#gaston moch

[savvylittlecoxswain]

Bobby’s father, Gaston Moch, was a champion fencer in Switzerland when he was young and now I need Bobby knowing how to fence.

[borealopelta]

ATTENTION!

I have to speak my mind. I care so much about the Don Hume x Bobby Moch fanfics, it's so cool and fun and hot. They are obviously not just FRIENDS!

If Jack or Luke saw this, that'd probably make them feel like whatever because they're not actually Bobby and Don, they just played them in a mediocre movie. It's okay if Luke is MARRIED! AND STRAIGHT! Both of them can be! So, to all the Don x Bobby fans out there, please know I mean no hate towards the straight community (I have good straight friends myself) I just want NORMAL fanfictions about Don Hume and Bobby Moch, together, not apart, as more than friends, please.

Thanks for reading.

[kcsplace]

Robert Moch...tell me something

Every other member of crew was either making time with their lady or dancing or generally carousing at the celebration. In order for you to intervene with Don's wallflower act, you had to be watching Don and notice he wasn't participating in the frivolity.

So tell me, Bobbby my dear, why were you not dancing? Not making time with a pretty girl? Not carousing? No, Sir, you were watching Don. Making an excuse to sit next to Don. Not in fact telling Don to ask the girl next to him to dance, or indeed telling him to ask any girl, simply telling him that that night was his night to make a move, yet girls are oddly absent from your instruction, as you purse your lips at your future boyfriend friend. You then successfully show off your man friend while managing to winkle him away from any girl that might ask him to dance, ensuring no moves can be made.

At least by them.

So tell me, Robert Gaston Moch, what the frick frack paddy whack was that ?!?!?!

I'm not even gonna touch on you sitting facing where Don was talking with Gordy on the train while playing poker. Always gotta sit opposite your boy, huh?

[seasidesandstarscapes]

Meet Me in the Middle - Chapter 2 - End

Previous

Summary: Bobby and Don finally sort themselves out

Chapter Rating: Explicit

Words: 2079

-

AO3

Or

It shouldn’t hurt this much when Don doesn’t get his usual good morning from Bobby.

He pretends Bobby isn’t feeling well and just forgot. It’s harder to ignore when Bobby doesn’t wait for him in the locker room, that he’s already out at the docks pacing.

Don can’t look him in the eye. Not after last night. He climbs into the shell, locks his oar into place, but Bobby isn’t talking. It’s uncomfortable at best and Don can feel everyone’s stare on him.

The whole boat is off as they start practice, a visible wave of dischord striking every boy. Bobby’s voice is strained, he makes a wrong call here and there, leaving Don with an ever growing guilt. His oar is heavy in his hands, breaking open calluses he thought were long healed over. Whispers circle him, taunting and cruel, and Don comes to a sudden stop. The boat jerks, there’s muttered complaints while Bobby sneaks a glance at Don.

Ulbrickson is talking to them now but Don hears none of it. His grip is white-knuckled and he stares at the dark water. Drowning would be better than this.

Bobby’s sharp yell brings Don back to the present and he positions himself so they can start rowing again. He just needs to get through the next round. Then, he can try to fix things.

Practice continues to be horrible and it’s not over soon enough. With solid ground under his feet, Don is thankful Ulbrickson doesn’t want to have a team discussion, that he seems to notice Don’s tired expression and just lets the boys be.

The usual chatty locker room is dead quiet, a held breath and the exchange of cautious glances. Don does his best to ignore it, but in his distraction, he just barely catches Bobby leaving. He races to put away his things and grab his backpack, tripping and sliding down the stairs to catch up.

He grabs Bobby’s bicep but Bobby jerks away from him with an icy stare. This is not the Bobby Don knows.

“Can we talk? Please?”

Don needs Bobby to say yes. He’ll resort to begging if he has to.

Bobby hesitates, his glare not giving up for a second as he gives a firm nod. With a sigh of relief, Don leads them to a secluded spot by the water and he inhales sharply before turning to face Bobby.

“I’m in love with you, Bobby,” Don admits, fighting against the rising fear in his chest. “And I think you love me too. I heard you last night.”

Bobby says nothing, his jaw taut, eyes staring daggers.

“I know we’re just supposed to be friends with benefits, but I want to be more. I want to be with you.”

“Yeah, okay, Don” Bobby’s voice is low, seething.

His hands clench and Don wants nothing more than to grab them, massage out all the tension.

“Bobby,” Don is about to cry. “I couldn’t speak last night. I was terrified. Maybe I misread everything, maybe I’m about to fuck everything up right now. But I don’t want to lose this chance, I won’t make the same mistake.”

Bobby laughs then, but it’s through tears, and he runs a hand through his hair.

“Fuck, Don,” he swallows, “You can’t just throw this on me now. I was ready to forget about us. To just go back to being teammates. Not even friends.”

There’s another helpless laugh and Bobby buries his face in his hands. Don dares to take a step forward, to pull Bobby’s hands away from his face.

“Can we start over then?” He asks softly. “Robert Gaston Moch, will you be my boyfriend?”

There is a huff, then, “We’re going for the full name?” Bobby smiles through his tears.

Don shrugs as his own smile grows on his face.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Bobby surges forward, captures Don’s mouth with his own.

Don thinks this is what a first kiss feels like. They fit together like pieces in a puzzle, already knowing how the other likes it, open mouths breathing each other in. The little nips, tongues pushing, it’s perfect and Don is weak in the knees.

“Suppose we can finally do this in a bed, huh?” Bobby says breathlessly when they pull apart.

Their foreheads press together, Bobby’s arms wrapping around Don’s neck. Don plants his on Bobby’s hips, curls his fingers with a promise to never let go.

“Unless we want to do it in your car. Make it really special this time.”

Bobby grins, kisses Don again. “Nah. You’re taking me in your bed.”

Don doesn’t need to be told twice and the two rush from the water’s edge to where Bobby’s car is parked. They’re breathless, it’s still morning, but they have just a little bit of time before classes start. Don is grateful to live so close to campus and he and Bobby barely make it past the front door before they’re on each other again.

Scrambling up the stairs, they shed their clothes along the way and this leads to Don tripping over his shorts on the top step and catching himself with a heavy thud.

Bobby’s laugh is beautiful as he helps Don to his feet, a fondness Don will never tire of seeing. Kicking his shorts to the side, Don is finally just as bare as Bobby, but there isn’t a single trace of hesitation. Once they’re in Don’s bedroom, Bobby falls back against the bed and drags Don on top of him with a smile.

For all their franticness, the next kiss is lazy, slow. Don presses his tongue against Bobby’s and Bobby arches up so he and Don rub together. Holding Bobby’s hands above his head, Don interlaces their fingers, squeezes to tell Bobby these are now his.

When Don pulls away, Bobby is the picture of perfection, face flush, lips wet. Don wants to remember this forever.

“Gonna stare at me all day?” Bobby teases.

“If only I could,” Don sighs wistfully before sitting up.

He opens his bedside table drawer, grabs the bottle of lube and a condom.

“Wait,” Bobby stops Don. “Can we do it without a condom? We’re both clean and…I really want to feel you.”

Don’s heart swells and he kisses Bobby. “Anything.”

Bobby grins at this, shakes his head. “You might regret saying that when I get more kinky.”

“Bobby,” Don blinks. “We’re literally tried over half of the things on that weird BDSM list you printed off.”

“Ah,” Bobby says as if he’s forgotten. “Well, then. I’m all yours.”

Don shakes his head with a smile and lubes up his fingers. In their usual pattern, Bobby rolls over, shoving a pillow under his hips. He pulls apart his cheeks and rests his upper body against the bed.

Unable to help himself, Don leans down to lick a long stripe up Bobby’s hole. Bobby shakes, swears and Don does it again.

“Fuck, I won’t last long,” Bobby groans.

Don isn’t sure he will either so he sits back on his heels, swirls and taps one finger at Bobby’s furl. Don is slow with the first finger, pushing it in painfully slow, dragging it back out just to see Bobby shiver.

Bobby’s fingertips turn white, digging into his soft flesh as Don stretches him open. It’s with the second finger that Bobby moves his hands, grips tightly onto the bedsheets.

Kissing next to Bobby’s hole, Don presses his tongue in next to his two fingers and drinks up Bobby’s moan.

“Fuck, fuck,” Bobby cries. “Donny, please.”

Still thrusting his tongue in and out of Bobby, Don adds a third finger, curling his fingers with each drag back.

Bobby whimpers, his back a perfect arch as Don brushes over his prostate. It’s with a whine from Bobby that Don presses at the sensitive spot again and Bobby practically screams.

“Don, baby,” Bobby’s voice is ragged. “Get the fuck inside me.”

Don grins, places a final kiss on Bobby’s hole before he leans back and squeezes lube onto his cock. It’s cold but with a few strokes, Don is ready to push in and he has one hand hold Bobby’s hip, the other he uses to guide his cock into Bobby.

Bobby’s breaths are punched, high-pitched whines until Don bottoms out. Don soaks in the tightness, how easily Bobby takes him and he can’t help tug at the rim with his thumb.

“You’re a goddamn tease,” Bobby mutters as he slowly turns over with Don still inside him.

He wraps his legs around Don’s waist, pulls him forward by his shoulders. Don barely has time to catch himself as his face lands mere centimeters away from Bobby’s and they share a small laugh.

“I love you,” Bobby says and there’s no way Don can misinterpret this now.

“I love you too,” Don pulls out before slamming back in.

Bobby gasps, nails digging into Don’s back. With a groan, Don slowly, harshly fucks Bobby, sucks a dark spot onto his neck. Bobby is perfect, holding Don close, clenching around him.

“You feel so good, baby,” Bobby praises. “God, I can’t wait for you to fill me up.”

Don moans, eager to see Bobby blissed out and dripping. Their hands tangle together and their grips tighten as if the other person is the only one keeping them on this earth.

“Don,” Bobby begs, meeting Don’s thrusts with the push of his hips. “Don, Don.”

Don is head over heels for this man, catering to his every whim. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else and all he wishes is that he could stop time.

As Bobby’s moans and cries shorten, Don feels the tight heat constrict. He watches, enraptured at the sight of Bobby curving off the bed, spilling all over his stomach and chest. Bobby’s far-off stare, his clenching hole, it’s consuming and with a few more thrusts, Don comes inside Bobby.

Bobby whimpers, bites his lip as Don keeps filling him up. “Yes, god, yes.”

Don groans, grinds into Bobby one last time before pulling out. Bobby’s hole leaks and Don catches the rim with his thumb, mesmerized at how Bobby tightens to keep as much cum inside of him as he can.

“One of these days, I want you to fill me up and put a plug in me,” Bobby murmurs, arm flung over his forehead. “Wanna feel you all day.”

Don can't imagine anything better and he shoots forward to kiss Bobby, nipping at his lips.

“You like that, huh?” Bobby smiles against his mouth. “Want everyone to know I’m yours?”

“Yeah,” Don breathes.

Taking their time, Don and Bobby embrace some more, slow kisses and tender touches. It’s Don who leads them to the bathroom, the two showering and bathing in each other’s arms.

“Really thought you didn’t care,” Bobby admits as the hot water pours down on them.

Bobby’s back is pressed against Don’s chest, their arms wrapped around each other across Bobby’s stomach.

“I thought last night was it.”

“I’m sorry,” Don kisses his shoulder. “I was being stupid.”

“I think we both were,” Bobby laughs a little. “We could’ve been like this a while ago.”

Don turns Bobby around in his arms, gives him a soft kiss. “Better late than never I suppose.”

Bobby just smiles at this and it’s a few more minutes of holding each other before they decide it’s finally time to leave the shower.

“Shit,” Bobby says when he looks at his phone as they’re changing. “We gotta get going. My exam’s at noon.”

Don pauses. “Wait, you thought having sex with me was more important than studying?”

“Says the guy who almost got kicked off the team because he wasn’t passing his geology course,” Bobby retorts. “Besides, it’s just constitutional law. I’ve got this.”

Don knows better than to get into Bobby’s coursework now. Bobby’s confidence is endearing and Don has a smile plastered on his face as they get into Bobby’s car.

“Yeah?” Bobby raises his eyebrows, amused.

“You’re cute, that’s all,” Don replies.

Bobby blushes at this, mumbles something as he pulls out of the drive. They’re at campus in what feels like an instant but before they get out, Bobby grabs Don by the collar and gives him one last kiss.

“Lunch after my test?” Bobby grins.

Don is a lost cause and all he can do is stare at Bobby, swimming in his gaze before he finally finds his voice.

“It’s a date.”

[dogwooddiaries]

He Always Held My Hand (984 words) by Breakingofdawn Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Boys in the Boat (2023) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Bobby Moch, Gaston Moch Additional Tags: Family, Father-Son Relationship, Bobby Moch growing up, fluff-ish, but also a smidge angsty Summary:

He began to see how often others, even the kind ones, will underestimate you.  

In Montesano, the rain was expected. The thunder was not. Once a year or so these gales came, but it was the first that his young memory had a grip strong enough to keep. The storm was a monster, rushing in to deliver on the promise of his most vibrant, violent imaginings. Tremors shook his bones; he knew the world would crack apart.

For the young, time flattens and extends, spreading sticky and slow. This storm was surely eternal.

Just when he thought the walls of the room would bear down on him, a line of light slipped across his bed. Quiet steps brought a hovering shadow, familiar and full. Then, a gentle hand, fingertips and knuckles lost in the cave of a larger grip. Bobby curled his hand inside the clenching comfort of his father's.

***

Brow and cheeks flushed, the pain was storied in gripping fingers, a restless head, a rigid jaw. It peaked in Bobby's eyes, so tired of searching for help. They had started to surrender, lashes fluttering, eyes rolling back.

In the day to day, his father did not pull him close, not when they said goodnight or goodbye, not when tears threatened. But this night, his burning body was embedded inside strong arms, pressed to the chest, and carried across thresholds in search of help. Then finally, finally, a promise arrived. Help was coming. They waited together.

Mother's fingers, cool and gentle, traced relief onto forehead heat. And father, with his hand over hand. The touch did nothing to relieve the pain, but instead it repeated, with the rhythm of a pulse - I am here, I am here, I am here.

He was there. But his hands could not stay the cutting, the mistakes, the irreparable damage. He could only gather the broken body back up to himself and carry him home.

***

Just two years recovered, or perhaps remade is a better word. His eyes finally cleared the counter, his hands easily reached the tools - the lathe, the scale, the calipers in their shapely forms, leggy and one-armed. The jewelry shop was his toy store.

Sometimes he brought the pieces his father called for, knowing their names as well as his own, still learning the sizing for one or the other. He was almost grown now you know, too old to sit on the floor with the eye loupes, holding them up to magnify the wood grain, his fingernails, the stitches on his sleeve.

It was when the customers slipped through the door that his whole self would come alive. He cornered them with chatter and questions, curious and full of recall from their previous visits. But wide-eyed and slight, he was laughed at, offered a tootsie roll, or given a pat on the head. He began to see how often others, even the kind ones, will underestimate you.

One afternoon, they have together arranged all the repaired pieces of a watch on the tray, ready to reassemble. Some day, he told his father, he will work by his side.

"Your hands and head, they could do the work. There is already much you know. But Bobby, your mind is too fast; it would get bored."

The father's hand held the youthful, slender one as it twitched with stilted patience. He adjusted his position, strengthened his hold on the handle. Then they pivoted together, heavy fingers guiding fledgling ones.

"You'll find your work somewhere else, I think. You will use your mind to cut the world apart, Bobby. And you will fit it back together the way it should be."

The man's heart hummed on the inside, You've had to see how the world will take things to pieces. You can help make it right.

***

Bobby faces the breeze, lets the salty air dry his hair from the afternoon games and swim. Every day feels like a party when the victories have piled behind you and the Olympics are ahead.

The evening is closing in and he's found a quiet place, a tree to lean on, as he opens mail from home. The words feel as light as ink and paper always does. He doesn't perceive the weight of them when he opens the letter, even with the additional envelope. It's enclosed separately, smaller and stamped with a private note. Read alone is the message's urging.

Unfolding a paper unfolds a story, and it's one that can't be unread. Eyes scanning lines, hands unready to catch the pieces of what he's being given. The truth doesn't care that it falls into unprepared palms, it's been there all along. Bobby squeezes his eyes shut.

This identity, it's too tight, uncomfortable like new unworn shoes. But that can be adjusted, he can break it in with a walk, it will settle with some time. But his father - his father...? He kept it tucked away, like a burden, like a secret. Did he ever unfasten it? From time to time, did he leave it behind in the cedar chest at home? Or was that what made his shoulders curve bent over life, his back to the world, protecting him with his safe hands always covering his own?

***

Before returning to a new job and a new room as a new graduate, Bobby will walk the familiar path to the front door that he no longer thinks of as his. Soft and cool hands will press to his face with a kiss, a motherly smile more welcoming than any party.

He will set down his suitcase, weighted with souvenirs and gold. He will reach to shake his father's hand, and two arms will return to embrace him instead. Bobby will fold his arms around him in surprise, and he will place his hands against his back. It is straight and smooth. 

Then he will take his father's palms, press the round shining disk inside them, and wrap his own fingers underneath. 

[disneydancepants]

More Disney Names, Non-Princess Edition:

Getting prepped for the Villains name post, I thought I'd follow up with a few that didn't fit into the official Disney Princess category! Notably, characters I consider *honorary* Princesses and Princes. So I'm going to include: Hercules, The Black Cauldron, Hunchback of Notre Dame, Atlantis, and Raya and the Last Dragon.

Same formula as last time, so let's dig in!

Confirmed Canon (in Film or Outside Films)

Milo Thatch: the movie Atlantis literally just gives us his name. 😆

Kida: I'm pretty sure this was confirmed in the movie, but either way the Princess of Atlantis is canonically named Kidagakash Nedakh.

Esmeralda: Nothing is confirmed by Disney, buuuuut we can turn to the original novel by Victor Hugo. There she is born Agnes Guybertaut to a French prostitute named Paquette "la Chantefleurie" Guybertaut, but she gets kidnapped by the Roma (baby Quasimodo is left in her place) and renamed Esmeralda. Disney ditched this entire backstory, since... "kidnapped by gypsies" is pretty racist. Film Esmeralda seems to be full Roma instead of half, so I don't like "Esmeralda Guybertaut". I prefer to go with her mother's nickname as a nod to the book, thus calling her "Esmeralda Chantefleurie". It flows better off the tongue, and (if I remember my French) translates to something like "Singing Flower". Fits her beauty, compassion, and fiery wit. Maybe it's just me, but the image of a singing flower isn't weak. 😆

Captain Phoebus: I wish Phoebus was his surname so I could have more fun with it, but it's not. While his book version is a MAJOR tool (take Gaston up to 11 and you almost have the guy), the movie version is way better (I didn't like him as a kid, but honestly he's a decent dude). We can still take his full name from the novel though: Captain Phoebus de Chateaupers.

Constructed from Canon Info

Quasimodo: We have no idea what the Hunchback's birth name was, but his given name probably wasn't even Quasimodo. We could assume Frollo would be his surname after his murdering raper of a guardian Judge Frollo, but that A-hole wouldn't associate Quasi with himself. It makes more sense to give him an occupational surname such as Quasimodo LeSonneur ("Quasimodo the Bell-Ringer") since he is the Bell-Ringer of Notre Dame.

Hercules: We could go a lot of ways here. At the end of the movie, we could give him his actual constellation's name (Hercules Engonasin), son of Zeus (Hercules Zeusides), or Hercules Olympios. Pre-Hero he would probably be called Hercules Athinaios, since the Disney version grew up in Athens. Those are my best understandings of how Greek would work after a day of interweb research.

Megara: Two major options for Meg. Going by mythology, she could be Megara Creone (daughter of Creon). Otherwise she could be Megara Thebakis (Megara of Thebes).

Taran: the hero of The Black Cauldron isn't given a full name, but a mixture of the source material (Chronicles of Prydain novels) and googling Welsh gave me Taran Ceidwad Moch ap Dallben. I couldn't find a Welsh occupational name for Swineherd/Pigkeeper, but "Ceidwad Moch" should be the correct translation. Taran is a foundling/orphan, so traditionally he would be named for the place he was found. We don't know where exactly Dallben found baby Taran though, aside from a battlefield... So I included "ap Dallben" for "son of Dallben", Taran's adoptive mentor. Alternatively, "maes y gad" is supposed to translate to battlefield, so maybe Taran of the Battlefield could be his name.

Eilonwy: Princess Eilonwy of Black Cauldron is the daughter of Princess Angharad and a commoner, so I think she would likely take a matronym instead of a patronym. Full title would probably be Princess Eilonwy vch Angharad of House Llyr.

Iffy due to Lack of Canon Info

Raya: This is hard because we have so very little info... And I'm very, very unfamiliar with Southeast Asia. And it reaalllllyyy doesn't help that Kumandra is just a giant melting pot of SEA cultures. In English we could just call her something simple like "Raya of Heart" or "Raya, daughter of Benja". But those are pretty dumb? So I found on Wikipedia that Sumatran family names usually take the prefix Si-, but also sometimes Batu- or Huta-. I like how Batu- is close to Batuu with the whole Star Wars/Kelly Marie Tran connection, so I rolled with that. Google translated Heart to "Jantung" in Indonesian (basically had to pick a SEA language at random), so I've come up with "Raya Batujantung" to vaguely sorta mean "Raya of Clan Heart". That's the best I'm likely gonna get unless someone who is Southeast Asian can give us better options.

I'm with K.M. Tran on shipping Raya/Namaari as Disney's first lesbian princesses, so Namaari would normally take the place of a Disney Prince here... But I'm saving her for the Villains post.

How Barbossa and I felt watching most Raya/Namaari interactions.

[leleaulait]

Non, non, Nooooon !!! J'ai le perso que je trouve le plus moche dans ACNH ! ...Gaston 😭

Sachez qu'il va très vite dégager !

[nouveau-art]

Portrait of French pacifist and esperantist Gaston Moch, 1898, Felix Vallotton

[benlefrank]

🌅#Contraste 🌄 #Slam #Chaman 🌞 Tu dis avoir subi... Souffert dans la douleur.. Affronté toute ta Vie... Les peines et les hardeurs... De tous ceux qui se rient, De voir avec stupeur, Tes sou-rires en harmonie, En présence, plein de couleurs... Contrastes d'avec ceux qui, Se plaignent de la chaleur... Humaine comme de la pluie, Si froids, alors que de belles fleurs, Poussent et fanent aujourd'hui... 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑 Belatre elle me répond : Enfin, Monsieur Gaston ! Change un peu de Telefon, Et résonne dans les tréfonds, De ton âme, qui se fond... Dans l'abîme, l'ego, lui, mort-fond. Alors, oui, vibre-le à fond, ce son... N'attends pas qu'il parte, si profond, Laisse-le passer, couler, garçon ! Tu verras comment tu es aimé, pti con, Au lieu de persister, tel un gascon, À manger, te balafrer, à coups de baton, Avec ta vanité... mangeur de saucisson! 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑 Et là, soudain, sonna la cloche... De l'Amour où plus rien ne cloche, Plus rien à se mettre dans les poches. Ni nous la main, ce serait trop moche. Non, je n'ai jamais eu faim, gavroche! De cette chair sans vie, si fastoche... Tuer pour manger du mort, à la broche, N'est pas dans mes attraits, je pioche... Plutôt dans le Vivant, Nature enfiloche, Pour nous tant de cadeaux, pistaches, Abricots & cajoux, à volonté bon'pioch'. Animaux doux, les plantes en approche, S'en abreuvent. À nous aussi. Cloche ! 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑. 🎑 De ce voyage transis, Le chaman que je suis, De son Slam, réuni, Avec sa femme au lit, Ses hormones, mais aussi... Les cellules qui unies, À celles de sa belle de nuit, Créent une nouvelle Vie... Un-Carnée en celui, L'enfant qui pousse ainsi, Dans les entrailles, au Nid... Puis s'envole à l'infini, Déploie ses ailes... à la Vie ! 💜🦋💫 (à Du Côté De Chez Ben Lefrank) https://www.instagram.com/p/B3E9bVUCuc_/?igshid=1mk7rn5vx39jr

[savvylittlecoxswain]

The following letter was sent by Bobby Moch from Poughkeepsie, New York to his parents back home in Montesano, Washington. The letter is dated June 20, 1936—Bobby’s 22nd birthday, one day before Father’s Day, and a mere two days before UW would sweep the Poughkeepsie Regatta.

[homemademoviereviews]

La Belle et la Bête de Bill Condon

6/04/2017 - UGC Les Halles - bms

En excitation et appréhension, je ne savais pas trop quoi attendre de ce remake en live-action de mon Disney préféré.

Le résultat est mitigé allant plutôt vers le négatif car on sort du film avec une unique envie : revoir le dessin animé de 1991.

Le film a 2 gros problèmes. Le premier est que le scénario a été réécrit et donc rallongé d’au moins 3/4 d’heure par rapport au dessin animé modifiant ou rajoutant des éléments inutiles au déroulement de l’histoire. Ce nouveau scénario essaie de répondre à des questions qui pourraient se poser en voyant le dessin animé (mais qui en réalité ne se posent pas car il s’agit d’un dessin animé et tout ne doit pas nécessairement être justifié). Ces ajouts rendent le film long, altèrent son rythme et n’apportent rien.

Le 2e problème, est son esthétique somme tout assez vilaine, notamment pour les objets ensorcelés du château. Ce qui donne lieu pour une des meilleures scènes à quelque chose de moche et donc de fort peu agréable.

Ce qu’on retiendra de positif néanmoins ce sont les scènes chantées et dansées en groupe (Belle, Gaston et la scène finale) très belles et dignes des meilleures adaptations de Broadway. On y retrouve le souffle de la scène et du musical. Luke Evans et Emma Watson sont bons, à l’image de ce qui leur est demandé. Ni plus ni moins. Le beau casting pour les objets ne suffit pas élevé le niveau.

Le film est finalement moyen sans être complètement raté.

[savvylittlecoxswain]

“Gaston Speaks About Son Robert”

14 July 1936 - Tacoma, Washington

Fred Hampson got into a talkfest with Gaston Moch, the influential Montesano jeweler and father of Washington's crew announcer, the other day and learned that young Bob probably inherited his coxswaining skill from his mother. Moch said he personally had been in a rowboat a couple of times but never saw a shell until Bob made the crew.

And here's how Bob Moch got his start.

"Bob said when he was 12 years old, some day he would be a coxswain of a Washington crew. I don't know much about rowing, but I know a coxswain, like a jockey, had to be small. So I told him he better eat lightly," Papa Moch chatted. "As a kid he read everything he could find about rowing and never missed a chance to buttonhole an oarsman and learn something more."

When Fred asked him if Bob is going to wait until the last 10 feet to put Washington ahead at Berlin, Moch replied, mopping his brow:

"I wouldn't know. He never lets me in on the secrets. I hope he doesn't. It's too hard on my nerves."

[savvylittlecoxswain]

Sharply contrasting any Nazi disappointment was the emotional response of Gaston Moch, Bob Moch's father, who listened to the race on CBS back in Montesano, Washington. Tuning in early, he found it on CBS and felt lucky to catch it. "The broadcast direct from Germany came in fine, at exactly 9 a.m. here the race started, [though] it had been advertised for 9:15 a.m.,” he wrote the following day. His letter to his son captures the excitement of his listening experience:

“I thought the race on Wednesday with England was a thriller but the one yesterday was about all we could stand... The broadcast direct from Germany came in fine, at exactly 9 a.m. here the race started, it had been advertised for 9:35 a.m. I stayed home and Mrs. Melville opened the store, we were going to sit down and have breakfast when the returns started coming and the announcement that the race would start at nine so, Mom, Sis and I gathered around the radio and what thrills we did get but you certainly came in in fine style and we jumped, hugged, cried and laughed all at the same time. It was the most exciting moment that I have ever experienced, you and those Huskies certainly put on the most marvelous fight I ever heard of, we are so darn proud that we just don't know how to act.”

— an excerpt from Six Minutes in Berlin: Broadcast Spectacle and Rowing Gold at the Nazi Olympics by Michael J., Socolow

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On the other side of the planet, Gaston Moch heard the interview while attending a Montesano Chamber of Commerce meeting. Just before the broadcast, he wrote, the room hushed. "At 1 o'clock the Olympic Review came direct from Germany. Hume spoke and then another thrill when you got on, it was so quite [sic] in the room you could have heard a pin drop and your voice sounded great, it came in fine, and everyone enjoyed it."

— an excerpt from Six minutes in Berlin: broadcast spectacle and rowing Gold at the Nazi Olympics by Michael J., Socolow

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Bobby’s father was a “prominent member of the citizenry” in the small town of Montesano, Washington. He’d lived there ever since he first immigrated to the US from Switzerland at the age of 15. He was “a proud member of the all-volunteer fire department” and had “on every important committee for decades and decades.”

The thing about towns of 2,500 people is that they care for their own, rally around folks in times of need and help out however they can. So when Bobby falls ill, the son of such a beloved local business owner, I know they had to have done just that.

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What if Bobby’s father decided that he couldn’t possibly let his son go to Germany alone? Like imagine if Gaston Moch showed up outside Bobby’s door in New York as the boys are riding the high of winning the Olympic Trials, asking if he could speak to Bobby alone. And of course they all think that someone died or something, but Bobby agrees and they go on a walk together. When they’re alone in a field sitting beside one another under a tree, Gaston tells Bobby everything. Of course it’s very emotional for them both, but Bobby is glad his father told him.

And it doesn’t end there because Gaston is determined to not let his son face whatever lies overseas alone, whatever it may be. He had money set aside for a trip to visit his family for a while now, but now there’s the added bonus of being able to watch his son compete in the Olympics. Maybe they put him down on the manifest as their translator or something seeing as he is fluent in French and quite possibly knew a little bit of German.