky motives. So, let's unravel this puzzle: Is Sound of Freedom a crusade against child trafficking, or just a tool for conservatives to stick it to their lefty foes? Who knows, maybe the real rescue mission is rescuing the movie from the clutches of conspiracy. But hey, don't let all the chaos kill the vibe. At its core, Sound of Freedom is just an action flick. Explosions, adrenaline, and a good ol' dose of Hollywood escapism—it's like Taken, with a side of culture war. So, can we enjoy a movie without unleashing a political storm? Can we gobble popcorn without swallowing a whole ideology? It’s a cinematic tug of war, and the only winners seem to be confusion and controversy. In the end, whether you're on the left or the right, one thing's for sure: the movies have become a battlefield where ideology and entertainment wage a never-ending war. So, grab your ticket and buckle up—it's gonna be a bumpy ride! 🍿🎬 Read the full article