#cinematic escapades

[kesarijournal]

The Great Indian Box Office Riddle: Muscle Mayhem vs. Martyrs' Valor

In the ever-bewildering world of the Indian box office, a new enigma emerges. The war hero epic “Sam Bahadur” stands with quiet dignity, yet it’s the rip-roaring “Animal” that gallops ahead, leaving a shimmering trail of muscled bravado and shattered records. What’s behind this phenomenon? Is it just our hunger for escape, or something more profound at play?**The Seduction of Escapism:**Life’s…

[lost-kingsmen]

((Has anyone else seen armored MMA? If not I recommend checking it out it's pretty cool but That's how I imagine Gawain fights when he really has to do hand-to-hand combat.

He prefers the choreography and improv of more Hollywood-esque swordfighting but the poor guy is hollow and only weighs, like, 27kg - he needs to take every advantage he can get.))

[hrrtshape]

　 v-day in my better cr, 　 　 volume ii . . .

so. if you, inexplicably, criminally, missed the valentine’s day saga (what were you doing? a sensory deprivation tank? a vow of silence? serving a light sentence at rikers?), you can read the full rundown elsewhere, aka at the top. but the tl;dr is that coryo flew me to paris and spent a borderline inadmissible amount of spoils on me. disturbing, actually. feels premeditated. but let’s not dwell.

꒰ day two.

next morning, i had that creeping, noir-movie score suspicion that he was plotting something again. something elaborate. something requiring a mise-en-scène shift. and oh, oh. guess. guess what. anyway. he tells me to dress nice but practical, like we’re off to climb everest. we’d be walking a lot, apparently. deeply untrustworthy.

so i sip my little mimosa. gnaw on a croissant. watch the outside air glitter in that way that makes you feel like the protagonist in a godard film. and then. and then.

we get dressed. we slip into a car he’s rented from free2move (if you know about my cr escapades, this is a crucial, ominous detail). we drive for thirty-five minutes. at every stop, like some kafkaesque harbinger of doom, that mickey mouse billboard flashes past. you’re getting closer. and i’m sitting there, freshly enlightened, clocking him. a day after valentine’s? disneyland? peak crowd levels? claustrophobia waiting to happen? it’s giving sardine tin. it’s giving battlefield. but sure. fine.

we arrive. and it’s disneyland, in all its grotesque splendour. the air smells like synthetic nostalgia and churros. within seconds, he’s dragging me into one of those manic little gift shops, buying me minnie mouse ears with the urgency of a man paying off a gambling debt. he spends the rest of the day adjusting them atop my hair like a stage mother fussing over a starlet. i try to make him buy some to match. he shoots me a look, the kind of side-eye that would make a lesser woman wither. whatever. we eat beignets in the cold while performing a forensic analysis of the general public’s outfits.

first ride, of course, has to be mad hatter’s tea cups. i make him get on. he gets off trying to act unaffected, like some postmodernist take on masculinity, but he looks one sharp movement away from projectile vomiting. then straight to haunted mansion because, obviously, it’s the best one. sublime. evocative. big thunder mountain next, where he keeps his arm around me like a bodyguard anticipating an assassination attempt. it’s a small world. he resists. i drag him anyway. by the end, he looks like he’s lived through a particularly harrowing wartime flashback. i document this moment for future blackmail.

i do attempt to push him towards cinderella for a photo. he refuses. but, plot twist, he does bow slightly to maleficent. he buys me another pair of minnie ears (concerning). we hit the studio park, ride ratatouille, and demolish seven consecutive snacks. at some point, i fake a bathroom break. deception!! espionage!! i slip behind him and pop the most aggressively bland, stoically masculine mickey mouse ears onto his head. he looks like a disgruntled victorian child being forced to pose for a family portrait. exquisite.

we tackle eight more rides. he grumbles, theatrically, about the prevalence of screaming children. someone side-eyes us for speaking english. i, a known non-american, take deep offence. we circle back to haunted mansion, because we understand art. and then. the fireworks show. it’s soft-focus, it’s cinematically framed, it’s almost sickening. he stands behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, whispering things, pressing kisses into my hair. disgusting. humiliating. we should be shunned by society.

then back to paris. tragic. except not really, because we return to the hemingway suite at the ritz, where everything is soft and golden and marlene dietrich probably committed minor sins. we steal champagne. as one does.

꒰ day three.

okay. next day. because, obviously, i am dating the most absurdly good-looking creature to walk this earth, the kind of man whose cheekbones could inspire revolutions. so, of course, he is taking me somewhere else. once more.

we wake up. my feet are dead. rigor mortis has set in below the knee. my entire existence is compromised. meanwhile, coryo, ever the sybarite, orders a hotel breakfast so luxurious it should come with a tax audit. freshly baked viennoiseries, fruit so plump it looks photoshopped, eggs that have been fluffed within an inch of their life. pain perdu drenched in maple syrup, glistening like a bribe. he reads something in french, butchering it magnificently. i correct him mid-bite.

little dress, little boots, big mistake. coryo, ever the pessimist or, rather, the man who knows me too well, grumbles about how my feet will fail me. he tucks ballet flats into my bag, muttering something prophetic. manifest destiny. foreshadowing. ah, literature.

we take the train (yes. train!!!!) to versailles. sitting side by side, heads resting against each other, the whole thing nauseatingly cinematic. every period drama you’ve ever seen, but with better hair.

versailles, golden and gaudy and ghost-ridden. we walk through the town, hand in hand, my scarf slightly askew because i am chic but incompetent. coryo keeps fixing it, scowling, something about how i’ll get cold, perish, and then what? he’ll be alone??? we reach the gates. he sighs. mumbling about how he should've been a king.

inside, the mirrors swallow us whole. coryo, predictably, stares at himself for too long. i take approximately 140 photos in the first twenty minutes. then, tragedy: he becomes insufferable. every gilded room, a fantasy. a pause. a prolonged stare. a solemn nod. an "i could live here." i drag him forward. then, revenge. marie antoinette’s bedroom. i coo. i sigh. i nearly weep. i try to sneak into a restricted area, whispering that i once read about a secret passage. now he drags me away. an even score.

ladurée. obscene quantities of macarons. he feeds me each one with theatrical precision, licking his fingers after every bite. infuriating. romantic. he earns a glare, a sigh, a begrudging toothy smile. we sit in the gardens, sharing a vape.

the petit trianon. coryo mutters something about buying it. i haul him back to reality. i reimagine us as illicit lovers in the 18th century, tell him i would’ve written him devastatingly good love letters, kept them tied in pink ribbon. he plays along, tragic and smirking. then, the temple of love. obvious. inevitable. he kisses me there.

but the best part, the part that sticks, is the little hamlet. disneyland if disney had taste. i say as much ten times. we agree, solemnly, that we like it better than disneyworld.

now. my boots. let’s talk about my boots. because despite the power of denial, my feet, shockingly, begin to ache. and then, as if scripted, coryo, my dearest prophet, pulls out the ballet flats. he carries my boots in his hands, refusing to dirty my bag. stupid. ridiculous. perfect. he earns a kiss for that.

as the sky bruises, we leave. rent a car (again). drive back to the hotel. somewhere between the road signs and his hand on my thigh, he kisses my cheek, murmurs for me to stay put. then, inexplicably, puts my boots away in our room himself. prince charming. (peep the ever after high dr).

dinner. eiffel tower in view. glasses clinking, candlelight flickering, some absurdly good food making its way into our bloodstream. disgustingly romantic. borderline illegal. the kind of night you never really recover from.

and then, a slow walk back, his arm heavy around my shoulders, the parisian night unfolding.

finite. no. jk. we spent two more days there but it’s nothing grandiose. and the reason this took me almost a month to write is. because. i was lazy. plus we broke up. but then got back together. so. everything's good.

[truevedicastrology]

Venus in Signs Unveiled 🌌

Embarking upon the cosmic tapestry, we unravel the intricacies of Venusian manifestations. 🔥

In the fiery realm of Aries, ardor reigns supreme, igniting a fervent pursuit. The thrill of an elusive paramour captivates them, yet ennui looms post-honeymoon. Their ardency, however, knows no bounds. 💖

In the sensual abode of Taurus, desire craves opulence. Lavish dates and regal treatment define their romantic utopia. Physical intimacy and emotional proximity intertwine, creating an immersive experience with their beloved. 💑

Gemini's Venus, an aficionado of spontaneity, hungers for intellectual engagement. Monotony befalls them swiftly, and commitment becomes an elusive concept. Their affections gracefully dance among multiple partners. 🕺💃

Cancer's Venus seeks a haven in their partner, a refuge akin to home. Nestled in cuddles, cinematic escapades ensue. Evading ephemeral dalliances, they gravitate towards enduring commitments. 🏡❤️

The regal Venus in Leo yearns to be the coveted prize, basking in public displays of affection. Loyalty intertwines with a penchant for inciting jealousy, creating a theatrical romantic landscape. 🎭👑

Virgo's Venus communicates love through acts of service. Nurturing their partner brings fulfillment, tempered with constructive criticism from a place of genuine care. ���💕

Libra's Venus craves equilibrium, desiring a relationship as a tranquil sanctuary. Discomfort breeds passive-aggression, a covert expression of unspoken grievances. Their loyalty surfaces when the cosmic scales align. ⚖️💏

Scorpio's Venus hungers for an immersive, profound love, scorning superficial connections. The tempest of excitement and chaos fuels their ardor, warding off the specter of ennui. 🌪️❤️

Sagittarius' Venus, an ardent admirer of romance, weaves tales of unparalleled significance. Charismatic honesty coexists with a penchant for exploring diverse romantic vistas. 📖🌍

Capricorn's Venus values mature, responsible partners. Love unfolds methodically, grounded in trust and reliability, transcending mere emotional fervor. 🧘‍♂️💖

Aquarius' Venus craves a camaraderie-fueled romance, where jest and banter abound. The shackles of a stifling union suffocate their individualistic essence. 🤣🤔

Pisces' Venus yearns for a soulmate connection, transcending the mundane. Their love, profound and unconditional, becomes a beacon for those drawn to exploit their open-hearted benevolence. 🌌💗

Follow our Facebook page Mage Magic Touch for personal consultations https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565561190268

[lunoval]

Overwatch... oh Overwatch.

Overwatch lore was good. Overwatch lore is bad. These are unfortunate truths, but what caused this change?

In the OW1 era, the lore was part of the reason the game gained its popularity. Putting aside the gooner aspects that (massively) boosted the game's numbers, most fans interacted with the lore via YT cinematics. I don't have to beat the drum on this point, it has been said many, many times before. They were good. Same with; we don't get cinematics anymore, and what we do get, never moves the story /forward./

But, I think it would be too easy to blame the lack of lore on the downfall of the company, or perhaps even whatever is left of the development team.

It's because they kept adding Heroes. Even before OW1 fully fell off, the issue began when Wrecking Ball was added to the game, with a completely missed opportunity for a compelling narrative. (Wrecking Ball’s DISLIKE for humans, opposed to Winston’s fondness for them.)

The lore of Overwatch has stagnated with our growing roster. The number of characters is now bloated to the point that telling a compelling narrative, providing entertaining content, having good storytelling, becomes highly difficult, if not impossible. 

Set aside the understandable economic reasons that the company running the game needed to keep releasing characters, to keep players numbers up while they still can. Those reasons are valid, and not what I want to focus on.

Overwatch lore can't move forward until the developers either A, Split up the group, scatter them across the globe into teams (so scenes have fewer characters present)  or B, Decide who the main character, or at least main cast, of the franchise is.

A - Splitting Everyone Up - The Overwatch 2 Announcement Cinematic was fun as heck to witness. The other 3D cinematics suck. Where half of the time, half of the characters visible on screen just stand awkwardly like extras, occasionally piping up with voice lines that resemble all previous dialogue. Splitting people up, sending characters on missions, would give opportunity for NEW interactions between these characters. It feels like each one of them only exists in a ‘cluster’ of adjacent Heroes, without meeting any new ones. Has D.VA met Junkrat? What does Bastion think of Genji? What does Zenyatta think about Zarya? What does Lucio think about working with Symmetra? Seeing these characters stand in a room, with confirmed issues with each other, without getting to witness any of their personality is boring, and the porn had better writing.

B - So many characters. So, so many plot threads. I'm not going to try and list them all, I'm just going to tell you the questions I have. Off the dome.

Are we going to get any in-universe explanation for the more magic-ky stuff, or are we just taking the actual magic ghost dragons at face value?

Will DVa choose to prioritize protecting her country, or dedicating herself to Overwatch?

Will Reaper and Soldier ever kis-

What did Moira do to Widowmaker exactly/any hope for saving her?

How are Sigma’s powers and the Iris connected?

Anymore information on that mystery group Sombra is after? 

Why/How is Bastion sentient/thinking?

Will the rest of the world ever clean up the radioactive Australia?

This is all just to name a FEW of the potential directions this story could go.. It's a dense world, with a lot I enjoy. That's the sad part for me. Overwatch is, honestly, an IP truly possible for many shades of quality production, that blends a lot of genre’s… decently enough. The robot sci-fi gritty narrative with the Omnics and the humans. Hints of fantasy, or incomprehensible science, with the more powerful/harder to believe abilities or powers. The existence of ‘old gods’ being functionally confirmed with the release of Illari. All of Australia; the entire continent was left radioactive, and could easily fit Mad Max-style escapades. A good old fashioned shootout. Actual ninjas. Rescue missions. The changing of the guard, old Overwatch hanging the reins over to the new, younger members.

Good things, cool things, we will likely never see from any company that ever gets their hands on the IP. The personal narratives for each Hero are either completely stagnant(Sorry, but Winston) or barely existed (Baptiste,Sojourn,Junker Queen, Life Weaver), or are only relevant because of ties to another character that’s more relevant. (Wrecking Ball-Winston, Ashe-Cassidy, Echo, Kiriko-Hanzo/Gengi, Illari, Mauga). Venture, Juno, and Freyja are newer characters that I don’t want to hold to the same standard, but I doubt it’s going to change.

I understand that because it’s an FPS, how can they ‘move the plot forward’(with any real stakes of death)  if they don’t want to change the main game, but then they never should’ve brought up any sort of story mode. OW was always building up a compelling narrative, if you try to tell me they bailed on what could’ve been an absolute beast of interwoven modern story telling because they felt scared to bend the rules, I call chicken shit. Kill Reinhardt off in the lore, and keep him in the game. 

But, such is the way this stuff goes. Anyways, imma go search up sojourn thighs on twitter. If this gets even 5 notes, I’ll put out all my thoughts on potential plot threads for all the characters we have, all the fun ways this plot COULD move forward. Hell, maybe I’ll write the story I want to see myself.

[sun-snatcher]

🪸 ✧˖*°࿐ masterlist!

👾 marvel cinematic universe

♣️ GAMBIT ・

we lucky few! ・ a masterlist

‘ Dragged along a Multiversal escapade with Deadpool & Wolverine, you bump into an old haunt at the end of time itself— The Gambit. Perhaps time truly can heal all wounds. ’

🦯 DAREDEVIL ・

in re: “odi et amo.” ・ series

‘ Matt and you have been rivalling for Summa cum laude since the start. It’s your guys’ thing. So when you start to slip— it only makes sense that it’s him who catches you of all people. ’

#dd blurbs ・ requests

🎋 avatar: the last airbender (live-action)

🌾 JET ・

of clarion calls ・

‘ “With me?” he asks, again, even when he knows he must’ve sounded like a madman. Perhaps it’s the bloodloss. Likely, it was. It wouldn’t be such a bad end, though, so long as you stood by his side. ’

hand in loving hand ・

‘ he’s too busy noting how your hands fit awfully perfect against his, and how despite the rain and muck, you still managed to look... collected. (Collected, he thinks, because he refused to admit anything unforgivably romantic.) ’

pocketful of butterflies ・

‘ You laugh, ducking into his shoulder. Jet wonders if you can physically feel the butterflies taking flight in his chest. ’

🐉 ZUKO ・

heartburn ・

‘ He feels the molten sting of a melting crown upon his skin and the fantastical beast that is his father; something monstrous— something scaled, fanged, clawed, and too large an appetite, with a touch and breath of fire that lights the skies in a blaze. ’

🪲 lord of the rings | the rings of power

📜 ELROND ・

of half-wits & fools ! ・

‘ He’d thought perhaps something else was sown the day Îdhendiel’s seed was planted in the earth. Something between you two that was more gentler. Kinder. Fonder.

Or perhaps, Elrond supposes, it has always been there. ’

↳ + a missing scene ・

of heart & soul ・

‘ He’s soft and tender that way; all light-handed in how he holds the thin of your cheek, and dips his head courteously to meet you halfway so you’re less encumbered into tip-toeing to kiss him. ’

water-damaged ! ・

‘ He lays a hand over yours, and you pause mid-wipe of a droplet down his lined jaw. His eyes are shut briefly, as if falling into the comfort of your touch— candid indulgence. ’

🌋 SAURON ・

tunnel vision ; annatar ・

‘ Despite the scant space, you don’t catch the ghost of a victorious smirk upon Annatar’s lips nor the sweeping cold, calculative, hunger in his gaze; far too distracted with blinding desperation for a single caress. ’

👑 GIL-GALAD ・

the parting glass ・

‘ You were a brilliance of light to Lindon, standing alongside the High King; But if meeting you had brought out the best in Gil-Galad, then losing you brought out the worst. ’

More fandoms coming soon!

[justanotherblonde]

signal boost! haven't you always wanted to read about the escapades of baby Loki and toddler Thor????

a friend of mine is writing a really fun series, please come check it out!!

Ta Meg Tilbake Igjen (Take Me Back Again) by MedeaSavannah (IlonaAutumn) (AO3)

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Loki (TV 2021), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Thor (Marvel), Loki (Marvel), Odin (Marvel), Frigga | Freyja (Marvel), Bragi (Marvel), Idunn (Marvel)

Summary: Ever wondered if Loki was always this exhausting or if Thor was always so brash? This is a series of canon-compliant one-shots that follow Thor and Loki from infancy to young adulthood. See Loki’s journey from a cranky baby to a cunning trickster, and Thor’s evolution from an adventurous boy to a pre-hero warrior. Told by different characters to explore their mischievous escapades, brotherly bond, and the challenges as they become the characters we know in the MCU.

gonna tag @worstloki to humbly invite you to have a look 🥺😌

[littlereyofsunlight]

I'm late!

Sorry, @doctorhelena for the belated Steggy Secret Santa gift! I'm still working on the rest, but I've got the beginning polished up and ready to share ...

I loved receiving your letter to @steggyfanevents/Santa: "here are some general ideas of things I particularly like (applicable to either fanfic or fanart!): - stories (or fanart) set during the war - AUs with Steve present during the Agent Carter timeframe - AUs in general - friendship and found family - secret relationships, but also Peggy and Steve getting teased about each other - shared adventure, working together to achieve a goal - banter - Peggy being badass and Steve loving it - hijinks and terrible ideas - the Howling Commandos, Howard, Phillips, the Jarvises, Angie, Rose, Natasha, Bucky, Sam, Tony, Pepper, Thor - Bernard Stark, Howard's flamingo"

I had a lot of fun pulling a few of these elements together to come up with this story. Hope you enjoy!

Peggy bit the inside of her cheek as they arrived at Howard’s Beverly Hills home. He'd assured them of their privacy when he’d offered this house as a place to lay low while the news of Steve’s return blew over. It was their best option—she just hoped this really was the place to wait it out.

The driver handed over their bags to Steve, who took them with a warm smile, despite his obvious exhaustion. Peggy noted the way weariness seemed to have settled into the laugh lines at his eyes, the crease on his forehead that never quite went away now, the perpetual, if slight, downturn his mouth had. She shook herself from her reverie, reminding her wandering, maudlin thoughts that she’d never thought she’d get to see his face again, let alone watch him age. 

She rubbed at the simple band on her left ring finger. While Steve’s miraculous return had certainly caused a stir, it was the news of the wedding that had turned the press rabid.

Peggy looked at Steve. Steve looked at Peggy. There was, not for the first time since he’d returned, the feeling of uncomfortable tension between them. “Well,” Steve said, his voice congenial, “I’m fifty-percent convinced he’s not going to out us.”

Peggy nodded. “I might go as high as seventy-five percent, just knowing how well Howard pays.” 

“He sure is doing us some favor.” Peggy found his tone inscrutable. This was a new development, since his return. The small lines on his face and, sometimes, the wrong-footed feeling that Steve was referencing something from where—when—he came from.

She shifted her purse strap higher on her shoulder. The California sun was hot, and Steve’s suit hadn't fared well on the transcontinental flight. She didn’t feel particularly fresh, herself. “Shall we go in?”

He inclined his head. “I take it you know the way.”

Biting back the sharp retort that flew into her head—this wasn’t the same callow Steve who’d suggested fondue was some kind of lewd act, after all—Peggy was acutely aware of Steve behind her as she strode up the front walk to Howard’s ridiculous mansion. The lawn was just as green and well-manicured as when she’d last been, two years ago. Peggy supposed Howard thought stuccoed walls and wrought iron details made the place stately, but she’d always found it cozy, despite its size. And of course, the pool made it especially appealing. She looked back at Steve—at her new husband—and thought idly of just how secluded the pool really was. She felt a flush come over her that she couldn’t blame entirely on the heat.

“Howard played host when I was here working a case with …” She fumbled for words as she reached the front door and dug into her purse for the key Jarvis had arranged to have messengered to her back in D.C. “Ahem, well … there was a scientist, I’m not sure I’ve had the chance to tell you about this one.” 

Peggy’s mind raced. What exactly was she going to tell him in this moment about the escapade with Whitney Frost? Her flirtation with Jason Wilkes? Her dalliance with Daniel? Not exactly honeymoon talk. “Well, another time,” she finished inadequately, feeling suddenly quite tired. Opening the door, she stepped inside. The heat of the day hadn’t touched the cool tile entryway, and she sighed in relief. Peggy ushered Steve in after her and, with a final look back at the expanse of lawn and the eight-foot wall beyond it that encircled the property, she firmly shut the door and locked it.

“Alone at last,” she said, with a genuine smile for her new husband.

***

Steve took in the immaculate Spanish Colonial Revival details of Howard’s house. He’d visited Tony’s home in Malibu, once, before he rebuilt it. The setting had been spectacular, and the house had certainly gone out of its way to provide unobstructed views of the ocean, but all that glass and space had left it feeling empty. 

Now, Steve wondered if it had been a reaction to this place and to Howard’s preferred style. There was dark, ornate woodwork, plush, heavy furniture and warm colors everywhere Steve’s eye landed. Light spilled into the vestibule from arched windows stretching above the front door. The tiles were an inviting orange, with a Moroccan motif bordering the floor. A staircase of dark risers and wrought iron lead, Steve presumed, to the bedrooms on the second floor. Beyond the stairs was a hallway into the back of the house, and to the left of the foyer Steve saw a study filled with bookcases and leather club chairs. 

He suddenly became aware of Peggy’s eyes on him, her expression expectant. “Nice place,” he observed blandly. She raised an eyebrow, and he noticed, not for the first time today, how impeccably turned out she was. Her honeymoon suit crisply pressed, hat set just so, red, red lipstick looking freshly applied even with the transcontinental flight they’d boarded that morning. Steve knew his jacket was creased to hell and his collar had lost its starch—he was out of practice keeping his clothes up to this time’s standards, that was very clear. 

And, he realized through his musings, there was a frown beginning on his wife’s incredibly beautiful face.

Steve reached out a hand, pulled her in close. “Did you say something about being alone?”

He was relieved when she melted against him immediately, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “One hears that’s how newlyweds are supposed to spend their time, alone together,” she teased, her eyes soft as she looked at him. He’d been flagging on the drive from the airport, looking forward to a nap when they arrived. But now he couldn’t resist kissing her, pressing her fully against him, reveling in how her lush curves fit against his body. 

“Good thing I cleared my schedule,” he murmured as they broke apart. She removed her hat and set it down on a table just to the side of the door. He let his hand roam down her shapely backside, knowing there were layers of nylon slip and girdle beneath the lightweight wool of her skirt. Maybe a nap could wait. Would she let him peel her out of each layer slowly this time? 

Peggy rewarded him with a laugh before she leaned up to kiss him again. “I have a few items to add to your itinerary, darling.”  

He wasn’t sure how long they spent, pressed against the door. Long enough for the shadows to change, lengthening over the stairs. Peggy’s stomach rumbled and Steve laughed. “Some things never change,” he said, a smirk on his face. 

“Do people in the future not require nourishment at regular intervals?” Peggy quipped, smoothing her skirt back down. “If I’m hungry, I know you’re famished,” she said.

Steve dragged her hem back up a few inches. “I could eat.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow at him, her hand around his wrist. “Focus, darling.”

“I would be very focused.” He saw how her eyes darkened and her breath came just a bit quicker. He brushed the tips of his fingers against her thigh, keeping his touch light. 

Her grip tightened and she exhaled. “Steve.”

He angled his head and let his lips graze the shell of her ear. “Peg.”

She sighed again, turning her head to kiss him firmly. “Lunch first.” She punctuated the imperative with a quick nip at his bottom lip. 

“Is that an order?” he teased, chasing her lips as she pulled away.

Her eyes sparked at him as she put both hands on his chest. “It is indeed, Captain.” She stepped back out of his arms. “But if you find us provisions, you have leave to resume your mission after your wife’s been satisfied.”

Heat spread through his chest at that word. His wife. He couldn’t keep the goofy smile from taking over his face, even as he sassed back at her, “I’ve been trying to satisfy my wife this whole time, Mrs. Rogers.”

Peggy laughed as she took up her small suitcase, shaking her head with a smile that echoed his. “I’ll go freshen up. The kitchen’s back through there, and I expect Ana Jarvis will have left plenty in the larder.” 

“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” He resisted the urge to pinch himself as he watched her walk up the stairs. All the ways he’d struggled with the decision to find her, after everything that had happened to him—he’d nearly talked himself out of even trying to have this a dozen times. But somehow, Steve was here, with Peggy, and everything felt so right. 

Even if they were technically on the run from the press.

Steve ventured to the back of the house, where the well-appointed kitchen was indeed stocked with food. Steve couldn’t remember if he’d ever learned when frozen french fries had been invented, but apparently it was before 1949. There was a box of those plus a few cans of Minute Maid concentrate in the freezer, along with a wealth of tupperware, all labeled in neat Palmer script with the contents and instructions for thawing and reheating. Steve whistled at the display and selected a stew to thaw for dinner later that evening. 

There was a note taped to the fridge, and Steve scanned it quickly.

Peggy, my dear—

I’m desolate that I cannot offer you my heartfelt congratulations in person, and that my inspection of your illustrious gentleman will have to wait until Edwin and I return from our visit. Please help yourself to anything; I have arranged for more groceries to be delivered on Tuesday. 

E says I must warn you that Bernard is suffering from some tropical malaise. But as sardines seem to cheer him up, I admit to being skeptical of my husband’s theory.

Affectionately yours,

Ana

Steve couldn’t remember who Bernard was supposed to be. But Howard had assured them both that his staff would give them their privacy while they stayed at his home, so Steve assumed the fellow would have to get his sardines elsewhere. 

In the fridge, Steve found basic sandwich supplies. For his part, he was still a tiny bit sad that sriracha wasn’t yet a staple in American cupboards. Thinking of sriracha made him think of being on the run with Sam and Nat. Instead of shoving the memory aside, he let it wash over him. Two years of running that grief group had been good for many things, of course. But certainly, an unintended benefit was how it had prepared him to leave it all behind and return to Peggy. 

Steve took the stairs two at a time, balancing the sandwiches, two glasses of water and a package of Oreos in his hands. He found Peggy down the wide hall, in a spacious bedroom with a private attached bathroom and a Juliet balcony overlooking Howard’s tree-filled side yard. She was still occupied in the bathroom, so Steve set down the food on one of the nightstands and pulled the inner lace curtains closed over the inset windows in the balcony doors, leaving the heavy velvet drapes open. The diffuse afternoon light that filtered through turned the room a cozy orange. By the time Peggy was done, he’d unpacked their suitcases into the closet and dresser provided, and stowed the bags underneath the giant four-poster bed. 

She’d changed out of her suit entirely and had on her robe, her hair unpinned and falling softly to her shoulders in mahogany waves. “Sandwiches!” she said, and clambered up onto the bed beside him. 

“Oreos, too,” he pointed out, delighted at her excitement over his extremely basic offering. “You were right about Mrs. Jarvis keeping the kitchen stocked. Which reminds me,” he fished the note out of his trousers pocket, “she left this for you.”

***

Peggy read the note quickly, mouth full of roast beef, and then tucked it under the water on the nightstand. Ana must have dictated it, as it wasn’t in her handwriting and she and Jarvis were on a trip to Europe, visiting cousins of Ana’s who had settled in the Netherlands after the war. 

Steve had eaten a sandwich of his own, as well as several chocolate biscuits, and then he’d gotten up to hang his own suit and change into pajama pants as Peggy finished her own meal. Though it was three hours later by her internal clock, Peggy felt a bit of a thrill to be in her nightclothes in the daylight. She watched as the muscles beneath his white undershirt flexed with his movements, his physique somehow even more impressive now than when he’d first gone through the transformation of Project Rebirth. Peggy was grateful for all that had transpired to bring Steve back to her. She was grateful that the man he was now was with her in this time. She felt suddenly such a swell of overpowering love for him, she was happy to be sitting down as it hit. “Steve,” she managed, hearing the emotion thick in her voice.

He turned back to her, concern clear on his face. “Peg?”

She shook her head, smiling through the rush of feeling. She aimed for sultry when she spoke and tossed her hair behind her shoulders. “You have leave to resume your mission at your leisure.” She toyed with the tie on her robe. 

Immediately, his eyes darkened and the concerned dip of his brows smoothed over. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?” Peggy nodded, unknotting her robe so she could let the neckline fall open. As Steve realized she had nothing on underneath, she watched his breath deepen and his hands clench at the suit he still held. “Remind me where we were?” he teased.

Peggy licked her lips eagerly. “I seem to recall you promised satisfaction.”

Steve tossed the suit behind him, ensuring it would truly need a thorough pressing before he could wear it again. He prowled back towards the bed. “Did you have anything particular in mind?—”

Before Steve had even finished the question, there was a loud crash on the balcony, accompanied by a sound Peggy could only describe as a goose attacking a chalkboard. Steve immediately closed the distance between them, pulling Peggy off the bed and positioning her behind him. The sound came again, this time accompanied by some shuffling and … flapping? 

Peggy slapped a hand to her forehead. “Bernard!”

[stardustlin]

we got barbie movie w miguel now we need noir to watch it he’ll be pointing at all the vibrant colors like 😱😱😱😱

WHOEVER COOKING UP THIS IDEAS, I LOVE YOU ����🌱🌈

with a sense of delightful irony, you and Spider-Noir found yourselves in a movie theater, about to embark on a rather unexpected cinematic experience - the Barbie movie. the contrast between the vibrant, fantastical world of Barbie and the monochrome universe he hailed from was as stark as night and day.

as the lights dimmed and the screen flickered to life, you couldn't help but steal glances at Spider-Noir, curious to see his reaction to this colorful world. he, too, seemed intrigued, his eyes scanning the screen as the vivid shades of pink, purple, and blue danced in front of him.

throughout the movie, he pointed out each vibrant hue, his unique perspective adding a layer of appreciation to the colorful scenes. with every vivid burst of color, he marveled at the bright landscapes and the shimmering Barbie outfits, a sense of wonder slowly dawning in his eyes.

“darling, look at those golden locks," he whispered, nudging you gently as Barbie's iconic blonde hair cascaded across the screen. "in my monochrome world, such vibrant hues are but a distant dream. but here, they come to life, as if painted across a vibrant canvas."

you couldn’t help but smile, caught up in the charm of his observations. it was a stark reminder of the stark contrast in their worlds, and how beauty could take on such different forms.

as the movie progressed, Spider-Noir's curiosity turned into genuine enjoyment, a childlike excitement shining through his dark eyes. he reveled in the lively songs, the whimsical storytelling, and the joy that radiated from the screen. his laughter mingled with yours, as the movie took you on a colorful journey that transcended your expectations.

by the time the credits rolled, Spider-Noir turned to you, a wide grin spreading across his face. "thank you for sharing this with me, my dear. i never thought a Barbie movie could hold such wonder and joy. the vibrancy of this world, even for a fleeting moment, has breathed new life into my monochrome existence."

in that moment, you realized that sometimes the simplest of experiences could bridge the gap between two worlds. it was a reminder of the beauty in embracing the unfamiliar, and the endless possibilities of love and adventure that awaited you both. as you left the theater, hand in hand, you carried with you the memory of this unique escapade, ready to explore even more vibrant horizons together.

and just maybe, in the midst of the colorful tapestry of your shared experiences, Spider-Noir would find a new appreciation for the splashes of color that awaited him, not only in the world of Barbie but also within the depths of your heart.

———

a/n: he’s so dreamy like he would definitely call you his darling, honey, hun, sweetheart, sweetstuff, sunshine 🫂

[ask-mr-puzzles-blog]

I know as a viewer I can't turn back time or undo what has been posted but I wanted you to know that the first thing I ever saw in relation to SMG4 was Puzzlevison, and more specifically-your work. I was curious and quickly become enthralled by you! All the fanciful dramatics, hilarious jokes, character driven escapades, incredible character acting, and especially the passion you deliver your art with had me captivated all within a matter of moments!

What I'm saying is whether good content, bad content, saving the universe, torturing Mario, endangering civilians, mind control, are just another day in the Puzzlevison Cinematic Universe I'm on your side. Always have been from that very first episode and always will be! I'm sure other viewers feel the same way, too. We don't really know one another you and I, separated by a screen but no matter what you create or do, I want you to know someone is always rooting for you so please, take care of yourself, alright?

Mr. Puzzles is at a loss for words. He is rooted to the spot, as if not believing what he just heard. He looks as if he may cry.

“Oh…oh, I-” Mr. Puzzles hands trembled as he clasped them over his chest, metal head turning to the side. “I…will attempt to, dear viewer…” He does not look to where he has more or less destroyed what was left of his makeshift studio. “I didn’t think…that I could…” Mr. Puzzles lapsed into silence as he slowly sank down to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest as he presses his screen to his knees. “I didn’t think that anyone appreciated…I…I-”

Mr. Puzzles’ voice traits off; silent hitches of breath can be heard in the room’s otherwise silent interior.

Ooc: tbh I think puzzles needs to hear things like that so he doesn’t go to extremes like he did.

[mayamidnightmelody]

The Dynamic Duo: Bud Spencer and Terence Hill

Bud Spencer and Terence Hill: a legendary partnership 🎬 that has enthralled audiences for decades, leaving an indelible mark on Italian cinema 🇮🇹 and beyond. Their dynamic blend of action, humor, and camaraderie has cemented their status as icons of the silver screen, captivating viewers with their infectious energy and timeless appeal.

The story of Bud Spencer and Terence Hill begins in the early 1960s, amidst the rise of the Spaghetti Western genre. 🤠 Born Carlo Pedersoli and Mario Girotti, the duo's paths converged, sparking a partnership that would redefine cinematic entertainment. Spencer's towering physique and Hill's suave charm formed the perfect complement, igniting an on-screen chemistry that was nothing short of magical.

What sets Bud Spencer and Terence Hill films apart is their seamless integration of action and comedy, creating a recipe for cinematic success. 🎥 Their movies are a rollercoaster of laughter and adrenaline, with larger-than-life characters engaging in absurd yet entertaining escapades. From epic brawls to witty banter, each scene is infused with their trademark humor, leaving audiences in stitches.

But beneath the laughter lies a deeper theme of friendship and loyalty that resonates with viewers on a profound level. 🤝 Spencer and Hill's characters, often portrayed as misfits or underdogs, forge unbreakable bonds in the face of adversity. It's this heartfelt portrayal of camaraderie that elevates their films beyond mere entertainment, touching the hearts of audiences worldwide.

Off-screen, Bud Spencer and Terence Hill shared a genuine friendship that transcended their professional collaboration. Their camaraderie extended into their personal lives, adding an extra layer of authenticity to their performances. This bond, palpable both on and off the screen, undoubtedly contributed to the enduring popularity of their films.

From "They Call Me Trinity" to "My Name is Nobody," Bud Spencer and Terence Hill have left an indelible legacy that continues to captivate audiences of all ages. Their influence reverberates through the halls of cinema, inspiring generations of filmmakers and entertainers to come.

In conclusion, the dynamic duo of Bud Spencer and Terence Hill has left an indelible mark on Italian cinema and the hearts of audiences worldwide. 🌟 Their unique blend of action, comedy, and camaraderie has stood the test of time, solidifying their status as legends of the silver screen. As we continue to enjoy their timeless classics, we celebrate the magic they brought to the world of cinema and the enduring legacy they leave behind.

Filmography:

"God Forgives… I Don't!" (1967)

"Ace High" (1968)

"Boot Hill" (1969)

"They Call Me Trinity" (1970)

"Trinity Is Still My Name" (1971)

"Man of the East" (1972)

"All the Way, Boys" (1972)

"Even Angels Eat Beans" (1973)

"…All the Way, Boys!" (1973)

"Watch Out, We're Mad" (1974)

"Two Missionaries" (1974)

"Crime Busters" (1977)

"Flatfoot in Africa" (1978)

"Odds and Evens" (1978)

"Double Trouble" (1984)

"Go for It" (1983)

"Who Finds a Friend Finds a Treasure" (1981)

"Super Fuzz" (1980)

"Everything Happens to Me" (1980)

"Banana Joe" (1982)

"Trinity: Good Guys and Bad Guys" (1985)

"Miami Supercops" (1985)

"Troublemakers" (1994)

[chimichangasanddoorknobs]

🎬 Benoit Blanc's Review: Deadpool and Wolverine (2024) 🎬

{AIN'T NOBODY ASK FOR THIS BUT HERE YOU GO, translation below}

Lay-dees and gentlemen, gathuh 'round, fo' Ah have just witnessed a cinematic concoction most peculeeyuh and enthrawlin'—"Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)." Now, whut we have heah is a film that defies convenshunal categorizayshun, a verra-tuh-bul gumbo of genres and tones that, agaynst all odds, forms a dee-leck-ta-bul dish.

Plot:

The plot, much like an intricate tapestry, weaves tuhgethuh time travel, inter-dimen-shun-al es-capades, and a most curious partnership. Deadpool, po'trayed with the usual irreverent flair by Ryan Reynolds, and Wolverine, brought to life once more by the evuh-gruff Hugh Jackman, find they-selves entangled in a mission to thwart a villain of considerable men'ce. While the narr'tive may twist and turn like a windin' country road, one finds oneself more delighted by the journey than concerned with the destination.

Action:

The action sequences are, to put it mildly, a spectacle to behold. It is as if one has placed a ballet within the confines of a tempest—grace and brutality entwined. Deadpool's acrobatics and Wolverine's raw powuh form a dichot'my of chaos and precision that is nothin' short of mesmurizin'. Each clash, each skirmish, is a symphony of violence and virtuosity.

Comedy:

Ah, the humor! It flows as freely as the Mississippi Rivuh, cuttin' through the tension with sharp wit and a devil-may-care attitude. Deadpool's penchant for breakin' the fourth wall, for addressin' the audience directly, creates a meta-humor that is both disarmin' and delightful. Wolverine's more taciturn demeanor provides the perfect foil, resultin' in a dynamic that is as entertainin' as it is endearin'.

Performances:

Ryan Reynolds, as Deadpool, is in his element, deliverin' lines with a rapid-fire cadence that leaves one both amused and awestruck. Hugh Jackman, as Wolverine, brings a gravitas and intensity that grounds the film's more outlandish moments. Together, their chemistry is palpable, their banter a dance of words that is as compelling as the physical combat.

Overall:

In conclusion, "Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)" is a film that defies simple description. It is a riotous blend of action, comedy, and heart, a roller-coaster ride that leaves one breathless and exhill'rated. It is, if you will, a cinematic feast that satisfies on multiple levels. Whether you are a devotee of these characters or a newcomuh to their es-capades, this film offuhs somethin' for ev'ryone. So, mah friends, do partake in this delightful piece of entuh-tain-ment, and prepare yo'selves for a most extraordinary experience. 🕵️‍♂️✨

Enjuh the movie, deah readers, and remembuh: sometimes, the journey is far more fascinatin' than the destination.

TRANSLATION:

Ladies and gentlemen, gather around, for what I have just witnessed a cinematic concoction most peculiar and enthralling: "Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)." Now, what we have here is a film that defies conventional categorization, a veritable gumbo of genres and tones that, against all odds, forms a delectable dish.

Plot:

The plot, much like an intricate tapestry, weaves together time travel, interdimensional escapades, and a most curious partnership. Deadpool, portrayed with the usual irreverent flair by Ryan Reynolds, and Wolverine, brought to life once more by the ever-gruff Hugh Jackman, find themselves entangled in a mission to thwart a villain of considerable menace.

Action:

The action sequences are, to put it mildly, a spectacle to behold. It is as if one has placed a ballet within the confines of a tempest—grace and brutality entwined. Deadpool's acrobatics and Wolverine's raw power form a dichotomy of chaos and precision that is nothing short of mesmerizing. Each clash, each skirmish, is a symphony of violence and virtuosity.

Comedy:

Ah, the humor! It flows as freely as the Mississippi River, cutting through the tension with sharp wit and a devil-may-care attitude. Deadpool's penchant for breaking the fourth wall, for addressing the audience directly, creates a meta-humor that is both disarming and delightful. Wolverine's more taciturn demeanor provides the perfect foil, resulting in a dynamic that is as entertaining as it is endearing.

Performances:

Reynolds is in his element, delivering lines with a rapid-fire cadence that leaving one both amused and awestruck. Jackman brings a gravitas and intensity that grounds the film's more outlandish moments. Together, their chemistry is palpable, their banter a dance of words as compelling as the physical combat.

Villain:

The antagonist of our tale is a figure of intrigue and menace, a foe who challenges our heroes both physically and psychologically. This villain is not merely a cardboard cutout of evil but a character with depth and complexity, adding a layer of richness to the proceedings.

Overall:

In conclusion, "Deadpool and Wolverine (2024)" is a film that defies simple description. It is a riotous blend of action, comedy, and heart, a rollercoaster ride that leaves one breathless and exhilarated. It is, if you will, a cinematic feast that satisfies on multiple levels. Whether you are a devotee of these characters or a newcomer to their escapades, this film offers something for everyone. So, my friends, do partake in this delightful piece of entertainment, and prepare yourself for a most extraordinary experience. 🕵️‍♂️✨

[this-is-lit]

Mild Mannered Men - The Rain Will Wash Away The Blood

By Walter Horsting

Mild Mannered Men - The Rain Will Wash Away The Blood by Walter Horsting is the tale of an ensemble of disparate people who get caught up in a web of espionage and murder. The escapade hinges on who has the key evidence and who will get it first.

Horsting’s Mild Mannered Men is, in essence, a song fic and available as an interactive audiobook (with an accompanying playlist) and best consumed in that medium. The text reads like a long-form script treatment the way it cuts between roughly five main viewpoints; the frequent POV switches make it hard to become invested in any one plot thread when read, since we never spend a significant amount of time in each vignette. This device would work well in a cinematic medium with sound design, visual cues, and pacing, but it feels choppy and abrupt on the page. Many unnecessary details that don’t support the plot or its characters bloat the narrative, making it hard to identify pertinent information. The first act feels padded with minutia, which makes it crawl. Horsting could easily have summarized some of these set-ups; this would have benefited the plot’s flow and better engaged the reader to remain invested in the journey to the tale's action.

The storyline, however, is solid and cohesive, and Horsting’s near-experimental multimedia form is laudable. He keeps his plot threads untangled, there are no glaring plot holes (no more than any spy novel), and when the action does happen, it’s easy to suspend disbelief with the standard creative license given to law enforcement procedures. While the prose is a bit repetitive at times, it’s put together and well-written. Male characters (the women are just window dressing) are easy to differentiate, and while their emotional beats feel unearned and lack depth, their archetypes—singled-minded FBI agent, crack investigative reporter, shady businessman, etc.—are accurate to the hard-boiled genre.

Mild Mannered Men could do well as a short film, but as a flat book, it may struggle to capture certain readers’ attention. Listeners who consume the audiobook may find the world and multimedia concept engaging. For readers who are used to short media forms and prefer not to commit to lengthy and complicated novels, this story may be an enjoyable read. However, experienced readers of traditional noir books may not find the narrative construction to their liking.

I received an ACR from Reedsy

[denimbex1986]

'Barbie and Oppenheimer are more than just an internet meme that exploded into such virality that even the British PM (read: Tory scum) took part—it’s a triumphant return for cinema in a post-pandemic world obsessed with inflated budgets and diminishing returns. It came off the back of the live-action Little Mermaid remake, the lukewarm Indiana Jones legacy sequel, another in a long line of awful Fast and Furious movies, a pseudo-Michael Bay Transformers, and insulting multiversal escapade The Flash, which resurrected the dead with CGI. Cinema has never felt so downtrodden and hopeless, but Barbenheimer brought a semblance of optimism back… until CEOs everywhere immediately stomped it out.

Barbie is a perfect standalone movie, with a feminist story expertly weaving its way through the garish shades of pink in what is otherwise a two-hour-long advert for dolls. It sees stereotypical Barbie grow beyond the purpose of her creation to embrace her own agency, stepping into the real world to conquer the challenges of unchecked patriarchy. It’s a poignant narrative, despite the clear limitations of being a company-mandated franchise starter, but that’s ultimately what it is. Director Greta Gerwig might not be interested in sequels, but Mattel is. Going beyond that, it wants a cinematic universe for all its toys, greenlighting a Polly Pocket film, a “grounded and gritty” Hot Wheels movie, and a Spike Jonze-inspired Barney helmed by Daniel Kaluuya. The MCU and superheroes as a whole might seem to be on their way out, but we’re just swapping a sandbox of action figures for literal toys. I’m not sure which is worse.

Many declared Barbenheimer as the ‘return of cinema’ after months of expensive box office bombs. But a movie based around a ‘50s toy making $380 million in only five days was never going to send the message to CEOs that original ideas told by talented directors are what people want. Their eyes lit up with IP and dollar signs instead, the prospect of digging through their box of intellectual property to whip out the next gem overwhelming them. This is the Iron Man of the 2020s, kickstarting the next generation of cinema, and while we enjoyed the MCU in its heyday, look at where we are now. Superheroes dominate screenings, drowning out original ideas, and routinely suck the joy out of filmmaking with an abundance of green screens, needless CGI, and an overwhelming number of releases.

Oppenheimer is another piece of this puzzle. On its own, it’s an ambitious biopic about the horrors of American ingenuity in World War 2. I can’t see CEOs foaming at the mouth regarding franchise potential here, but out of spite toward Christopher Nolan, Warner Bros. placed Barbie’s release on the same day, inadvertently creating cinema history. Now, Oppenheimer joins Barbie’s legacy as a trendsetter in all the worst ways. We’re already seeing the impact of this, as Saw X has moved its release date to coincide with Paw Patrol: The Mighty Movie, aiming to recreate the word-of-mouth marketing that saw Barbie and Oppenheimer thrive in a Summer where nothing else was. But again, this misses the point. It’s more akin to watching a meme get dragged out back on the Ellen show to be beaten with three baseball bats like a long-dead horse.

CEOs and companies are seeing Barbenheimer’s resounding social media-driven success and hoping to replicate it by launching their films on the same day as tonally opposite competitors. Saw X and Paw Patrol couldn’t be more different, aside from the likelihood of them both being awful. And that’s the stickler. Barbenheimer was so much more than ‘Haha look at two very different movies!’ It was two completely different films from award-winning, beloved directors with brilliant casts and something important to say. It wasn’t just bright pink vs black and white.

People would have been excited for Barbie and Oppenheimer independent of each other—sticking them together on the same date wasn’t what ignited the match. Yet that’s what the big corps are taking from the entire situation, so expect to see far more SawPatrols in the coming years, desperately trying to convince people to watch a double bill of two awful films. Sounds really appealing, eh?

Barbenheimer was a fun break from the bleak landscape of modern cinema, but it will go down as another blow to movies as a whole. Already Paramount has sworn off all non-IP properties for animation, only committing to churning out tried and tested formulas it considers safe films, while Mattel is busy scrambling to catch up with the MCU overnight. Only it’s doing so with a dollhouse full of tat. The coming years won’t see a renaissance of cinema thanks to Barbenheimer, it will see the next step in devolving franchise slop, the endgame being burnout on an unprecedented scale.'

[citycenterdoha]

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[charlie-grusin]

"The Haunted Mask" (1995) : Movietalk # 02

“The Haunted Mask” is the story of a girl so tormented by her peers she neglects the true loves of her life and kills herself. She parades her severed head out on the streets as she allows herself to become a different beast – a being of malicious mischief with a greater urge for destruction from within and without – only to then renounce that creature persona from reality, embracing instead the one who could ever love back. It’s a suburban gothic survivor story with an ending you can expect from good ol’ Jovial Bob, that finest trick-meister of the horror trade (besides, it’s Halloween – what could go wrong with a hearty laugh?).

Kathryn Long is a force to be reckoned with. Where else could one find a performance so involved at such a young age that not only goes for long stretches of time waging havoc with throat-crushing gremlin voices and latex running deep in the eyelids but who also suggests (no, insists!) on eating live worm sandwiches not once, nor twice, but on eight-to-twelve takes? (Not even How to Eat Fried Worms could claim that!!) But what Long was able to achieve was not made solely on high theatrics: it’s like she really lived Carly Beth, pushing Stine’s original tale further towards its truth-inside-the-lie that as you want to reach through the screen and hold her and comfort her and reassure her that this too shall pass, you can’t help but get the feeling that you could also be her in those moments of vulnerability – that perhaps you were once Carly Beth… or that you are still very much the seemingly lonesome little girl lost in that hallway house of mirrors – that you can’t help but cringe and squirm whenever the monster takes full control because if experience has taught us anything it’s that it really is all too easy to make the inversion of the self and turn vile from the hurt and/or the fear of being hurt. It’s all too close, all too familiar… and it’s all the more reason she should be inducted to the Child Horror Star Hall of Fame pronto if such a thing is christened.

Every now and then it’s imperative that a Goosebumps story (or anything adjacent to that) must include in some form or another a creepy shopkeeper and/or salesman, and while the “Tall Thin Man” definitely matches the head on the bill it is not with the touch of the usual; the role as written by José Rivera and delivered by Colin Fox give this character a menace all the more heightened by the fact that it is ultimately a tragic one (he is a man doomed by admission to repetitively shred himself down to the marrows of his darkened soul), yet that isn’t to say director Timothy Bond didn’t manage to invoke any of that unbearable weight on his behalf; even with the occasionally shaky production levels the series offered as its norm, it’s quite impressive he still managed to bring his A game to TV movie cinematic heights as it is surprising he only did like, what, three two-parters(!?) – you gotta love that slow pan to the face in the mirror, that inspection of the abnormous skin devoid of music: “Very soon it will join the other failures on the shelf!” – and with much lighter affairs such as the “Monster Blood” special (which had compromised the series’ inability to adapt the other Bert I. Gordon-esque escapades of that green viscous substance with a mini-Airport movie on the fly), I can’t help but find it possible that Bond and crew may’ve also single-handedly spoiled the lot of us just by how (dare I say it) elevated their efforts seem in comparison. Episodes like “The Girl Who Cried Monster” or “The Haunted House Game” or even some of the other two-or-three-parters still hold up to this day on their own merits, of course… but damn. Damn.

Most Goosebumps stories are pure three-pages-a-thrill adventures where the monsters are either some big bad and hungry goop monster, a mummy, or “hey what if lawn gnomes were kinda bastards you know”, but when they getcha like this they getcha good. Viewer, listener, reader beware, you’re in for more than a scare.