#he's not actually a youth pastor but I think its funny calling him that

[psyoniks]

starters oc but he's now a youth pastor instead of being emo

still pretty much the same asshole cat though

[hintsofhoney]

alright, *cracks fingers*. so. I’ve written up a transcript just to lay it all out for myself and get the most important parts. listen, everyone. for all intents and purposes and legal reasons, THIS WAS A DREAM. alright? I dreamt this. and he is literally the nicest human being ever so I don’t want to just like... put our whole convo out there like that, but I think he said some stuff that was important for people to hear so... here we go

my *dreamt* zoom call with thee crowley below the cut

The first five minutes (of my dream) was just a bunch of introduction stuff and talking about my favorite Supernatural seasons which eventually led to him telling me how they filmed the Season 8 finale (which they did over the span of three days, and in between takes the crew members were like dead silent, as to keep the moment going, which Mark thought was really cool. Said it was one of his favorite things they did on Supernatural.) Anyways, he eventually asked me if I had any questions, so, I’ll start there.

MARK: So, do you have any questions you want to ask me about aaaaaannyyyythingggg? 

ME: Um, I guess the number one thing I wanna know… um, so, I know you can’t speak for Dean and I don’t want to talk about Dean because you’re not Jensen, but, there’s like a lot of questions I guess or subtext or whatever concerning Dean’s sexuality and what not, but I want to know about demon Dean and Crowley’s relationship and if there was, I don’t know, anything like, any implied –

MARK: Well I think – I think you’re talking about… there’s a massive difference between sex and love. There’s a massive difference between, um, well, they can intertwine perfectly, that’s not the issue, but I mean you would believe with all the things that Crowley did for the Winchesters, that he was – that he very much loved Sam and Dean or loved who they are or what they are. To reduce it to, you know, a crush, or to something that – I mean, I don’t know, I think Crowley is very probably pansexual more than anything else; I don’t think anything phased him. I think, that’s why the whole stuff with Lucifer and licking the floor was kind of really stupidly boring for me because Crowley did weirder and crazier things on his own. I mean, it became this joke of trying to humiliate somebody who can’t be humiliated. There’s nothing you can humiliate Crowley with. So, that never sort of made sense, that was just a sort of writer’s glitch of thinking, “oooh, this would be funny to knock him down into subservience” and that’s what he does on a Wednesday, I mean it’s like the most un-inspiring thing. I think so much is projected onto the relationship between, certainly the four main characters, um, and, you know, look, getting comfortable with one’s sexuality and one’s identity is a massively complicated things, and if you want to live vicariously through what you believe people’s identity is and you can relate to that, great!  Who cares? I mean, can I be absolutely honest? Apart from – what I do care about, you know, don’t ever take this and piece me or misquote it, because it’s very, very specific – um, somebody stopping somebody being able to express their own identity or whatever is an issue for me. That will always be an issue for me. Um, we should all be treated equally, and we all have the rights to believe and follow those things that we wish to follow, but to project relationships onto characters is an odd thing to do. I mean, it’s wishful thinking in a lot of ways, I mean, actually it’s quite… it’s quite reasonable because in the past if you think about it, if you ask your parents or anyone else, the only way sexuality was used was to, uh, literally demonize somebody. It was only ever used to say somebody was bad because this who they’re in love with. You know, that’s, that’s the thing. And it’s a massive change in the world that we’re moving towards, I should say, uh – a lack of consequence for who one loves, apart from the obvious consequences of human nature. You know, political consequences for who one loves – I’ve just watched Pete Butteigieg being, you know, sitting in congress with his husband there with him; that’s the first time that’s ever happened in United States congress and I’m so proud of that. Not just because the man is gay and happily married – that’s not even the issue for me, it’s because he’s the best man for the job and one of the smartest people on the planet. You know, it’s like using sexual templates, as they were, or gender templates as they are, or orientation templates as they are, we always use to disclude people from things. They were always used to discriminate. You know, labeling somebody was a way of discrimination. And where as labels are very important, to ones self, and they’re very important politically and they’re very important socio-economically and they’re very important in all those aspects, I yearn for a time when nobody gives a damn. I really do. But I mean, we have to go through so much to get there. I mean, let’s be honest, you can’t, you know, right the wrongs of hundreds of years of oppression in 20 minutes by saying, “let’s all move forward”. It just doesn’t work that way, it never has. But there’s a responsibility there, that if you’re going to represent, that you represent all. That you don’t just represent you. So, one has to be careful with a television program or, or, you know, Misha or myself, or, not speaking for the boys, but just generally, um, you have to be careful that what you advocate is inclusive, not disinclusive. Not excluding people... and it’s so hard to frame these conversations, that they’re equitable, it’s so hard to do that. And so, you know, we spend years pointing out the inequity and the injustice and the unfairness of the whole situation, and… I don’t know if the trick is to rise above, or, uh, maybe it’s as simple as love and coming together as a human race and make it very difficult for people to discriminate and exclude based on gender, race, color, religion, any of the subsets of humanity that we’ve decided we have. So, I think personal responsibility is the most important thing, but if one is in a position of power on a TV show, you got to remember what you’re representing, that you have a, you know, you have to cover all or cover none. So, you know, but if you stick to a story and you have a story about a person or two people and their journey, that’s shining light on things. If you try to advocate for all, I think it becomes a little more complicated. Does that make sense?

so, i just feel like he said some important things there, but like I also don’t really understand what he’s getting at really, y’know? oh! also, he didn’t watch the finale lmao 

also! there’s this:

MARK: Because if you come down on one side or another, you’re admitting the sides, and that has its own political ramifications. If you push the ball up in the air and say, “you decide”, I don’t think that’s copping out. I think that’s, maybe not fulfilling everybody’s expectations, or not fulfilling everybody’s hopes, but at least you’re getting the question asked. You know, at least you’re getting the question asked. At least people are relating to it and going, “well, what if?”. Because it’s all “what if”, I mean, it’s a TV show, so it’s “what if”, you know? It’s not Misha being in love with Jensen, I mean as much as he loves Jensen, I don’t think that’s his thing – I mean you never know – but I’m saying yet again, I don’t exclude anything from anybody (I LITERALLY CAN’T BELIEVE HE SAID THIS LMAO). But to force my opinion or my identity belief upon a situation has a cost. It may be right, it may be absolutely right, and it may be necessary in many, many cases. But, in that circumstance, I think… there are a lot of people in the world that say that Jesus, for example, was anti-homosexual and that he was – and none of that is true, and none of that is provable in the New Testament, and I’m not talking about Leviticus and I’m not talking about early Bible and I’m not talking about the fact that more than 25,000 words have been changed in the King James edition and all of this stuff, but these things that people hold so sacred, the confusion that arises from that is being told that a man loving a man or a woman loving a woman or a man loving a man and a woman or whatever combination being there is either right or wrong because you’re being told by a pastor or the leaders of your church, is a very difficult thing to break down. I think what you have to do is at least put it out there so it’s visible, and so it becomes less and less deniable. And you know, people change over years, that’s the trouble with youth, is shit doesn’t move fast enough. “I need a decision now!”, and unfortunately, when you’re dealing with centuries of prejudice and centuries of un-enlightenment, I think that sometimes the best thing to do is reach as many people as possible and pose the question. And sometimes it’s essential to make a statement, absolutely, no question. It is essential to make a stand, in some circumstances. But to polarize a TV show, can be very disingenuous to those who need to go ask their own questions, who need to go say, “well, where does Jesus say this is wrong?” you know, if that’s your beliefs.

he also said, when we went off on a tangent about doom patrol:

MARK: There are issues that are being addressed here [on Doom Patrol] that are not being addressed on other shows, and yet again, we have the format, and I don’t know that Supernatural ever had the format because it was on the CW.

anywho, in conclusion, fuck the cw.

also, again, for all intents and purposes this was a dream I had :)))))))

[lucacangettathisass]

JOUST (Chapter One)

SUMMARY: Following a mix up that would only be funny if it were happening to an anime character, my Japanese host family turns out to have only a son, who I will also be rooming with at his school, Shiratorizawa Academy. Christ knows how it could get any worse from here.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: None

TAGLIST:@youidiot91 @meemsx @squishyrobbie @total-insanity @oneshotofvodkaa @moons-and-stars-and-shit

NOTES: I really want to thank everyone who has shown an interest in this fic, it really means a lot! I can’t gaurantee an upload schedule as things are weird rn, but I’ll try to upload as often as possible. So, without further ado, here it is!

And if you want to be added to the taglist just lmk!

CHAPTER ONE

Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,

Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,

Whiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine,

Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,

And recks not his own rede.

-William Shakespeare

And the rest is rust and stardust

-Vladimir Nabokov

The oddness of the situation truly didn’t come to me until after I had landed in Sendai Airport, which of the two airports I have been to, was definitely the bigger and nicer one.

After flying for essentially twenty four hours, I was eager to stretch my legs, and I had to hold back my groans of satisfaction as I was finally able to move my body outside of the confined space of the plane. I navigated myself through the crowd, taking great pains to avoid colliding with anyone, and apologising if I accidentally got too close, until I came across an empty patch of floor beside a wall, where I proceeded to stand. At that moment in time, anything seemed better than sitting.

Alone and away from the crowd, I dug into the Kuromi sports bag on my left shoulder, resting my My Melody carry-on against the wall, pulling out the folder I had made that contained the info on my host family, reading through it for the umpteenth time.

The Goshiki family, consisting of the father, Hideaki, his wife, Mayumi, and their son, Tsutomu.

That was the odd thing that had suddenly struck me. There was no mention of a daughter of any kind, or any other female relative that stayed with them. I had been too full of excitement and nerves to really think about it before, but now that I was, it did seem odd.

‘I wonder why a family with only a son would host someone from an all girls school.’ I tried to think of an explanation, but my brain was so fried from the flight that I could barely muster up anything. So I shrugged, put the file back, and went on to find the luggage check in.

When I arrived at the luggage carousel, I was surprised to see a family of three there, holding up a sign. A sudden, strong feeling came over me, and I looked up at their sign. It read Welcome Cody Smith, in tall, proud kanji. This was them, it had to be. So, seeing little other options, I approached them.

“H-Hello?” My voice cracked a little due to nerves, and I quickly cleared my throat, scrambling to remember the Japanese I had learned. “I’m Cody.” I bowed quickly, and as deeply as I could manage without completely falling over. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

There was a pause, and I felt my face heat up in the heavy silence. I slowly stood back up, looking over their confused faces.

“I-I’m sorry.” A middle aged man, who I assumed to be Mr Goshiki, said, rather awkwardly. “We...well we were expecting a uh…boy.”

I blinked, trying to quickly translate what he had said in my head, and process it. “Oh.” I said, because I really didn’t know what else to say.

“Hideaki!” His wife scolded, clearly unimpressed with her husband’s bluntness. She turned to me and smiled kindly, although even I couldn’t miss her blush. “It isn’t your fault honey.” She assured me. “Tomu, say hello.”

I turned my attention to the son, who struck me as having intense Rock Lee energy, and not just because of the bowl cut. He looked serious and determined, with a furrowed brow, like he was about to go into battle or something. He bowed, just like I had, but with...conviction, somehow, if that were possible. “I am Tsutomu Goshiki!” He declared, so loudly that a few people were staring. “And I am honoured to be your host brother!”

Startled, and even more sure of the Rock Lee comparison, I could only stare down at him, a boy who I knew was the same age as me, yet seemed to want to carry himself with the dignity and seriousness of a man his father’s age. “Oh. Um. Hi.” I only barely managed to get the word out, a little bewildered at what I considered to be an over the top greeting.

He remained in his stance, upper body perfectly parallel to the ground, as I continued to stare. I saw him lift his head a little, and his eyelids flicker. I tilted my head to the side a little so I could actually see him without my chest obstructing my view. We maintained eye contact for a few seconds, before he stood up right again, practically snapping his body into position with such speed and force that I actually felt a slight breeze. “Let me help with your luggage!” He said as a declaration again, as if this was something deadly serious. “Which bags are yours?”

“Uh, they haven’t shown up yet.” I nervously glanced around, noting all the looks from strangers.

“Calm down now Tomu.” Mrs Goshiki said, with a mother’s fondness, clearly used to this. “I’m sure Cody is tired.”

“Coco.”

“Hm?” Mrs Goshiki turned to me.

I started to blush again, and I looked down shyly. “I uh...I would prefer it if you called me Coco.”

“Oh. Alright then honey, sure thing.”

I looked back up at her and smiled gratefully. “Thanks.” I looked back at the luggage carousel, watching as one bag after another made its way around on the conveyor belt, waiting for mine.

“There you are.”

I walked up to the conveyor belt, hand outstretched to grab the bright pink, Hello Kitty suitcase.

“Let me!”

Before I could react, Tsutomu suddenly appeared, yanking the suitcases. “Is the other Hello Kitty one yours too?”

“Uh, yeah, but I can-”

Thunk!

I stood there, somewhat awkwardly, as Tsutomu stood there, one of my suitcases in each hand, looking so serious that it made the situation comical. “Allow me!” He said, already walking on ahead. “As your host brother, it’s my job to help you settle in and make things easier for you.”

Deciding that it would be more trouble than it was really worth to argue, I quietly followed, trying to ignore all the curious eyes. ‘I wonder if he would’ve done that if I was a boy.’

-

During the car ride back to the Goshiki residence, I listened as Tsutomu told me all about Shiratorizawa Academy. Since I was arriving only a month after the beginning of the school year, I hadn’t missed much, but I would still need to work hard to catch up.

(“It’s a really tough school.” He had said. “But you wouldn’t be sent here if you weren’t able to hack it, so I believe in you.”

“Thanks.”)

But he spent most of his time talking about the volleyball team.

Being utterly ignorant to all things volleyball, I had a hard time keeping up. I got that he was an outside hitter-whatever that meant-and that the Shiratorizawa team was considered to be the best in the whole Miyagi Prefecture. And, what’s more, their captain and ace player, Wakatoshi Ushijima, was considered the number one ace among high school volleyball players, and was even selected for Japan’s under 19 Youth World Championship team. Despite my lack of knowledge, even I was able to tell that that was a big deal.

“And this year we’re going to go to nationals and win!” Tsutomu said excitedly, and with such conviction that I wouldn’t be surprised if that alone won them first place. “Hey! You should see us practice!”

“Oh, uh, I don’t know.” I said, honestly surprised by the suggestion. “I don’t really know anything about volleyball so....”

“You can still just watch.” He insisted. “And I can introduce you to the guys so you’ll know more people.”

“Tomu…”

Tsutomu turned to face his mother, who was looking over her shoulder at us. Evidently, the use of the nickname was enough to get her point across.

I looked out the window, resting my forehead against the glass, watching a city I had only seen in pictures and video go by me.

-

I woke with a start, eyes wide, looking around so quickly that I banged my head. “Ow.” I looked up, and saw that I had hit the glass of the car window.

“Good timing.” Mr Goshiki said, the first words I heard him say since the airport. “We’re here.”

I blinked and nodded, stifling a yawn as I got out of the car. I went to the back to get my luggage, but Tsutomu already had it covered, taking my suitcases up to the impressively sized house. While I was reeling from his speed, Mr and Mrs Goshiki took my sports bag and carry-on respectively, leaving me standing in their driveway.

I had no other choice but to quietly follow them, up the path, and to the door, taking my shoes off immediately upon entering.

“You’ll mostly be staying in Shiratorizawa’s dorms.” Mrs Goshiki said. “But during the holidays and, if you like, the weekends, you’ll be here with us.” She went up the stairs, followed by her husband and son so, naturally, I went with them.

“This will be your room when you’re here.” She said, opening the door to a spacious bedroom. It was sparsely furnished, with only a bed, a small bedside table, a bookcase, and a reasonably sized vanity. “You can decorate it however you want.”

“Thank you.” I somehow managed to find my voice again. I turned to face the entire family and bowed again, a little deeper this time, hoping it would be enough. “You’re all very kind.”

Mr Goshiki chuckled. “It’s fine, you don’t need to bow.”

I straightened up, mumbling a small and embarrassed “Sorry.”

“We’ll leave you to get unpacked.” Mrs Goshiki said. “You’ve got your own bathroom through there,” she pointed to a door on the left wall, “and Tomu’s room is right across the hall. Hide and I will be down the hall on the right. You get yourself settled in while I prep dinner.” She gave me one last comforting smile and with that, the family filed out, Tsutomu closing the door behind him.

I let out a deep sigh, looking around the room, and back down at my bags.

‘Better not unpack too much if I’ll be staying in a dorm.’

-

About two hours later, there was a knock at the door, making me pause in my arranging of the closet in my new room. “Yes?”

“It’s Tsutomu.” His voice was a little muffled by the door, but I could definitely tell it was him. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Alright, be right down.” I got up and went over to the door, only to find Tsutomu was still there when I opened it.

“Did you need help with anything?”

“Oh, ah, no. I’m all good.”

Tsutomu looked like he was about to press the issue, but he seemed to think better of it, and simply went on ahead down the stairs. “My mum made ramen, don’t worry it’s vegan like you put on the form.”

“Cool.” I blushed, remembering filling out that field and now wondering why I did so, when I knew that it would no doubt be a hassle.

I followed Tsutomu into the dinning room, and the two of us joined his parents at the table, big bowls of still warm ramen in front of us. After a quick prayer we tucked in. I had no idea if Mrs Goshiki had any experience with vegan food before, but if she hadn’t, that made the ramen all the more impressive.

The noodles weren’t too firm, nor was the broth too rich. The mushrooms were perfectly tender, and there was just the right amount of vegetables and tofu to balance everything out. I already knew that I was going to find out Mrs Goshiki’s recipe and learn how to make it.

“So what made you decide to do this exchange?”

I looked up at Mr Goshiki and shrugged, swallowing down the noodles and mushrooms. “Just felt like something different I guess.” I idly swirled the broth around. “And, I mean, I’m interested in Japan, so I figured I would take my chance.”

“Really? Why Japan?”

‘Don’t say anime and look like a weeb don’t say anime and look like weeb don’t say anime and look like a weeb I swear to fuck if you do that shit I am shutting this whole operation down.’

“Mostly how different it is from New Zealand.” I said. “An entirely different culture in an entirely different continent, I don’t know, just the usual curiosity I guess.”

‘You live another day.’

-

Dinner passed with regular small talk, with the Goshiki family getting to know more about me and vice versa. I offered to help Mrs Goshiki with the dishes, but she insisted I ‘go right to bed and get some much needed rest’.

The only problem was, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, I was still wide awake.

‘I guess this is jet lag.’

I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for my eyelids to droop, and for sleep to take me, but alas, it proved to be as evasive as ever.

Sighing in defeat, I got out of bed, went over to the bookshelf, and got back under the blankets with My Melody, and began to re-read Hamlet, again.

[afterourhearts]

Eyeliner Tears

Why are Asian eyes so ugly? I thought to myself as I outlined their shape with the blackest liner I could dig out from the free Lancôme makeup samples Mom never used. This was my daily routine since I first discovered the beautiful black pencil when I was 12 alongside lip gloss, mascara, and blush. But eyeliner was my favorite – changing most dramatically what I hated most passionately. • Monolids are ugly because they make eyes look like slits. • Double lids are ‘mutant’ because, as my white medical professor once so aptly described, “Epicanthic folds are a prominent feature of Down Syndrome. If you don’t know what they are, Asians commonly have this feature.” Let’s face it: we can’t win, at least not in the beauty arena. But with my eyeliner adding the illusion of a larger eye, I felt halfway there. Not everyone, however, appreciated my foray into adolescent self-transformation. The Chinese beauty culture operates very differently than American beauty culture: pale skin, small mouths, soft bodies, and youthful innocence are prized over glowing tans, wide smiles, athletic frames, and sultry seductiveness. To achieve the Chinese beauty ideal of youthful innocence, heavy makeup such as eyeliner is unacceptable, and makeup at all is frowned upon for younger girls. Mom called them “raccoon eyes” and told me I looked uglier with it on but I never heeded her advice. She also said respectable girls did not waste their time on vanities like makeup, but rather immersed themselves in their studies. She especially hated when I wore makeup to church, a place where teenage girls are supposed to look extra pure. I rolled my raccoon eyes. One year, I met a new girl at our Chinese Christian Church. She was talkative, witty, similarly loved makeup and rebellion, and we became fast friends. This same year, a new youth pastor arrived at our church. He was funny, fluent, and finally our first youth pastor who wasn’t middle-aged. So how do they tie back to eyeliner? Prior to their arrival, I dreaded attending church, paranoid that the judgmental eyes of multitudes of Chinese parents hated my appearance and shared the Chinese cultural views held by my mother. Was it paranoia, or was I just observant? Adults would enthusiastically praise my younger brother’s handsome features and say nothing about my appearance other than, “She is tall!” Their smiles seemed disingenuous and their attitudes towards me distant. Or maybe I was just overly sensitive. Regardless, much of that paranoia melted away with the arrival of a new friend and youth pastor – two characters who seemed more attuned than the other members to the Asian-American dichotomy that was my life. I began to loosen up at church, smile more, and even happily greet the adults. I felt … safe. Maybe not enthusiastically accepted, but also not frowned upon with disdain. One might wonder why I was so concerned for approval from within my Chinese church. When you live in a country spearheaded by people who don’t view you as truly American, you cling onto the safe spaces that still might take you in and consider you a member. I wasn’t aware of how shaky my walls of comfort had been built, though, until one sentence caused them to tumble back down again. “He said he doesn’t like you because you wear so much eyeliner.” She told me. She being my new best friend and he being the cool and young youth pastor we both adored. “How do you know this?” I asked, disbelief and doubt at each other’s throats in the battleground that was now my mind. “Because he told my mom. And my mom told me that it’s not just him who thinks this way, but a lot of other parents. They tell their kids to stay away from you because you are a bad influence.” Bad influence. Me, the introvert who rarely speaks, a bad influence? I let that sink in. That night, I considered giving up my eyeliner. I thought all my fears about being hated by my friends’ parents were unfounded and paranoid. I thought my youth pastor would especially not judge me by something so exterior – actually, why would he judge me at all? Why would a grown ass man concern himself so heavily with whether a teenage girl wears eyeliner? Anger and sadness bubbled up around me. How did one of my greatest fears, one I thought had been pushed away and laid to rest for good, one which only my new friend knew so intimately, suddenly come to surface all over again? And that’s when it hit me: maybe she lied. The seed of thought that this supposed best friend might not actually like me at all was planted. And over the next few months, it thirstily drank up water and sunlight. I befriended other girls and began to uncover bits and pieces of the horrifying truth: she did hate me, and they had evidence. Screen captures and chat conversations were forwarded to my inbox. Not only did she tell others about how terrible I supposedly was, she also told them I disliked all of them and fabricated statements I had never uttered nor so much as thought. I could not believe it – why did she want to destroy my life and capitalize on my insecurities? What did I ever do but consider her my friend? Sometimes, you never get answers. Not too many months after, she moved again. We stumbled across each other’s Instagram accounts a few years later. She had dyed hair, tattoos, piercings all over, eyeliner wings bolder than I had ever applied, false lashes nearly reaching her thickly painted eyebrows, the same deceptively sweet smile as when we first met, and was surrounded by other Asian girls. I once burned with the anger of her betrayal, but all I could think about now was her new embodiment of the criticisms she claimed were the reasons for my rejection from our community and how ironic our appearances were now – me being the studious medical student who sometimes forgets to wear eyeliner and she being the girl who refuses to be seen in public without it - the pictorial epitome of the bad influence she once used to mark me for social abandonment from our only remaining community. Irony, Karma, or Hypocrisy? Today, I won’t know if sprinkled between her lies were grains of truth, and if her comment about my reputation was one of them. I won’t know if my eventual submission to certain Asian cultural values drew its main roots from my teenage experience of potential two-fold community rejection. I won’t know if she ever realized the extent to which she hurt me or if she continues to hurt in similarly sneaky ways our other Asian sisters struggling to find acceptance and self-love in a land which has subjected them to unwarranted rejection. What I do know is this: We All Cry The Same Eyeliner Tears Yes, we do. They trickle down from our unmistakably Asian eyes, glide along our sunscreen laden faces, and leave smudgy black streaks to remind us of both our perceived physical imperfections as well as our efforts to conceal the ugliness we feel inside. 

Feeling ugly is not just some manifestation of low self-esteem as these American schools/media/counselors might tell us in order to erase from our mutual history and from their responsibility the ‘chink’ comments that we heard or the fingers-pulling-eyes-upward-to-mimic-us that we saw.

Our damaged self-esteem is not some personal mental and emotional disorder or a reflection of our weakness but a collective experience caused largely in part by the pervasive belief that some belong here but we don’t and that some are beautiful but we aren’t. Don’t think that just because dating apps are now asserting, “Asian girls are the most desired race!” that the girls who come after us are protected from the less-than we endured. The American dating scene did not just become more “accepting” of us – we changed to look more like them. But underneath the beautifully and extravagantly drawn eyeliner wings, the perfectly filled in eyebrows, the time-consuming application of fake lashes, the hours spent at the gym to avoid ‘Asian flat butt’ stereotypes, and the sharp cut of the surgery knife on our eyelids, we still cannot help but wonder: is this beautiful yet? And when he says, “Yes”, we still worry, was I not beautiful before? Do we really want to be with the ones who only want what is made-to-order, and overlook the ones who saw the original, in all its imperfections, as worth discovering? So while I have every right to be mad at my Asian sister for the hurtful actions she made against me as a result of her wanting to be more accepted by our community than I was, I cannot lose sight of the more formidable barrier to our collective inability to self-love: not the lies she told before, but the lies they still tell today. Why are my Asian eyes so ugly? I used to think to myself constantly. And if you’ve read this until the end, I think you know the answer.

_____________________________________________________________

Comments: Friends who have read this far or read my shared thoughts at all, I know my experiences are not isolated. My past shared posts related to familial pressures and relationships have shown me just how overlapping our experiences can be. The feelings of low self-esteem and self-image at some time or another in your life is probably a universal one. Experiences of betrayal are sadly quite common. Hopefully you enjoyed this short piece - it’s a bit different from the other posts I’ve written (a little more cleaned up and narrative when compared to my usual frenetic ranting) ... anyways, I wanted to share that I’ve been working on putting together some more shorts + poems in my free time (this is how I destress from school haha) and something I hope to achieve through writing with this project (and since day one) is unfiltered and unapologetic storytelling highlighting the Asian voice that is so often completely ignored in discussions of race and discrimination. I’m not saying our experiences are to be equated to the experiences of other minorities because noo, but I am saying we should at least be included in the discussion. 

This brings me to my next point: I want to continue to share your stories too. If you have experiences you want to share related in any way to your identity as an Asian-American female, I want to hear them and with your permission, try to make prose or poetry of it. Text me, message me, or call me and let’s get in touch :) Thank you for being a part of this whether as a reader or direct contributor. Let’s shape our collective voice!!!

[notesfromthefielddesk]

Episode 2 - E.E. Evans Pritchard

Episode link - https://open.spotify.com/episode/0LqJQ1q2kv5utkoct7V8Cg?si=485ef5c24837440e

John

I’m looking out over the plains of what was once Nuerland. The heavy clay earth is broken apart by the relentless sun. Deep cracks and the threaded depressions of rivers which rarely fill, even in the rainy season, are the only features on the dead flat, almost alien landscape. Around me cattle rest on the slightly (We hear gentle mooing) elevated sandy spot I found for my desk. From here I can see clear to the horizon where I spot sporadic patches of trees but all other greenery has browned and died back months ago. What these cows are living off is beyond me.

In years past the sodden clay retained water allowing certain plants to survive through the dry months. When the rain came this whole plain would be covered in grass reaching over my head as I sit behind my desk. Near the rivers edge they’d reach up to my shoulders even when standing. The rivers would fill then overflow making the whole plain a marshy swamp. At times like those this sandy mound would be prime real-estate and i’d be sharing space with far more cows.

Nowadays, this is South Sudan. The rainy season has become more sporadic and unpredictable. Often the relief of rains arrival is followed - shortly - by overwhelming flooding. Right now people are still waiting on that rain.

(we hear the wind starting to pick up)

The wind is picking up. A cloud of dust is rising on the plain. The horizon, with it’s sporadic trees and the cracked earth disappear from view behind a wall of air thick with clay. I can see about two cows away. Out of the dust emerges a figure. They’re walking towards me.

This is notes from the field desk.

Theme

oh! you. Look after what you told me in Papua new guinea I don’t think we should be talking. What are you doing here anyway? -

what do you mean am I following you? I am here by chance. My flight back to London from Brisbane got diverted because of technical fault with the plane and we landed in Juba. So there is no way I could have followed you here. If anything you’re probably followed me!

(sigh) Fine, I suppose there is no harm in you sitting here. There’s a tree stump just there you can listen to me record if you want. That is if you’re not busy organising a coup or whatever.

Anyway, when we got grounded in Juba I had a look through my collection. Oh, I should explain, I travel with a trunk of the one hundred most influential ethnographies, that’s what we call the books anthropologists write.

Side note, I never thought the trunk would be a problem, in all these Ethnographies they talk about getting porters to carry all their stuff, but when I asked at the airport for a porter, they just laughed at me?

Anyway, we were grounded a while before they cancelled the flight. So I had a look and it turns out another anthropological founding father did research in South Sudan. E.E.Evans-Pritchard. Or as I call him EEEE Pritchard. Okay well look, I don’t even want you to find my jokes funny so you just sit there rolling your eyes all you want.

Evans-Pritchard was a student of Malinowski at LSE and in the late 1920’s he set out for what was then Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. He wrote a couple of Ethnographies about the Azande which mostly focused on magic, kind of an obsession with early anthropologists. Then he headed south in 1930 to do research on the Nuer, which focused mostly on politics. A good hard subject we can get our teeth into! Anglo-Egyptian Sudan came Sudan in 1956, then split into the mostly Muslim North and mostly Christian South in 2011. Then in 2021 I arrived to do some peer-reviewing. I’m hoping Evan’s Pritchard is a bit less of a controversial figure so my students will get off my back.

(phone rings) ignore that, i’m ignoring, that’s nothing.

(Clearly still flustered) Okay, last time, we talked about the two sides of anthropology, the field and the desk. If Malinowski represents the innovation of field, you know participating in society, going native, spending years in the field. Then Evans-Pritchard is the OG anthropologist who developed the desk. Anthropology trades on being able to create a sense of being there through vivd description, where Malinowski could be a bit stiff and scientific Evans-Pritchard had a bit of flare with his flowing prose.

Is that cow looking at me? That one there with huge horns. I swear to god it’s looking at me.

Anyway, EP, I like calling him EP when I do he feels like a friend. (clear throat) He made drawings, he took tonnes of pictures, he described the plains, some of his diary crept into the ethnography. No racism as far as I could tell but He talks about being frustrated, he shows his work. A move towards modern anthropology. So reading his The Nuer, which is the ethnography he wrote about this region, is really like the experience of being here. Way less of a slog than boring old Malinowski.

(Email Chime)

Ohh an email, do you mind if I just check this? I just got assigned a student whose thesis i’m supervising. Very exciting. Shaping the next generation of anthropologists and all that.

okay, here we go.

“Dear Professor Johnson”

Not a professor but i’m quite pleased with that.

“I discussed briefly with Susan, uh-huh, during the introduction lecture that I’d be interested in researching the club scene, queer identity and youth in London. I’ve been reading tony Adams and Stacy Holman Jones on Auto-ethnography and that’s inspired me to try it myself. If you could point me in the direction of some readings to get myself started with.

All the best,”

I’ll leave their name out of it, bit of privacy. Hmm well i’m not sure about that. I mean really ethnography should be done in a rural place, not the city, should they even be doing research in the UK? This is anthropology not sociology. Plus auto-ethnography? I’ve never heard of it but we’re supposed to be studying the other not ourselves, this isn’t psychology. Hmm well I need to think about a reply, don’t want to stamp on the young fellows aspirations but he needs setting straight.

What is that cow doing. Is it - it’s coming over here isn’t it. Shoo, shoo! it’s licking me. Do something don’t just laugh. No do not nibble my suit! Argh. This suit cost a lot of money cow! Get off me. Shoo. Fine, i’m getting up. it’s your desk now!

Go on get out of here!

You know what happens now because you wouldn’t help me? We’re going to talk about theory. Yes groan away, there isn’t even a sea for you to paddle in this time so I guess you’ll just have to sit down there with the cows and listen.

This book actually is mostly about cows. All three hundred pages of it, I don’t think there is a single sentence that doesn’t mention cows or cattle or I don’t know bovine. I mean I like cows as much as the next englishman but it’s not exactly thrilling. But in fairness to Evans-Pritchard the Nuer didn’t exactly give him a choice. He said that

“whatever subject I would start on, and approaching it from whatever angle, we would soon be speaking of cows and oxen, heifers and steers, rams and sheep, hegoats and she-goats, calves and lambs and kids.”

Basically the Nuer loved cows. He said this fact was the underlying structure of Nuer society. So everything in Nuer society comes back to cows. Love, war, religion, politics, it was all about cows.

Our boy EP is a structural functionalist, - look the terms are important so just get used to it - meaning he thought there are underlying structures to all societies, that cause us to behave in a certain ways. Where Malinowski and functionalism thought post hoc ergo propter hoc - I can see you rolling your eyes, sometimes latin is useful! (deep sigh) Fine, i’ll explain it another way.

Malinowski would say the Nuer like cows because they give them milk - our boy EP would say okay but why love cows instead of say… soy beans which can also give you milk. It’s because the conditions the land in which the Nuer live aren’t good for growing soy beans, but they are good for raising cattle.

What would be a good comparison. Okay, Malinowski would say you like your iPhone because it gives you messages from friends. Those messages make you feel nice, so it fills a need. And EP might say, yes that’s true but it’s also possible that you like the phone because the underlying structure of Western society values objects especially expensive ones. Or else you’d have a nokia 3310. It still fills the same function but EP aims to explain why people choose one thing over another. If you’re a quote fan here is how Evans-Pritchard put it.

“Although the Nuer have a mixed pastoral-horticultural economy their country is more suitable for cattle husbandry than for horticulture, so that the environmental bias coincides with the bias of their interest and does not encourage a change in the balance in favour of horticulture.”

Oh there is a guy over there! (Shouting) Hey! Hey sir! Sir! Who do these cows belong to? Sir? (Biggish pause) (Snort in distance) He’s gone. Well I didn’t have time to chat anyway, i’ve got a tutorial. Just keep that cow away from me while I’m teaching. I doubt you care but here’s a Nuer song that Evans Pritchard translated.

Extract

The wind blows wira wira;

Where does it blow to?

It blows to the river. The shorthorn carries its full udder to the pastures;'

Let her be milked by Nyagaak;

My belly will be filled with milk. Thou pride of Nyawal,

Ever-quarrelling Rolnyang.

This country is overrun by strangers;

They throw our ornaments into the river;

They draw their water from the bank.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

Blackhair my sister,

I am bewildered.

We are perplexed;

We gaze at the stars of God.

White ox good is my mother

And we the people of my sister. The people of Nyariau Bui.

As my black-rumped white ox. When I went to court the winsome lassie,

I am not a man whom girls refuse. We court girls by stealth in the night,

I and Kwejok Nyadeang.

We brought the ox across the river,

I and Kirj oak

And the son of my mother's sister Buth Gutjaak.

Friend, great ox of the spreading horns,

Which ever bellows amid the herd. Ox of the son.

Return from tutorial

You let the cows eat my notes!? I thought I said watch the cows! What happened? Was it that same cow again? What do you mean they all look the same, the one with the evil eyes!

Okay, so it seems like I missed some things again. The students pointed out that on page one of the preface, I might have skipped the preface, says “My study of the Nuer was undertaken at the request of, and was mainly financed by, the Government of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan.” Which means the colonial government most likely paid for him to do the research because they wanted to control the Nuer. He describes them as violent willing to go to war over cattle at the drop of a hat. In text he says;

“At the present time cattle are the main cause of hostility

towards, and suspicion of, the Government, not so much on

account of present taxation as of earlier tax-gathering patrols

which were little more than cattle raids and of the avowedly

plundering expeditions of the Egyptian Government era that

preceded them.”

The students pointed out that given theat the government violently took their property, it was kind of understandable that the Nuer were angry. Again, if he was there trying to collect information so the colonial officers could control them, can we trust his findings?

During the second world war he used his ethnographic relationships to recruit Sudanese troops who he then led in Guerrilla warfare against the Italians. I said that sounds pretty cool right? Which made them angry, academic knowledge shouldn’t be used as a weapon to manipulate people into fighting in a war, which, regardless of the outcome would leave them colonised. They asked why we were spending so much time focussing on old men.

(Phone rings) Ignore that!

Pause takes a breath

I said fine, but we have to cover foundational figures who would they rather cover? What about Boas? He thought races were biological different and with some inferior to others. Ruth Benedict? They say she wrote a book for the US army in the Second World War about how to defeat the Japanese based on their culture without ever setting foot in Japan. Fine, Margret Mead? Exoticised the sex lives of Samoans and thought they were primitive.

I’m taking off this jacket it’s so hot and it’s got cow slobber all over the shoulder.

Well if all of them were racist then let’s just pack the whole thing in! They said I wasn’t understanding. I was thinking about racism as an individual failing caused by ignorance. But they weren’t ignorant, their racism was a product of society. In that way Evans-Pritchard was right. They lived during colonialism and the rise of the nation state. Which meant Nations had to justify their difference from others and their superiority over others.

People had to have a reason to believe in “Being British” rather than French or Sudanese. Or why would you think it was okay to rule them? Or to enforce boarders?  These ideas of superiority and difference permeated the early anthropologists the same way the utility of cow herding led to the Nuer loving cattle. So everyone from that era was bound to be Colonialist.

They also said It doesn’t help that doing fieldwork confirms the differences between people. My head felt like it was going to explode. Still trying to figure it all out and it doesn’t help that that cow is still looking at me. I asked where they were getting all this from? Lentin and Visweswaren they said, apparently it’s on the reading list… I haven’t read the reading list.

(Phone rings once but he immediately hangs it up)

So, they said maybe next we could talk about Talal Asad. Apparently he is an anti-colonial ethnographer or something. I said fine whatever. They seem to know more than me anyway. Maybe we shouldn’t do fieldwork, maybe we should all do auto-ethnography. My students said maybe, but we still need to pay attention because racism hasn’t gone away, it’s still in our society. Which means we still might make arguments for it in our work unless we’re careful.

I guess before I do field work I should look at what the underlying structures of Britain are effecting my thinking. Not just my assumptions like I thought with Malinowski but what it means for a British person to turn up at a former colony. What does that act mean even before I start interacting with people.

I know that sounds like the same conclusion as episode one but my students assure me it’s subtly different. My head hurts, let’s go.

Nah leave the desk I’ll just get another.

Theme

This was notes from the field desk written by me James McGrail.  

This episode references

Evans-Pritchard, E.E., The Nuer, 1940, Clarendon Press, Oxford.

Lentin, A. (2004). Racial states, anti-racist responses. Picking holes in 'Culture' and 'Human Rights'. European Journal of Social Theory 7(4): 427-443.

Pocock, D. (1975). Sir Edward Evans-Pritchard 1902–1973: An appreciation. Africa, 45(3)

Visweswaran, Kamala (1998) Race and the Culture of Anthropology, American Anthropologist 100/1: 70-83.

Theme ends

Susan

Do you think I’m stupid? You think I believe your flight got diverted to South Sudan? South Sudan? Oh and it just so happens that it’s thematically appropriate for your little podcast? Get back to London. Now. We need to have a serious conversation.

https://freesound.org/people/Mystikuum/sounds/401636/

https://freesound.org/people/JarredGibb/sounds/233143/

https://freesound.org/people/selcukartut/sounds/504882/

https://freesound.org/people/felix.blume/sounds/187756/

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https://freesound.org/people/InspectorJ/sounds/405561/

https://freesound.org/people/t-man95/sounds/553265/

[faithisaverb]

Day 4: Church [40 Days of Listening]

“Church” by Samm Henshaw

Much like Samm Henshaw, the writer/performer of this track, my dad was a pastor when I was growing up.

The life of a PK (pastor’s kid) is a unique one.   It means that there’s a bit of a special spotlight on you as EVERYONE in the congregation knows who you are, so you can’t get away with much.   It means that people are constantly telling you that you must be destined for ministry as well when you grow up (this is actually one of the main reasons that I had NO interest in going into ministry when I was a kid). It also means that you have to go to church every Sunday.

All of this makes church a place where I felt at home, but also a place that often brought a lot of obligation and responsibility, even more so as as PK.  It was never a choice.

I never resented the church for it, but it did make it something that I didn’t have to think about why I was going, because I was supposed to go.  It was like school or brushing my teeth.  There were plenty of good things about it.  I liked church, but it wasn’t something that I felt any agency in, and it’s not something I think I may have chosen to do if I’d had the choice.

And so it was often just a part of my life that was familiar, but not something I thought a lot about.

It wasn’t until youth group that I felt like, “This is something I would come to even if I didn’t have to.” We played games there, but more importantly we talked about things that were interesting.  We were allowed to ask questions, and we were treated like our opinions and perspectives mattered.  I wasn’t part of the “future church” there, I was simply part of the church.  There was little pomp or dazzle.  It was just a group of kids meeting in the church basement, playing dodgeball and then talking about God together.

As an adult, when I came to realize God was pushing me toward seminary, the deal I made was that I would only worth with youth ministry.  I had been a high school teacher (because kids ask good questions and are more interested in learning things than adults are), and so if I was going to be working for the church, I wanted to be in the room with the people who actually were curious and asked the best questions.

After ten years in youth ministry, I started to realize that all the things that made youth ministry great for me when I was a kid, and all the things about it that made me called to it as a pastor, were not things that needed to be exclusive to youth ministry.  I didn’t mind the idea of being a head pastor it meant just treating the congregation the same way I treated kids.

There were five primary things I appreciated about kids: 1. Assume they have questions (whether they ask them or not) and questions are essential to understanding. 2. Assume they are all dealing with self-esteem issues, even if they seem really confident. 3. Assume that everyone wants to have fun, and everyone is curious about something. 4. Assume that everyone wants to be included, to know they belong to part of something bigger. 5. Assume that God is speaking through them to help me learn new things as much (if not more) than God is speaking through me.

I used to assume that these were largely exclusive to kids, but as I got older myself and lead more adult education classes, I began realizing that pretty much everyone, regardless of their age, still has the need for all five of those things.  The difference is that adults are taught to stifle those things.   They are taught to pretend they have no question (even that questions show weakness).   They are taught to keep their problems to themselves (that no one wants to hear about your problems, and probably can’t help you anyway). They are taught that fun is for kids, and adults don’t do silly things (unless they are drinking).  Even the games we play are work, as they are workouts or competitions to prove our worth. They are taught to be independent and to defend themselves against others, and that asking for help is weakness. They are taught that God speaks through preachers or religious books, not through lawyers or teachers or engineers or office managers or computer programmers.

And I realized that not only do most adults believe that, but also that none of that is true.

The approach to youth ministry should be the same approach to adult ministry.

The church at any age is a group of people with questions, who want to know more, who want to know they aren’t the only one with problems, who want to find comfort, who want to be part of something bigger, who want to know God loves them and can use them.

When Jesus tells the disciples that everyone must come to him like little children, he isn’t saying that we come with ignorance or innocence (little children are neither).  He means that we are to come to him with wonder, with questions, with joy, with requests for help, and with the desire to belong.

Get yourself to church not because its something you are supposed to do. Get yourself to church because it is a place where you are free to question, to wonder, to be curious, to be vulnerable and honest, to rejoice, to laugh, to have fun, to learn, to teach, to share, to receive, and to know that God can still use you – and that you have something to offer that is unique and essential, something no one else can bring to the group.

Get yourself to church because the church isn’t a building.   It’s a community of broken, doubtful, creative, joyous, funny, clever, loving, honest, accepting, curious people.   It’s a place where God is showing off, inviting us to a party that is better if we all do it together.

Here is a link to “Church” by Samm Henshaw

Here is a link to the entire playlist for the Listening for God series.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Sundance 2019: Luce, Big Time Adolescence, Them That Follow

We seem to be worried about our children. Sure, Sundance has a long history of movies about periled adolescence, but it’s been a more prominent trend here over the last couple years. “Eighth Grade” was one of last year’s biggest hits to come from the Sundance U.S. Dramatic Competition slate, and this year I saw a trio of films about what could be called endangered youth. What’s most interesting is how distinctly different these three stories are even though they’re all about young people. Maybe it’s just that those years are ripe for material for indie filmmakers. Maybe it says something about where we are in 2019. Discuss among yourselves.

The best of the three and one of the best of this year’s fest is Julius Onah’s fascinating “Luce,” a deeply smart film about race and expectations. At what point do we stop categorizing people based on ethnicity and privilege? And is it doing them a disservice to completely dismiss those elements of their existence? How do you find the balance? Based on a play by J.C. Lee, “Luce” is about complex people, characters whose motives feel like they’re shifting and sliding depending on the situation. It reminded me of early Mamet work although with a commentary on race he could never attempt. All of this, and it’s got one of the best ensemble performances of Sundance 2019. This is one to watch for.

The first thing to note is that Kelvin Harrison Jr., star of “It Comes at Night” and “Monsters and Men,” is the real deal. He gives an incredible performance here as the title character, a valedictorian beloved by everyone at his elite school. He’s a star athlete, gives great speeches, and honestly looks like he could go on to be President. He’s come a long way since being a child soldier in Eritrea, from where he was adopted by Amy and Peter Edgar (Naomi Watts and Tim Roth). Although Luce may not be who everyone tells him he is. His teacher, Harriet Wilson (Octavia Spencer), is startled when Luce writes an essay for class that seems to be encouraging violence to overthrow power structures. She uses the essay to search his locker, in which she finds something even more unsettling.

Luce is told day in and day out who he is – he’s a great student, a great son, a great kid. In many ways, Onah’s film is about Luce questioning what this all means. Why is he given certain privileges that other black kids are not? Because he was adopted by white parents? The script by co-written by Lee and Onah is brilliant in the way it dissects coded language. In one of the first scenes, Luce calls Mrs. Wilson “stern” in front of his parents and dad jokes that he really means “bitch.” It’s a playful scene but it also fits with a movie that’s really about how labels can define people – and how they can be wrong.

Harrison is flat-out brilliant here, keeping us unsure about whether or not we can trust Luce. There’s an honest question through most of the film as to if Luce might actually be a sociopath. Mrs. Wilson becomes increasingly convinced he’s dangerous, and even his parents vacillate in their support. The three adults are also great. It’s nice to see Roth in a role that’s sometimes playful, and Spencer is possibly as good as she’s ever been. The film gets a little overwritten in the final act (as works based on plays often do) but the cast keeps it engaging on a human level. It’s a film that will have people talking. It may not be my #1 of Sundance (although it’s close), but I think it’s the movie I most want people to see just to read the essays and hear the conversations that will emerge from it.

An entirely different story of troubled youth unfolds in Jason Orley’s very funny debut, “Big Time Adolescence,” the movie that produced my biggest laughs at Sundance 2019 (sorry “Late Night” fans) and proves something that I’m pretty happy to say: Pete Davidson is a movie star. The troubled “SNL” star has always been one of my favorite parts of Lorne Michaels’ creation and makes for a great podcast/radio guest, but that’s true of plenty of people who can’t carry a movie. Unlike a lot of young comedians, he looks totally comfortable in his first leading role, taking a part that’s more challenging than it looks in the way he has to balance irresponsible behavior and not come off like a total asshole. He’s legitimately great here, and it will be fun to watch people respond to his work when the movie is released.

Davidson plays 23-year-old Zeke, a college dropout without much motivation beyond weed, sex, and booze. He hangs out with a couple of similarly unmotivated early-twentysomethings, doing a whole lot of nothing. But Zeke is funny, likable, and generally optimistic. He thinks things will work out, a worldview that has both kept him pretty happy and doing just about nothing. What Zeke does most days is hang out with a 16-year-old kid named Mo (Griffin Gluck of “American Vandal”), the younger brother of a girl that Zeke dumped six years ago. He liked hanging out with the kid.

There’s a heightened period of our lives in which being perceived as “cool” means just about everything. And it goes both ways. Mo thinks he's cool because he gets to hang out with older guys like Zeke. Zeke likes being considered cool. Mo’s one of the few people who likes him. And yet this weird friendship is believable. It doesn’t feel like a screenwriter’s construction. It’s only when Zeke starts making some truly bad decisions in what is basically his mentorship of Mo that things go awry.

The first half of “Big Time Adolescence” is better than the second. It’s a movie that I liked way more in its casual beats than in its lesson-learning ones, and it makes a few legitimately disappointing mistakes regarding its female characters, who seem strong at first but kind of become plot devices. Still, there are times when “BTA” reminded me of another great movie about teenage rebellion: “Superbad.” That’s a pretty high compliment for a debut. I’m eager to see what everyone here does next, including Orley and Gluck, but especially Pete Davidson.

The final film in this triptych of troubled youth shines a light into a rarely-seen corner of the world, capturing life in a deeply religious community – the kind that doesn’t allow for even the suggestion of sin, speaks in tongues when they’re trying to cast out the devil, and uses snakes in their ceremonies. “Them That Follow” attempts to capture turmoil in a pocket of spiritual fervor, but it’s a disappointingly flat drama. Rarely has the world of religious extremism felt so dramatically inert, as the film never feels like it’s genuinely engaging with this world as much as using it as a backdrop.

Alice Englert plays the troubled Mara, daughter of the head pastor in a group of Pentecostal snake handlers, Lemuel (Walton Goggins). Mara has recently had a fling with Augie (Thomas Mann), and she’s pregnant. This is a problem on multiple levels, not only for the sin that could lead to her being exiled from her community but because Augie has strayed from the group already. Oh, and Mara is supposed to marry one of the members, the earnest Garret (Lewis Pullman). Of course, Augie’s mother, Hope (Olivia Colman), is a crucial matriarch in the community as well.

Walton Goggins and Olivia Colman in a movie about Appalachian zealots – I can almost hear you saying, “How could that go wrong?” And, to be fair, Goggins and Colman are as good as you’d expect them to be, the former finding the absolute certainty men like Lemuel need and the latter capturing the conflict within Hope when she learns the secrets of her son’s relationship with Mara. The problem is that these two performances are lost in a film that never finds the right tone and relies too heavily on manufactured melodrama to fill in the lack of realism at its center. To be blunt, I never bought “Them That Follow,” always aware of the screenwriting strings being pulled when one needs to completely engage with this world for a movie like this to work. I felt like an observer when I needed to be a participant. Like some of Lemuel’s lost sheep, I guess I just didn’t believe.

  from All Content http://bit.ly/2Slvd3O