#good god i hate how this scene is lit and generally the way its filmed made this hard i don't want to see a man's face so close sorry db

[dawnssummers]

buffy the vampire slayer, 1.07 angel / richard siken, snow and dirty rain

[adrinalameda]

to: @gaelblanco​ where/when: adrina’s apartment, 9p

Don’t do it - she thought, standing with hands clutching the edges of the counter in her small Brooklyn apartment (small didn’t even begin to cut it, but she’d rather spend her money on high quality ingredients, tools and her restaurant). Nat King Cole’s If I Had You played from her laptop and her cheeks were damp after having cried on the bus after the meeting. Her hair looked like freakin’ Cindy Lou’s in a bun that couldn’t sit still for long enough - which caused even more frustration. She’d just finished a bowl of passion fruit ice cream (her favorite) and the only thing she could think of was the comfort Gael’s presence afforded her - but after what happened between them, she knew full well that texting him was the worst idea imaginable. 

It happened two weeks ago and still she could feel the way his hand took hers and she could still hear his voice, soft, singing quietly in her ear. It was like a scene out of some Parisian romance film and as much as she hated the way it made her feel - she loved it all the same. Adrina had done well in avoiding him - somewhat - the meeting on Thursday went quick, so quick she could hardly remember what words they exchanged - all she knew was that he would begin work on six forty-by-forty pieces inspired by South America and particularly Colombia. And after that, there were definitely times where she’d think of him but she had enough willpower (or fear) to only send a friendly text here and there or a funny meme or something stupid in general to make sure he knew she still wanted to keep in touch - she still, at least, wanted to be friends, even at a distance.

She just couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d done something wrong - or perhaps said something wrong; maybe she shouldn’t have leaned in so close? Cringing at the thought, her eyes drew away from her phone and again she felt her throat tighten and her eyes sting. The woman had copious amounts of tears, it was ridiculously frustrating. And not only that, but after the meeting with Jake earlier that afternoon - she met with a friend and she and this friend went out for drinks, and though she’d only had two glasses of wine, this was the first time her inhibitions were even slightly lowered and it was the first time in two weeks that her divorce made her sad - absolutely, dreadfully sad, because as much as Jake claimed he wanted to try again, she had spotted him at Barcelona Bar the night before, talking up some girl. God, the blatant disrespect.

An hour went by...and then two, and all the while, Adrina cleaned and cleaned some more and then she whipped up a vegan, orange and vanilla creme brulee and as if life were laughing at her, Nat’s When I Fall in Love came on. “Nope...no, no,” she held the tray of brulees in one hand and with the other, expertly leaned sideways to click next on Spotify. And then another hour went by as she waited for the brulees to cool and she sat on her lemon yellow couch, drinking a makeshift piña colada (it was a ready-made mix with Don Q rum she kept under her sink, don’t sue her), reading E.E. Cumming’s poetry with her stupid gold-rimmed glasses that now reminded her of Gael, of course. And then she read i carry your heart - had she planned on it? No, of course not, but her eyes seemed to have a mind of their own: i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart) i am never without it (anywhere i go you go…)

“Okay, you know what,” she shut the book and threw it beside her, watching it bounce once onto its cover. Taking her phone from atop the coffee table, Adrina began texting Georgia, a friend from high school - the very friend she’d gone out with earlier that afternoon: hey, me again, lol are you tired of me yet? I made these orange and vanilla creme brulees and having myself a piña colada and not gonna lie, I’m feeling like complete shit over here. I keep thinking of the meeting with Jake and remembering how I saw him with that blonde at Barcelona and I’m drowning...a little. Can you please come over? If you don’t like creme brulee, I can make you whatever you want! I don’t have eggs though...so, sorry. Anyway, please??

It wasn’t that desperate, right? Nah, she thought, pressing send. And it took Adrina her getting up to make another piña colada, checking her creme brulees and lighting a stick of palo santo (for good juju, something her grandmother, a self-proclaimed bruja taught her) before it finally dawned on her who the text had actually been sent to. “Oh no….” she muttered, dropping the barely lit palo santo. “Oh no...no, no, no,” she leapt onto the couch, taking hold of her phone in a hazy panic before seeing it had sent to Gael instead. Her eyes widened as she stared at the screen - stared at the black letters of his name: Gael. And without a second thought, she began typing: Omg I’m sorry...that wasn’t meant for you, actually! I was supposed to send that to someone else. Please, please ignore that. Pretend I never sent it… and as she was about to keep typing, she noticed the ‘read’ under her text message. 

[kaistarus]

Clickbait(YouTuberAU)--Chapter 5

Pairings: Kiribaku, Tododeku

Words: 4,437

Summary:  A lot of great things came with being a big name YouTuber, but along with those perks were some serious drawbacks. One of the biggest being your lack of personal privacy.

Due to just one video, Kirishima's least well-kept secret has become a viral sensation overnight, and now he has to deal with the repercussions from both the YouTube community and the public. Hopefully, those he's dragging down with him won't mind...

Notes: Welcome to how many Buzzfeed Unsolved references can I fit into one chapter lol. Had a lot of fun with this, so I hope you all like it!!

Read the full thing here

Kirishima laid haphazardly across the leather sofa, upper body sunk perfectly into the cushion now melded for his form. He shoveled a mouthful of Americanized-Chinese take-out that had been ordered once too often that week and numbed his mind with another Disney princess movie. As Rapunzel cupped Eugene’s cheek, singing through tears to bring her new love back from the dead he brushed his thumb longingly against his cell phone. If only he had someone who would cut their hair and sing to him if he were dying.

“Are you just going lay there and mope all day?

Kirishima groaned, pausing the movie with his phone. “I’m not moping. I’m relaxing.”

“You’ve been on that couch for the past three days,” Sero said. He kicked one of many take-out boxes surrounding Kirishima. “In those same clothes.”

Kirishima pulled his childhood Crimson Riot blanket above his head. It had been a full week since he and Bakugou exchanged numbers, and the only thing he received from him was a thumbs-up emoji when Kirishima texted him about their video hitting number one trending. An emoji like that basically meant ‘fuck off’ in text lingo. Kirishima hadn’t known what he did wrong, but he could take a hint.

“Do you think you could be… overreacting?” Sero asked.

Kirishima pulled the blanket down far enough to glare at Sero. “I would never overreact about this.”

“Clearly.”

Kirishima didn’t care what Sero thought. He would rather lay here in the mingled smell of Chinese leftovers and armpit stench than face reality.

His cocoon of warmth was ripped away as Sero pulled the fleece blanket off. Kirishima sat up and reached after the covers, but Sero had been too fast.

“What the hell, dude,” Kirishima said, giving up and lying back down.

“Mina told me I needed to get you up today, and I fear her more on a good day than you on your worst.”

That was fair, but it didn’t mean Kirishima liked it. He turned to face away from Sero and burrow further into the cushion’s warmth, not suspecting Sero to grip his legs and drag him off the sofa. “Bro, what the fuck!” Kirishima said, kicking at Sero’s hands and gripping the armrest for dear life.

Sero won. Kirishima flopped belly first onto plush carpet, feet atop Sero’s lap who’d fallen over the moment Kirishima lost his holding on the side of the couch. Before Kirishima could berate Sero for ruining his depressive episode the couch cushions started to vibrate. He realized his phone fell between the cracks during their tussle.

Kirishima figured Mina was calling to check on him and he had a thing or two to say to her. He dug between the cracks, annoyance allowing him to ignore a large number of crumbs his fingertips were brushing and whipped his phone to his ear.

“Mina if you don’t start minding your own—"

“Kirishima!” Midoriya’s voice threw Kirishima off guard. He pulled the phone away and nearly dropped the device when ‘Bakugou Katsuki’ flashed in all caps. “I’m so glad you picked up.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima said confused. Midoriya was panting heavily, and it sounded like the phone was being jostled around. “Are you okay, dude? Why do you have Bakugou’s—"

“Everything’s fine! Hey, we’re filming today, and I was wondering if you wanted to come to hang out?” Midoriya asked. Kirishima strained to hear what he thought was yelling in the background.

“We, like, Mysteries Unsolved?”

“Yeah! You and I still haven’t talked. I need to get to know the guy that Kacchan—oof.”

There were muffled arguments after Kirishima assumed the phone had been dropped. He called out to Midoriya a few times, growing concerned when he heard a high-pitched squeal.

“Shitty Hair?” A husky voice filtered to his ear. Kirishima’s mouth went dry and he gripped the phone tighter.

“Uh, that’s me?”

“What did that fucker say?” Bakugou asked. “He’s a damn liar. You can’t trust him.”

Kirishima looked up at Sero who had started eating the rest of the General Tso he’d gotten for lunch. Kirishima kicked him onto his side.

“He said you were filming today and that I should come over.”

“Oh.” The line went quiet for a little too long and Kirishima had to check they were still connected. “That’s fine. You should do that.”

“Are you sure? I don’t have—”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Suddenly the fact that he’d been wearing the same clothes for three days became more apparent. “I just gotta get ready and then I’ll head over.”

They said their goodbyes and Kirishima fell back onto his back with a sigh. Sero crawled to hover over him with a mocking look and Kirishima eyed him suspiciously. “What?”

“I would never overreact.” He said, voice pitched higher and face scrunched, shaking his head and clearly mocking him. Kirishima shoved him onto his side again and rolled into a squatting position to boost himself up. He had to wash off his depression stank.

~*~*~*~

Kirishima realized, standing in front of Bakugou’s red-bricked apartment complex, that it was a lot less intimidating than he remembered. Maybe because he didn’t have the feel of impending doom rolling around in his stomach this time.

“Alright,” Sero said, leaning across the passenger seat. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Yes, mom,” Kirishima said while rolling his eyes.

“And be safe. Those are basically strangers up there.”

“Okay, mom.”

“And make sure you use protection. I can’t take care of any more children.”

“Sero. Leave.”

Sero laughed and drove off, leaving Kirishima to grumble his way down the stone path lined with daisies and white-painted benches with hearts cut into the backs. Kirishima paused to watch a small bird drink from a layered fountain—had he seriously been freaking out over this place? He reached the glass vestibule that buzzed the moment he texted Bakugou he’d arrived. Unlike the last time he came to the complex Kirishima navigated the dimly lit halls much easier, only getting lost once. He blamed it on the random flyer informing tenants not to leave their dog’s droppings in the hallway.

He found the silver plaque reading 420 rather quickly and after a self-pep talk knocked strongly on the wooden door. He bounced on the balls of his feet, and when the door pulled open the guy with half his hair dyed from the party was staring blankly back at him. Kirishima remembered Uraraka saying he was Bakugou’s roommate and their editor, how did he forget he’d be here.

“Shitty Hair.” Todoroki—he thinks that’s what Uraraka called him—said. Kirishima waited for more, but after an uncomfortably long time staring at each other, he realized that was it.

“Can I come in, please?”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed and he found himself shrinking under the gaze. He thought once things had been figured out between him and Bakugou this Todoroki guy wouldn’t hate him anymore, but it looks like he’d been wrong.

“Is that Kirishima?” Midoriya came bounding up from behind Todoroki. “What are you doing in the hall? Come on, we’re almost done setting up!”

Kirishima slid past Todoroki with as much space as possible. The apartment looked massive compared to how it’d felt crammed with all those people the night of the party. The furniture that Kaminari had fallen off was now pushed against the walls to make room for the set that Kirishima had seen in so many of their YouTube videos. An old wooden table and chairs became the focus and a backdrop was being set up behind them. Taped to the backdrop were wanted posters, maps with red string and post-its, and various black and white photos of vehicles, people, and crime scenes. Kirishima felt an uncontrollable smile start to form.

“I always pictured you having a studio or something.”

“It looks more complicated than it is.” Midoriya shrugged. “It’s already intact in Todoroki’s room. We just move it out here.”

“You keep the table in your room?” Kirishima asked turning to Todoroki.

“It’s our dining set.”

Kirishima eyed the old, cracked table and the two uncomfortable chairs. He couldn’t imagine having to sit on those for anything other than a short film session.

“Kacchan is in Todoroki’s room grabbing the last of the camera equipment,” Midoriya said. “If you wanted to go help him.” Kirishima did. He nodded to Midoriya and wandered down the only hallway that could lead to other rooms. He had no clue which door led to Todoroki’s room, but after hearing several curses he had a pretty good idea.

He nudged the ajar door open with his foot and found Bakugou headfirst in a closet.

“Fucking half-and-half bastard. I told him to leave them out, but nobody ever fucking listens to me. I swear to fucking god I’m going to lose my mind.” Bakugou muttered to himself while throwing clothing items and books behind him.

“Would you like help?”

Bakugou pulled out of the closet too quickly, causing a few crashes to be heard inside. “Hey.” He said breathlessly. Kirishima figured from digging around in the closet so long.

“Hi.”

“I’ve almost got it. Just hold on.” Bakugou said before diving back into whatever chaos Todoroki maintained in there.

Kirishima took small steps around the room that was about as plain as the owner itself. The walls were blank, the bedspread was grey, and even his computer desk was barren. The only thing that stood out was the two pictures hung above his bedframe with scotch tape. The first was him, Midoriya, and Bakugou holding their one-millionth subscriber plaque, and the second was two young boys in jerseys covered in dirt, the blonde boy had a cocky grin with his arm slung around a pale-haired boy who smiled shyly.

“You can carry these.” Bakugou offered Kirishima two heavy leather bags filled with equipment only Sero could name. He followed Kirishima’s gaze to the pictures on Todoroki’s wall and scoffed. “I told the hag not to give him that.”

“Is that you?”

“Yeah, but it’s a stupid picture.” Bakugou nudged Kirishima forward with his own case. “I don’t know why he likes it so much.”

Kirishima followed Bakugou out of the room to help him unpack the equipment while Midoriya and Todoroki completed the backdrop.

“Kacchan, I’m going to start recording the voiceover,” Midoriya said, walking toward the hall with Todoroki trailing after.

“Fucking do whatever I don’t care.”

“Voiceover?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah, the dramatic explaining bull shit. Half-and-half cuts it in with us fucking around. It sounds cleaner that way.”

Kirishima nodded. That made sense. He guessed he never thought about it that intensely while just casually watching. “So, what’s the topic today?”

Bakugou shrugged. “The dynamic works better if I don’t know.” He said, struggling with a tripod. Kirishima sat cross-legged and watched helpfully. “I set up all the outings and Deku does this bull shit.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped, “but I thought you hated being a ghost hunter.”

“I’m not a fucking ghost hunter.” Bakugou paused, staring blankly ahead. “Am I a ghost hunter?”

“I mean by definition...” Kirishima shrugged. “Sorry, dude.”

“I don’t want to be a fucking ghost hunter. This is bull shit!”

Todoroki poked his head out from the end of the hallway. “Izuku would like me to pass on, ‘Kacchan shut the fuck up. You’re ruining my recording’.”

“Tell him to suck a fat one.”

“I will not.” Todoroki left and Bakugou stuck his tongue out childishly.

“Izuku?” Kirishima asked.

“Yep,” Bakugou motioned for Kirishima to hand him one of the items lying beside him. “You give someone a place to stay and they betray you by sleeping with the enemy.”

“That didn’t sound overdramatic at all.”

“I’m not overdramatic.” He muttered under his breath. Kirishima leaned back on his palms and glanced back to where Todoroki had disappeared.

Midoriya’s head poked out from the hall. “Kirishima there’s a fun ransom note in this case and I was wondering if you wanted to do the voiceover for it?”

“Fun ransom note?” Bakugou shook his head.

“Me?”

“Normally Todoroki would, but since you’re here I figured it’d be fun to switch things up.”

Kirishima scrambled up and bounded down to the room opposite Todoroki’s. Bakugou’s room had a lot more to take in than Todoroki’s had. The amount of superhero merchandise—All Might specifically—that Bakugou had was impressive even to Kirishima. He had posters hung all over, actions figures and Funko Pops on bookshelves—most unopened, comic books resting on his nightstand, and an All Might blanket strewn across his black comforter. In between the superhero posters were a few pop-punk bands from the early 2000s that he was sure Sero would appreciate.

Kirishima’s eyes landed on a silver laptop on Bakugou’s bed that had a few YouTuber’s logo stickers on them. He noticed one was worn and nearly peeling off the surface, and it took him a moment to recognize it as his own logo. It was Kirishima’s first attempt at merch from nearly four years ago. He’d changed his design completely since then since hardly anyone had bought those. Bakugou had said he only knew so much about the Vlog Squad because Midoriya watched their videos in college. If that was true why would he have—

“Alright, here are the sections we need,” Midoriya said, handing him a paper with several highlighted sentences.

“Do I have to read it all dramatic?” Kirishima asked, skimming the words. He took a seat in front of their expensive-looking microphone while Todoroki clicked various buttons on the screen before him. This was all completely out of his basic editing toolbox.

“Just read them like you want to kidnap and murder a little girl,” Todoroki said somehow disinterested.

“Shoto.” Midoriya smacked his arm lightly. He muttered under his breath, leaning back and gesturing to the mic in front of Kirishima. He stared at it blankly.

“Don’t worry too much,” Bakugou said, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “Whatever you do will be fine.”

“If not, I’ll just rerecord it when you leave.”

Midoriya smacked Todoroki again. Bakugou gave Kirishima a millisecond half-smile and that was all the encouragement he needed to begin. The ‘fun’ ransom note turned out to be extremely depressing, and unfortunately, Kirishima ended up having to read it several times before getting a good take. He fumbled over a few larger words, but Midoriya was incredibly forgiving. After all the unnecessary compliments he received Kirishima left confident that he’d performed decent enough for a working edit.

“Alright, time to get this bitch over with,” Bakugou said, kicking off the doorframe.

“That’s the spirit Kacchan.”

Excitement fluttered through Kirishima’s stomach as Bakugou and Midoriya took their seats. He sat atop their kitchen counter a few meters behind the film equipment so any noise he made wouldn’t get picked up by audio. Todoroki made a few final adjustments to Bakugou’s set up, ignoring his insulted rants, and counted off to signal the start of filming. Once the camera was on he moved back beside Kirishima, and it was clear by his cold demeanor that he had little intention of humoring him with a conversation.

Like all videos, Midoriya began with explaining that week’s topic while Bakugou half-listened, twirling a red pen between his fingers. They would be covering the unsolved murder of a young girl, a case that their patron had been actively requesting. Midoriya barely got three minutes in before Bakugou interjected.

“Are those business folders going to be a regular thing now?”

“I was planning on it,” Midoriya said. “Why? Does it bother you that I look professional now?”

“No. It pisses me off because I know a bunch of ghost bull shit is going to end up in there.” Bakugou said, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, it’s not bull shit, so sorry but—”

“Wait,” Bakugou turned serious and put his hands up. “Did you hear that?”

Midoriya shook his head and Bakugou pointed his pen downwards. “It was my chair squeaking. Did you think it was a ghost? I’m just making sure you know the difference.”

Kirishima snorted. Bakugou and Midoriya both turned to him, Bakugou’s expression elated and Midoriya’s crestfallen.

“Kirishima,” Midoriya said whining.

“I’m sorry.”

“This is great.” Bakugou crossed his arms behind his head for support as he leaned back. “We should have a live audience more often.”

“This audience is biased, and you know it,” Midoriya muttered under his breath.

Bakugou rolled his eyes and waved for Midoriya to start up again. They continued with the episode and Kirishima tried his best to force down laughter whenever Bakugou made a snide remark. It hadn’t helped that Bakugou would make direct eye contact with him after every incident.

Todoroki started mumbling beside him.

“What?” Kirishima figured there was no harm in trying with Todoroki.

Todoroki side-eyed him. “Bakugou’s showing off. This is going to be annoying to edit.”

Kirishima didn’t know what that meant. As far as he could tell Bakugou was acting like normal.

“Are you taking notes?” Midoriya asked. Bakugou had his head down over his small yellow notepad and Midoriya strained to see what it said. “When have you ever taken notes that doesn’t—Deku is a fucking idiot. That’s…that’s real funny. Are you proud of yourself?”

Bakugou wiggled his eyebrows cockily at the camera and made brief eye-contact with Kirishima again. He supposed Bakugou was acting a little goofier than usual, but Kirishima wouldn’t consider that showing off.

Todoroki groaned dramatically beside him, so he clearly disagreed. Bakugou listened to Midoriya explain the first two suspects and suddenly he slapped his hand over Midoriya’s mouth. Midoriya peeled Bakugou’s hand off and looked at him like he’d gone insane.

“What’s happen—”

“Deku, I’ve connected the fucking dots.”

Midoriya looked a cross between amused and angry. Kirishima had his hands covering his mouth and was keeping his laughter down by sheer willpower alone. He wouldn’t allow himself to ruin what he knew would become a historical moment.

“Kacchan, there is nothing for you to connect yet.”

“I’ve connected them,” Bakugou said. He went on to rattle off a theory connecting the first two suspects to the murder. Kirishima and Todoroki both glanced at each other confused by what was happening before them. Bakugou spoke with such confidence it was hard not to believe he’d just solved the case. Midoriya read through the paper in his hand, looking between it and Bakugou before throwing it behind his back exasperatedly.

“Yeah, that’s… that’s the second theory.”

Bakugou raised his hand for a high-five and Midoriya eyed it wearily. Bakugou didn’t even bother waiting before he high-fived himself.

There were only several minutes of recording left as Midoriya wrapped of the final theory, which was always the most ridiculous and would send Bakugou in a tizzy. He ranted for remaining time as Midoriya laughed, but once Bakugou calmed Midoriya ended their ride with his classic phrase, ‘for now the mystery remains unsolved’. Kirishima grinned giddily as the words left Midoriya’s mouth.

“Those guys were assholes,” Bakugou said, stretching his arms as he stood from his chair.

“I mean they’re all murder suspects,” Deku said, propping his feet onto the wooden table. “Do you think that’s ever been someone’s last words to a murderer? You’re a fucking asshole?”

“Those would be my last words.”

Midoriya laughed getting up to help Todoroki look over the past forty minutes of footage. Bakugou walked straight up to Kirishima who was swinging his legs on the edge of the granite countertop.

“So, was it everything you dreamed it’d be?” Bakugou asked.

“That was amazing,” Kirishima hopped off the counter, accidentally landing a little too close to Bakugou. “You guys were so cool.”

Bakugou flushed with color and looked away from Kirishima’s sunshine smile. “It wasn’t anything special…”

“That’s uncharacteristically humble of you Kacchan,” Midoriya said, a teasing lilt to his voice. Bakugou flipped him the bird.

“Can we eat now? I am hungry.” Todoroki said placing the camera back onto the tripod.

“You’re getting food with us, right?” Midoriya asked Kirishima.

“I didn’t know you were getting food.”

“We always have a celebration meal after we record an episode. Kacchan was supposed to invite you.”

“Nobody fucking told me to—”

“Do I have to do everything,” Midoriya muttered under his breath. He grabbed Todoroki’s hand and led him toward the front door. “Shoto is going to help me take something to my car. We’ll be right back.”

“But we aren’t carrying anything,” Todoroki said. Midoriya didn’t respond and Todoroki shrugged helplessly to Bakugou as he let himself be dragged out his apartment. Bakugou and Kirishima were left staring at the door confused.

“That was…”

“Tactless.” Bakugou offered.

“I was going to say interesting, but yours works.”

“Obviously you’re invited to get food with us,” Bakugou said, avoiding eye contact by staring down at his plain black socks.

Kirishima nodded. “I figured.”

The moment Bakugou did look up Kirishima’s mind was erased of anything he’d planned to say. All he could think about was how intensely attractive his eyes were, how privileged he felt to be in that situation, and how he wished his heart would slow the fuck down because there’s no way Bakugou couldn’t hear it beating.

“I’m glad you were able to show up,” Bakugou admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, uh, I’m glad I got to see you again.” Kirishima didn’t miss the way Bakugou’s eyes briefly widened before he looked away.

“Sorry I never really texted you. We went to the middle of nowhere for four days, so I didn’t have cell service.”

“Middle of nowhere?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah. We were hunting… bigfoot.”

Kirishima bit his lip to hold back another smile. Only he would find a guy who could use hunting bigfoot as a legitimate excuse for not texting him back. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not like I was depressed eating to Disney movies for three days straight or something.”

Bakugou eyed him suspiciously and Kirishima immediately started backpedaling.

“Besides, we aren’t dating or anything, so you don’t owe me any explanations,” Kirishima said, hoping he could deescalate the suspicion.

“Right. No. Yeah. We’re not… that.”

Kirishima realized he may have de-escalated too much when an ounce of hurt flickered across Bakugou’s face. That was bad. He needed to fix that. Kirishima racked his brain for ideas, but he could only come up with stupid plans. Kirishima noticed Bakugou’s face scrunch up like he was about to overthink something, and he took a deep breath. It was time to do something stupid.

“Not that I would hate if we were…” Kirishima said. “Dating or something.”

Bakugou’s cheeks tinted red and Kirishima hoped that was a good sign.

“Right,” Bakugou nodded. “That wouldn’t completely suck.”

Kirishima didn’t bother holding back the smile that broke out. “Well then maybe we should—"

“We’re back!” The front door swung open and Midoriya strutted into the living room. "Shoto and I were thinking about tacos if that works for you… two…”

Kirishima hadn’t noticed how close they were until Bakugou backed up an exaggerative distance. Kirishima didn’t anger easily, but at that moment if looks could kill Midoriya would’ve dropped on the spot.

“We’ll just wait in the hall,” Midoriya said, quickly pushing a confused Todoroki back out the door.

Bakugou had both his hands on his face and he looked at Kirishima through spread fingers. Kirishima gave him a half-grin and shrugged.

“Can we talk later?” Bakugou asked. “If Deku walks in one more time he’ll be the star of our next video.”

Kirishima felt his face burn. “Yeah. Later works.”

Bakugou nodded. “I have to… get shoes and stuff.”

He left Kirishima alone in the living room. Kirishima smacked his cheeks so the blush would be gone by the time he went into the hall. He had his hand on the brass doorknob when he spotted a whiteboard hanging beside the door.

It was a calendar whiteboard, the type you usually find in college apartments. It was color-coded based on each boy for chores, appointments, meal prep, rent, and bill payments, and other random reminders—Bakugou had one about picking Todoroki up from his dentist appointment. At the bottom left there were stick figures of Todoroki and Bakugou that looked to be drawn by the opposite. Kirishima had never seen something so wholesome and organized in his life. He knew that if his house tried to implement this it would go to shit in less than 12 hours.

The right side was more chaotic and had been invaded by Uraraka and Midoriya. Various things like fuck Deku, altered with a yes please beneath it; Uraraka is awesome, rewritten as Uraraka is stupid; Kacchan smells, a sloppy GOOD scribbled underneath; and Todoroki is a boss ass bitch, which was left alone. This was more like what anything at his home would resemble.

“I got it because half-and-half needed to learn how to be a functioning adult,” Bakugou said, sneaking up behind him. “Nobody takes my shit seriously.”

“Can I write on it?” Kirishima asked, already reaching for the red dry-erase marker. He found a clean spot in the bottom right and wrote ‘Kirishima was here’ with a shark-toothed smiley face.

Bakugou stared intensely at the spot then nodded. “Let’s go.”

The moment they entered the hall Midoriya apologized which started an argument between him and Bakugou. Kirishima tried seeking help in Todoroki as the two trailed behind them, but it appeared Todoroki still wanted nothing to do with him. Kirishima hoped he’d be able to fix whatever was going on because Todoroki seemed like a big part of Bakugou’s life. Mina always told Kirishima that befriending people was his hidden superpower, so he would just have to hope that he’d be able to ware Todoroki down. Kirishima wanted to be a part of Bakugou’s life, and that meant getting along with the people who were in it.

Bakugou aggressively punched the down button for the elevator while informing Midoriya his poor taste in movies made his every opinion irrelevant. When the doors slid open Todoroki shoulder checked him while walking past and Bakugou paused his fight with Midoriya as if thrown off by Todoroki’s actions. Kirishima guessed it really was just something about him then wasn’t it. The two appeared to be having some sort of telepathic conversation now and Kirishima just leaned against the cool metal of the elevator’s wall.

Don’t get him wrong. Kirishima was thrilled to be hanging out with everyone but…

He hoped later wouldn’t be too far away.

[renaroo]

SO... about that Titans Trailer...

Okay, so I wasn’t. Planning on giving this a review but then I watched it and you gave me an excuse. So. Here we are.

I hate teen drama shows but I live with my younger sister this summer so I’m constantly hearing them in the background and I know that I’ve not heard this weird song before but I also know that they allllllllllllll sound like this so there’s already. That creeping sense of 

Oh fuck it’s Riverdale isn’t it

Like. Costume design for superhero shit isn’t easy, you’ve got classic superhero looks that are purposefully garish and meant to stand out while celebrated costumes in visual mass media are toned down and realistic, fitting the style of setting. You can honor both traditions at the same time, what it requires is picking a color temperature for your set’s lights that are less noir mood piece and more lit like a musical. I actually think Moulin Rouge! is a movie where the cinematography deserves more credit for getting that mood balance because it’s definitely what I think of when I’m thinking of ideal lighting and color palettes for superhero live action. 

Marvel’s gotten a little better at figuring this out in the post-Iron Man 3 movies but they went a little too flat and bright in the first Avengers and too drab and dull in movies like the first Thor and the first Captain America.

The whole reason I’m thinking of this is because DC has never once figured this out save for Wonder Woman which had its coloring saved by choosing a sepia-esque lighting that wasn’t Sn*der-saturated so that Wondy’s costume and Themyscira in general popped while the warfront was still diferentiated but earth tones. I would actually point to DCEU movies being the pennacle of trying too hard for realism to the point of being visually embarrassed by their motifs. Which is also why the CGI rendering is always horrible in their movies. Suicide Squad was a little better but almost bipolar in how it snapped abck and forth between color saturation.

Anyway, this is a TV show and you would think that because TV shows are lower budget and more closed sets generally that this would actually be an advantage for the iconically colorful Titans teams because they’re likely to have warmer and flatter lighting choices. Except teen dramas lately haven’t been about that. They’re much darker and “more serious” and they mostly demonstrate that by darkening the lights and having everything go to dark blues with light temperature. That might work well in some places but it’s not good if you have multiple characters you want to show off with different color schemes that are wildly different from each other let alone from the blues. You can do it, but usually that involves introducing additional light sources to combat the darker lights, which is why in our Riverdale case study you have neons show up a lot, especially at Pop’s restaurant. Those neons introduce a “natural” secondary color and lighting source that helps make different hues exist more naturally in the environment without being garish and misplaced. 

I can tell that at no time is this show going to put an iota of thought into any of this sort of detail because in this BLUE ASS SHOT of this trailer they have Raven’s purple hair look like it’s been photoshopped in by me -- they managed to make an already cool color like purple look unnatural in a scene that has cool temperature lighting. This is going to be shot like complete shit isn’t it. 

What time am I at--

FIFTEEN SECONDS???

Dick’s a police officer so that’s a positive. I like the actor’s smile too, he looks just. Very Dick Grayson-- hahahahahahahahahhaahahahahahahahahahahahaha

oh my god

oh my god.  Was that supposed to be Robin jumping over rooftops in the background. Is that what that was. IT WAS AN UNMOVING BLUR. IT JUST KINDA WAS DRAGGED ACROSS THE SCREEN I CAN’T--

Oh jesus. Did Dick Grayson just step on someone’s neck and break-- FUCK BATMAN

FUCK BATMAN

HAHHAHAHA

HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA

I was wrong -- all that shit I started with? Obviously I was overthinking. This is a glorious comedy.

Okay all that aside we get rapid montage which is supposed to wow us with cameos for DC diehards and impress us with the quality of composition of shots and the special effects quality for people like my sister who don’t care about Comic Con because I’m playing trailers loudly on my laptop while she’s rewatching Pretty Little Life of the Secret American Teenage Drama Queen. 

It does none of these things. It’s no longer a comedy, it’s depressing because all that shit I said about the colors and mood lighting and temperature increases rapidly when you have terrible CGI transformations Beast Boy and... fire spouting... Starfire. Hm. Someone took that name a little literally didn’t they. 

Wait

Is that Dove. From Hawk and Dove? Killing people?

Um. I mean none of these characters save for Starfire and Raven are really all that down with killing under any circumstances in comics but Dove in particular... like why have Dove as part of the team if you’re not going to bother with the Avatar of Peace part and the eternal conflict ongoing of wanting to use tremendous powers while promoting nonviolence. I know this is something I tend to care more about than most people with superheroes, but that’s literally the only reason to have Dove in anything ever. A great example would be the single Justice League Unlimited episode involving Hawk and Dove which tackles that exactly. 

Who makes these live action decisions for DC. Is it Joffrey Johns? I bet it’s him. It has to be on some level. 

Oh my god this music is so bad. I listened to nothing but emo music for a solid 18 months of my life and my favorite band to this day is Nightwish and I find this unbearable. 

I 

what

Evil inside of me I kinda like it. I mean. I guess. That is... a conflict for Raven to have sure.... But it’s also way more boring and tedious than it was in the 80s? Like. There’s five million supernatural teenage dramas that have already done that exact conflict But With Vampires or But With Werewolves. I should know! My sister watches them in the background! I know all about Diaries of the Teen Dog Vampire. 

I’m hip

Oh and that scream. Okay, so also in film there’s this thing called a sound board and there’s a lot of cheap, royalty free sound mixes and noises that if you pay attention to editing and sound design there’s some sounds that have been really overplayed in media lately because people are too cheap to have their foley artist record a sound for themselves. 

That scream that Raven just did that you know you’ve heard before is one of those and there’s nothing wrong with it I guess it just. makes everything about this feel cheap. The writing’s cheap. The characterization’s cheap. The lightning’s cheap. The character design is cheap. This god awful song is cheap. 

they broke the glass

THEY BROKE GLASS. IS THAT FOR ME? WAS THAT MEANT TO MAKE ME FEEL BETTER BECAUSE THEY BROKE GLASS IN THE TRAILER. alright fine two points to Gryffindor. 

That puts them at -80 so everyone clap

Welp that was definitely a Thing I watched. Hope everyone enjoyed this educational review.

[sleepykittypaws]

Last Christmas

Original Release Date: November 8, 2019 (theatrical) Where to Watch?: For now, only your local cinema

My favorite Christmas movie is Love, Actually. It is a film that engenders relatively strong opinions, and is loathed by as many as it’s loved. I admit it contains multiple manifestly disturbing and/or ridiculous elements, but, despite all that, and the fact I’ve seen it, roughly, 999 times, I still cry like a baby every single time.

I’ve never seen Game of Thrones (yep, we’re the ones), but I absolutely adore Henry Golding, believe he’s one of the most charming actors working today, and think A Simple Favor is egregiously under-rated. Plus, Emma Thompson is my imaginary celebrity BFF—the one I know I’d love in real life, were we ever to meet. 

I say all this as a preface to note how in the tank for Last Christmas I was, going in. And this was even after I saw the trailer in August and (as it turns out) correctly sussed out the movie’s twist, down to the last detail. Even with that, I was 100% on board with this British Christmas rom-com.

Now, I’ve seen it and…While I didn’t hate it, I didn’t so much enjoy it either. If, unlike me, you haven’t seen the movie, or already figured out the twist, be aware, there are spoilers ahead.

For a movie about a dashing ghost, featuring two incredibly charming actors with a great deal of chemistry, plus at least three ladies I’d consider legends (Thompson, Michelle Yeoh, and a brief Patti LuPone cameo), this was really boring. I felt like I just kept waiting for this story to get going.

Longing looks between Emilia Clarke and Golding can only get you so far—and it’s to their credit, really, that this is watchable at all. There’s so much time with these two spent staring into each other’s eyes, and that’s fine and all, but elements integral to movie’s plot are breezed over in a second, while Clarke walking through London in a fitted elf costume consumes a good 80% of the screen time.

And, for God’s sake, have your graphics department bother to do a Google, because Yugoslavia didn’t exist in 1999, despite this movie’s opening title card insisting otherwise. You can say Croatia. Or Serbia. Or Bosnia and Herzegovina. Or one of the four other countries the nation split into after it dissolved in 1992. Or, just say the name of the city. Even, simply, “Former Yugoslavia 1999,” would have worked. But you can’t say “Yugoslavia” seven years after the nation ceased to exist. 

That this infuriating gaffe opened the film did not give me great hope. Guessing they thought their audience might not get where they were talking about if they only listed an Eastern European city, or newly-founded (and at that point in recent history, frequently changing) nation. Which was really this film’s major flaw: it never trusted its audience to get it.

In the end, I would have liked to see more about the sister’s home life, and how she had to be the good one, while Clarke’s talent and illness garnered all the attention. The family dinner table scene, where Clarke’s character outs her sister in a spiteful snit, would have been a lot more impactful if we’d already known she’d been pretending her girlfriend was simply a roommate or, heck, even that, that character existed at all. Instead, we’re just as surprised as the parents who, in the end, don’t exactly seem like they have much of a problem with it. While we’re at it, I’d have liked a lot more time with the parents, too. 

While I’m not sure the very British Clarke, with her perfect posh accent, was completely plausible as an immigrant, the storyline about holding that status in today’s world held promise. Her insistence on using an Anglicized version of her name, the bus scene, and her conversation with her mom on the couch were all well done, with a killer kicker joke from Thompson in the latter. But the scene explicitly calling out, and even briefly explaining Brexit, couldn’t have been more annoying. We know. We live in the world.

The same can be said of the, mostly unsurprising, reveal that Golding’s Tom has been a ghost all along. The revelation in his apartment (ignoring the implausibility of reasonably-priced walkable housing staying empty in central London for a year) that he was her heart donor was decently done, but the extra scenes showing she was the only one who could see him were wildly unnecessary. We’ve all seen The Sixth Sense. Even those that haven’t, like my 12-year-old, are aware of it culturally (as I learned recently).

But the film can’t let that stand. Like I said, they didn’t trust their audience, and there’s little more off-putting as a movie goer. And that’s not even getting into the clunky, oh-so-literal take on the song that inspired the film. I mean, “Last Christmas I gave you my heart.” Are you kidding me with that? Anyone but Thompson (the film’s co-writer) would have been laughed out of the building at the pitch meeting, if not sooner. Not since the American finale of Life on Mars, have I seen such an absolutely gobsmackingly lazy ending.

I went into this movie with so much affection and genuine excitement, and left feeling…flat. I teared up at the twist, even though I saw it coming six months ago. (Did I mention what a sap I am?) The ending hit the emotionally manipulative Christmas beats that worked for me, George Michael’s catalog is firmly in my middle-aged-mom wheelhouse, and watching Golding dance and twirl through holiday-lit London streets can carry this Christmas-loving Anglophile quite a ways towards merry. But if this movie had been set in any other season, with any other stars, I think I might have hated it.

As is, I’ve spent the 12 hours since my viewing rewriting and reediting it in my head to make it the movie I wanted it to be. Almost wishing I’d only seen the effervescent trailer and could dream it was everything I’d hoped.

Final Judgement: Three generous paws up, but only cause it’s Christmas

[its-just-like-the-movies]

Date Night!: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice

Back when the swell fella who would become my boyfriend and I were in one of those strange middle grounds where we were on our way to becoming a couple and very, very aware of it, our first sort-of-date was when Tommy invited me to go see Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice on its opening night. I, of course, accepted, somewhat reluctantly. I can’t remember if I was expecting the film to be good or bad, though I’m sure before then some of its abysmal reviews had been public. I was also nervous about the whole “oh my god this is probably sort of a date isn’t it”, especially since at the time I didn’t know him all that well. This would be the first of many dates at Ze Cinemah, although after this we’d be perfectly, happily aware that they were all dates. Even better, I think, is our immediate discussions after the film is over, and how eager we are to talk about it and discuss what we’ve just seen. We’ve seen plenty of films together, and maybe I’ll talk about other ones we’ve seen someday, but I can already feel a pit in my stomach drop at having to talk about this stinking pile of steamingness. All said, Batman v Superman is one of those truly atrocious films, like The Judge or The Danish Girl, that works like so much manure and makes me start sparking and frothing with how horrible they were. It’s an energizer more than it is a depressive, though it for sure is both, and there is one thing about our date in particular that haunts me every day. It’s not even something the film did, but something I did, or almost did, but could have done more of. Something that perhaps could have changed the screening for the whole theater, or as Anthony Hopkins keeps saying in the trailers for the new Transformers movies “change the tide of human history itself”. I wonder about it every day and every night, as I sleep and as I wake, and especially as a type this story to you, The Void, and now I must share the tale of my screening of Batman vs Superman with you to get it of my chest, to free myself, and to see where the tides of human history itself shall take me. Also: I’m going to be very mean to this film, and am very not interested in hearing about how wrong I am from random eggs as I and many others I know have been on Twitter. I hate it, don’t care if you love it, for fuck’s sake leave me alone.

It didn’t take the two of us long to find a pair of seats, though we immediately moved to the row behind us because our view was partially blocked by the structure of the stairwell. We warned the couple who ended up taking those seats about it, though I can’t remember if they moved too. And the film starts. Zack Snyder has the gall to open the film by reminding us that Batman’s parents died in front of him during a robbery gone wrong. He also seemingly cannot hire Jeffrey Dean Morgan to do much beyond die in the openings of his films, though I remember he had more to do in Watchmen. The visual of Martha’s(!!!) pearl necklace snapping in the gun’s safety as the trigger is pulled is sort of fascinating but also pretty grotesque, all things considered. Batffleck is saying something, though I cannot remember what. We see the funeral, little Bruce running into the woods in sadness during the procession, only to fall into a well or pit or some such hole in the ground. The score, I’m sure, was going crazy.

And then, it happens. Baby Bruce is levitated out the pit by seemingly hundreds of bats flying around him like a tornado, floating him towards the light. This is how we are abruptly told that this is a dream sequence, and reader, I laughed. Not the cackle it deserved, but I couldn’t stop it from escaping completely. I chuckled, giggled, whatever; I’m pretty sure Tommy hit me on the arm to calm me down and get me stop but I’m not quite sure. The giggle is what counts, though, and it haunts me. What if I had just burst out laughing at a moment that the whole theater was palpably flummoxed by? Batffleck wakes up but I am still reeling from the horseshit prologue we have been subjected to. It is not the most nonsensical thing we are going to see in this movie. It is not even the least plot-relevant indulgence that Zack Snyder will take us through, nor the least inexplicable jump of energy or plot logic that we’ll be forced to sit through. Academy Award winner Holly Hunter will be forced to stare dramatically, in close-up, to a jar of piss before she and dozens of other people are killed in an assassination plot meant to frame Superman, whose own close up registers at the subtle, bottomless despair and discomfort of sitting on the can and realizing you’re not quite done shitting, except Henry Cavill also registers as remarkably bored. Jeremy Irons reads every line as Alfred Pennyworth with such bitchy, subtly nasty inflections that I actually found the character an unwelcome presence, though if anyone found this a life raft of something enjoyable happening on screen, particularly Irons, then by all means savor him. Amy Adams will throw a Kryptonite spear into an underwater pile of rubble and, with no indication that Lois Lane has been told why the heroes need it to vanquish the rock monster that is Doomsday, dives into the water and nearly drowns recovering it. Batman slaughters - in fact, he often guns down - dozens of criminals on screen, brands sex offenders, had one montage that’s just him training to become even beefier and another, completely bizarre dream sequence that may also be a warning from another dimension’s Flash where Superman is technically Hitler, and Barry Allen screams about Lois Lane before Batffleck wakes up at his desk, which is meant to convey that this May Have Been A Dream Or Is It Ooooooh. This scene has no narrative impact and is never referenced again, though it is not as patently stupid as is the sight of Superman, wielding that Kryptonite spear, deciding to kamikaze himself by killing Doomsday with the knowledge that he cannot survive any assault the giant may bring on him while he is in such close proximity to said spear, ignoring the two superheroes who have been helping him fight Doomsday this whole time.

There are plenty of other absurd, delicious, amazingly shitty one-offs. Michael Shannon is credited for appearing in the film for the three seconds General Zod’s corpse floats in the remains of his spaceship. The President of the United States decides to nuke Superman in the middle of his fight with Doomsday after the latter threw the Man of Steel into the Earth’s orbit (a safe enough distance to nuke him, I suppose). Diane Lane is duck taped and tied to a chair, threatened to be burned alive as Jesse Eisenberg’s Lex Luthor throws photos of her with “Witch” written on her face, and all of this is tied into some mythological asinine crap that is Luthor’s motivation for wanting to kill Superman and create Doomsday in the first place. Eisenberg spends the whole film as some combination of Edward Nygma and a meth addict’s impersonation of Heath Ledger’s Joker, and it is by far the biggest trainwreck in the whole film. I think I also resisted laughing once “MARTHA!!???!?!?!?!!!” happened but in truth, I blocked that out of my memory. The sheer joy of seeing Wonder Woman, and hearing the score come alive as she roars into battle, literally, at some points, is all that is keeping me from giving this film an F grade, though perhaps I just can’t rate an Amy Adams film that low. Gal Gadot is at least enjoying herself, which is in even bigger contrast to the stark constipation that Cavill and Ben Affleck are constantly exuding. The film has ideas about literal hero worship, about what Superman could mean or stand for, and wants to have real conversations about his necessity, but it jerry-rigs them through Christic imagery and working hard to undermine the criticisms of genuine challengers and the critics themselves. Bruce’s hatred and suspicion of the Man of Steel seems completely arbitrary, banking on the fear of Superman turning on humanity in spite of his big coming-out party as a global entity being the eradication of his home species for the sake of mankind. Horrific as the collateral damage was, it’s not in line with anything Superman does in the film, is shown as doing, or is framed as doing by Synder himself, who doesn’t pretend for a moment that there’s actually anything wrong with Superman. He’s content to make the man a misunderstood martyr, a golden boy whose death inspires the formation of The Justice League and the warming up of Batman’s glacial, inherently distrusting heart. Superman is basically fridged on behalf of Bruce Wayne, and it’s clumsily executed as Smallville himself is. 

There are so many vile, absurd, abstracted, unnecessary, horrific moments in this film and yet, I still wonder how much that night would’ve changed had I actually burst out laughing at the beginning of the film. What would’ve changed for the whole theater if some jackass sitting hear the back-left had cackled as a small child is literally lifted out of a scene the filmgoing public had seen at least seventy-eight million times by now, one that kicks off an indefensibly ghastly excuse for a Hollywood spectacle lit worse than even the lowest budge episode of The X-Files and colored like it’s scared that bright shades will deflate how Dour and Serious this Cinematic Experience is? Recounting many of the set pieces I’ve already mentioned back to my sister afterwards I couldn’t help cackling at some of them, though I did so far more angrily with Tommy immediately after, baffled not just that I had paid for this film but that it even existed, that anybody who made this gigantic dumpster fire thought that it was in any way a competently crafted, psychologically or emotionally coherent picture. Could we, as a crowd, as a community, have laughed at this horseshit for what it was? I love that in horror movies the audience always make the pact with itself that fine, this is a lot, you deserve a good scream. This picture was even more upsetting, and perhaps if I’d laughed, having taken the piss out of it so goddamn early, we wouldn’t have had to just sit there and take it. We could’ve fought back and laughed at it (with it?), openly railed against it, or just fucking not be quiet throughout this whole ordeal. I will always be haunted by this inaction on my part, and to this day it shames me.

He did try to defend parts of it, but not much, and for sure stole my comments about how Eisenberg wasn’t even playing Lex Luthor when we starting talking about the film to our RA Josh and fellow hallmate Dylan in the hall that same night. Josh peddled the theory that Marvel people had paid off critics to hate on DC’s live-action features, which I challenged by asking why Marvel would even need to do that. It’s not even that DC’s films are so drastically worse than any of Marvel’s features, but Marvel at least has a brand formula at work. Their knock is never that their bad, just predictable and uninspired, though they’ve been getting a little better at going against both those counts lately, with the Guardians films at least. And I will say this for Batman v Superman: It’s awfulness has staked a far larger claim on my mental landscape than The Avengers or Deadpool or most Marvel fare ever has. I liked Man of Steel fine, was particularly impressed by the early minimalism in portraying Superman’s powers, especially his x-ray vision, and was even playing devil’s advocate with family members I saw it with. I’m semi-interested to return to it, but not passionately so. You for sure couldn’t call this film formulaic, perhaps unworthy of all the bombast it’s applying to itself but worthy of notice the way a burning car is, or how Jeff Goldblum and Laura Dern are seemingly in awe of that giant pile of shit in Jurassic Park. As dubious as literally every aspect of this film is, the sheer magnitude of its awfulness is compelling in such a way that I became anticipatory of the film’s eventual Rifftrax takedown as I was watching it. I don’t know how soon into it this idea started, but once Amy Adams dived in to get that spear I could already hear the befuddled joke about Lois Lane: Plot Psychic that Kevin Murphy would probably hurl at the screen, and it made this mess a little bit better.

All things being honest, I am absolutely going to see Justice League with my boyfriend, though I wonder how much more excited he is than I am. I loathed Suicide Squad but thought it was so poorly edited I stopped caring and would up having something of an okay time, appreciating Margot Robbie trying to find a character in Harley Quinn and relishing that Viola Davis actively seemed to want to be there a little as I did. Of course I’ve seen Wonder Woman, a step above most recent DC efforts in that it’s compelling, competently told and emotionally resonant, though it really shows Gadot isn’t much of an actress. There’s a lot about it I questioned in the moment but I am so, so appreciative of Wonder Woman as a film that exists, and one I mostly enjoyed seeing even as I actively wished for a better version of the film while I was watching it. Maybe I should just not see these given how much I end up railing against these projects, but I love watching movies with my guy (who I also love) and they are great conversation fodder. Plus, we watch lots of better movies together! Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice was the first of many, many delightful date night movies, and we weren’t even dating yet! My guy was easily the best part of the film, though it’d be a discredit to it say that it wasn’t a memorable experience, future boyfriend or no. I truly hope I never see it again, at least not sober, but I got a great story out of it, and a great man too, which is more than a lot of movies have ever given me. And at the end of the day, it’s that the biggest reward a person could get? It’s not like this makes Batman v Superman anything more than a gray, ugly, violent, gross, despicable, unpleasant, misogynistic, time-wasting, utterly horrendous, steaming pile of shit. But hey, it counts for something.

[dorian-fey]

My problems with “O Brother Where Art Thou”...

This is a difficult one to talk about, since I had seen this film at 9 years old and had fallen in love with it almost immediately. The witty comedy and exceptional music stayed with me ever since, and it was not until I revisited it during a film class that I was to balance my maturity and look at one of the Coen’s most popular films with a new lens. And the results made me somewhat embarrassed.

Very few filmmakers manage to provide a truly immersive experience with every film they create, but the Coen Brothers always seem to manage it. With each project, they drop the viewer squarely in whatever distinctive setting they choose, as if magically sucked into a photograph from the era. In O Brother, Where Art Thou, their love letter to Depression-Era Americana by way of Greek mythology, this experience is ever enhanced. From 2000, this is one of the first films to use extensive color-correction in post-production. To properly capture the look and feel of 1930s Mississippi, the shots and background were tinted with rich oranges, yellows, and browns. This achieves the effect that we are dropped straight into the squalor but warmth of the sun-soaked, gold-tinted world of our characters.

But despite these elements, the film seems content with just a spark of reality in a romanticized rendition of “the good ‘ole days.” The story concerns three (white) prisoners who escape the harsh confines of a chain gang, and who set out on a journey through the American South in search of freedom, wealth, and happiness. Of course, it must not have been lost on any audience member the significance of these protagonists being white men, who have a better chance of finding satisfaction in life than any of their black fellow inmates. Although this may not have been lost on the filmmakers themselves, as the heroes are consistently juxtaposed with black characters in less fortunate circumstances throughout the film.

The very first shots are a black-and-white toned scene of exclusively African-American prisoners arduously working on a railroad, singing an authentic chain-gang work song, while menacing armed guards hover around them. One can only wonder if these men were truly mischievous felons as our protagonists are, or if they are merely being punished for various trumped-up charges due to their race, as was a common practice of the time – when in doubt, colored = dangerous in the minds of most Southerners. The blind seer that the trio come across, and who serves as a prophetic guide at the beginning of the action, is, of course, a wizened black man; harkening back to another tired trope of yesteryear, an Uncle Tom for a new generation.

The most “developed” black character in the film is Tommy Johnson, a blues guitarist that the trio picks up hitchhiking along their journey, mere hours after the young man has supposedly sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for musical talent. The protagonists are mostly unfazed by this, as they are far too opportunistic to be distracted by religious preoccupations as so many other characters are. They even use Tommy’s guitar ability to further their own quest, recording a hit folk record and, by the end of the film, receiving fame and exoneration from the authorities. Tommy shares his name with a real blues guitarist of the 20’s and 30’s, whose demonic attributes were simply a legend he built up himself to further his own fame. But in the film, where twists of fate and divine intervention are portrayed as entirely possible, Tommy’s deal with the Devil can be viewed as plausibly real, meaning that his talent and therefore purpose in the narrative is only due to supernatural forces, undermining his contribution to the story. If this isn’t a textbook example of the “Magical Negro” trope, I don’t know what is.

Music is a driving force throughout the film, within the story but also beyond it. Arguably, the most notable legacy of the film is its soundtrack, a melodic homage to Depression-era folk, bluegrass and gospel, effortlessly recreated by contemporary artists. These are seamlessly woven into the film itself through the song “Man of Constant Sorrow” which becomes a prominent plot device for the heroes and a metaphor for the harsh and destitute environment of the Depression.

A memorable scene is the gathering of the Klu Klux Klan lynch mob midway through the film. Everett, Pete, and Delmar watch from afar as a massive congregation of KKK members perform a ceremony in a vast field. A scene that would be inherently frightening in any other film is played most comically: despite being lit by ominous torchlight and featuring hundreds of masked hate-mongers, they engage in needlessly-complicated synchronized choreography akin to an Esther Williams water ballet, and chant monotonously in such a laughable fashion that recalls the groaning soldiers from the climax of The Wizard of Oz. The heroes invade this goofy ritual to rescue Tommy from the gallows, with all the seriousness of the Death Star rescue from Star Wars. Such an oddly specific scene could only be dreamed up by the Coens, who have made tonal clashes an art form.

This is also effective in illustrating the importance of religion in the story. The background of the 1930s South clearly shows how Christian values permeate most people’s thoughts. Characters both good, evil and in between use religion as a crutch or justification for their actions. While Everett (leader of the trio) puts up a good front of favoring intellectualism over “superstition,” his fellow escapees, Pete and Delmar, still hold onto a faint grasp of morality, opting to join a congregation in mass baptism, and prioritizing the soul of themselves and others over petty accomplishments. Two of the prominent villains of the film use religion to validate their evil: Big Dan Teague (the Cyclops) is a despicable con artist, but also a bible salesman who sees salvation merely his chosen product; Homer Stokes is a seemingly reasonable politician who also happens to be a leader of the Klu Klux Klan, conducting lynch mobs in the name of God’s “chosen race.” These villains are thwarted not from the community’s rejection of their values, but for totally arbitrary reasons: Stokes is run out of town and his candidacy for governor simply because he was obstructing the fun of a public concert. Thusly, our heroes are rewarded not from their own growth, but by appealing to the simple community’s faith system and “old timey” sensibilities.

The film is more than competent on many fronts, as to be expected from its creators. The acting (and casting) is pitch-perfect, which memorable portrayals of country-bumpkin buffoonery that are hard to forget, accentuated by snappy dialogue and one-liners as memorable as the music. If aesthetic was all the film hoped to achieve, then I suppose it triumphs in that regard. But the true missed opportunity (as shared in virtually all of the Coens’ projects) is the decision to concern itself exclusively with white characters against a backdrop of non-white suppression and revisionist values. One look at the entirety of their film canon will highlight this disparity, with O Brother Where Art Thou being the most prominent example. One can only hope that, so late in their career, The Coen Brothers might make a conscious effort to turn their expertise toward projects with more sociological variety in the future.

[theconservativebrief]

When Darren Aronofsky’s movie Noah came out in 2014, I was the chief film critic at Christianity Today. I liked the movie, and I gave it a positive review. Almost instantly, I was informed by a flood of emails and comments from readers that my opinion was wrong.

What was strange was that the emails were coming from people who couldn’t possibly have seen Noah, since it hadn’t hit theaters yet; I had seen it at a pre-release screening for critics. Almost everyone had a similar complaint: The movie “didn’t even mention God.”

I was mystified. People are always talking about God in Noah. They don’t use the name “God”; they talk about “the Creator,” a reasonable thing to do for people who are meant to be, at most, about 10 generations removed from the actual act of creation. But calling God by various other names isn’t considered strange or aberrant to conservative Christians — in fact, Christian bookstores have long sold posters celebrating God’s many monikers.

Plus, I’d seen the movie. I knew the claim that the movie “didn’t even mention God” wasn’t true. There had to be a patient zero somewhere.

Russell Crowe played the titular character in Darren Aronofsky’s 2014 film Noah.

It turned out that, in his review of the film, the Hollywood Reporter’s Todd McCarthy made a passing comment about the specific word “God” not actually being used, and that detail had been picked up and spotlit by Breitbart News. On the same day the Breitbart News story ran, Glenn Beck — whose star was much brighter in 2014 than it is now — also picked up on the story, citing McCarthy’s review alongside a common complaint that the film’s interpretation of Noah was merely worried about “environmental issues.” Noah, to these observers, was just another example of liberal, godless Hollywood’s attempts to destroy religion and goodness. A fire was lit.

If any mention or notion of God truly had been eradicated in Noah, or if the film’s protagonist was just worried about the environment (rather than mankind’s sinful destruction of all life, including human beings), this particular controversy may have had some legs.

But by the time I saw the film and wrote my review, the damage was already done. Nothing I could write would convince certain people — who, again, hadn’t yet seen the film — that Noah did, in fact, contain plenty of references to God (though some of my colleagues tried). And because they already believed something untrue about it, they declared they would would never go see it, which means they would never be challenged in their belief.

That was the first time I’d ever seen an echo chamber constructed so rapidly and distressingly, right before my eyes. Noah — a movie too weird and challenging to have ever really become a box-office hit, but that’s beside the point — had been crudely fashioned into a blunt instrument for culture warriors. (Beck said on his program that he “hates to give Hollywood a dime.”) It didn’t matter one bit that the film clearly believes God is real, that humans are created, and that man’s wickedness is bad; whatever Noah’s faults as a piece of filmmaking, it never deserved to be co-opted that way.

When the First Man controversy broke over Labor Day weekend, I thought a lot about Noah.

I’ve seen First Man now, on an IMAX screen at the Toronto International Film Festival, two weeks after it debuted at the Venice Film Festival. It’s a stunning portrait of Neil Armstrong, the first man to step foot on the moon, as he both trains alongside his fellow Project Gemini astronauts and grapples with his more private grief over the death of his daughter.

Following the film’s Venice premiere, some comments by its star, Ryan Gosling (who plays Armstrong), set off a firestorm of controversy over whether the film is anti-American, unpatriotic, and “total lunacy” for not explicitly showing the iconic, familiar moment in which an American flag is physically planted on the surface of the moon.

Specifically, Gosling — when asked about why that moment isn’t depicted in the film —said that it doesn’t appear because First Man chooses to cast the moon landing as a “human achievement,” not just an American achievement. The actor also noted that Armstrong (as revealed in the authorized biography on which the movie is based) didn’t see himself as “an American hero,” and so the filmmakers opted to focus on “the way Neil viewed himself.”

Gosling’s comments ultimately became the basis for a series of much broader claims, such as the idea that the film “omits” the American flag entirely, or (in the weirdest rumor I caught wind of through the grapevine) that it’s replaced with Chinese flags.

No matter that First Man clearly shows the flag on the moon — twice, in fact — planted firmly next to the lunar landing module. Nor that there are flags seemingly everywhere in the film: on the shuttles, on the arms of the astronauts’ uniforms, in the celebratory flower basket left in Armstrong’s quarantine room when he returns to Earth. In one scene, Armstrong’s son runs a flag up to the awning of their house, and we watch it flap proudly in the breeze for a moment. I’d have almost thought the filmmakers added the scene to thumb their noses at the unfounded outrage if I didn’t know the film was finished before said outrage took hold.

A scene from First Man, one of many in which the American flag is proudly displayed. Universal Pictures via AP

As happened with Noah, I’ve gotten emails and seen tweets about First Man since writing about the controversy. As far as I know, none of them have come from people who’ve seen the film. Some people are angered by the “omission” of the flag-planting scene. Others are livid because, they insist, the flag “never” appears in the film. Still others have argued that First Man not only minimizes the flag, but in doing so illustrates how Hollywood “censors” its movies to appeal to the Chinese market, as if to suggest that Chinese audiences would be okay watching a movie about the first man to land on the moon, but draw the line at being overtly reminded that he was American. (The only thing that argument reveals is that the person making it has not only not seen First Man, but doesn’t understand how censorship, filmmaking, or the Chinese market works in Hollywood right now.)

It’s true that First Man doesn’t specifically contain a scene in which the Apollo 11 astronauts pull out a flag and stick it into the surface of the moon. It’s also true that you won’t hear the word “God” uttered in Noah. Instead, in Noah, we hear about “the Creator,” and in First Man we’re given a glimpse into Armstrong’s mental state, which is less interested in the heroic act and more in his own personal need to cope with the death of his daughter.

As I watched First Man’s story unfold and thought about how out of control the controversy around it had become — with politicians like Marco Rubio and Donald Trump, right-wing opportunists like Dinesh D’Souza and Mike Cernovich, and astronaut Buzz Aldrin himself making statements about it — I couldn’t help but recall my experience with Noah.

The controversy around the inclusion of God’s name in Noah wasn’t really about people’s feelings about God. It was about reinforcing and confirming existing biases against liberal Hollywood, and refusing to consider any information that would complicate or challenge that bias. In the same way, the idea that First Man is “unpatriotic” or “anti-American” isn’t about the film itself; it’s about rallying around already established biases, and refusing to believe that initial reports could be misleading or flat-out wrong.

These sorts of controversies are typically seized upon by people who profit greatly from fueling the fears of their audience. They’re cynical moves by opportunists who benefit from the attention it brings. But they’re not about standing up for principles, or looking for the truth.

It’s not that I can’t imagine someone finding a way to convincingly argue that seeing the flag be planted on the moon surface would have improved First Man in some way, or that the film’s focus on Neil Armstrong’s perspective narrows its story too much. I would disagree with that criticism, but it’s the sort of disagreement that critics engage in all the time.

It’s also a very different sort of disagreement than the one that’s driving controversy around First Man. What’s important to understand here is that nobody gets to demand that a filmmaker who aims to make a very intimate biographical movie about a man grappling with the burden of grief insert a scene we’ve all seen before. We can criticize the movie after we’ve seen it, based on what we think might have made it better on its own terms. I fully support that. It’s my job, and it’s yours, too, if you care about art.

But judging it to be bad because someone said it doesn’t look like you think it should, or because it doesn’t contain the precise words that will make you like it, is not just disrespectful. It also runs against the grain of what it means to be human and to connect with others, and with the things they make, in good faith and with love.

Art, a friend of mine is fond of saying, does not owe you anything. You might want a movie to contain a specific scene, or to end with your preferred conclusion. But that isn’t what art does. Art exists to challenge us, to make us see the world in a new way. As the Neil Armstrong of First Man might put it, good art often takes us out of our everyday, self-centered cluelessness, our facile assumptions about the world and about other people, and changes our perspective.

If we make up our mind about a work of art before we even see it, or see it but then fail to consider its objectives in criticizing it, then we’re the problem. And a movie like First Man — which, whatever its faults as a piece of filmmaking, thinks one’s country is worth protecting, one’s family deserves to be loved, one’s flag deserves a place of honor at home and in space, and one’s fellow man deserves respect — never deserved to be co-opted that way.

Original Source -> The First Man controversy is grounded in partisanship, not patriotism

via The Conservative Brief

[peanutdracolich]

Peanut Dracolich watches Horror: Frankenstein (1931)

A classic monster film that I had never before yesterday (when I actually watched it) seen. I have also reverted to stream of thought while watching so... erm enjoy.

I like the little opening bit where they give you the warning about how scary the film is. It's charming somehow. As for the actual start. The opening credits has creepy eyes and creepy music, with creepy Count Orlaf style face in the background. Nice and creepy... unfortunately you're making me expect a very different movie monster.

And then there's a funeral, with our Doctor and his hunchbacked assistant watching it. I feel sorry for the gravedigger who puts that work (shown in part) into burying the dead gentleman, when these two knaves are just going to undo it. Bad knaves.

"His leg is broken. His brain is useless. We must find another brain!" The acting is... different from in modern films, not bad, not better, but it just feels different; in many ways more attention grabbing with  certain element of the unreal to it.

We get some comedy antics from the hunchback... who drops the normal brain when he hits something and makes a noise that scares him (he is stealing a brain from a medical college being frightened is acceptable) and grabs the abnormal brain instead. This is... This worries me. Not because I find it horror inducing, but because it misses much of the beauty of the book.

We meet Elizabeth and... Victor? Victor isn't Frankenstein? What? They're consolidating book elements, speeding up the timeline. This is an acceptable divergence, but I instinctively don't like this Victor as a change. I will try, and in fact am actively already trying, not to let 'they changed it now it sucks' color things too much, but... Thing after thing is setting it off. This is making me think as much of the Reanimator, itself a retelling of Frankenstein, as Frankenstein. It's not really an adaptation of the book so much as another story inspired by it. And I must watch and judge it as such.

Still it is a charming film, despite these things I've stated. It is... slower paced (despite shorter length) and less hectic than I am used to, leaving it a bit less gripping than say Covenant or Alien, but simultaneously I am enjoying it even as I allow myself to be in part pulled out by writing this.

We see the covered face of Frankenstein's monster and he begins to talk about the glory of the brain of a dead man living again in the body that he has made... and it makes me want a very different story about body disphoria, and the feelings of one who has been brought back in a different, new body. I'm sure there are such stories now.

Still it doesn't feel like this is intended as a horror movie. While there is a certain grim and horrifying aesthetic, there is no sense of building fear, even as the storm builds (which should in a way be in and of itself a building fear). I'm going to say part of the blame falls on me both in the writing of this, and the familiarity with the story (even having never seen the film).

Even so as they gather in Henry Frankenstein's lab there is a certain suspense. Apparently X-Rays, or maybe Gamma Rays, bring life to the dead. Good to know. I will accept this as science fiction because it was the 1930s, I would laugh at this as absurd in something made now.

I actually go silent as the body is raised into the storm. Lightning produces this ray that gives life? Wait, what? I shut off that part of my brain. Because Frankenstein's rejoicing is gripping... even if one might say it was melodramatic, over the top, and hammy, I like it.

Henry's smugness is shattered when his old teacher tells him that it was the criminal's brain that was stolen. It's a beautiful moment as his face changes. And you get a bit of horror as the monster approaches, the sound of footsteps, the look on Henry's face, the way they turn out the light to keep the monster in darkness and then the Monster's face. It's very well done.

We get a nice little bit with the monster being treated like it was mentally stunted and we see that like an inconsiderate college roommate, the monster does not like lights out... Well it doesn't but really we see that fire freaks it the hell out. And what horror we had has been lost for now.

The monster is in the dungeon and Fritz wants to whip it and threaten it with fire. Fritz is a cruel person and the monster is like some child unable to communicate with the humans around him and mistreated by his cruel older brother. I pity the monster. Of course as I write "I pity the monster" he is in the process of killing Fritz off screen and tries to attack Frankenstein and his old teacher when they investigate. Given how Fritz treated him I can't blame the monster. Fritz deserved it.

The old professor wants to murder the monster. Frankenstein lacks the spine to stand on his principles. They open the door armed with a torch and a syringe. It braves the torch but is stabbed cruely from behind, and fights off those who would kill it in an act of instinctual self defense, Henry's life saved when the syringe takes its effect upon the creature.

Victor... WHY IS HE NAMED VICTOR AND FRANKENSTEIN IS NAMED HENRY? Victor arrive ahead of Elizabeth and Henry's father, and the three hide the body. The Baron Frankenstein comes off as almost comedic here.

Henry is unwell. I don't call him Frankenstein because he is Henry, Henry is not Frankenstein. His professor promises to dispose of the monster and Elizabeth, the Baron, and Victor von Imposter take him home.

As the professor writes a note that he is going to perform a disection, the creature begins to stir in his 'death'. The professor even checks for signs of life and as he's listening for (or to?) its heartbeat it reaches upwards and grasps him by the back of his neck and with brute strength ends his life. Then it is time for the creature to skulk about the windmill till it can escape.

Henry and Elizabeth in the sun in a scene that calls to mind the book's nightmarish nautre. Of course the movie lacks that nature. You've not tasted of Victor von Frankenstein's feverish dreams. You've not felt his madness touch you to the bones. But knowing it you can feel some echoes of it, knowing how the story ought to go... THEY CHANGED IT AND NOW... actually while it feels like a bit of a 'dirty trick' it's a good effect and a scene that otherwise would be weak can borrow some effect from the book. It's actually sort of impressive.

Of course the effect islost in the later wedding scenes, but they are by no means bad scenes. There is a charmingness to them.

Is that a real cat? There is a little girl with a cat. I have lived my entire life surrouned by cats. Sometimes it looks real. Sometimes it looks horribly drugged, mouth hanging wildly open as if it was possessed by some dark force. Maria's cat is the most unsettling thing thus far in the moive. Though in general, even ignoring the cat, the scene with Maria is scary. You don't know when or if the monster is going to do something to the dear little girl who thinks nothing of approaching this massive man who does not talk, and has open wounds, and a deathly pallor.

Without malice he throws the girl into the lake to see her float, not understanding her cries that she is being hurt. It is a tragedy and makes the creature a tragic figure; as he was in the book. Yet in the book the tragedy was because he was an intelligent being, a being perhaps as smart as his creator, he was Adam to a hateful God. Cast out by God, and hated by mankind, he raged against God, and turned to wickedness to avenge himself. He was tragic in and for his intelligence. Here the creature is tragic for it might be like unto a man, but is a danger in its stupidity, it's mind underdeveloped and unable to exist in the world lest it destroy without even realization that it does so.

Boris Karloff has a good presence to him, his shambling approach, which in many ways ought to be more comical given how slow it is and the comedy routine of Elizabeth barely missing seeing it, manages to have a certain terror to it. It would be easy to take it as comical, just a little decision to ignore the menace of the man beneath the make up.

Henry's decision that a wedding is impossible while the monster lives is... a little off. The monster isn't truly after him or his family, it's just a lost wanderer. The lynch mob is called to ready with no indication that they know who the he they're looking for is. Though they have dogs to guide them so they're working off his scent? I don't know. Maybe some spirit caller talked to Maria's spirit for a description? Seriously the question as to 'is this a lynch mob for the creature or just anyone who is a stranger' is bothering me. I could accept the former, he's a child murderer even if one that is mentally incapable, but the latter is just sort of... guys... are you that backwater that there couldn't be more than one traveler in the region?

At the same time, the creature has hung someone to death or after kill them. And when it kills Henry it knows enough to hide the body, though is spotted in the process. It's mentally rather cunning in its own way. Though obviously didn't know what it was doing when it killed the girl from its reaction... The fact that no it's not hiding the body of Henry, but bringing him to the reanimation machine merely unconscious is a sign of greater intelligence than I gave him credit for. Knows enough to toss the body of Henry off the windmill as a threat to the mob too... I mean it just gets the windmill lit on fire but...

The Good: Boris Karloff - He's got presence even without words, much more in fact than Christopher Lee's portrayal of the creature.

The Bad: THEY CHANGED IT AND NOW IT SUCKS - It's not a movie of the book at all, and the book is a vastly richer and more fulfilling story.

The Ugly: Victor: This character does nothing except allow Elizabeth someone to talk to in one scene. WHY DID YOU GIVE HIM THE MAIN CHARACTER'S NAME? WHY? WHY?

Also the film could be read as a pretty unflattering presentation of the mentally handicapped. I'm not even going to touch on that, but there's that itching feeling throughout.

The Final Summation: It's not scary. As a horror film this must be judged. While it has tense moments, and the creature's first appearance has that tingle, it's not scary. It is a charming film, a nice little story that can be watched in 70 minutes if you aren't highly sensitive to unfortunate implications that were fairly common in the period (I notice more than I normally would because I kept having trouble not referring to the creature as mentally disabled). It is from an older day of film making and I feel like I could have gotten up and gotten something premade to eat or something to drink and not completely ruined my appreciation, while at the same time not feeling any scene had no purpose except to pad time. There are scenes that one wouldn't want to miss, and there are scenes that are 'less important', but it was a nice... relaxed film you could say. Even typing out like this I didn't feel like I was missing something in the frantic mess, and yet it was engaging enough to keep me entertained. It was refreshingly different in that regard even if not necessarily my preference. Still I do intend to watch more Universal studio monster films this month, and it was better than I expected due to my love of the book and knowledge that THEY CHANGED IT AND NOW IT SUCKS. That said the book is the better story with more grip upon the heart and mind of the reader, and much more ability to stir thought and wonder with the touch of the dreadful sublimity of the nature of life and death and the power of Creation and what it means to have it placed in the hands of man. If you have not read the book it is a classic of Science Fiction and Horror, and one that is worth the time even if not necessarily for all. If you have not watched the film... take it or leave it; it was an enjoyable enough film if you let it be but having seen it due to its part in the building of 'horror' movies I do not find it essential viewing as a horror film unless you seek an understanding of their history and evolution.