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lets-try-some-writing · 10 months ago

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Action! Chapter 2

Now settled into his role, Orion, or rather Optimus, is finally ready to get the ball rolling with his opening scene just around the corner.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The director must have really been aiming for realism with this production. Orion, no, Optimus Prime sat at his desk as he had for the past two deca-cycles. Not once had he been given the chance to break character comfortably. He couldn’t be sure his personal quarters weren’t being filmed since that was where his opening shot had taken place, so he opted to keep to his persona just in case. While he felt slightly more comfortable without the extras around him, it still wasn’t exactly a peaceful environment.

Despite that, Alpha Trion had obviously seen to every tiny detail with the set. Orion had done his fair share of snooping while doing his best to look deliberate. With so little information about current events, he wanted to get a little extra data. Thankfully, Optimus Prime’s, or perhaps Orion’s quarters, were filled with small indicators of personality. Letters from Optimus’s sons and absent Consort that had been received and read, but never answered. Small trinkets from when his character had not been a Prime. Photos hidden in the back of the closet behind a box that showed a time when his character had seemingly been a better mech. Optimus Prime in those photos looked younger, happier even. He bore a smile on his unmasked face as he held a newly forged Bumblebee in his arms, Smokescreen grinning gleefully as he looked down at his younger brother.

Those photos made Orion smile, especially the ones that showed Optimus’s sheer joy as he drank with Megatron and what looked to be his other close friends before his rise to his station. Optimus’s origins in the novel were not exactly explained, largely because the mech had done everything in his power to cut himself off from his past and cover his tracks. A smart political move to ensure his friends and family could not be used against him, but a poor way to connect to the people. But from what hints were dropped in the story and based upon the fact that there was a police issued pistol in a small box hidden underneath the berth, Orion had his theories. Optimus Prime had evidently once been involved with law enforcement, and it seemed that his sense of justice had likely been perverted, possibly through seeing all the corruption of the higher castes.

Everything he found gave Orion more ammunition to use to improve his performance. Knowing the Prime had once been part of the police force ensured that he could adequately use his knowledge of the novel’s laws in order to back up his claims if need be. Not to mention, he could also likely hint at a darker past, one where his character possibly saw indescribable horrors while on the job, a potential contributor to his eventual fall to darkness. Additionally, it seemed the Prime still carried a fondness for his former station and likely held a secret love for the mecha he had long pushed away, considering his keepsakes.

A regretful and damaged villain. Being Optimus Prime was going to be a sheer delight.

Well, that is whenever he could begin truly playing his role. Thus far all he’d been able to do was work through the mountain of datapads that had built up, and then after completing those, he had spent a ridiculous amount of time reviewing already active programs and laws. Again he found himself praising the director’s optic for detail as he looked over fully fledged and well documented articles. But he couldn’t help but internally cringe at a great many of the active laws and regulations. They were largely and rather obviously meant to screw over the lower castes.

Since he was just trying to look like he was busy, Orion had quickly begun the long and arduous process of adjusting things. He was very thankful for his training prior to arriving at the set and what little he picked up while thinking about joining the Archives as he tore through countless protocols and restructured them to his liking. Being a Prime had its perks. Even if it was all for show, considering Alpha Trion’s dedication to making things realistic, Orion wouldn’t have put it past him to make things an absolute slag pit if his character were anyone else.

Despite the enjoyment he found in picking apart the hyper realistic documentation, at the end of the two deca-cycles, he was weary.

He always had a penchant for working himself half to death, and whatever mods he had been given were certainly not helping his poor habit. His newly adjusted frame just… didn’t get tired like his old one did. He hardly noticed the passage of time as he delved into paperwork, finding himself pondering a possible future where he had chosen to join the Archives. Considering his office, once overflowing with work, was now fully cleared and organized, he reckoned he would have been good at it.

He hardly saw anyone as he worked. The servants refused to, or perhaps were too afraid, to talk to him. They played their parts perfectly, and Orion internally praised them even as he started to feel the effects of loneliness. He just had to be patient. His time to shine would come soon.

“My Lord, your Council is on their way. Would you like to await their arrival in the Throne room?” Orion, no, that wasn’t right. Optimus Prime sat up at his desk as a servant carefully entered. They had learned that so long as they remained quiet, Optimus would not snap at them. His character certainly could have, but Optimus felt it was unneeded, especially considering the character he was hoping to portray was both cunning and complex. Random bursts of anger at employees not doing anything didn’t give off that impression.

“That would be acceptable.” Optimus stood up slowly, allowing his battle mask to slide into place. His character was well known for only ever revealing his face when within his inner palace, never in the Throne room or in front of any cameras. It was likely a holdover from his time in law enforcement.

“Your attendants are ready to assist you in your preparations, my Lord.” The servant bowed, their expression carefully controlled. Optimus nodded subtly to them, hoping it conveyed his appreciation and awe for their acting. How Alpha Trion got so many talented extras was beyond him. It had taken a good chunk of a cycle for him to track down and memorize the names of his most relevant servants so that he could quietly prepare them gift baskets. He really hadn't expected Alpha Trion to give him proper funds, but he opted to not question the situation and used a small portion of his wealth to get them something nice. He hadn’t gotten any messages in return, but considering nothing had been sent back, he assumed his gifts had been taken with a degree of appreciation.

That had been a deca-cycle and a half ago. Since then, his servants had been surprisingly docile, or perhaps less skittish. He didn’t know how to coin their behavior.

“As is expected of them.” He quipped as he came around toward the door. The servant bowed and said nothing more as Optimus exited, only to then be met by six curious faces. The mecha before him were of the Primacy, their religious shrouds said as much. However, instead of shaking or doing something else of the sort, they instead looked at him oddly before gesturing for him to follow.

Strange, but then again, the priests in the novel were known to be rather odd. Very little was actually documented about them, and they only appeared to assist his character in dressing for activities of importance or to guide him through religious rites. Maybe this was part of their script.

“Prime, please stand here.” The priests directed him into a room covered in detailed murals, gesturing for him to stand on a raised round platform a foot or so off the ground in the center of the chamber. Optimus paused, taking in the sheer grandeur of the room before he obeyed. The walls were almost pure ivory in coloration, all covered in glyphs he could only read if he looked closely. Gold trim graced every detail of the space, and he was fairly certain there were portraits of prior Primes painted on the walls in some places.

He’d said it a million times, but by Primus, Alpha Trion was not playing games when it came to detail.

“Begin your work, priest.” Was all he ordered in response, his tone cold but slightly off kilter as he struggled to keep focus in light of the detail in the space. If he had the chance, he would love to spend a whole cycle, or perhaps several, simply viewing the walls of the chamber. There was so much history and so many hidden clues to be found in every piece. The set designers must have been absolute masters of their craft to pull all this off.

He couldn’t help himself as he hastily examined the chamber, looking for the telltale mark of Knockout’s work. The designer was known to leave a little sigil somewhere on all of the sets he was involved in. Optimus could only assume he had to have been involved in the production of his current set, considering the sheer amount of intricacy.

“By your will.” The priests chanted before more streamed into the room from small tunnels previously hidden along certain points in the walls. Light shone from a window directly above him, and by the Allspark, Optimus really felt like a Prime as the priests laid expensive organic cloth around his shoulders, turning it into an elegant cape covered in symbols that fell from his back. The overhead light must have been Breakdown’s work, it really sold the entire scene in Optimus’s opinion. The light shone on the cloth and caused the glyphs that were being painted onto him to glow slightly. He hadn’t noticed since he had practically lived in his office the whole time, but the gold accents he woke with had largely faded.

The priests restoring them made him a bit giddy if he was truthful. Now he truly looked the part of the mighty and tyrannical Prime. It was incredibly difficult to keep a straight face, despite it mostly being covered by his mask, as the nearest priest placed something rather heavy on his back. Optimus struggled to see it, but from what he gathered, it was some sort of… flair piece made of gold? It added an aura of religious fanaticism to his persona with its structure, and quite frankly, Optimus enjoyed it.

A dramatic villain was by far the most enjoyable to watch on screen.

“May Primus guide your steps.” The priests bowed respectfully, and Optimus took the opportunity to step off the dias and turn toward the exit. He memorized the maps of the palace his first cycle there. He would be foolish not to.

“At ease.” He called back, pulling on his character’s supposed past in law enforcement to make a statement. He did his best to have his voice dip into something more tired, a weary mech, so very done with life. He wanted to giggle as he noticed the priests standing up, confusion etched onto their features as they watched him leave.

He was absolutely owning his part so far.

If he weren’t on set he would absolutely be making an expression worthy of how he felt in his spark, but he took a deep vent, hoping it added to the drama as he opened the door and stepped into the hall. The weight of the cape was neither uncomfortable nor foreign, despite its origin. The weight on his back from the accenting piece was also rather nice as he strode down the halls, not waiting a moment but keeping his pace steady as he made his way toward where the map he memorized dictated the Throne room to be.

Guardsmecha quickly joined him, abandoning whatever posts they held previously in order to escort him. They, too, gave him strange looks, ones he refused to acknowledge. Perhaps their scripts indicated that they were to act as though he were suspicious. It would make sense. According to the lore, he had been in stasis for a whole vorn, and now he had been working nonstop for a full two deca-cycles.

Thinking about it, that may have been a mistake. A mech fresh out of stasis should have still been in a medical wing somewhere, going through therapy and examinations. Optimus hopping right up without so much as a word to anyone but his servants and getting right to work was likely… concerning. The novel never went into much detail about his character’s work ethic, just that his laws were unjust and his actions cruel in the extreme. Optimus could probably play it off if he just didn’t acknowledge the situation. Maybe the director would cut anything that hinted at anything too incriminating.

He still didn’t know how much filming his predecessor managed to be a part of before his accident. He would hate to screw something up due to ignorance.

“You are dismissed.” He called out to his guards as he at last reached the doors to the Throne room. All the halls in the palace were largely the same, albeit with different murals and stained-glass windows depending on the wing of the building. It would be easy to mistake this room for another. Optimus really hoped he wasn’t about to walk into the energon purifying room or something.

“My Lord, it is our sworn duty to protect you.” One guardsmech put forward hesitantly. Optimus raised an optical ridge in response, quickly causing the mech to shift uncomfortably. He contemplated the right response before settling on portraying a Prime with enough ego to drown out the nearest star. It seemed on par for a mech such as Optimus.

“I am fully capable of defending myself, guardsmech. I require no guardians.” The mech shrank in on himself, likely expecting a hit. Optimus abstained from acting on the unspoken cue. He didn’t have a written script, but hurting a guard so early into his time on set seemed a bit much. His character was highly intelligent and cunning, and while not necessarily showcased in the novels, he wanted to spin it so that Optimus Prime was at least given a degree of respect for his efforts amongst the audience.

A villain needed to know when outright violence was the answer and when cunning was key.

“If you are so concerned, give me your weapon, and I shall sully the blade with the energon of any who dare step too close.” He glared, his field flaring briefly to sell his point. Of course, his field would not be visible on camera, but the gentle urging he sent out would hopefully get his wishes across to the extra before him. Nonverbal communication was essential for any good actor. One couldn’t always rely on the script.

He held out a servo expectantly, his gaze frigid but his field as warm as he could manage without it affecting his body language. The guardsmech froze, as did the others. They shared a series of startled looks before the mech in question at last unstrapped his sword from where it hung at his hip and dropped to a knee, presenting it formally.

“Be on your way, guardsmech, and know this.” Optimus accepted the blade, strapping it to his own hip with practiced ease, as if he were still back in Crystal City training with his teacher. He looked down at the fearful guardsmech before bending down to grip the mech’s face. The mech froze in horror, his frame going completely still and his venting slowing to the point of it being concerning as Optimus forced the mech to meet his gaze.

“Never again dare assume that I am so weak as to require your protection. I am your Prime, I am Primus’s chosen vessel. No mere mortal could ever dream of withstanding anything powerful enough to damage me.” His words came out in a hiss that still managed to maintain a vague remnant of a sing songy undertone. He internally cheered at his performance as his words rang in his audials. Ad libbing was one of his specialties in school and by the Thirteen, his new voice mod really sold the bit.

The guardsmech looked a klik away from crying when Optimus let go and returned to his proper height. However, despite his words, his field still extended kindly to the extras around him. It was his version of telling them good job, since words were not exactly an option at the present moment. They seemed to take it well enough, at least he certainly hoped so, since their fields flared in brief bursts of mixed confusion and awe with a hint of fear.

The fear was weird, but then again, Ratchet had once said in an interview that field usage on set was considered rather rude. Maybe he had crossed a line.

“Of course, forgive me, my Lord.” The guardsmech bowed and shakily stepped away. Silently, Optimus sent a message through his HUD to give the guardsmecha some gift cards. He didn’t know their designations yet, so for the time being, they could use his little gift to maybe get a drink off set somewhere. Being up in someone’s face was a rather frightening thing for any extra after all. He certainly had a few instances where he nearly broke down while training at the academy. The mech looked rather young too…

He shook his helm, clearing his mind as he readied himself. He had no clue who would already be there and who wouldn’t. Without access to the special effects team, he would need to start setting up his own effects once this was over. But for now, entering normally would be fine. It wouldn’t do to overwhelm the audience.

“Announcing Optimus Prime, Primus’s Chosen.” The announcer listed his designation and title as he strode into the room, internally sighing in relief at having entered the correct area and not embarrassing himself by waltzing into some other space, Primus forbid a closet or something of the like. He had no clue how he would explain that in such a scenario.

“Hail.” The small collection of already present bots stood from their chairs, bowing slightly with a servo over where their spark chambers were hidden behind layers of protective armor as he entered. Striding toward the seat he assumed was for his character in light of the very obvious Matrix of Leadership engraving on it, Optimus observed those present.

Once he was seated, those gathered did the same once more. The first mech he laid optics on very nearly had Optimus wheezing if not for his training prior to arriving on set. Ratchet was right there. Not just the character, the actual mech. He looked absolutely stunning playing the part of the Prime’s personal physician. He thought that his idol had long given up on acting, but it seemed Alpha Trion’s production was too good to turn away from. The elder actor was performing brilliantly, his disposition exactly like the character depicted in the novel. A scowl was settled on his face, accented by the gold flairs that had been painted onto him. He looked less than pleased with the situation as a whole, and he did not even bother to hide his disdain as Optimus met his gaze.

Pros really were made of sterner stuff. Not only was Ratchet’s acting top tier, but his field was also held so close to himself as to be akin to a second layer of armor. The work of a real master, refusing any and all contact with fellow actors in order to really fall into character. Optimus would be fragged if he didn’t get an autograph once they had a chance to speak somewhere without cameras. Maybe he could just invite him to speak over some tea while in character. It wasn’t part of the script, but then again, it seemed Alpha Trion’s optic for realism dictated that events would play out in proper order and over the course of time indicated in the novels. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to speak to his co-star.

“Ratchet, I had not expected you to heed my summons.” Optimus commented frigidly. Ratchet, still maintaining his immaculate characterization, almost snarled in response.

“I was half tempted to do just as you anticipated Prime. I have more important things to do than sit around and be a pretty doll.” The physician glowered with the rage of a thousand suns, and Optimus had to fight to keep still as he internally cheered. Ratchet was an absolute master of his craft, and it was evident in every small motion he made.

“But considering I was forbidden to tend to your high and mighty majesty during your time in stasis, I elected to turn up and see if the rumors were true.” Ratchet reached out for a sizable pile of documents, shutting down any further conversation just as quickly as Optimus initiated it.

Absolutely brilliant. Ratchet’s character had been largely forbidden to do anything of worth, and was kept around as a formality more often than not. In the novel, this drove the doctor half mad due to how many bots needed him down in the clinics. He despised doing nothing aside from appearing for the sake of formality. A large portion of his anger toward Optimus’s character stemmed from the simple fact that the Prime held all of Ratchet’s students and staff in the palm of his servo, their lives hanging by a thread. For Ratchet to manage to showcase all of his character’s anger in such a short scene was nothing short of phenomenal.

“It is good to see you functional again, my Lord.” Ultra Magnus sat at the far end of the table, as far as physically possible from Optimus. He had reading glasses on and his tone was anything but welcoming, unsurprising considering his character was a former war hero forced into the role of glorified maid in order to keep him from speaking out. Being a secretary was by no means the worst job out there, but it was a far cry from his former position, and Magnus’s character could not risk the potential harm that would befall his soldiers should he fail to obey.

Optimus had to reset his optics a few times in order to confirm that the actor playing Magnus’s character was indeed the Ultra Magnus he knew. Why a director had chosen to act was beyond him, but he was doing a fantastic job, so who was Optimus to judge? He nodded to himself softly, hoping somehow that the other actor felt his approval.

“Soundwave, you come on the behalf of the senate, I assume.” It wasn’t even a question. Optimus knew full and well that Soundwave, the mech sitting closest to him on his left, was an inside mech. He didn’t want to be there, and was forced to serve as the senate’s mouthpiece in order to ensure that Megatron didn’t find himself killed in some horrible and one hundred percent unfortunate accident.

It was odd that the actor playing the character wasn’t in his usual monster role, but Optimus internally shrugged and moved on. Soundwave was always a quiet mech on camera, and it seemed this role suited him fine.

“Affirmative. The Senate wishes to confirm Optimus Prime still functions.” Soundwave remained still as a statue, an act of dedication to his role that had Optimus wishing he could give a thumbs up in awe. However, he fought with his spark until the urge died and looked to the only other mech in the room.

“Jazz. I imagine you are rather disappointed I didn’t offline while in stasis.” Optimus taunted with a hint of a dark laugh in his tone. Sweet as candied energon, his vocalizer produced what might as well have been a song as he leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on the table and his servos clasped together in a grim mimicry of a prayer.

“Right on point, Prime. Would have been nice, but you’ve always been a real glitch about dying.” Jazz flipped a knife as he propped his pedes on the table. Unlike everyone else in the room, he had no decorative pieces on his frame. He looked like an average civilian. He was, to Optimus’s knowledge, the only mech his character had no real sway over. Jazz was there because he had to be for the safety of those who were against Optimus’s character.

If he recalled correctly, it said somewhere in the novel that Jazz remained for so long on the faint hope that his old friend would return and cease his cruelty. A tragic story, really, but one Optimus could use to improve his performance.

“Your commentary is irrelevant. Where are my heirs and my High Protector?” Those at the table remained silent as a servant hurried forward with a bow. Optimus raised an optical ridge and leaned back in his chair, giving off the aura of an unimpressed and agitable leader as the mech hurried to speak.

“The Primecended are going to be arriving late, my Lord. Primajor Smokescreen has been slowed by delays in transportation from Protihex. Priminor Bumblebee was…” The servant trailed off, shifting from pede to pede as they continued.

“You have never called for the Priminor before, so his position was not monitored… and it is possible he assumed you did not require his presence.” The room fell deathly silent as Optimus weighed his options. The way the film was running seemed to suggest that so long as all the main plot points were reached, the actors could act as naturally as they wished while remaining in character. Optimus had free reign to act as he saw fit.

In this case, he had just the right idea.

“That sparkling has been left to run wild for too long. Living a life of luxury due to my efforts. How very ungrateful of him.” Standing slowly, Optimus loomed over the servant and grasped their wrist, making sure to make it seem as though his grip was crushing while remaining soft so as to not damage them.

“He is my heir. He will learn to heed my summons. Bring him here in the next joor, or I will get him myself. I am sure we all don’t want that to happen, do we?” He increased his grip ever so slightly, cracking his knuckle on the servo not visible to the onlookers, in order to make it seem as though he’d damaged the servant. Then, to sell the scene further, he threw the mech to the ground as carefully as he could manage while still seeming harsh.

“Find him and tell him that I will tolerate no further acts of defiance.” The servant wiped away tears as they scrambled to their pedes and fled. Those gathered at the table stared at Optimus in hatred, as was to be expected. Optimus in turn nodded to himself before sitting back down. He didn’t want his co-stars thinking he’d actually hurt the extra playing the servant role, so he hastily began to crack his knuckles while extending his field comfortingly, hoping they connected the dots.

Their expressions grew more terrified than comforted, but he chalked that up to them remaining in character.

“Once my Council has finished gathering, I wish to know all that has happened in my absence. I would not have my empire tainted by impurities-” Optimus began, fully intending to monologue in true evil villain fashion. However, before he could, the door to the throne room burst open with a deafening crash. Ratchet startled a degree, Jazz didn’t flinch, Magnus sighed, and Soundwave remained still as always.

Optimus sat up straighter, his finials perking up as he pulled back his field and stared at the mech trudging in. He was tall and probably once had a fantastic silver finish. Now he was covered in soot and ash, burn marks, cuts, scars, and every other conceivable form of damage marred his plating. Black smoke escaped his vents, an indicator of a desperate need for system repairs and cleaning as he strode forward, the canon on his arm humming to life from what had to be incredible amounts of stress or anger.

Incredible makeup and prop work. Optimus would need to thank the makeup department when this was all over. The blaster was amazingly realistic. The LEDs inside the prop casing must have been spectacular quality.

“PRIME!”

There it was. Music to his audials. Finally, Optimus’s time to shine. He knew this scene by spark.

“Why Megatron, I would have expected more decorum from my High Protector. And yet here you are, dirtying my carpets with grime from the lower levels. How very distasteful.” Megatron seethed, his optics flicking between red and blue in a frenzy. Optimus smiled beneath his mask as he stood again, his optics purposefully locked onto the seething mech across from him.

This was his moment, the grand confrontation and the scene where Optimus Prime was introduced to the readers. Optimus would need to make this good. He hadn’t had decent prep time due to his failure to plan ahead, but he could still make a spectacular introduction.

“Well then, come take a seat. Let us begin.” He smirked and gestured toward a chair. Megatron practically shook with rage. The actor was spectacular in his heroic role, just as he always was.

Optimus would need his autograph as well.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #optimus prime #ratchet #megatron #alternate universe #ultra magnus #jazz #soundwave #actor au #fanfiction #transformers fanfiction #optimus is an oblivious idiot #hes too wrapped up in his role to see the obvious indicators that this is very real #in the words of my friend #“he has plot armor because he believes he has plot armor.”#but look! second chapter yall!#I actually did more for an au :D

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housewarningparty · 1 year ago

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top 5 horror book recommendations? it's spooky season and i need to get my read on...

Hell yeah! Gonna break this down a little. First an obligatory rehash of books I always recommend for this, these are like all-time faves for me

Wounds/North American Lake Monsters by Nathan Ballingrud - can't choose between these two, so they're tied for my favorite single author short story collection. Nathan Ballingrud is one of my favorite writers of all time

Her Body and Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado - a very very close second for my favorite single-author short story collection. Machado is a beautiful writer and finding an author writing such powerful horror from a queer woman's perspective was world changing for me.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson - COME ON!!!! You might have already read this but consider reading it again! Absolute classic.

The Cipher by Kathe Koja - dark, fucked up meditation on art and addiction and toxic relationships. I think about this book all the time. A guy finds a weird hole in his apartment basement and then everything goes wrong (first slowly and then very very quickly)

Red X by David Demchuk - talked about this a lot before too but I really do love it. Fictional story inspired by real life serial killings that took place in Toronto's gay village over decades. The author inserts essays throughout the book that makes it part memoir as well. A supernatural story about real queer trauma.

Okay with that out of the way, here's some recommendations for stuff I think would be fun for Halloween specifically

Echoes edited by Ellen Datlow - OKAY CHEATING I ALSO RECOMMEND THIS ALL THE TIME BUT IT'S A PERFECT OCTOBER BOOK!!! Fuck-off huge ghost story anthology. Huge range of tones, pretty diverse group of contributing authors, it's my all-time favorite anthology.

Slewfoot by BROM - this one's got major autumn vibes. It's a story of a woman in Puritan New England who's accused of witchcraft. It's also a story about the devil. Kind of. The print version has really amazing paintings by the author, but I've heard this is also good in audio.

Come Closer by Sara Gran - this is a great little novella. Possession story that really packs a punch. I can't really say much more than that, but it's not a huge time investment and I think it's really worthwhile.

Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan LeFanu - if you can, get the version edited by Carmen Maria Machado (she adds in some great footnotes and it has some neat art too). This is a classic and also quite a brisk read. The original lesbian vampire story.

Silver Nitrate by Silvia Moreno-Garcia - here's a new release for you! I always watch a ton of horror movies in October, and if you're anything like me maybe you'll want to read a horror novel about horror movies. This story follows a female film editor in 90s Mexico and her washed up actor friend as they help a retired filmmaker complete his famously unfinished last film, which he had been making with a former Nazi occultist before strange misfortunes and the occultist's mysterious disappearance forced production to shut down.

Okay that was double the amount of recommendations requested so I'm stopping here. Haha don't look in the tags don't worry about it there's nothing there you're crazy

#ALSO YOU SHOULD READ THE LAST DAYS OF JACK SPARKS BY JASON ARNOPP. GREAT ON AUDIO #ALSO THE HELLBOUND HEART BY CLIVE BARKER WHICH IS THE NOVELLA HELLRAISER WAS BASED ON #ALSO RING SHOUT BY P DJELI CLARK WHICH IS ABOUT BIRTH OF A NATION AND THE KKK BEING LITERAL DEMONS #ALSO THE BALLARD OF BLACK TOM BY VICTOR LAVALLE WHICH IS A BLACK RETELLING OF THE HORROR AT RED HOOK #ALSO THE RETURN BY RACHEL HARRISON WHICH IS A BOOK ABOUT FEMALE FRIENDSHIP BUT ALSO LIKE. COMING BACK WRONG #ALSO HOW TO SELL A HAUNTED HOUSE BY GRADY HENDRIX WHICH WILL MAKE YOU LAUGH BUT ALSO WILL MAKE YOU HATE PUPPETS #ALSO THE GOOD HOUSE BY TANANARIVE DUE WHICH IS A HAUNTED HOUSE STORY ABOUT BREAKING CYCLES OF GENERATIONAL TRAUMA #ALSO NIGHT OF THE MANNEQUINS BY STEPHEN GRAHAM JONES WHICH IS A FUN AND SHORT NOVELLA ABOUT A HORROR BUFF TEEN VS. WELL. THE MANNEQUINS.#book recs

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denimbex1986 · 9 months ago

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'While filming All of Us Strangers in his childhood home outside of London, Andrew Haigh began to see ghosts. “I hadn’t been in that house since I was seven or eight, so it was like going into a haunted house,” he recalled. “It was really, really unusual.”

The writer-director, who sat down with Geek Vibes Nation following the film’s New York premiere, had adapted a 1987 Japanese horror novel into a loosely autobiographical story about a shut-in screenwriter (a devastating, recently Golden Globe-nominated Andrew Scott) who, upon revisiting the home in which he grew up, reencounters the spirits of his long-dead parents (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell). It only made sense, then, for Haigh to have the film reflect his own coming-of-age.

“It felt like the ghosts of my life were in the house telling the story of the film.”

Despite the film being drastically different than its source material, “Strangers” by Taichi Yamada, they’re both effectively ghost stories. However, Haigh’s choice to never apply external logic allows for his ghosts to better serve the lead character.

“There are lots of holes in any ghost story,” he says, chuckling. “‘Are they actually living in the house? Is someone else living in the house? Is he going into the house? Is he not going into the house? Is it all in his mind?’ I think you have to abandon logic to some extent…we are going into [the main character’s] mind, his subconscious. I decided to look at the whole film, really, as a manifestation of his emotional state.”

Through multiple beautifully-penned conversations, Scott’s character comes to terms with his parents’ untimely death as one of the year’s best films unravels its yearning yarn. Read more about Haigh’s process in our full conversation with him below, edited for length and clarity.

This film is based on a Japanese novel, specifically a ghost story. You approached it from a more humanistic place and adapted it very autobiographically and yet, in a strange way, it still feels like a ghost story in the same way as the original novel. What piqued your interest about taking this very surreal novel and placing your own experiences into it?

It’s really interesting when you start thinking about doing a ghost story. The novel is a very traditional ghost story and I liked it for that, but when I was trying to work out how to put myself into the story, I had to ask, “What do ghosts mean to me and what do they mean in British culture?” Because they mean something very different in Japanese culture than they do necessarily in British culture. To me, ghosts felt like what haunts us as adults, what we drag around with us. They’re always there, lurking under the surface, standing behind you in the shadows. I decided that I was going to ground [the movie] much more in a metaphysical space, rather than do it as a more naturalistic story that then ended up having ghosts in it. So much of the adaptation became about trying to navigate that tone and working out if people were going to be frustrated because there’s definitely different rules that you have with ghost stories as a logic, but I ignore that logic at times and then look into it at other times. In the end, I was like, “F**k it. I’m just going to play around with what I think is emotionally interesting and hope that the audience comes along for the ride.”

That makes me think of a very interesting choice that you make in this film. When the main character, played by Andrew Scott, encounters his parents initially, it feels like maybe a time travel thing. In reality, they’re just specters in this home. I was wondering if you could break down that logical paradox you’re talking about, this idea of wanting to have them as ghosts but having them still be very human in the eyes of the main character.

Yeah, that’s the thing. The emotions that we carry around when we lose someone – it doesn’t even have to be through death, it can be for whatever reason, you’re just not with them anymore – all the pain that we carry feels so real. I wanted that to feel as real as possible. I mean, look, logically, there are lots of holes in any ghost story. “Are they actually living in the house? Is someone else living in the house? Is he going into the house? Is he not going into the house? Is it all in his mind?” I think you have to abandon logic to some extent because, of course, it’s not logical. Really, we are going into [the main character’s] mind, his subconscious. I decided to look at the whole film, really, as a manifestation of his emotional state but grounded in a way that makes it seem like his parents are in this house when he opens the door. There they are and, suddenly, he’s going back into the past but it’s not the past. They’re not real but they take on their own lives. It’s not all in his imagination either, because they’re also having conversations without him there, we gather. It excited me that I could go down all these avenues.

I love that this film really breathes. Many of the shots are long and the performances live within silences. Were there any specific touchstones in the visual style of this film that you were specifically thinking about in terms of this tone?

It was a tricky one to get right. I always have a little list of films that are interesting to me at the time, but there was such a mixture of things. I looked at Jacob’s Ladder and Rosemary’s Baby and more traditional genre pieces, and then I had Quiets and Whispers, [Ingmar] Bergman’s film, Black Narcissus, [directed by] Powell and Pressburger, and Leviathan, the Russian film [directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev], all of these other films. Rather than saying, “I want the film to be like these,” it was like, “I want to combine a realism and a naturalism with an otherworldly genre-esque element, what decisions can we make going forward so that it feels real but also not real?” It was hard to find anything that felt exactly like a good reference because we were trying to exist within the gaps of things. In the end, I think the whole team really loved that because we were like “Let’s just treat it as a drama,” essentially, because that’s really what it is.

Yeah, I don’t think anybody watching this film could imagine that it was based on this horror story because you ground it in very personal terms. I heard that you shot parts of this film in your actual childhood home, so I’m sure there was an almost spectral feeling when harnessing your memories there.

Definitely. I hadn’t been in that house since I was seven or eight, so it was like going into a haunted house. It’s weird. You’re going back and you are feeling how you used to feel in an environment that you used to live in. You’re recognizing things that you haven’t thought about in 40 years. I’m even recognizing the feel of things. I would put my hand on the banister and I was like, “Something in me is remembering this banister.” It was really, really unusual. It created this really interesting tone for everybody, for all of the crew. Even the actors were like, “Wait, so this used to be your mum and dad’s bed?” This was my bedroom, this was my wallpaper – we recreated the wallpaper – that was the color of my walls. It felt like the ghosts of my life were in the house telling the story of the film.

We have to talk a little bit about Andrew Scott. Fans of him already know that he’s a marvel of an actor, but I think that this film is introducing the film community to him in a very, very big way. It’s a very difficult character to play because, not to say any spoilers, but he is very much a singular entity in the film. How did you and Andrew hone in on him as this grounded piece of a very ethereal story?

Basically, a lot of conversations. He was the only person we went to for the lead. I had liked him for a long time and was always amazed he hadn’t been a lead in a film.

You and us all!

You know, he’s 46 now! He’s a brilliant actor, so subtle and careful and precise, but then really natural at the same time. It’s a real skill. When I sat down with him, we went through the script and we talked about what the film means to me, but so much of it felt like it was his life too. It was so joyous because he was like, “You’ve written a script about me.” That’s what I want from a script, because it’s not just about me. I want it to be about lots of people, regardless of their actual experience. He really responded to it and then we talked a lot about navigating between being an adult and being a child, which I think is the hardest thing that he does [in this film] and he does it beautifully. When he comes back to see his parents again, physically he looks the same but somehow he feels younger. He even looks younger. He feels more innocent and he’s desperate for them to love him and there’s all of these things going on. Then, it changes again when he goes back into the present tense, let’s call it, of the story. I think he does such a good job allowing his vulnerability to come out. It’s a very vulnerable performance, it’s exposing. It’s all of the things that are not easy for an actor to get to, but he just threw himself in.

I have to ask you about “The Power of Love,” which is a beautiful song featured significantly in the film. I’m sure it has a significance to you based on your history, but I’m wondering if there’s a significance to it that goes beyond merely being a period touchstone.

It had an emotional resonance because when I was a kid – this is the middle of the 80s – I used to love that song. I was 10 years old and I couldn’t quite work out why I loved it. When I look back at it grown up, I now understand why I loved it. It’s a big, orchestral, powerful pop song and I feel like, for young people, pop songs become a way to express their inner selves. They themselves can’t express their longing or what they want from the world at that age. In the end, this is a film about love. It is a film about the complications of love, both parental and romantic, how they are linked together, how you can find love, lose love, find it again, and lose it again. We’re all going to end up having lost love in our lives. We’re all going to lose our parents. Lots of us might lose our partners. That’s what happens in life, but the importance of love is the key. When I got to the end of the film, I was like, “You know what? Let’s make it go crazy. Let’s just go wild with it and be big and operatic.” I think it’s almost speaking to my old childhood sense saying. “Do you know what? It is possible. When you grow up, you are actually going to find love.” For me, it was about that.

What’s next for you? Are you looking to find another horror film to personalize, or are we going in another direction?

[both laugh] I’ve got a couple of projects all at a similar level that could happen next year. There’s always so many reasons why you do or do not do something – availability, money, all of those things. I’m hoping something will fall into place. But also, now that this film is being embraced, the next film will be in conversation with this one. So, I have to be sure that what’s next makes sense. That doesn’t mean going bigger or smaller or anything. It just means that it will have a relationship with what’s come before. I’m just trying to work out what the right decision is.'

#Andrew Haigh #The Power of Love #Frankie Goes to Hollywood #All of Us Strangers #Andrew Scott #Paul Mescal #Claire Foy #Jamie Bell #Golden Globes #Taichi Yamada #Strangers

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sangyeonsmuse · 3 months ago

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BUTTON EYES

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | All Chapters

PAIRING | OT8, MC SEONGHWA

WORDS| 2.7K

GENRE | Coraline au, angst, suspense,

SUMMARY | What happens when Seonghwa returns to the home he was once fond of as a child? This time around making his return as a full adult with the company of friends. Nightmares and old friends return and the button eyes that Seonghwa desperately escaped as a child have returned to haunt he and his friends.

WARNING | Graphic descriptions, mentions of death, ghost children, witchcraft, grsphic nightmares, arson, lost memories

MORE | Based on the childrens novel & Henry Selick film Coraline

Before i go any further i want it to be known i am in no way claiming Coraline as my own. I wrote a concept for a part 2 or spinoff long ago and I just felt that it was time to finally put it to use. I do not own Ateez or any Coraline named Characters in this story but the Storyline is indeed a self made one.

And so the four boys found themselves huddled up by the fireplace sitting in silence. Mingi hasn't spoken a word about what he heard and Seonghwa seemed lost in thought. He couldnt stop thinking about his night terror from the previous moment, he hadnt had any nightmares since he was eleven.

"So what exactly was it that you heard Mingi?" Yunho spoke up finally deciding to break the silence.

"Sounded like..like a kid, i woke up to get some water and when i passed the art room there were i dont know silent cries or something, if ive learned anything from the movies Jongho has forced me to watch its if you hear things like that you run the opposite direction." Mingi babbled without even stopping to take a breath.

"Have you been forcing him to watch horror movies again?" Yunho turns to look at Jongho who simply shrugs his shoulders in response.

Yunhos eyes then shoot to Seonghwa who hadnt spoken a word since the four of them set up their space down there. He could tell that something was wrong but he didn't want to question it. All he knew was that distant look in Seonghwas eyes showed he saw something that shook him up.

"Movie or no movie, i know what I heard."

The next morning while Yeosang took the others into town Seonghwa found himself alone in the house as he awaited Hongjoongs arrival. The fact that he couldn't remember much even having spent soo much time in the house bothered him. As he waited he decided to search around as Yunho had said the previous day. Many doors remained locked and he couldn't hide his curiosity as to what lay beyond the other side. The man tried every key that he'd found in the kitchen drawer, but to his dismay neither worked. It didn't quite add up to him that there wasn't a key in the house that seemed to work.

When Hongjoong arrived the two sat silently drinking tea in the kitchen. Needless to say it was quite awkward between the two, after all thirteen years had passed without the two having talked with one another.

"I assume you didn't simply call me here for company while you drink your tea Seonghwa..so what is it that you need from me?" Hongjoong asks as he places his up down onto the countertop.

Seonghwa sat silent for a moment as if thinking over what he should say. "What happened here Joong, Ive been racking my brain trying to remember something, anything from my past here yet it seems like any memory of those days are non existent in my mind." At his words Hongjoong seemed to stiffen in his seat and this didn't go unnoticed by Seonghwa

"So you dont remember anything...? Nothing at all from your stays here..?"

"I know you know something about this place, you were eager to leave the moment you let us into the place when we arrived. Yeosang said that Mr. Bobinsky told him stories about this place, what is it that I'm not remembering.. what happened here"

Hongjoong could sense the desperation in Seonghwas voice but he still remained unsure on whether he should bring up any memory of the past. Perhaps Seonghwa was better off left in the dark about everything he had experienced there. Hongjoong had never had it as bad as Seonghwa when it came to the old manor but there were a few moments HongJoong spent in the house that just the thought of sent chills down his spine. As if the lord had answered his prayers to end the conversation there was a soft click as the door opened before loud voices were heard in the foyer.

"They were into me, I could have had two dates for that movie drop tomorrow night." A voice unfamiliar to Seonghwa whined amongst the many other loud voices before a voice he recognized as yeosangs spoke in response.

"Two girls out of the many that already fawn over you already I think youll be fine Wooyoung." He spoke menacingly before pushing the door to the kitchen open. In walked the others, this time accompanied by two men unfamiliar to Seonghwa but familiar to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong locked eyes with Yeosang, a look that spoke a thousand words but most of all a look that said to him "we need to talk"

Pulling Yeosang from the kitchen and away from the others hongjoong brings his arms up to his chest. "What have you been telling Seonghwa?''

"What?''

"What have you been telling Seonghwa about the house yeosang?" hongjoong questions once more, at his serious tone Yeosang finds himself somewhat cowering before him.

"Not much, after all i don't really know much he gave me a tour earlier and i just told him about the stories that my grandfather would share with me about the place i didnt think it was such a big deal-" he shrugs

"Leave the story telling to your grandfather Yeo, there's a reason Seonghwa left this place, all the ghost stories, the things youve heard about the manor. Keep them to yourself or refrain from telling Hwa. the last thing we need is him running around here looking into things that will only hurt him." at hongjoongs words yeosang fell silent. He had never seen his friend this serious about the topic. To be honest though he knew he should have simply listened to what his best friend had been telling him, yet instead he found himself getting even more intrigued by his sudden change in demeanor.

The next morning each of the guys went their separate ways, Mingi found himself exploring the garden out back, Yunho and Jongho had gone out into the town to search for a job that actually interested them in the small old town. This meant that once again seonghwa had been left in his home alone. After unpacking the boy had grown bored and decided that he'd explore the rest of the house. It had been so long since he walked those halls and he couldnt seem to pull a single memory from anywhere in his head. As seonghwa made his way down the hallway his eyes had landed on a space beneath the stairwell, the wallpaper had been peeling and he could have sworn he could make out what looked to be a door. He drew closer and as he reached out his hand to brush across the wall he heard a faint whisper and then there was a knock at the door. He chalked it up to him simply hearing things and made his way up front to open it. As he swung the door open there stood hongjoong with a smile on his face.

"Hello there mars~'' he greets him in a sing-song voice before pushing past him and into the house.

"Are you seriously back to calling me that again?'' Seonghwa groans at the use of his old nickname, one that Hongjoong had used to greet him ever since they were children.

"For as long as we know each other yes, I plan on using it for the rest of our lives.'' Hongjoong laughs as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Used grandmas recipe made bibimbap, kimbap, kimchi and tteokboki, figured you guys hadn't had time to grocery shop yet and since she didnt add the proportions to her recipe book i accidentally made enough for at least ten.'' he laughs as he places all of the food into the fridge.

"Thanks no matter the amount i'm more than sure Mingi, Yunho and Jongho will be grateful they could eat for days.'' he laughs as he rests his head on his palms.

"Hongjoong, was there any construction or something done to the house while I was away?'' Seonghwas question earns a confused glance from his old friend.

"Construction? No I don't think so why?''

"Well I was taking a look around the house and the staircase, it seems like someone blocked off something.'' hongjoong pressed his lips into a thin line, he was well aware of what hid behind the wall but he refused to tell Seonghwa, so he found himself struggling to come up with a lie, any sort of lie when the front door opened and in walked Jongho and Yunho. Hongjoong immediately sighed and thanked the gods.

"Ah Hongjoong you're here today.'' Yunho sang happily as he took a seat at the counter beside Seonghwa.

"Yes yes, I came to drop off some food how was the job search?'' Hongjoong avoided Seonghwas gaze knowing very well that he had been waiting for him to answer the question.

"Well I start my job at the daycare in a week and Jongho here will be working at the theater with Wooyoung and San." he cheerfully pinches Jonghos cheeks earning a glare from the latter.

"Well this calls for a celebration, yes? How about we go out tonight grab food and some drinks at the old pub across the street from drearylane park?'' Hongjoongs suggestion got immediate yeses from both jongho and Yunho who nudged seonghwa to get excited for it as well. Seonghwa on the other hand had been too lost in his thoughts wondering why Hongjoong had avoided his question. Ever since seonghwa had arrived back there hongjoong seemed to be acting weird

Later that night when Seonghwa was finally able to gather his three routy roommates, Hongjoong gathered the other three and they all made their way into town. Along the way Hongjoong had been telling the guys the history of the town, the backstories behind the few buildings that were actually left in the town.

"Wait, so some fire took everything out? How come it didn't take out everything?'' Yunho asks, only getting a shoulder shrug from Hongjoong in response.

"That part I'm not sure of. Grandma only ever tells me bits and pieces since you know..she doesn't really remember much, there also isn't much about the fire or what caused it in the town library files." the others nodded in understanding as they followed along

For the rest of the night the eight of them stuffed their faces and drunk until every word they said was barely audible, well everyone except Seonghwa that was. He kept thinking about the door and the house, something about being there bothered him. Why couldn't he remember a single detail? He remembered crying his eyes out as a child when his mother told him he wouldn't be going back to grandmas but he couldnt for the life of him even remember any memories of having been ther with her. Standing up from his seat Seonghwa slipped away from the group of guys that were now drunkenly yelling at one another over a game of mafia. As soon as he stepped outside he took in a deep breath before taking in the old town, his eyes then landed on the old park and to his surprise a little girl stood there staring back at him.

"Are you lost..? Why are you out here all alone?'' he asked? Worry laced in his tone as he looked around in search for the little girl's parents.

No answer.

"Where are your parents?'' he further questioned, once again being met with silence.

"Who are you talking to?" Yeosangs voice startled him, pulling his attention away from the little girl only momentarily.

"Um i was asking her where her parents were.'' Seonghwa responds, earning a confused glance from Yeosang.

"Who?'' As Seonghwa turned and raised his hand to point into the direction of the girl his eyebrows knit together as he too now grew confused. The girl had been standing right there and it was as if she had just vanished.

"You know what nevermind, did you need something?'' he turns back to yeosang who only shrugs his shoulders at the mans odd behavior.

"Well mafia got out of hand and Wooyoung bit Jongho and now he's chasing him around the pub like a maniac and Mingi is chasing jongho trying to get him to sit down.'' At his words Seonghwa sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Why is it always those two.'' He follows Yeosang into the pub taking one last look back in the area in which the girl once stood.

Their night out ended with them all walking back to seonghwas place, wooyoung with a pout on his face having been turned into a human punching bag by Jongho and Jongho with a smug grin on his after having gotten Woo back for biting him. They each disappeared into their rooms San and Wooyoung sharing one of the guest rooms and Yeosang and hongjoong having their own rooms, unbeknown to them this would be a rough night for each of them.

This was part of the reason Hongjoong hadn't slept in that house and barely stepped foot into it since Seonghwa had left. The night terrors, the nightmares that all seemed to come flooding back due to just one simple visit to the house.

As Hongjoong walked along the garden he could hear faint whispers from the woods behind him. Unwillingly his body moved towards the whispers and they grew louder and louder as he began to close the distance. A familiar black cat circled his feet as if forbidding him from moving any further but he continued on. He found himself looking back at an old memory one hat he thought the pills had helped bury deep.

He and aYoung seonghwa stood shouting and screaming as the woman in black held Seonghwa by his neck, her slick fingers squeezing tight enough to draw blood. Hongjoong bit her ankle making her hiss and drop Seonghwa to the ground before reaching out for hongjoong. It was then that Seonghwa raised the medallion and a loud screech emitted from the woman before she disappeared. It was then that Hongjoongs eyes locked with his younger self and he woke up in a pool of sweat

He found himself quietly making his way down the hall to grab some water from the kitchen, now finding it hard to get himself to sleep again. To his surprise he found Seonghwa sitting at the window with a cup of tea in his hand.

"I guess you couldn't sleep either?'' Hongjoong chuckles and makes his way over to the fridge pouring himself a glass of water.

"Not really haven't really been able to sleep since we got here.'' Seonghwa sighs and pulls his legs to his chest to make room for his friend to sit.

"There are so many details that just arent adding up in my head, so many things I feel like i'm missing being here.'' he sighs and Hongjoong immediately felt guilty he knew why but he vowed to his grandma coraline that if he ever returned he wouldn't speak a word.

"Hongjoong you know something, I'm sure of it. Ever since I came back you've been acting weird and ever since that day you pulled yeosang from the kitchen you've been even weirder. What is it you aren't telling me?'' hongjoong sighs, he couldnt help but grow slightly annoyed at his friends' persistence.

"Seonghwa there are some things just not meant to be remembered, whatever you think it is that you feel you should be remembering do yourself a favor and let it go. It'd be best that you just carry on as if there's nothing bothering you. You're better off not remembering.'' he stood from the bay window with his water in hand and made his way to the door.

"I'm going back to bed, you should try and get some rest." Honjoongs leaves the room with a sigh, leaving seonghwa alone to wallow in his silence.

After finishing his tea Seonghwa silently shuffles back to his room. He thought for sure that Hongjoong would give him something, even the tiniest of detail of what had happened back then but instead he told him nothing, and basically asked him to completely forget the thought of any past memory here.

Seonghwa closed his eyes and tried his best to fall back asleep, it felt like time had gone by so slowly until he naturally found his eyes fluttering shut and soon his entire body relaxed as he finally fell asleep.

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space-blue · 1 year ago

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wait hold on… can u elaborate about the australian slavery situation??? what did it inspire u to write??

Hah, sure! You'll find a lot of it answered in this previous ask!

Basically in Australia if you want a second year on your working holiday visa, you have to do work in some countryside postcodes. The laws have changed around it, but back then (2014?) it was basically a hellscape of modern slavery. There's a horror film about that sort of job actually! Very funny--may not watch lol

I went to a lady who lived in Grafton and who was certified batshit. It was very very bad. I worked without equipment, sometimes ankle deep in mud, in the rain, feeding horses in my bikini because that way I could hose myself down.

I had to carry and lift bags of feed, 25 or 50kg... And make feed at night, boiling it. The room we kept the feed in was a container, and from the moment the sun set, the walls would come alive. tapestry of dancing roaches.

That's me ^ and the feed 'shed'.

The horses, of course, were great and always good company...

(that's not me but a fellow slave).

The worst though was not the insects crawling in, the black widows by the dozen, the flying roaches in my face or me having to sic the dogs on nesting mice... It was the barking.

One of the bitches had pups and was underfed. The neighbour threatened to kill her if she didn't stop killing his chickens. So instead of feeding her better, they turned the cage like space I'm in on that first pic, into an improvised kennel for SEVEN dogs. The puppies? Kept alone across the yard.

That bitch barked all night, non stop. It drove me to madness. It drove me to dark, dark places. I considered killing her myself. It was so bad, I eventually wrote a short story where Obi-Wan Kenobi breaks on Kadavo due to sleep deprivation! Then it turned into my first finished long-ish fic fix it, I'm very proud of it lol

He's lifting rocks, pushing carts, choking on his daily portion of mouldy bread, staring into the middle distance. He keeps his thoughts far from the things and people he loves, afraid that handling such precious memories might sully them, taint them with the same revolting grime that mats his hair and cakes under his nails. He feels his soul unravelling. The once thick and vibrant weave of his personality a moth-eaten rag, fraying under his touch. The person he was... The calm, collected man, sometimes to a fault... Sometimes a little too cold and obedient... Where has he gone? Like a shade into darkness, swallowed by something greater than himself.

Anyway, in the middle of that madness I started writing a 'novel' that was very much a vampire romance in which it's not *quite* vampires akchually... But then it evolved into an idea I really cherish, and wish I had the writing chops to work on soon.

So yeah anyway, I was mega broke as in '100$ and nothing else', was not paid, forced to work daily, even wash the family's stuff every day and roll the towels like in a 5 star hotel. I had no car and no money to get a way out.

The crazy horse lady kicked me out with no warning though, and I was rescued by lovely (and deeply racist) people. Before making my way to another horse person, a guy this time, who gave me a camping stove and a mattress in the room at the end of his stables.

I mucked shit every day while listening to Benedict Cumberbatch's reading of Kafka's Metamorphosis. There's a joke somewhere in there.

Here I am, over my pile of shit :

This is an era of my life where I had no money and no internet banking, and had to ask the cashier to 'please try again' after taking a can out of the shoping, and another can, and another...

I also, tragically, read The Collector, by John Fowles. That book left me so physically distressed, I was sick to my fucking stomach. I picked up the Exorcist to try and wash my palate! But finally I searched for fellow writers online, feeling my sanity was slowly unraveling...

And I found a forum of fantasy and scifi writers who ran a small monthly short story competition! I wrote my first in one day, while mucking stables... Sat at my diner of frozen potatoes and slammed my first 1.5k words short story ever. It featured an immortal gunslinger in a post apocalyptic wasteland. Strong beginings.

You can read most of those short stories here.

I participated almost religiously to this, for years. By the time I entered fanfic-world, I had almost 7 years of this under my belt.

I'm definitely sure it rescued my sanity.

#writing #irl stuff #modern slavery #australia #snip talks #anon ask

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crescentrivers · 6 months ago

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I had a dream involving Hatchetfield. I was watching a let’s play of a video game that took place in Hatchetfield. I think it was a fan game and not official. The youtube channel I saw it on was either ManlyBadassHero or a YouTuber that was made up for the dream.

It was a visual novel, probably a horror game, I don’t remember seeing anything scary in the dream but reasonably I think it was a horror game. The art style looked kind of like the art style for the game dead plate but also some parts of it looked like my art style and some parts of it looked live action (dream inconsistencies I guess) I mostly remember parts looking like dead plate though. The main character was a teenager (older highschooler?) who I think was a girl. She was pale and had short light brown hair (not super short but above the shoulders) and I think her eyes were blue. I don’t remember her name (I don’t think the dream even gave her one) but she definitely wasn’t a canon Hatchetfield character.

My memory of the actual plot is very bad I don’t think the dream itself even showed much of it but here it goes: (under the cut)

So I think the game took place on Thanksgiving or around thanksgiving break, no it didn’t involve Wiggly that would make too much sense. Instead it started with the main character and her family summoning Pokey for whatever reason. I’m not sure what was going on or how the MC felt about this but I don’t think she was a cultist, she might not have been fully into this plan.

So the MC’s family wasn’t super wealthy, I think they were poor or struggling or something. (This might’ve been the motivations for the summoning thing but really idk) I think the family was also dysfunctional or neglectful considering at some point (I think multiple times actually) the parents just left the MC at home while they went to go eat dinner somewhere leaving the MC to make or get her own food. (I think some other stuff happened that made the relationship seem bad aswell) When they were gone MC would talk to Pokey (who was still there, for some reason) and he might’ve helped her with the entire needing to get food cause her parents left thing.

This wasn’t like- part of the deal or the reason he was summoned, if anything MC was talking to him secretly and her parents didn’t know. (Dreams have inconsistent weird plot holes what do you want from me)

I wish I could tell you what happened after this point but I have no idea what the actual story was supposed to be. Just the main character interacting with Pokey and her family and I’m guessing there’d be different endings/routes depending on what you did in those interactions

Also this is unrelated but I had a different dream a few weeks ago where Wiggly was there and my grandma got diagnosed with dementia, those two events were not related at all they just happened in the same dream. I have no idea what Wiggly was even doing (I have a very vague memory that might’ve involved him being in a commercial or being filmed for something but idk also I don’t think he was acting super evil he was kind of just there before leaving and then the dementia plotline happened)

#Hatchetfield #my post #dream #pokotho

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bereft-of-frogs · 7 months ago

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the friday list ~

this is really covering like a week and a half, because with all the traveling and eclipse adventures, I didn't have much to update last week.

books:

Jawbone - Monica Ojeda: I finally finished this one. I think it went on just a little long for the structure, which was very stream-of-consciousness. There would be like, multiple pages with no paragraph or dialogue breaks. It was interesting, I still liked the vibe, but it ended up being kind of hard to get through.

(in-progress, for book club) This Wretched Valley - Jenny Kiefer: What I like about this book is it's doing a good job showing how annoying both rock climbing people and 'I can't go anywhere without my dog' people are without fully tipping over into completely insufferable. She's walking that line really well. The metaphors are a tiny bit much but I'm enjoying the atmosphere so far. Oh also, I'm struggling a tiny bit with how many dumb decisions they're making. Like, I get that there's something supernatural going on, but outdoor horror stories definitely have a very narrow margin for error between 'understandable mistakes' and 'why the fuck wouldn't you bring a second helmet or rope? why once there's a significant injury does it never occur to you to send one person hiking out to get help? WHY DON'T YOU HAVE ANY PAPER MAPS OR A COMPASS???????' Oh, wah, the GPS is broken, WHY ARE YOU RELYING SOLELY ON GPS IN THE FIRST PLACE? (ok sort of unfair because there's some spooky shit going on so even if they did everything right they wouldn't escape BUT that's even less of an excuse to have them make a bunch of dumb mistakes. Like isn't it MORE horrifying if you do everything right and still can't get out? Idk I just like competent characters and I wish more outdoor horror did the 'super competent characters make understandable mistakes or are caught by forces outside of their control' and less just went for the imo lazy 'idiots bumbling into doom'.)

(in-progress, phone book) Into the Dark - Claudia Gray: I had some bad scrolling moments there for a couple days, but I'm rededicated to not scrolling, catching up on the High Republic series instead. I'm a little over halfway, I forgot this book does one thing I find a little irksome, but it's a can of worms I don't want to open, iykyk kind of deal. Still love Reath though.

(in-progress) The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien: I don't often reread The Hobbit, but once I finished LOTR I thought I'd pick it up. It's always funny to me when Tolkien like, slips into a lore dump in the middle of his children's adventure novel. Like we'll be bopping around and suddenly he'll be like 'and in the days of the kings of old, when the Valar....' and there's just a paragraph with all the cadences of The Silmarillion before he kind of snaps back and remembers what they're doing and it's back to being a romp.

tv:

Severance (AppleTV): Oh my GOD. WHAT. This was so disturbing and so funny and I basically had a 45 minute heart attack during that finale. I can't wait for season 2, that was INSANE. I think my only critique is that I wish some of the twists had been signaled a bit earlier. I think I might rewatch to see if I pick up on any foreshadowing but I really didn't seen the twist about Mark's wife coming at all, like it wasn't even on my radar as a direction they could take. It felt like it was signaled then revealed seemingly within the same episode, and I thought maybe there could have been more hints earlier on. Though I think some worked to come out of nowhere, like who Helly really is.

Anthracite (Netflix): Short little 6 episode cult mystery on Netflix. It's kind of a frenetic pace which I think is partially purposeful style, and partially because they only have 6 episodes. I think I'd like to see the 10 episode version of this show, where they have a little more time to build the characters.

movies:

Train to Busan (2016): I had never actually seen this. It was a truly excellent zombie film. I cried.

Jigoku (1960): I'm back to trying to work through the Letterboxd Top 250 horror list, AND try to watch all the ones on Criterion so I can drop that subscription. Bit of a slow build, but the hell scenes were cool.

Zone of Interest (2023): Do I regret not seeing this in theaters? I don't know. I didn't because it didn't seem like I needed the big screen, but the more I heard about the sound design and now that I've seen it, yeah, I think it deserved the big speaker system and not my TV's kind of tinny speakers. The sound design was for sure the real star. Extremely disturbing and effective. Maybe it would have been TOO much seeing it in theaters.

Speak No Evil (2022): I get what they were trying to do but you can refer to my liveblog to see why it didn't quite work for me.

Monkey Man (2024): Omg I almost forgot to put this one? This was such a good action movie, Dev Patel is fantastic and the soundtrack is 10/10. I really enjoyed it, if you haven't seen it yet you 100% should.

video game update: got through Ilum in my perpetual Fallen Order playthrough. Which means: purple lightsaber time :)

craft update: I have reached the underarm join on my vest! Which is exciting because I'm so close to not needing to purl anymore but I did not think through a significant tool issue so before I actually join it up I have to either 1) find another #7 circular needle among my supplies, 2) buy another one, 3) possibly just buy another set of interchangeable needle tips? We'll see if I can JUST get the needle tips and it's not too expensive.

to do:

I have to do an errand I don't want to on my lunch hour. Boo. It involves paperwork and the DMV. I know it will probably not take as long as I'm imagining but. I don't wanna. I'm watching a video of a youtuber I like also deal with car registration as inspiration. Argh. Let this saga be over, before I can't deal with it anymore and drive my stupid car into the sea (I shouldn't joke about that someone actually did that like 6 months ago).

post office to hopefully finally finish the above saga

clean apartment

finish out the first week of my new running routine with about 2 miles tonight and then around 3ish tomorrow

writing goals: I think I figured out my block on chapter 7, so my goal for the next week is to finish a really rough draft of chapter 8, then retreat back to finishing up chapter 7 and then continuing on with the more polished version of chapter 8. I moved some things around. I don't think I have to kill a darling (a paragraph I really like). I think I found a place for it that doesn't completely break the characterization and logic, like the version I started with.

figure out knitting needle issue and/or finish detangling yarn so I can make progress on other project

I might go to home depot because I have a dresser I'd like to repaint, I've had the swatches picked out for a full year now, I just have to actually get the paint and sandpaper and such.

despair: oh my god my activity page is ruined. that post about fanon has over 10k notes. I'm gradually losing faith in the reading comprehension of this site (gradually?). pray that things lessen up a bit this week LOL But also #grateful no one has called me a bitch yet, small wins, I've just learned a lot about random discourse in other fandoms, no one's actually tried to start discourse with me yet

#long post #the friday list #lists lists lists

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 2 years ago

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oooooh time after time (timestamp) for sorry about the blood in your mouth? <3

omg. ok I saw this ask and I was like “I should write something for this” lol

the epilogue of sorry about the blood in your mouth takes place in january 1999 and there’s like. a full year between the end of the actual story and when the epilogue takes place. so in my own personal headcanon for my own story that I wrote, I think that Eddie moves in with Steve in his apartment over the Grindhouse in Indianapolis almost immediately after filming wraps. I actually like to think that they tried long-distance for a couple months, even though neither of them really wanted that and Eddie had already pretty much decided he’d be moving in with Steve after the first time they’d kissed again on set, but they were afraid of rushing things and being impulsive so they try to be “normal” for five seconds before Eddie finally breaks and asks if he can come live with Steve lol (they still keep Eddie’s place for when Eddie has to travel for work)

before the 1999 GG, Eddie doesn’t have a ton of time to do much writing, since he’s doing press and interviews for tell the devil I’m waiting (both the film and the book!!). he starts a few projects but abandons them after one or two pages. around Christmas 1998 I like to think Eddie starts seriously considering a new project, writing single scenes here and there, scraps of paper left around the apartment or shoved into his jeans pocket. they always make Steve smile when he finds them, tidying up or doing the laundry.

a few months after the GG ceremony, Eddie presents Steve with a new manuscript, freshly written. “read it,” Eddie tells him, shoving it into his hands. “tell me what you think when you’re done.” Steve spends the next few days doing nothing but working, sleeping, and reading Eddie’s pages. when he’s done, late on a Tuesday evening, he finds Eddie already in their bed, leaning against the headboard, reading a book of his own. he looks up when Steve comes into the room. Steve swallows. “it’s us?” he says, like it’s a question, even though it’s fairly obvious. “it’s us,” Eddie tells him, smiling softly. “is that okay?” Steve can’t do anything but kiss Eddie, right on the mouth.

about six months later, a new romance novel from some new author named Emily Munroe is breaking records, moving up the NYT bestseller list faster than Eddie can even blink. it’s the story of a famous film director who reconnects with his long-lost high school sweetheart, ten years after they’d tragically parted ways. Brad Pitt and Christian Bale play the leads in the film adaptation and award-winning screenwriter Eddie Munson takes on the screenplay, guaranteeing the movie has a huge opening weekend. the premiere screens to rave reviews.

after the success of the romance novel, Eddie decides it’s time to make an honest woman out of Steve, so they have some kind of commitment ceremony, whether that’s a wedding or something else I’m not entirely sure. but everyone’s there. Robin is Steve’s best man. Max officiates.

Eddie continues writing both romance under his pseudonym and horror under his own name—he’s able to draw on inspiration from his own life for both genres—and Steve continues to expertly run his coffeehouse. they travel frequently to California to visit the kids, who are pretty much all based there now.

and then they live happily ever after :) 💖

#steddie fic #steddie

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thenightlymirror · 2 years ago

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I’ll write a little about my first day, but I’m tired.

Showed up. First thing I noticed was the electronic board had four services today, and under one of them, the location said “See Lot Card”. Oh shit.

The memorialist trainer texted me to say she would be in at 9:00. The daily files were simply laid out in piles on one of the desks in the main lobby with “pending files and whatever else was happening this week.” Then the office manager said there was a blind check still for the 2:00pm service. Oh. And the 10:00am service. Most alarming was that she really didn’t seem all that alarmed.

When my trainer arrived, the office manager treated her like the boss, (the boss is on vacation) and very gratefully handed her the blind checks to complete, which sent a shudder down her spine, as she has no idea what this park looks like. When we got to the mausoleum, the niche was already opened without prior verification, as the groundsmen were handed the tags on Friday with the assumption all the paperwork work get taken care of inevitably.

After putting out a few small fires, we escaped and made our way to buy a cake for the birthday of the memorialist at my old cemetery. A Stephen King audiobook started playing in the car and we talking about Horror films vs Horror novels for a bit. It was so strange returning to my old cemetery after only two stressful hours at the new place. We picked up lunch for everyone and ate there too. Three hours in all I think. It was like a dream about the first day of school. Dislocated within itself. I told Harper about breaking my glasses and she said Elena mentioned I was hitting on the shop girl, while marching out the door swaddled in her winter coat. How do you say, “Give me a reason to be faithful?”

But it wasn’t like that. It was happy. And we joked around and everyone was happy to be reunited, an entire two days after we had last seen each other. Big Jim even stopped by the breakroom during the birthday party to tell me the personality test he took called him “an analytical and amiable communicator,” which was his way of trying to make me laugh, and it worked. I guess at the morning meeting he asked the new guy to sit in my old seat so he could give him a hard time, and the new guy just demurred, so he asked Harper instead and she laughed and sat down, and Big Jim said “At least some people around here have a damn personality.”

She was laughing about some meme about how the worst fandoms are the Epcot ball and the Second Amendment. I miss that kid.

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oldtvlover · 2 years ago

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So, tonight a minor shocker with Face of Evil, again from 1996 - and Hallmark!! Cast: Tracey Gold - Darcy Palmer Perry King - Russell Polk Shawnee Smith - Jeanelle Polk Don Harvey - Quinn Harris Mireille Enros - Brianne Dwyer and many more Story: In Face of Evil, Darcy Palmer (Tracey Golds) is a good-looking, blonde psychopath who can charm any man (it seems) into helping her – including the cop cabdriver in the final scene who is about to let her out of her handcuffs. In the course of the story, she takes on different identities (probably many, it is hinted, before the story begins), and erases the lives of those she devours. Her whole life is a tissue of lies and a closet full of corpses – as we get in Malicious (1996) and many such variations. Much of Face of Evil has a telemovie blandness of execution, but director Mary Lambert (whose career since early Madonna videos and Siesta in 1987 is intriguing from many angles) has some good gesture/action/visual-business scenes to work with. Such as the prologue, where Darcy tempts a cat to eat a bird she is feeding (much to the moral distress of a nearby little girl!). And especially the elaborate passage where she breaks into the University’s administration offices (an anti-heroine trait: she can get in anywhere – somewhat Hitchockian, à la Marnie [1964]), replaces a woman’s eye-drop liquid with acid, and then waits around the next day outside the building to reassure herself of the success of her plan – “It probably ate straight through to her brain!”, as she chirps to her (again morally horrified) classmates back in the dorm, watching the gruesome news on TV. Note, by the way, how absolutely bland/pretty and uninteresting the character of Darby’s friend Jeanelle (Shawnee Smith) is, always moping about her somewhat sleazy Dad (Perry King: perfect casting) who has neither time nor affection for her … Smith, by the way, has subsequently shown up in many horror movies of the Saw/Grudge variety, as well as the TV series Secret Life of the American Teenager (2008-2013). While on the matter of credits, let us also note the trajectory of writer Gregory Goodell, who has directed a bunch of telemovie thillers, as well as the horror movie Human Experiments (1980), and also wrote a guide to independent production. One of the distinctive and intriguing elements of Face of Evil is the role played by art. At the start, about to marry some hick named Quinn (Don Harvey), Darcy claims to be giving up her interest in painting. He tries to persuade her not to do this. That night, when she clears out, she takes her paintings (including “his” one, a gift to him, cut right out of its frame) with her. At University, inspired by the heavenly vision of art class, she works her wiles to switch her enrolment. Eventually, Jeanelle’s Dad will help Darby get her first exhibition. And not only is her art the explicit confession in surrealist-expressionist canvases of her actual criminal deeds – like stuffing a dead girl in her suitcase! – it also furnishes her with a kind of Nietzschean life-motto (shades of Rope [1948]): the artist must be free, with no restraining limits. Indeed, whenever Darcy psychotically cracks, it is precisely because someone, in her mind, threatens to curtail her artistic freedom. One of the most basic structures bequeathed to the modern thriller by Hitchcock and (before him) Patricia Highsmith in Strangers on a Train (novel 1950, film 1951) is the plot trope of “the fortuitously encountered stranger who enacts your most secret wish”. Face of Evil, adopting the evil gal pal template of Single White Female (1992) and other contemporary 1990s thrillers, takes this in an odd and highly perverse direction, which is in some sense also a scrambled reworking of the “Mom really did it” displacement-logic of Psycho (1960). In Darcy’s romancing of Jeanelle’s Dad, she does not merely take her BFF’s place as the beloved daughter – she does what the daughter longs to do but cannot: make love to him! And then, just to top it off, Darcy more-or-less throws exactly this wish-come-true in Jeanelle’s face. This logic also works, on a lesser but more humorous level, with the character of Quinn – whom Darcy rudely jilts, but who then comes after her, until he is trapped in a rolled-up car window and (discreetly) stabbed to death by her. Back at the point of his post-jilt rage, he informs his super-religious parents that he will return to the bar to once again take up boozing – the very bar “where I met Darcy”! © Adrian Martin June 2012 (taken from here now) Thoughts: Well, a normal looking woman is trying to lure a cat to kill a bird which she feeds. She gets interrupted by a young girl - and her fiance, Quinn, who introduces she as Darcy Palmer. She plays the perfect role until she has enough and flees from him - with their wedding rings and her own pictures (and one of his). At an airport where she meets Brianne, who starts college soon, both women just talk until Brianne goes to the restrooms and Darcy kills her, taking her identity and suitcase (with the body in it). At the college, and also earlier, she meets her new roommate, Jeanelle and they befriend quickly - until she sees Jeanelle's Dad, Russell (King with a ponytail first). In Darcy seems to grow a plan and she also switches her courses from music to art, her profession. Never mind, she sugarcoats Russell more and more as he likes art as well and she slowly begins to replace Jeanelle. Yet Jeanelle sees some holes in Darcy's story which changes anytime and she begins to research and phone to get the needed information. Darcy, meanwhile, has reached her goal and Russell has opened an exhibition for her - and she sleeps with him. Jeanelle has found out that Darcy is not even Darcy and so both women fight but Russell comes to the rescue of his daughter after finally realizing what is going on. The police arrests the woman who might weasel her way out, again.

Can be found on Youtube if I remember correctly. Enjoy!

#face of evil #1996 #hallmark movie #movie review #tracey gold #perry king #shawnee smith #don harvey #mireille enros #beautiful face with an evil mind #adjusting to new situations quickly #lure father into her scheme #bad girl

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byneddiedingo · 2 years ago

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Anna Massey and Barry Foster in Frenzy (Alfred Hitchcock, 1972) Cast: Jon Finch, Barry Foster, Barbara Leigh-Hunt, Anna Massey, Alec McCowen, Vivien Merchant, Billie Whitelaw, Clive Swift, Bernard Cribbins, Jean Marsh. Screenplay: Anthony Shaffer, based on a novel by Arthur La Bern. Cinematography: Gilbert Taylor. Film editing: John Jympson Frenzy is so often called a "return to form" by critics commenting on Alfred Hitchcock's films that it's worth parsing that phrase a bit. What's generally meant is that after the triumph of Psycho (1960), Hitchcock's films seemed to decline in quality: To the critics of the day, The Birds (1963) felt like a gimmicky monster movie, Marnie (1964) an overdone, miscast psychological drama, Torn Curtain (1966) and Topaz (1969) attempts to cash in on the James Bond-era vogue for spy movies. Later generations of critics have found intelligent things to say about some of these films (though there are few ardent defenders of Torn Curtain and Topaz), largely because of their ability to see the Hitchcock oeuvre as a whole and to work in the revelations of the Hitchcock biographers about the director's obsessions and predilections. But Frenzy was for many mainstream critics what Roger Ebert called it: "the kind of thriller Hitchcock was making in the 1940s, filled with macabre details, incongruous humor, and the desperation of a man convicted of a crime he didn't commit." I would qualify that observation with the remark that Frenzy is the kind of film Hitchcock couldn't have made in the 1940s because of the Production Code's restrictions on nudity, sex outside of marriage, and excessive violence. Liberated from the Code, Frenzy is rated R. And I think Hitchcock's delighted rush into the new era of frankness in film may have had a destructive effect on his ability to maintain consistency of tone. A scene like the rape-murder of Brenda Blaney (Barbara Leigh-Hunt) belongs to a different kind of film than the domestic comedy of Inspector Oxford (Alec McCowen) and his gourmet-cook wife (Vivien Merchant), and there's something a little too obvious about the snap of Mrs. Oxford's bread stick as her husband is recounting how Rusk had to break Babs Milligan's (Anna Massey) fingers to retrieve his stickpin. There is no heart in the film, the way there was in films of the 1940s like Shadow of a Doubt (1943) or Notorious (1946), in which we could feel anxiety over the plight of the characters. Hitchcock does seem to want us to feel some real-world horror at Brenda's reciting Psalm 91 and trying to cover her bared breast as she's being raped, but even that invocation of sympathy feels out of place later, especially when Babs's corpse is treated for comedy when her feet keep finding their way into Rusk's face. And a "joke" like that of the man in the pub who quips "every cloud has a silver lining" on learning that the killer rapes his victims before strangling them should never have found its way onto film. There is much to admire in Frenzy: Hitchcock never did a more skillful scene than the one in which the camera follows Babs and Rusk (Barry Foster) up to the flat where we know she's going to die, and then silently retreats back down the stairs and across the busy street. McCowen and Merchant skillfully play the comedy of the husband and wife dinner table scenes -- the soupe aux poissons is particularly unappetizing. I especially like the bit in which Mrs. Oxford offers a drink to the sergeant who brings news of the case to the inspector: It's a new cocktail called a "margarita," she explains, made with what she pronounces "tekwila." The sergeant has to leave, however, so she swigs the drink he has abandoned and then, with a rather odd look on her face, hastily makes her exit. But too often in Frenzy what Hitchcock thinks is naughty is just nasty.

#Frenzy #Alfred Hitchcock #Anna Massey #Barry Foster

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seanpultz · 3 months ago

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Mike and the Bots go to The Haunted Mansion

As Mike Nelson, Crow T. Robot, and Tom Servo approached the towering façade of Gracey Mansion, the eerie resemblance to the Joel Rathbone mansion sent a shiver down Mike's spine. "Wow, guys," Mike said, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and skepticism, "this place looks like it was plucked straight out of a gothic novel. Or maybe it's just the ghost of a movie set we once riffed on."

Crow T. Robot, ever the optimist, quipped, "Oh boy, I hope it's got all the haunted bells and whistles! Maybe we can finally get a break from watching bad movies and just experience one live!" His gleeful robotic chuckle echoed through the quiet evening air, bouncing off the mansion's ivy-covered walls.

Tom Servo, arms folded and a knowing smile playing on his lips, replied in his signature nasal tone, "The Gothic Revival Pointed-style villa designed by the illustrious A.J. Davis. It's quite the architectural gem, isn't it? Too bad it's not haunted by the spirits of good taste and film criticism."

The trio exchanged glances, the anticipation of what lay ahead palpable. They had no idea that their visit to Walt Disney World's Haunted Mansion would soon take an unexpected turn, blurring the lines between the world of cinematic cheese and their own reality in a way that would leave them questioning whether they were still part of the audience or if they had become the stars of their very own horror story.

"Well, well, well," Mike began, eyeing the toppled birdbath with a smirk, "it looks like someone forgot to water the petunias. Or perhaps it's a ghostly game of lawn darts?" Crow retorted, while Tom Servo took a more solemn approach, remarking, "The macabre whimsy of a once-thriving garden, now a silent testament to the passage of time and the neglect of human vanity."

As they reached the gate adorned with the unsettling busts of the Gracey family, their grim expressions seemingly frozen in the act of bequeathing a lethal inheritance, Mike quipped, "Looks like a family reunion went really south here." Crow snickered, "I bet they had some killer dinner parties." The embossed musical instruments on the crypt began to play a mournful tune, sending an eerie melody through the air. "It's like 'The Sound of Music' went to a funeral," Tom Servo mused.

Water bubbled and spurted from the crypt of Captain Culpepper Clyne, the ghostly notes of "Yo Ho (A Pirate's Life for Me)" echoing around them. Crow leaned in, whispering, "I don't think 'Davy Jones's Locker' was just a metaphor for him." Tom nodded sagely, "The eternal symphony of the sea, forever trapped in this watery grave."

Their gaze shifted to the tomb of Prudence Pock, where mysterious words began to appear, as if written by an invisible hand. "The bubble, the bubble," Mike read aloud, raising an eyebrow, "It's not exactly Shakespeare, but I guess it's haunting in its own…fluffy way?" The words grew clearer: "Roses are red, Violets are blue, Beware the mansion's secret, It's coming for you."

With a dramatic flourish, Tom announced, "A poetic warning from the grave! How utterly…expected." They shared a nervous chuckle before pushing open the heavy doors of the servant's entrance, stepping into the shadowy embrace of the mansion. The door creaked shut behind them, sealing them into the unknown depths of the Haunted Mansion.

"This place has the charm of a mausoleum with a home makeover," Mike quipped as they stepped into the foyer, the chilling melody of "Grim Grinning Ghosts" wafting through the air. The pipe organ's mournful tune seemed to resonate with the very fabric of the mansion, setting an unsettling mood.

Crow T. Robot's eyes lit up with excitement as he took in the macabre decor. "Wow, they really went all out on the ambiance. It's like someone threw a 'Dracula's Ball' and forgot to invite the actual guests!"

Tom Servo cast a critical eye on the portrait above the fireplace. "The visage of the master of the house, no doubt. A tragic soul, forever captured in a moment of… questionable fashion choices," he commented, gesturing to the young man's ruffled collar and stern expression.

Suddenly a voice boomed out from the darkness: "When hinges creak in doorless chambers. When strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls. Whenever candlelights flicker when the air is deathly still… That is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight."

"Oh, for the love of…it's the 'Picture of Dorian Gray' meets 'Night at the Museum'!" Mike exclaimed as the portrait morphed before their eyes, the handsome visage decaying into a ghastly visage. Crow's antennae quivered with excitement. "Looks like someone's been skipping their spa days!"

Tom Servo's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "The existential dread of one's own mortality reflected in the decay of one's image. How… utterly 'haunting'."

The wall beside the portrait slid open, revealing an octagonal chamber bathed in a flickering glow. The four paintings stared back at them, seemingly alive with the candlelight dancing in the eyes of their gargoyle sentinels. "Well, if this isn't an invitation to a masquerade ball for the afterlife, I don't know what is," Mike said, leading the way into the room with a mock bow.

The three friends stepped into the chamber, the air thick with mystery and the faint scent of dust and decay. Each painting held a story of its own, the subjects' expressions hinting at secrets long buried with the mansion's past inhabitants. Crow couldn't resist poking at the man in the bowler hat with his antennae. "I bet he's got some snappy comebacks," he murmured, earning a stern look from Tom.

"Do remember, Crow," Tom admonished, "We are in the presence of art. Or at least, the ghostly remnants of it. Let us proceed with the respect and dignity this place seems to have so little of."

The pretty young lady with the parasol began to twirl, her spectral gown billowing around her, while the old woman with the rose took a dramatic sniff, the petals falling away to reveal a skeletal hand. The bearded gentleman's document fluttered open, revealing it to be a will, the ink fading and reappearing in a spooky dance.

Mike couldn't help but chuckle. "So, this is what happens when you don't leave your fortune to your pets. They throw a never-ending party and haunt the place."

Tom, ever the intellectual, leaned in closer to the paintings. "These are not mere decorations, but a silent narrative of the mansion's past. The art of storytelling in a most… unconventional form."

"Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion." The voice boomed out. "I am your host, your Ghost Host. Our tour begins here in this gallery. Here, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now."

Mike, Crow, and Tom exchanged wide-eyed glances as the walls of the portrait chamber stretched upwards, the paintings elongating into a ghastly tableau. "Well, this is definitely a new twist on 'hanging out,'" Mike quipped, trying to keep the tension at bay. The bearded man's dignity was replaced by a pair of frilly boxer shorts and a precarious perch on a keg of dynamite, the lady's poise gave way to a wobbly tightrope act over a hungry alligator, and George's headstone became an unexpected centerpiece for the old woman's grim fate.

"Oh, I get it," Crow exclaimed, his antennae drooping slightly, "It's like 'The Twilight Zone' meets 'America's Got Talent' gone horribly wrong!"

Tom Servo, ever the skeptic, observed, "Or perhaps it's a commentary on the fragility of human existence and the folly of vanity. But with more alligators."

"Your cadaverous pallor betrays an aura of foreboding, almost as though you sense a disquieting metamorphosis." The Ghost Host said ominously. "Is this haunted room actually stretching? Or is it your imagination — hmm? And consider this dismaying observation, This chamber has no windows and no doors… which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!" The Ghost Host unleashed a bone chilling laugh which reverberated throughout the room. Our heroes had all eyes glued to the celling. "Of course, there’s always my way."

Mike, Crow, and Tom screamed in unison as the room plunged into darkness, the flash of lightning casting a grim silhouette of the Ghost Host's skeletal form swinging from the rafters. Their hearts raced in the brief moment of terror before the room went silent, save for the distant echo of bones shattering. As the lights flickered back on, they blinked, their eyes stinging from the sudden brightness. The skeletal corpse had vanished, replaced by a wall that now stood open, revealing a hidden passage.

"Well, that was… unexpected," Mike said, trying to catch his breath. Crow, ever the comedian, added, "I guess he had to leave for his next gig. Must be tough being a ghost with a full schedule."

Tom, visibly shaken but trying to maintain his composure, managed, "The fleeting nature of existence, a poignant reminder that we are but transient visitors in this mortal coil. And apparently, some of us are more transient than others."

The trio stepped through the open wall into the unknown, their nervous laughter fading into the depths of the mansion as they faced the next chapter of their eerie adventure. The air grew colder, the walls seemingly closing in, and the whispers of long-departed souls grew louder. Little did they know, the Haunted Mansion had much more in store for them than just a spooky ride through the afterlife's greatest hits.

"Oh, I didn’t mean to frighten you prematurely," The Ghost Host said apologetically with a slight touch of mirth. "The real chills come later. Now, as they say, “look alive,” and we’ll continue our little tour. And let’s all stay together, please."

"And now, a carriage approaches to carry you into the boundless realm of the supernatural." The Ghost Host said. "Once on board, remain safely seated with your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside. And watch your children, please."

Mike, Crow, and Tom took a collective deep breath as they climbed into the Doom Buggy, the leather seats cool against their skin. The cart lurched forward, the sudden movement causing them to grip the bars tightly. "Well, this is definitely a step up from the usual movie theater seats," Mike quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Crow peered over the side, his antennae twitching. "I hope they don't serve popcorn on this ride. I'd hate to get it in my circuits." Tom Servo adjusted his bow tie, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Ah, the boundless realm of the supernatural. Perhaps we'll find some ghosts with better taste in cinema."

"Do not pull down on the safety bar, please." The Ghost Host continued. "I will lower it for you. And heed this warning: the spirits will materialize only if you remain quietly seated at all times."

The safety bar is lowered keeping them in place.

The Doom Buggy glided into the dimly lit stairwell, the floating candelabra casting dancing shadows on the walls as it passed overhead. Mike, Crow, and Tom couldn't help but feel a mix of wonder and trepidation as they descended into the abyss. "This is definitely not your average escalator ride," Mike muttered, his knuckles white on the safety bar.

As they reached the bottom, the candelabra hovered eerily in the dark, its candles flickering in time with the thunderous booms outside. The trio passed under it, their gaze drawn to the windows on their left. With each flash of lightning, the sheer curtains billowed, revealing the tumultuous nightscape.

The paintings on the right, however, were what truly captured their attention. The woman in black sheer transformed into an anthropomorphic tiger, snarling at their passing, while the serene sloop became a ghost ship in the throes of a tempestuous sea. The knight's portrait morphed into a skeletal rider on a bony steed, and the peaceful Greek scene gave way to the chilling visage of Medusa, her stone-cold gaze seemingly following them as they rolled by.

"Wow, talk about an art gallery gone wild," Crow exclaimed, his antennae standing on end. "I think I saw 'The Lion King' in there!"

"The fickle nature of reality, painted with the strokes of the unseen hand," Tom Servo mused, his voice quavering slightly. "It's as if the very fabric of the universe is being… rewritten."

"Oh yes, and no flash pictures, please." The Ghost Host continued. "We spirits are frightfully sensitive to bright lights."

Mike shot him a look. "Let's just stick to the 'no flash photos' rule, okay? I don't think our camera's got a 'ghost mode'."

Mike, Crow, and Tom's eyes scanning the vast library, filled with the silent whispers of countless ghostly tomes. The air was thick with the scent of aged paper and the unmistakable aura of the supernatural. "So, we're in the 'haunted Kindle' section, I take it?" Mike quipped, his voice echoing through the hushed chamber.

Crow's antennae twitched with excitement as he watched the books fly through the air. "Look at 'em go! It's like they're having their own little book club meeting!"

Tom Servo, his gaze lingering on the rocking chair, spoke in a hushed tone, "The invisible hand of inspiration, perhaps seeking a muse amidst the literary afterlife."

The marble busts, their stern expressions seemingly scrutinizing the new visitors, added an eerie presence to the room. "Well, I hope they don't judge us by our book covers," Mike said, casting a sideways glance at the busts.

“Our library is well stocked with priceless first editions, only ghost stories, of course, and marble busts of the greatest ghost writers the literary world has ever known." Boasted The Ghost Host.

Leaving the library's enigmatic whispers behind, Mike, Crow, and Tom entered the grand Music Room. The opulent space was bathed in the flickering glow of candelabras, casting dramatic shadows across the gleaming piano. A haunting melody filled the air, the unseen keys dancing to the tune of "Grim Grinning Ghosts." The ghostly pianist's shadow played across the floor, a silent symphony of supernatural skill.

"Well, I'll be," Mike said in amazement, "It's like 'Phantom of the Opera' decided to throw a surprise concert!"

Crow leaned in, his antennae twitching to the rhythm. "Maybe he's just practicing for 'America's Got Ghosts.'"

Tom Servo nodded thoughtfully. "The timeless appeal of Rachmaninoff, even in the afterlife. It seems talent truly is… eternal."

The storm outside grew louder, the thunder seemingly in time with the piano's crescendos. The chandeliers swayed precariously, adding to the room's unsettling allure.

"They have all retired here, to the Haunted Mansion." Continued The Ghost Host. "Actually, we have 999 happy haunts here. But there’s room for 1,000. Any volunteers?"

The Ghost Host's voice grew fainter as Mike, Crow, and Tom rolled into the heart of the mansion: the grand stairwell. The trio gazed up at the M.C. Escher-inspired chaos of stairs that defied gravity and logic, twisting and turning in impossible configurations. "Well, if we get lost, we're just going to have to think 'outside the box'—or staircase," Mike quipped, his voice echoing in the vast space.

Crow's antennae quivered with excitement as he took in the sight. "This place makes my circuits go haywire! It's like someone spilled a bag of pretzels and said, 'Hey, let's build a staircase!' "

Tom Servo, ever the connoisseur of the bizarre, mused, "An architectural conundrum worthy of the surrealists. It's as if we've stumbled into a painting that's decided to escape the confines of the canvas."

Their eyes followed the glowing ectoplasmic footprints that danced along the stairs, a silent ballet of the afterlife. The spectral orchestra played on, the music swirling around them as if they were in the eye of a storm of the supernatural. The footprints grew more chaotic, leading them into the very heart of the mansion's mystery.

The staircase ahead split into multiple paths, each one leading to a different fate. "Looks like we've got some 'Choose Your Own Adventure' action going on here," Mike said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "I hope we don't end up in the 'You've Died of Fright' chapter."

"Don't worry, Mike," Crow chirped, "We've survived worse movie plots than this!"

Tom Servo leaned back in his Doom Buggy, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Indeed, the unpredictability of this place is quite… engaging. It's like a macabre dance of existential dread and whimsy."

"Well, if you should decide to join us, final arrangements may be made at the end of the tour." The Ghost Host continued. "A charming "ghostess" will be on hand to take your application."

Mike squinted into the inky darkness, the wallpaper's pattern of glowing eyes seemingly coming to life before them. "Well, I guess 'haunted' is their way of saying 'move-in ready' around here," he quipped, trying to keep his voice steady.

Crow's antennae swiveled in all directions, taking in the eerie sight. "I think the homeowners' association is a bit… lax on their decorating rules."

Tom Servo, his voice a mix of intrigue and wariness, commented, "The walls that watch, a delightful blend of claustrophobia and paranoia. How utterly… homey."

"We find it delightfully unlivable here in this ghostly retreat." The Ghost Host said. "Every room has wall-to-wall creeps, and hot and cold running chills."

The Doom Buggy glided through the corridor of never-ending doors, each one seemingly more inviting and yet more forbidding than the last. The candelabra hovered in the center, casting a flickering glow down the hallway. To their left, a Suit of Armor shifted almost imperceptibly, its empty visor seemingly watching their every move. On the right, the "face" chair twitched and leered, its upholstery contorting into a disturbing smile. "Well, this is definitely not the hotel corridor I'd choose for my next vacation," Mike murmured, his grip tightening on the safety bar.

Crow, his antennae spinning like a pinwheel, quipped, "I don't know, it's got that 'Eyes Wide Shut' vibe. Maybe we'll get invited to a fancy ghost party."

Tom Servo, his eyes scanning the unsettling furnishings, said with a shiver, "The art of subtlety in the realm of the macabre. It's like they're trying to make us feel at home in a nightmare."

"Shhh, listen!" The Ghost Host hissed, and the trio's laughter died away as they strained their ears to catch the mournful keening. The Doom Buggy rolled past an alcove, the conservatory's glass walls shrouded in mist and decay. Inside, the plants had overtaken the space, their tendrils twisting in a silent, unearthly ballet. The raven on the withered wreath cawed ominously, its eyes gleaming in the candlelight. In the center of the room, a coffin, a grim centerpiece to the macabre bouquet, rocked gently as skeletal hands clawed at the lid. "Let me out! Let me outta here!" the muffled cries echoed through the chamber.

Mike, Crow, and Tom's expressions shifted from amusement to horror as they stared at the desperate spectacle. "I think someone's in need of a really good chiropractor," Mike managed to say, his voice shaking slightly.

Crow's antennae drooped. "Or maybe just a decent escape plan."

Tom Servo, his eyes wide with a mix of fascination and horror, whispered, "The desperate struggle against the eternal sleep, a poignant reminder of our own mortality."

The Doom Buggy lurched backward down the ominous corridor, the eerie sounds of the mansion's inhabitants reaching a crescendo. The doors groaned and twisted as if alive, their knobs rattling like the teeth of the damned. "Is this the 'haunted Hotel California?' Mike yelled over the cacophony, "Because I'd really like to check out!"

Crow's antennae spun in all directions, trying to pinpoint the sources of the horrors. "It's like a 'Choose Your Own Nightmare' book come to life!"

Tom Servo's gaze was transfixed on the grandfather clock ahead, its hands spinning madly. "The relentless march of time, forever in reverse in this twisted purgatory," he exclaimed.

As the clock struck 13, the shadow of a clawed hand swept over its face, and the trio felt a sudden, unexplained chill.

Mike, Crow, and Tom stared in amazement as they entered the shadowy Séance Circle. The dimly lit room held a table surrounded by chairs, each one occupied by a spectral figure, and the eerie glow of the crystal ball in the center pulsed with an otherworldly light. "Madame Leota's the headliner, I see," Mike murmured, his voice barely audible over the low murmur of the chanting spirits.

Crow leaned over the side of the Doom Buggy, antennae quivering. "Madame Leota's got the whole 'Stevie Nicks at a séance' vibe going on," he quipped, trying to break the tension.

Tom Servo, eyes glued to the floating crystal ball, said in a hushed tone, "The arcane ritual of communication with the deceased, a blend of theater and… well, more theater."

Leota says the following: "Serpents and spiders, tail of a rat, call in the spirits, wherever they’re at! Rap on a table — it’s time to respond. Send us a message from somewhere beyond…Goblins and ghoulies from last Halloween, awaken the spirits with your tambourine! Creepies and crawlies, toads in a pond, let there be music from regions beyond! Wizards and witches, wherever you dwell, give us a hint, by ringing a bell!"

Suddenly The Ghost Host spoke: "The happy haunts have received your sympathetic vibrations and are beginning to materialize. They’re assembling for a swinging wake, and they’ll be expecting me… I’ll see you all a little later."

Mike, Crow, and Tom gazed over the balcony, their eyes wide with astonishment at the spectral soiree unfolding below. The ballroom was a whirlwind of ghostly gaiety, a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses, a stark contrast to the mansion's previously somber air. "Looks like someone forgot to tell these guys the party's been over for a couple of centuries," Mike said, his voice tinged with awe.

Crow's antennae shot up. "It's like 'Casper' went full 'Caddyshack' down there!"

Tom Servo nodded, his eyes glinting with a mix of wonder and disbelief. "The dance of the damned, a masquerade of the macabre. It appears the afterlife knows how to throw a shindig."

The birthday bash grew more frenzied, the orange-haired ghost's cheeks puffing out as she blew out the candles, sending her dinner guests into a brief oblivion before they reappeared, unbothered by the interruption. The old woman in the rocking chair rocked in a silent, perpetual rhythm, seemingly unfazed by the chaos around her. The duelists' pistols flashed in the dim light, a silent ballet of spite and spectral showmanship. The chandeliers swayed with the ghosts' gleeful acrobatics, casting eerie shadows across the floor.

The pipe organ's haunting melody grew louder as the tiny spirits emerged from the organ pipes, joining the grand ballroom's merriment. The storm outside raged on, casting the occasional flash of lightning through the windows, illuminating the cloaked figures that danced with the wind.

Leaving the Grand Hall, Mike, Crow, and Tom found themselves in a dusty attic, the air thick with the scent of forgotten memories and a hint of…something more sinister. The beating heart grew louder, thumping in sync with the eerie rendition of "The Wedding March" that seemed to emanate from the very walls. Among the cobwebs and discarded furniture, they spotted the five portraits of the bride, Constance, each with a different, vanishing groom. "Looks like she's had more 'until death do us part' moments than anyone should," Mike murmured, his voice barely audible over the sinister melody.

Crow's antennae quivered with curiosity. "I guess she's a fan of 'try before you buy' when it comes to marriage?"

Tom Servo's eyes widened as he took in the scene. "The tragic narrative of a woman forever bound to a cycle of matrimonial despair. A cautionary tale, indeed."

The invisible pianist's shadow played with an unsettling fervor, the keys moving of their own accord. The room grew colder, the atmosphere thick with malice. Suddenly, the ghostly figure of Constance herself materialized before them, her eyes gleaming with madness as she recited the twisted vows, "In sickness and in wealth," cackling as the spectral hatchet appeared and disappeared in her ghostly grip.

"I think she forgot 'in happiness and in health,'" Crow quipped nervously.

"This is definitely not the kind of encore we were expecting," Mike said, his eyes darting around the room for an exit.

"Perhaps it's a reminder that some ties are not easily severed," Tom mused, his voice shaking slightly.

Mike, Crow, and Tom gaped as their Doom Buggy descends the stairs backwards, the world around them seemingly flipped upside down. "Well, I guess 'going out through the gift shop' is a bit too conventional for this place," Mike says, trying to keep his wits about him.

Crow's antennae twitch in every direction, trying to follow the flurry of ghostly activity. "It's like the 'It's a Small World' ride after dark!" he exclaims.

Tom Servo, ever the critic, muses, "The juxtaposition of the mundane with the macabre. It's like a tea party thrown by Tim Burton and Edgar Allan Poe."

Their cart glides into the graveyard, the lively spirits creating an eerie symphony with their instruments. The Caretaker and his petrified pooch are frozen in shock, a testament to the spooky shindig unfolding before them. "I think they forgot to water the lawn, too," Mike quips, trying to ignore the unsettling sight.

The Singing Busts, a quintet of spectral entertainers, belt out a tune, their faces illuminated by the flickering lanterns. "I guess we've got front-row seats for 'Phantom of the Opera' auditions," Crow says, his antennae bobbing to the beat.

Tom nods solemnly, "The unity of the afterlife in song and dance. A… festive reminder of our own mortal coil's fleeting nature."

The trio's eyes widen as the Mummy reaches out, his bandaged hand flailing wildly, while the Beheaded Knight and his companions serenade the night. The mood shifts as the cart approaches the Mausoleum, the raven's caw echoing ominously. "Looks like we're about to get a taste of 'The Raven's' greatest hits," Mike says, trying to hide his apprehension.

The Doom Buggy stops before the Mausoleum's entrance, the raven staring down at them with beady eyes. "I think it's trying to tell us something," Crow whispers.

"Yeah, probably 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here,'" Mike replies, swallowing hard.

Tom Servo, with a dramatic flair, intones, "The grim guardian of the tomb, an avian harbinger of the unknown. Let us proceed with the grace of the damned."

Then a familiar voice is heard, "Ah, there you are!" It was The Ghost Host. "And just in time… there’s a little matter I forgot to mention."

"Beware of Hitchhiking Ghosts!"

Mike, Crow, and Tom stared in disbelief as the Hitchhiking Ghosts – a Traveler, a Skeleton, and a Prisoner – emerged from the shadows, their spectral forms grinning mischievously. "Well, I didn't see that in the brochure," Mike muttered, his grip on the safety bar tightening.

"Looks like we've got some unexpected company," Crow quipped nervously, his antennae drooping slightly.

Tom Servo, his voice steady despite the shock, said, "The ultimate twist in the narrative of the Haunted Mansion. We've gone from spectators to… participants."

The Ghost Host's laugh echoed through the graveyard as their Doom Buggy passed by a wall of mirrors. In the reflection, the three friends saw themselves, now with their new spectral passengers in tow. "They've chosen you to fill our quota! And they'll haunt you until you return!"

The trio exchanged horrified glances as the Hitchhikers waved merrily, their images multiplying in the mirrors, an endless line of grinning ghosts. "So, we're like… ghost Uber drivers now?" Mike asked, trying to keep the panic from his voice.

Crow's antennae shot up. "I don't think they tip in ectoplasm."

Tom Servo, his composure barely intact, announced, "Our role has shifted from mere observers to active participants in the dance of the damned. How utterly… 'haunted'."

Their cart jolted forward, the Hitchhikers' laughter trailing behind them as they were drawn back into the mansion's embrace. The journey was far from over, and the true nature of their involvement in the Haunted Mansion's twisted tale had only just begun to unfold.

As they exited the Doom Buggy, Mike, Crow, and Tom couldn't shake the feeling of unease that clung to them like the cobwebs of the mansion's attic. The Ghostess's words echoed in their minds, a morbid reminder of the fine line between humor and horror they had been treading all evening. The Ghost Host's parting jest about a ghostly souvenir had them glancing over their shoulders. "Well, if we do get a ghost, it's going to have to go through my Wi-Fi password first," Mike quipped, trying to lighten the mood. Crow's antennae twitched nervously. "I hope it's not the kind that likes to watch us sleep." Tom Servo, ever the philosopher, added, "The concept of 'haunting' as an afterlife's form of social media, a persistent presence in the lives of the living."

They stepped out into the cool night air, the sound of their laughter a stark contrast to the mansion's solemn silence. Yet, as they walked away, the glowing eyes of Little Leota watched them from her perch atop the crypt, a knowing smile playing across her ghostly lips. "Hurry back," she whispered, her voice carried on the wind. "We've been dying to have you." The trio quickened their pace, the laughter fading into the night as the Haunted Mansion's secrets remained as enigmatic as ever, the door to the afterlife ever so slightly ajar.

#Mike Nelson #Crow T. Robot #Tom Servo #Walt Disney World #The Haunted Mansion

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denimbex1986 · 7 months ago

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'At a time when most streaming shows front-load their first episode with all the drama, intrigue and titillation so that the audience will keep on watching, the opening of Steven Zaillian’s Ripley is almost comically counterintuitive. We see Andrew Scott’s Tom Ripley lugging a corpse down a flight of stairs, without explanation as to who he is or who his victim is, and then we begin the series proper, filmed (by There Will Be Blood cinematographer Robert Elswitt) in crisp black and white. Over the course of eight episodes, Zaillian follows Highsmith’s first Ripley novel, The Talented Mr. Ripley, reasonably closely, albeit with ornamentations and digressions. But if you had any expectation that this would be an edge-of-seat thriller, well, think again.

The original showrunner announced for the adaptation — which was to have aired on Showtime, but has, for undisclosed but probably discernible reasons, been acquired by Netflix instead — was the creator of British thriller Luther, Neil Cross. It is quite easy to imagine what a Cross-scripted Ripley would have been like: fast-paced, viciously violent and portraying its protagonist as a quip-dispensing anti-hero who moves through Italy, murdering as he goes. The Zaillian version is quite different, being instead a deliberately paced character study that focuses on its murderous lead with almost glacial stillness.

Anyone who has seen Anthony Minghella’s magnificent 1999 adaptation of the book will know the contours of the plot, and indeed this is (deliberately) wildly and wholly different. Minghella’s film was sorrowful and compassionate, suggesting that Ripley’s actions stemmed less from a desire to hurt than from a frustration at not being able to love and be loved; its most devastating moments take place when Ripley does, indeed, kill the things he loves, whether out of frustration or, finally, because it is the only way that he can escape detection and justice.

Zaillian’s series, meanwhile, plays with its audience rather like Andrew Scott’s amused, unreadable Ripley deals with the various dupes, accomplices and victims that he faces. If you don’t care for him, that’s because he doesn’t want you to. There is an extended scene in the third episode in which Ripley, having committed a murder at sea, is faced with the unpredictable consequences of his actions, and it’s both Hitchcockian in its emphasis on tiny details and curiously removed from any attempt at making the audience feel anything other than a slight sense of horror and trepidation. This is, of course, the point.

Zaillian has never been any slouch at tantalizing and thrilling his audiences, whether as a writer-director — he was responsible for the excellent The Night Of — or as a screenwriter who wrote everything from Mission: Impossible to Hannibal. Yet he may still be best remembered for his screenplay for Schindler’s List, which took a similarly, and intentionally, detached approach to acts of enormous cruelty. It would, of course, be irresponsible to compare Spielberg’s depiction of the Holocaust with Zaillian’s account of the murderous intrigues of a conman, but there is a similar formalism in the filmmaking, helped by the black and white cinematography, that disturbs even as it fascinates.

The series would founder if it weren’t for its lead, and Scott’s magnificent performance at the center surpasses even his noted work in the recent All Of Us Strangers. He’s an older Ripley than the book’s twenty-five-year-old protagonist, but this works beautifully. The sense is given that he has been bumming around New York for years, ducking and diving in his small and unambitious cons (we see the amounts he is trying to scam through mail fraud — forty or fifty dollars) until, finally, he is given his big break when he is asked to head to Italy to retrieve Dickie Greenleaf (Johnny Flynn), the wealthy but indolent playboy son of the magnate Herbert. Marge Sherwood (Dakota Fanning) mistrusts Ripley on sight, later remarking, “Everything about Tom is perfectly vague — intentionally so,” but Dickie is half-seduced and half-convinced by him, until he isn’t. Yet as portrayed by Scott, there’s nothing really to Ripley under the smile, making him a body snatcher of sorts who can hope from identities and personae with ease and a practiced charm.

It remains to be seen how Ripley is received by audiences and critics alike. If it’s successful, then hopefully Zaillian and Scott will be allowed to film the other four novels that make up the so-called “Ripliad.” And if it isn’t, well, at least we’ll have this stylish and profoundly intriguing exercise in garnering sympathy for this particular devil.'

#Andrew Scott #Ripley #Netflix #Dakota Fanning #Marge Sherwood #Dickie Greenleaf #Johnny Flynn #The Talented Mr Ripley #Patricia Highsmith #Steven Zaillian #Robert Elswit #Anthony Minghella #All of Us Strangers

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amplesalty · 1 year ago

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Christmas 2023 - Day 1 - The Mean One (2022)

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...

A man dressed like a furry!

It's Dec 1st which can mean only one thing, it's time once again to lament on a not so 31 day filled Halloween marathon and shift to anticipating the arrival of a jolly fat man in an red costume. What better way to do that than with another round of holiday related media? And, being the purveyor of Grinchly related matters that we on this here blog, we're looking at a certain release from the space year 2022. "But Ellis…" I hear you cry as you erect your evergreen tree based shrine to capitalism, "it's day one. You only watch horror related Christmas movies on day one, right? Surely this is some sort of mistake…" There is no mistake, friends.

For what we have here is one in a growing trend of cheap, 'no copyright intended' spins on popular franchises in an effort to make a quick buck on shock factor alone. I say trend, it's realistically only one other one given The Banana Splits Movie was licensed, as was 'Arthur, malediction' which I'm just learning about which is a spin off of the Arthur fantasy novels which were adapted into animated movies in the late 00's. The other big knock off children's horror is the infamous Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey, which I think is able to delve deeper into the actual characters because it's dealing with a property that, at least in some part, had just entered into the public domain. Here, they skirt around the stuff that's liable to lead to litigation with such lines as "His name is The Gr…" "FINCH, ORDER FOR FINCH!" which leads to our villain being referred to simply as 'The Mean One'. But they're quite happen to revel in some of the key points of previous iterations, such as our protagonist being a girl named Cindi and existing dialogue, such as when Cindy is studying a sketch of The Mean One and wonders if his evil is because his shoes are tied to tight or whether his head isn't screwed on quite right.

The film starts out innocently enough with Cindi (no Lou), who is way more than 2, finds a shadowy figure in her living room that appears to be stealing their Christmas related paraphernalia. She hands him her necklace as a gift and he scampers off into the night, only, this story doesn't quite play out that way, as the scene suddenly shifts to Cindy's mother confronting the intruder, only to get knocked to the floor and finds herself impaled on an errant nail on the floor that goes through her neck and kills her.

A young Cindy is asked to draw the intruder but leaves police puzzled when she draws a green, furry Santa. He looks surprisingly happy here, it's kind of a cute drawing if it wasn't tinged with the reality of bloody murder. Twenty years later, she's back in 'Newville' and looking to deal with her traumatic past at the behest of her therapist. She and her father roll into town with their car decorated with reindeer horns and a shiny red nose, only to get pulled over and told such things are illegal within city limits. Apparently it's too distracting for the other drivers. Honestly, Frank Costanza has the same problem with tinsel. Things only get stranger for Cindy and her Dad when they go to find decorations to spruce up their place for Christmas, only to find no store in town sells them. But no matter, Dad is able to find some old ones knocking about the place and promptly sets them all up.

But celebrations are short lived when a rampaging beast breaks into their home and attacks daddy, finishing him off by pinning him against the front door and driving a pointed candy cane through his skull and out of his eye socket. Tony from Hack the Movies would not be thrilled.

The movie hints at a few different things from here, with Cindy having a psychotic episode on account of the same green monster killing both of her parents some twenty years apart, staring at her bloody hands like she's New Generation Bob Backlund after choking out someone with the Cross Faced Chickenwing. You've got her trying to look for answers while a suspicious police force keep an eye on her and a frustrated mayor is on the scene trying to cover everything up Jaws style because she's worried about how the bad publicity will affect her attempts at re-election. And it's here that I feel the movie starts to fall short. We come to learn that The Mean One is alerted to all things Christmas and will come murder your ass if you so much as hum Jingle Bells to yourself so pretty much all mention of the big C has been eliminated in the town of Newville. But this movies feels so small that it's never able to fully run with that concept or show the ramifications of that. There's some obvious recency bias here but looking back at something like Halloween Ends, and the whole trilogy, I obviously waxed lyrical about how those movies really looked at the town of Haddonfield itself and focused on how the actions of Michael both 40 years ago and through to the present day shaped the town itself and it's inhabitants. But here, there's such a small cast of characters that we never really get to see how the townspeople have been affected by this or how they react to outsiders coming in. Even when Cindy and her Dad are after decorations only to find no one sells them, that all happens off screen. It would have been much more interesting to see the shopkeepers being nervous or even hostile to the idea of these two mentioning the word Christmas, alluding to some conspiracy as to why the town keeps the whole thing under wraps. Show, don't tell.

I think that could actually be a neat concept for someone to explore, Christmas is obviously such a ubiquitous thing in society and something that brings joy to so many, why wouldn't you want to go spread that with everyone? Wouldn't it be weird if you turned up somewhere and everyone was against it? Actually, to dip back into one of my ongoing tropes, this would actually be a really cool stealth 'War on Christmas' horror movie. Someone feels they're being persecuted in not being allowed to celebrate Christmas and goes to great lengths to break the rules of the town by putting up displays, playing music etc but is actually doing more harm than good as their actions bring this evil force into play and puts peoples lives in danger.

That's not to say that the movie is without it's charms, if you want gratuitous gore than it has that, specifically a scene where The Mean Ones slaughters a bunch of drunken revelers dressed in festive costumes. The Mean One is played by David Howard Thornton who also plays Art the Clown in the Terrifier movies which actually makes a lot of sense when looking back at this one scene because it's very Art like in the way he does this almost theatrical routine in front of his confused would be victims before starting his slaying. The movie isn't quite as cheap as I was expecting and I felt pretty engrossed throughout, it only takes a bit of a dive at the end as it really ramps up the stock footage and phoney looking news reports which very much smack of 'let's get one of my mates in a cheap suit and stick them in front of a green screen'. Maybe I'm too used to these big Hollywood movies that shell out to have respected news presenters like Sophie Raworth show up to tell us that the world is ending.

The acting feels pretty lame all round and, surprisingly, the whole thing is played way more seriously than I expected. I did like Doc Zeus actually, partly for his odd name and also for being somewhat convincing as a grizzled, old hunter who is out avenge his murdered wife who was chopped to bits by The Mean One. The movie doesn't really venture into the silly buggers territory until two thirds of the way in when it abruptly turns into Home Alone meets Terminator where Cindy goes all Sarah Connor and has a Rocky-esque montage to become skilled in all manner of hand to hand combat and firearms, before setting up her house with bear traps, machine guns and bauble based explosives to help her in her final showdown with The Mean One.

She definitely paid $5 for the Festive Gun Skin DLC though.

And SPOILER WARNING, I do kinda dig the anticlimatic ending somewhat where Cindy has The Mean One beat but hesitates in pulling the trigger on getting her revenge, that whole 'if you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you' thing and actually forgives him.

This causes his heart to grow three sizes that day, only in the Moe Szyslak 'this is a serious medical problem' sort of way and his heart promptly explodes 5 seconds later. Huh.

The whole ending is another sign of them not having the scope to deliver on their ideas because they try to get across in flashback that The Mean One didn't mean to kill Cindy's mum, that he was horrified by his actions and Cindy's reaction to him after initially being so welcoming to him tipped him over the edge and made him into the monster he would become. Which, again not wanting to sound like 'let's just turn this movie into Halloween Ends', would have been an interesting thing to see play out. If you had The Mean One be at least semi-sociable like the 2018 Grinch that would be out and about in Whoville, only this accident makes the town ostracize him like Corey Cunningham in Halloween Ends, you're actually developing that sense of sympathy over the course of the movie instead of trying to humanize him with a 10 second flashback right at the end. So in a lot of respectives, this is a pretty lacklustre movie but I have to at least give it some credit for seeming like it had some decent ideas that it wasn't able to execute. I was going in expecting full on cheap explotation to come out somewhat pleasantly suprised is at least something. The costume on The Mean One is pretty good too. They put some effort into the mask and it helps sell the scary factor. The movie is just an odd curiosity and I can imagine some people might get some mileage out of it, if you just want a Christmas gorefest or a novelty piece of subversion on a childhood classic, it's got that going for it.

#Christmas 2023 #The Mean One #The Grinch

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