#i like to think of this story now as a post golden age of mexican cinema movie :3

[parasitic-saint]

last surviving frame from Only The Flesh Is Divine's first and only screening back in 1963

thinking abt redrawing this scene of espiritismo 1962 with my priest and devil hmmm...

[vidalinav]

Okay S/JM stans saying she made it clear that Illyrians are POC in recent books is driving me insane. "Golden brown" is NOT a clear representation because she's also used "golden" to describe white people.

No matter that Cassian without a shirt bordered on obscene, even with the collection of scars peppering his golden-brown skin. (ACOSF)

[Rowan's] skin had deepened to a golden brown—he must have spent time outdoors these past weeks. (QOS)

I could be wrong, but isn't Rowan white? Why is she using golden brown to describe him? Her descriptions are so confusing and her "representation" is one of the worst. There are other characteristics besides skin colour (hair texture, facial features, etc) that she could have used to make it more obvious.

Well golden-brown in this context means tan and there are of course people who are tan no matter what and people who are only tan when they go out into the sun.

I do think her representation needs some work, and quite a bit of it, because it should probably not be interpretable.

But hosab was a tad better about it, so I know she is not completely hopeless or lost. She's just unfortunately white, and unfortunately not consistent, though she can and should get better and she's not absolved from the responsibility, she will probably not be better at it then say reading a book from an author who is a person of color. Perhaps, that's the issue--everyone should be reading more books from people of color.

However, I think with Illyrians specifically, you can't necessarily boil down their representation of race/ethnicity just by their skin color, which I've made a post about. Not even in the real world can you do that but alas... You have to look at how Illyrians are framed in the text socially and culturally, which is slightly different from the rest. You have to see the perspective that other people in the book take on them, which is that they have backwards laws to the protags, traditional values, a rich culture of stories, superstitions, traditions, and community roles. They have a tightknit community that tends to not like outsiders but does have progress, though that progress is not as fast as the protags would want. They don't have spices (which ugh, but I guess they live in the mountains). They live in the mountains. They all for the most part have wings, dark hair, a lot of brown and hazel eyes. They have their own hierarchical structure.

Now yes, you can definitely say well Illyrians are real people in the past, and they're Indoeuropean, but a pretty a quick google search will say that that would make them probably modern day Albanian. Would I consider them white? Racially maybe, but not ethnically. That makes a difference. White unfortunately is a very Western perspective, and unless we want to debate how we categorize race, unfortunately in this day and age, it's not just skin color or facial features or hair texture that causes discrimination and marginalization. Though those things do factor in.

You also have to think that this is a fantasy world. What does race mean in a fantasy world where are social implications are not exactly the same? Of course, we still want an abundance of skin tone variation, and feature variability, because that's biological. But race and ethnicity is often times simplified to mean only facial features, only skin color, etc, but race and then breaking down race to ethnicity in a social context and not a biological one, is language, shared cultural values, clothing, tradition, religion, etc.

I am ethnically Chicana, but I'm racially white. Can I say that I am white? No. Do I look white? No. Will I be treated like someone who is white? Probably not. Is my culture white? Depends. I'm culturally very American, but do I have influences of Cuban and Mexican backgrounds? Yes. Would that influence look different if I was raised in a different country, even another Western one? Yes.

An author will not get kudos for writing someone as a POC, but then write no implications of being a POC. They'll then be writing white characters, telling us they have dark skin, and we'll be saying yay for diversity and inclusion. No! That's not how it works.

It's much more complicated and I implore people to look at not just what characters look like but how they're viewed, the parts in which they're placed in, how complex they are, the narrative that they're given. All of that means something. I find it so much more valuable to debate how the Illyrians are viewed as backwards to the imperialistic main characters, who for some reason don't like their own culture but use the people from their culture quite often for war, then to debate whether we can consider them POC or not by the several different shades of brown she could have used. 

[maxwell-grant]

Your Top Five Pulp Heroes that you wish were better known? By Pulp Hero fans, I mean. Since pretty much all of them except Conan and Tarzan are fairly unknown.

It’s actually quite hard for me to narrow it down to just five, because I’m having to choose between characters that are my favorites that I wish were more well-known and appreciated (which is all of them), and characters that aren’t quite my favorites but I very much think should have achieved great popularity for a myriad of reasons. So instead I’m going to pick some of each. These are not necessarily ranked by their importance or my personal taste, just 5 characters I felt like highlighting in particular. 

Honorable mentions goes to characters I already talked about prior and don’t want to repeat myself on. These aren’t “lesser” picks, just ones that I already talked about: Imaro (who in particular definitely feels like he could, and should be, a pop culture superstar if he was only more well-known), Kapitan Mors (who’s got a lot in common with one of my favorite fictional characters, Captain Nemo, but also has a lot of interesting things going on for him as his own character). Sar Dubnotal (a character that appeals a lot to me and I think should be included much more often in pulp hero team-ups). The Golden Amazon (again, definitely a character that feels like it’s just begging to have a pop culture breakout, even comic books rarely if ever have female supervillains this ruthless and over-the-top), The Mexican Fantomas (who absolutely deserves a better name than what I’m calling him here, because he’s incredibly awesome and leagues ahead of just being a knock-off). And of course my homeboy, The Grey Claw, whom I would consider Number One of the list if it wasn’t for the fact that his obscurity has left him untouched by copyright and I got plans of my own for the character that wouldn’t be possible if he was more well-known, so I guess I’m ultimately glad he’s obscure (even if I’m still bothered by how little he’s known). 

Allright let’s go:

Number 5: Sheridan Doome

Sheridan Doome appeared in fifty-four stories and three novels from 1935 to 1943. As chief detective for U.S. Naval Intelligence, Lieutenant Commander Sheridan Doome’s job was a grim one. Whenever an extraordinary mystery or crime occurred in the fleet, on a naval base, or anywhere the navy worked to protect American interests, Doome was immediately dispatched to investigate it. Fear and dread would always precede Doome’s arrival in his special black airplane. For, in an explosion during WWI, he had been monstrously disfigured. 

He was six feet two inches tall; had a chalk-white face and head. It appeared as though it had once been seared or burned. For eyes, he had only black blotches; glittering optics, that looked like small chunks of coal. His nose was long, the end of it squared off rudely. He had no lips, just a slit that was his mouth. His neck was long, as white and as bony as his face…. Sheridan Doome looked more like a robot than a human being. He was tall and ghastly; his uniform fitted him in a loose manner. Long arms hung at his sides; his face was a perfect blank. He had no control of his facial muscles; consequently, his countenance was always without expression, chalky and bony.

But behind the ugliness was a brilliant mind. Sheridan Doome always got his man. Before Sheridan Doome became a staple in the pages of The Shadow magazine, two Doome hardcover mysteries were written in the mid-1930’s by acclaimed hard-boiled author Steve Fisher (I Wake Up Screaming) and edited by his wife Edythe Seims (Dime Detective, G-8 and His Battle Aces). Age of Aces now brings you both books in one huge double novel, presented in a retro “flip book” style. This book is currently Out of Print.

I sadly don’t have any more information on the character other than this. The book is unavailable for me to acquire in any capacity, and the text above is taken from the Age of Aces website as well as Jess Nevins’s personal profile for the character. I’m not even sure if any of those 54 stories even exist anymore, since although he was published as a backup in Shadow Magazine, there doesn’t seem to be reprints of them anywhere, at least as far as I can find, and the original Shadow magazines have largely turned to dust by now. 

A character who combines aspects of The Phantom of the Opera and The Shadow, whose adventures are set in a backdrop that can easily lead to ocean adventures? That’s like, what, three of my favorite things in the world combined. I really, really wish I could at least read the stories this character stars in, but as is, this description is all I can provide. Again, time really has been cruel to the pulp heroes. 

Number 4: Harlan Dyce

This is another character I’ve only been able to learn about through Jess Nevins’s archives and have not been able to attain any further information on, which is sadly the case with a lot of pulp heroes that nowadays only seem to exist as footnotes in his Encyclopedia or records in libraries. I don’t post more about these characters because I really would just be copying the stuff he wrote without much to justify me quoting him verbatim, and I hate the idea of doing that.

I especially hate that in Harlan Dyce’s case though. Here’s his description

“Dyce had brains, taste, money, ambition, and a total lack of physical or spiritual fear. But—

“Dyce was thirty-three inches tall and weighed sixty pounds.

“That was all the world could ever hold against him. That was what had made the world, most of it, in all the countries of the world, stare at Harlan Dyce, billed in the big show as “General Midge.””

Harlan Dyce is a misanthropic and venomous private detective. He has an “amazingly handsome face,” and the aforementioned brains. But all anyone sees is his stature, and he hates that and turns his cold eyes and acid tongue on them. 

The only person Dyce likes and gets along with (besides his dwarf wife, a former client) is his assistant, Nick Melchem, a six-foot tall former p.i.’s assistant with bleak eyes and a strong body. Melchem ignores Dyce’s stature and treats Dyce normally, which Dyce responds warmly to.

Dwarfs may be the single most maligned group of people depicted in pulp magazines, even more so than the Japanese in the war years or the Chinese during the peak of the Yellow Peril’s popularity. Evil dwarfs, murderous dwarfs, sexually depraved dwarfs, they are all loathsome, ugly cliches that are, sadly, the only instances you see of dwarf characters being represented at all, with the only ones who are awarded any measure of sympathy are doomed henchmen or tragic villains.  Even outside of the pulps, the only other examples of heroic, protagonist dwarfs I can think off the top of my head are Puck from Marvel Comics and Tyrion Lannister from Game of Thrones.

I’m not gonna say Harlan Dyce is great representation because I’m not a little person and can never make that kind of claim for a group I’m not a part of, but Harlan Dyce may be the first time I’ve ever seen a dwarf character in pulp fiction who was not a villain or a murderous goon or a victim, but an actual person and a heroic protagonist, and that definitely counts for something. I’m not sure how popular this character was or could be if someone picked up the concept and ran with it (and I’m pretty sure he’s public domain), but I definitely think this is a character that should exist and should be popular. 

Hell, this character has Peter Dinklage written all over it, give it to him. Maybe then he will get to play a smart, fearless, cynical, misanthropic but good-natured and heroic character in something where he actually gets to keep these traits until the show ends.

Number 3: Audaz, O Demolidor

Audaz is a Brazilian character who was created and published by Gazetinha, the same publishers of Grey Claw as well as properties exported from elsewhere like Superman and Popeye, and much like The Grey Claw, he is also completely unknown even here. I’ll get to Audaz more in-depth sometime but here I’m going to provide a quick summary: 

Audaz, The Demolisher is a gigantic crime-fighting robot controlled and piloted by the brilliant scientist Dr. Blum, his close friend Gregor and the child prodigy Jacques Ennes, who pilot the giant robot from a massive laboratory inside it's head rather than a cockpit. He takes on a variety of ordinary human criminals, mad scientists, supervillains and invading armies, towering over skyscrapers and grappling with jets.

Audaz was created in 1939 by illustrator Messias de Melo, a year before Quality Comics's Bozo the Iron Man and 5 years before Ryuichi Yokoyama's Kagaku Senshi, and decades before the debut of Mazinger Z. Although he is not the first giant robot of science fiction, he is the first heroic giant robot piloted by human pilots, and thus the first true example of "mecha" fiction.

Number 2: Emilia the Ragdoll

This is another Brazilian character, although nowhere near as obscure as Audaz as even a cursory Google search can show. Although Brazil did not have a “pulp era” in the same way the US had, we’ve long gotten past the point of sticking to it as a definitive rule, and I’m including Emilia as a pulp hero because she’s a 1920s fantasy literature character who was created under a publishing company that released pulp stories, because she doesn’t quite belong in the mold of fantasy literature characters she takes after, and because I like her and if I was putting a bunch of pulp heroes together in the same story, I would definitely include Emilia in it. It’s not like she really has anywhere else to go, now that she’s public domain and she’s outlasted her franchise.

As you can tell by the above image, Emilia’s had a lot of variations over the years and that’s because the work she was created for, Sítio do Picapau Amarelo (Yellow Woodpecker Ranch/Farm), has become a major bedrock of Brazilian fantasy literature, one of the only works created here that you can find substantial information about in English if you go looking for it. Here’s some descriptions of Emilia’s character:

Emília is a rag doll described as "clumsy" or "ugly", resembling a "witch" that was handmade by Aunt Nastácia, the ranch's cook, for the little girl Lúcia, out of an old skirt. After Lucia takes her on an adventure and the doll is given a dose of magic pills, Emília suddenly started talking, and would never stop henceforth.

Emilia has a rough, antagonistic personality, and an independent, free-spirited and anarchist behaviour. She is rogue, rebellious, stubborn, rough and intensely determined at anything she sets her mind on, eager to take off on just about any adventure. She is often immature and behaves like a curious and arrogant child, always wanting to be the center of attention.

She is extremely opinionated even when she constantly and confidently mispronounces words and expressions. Her attitude often gets her into trouble, and she very often has to fight against the villains who attack her home on the Yellow Woodpecker Farm and mistreat her friends.

In the stories, Emilia often takes the role of a heroine who travels through different realms and dimensions, as the books include not only figures from Brazilian and worldwide folklore, but also several characters both real and fictional, such as Hercules, King Arthur, Don Quixote, Thumbelina, Da Vinci, Shirley Temple, Captain Hook, Santos Dumont and Baron von Munchausen.

She's fought scorpions and martians and nymph hordes, her arch-enemy is an alligator witch, she rescued an angel from the Milky Way and tried to teach it how to become a human, and once shrunk the entire population of Earth to try and talk the president of the United States into ending war forever.

To little surprise, she has become the most popular character and the series’s mascot.

It’s a little strange to consider Emilia underrated considering she is one of the most famous original characters of Brazilian literature, but hardly anyone outside of Brazil even knows who she is, and regardless of the quality of the original stories (and Monteiro Lobato’s views on race that tar much of his reputation), Emilia definitely feels to me like a character that should be a lot more popular globally. 

She is the only character from Yellow Woodpecker Ranch that has transcended the original stories, since she was always the most popular character and there’s been a couple of stories written about her that usually separate her from the ranch and just set her out on the world by herself. The latest story about this character has been a series called The Return of Emilia, that’s about her stepping out of the books in 2050 and discovering a Brazil that’s been ruined by social and ecological devastation, and traveling back in time via a flying scooter in order to try and prevent this calamity. 

Now that she’s public domain, I definitely think there’s some great stories that can be told with the character that just about anyone could get to, and I definitely think she’s a character that deserves more appreciation. Anything goes in stories starring her and it’s that kind of free-for-all freedom that I think can benefit future takes on pulp heroes. I would be very happy to place Emilia among them.

Oh yeah, and there was one time she kicked Popeye's ass by tricking him with a can of mouldy cabbage instead of spinach, making him sick and then beating him, which possibly puts her as one of the all-time badasses of fiction, except she would be pissed at not being number one and likely embark on a quest to beat everyone else just to prove she could, because that’s how Emilia rolls.

Number 1: Luna Bartendale, from The Undying Monster (1922)

Not necessarily my favorite of the bunch, but one who sort of epitomizes what you asked, a character who is both incredibly obscure and incredibly underrated in every sense. Despite the book being somewhat known, mainly thanks to the movie, the character is so obscure that I don’t even have an illustration of her to display here, not even fan art, just one of the book’s covers that I think best conveys it. Luckily, the book is also available freely online, so you can all go check it out here. The movie adaptation does not feature the character of Luna Bartendale which makes it pointless to talk about.

To not spoil it too much, The Undying Monster is a very fascinating book, ahead of it’s time in quite a few ways. You expect it to just be a detective story centered around a werewolf cursed, except the subtitle of the book is “The Fifth Dimension” and then it goes to talk about dimensions of thought and post-WWI trauma and love and hypnotic regression that travels through time and ancient runes and Norse mythology. It’s not exactly an easy book to get through in one setting, but I’d recommend it much the same if only because it’s got supersensitive psychic sleuth Luna Bartendale, literature’s first female occult detective, and she’s an incredible character who absolutely feels like she should have become a literary icon. 

She lives in London but is world-renowned for her many good deeds. She is a small, pretty woman, with curly blonde hair, dark eyebrows and a high-bridged nose, and a slight build. She has a voice described as a light soprano that "does not make much noise but carries a long way". 

Petite, bedimpled and golden curled, Luna is completely in charge of events, dominating every scene that she appears in with her welcoming disposition and cleverness. 

Bartendale has various psychic powers, including mind reading. She is well-versed in psychic and occult lore, is a “supersensitive” psychic, and has a “Sixth Sense” which allows her to trace things and people through both the Fourth and the Fifth Dimension. (The Fifth Dimension is “the Dimension that surrounds and pervades the Fourth–known as the Supernatural”).

Her extensive knowledge of occult rites and practices puts John Silence, Carnacki and Miles Pennoyer to shame, and she beats them all with her "super-sensitive" gift of being able to psychically connect with troubled souls and hypnotize them.

She uses a divining rod for various tasks, including psychic detection and tracking, and distinguishing between benevolent and malevolent forces. She has various (undefined) powerful psychic defenses, can carry on seances, and can even cure a person of “wehrwolfism.” And she can always rely on her massive, intelligent dog Roska for help.

Luna sadly doesn’t show up in the book as often as I’d hoped, but everything about this character is so delightful. In a lot od ways she hardly feels like a pulp hero, at least the ones I usually talk about. She feels like a lost protagonist from an incredibly successful kid’s adventure series where a kind and eccentric detective witch and her giant dog go around solving occult mysteries and encountering all sorts of weird supernatural beings while counseling and helping people, like Ms Frizzle meets Hilda. Like this character is just waiting for Cartoon Saloon to make a film about her.

Its not so much “this character should/could be popular but it’s clear why that didn’t pan out”, it’s more me being confused as “why the hell isn’t she super popular? This character should have had a franchise ages ago, holy shit put her in everything””

[seeds-and-sins]

From Mexico With Love Series

The Fox 

Pairing: Eduardo “Lalo” Salamanca / Original Female Character

Rating: T

Description: Lucia had only ever known a life of servitude. Even with access to everything she could have ever wanted, all the treasures that could be afforded, all the luxury that most women could only dream of, she was a prisoner to such pleasures. Don Eladio kept her raveled in his grasp, invisible chains holding her down to the mansion she had grown tired of roaming. One breath of a second with a certain Salamanca sends her spiraling into a game of fates, and for a moment she wonders if she does have a choice.

Note: I have been thinking about posting this for so long. Now I am finally saying the hell with it. More is definitely to come as I work out the rest of the story line. There is so little on Lalo out there and I couldn’t help myself.

Across the Cards

 This lifestyle wasn't exactly conventional. It was demeaning at times, disgusting, dangerous, but regrettably necessary. As she had become the sole provider for her family, her mother, her little brothers, she was expected to choose. It was a rough choice, but Don Eladio made it easy. Because of him her family was better off now than they had ever been before. All he asked in return was her services, her attention, her smile, her tantalizing dances, he asked nothing more. Her services rewarded with protections, with money and food and shelter. Her family never going without again.

     It was a life that had soon drained her, pulling from her the lovely innocent girl she had been, sculpting her into a woman of Eladio's design. She was much younger than the others, softer, sweeter, and a cherished prize for Eladio to brag about and parade around the pool deck. This she had gotten used to, years of being the Don Eladio's private possession. Never touched by another, never played around with by another, a trophy for only Eladio to enjoy. She assured herself such luxuries were, in fact, positive ones. Unlike the others, she was afforded the ability to have something of independence, even if it wasn't entirely her own. At least she only had to attend to one man, the others were expected to attend to all of Eladio's guests, expected to pretend that they weren't being paid to do so. It was a sad thought, at least she wasn't like them.

      He enjoyed asking her to sit on his lap, toy with his hair, caress his chest, kiss his cheek. It must have comforted him, knowing that a younger woman was attending to his need for affection. She was so desired by many others that had crossed paths with Eladio, that had seen her sunbathing or relaxing by the pool's edge. For a man of his power and stature and age, it must have amused him knowing that none of them could have her. It must have truly heightened his ego knowing that they could never touch what goddess sat before their eyes and within their reach.

      Her cleavage peaking beneath the steep V in her one piece bathing suit. The color of silk white and golden accents, contrasting against her bronze skin. Such bronze that glimmered smoothly in the bright Mexican sun, that flickered with light. Her curly black hair tumbling down over her acute shoulders, her magnificent curves, the taut skin of her belly barely revealed, and slender, toned legs crossed in an elegant posture. At first glance, one might be dumb struck by the very truth that she was owned. Could such beauty even be possessed by man? Perhaps that too spurred Don Eladio to have her as his own. That he would be a god with her at his side, that he was invincible by having ownership over the impossible. Yet, were these features enough, all the women that surrounded him had similar appendages and sense of femininity. Why her? 

    Well, only one man had ever had the gull to ask such a question. Hector Salamanca. Once invited to enjoy the pleasures of Eladio's festivities, Hector couldn't help but ask. He couldn't help but notice that the only woman worth really looking at was sitting directly on Don Eladio's lap. Eladio's answer was simple, even she had known for so long why Eladio had been drawn to her at first. He very carefully removed her sunglasses and she gazed into her captor’s dark brown eyes. He tilted her head over to face Hector, a slight nudge of his thumb, and Hector saw. She had the bluest eyes that anyone had ever seen. Of course, there might had been one other woman there with blue eyes, but Lucia's eyes were the starkest blue. They were like polished diamonds, prepared by a jeweler or cut to perfection by the earth's elemental force. They were Eladio's diamonds. As quickly as Eladio had removed the sunglasses, he had placed them back on for her. Hector no longer able to admire the brilliant blue, and after that no one asked questions. Hector, being allowed the minor exception, but Eladio didn't like it when people so much as even wondered why she remained glued to a man like him.

     The answer was easy for her, her family. She would do anything for them. When her father died and her family no longer had a means to support themselves, she acted. She was only eighteen at the time, at which Eladio was hesitant to take such a young soul into his collection of women. He did so anyways, she was old enough to make her own decisions. She eventually grew used to belonging to him, doing as he said, being as obedient as she could. For her family, she would say. The once shy and nervous caterpillar had grown into a fully developed butterfly. She had once berated herself for becoming comfortable with being a consort, but now she was accustomed to such activities. And Eladio praised her for it. 

He constantly remarked at how her beauty never faltered, even as she entered into her twenties. He spoke aloud about how she only became more and more gorgeous as the years went by. An addition to his home that he could never go without. Job security in her mind, but at the same time, a prison she had forced herself into. She had locked herself away and had thrown away the key years ago. She always wondered when Eladio would kill her, of course, he couldn't let her go because she wouldn't be his anymore. The day never came, or to this point, it had never approached. It was her greatest fear, being cast aside, even when she knew it might happen one day. For her family, she would say, always for them.

    Despite these truths, she had learned confidence. As she matured, so did her ability to recognize the leverage she had over every living soul that was connected to Eladio. Ever so quiet until Eladio asked her for something or insisted on conversation, she attended to her needs throughout the day. She was allowed as much alcohol as she wanted, she was allowed to sleep in his over sized bed, lounge in his living room, practically spend as much time as she wanted, anywhere she wanted to. In essence, she was the queen to his king, feeling like a prisoner but treated with royalty. Eladio had killed men for her, he had cast out women for her, she knew what she was worth because of him. She would never test such a theory, but she had considered once before that if she provided Eladio with an ultimatum he would surely meet her demands. It made her feel powerful and dangerous, that no one would cross her. She had learned this, she had grown into such a vicious role. Although it never sated her, a woman in the position of power that she was in, she always felt lost somehow. Even with all the money in the world, Eladio could never make her happy. She did it for her family, because that was all she ever knew. The idea of him putting her out of her misery scared her, but she knew that it would be welcomed in comparison to this torture she existed in. Her choice in the beginning, a trap at best, no longer her choice anymore. That boat had sailed far out into the horizon, with no hint of returning anytime soon.

"Mi girasol, ¿qué te preocupa?" My Sunflower, what troubles you? She forced a soft smile and then met his gaze, mock concern doning his features. She traced the tip of her index alone his exposed chest, over the grey curls. She slid her hand where fabric of his white button up parted.

"Nada, mi sol." Nothing, my sun. She sighed, and then curled her head under his chin. "Estoy consada." I'm tired. He snorted, roving his fingers through her hair and nodding in understanding. 

"Sí, girasol, ¿por qué no descansas? Me reuniré contigo más tarde." Yes, Sunflower, why don't you go rest? I will join you later. She wasn't going to protest, but she knew that if she didn't he wouldn't be quite so pleased to see she was eager to leave him. She lifted her head up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then hovered over his salty lips. He grinned, eyes desperately moving from her lips and back up to his own reflection in her sunglasses. 

"¿Estás seguro? Estoy dispuesto a esperarte." Are you sure? I am willing to wait for you.

"Vamos. Tendremos mucho tiempo para pasar juntos más tarde." Go. We will have plenty of time to spend together later. She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, then removed herself from his lap. She caught several eyes shoot in her direction, the eyes of Dons and guests of Eladio, they couldn't help but admire her from a distance. Eladio tapped his palm at her ass as she then left him. She shot a smirk over her shoulder at him, at which he reciprocated with a unique smugness that was only his own. 

    She patted her way around the pool deck, ignoring any eye contact with those she passed along the way. The concrete was hot beneath her feet, simmering as the sun scorched it’s surface. She made more of an effort not to look like she was skipping as she made to enter Eladio's mansion. She was looking down, head sagging as she then disappeared into the air conditioned shade of the home. The doorway opened into a hallway with a high ceiling, thick and bulky as it extended out towards the double door entrance of the home. Along the hallway there was a pathway into the kitchen, the living room, and then the stairs that curled up into the second floor. It was fairly dim, a blue flickered off the white hallways, the sun streaming in through the opened patio door behind her.

    Lucia huffed as her feet finally met the cold tile, she figured she could stop in the kitchen for a glass of cold water before heading upstairs to change and rest. She was looking forward to discarding her bathing suit in exchange for one of Eladio's extra large button up shirts. She started towards the kitchen, it was relatively quiet and she had originally thought she was alone. She grabbed her sunglasses, pulling them from her tired eyes as she turned the corner into the kitchen and-

     She hit something hard, nearly stumbled back as the soles of her feet tried to catch themselves on the marble floor. Her sunglasses dropped to the ground, a lens clicking out, skidding away, a squeak of surprise escaping her lips. She didn't even know what was happening before a pair of rough hands scooped her up. Her eyes widened at the man before, the scratchy, work ridden hands, the chocolate brown eyes, the apologetic gleam, the salt and pepper gelled back hair.

"Lo siento, cariño, sabes lo torpe que puedo ser." So sorry, sweetheart, you know how clumsy I can be. It was Eduardo ‘Lalo' Salamanca. The man she had pined after for well over a year now. One of the only men she looked forward to seeing at Don Eladio's parties and business meetings. There was something about him that drew her to him, something that made her heart skip a beat, that made her wish that Eladio and him switched places for a day. He was so charming, unbelievably handsome, extremely sweet with the ladies, smart, determined, confident. He released her from his grasp as soon as she was on her feet again. She was still in awe and shock, she had never been this close to him before. So close that his cigar scented breath had fanned over her for but a moment before he himself had hunched over to retrieve her broken glasses from the floor. 

   He held the lens and the frame up, his teeth clenched as he formed a false wince at the destruction of her favorite pair of sunglasses. She couldn't even be upset with him. It was an accident after all and, well, his body radiated so much heat and his eyes and his hair and... Or was that Lucia? But, what about her glasses again? She couldn't even think straight. "Oh chico, ese es mi mal." Oh boy, that's my bad. He then smiled again. He had this smile unlike any she had seen before. It was intimidating, but genuine and pleased, all at the same time. 

   She hadn't taken the time to realize that her palms were still planted firmly against his chest. In her haste to find balance, they had found themselves there. They were clenched over the button up he wore, squeezing at the silk fabric. It carried a fancy design, a clash of exotic abstract shapes and colors, tucked into a pair of black ironed slacks. She found that it suited him, but she was thinking awfully too long about that, now wasn't she? His eyebrows twitched upward, she wasn't sure whether it was out of curiosity, or confusion. She laughed nervously, then returned her hands back to her sides, grabbing her broken sunglasses from his hands as she did so.

"Um, Está bien," Um, it's okay. "Fue mi culpa." It was my fault. She smiled at him, although she realized she probably looked more awkward than anything. He then brought a hand up under her chin, caressing his thumb over the spot beneath her bottom lip. She was shocked, absolutely taken aback. Why were the Salamancas so ballsy? If Eladio knew that she had even come so close as to bump into Eduardo, he would probably kill the chaotic Salamanca of a man. Even if he liked Lalo the most out of all of the Salamancas, no mercy was allowed when it came to Eladio’s prized sunflower. Lalo was still smiling, squinting his eyes now, examining her angelic features. He then released her chin and his smile widened into an eccentric grin, his finger gestured at her lazily, hands falling to his hips.

"Eres la chica de Eladio, ¿eh?" You are Eladio's girl, huh? How did he not know? No, he knew. He knew exactly who she was, so what game was he playing then? This was dangerous territory for him. She wasn't going to get him in trouble for this, but what was he even thinking right now? Because she certainly wasn't thinking, at all, that was for sure. Her expression scrunched into consternation and she nodded silently. "Ya veo ya veo. ¿Te cuida?" I see, I see. Does he take care of you? What? Did he just...

"Lo siento. ¿Disculpe?" I'm sorry, excuse me? 

"¿Estas feliz aqui?" Are you happy here? The rephrasing of the question, the reiteration of the question, only made her that much more speechless. He must have had a death wish.

"No entiendo, señor." I don't understand, sir. It was quiet for a hot minute, a pin could drop between them both and someone could probably hear it for miles. Eduardo's smile waned and he leaned in closer, then Lucia was being barred against the wall. His body directly against hers and his face an inch from her own. She considered screaming for help, was Eduardo the kind of man to take advantage of a woman without her permission? Then again, she would let him, was that permission enough? So entranced by his warmth, by his youthful spirit, by this romantic glow about him, and she desired it more than she could desire any gifts that Eladio would give her. It made her sick to her stomach. She had been at Eladio's side for so long, she hadn't realized what it felt like to be so close to a man completely different in every aspect of the word. She longed for that difference, already feeling like a prisoner to Eladio, now also a prisoner to something else completely. And it disgusted her, she was disgusted in herself.

"Solo tenía curiosidad. Uno podría confundirse con la tristeza en sus ojos." I was just curious. One might be mistaken by the sadness in your eyes. She gulped, eyelids fluttering over ‘Eladio's diamonds’, his lips pressed ever so gently to her forehead. He then was gone, patting her shoulder, stepping away, winking, step after step, back out onto the pool deck, out to go see Eladio. Her heart raced, it pounded against her rib cage a million miles per hour. She dreamed of having Eduardo's lips against her and now that the dream had come true, she wanted more. Of course, greed was a trait she had taken from Eladio, after years of spoils that still could never fill the emptiness in her heart and soul.

   She was stuck now, against the wall, attempting to make an effort at pulling herself together. When all she had to show for it was trembling and heated cheeks and guilt. Should she tell Eladio? Should she lose the only thing that was truly and utterly hers at this moment? The idea of keeping it a secret sent adrenaline through her, the idea of potentially never telling Eladio that she had gotten so close to sharing her splendors with another man. If that even was what that was, she didn't know. Eladio was so much more forward with his advances, Eduardo was an enigma. The look on Eladio's face if he ever did find out, she could only imagine how exciting that would be too. But this was hers. Her moment. Granted to her by Eduardo. He either was fearless, which based on the stories she had heard, he most definitely was as brave as they come. Or he was stupid, and she didn't take Eduardo to be a stupid man. Did he know that she wouldn't tell? Did he know what he had even done? Surely he did. 

    Eladio had made it known that no one would touch her, not even a brush on the shoulder and then Eduardo did this. More than a brush on the shoulder in anybody's book and in anybody's reality. Her skin still burning with his touch, so different from Eladio's. The pads of his thumbs were rough and tempered by hard work. The Salamanca's were well known for tampering with mechanics and those hands belonged to a man that spent hours working on cars. Eladio's hands were soft and spoken, he was raised into wealth, or he had spent so long without lifting a finger for himself that his hands no longer showed signs of effort. 

   Yet again, at odds with herself, who was more attractive to her? The man that worked hard, even when he didn't have to? Or the man that didn't put effort into anything but his pleasure, because he was so well off that working was pointless? A man of self-worth? And a man of pure power? Did her personal preference even matter at this point? No. She was simply giving herself into the idea of playing pretend, that by chance, she could choose, but she truly couldn't. 

    At the end of the day, she would be in Eladio's home, she would be in his bed, she would be in his arms, under him, above him, beside him. Eduardo would leave, he wouldn't think anything of her, he would spend his evening with another beautiful woman, enjoy his freedom. She knew she was far from ever knowing what that felt like again. Freedom outside of this house, freedom to see her family or spend her warmth with another being. She took a deep breath, finally giving into a calmer premise after the previous situation. Only moments ago, Eduardo was against her and now he was gone. She could dream of what that felt like again, but this time with a different understanding in mind. She would take everything he had given her thus far, as little as it might be, and carry it with her imagination and wonder and desire. She then continued back towards the kitchen, eyes meeting the broken sunglasses she hadn't even realized were still in her grasp. She smiled to herself and shook her head, amused.

No, she wouldn't tell Eladio, and yes, she was going to get herself a nice strong glass of Eladio's expensive stash of tequila before her nap. 

She damn well deserved it.

[allstarsstorymode867]

All-Stars -Story Mode- CHAPTER 16 Part 3 (FINAL PART)

As promised, I will give you a third and yet, a final part of this chapter, I am serious about it in the previous post today and the reason why I was inactive is because I had gotten the Resident Evil 2 Remake game and I am on the second run right now.

But other than adto, give credit to my friend’s artwork and like before, they are mentioned within the part that you are going to read right now so give them credit for their artwork and enjoy the story!

The Doctor had opened his eyes with a silent gasp, he looked around as he realized that he couldn’t hear or see the infant queen anymore and then he looked down and saw that he was in his old clothes again.

Richtofen looked around the familiar place, he looked that he’s in the hardware shop again and saw that Ultimis Dempsey was pressing his back on the wall when he looked at the Primis Richtofen and then asked: “Slept well?”

The Doctor said nothing but looked around to the rest of the store: Diego was boarding up the windows of the office (which it also leads into the storage unit that connects to the rest of the mall) with Ultimis Takeo who is handed Diego another wood panel board with a vine, he is hesitant but he took and then he then nails it with the other wooden boards with nails and a hummer, forming a barricade.

Scarlett and Shaw are talking with the Medic and Miss Pauling with the plans on how to get out of this dimension as soon as possible and maybe try to figure out what is going on.

Primis Nikolai and David Tapp are talking to each other about the situation they are currently in as the Detective had hardy believed that he and his teammates had come here by muitinterdimental creatures and before that, they had fought a group of humanoid soldiers from another planet and before THAT; they had combated corrupted creatures and zombies that had been turned by the 115th element in the periodic table.

Pyro is sitting on the floor with her legs crossed as they watched people do their part to making the store into a fortress, a one that can withstand an invasion of zombies so they are in the background with their hands supporting their head.

Amanda Young, lastly, was looking at the bear traps almost too directly and thinking what to do with them that Scarlett had looked back to see her with a little bit of suspicion before continuing to talk with Pauling, Shaw, and Medic.

Richtofen was quiet when he recalled fallen asleep before this, he sat there with his arms by his sides before turning to Dempsey and then questioned “How long vas I asleep?” as he looked at him.

“About three hours since it happened, all of sh!t had happened while you’re asleep.” Ultimis Dempsey answered as he crossed his arms while he looked at him as the Doctor yawned.

“Und zhe survivors?”

“I am pretty sure they had got away,” Dempsey said to the Primis Richtofen as hearing another nail being hammered with the wooden plank. “Vho? Zombies?” the German asked.

“No, survivors from the Entrance Plaza,” he concluded as he looked at the Engineer with Pyro, appearing that he was modifying his shotgun rifle, the gun he was modifying was a large pump-action coach gun-style shotgun with a wooden stock and ornate engravings on the metal receiver and he was attaching a strange device on the metal receiver then it clicked, he was attaching his team-colored cylindrical capacitor with an antenna is attached with Pyro and Spy by his side just watching him build a weapon of his own. The weapons he is building are personally from his grandfather, Radigan Conagher, the Engineer's grandfather.

The weapons his Grandfather had made consisted of Wrangler, Southern Hospitality, Gunslinger, and the Golden Wrench. He wished that he would’ve known the Golden Wrenches wouldn’t last for much longer after his little Update but he is surprised that he can still use it after the end of life of the Golden Wrench.

Spy lets out a puff of smoke before saying quietly so no one will hear them, “You have a good memory of building this gun.”

“The file had contained the blueprints that mah Grandfather had drew and he had it buried with him but somehow I had contained it from Redmon to fix the machine under one simple condition: If ah find anything else of interest, it is to be brought directly to him and to not build it but-”

“You went ahead and built them anyway?” Spy concluded as he held the cigarette in between his fingers. “And never told any of us, even our employer about this?”

“More or less went ahead with mah idea of getting or creating new weapons for mahself and ah knew ah was mettling the payroll ah am on but when the Devil is going to be beating on his wife, ah am sure that he will beat onto me with her tears as well.”

“But if they do?” Pyro softly mumbled.

“Ah had to leave the country or kill to protect the family tradition for it,” Engineer answered as he put in the final touches on the gun with a screwdriver to secure it safely onto the rifle. “And like how Stanton had said twice while we barricade the whole darn hardware store, “Timing is everything.””

He places the screwdriver down as he has finished the new primary weapon that his grandfather had built.

*The Engineer had crafted: The Frontier Justice!

“Now since we are in an outbreak in a little town like this, ah think it’s time we do this, Texas-style,” he smirked as he cocked it back a little. Spy wrenches in disgust as Pyro opens and lit a lighter, igniting a small flame as they chuckled.

“Are you just about done now, Señor Conagher?” Diego asked as he took a little break from barricading the window winch. By now it’s halfway finished, the Texan looked over his shoulder as he walked over to the Mexican Spy and then placed his hard gloved hand on his shoulder with his other hand as the rifle rested on his shoulder.

“Finished it right on schedule.” Engineer said then looked at the entrance that is barricaded with one wooden board across it with the support of metal brackets that he and Scarlett had bolted to the wall to ensure that they are safe from the outside world.

“We are armed to the teeth, but I am sure that we will find a way outta here and back on the ranch in no time.” Engineer said as he cocked it back as Nikolai and David walked up to him.

Nikolai looked at the gun and then commented “You had made quite a shotgun rifle.” as he crossed his arms, “Ah called it “The Frontier Justice” as its name.”

David was little intrigued to see the gun in the Engineer’s hands, something that police could but he is saddened to think if Jigsaw could have his hands on the talent the Engineer had for future crimes he would commit yet, he is going to go far to stop him… If he finds a way back to his home that is.

“So, what is the plan now?” Nikolai asked out of his own curiosity as the Engineer was then alerted to hear him say that, “We need to figure this out together, find out the root to all of our problems, undo it all and that’s it. But not until we figure out how to get back with the others first.” Engineer answered absentmindedly.

“How are we gonna do that?”

“Ah had no clue on how except we had known that zombies had taken over the mall by now.”

“And that is the best plan you can come up with?” David asked as he crossed his arms and eyebrow raised, Engineer sheepishly scratched the back of his neck as he held the rifle in his other hand.

“Uh…” he was beginning to say when there’s was banging at the door when Engineer had come to the door and removed the wooden board from the metal brackets and then before he knew what was going to happen next, someone had apparently burst in as the Engineer hadn’t had time to react at the moment that this stranger had closed the door.

Engineer raised his rifle up to scare someone off when he sees a man in his 50’s or so, with a light blue long-sleeved jean work shirt and dark brown pants with black hair with brown eyes, is a six-foot and one inch taller than Engineer.

The Texan had cleared his throat as he aimed the rifle at the stranger, he then saw his hands… Well, his hand and a mechanical one, it looked like it had been made from old video game console accessories and Erector Set parts, and he had wielded a chainsaw to that mechanical hand while in his normal organic one was a short-barreled shotgun.

For something that could be a reason, the Engineer still trained the Fountiar Justice at the aged man before him, Primis Nikolai, David Tapp, and everyone else in the store. If you like to care to know more, let the pictures do all the talking.

[Four pictures are drawn @sampoststuff​ on Tumblr]

*New All-Star: Ash Williams!

The Engineer was surprised to see this man had killed a zombie with a short double-barrel shotgun in one hand as the zombie’s blood was pooling around where it laid after being shot through the mouth, a man of his age was incredible to boot as well. He may be an old man but he still got it.

“Now can you at least one of you know what was going on??” the old man suggested as he rested the weapon, one on his good hand, onto his shoulder once again as he looked at the group.

“But first off, who th’ hell are you, stranger?” Engineer answered with a stern and seriousness in his voice toning the sudden urge to fight this middle-aged man before him.

“The name Ashley Williams but you just call me Ash and I can tell the deadites had already caused panic around and no one trusting one of the others.” Ash introduced himself as he got the shotgun off of his shoulder and then just let it hang on his side.

“Deadites?” Amanda said in confusion, even Spy nodded as well while he looked over his shoulder, “You do mean Zombies, right?” Spy said as a cigarette dangles from his mouth as he turned around to face the newcomer.

Ash’s eyebrows raised a little bit at this as he thought “I guess they are just called zombies in this one, not Deadites.” and then said, “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“How did you get here?” Ultimis Dempsey said as he pointed at Ash and what he is looking at the most is a chainsaw, red chainsaw that was attached to his left arm, right where his other hand was and it was being held by something mechanical.

“I had no idea,” Ash simply answered, “I had just woken up in one section of the mall with a Vietnam soldier nicknamed “Bill,” he may be an old man but boy he can fight! I had to find a weapon in this plaza but it is worth it.” with a smirk and then twirls that weapon back onto his shoulder, trying to look impressive with three women in their group but Miss Pauling had seen one small hole in his story, however.

The woman dressed in purple and glasses had asked “That’s nice and all Ash but did Bill know where you were when you’re gone?”

The confidence Ash had was gone within an instinct with the realization of what he had settled in as he cursed loudly “Oh sh!t!! I had left him in Wonderland Plaza! One of those deadites could be there!!”

“Zombies” Japanese man reminded him as he looked at Ash.

“Whatever!”

“Easy there Amigo, this “Bill” character is a soldier if I am correct?”

“Yeah. So?”

“I am sure that he will be fine as old as you claimed he is. He’ll be alright, you’ll see,” he said with a smile but Ash didn’t smile with the same thought.

“You had no idea what this deadite was,” Ash stated as looked at everyone, “This one was like a shapeshifter but a one that can consume and assume someone’s identity after he killed them. He was another normie but his skin was very pale and looked like he had been sick for a while along with-”

“Stop right there, Ashley,” Takeo halts him with his hand raised a little bit to his neck and head level as he asked “Does he wore plain gray hoodie, a black leather jacket with a red interior, two horizontal white lines on each sleeve, and a red tribal design on the back?”

He was a bit taken from what this man said but did answer “Oh yeah.”

“You had encountered that Alex Mercer.” U!Takeo concluded as he placed the wood boards down on the floor and then picked up his samurai sword from its place laying on the wall as Ash protested “Wait a minute, you are going out there? To fight a shapeshifter? Buddy, you had no idea what he’s like.”

“I don’t and it is true but I knew from the feeling I sensed he is no good when we met him,” he explained as he straps the sheathed sword to his belt and turning heel and then going towards the door where Ash came in but Diego Shaw was right on his heels at the moment he is going to go through it.

“Uh, Takeo, are you sure that you want to fight a broke like Alex? If it’s true to what Ash said about him being a shapeshifter and able to consume-”

“I may die but a warrior spirit doesn’t, Shaw.” He turned to look at him, already annoyed at this point and would not hide if there’s a demon that is worse than zombies, this “deadite” that this man is calling him may actually be a threat after all.

Ash then got in front of Takeo and  spoke up “Hold on there pal, at least let me handle this guy so you can stay-” but Takeo walked past Ash and then continued on his way to where he said this last sentence “Here?!”

“Takeo!” Spy was the first one to go after the imperial captain as Ash gets out of the shotgun again and then goes after them. “Lock the door! Don’t open it until we come back!” Spy yelled as the door slowly closed on its own.

P!Richtofen got back on his feet as this had transpired, Dempsey, the Ultimis version if you, my dear reader had forgotten about that, had then asked “What the hell just happened?”

“I do not know but if Takeo is true about Mercer being a shapeshifter zhat consumes…” Richtofen began as he trailed off as he looked up at the ceiling with Dempsey looking at him as he said “Hey, my Tak’s had plant powers so he should be fine.

“I hope you’re right Dempzey.” Richtofen muttered as he looked down at the floor away from the ceiling, he was going to lose it by this point. But for now, they need to remain here until the solution to their problem is found eventually.

6:39

Ultimis Takeo has basically ignored the pleas of Spy and Ash as he made his way to Wonderland Plaza with the two of them behind him following the trail of blood he had made from the zombies he had slain as he walked towards the designated area of the mall, mostly acknowledge one fellow survivor’s saying thank you when he killed one of the undead when it was going for him with the intention of eating him too.

“Slow down there, uh.. Takeo?” Ash guessed as he got out the shotgun from its hoister and then blew up one zombie’s head off with it as it happened to be nearby. “His name is Takeo? Right?” he asked the RED Spy as he was walking right beside him while the Frenchman was reloading his revolver.

“Correct, he is right now ignoring us and we are following him to where Bill was last seen thanks to your negligence.” Spy answered as he finished loading a new round of bullets into the gun he is clenching on tightly, this is strangely new to him somehow as he had never been this intense before, not in the Gravel Wars or anywhere more than here before like in the past or future.

“Hey, I wanted a boomstick, I didn’t know that I-” Ash was then cut off by Takeo as he said “Silence, are we close to this Wonderland Plaza?” as he was heading out of the North Plaza now and entering a new one with Spy and Ash behind him.

“We are entering that Plaza right now, Tak-” Ash had answered but Takeo had stopped with his fist raised that made both the Frenchman and the Chainsaw-wielding man stopped in their tracks. Ultimis Takeo was silent for a moment as he looked around the plaza for any signs of anyone or zombies around the Wonderland Plaza.

Spy raised his gun a little, preparing for what was going to come as Ash unhooked his “boomstick” and then unloaded the shotgun shells and then loaded in new ones that are in a strange reloading type device into it and then hooked the gun back on.

“What is that?” Spy muttered as he watched this man put it away before he responded “Just something that will help me reload my boomstick so you can shut up.” as he aims to where Takeo is looking at.

He then moved slowly as he slowly moved forward with Spy and Ash behind him while they looked around and then within 5 seconds into the patrol, the Samurai whispered “Stay sharp for the demons but mostly, look out for Mercer if he is here.”

“Hai, roger that Takeo.” Spy nodded as Ash took note of the order but hardly paid attention to what Takeo had said to them as they slowly go forward until they heard a woman screaming at her lungs as she stumbled out of the nearby corner and running into several things before collapsing into U!Takeo’s arms as several zombies slowly came out of the corner as they stumbled into view of the three men.

They moaned at they marched forward from where they came from as they took a stand back as they are ready to fight the undead but-

WRA-BANG! WRA-BOW! WRA-BLANG!!

The undead had been hit by a bat so very hard it killed them, an old man was behind the horde and he seemed like a soldier but it was different from what Takeo believed to be an American uniform.

“Don’t stand around here, you three, they are everywhere in this mall.” the Old man had said to remind the group when he spoke, Ash then recognized the old man right away as he said “Bill!”

“Stay sharp, Ash!” Bill said as a zombie came in from behind but Ash already knew what he meant so he quickly turned around and pulled a trigger of his Boomstick.

Blood flew when the head had exploded into pieces, wet red and pinkish-white pieces of what was once its head and onto Ash’s face, printing it in crimson red. Ash wipes his face off of it as Bill was walking into view of the others.

What this old fighter is wearing is somewhat similar to his Dempsey, Takeo had taken note of the William “Bill” Overbeck character as Ash he told them about.

This aged man must’ve been caucasian and had blue eyes and white hair, the uniform he was confusing; it was different from the one clothing that Ultimis Dempsey had worn.

The warrior was trying to connect the dots as Bill had walked up to Ash and then said “I thought I told you to stay by each other, Ash.” as he glared at him as he put a bloody bat down onto the floor.

“I needed an upgrade, Bill.” Ash sheepishly excused under his breath as he placed his boomstick back to its hoister on his back as the veteran had stopped in his tracks, Bill didn’t seem to take the excuse seriously as he adjusts his slightly worn beret little. “Well, that word “Upgrade” is what made you left me here to fight off these slow mother humpers. When I say stay, you’ll-” “Are you with the special forces, Bill?” Spy calmly interrupted the veteran as Overbeck stopped and then turned to look at the Frenchman, an annoyed look on his face as he hadn't slept in a good number of days that had gone by.

“How did you know son?” Bill questioned as he walked over to the group, “From what I can tell, you are wearing the 1st special forces uniform from the 1950’s and from your age…” The Red Spy paused as he put away his weapon and then pulled his cigarette case to pull one out when the old man asked “May I have one?”

The mask hesitated before handing one to the soldier before giving one to Bill as then he got out a lighter and then lit his and then Bill’s, sharing a smoke.

The woman was crying in the U!Takeo’s arms, he had forgotten that he had the woman in his arms until now, he gently lets her go as she was a sobbing mess on the floor but her eyes weren’t matching the feeling she had, they are cold but familiar as he looked at her and he knew right away.

“Thank you…” the woman sobbed in hysterics as Takeo muttered, “You are welcome.”

“Are you-” Bill was going to ask the woman but it happened so fast, sword flying through the air and then blood flying and the woman’s corpse laying on the ground as Spy shouted “Takeo!”

“Takeo!? What in the hell is wrong with you!?” Ash yelled at the Samurai as he took two steps back from the corpse and he said “Rait and you rill see.” as he clenched onto his sword tightly and stared at the corpse for a moment.

Spy and Bill were confused but then they saw it; red, black, gray, and white mass had surrounded her and a familiar shape began to form around the body.

She turned out to be a ‘he’ as Alex Mercer had transformed back into his original form as the mass on his body had faded away after Takeo had attacked.

“That clever…” Bill muttered as he gritted his teeth and glaring at him, Ash looked at the man laying on the floor and asked “Is he dead?” but U!Takeo used his sword to block Ash when he was coming to check the body but still had his eyes trained on Mercer's body.

The wound the warrior had made had begun and finished healing on Alex’s chest. He didn’t move at first but then his eyes opened with a gasp. He then got up and then glared right at Takeo as he as found out by the attempt

“Good call…” Alex couched as he slowly got up from his feet, U!Takeo didn’t move but did reply “I didn’t make a call but I knew it was you, deep down…”

Alex Mercer had got back on his feet and then chuckled as he wiped the blood off of his lip from what Takeo had done to him, he wasn’t used to that attack, Alex had been fired at and bullets riddling through him before in his dimension and they all flooded out of his holes from where they had made their mark.

But this time, this is strangely different to him suddenly when he had felt that pain that had forgotten how that felt but this Japanese man had made him remember that pain.

“You do realize that you are going to pay for that, do you?” Alex grunted as the ‘biomass formed over his arms, both of them as he clenched his fist as he looked at the samurai with intention. “I do, Demon.” Takeo growled as he clenched on this sword tighter than ever as others had gotten ready as well.

“Neenie…” Broken had sensed this was going to happen but she didn’t expect a fight to happen sooner, she had to pick something out and fast. “Meenie,” she is scrolling through one after another screen for a perfect battle map for the confrontation between Masaki and Mercer, it was starting to get good but how can she be so careless to neglect the choice of a map for this fight. “Mimi…” until she found it, looks it’s time for a virus-like Mercer to learn that it’s time to play fair when he is face to face with a superhuman that controls and feels plants like Ultimis Takeo Masaki as what she found is a jungle, best for a map suited for a battle as she announced “Mo!”

She pressed onto the screen and a light flashed when she pressed it with a wicked grin.

Alex, U!Takeo and others didn’t realize that the mall had suddenly turned into a jungle but strangely only two of them are there, just Ultimis Takeo and Alec Mercer but Spy, Ash, and Bill are not there as they are standing in the large branches of the big jungle trees.

“Ash? William? Spy?!” Takeo shouted into the trees but he didn’t have the time to react when Alex ran up to him and then he and Takeo were sent flying and then falling from the above.

Alex threw five good punches but Takeo had fought back as he kicked him and then punched him a few times, hitting him as hard as he could muster but it wasn’t enough as Alex was getting the upper hand as he uses both his legs to push the Captain into the moist ground of the jungle so hard no man could survive the fall like that.

Mercer, on the other hand, landed gracefully on the ground with a thud, he then got up and then walked over to the supposed body of the warrior, his eyes were closed and the sword was planted into the ground beside him, signs of the impact was tremendous but the body was still intact in all honesty.

Mercer was looking at him for a little moment longer but he didn’t get up back on his feet, the virus, Alex Mercer, smirked at this and then spoke with ignorance “Hate to break to you but I hate losing too.” before turning to walk away from the body until he felt something… going through his back and out of his chest.

It’s a thorn-riddled vine, covered in his blood and he’s impaled by it, he was then lifted into the air with a vine before it begins to threw around wildly, smashing him in the trees, the ground and then coiling around him and then squeezed him so tightly he was exploded but he was spared when he was thrown too hard into the ground with a yell.

Alex couched as he was on the ground but then noticed the vines slithered over to Takeo and then one of them carefully coiled around his wrist and then lifted him upward with one vine, glowing green flower attached to it as U!Takeo was positioned upright but his head was down as the vines holding didn’t mind much as the green flower blossomed with a needle-like thorn within, revealing to Mercer in full view and then the flower quickly injected the thorn into the side of his neck.

Whatever green liquid that vine is putting into him has begun to heal him, the substance is glowing as it is visible through his bloodstream and the veins in his neck and face.

Ultimis Takeo wasn’t moving at first but then, with a gasp, he was relieved from the danger of dying. The vine that was holding Takeo had lowered him down to the ground and then had him on the ground on his fist, foot, and knee (I am trying to make this epic, believe me, I do.)

He was panting until he had his hand to feel a vine still in his neck and then he forced it to let go as it was painful when he did that; hurting both the plant physically and him mentally as he felt the vine in pain.

It was too painful but instead, he then focused on removing the vine from him and it did; the flower removed itself from his neck for U!Takeo to see. Seeing the needle-like thorn within the blossom of the flower and then he felt for the mark from what the thorn had made.

The warrior looked down with the thoughts he had never once thought; Mercer had tried to kill him!

He had never felt this mad before he looked at the Blacklight virus with eyes that Alex had realized that isn’t human; his eyes were normally golden brown but they are golden yellow and orange colored as he stands up back his feet while he had ordered the vines to get his sword, vine wiggled the samurai sword out of the ground and then returns it into his opened hand and he had clenched it tighter than ever.

Alex Mercer had fought mutilated corpses in New York when he had released the virus but this does take the cake! This man can control plants!

“Aw hell, this is going to be a pain…” Alex thought as vines rose from behind Takeo, ready to take any command.

Begin! Ultimis Takeo Masaki vs. Alex Mercer

Voice had announced out of nowhere as Alex looked around but the vine shoots out of nowhere and he was able to avoid it this time, he jumped onto the branch on the high point but Ultimis Takeo soon followed with the help of vine that threw him to the virus, with the force of the speeding bullet, U!Takeo had then sliced his arm off and then he landed wonderfully on his feet.

“You rill pay!” the samurai barked out as the vines hidden in his sleeves slithered from under them to reveal them that he had the smilax rotundifolia on both his arms, “Sh!t…” Alex muttered as the biomass started to cover his right arm and then created a sword made from meat and bone.

They both stood there on the branch that supported both of them under their feet, waiting for one of them to make the move, minutes felt like hours to them until…

U!Takeo dashed at him as Alex Mercer did the same with his feet beating the wooden ground with the arm-like blade shedding it a little while the thorns on his vines had grown sharper and ready to kill anything with just a touch.

With the sparks flying, blades of both steel and bone met at the force with both of them struggling to gain strength to overpower the other as U!Takeo had used the vines to support his body from being pushed over while Alex uses his own but inhumane version of it to shove the plantsman to the ground, 6-feet under even.

Eventually, Takeo uses his free arm with the thorned vine to smack the shapeshifter away from him, it was a brutal force from the vine and that sends Alex flying to the other tree that made a little crater in it, U!Takeo growls in pain as he feels it in his chest. “I need to be careful…” he muttered under his breath. “It hurts…”

Broken is enjoying the show from where she is as the Samurai and the Virus continued to battle it out.

[Collab between Icefir (Me) and TikTak ( @this-person-is-slowly-dying​ on Tumblr, give her thanks guys! ;) )]

Mercer was running on a large vine after jumping from the previous one, running as fast as he could to avoid the incoming vines coming from each direction, from each tree and from each plant that Takeo had control over.

He had used his body and the virus itself as the weapon; he is simply known as the Blacklight virus, able to absorb the organic matter of all living creatures and converting it into newer biomass that he can manipulate at will, being able to sustain and regenerate the injuries of a great number, able to create weapons with his physical form to attack his enemies and even generate armor for himself to endure the most extreme of most brutal blunt traumas but now here he is.

He is battling a person that is almost like him but he is like the Japanese version of Poison Ivy from Batman except that he is more unlike her. He was bitter and silent and more likely to kill anyone who did him wrong.

“Is that all you got!? I had fought a girl better than you!” he mocked him in the bark but that only angers the captain more; with a roar, vines are shooting from everywhere as Alex took noticed and tried to run to get out of the way but they were too many of them to avoid them and he was soon found himself being trapped inside the vines and soon felt the life being squeezed out of him with the force of a mutated bona constructor by the vines as U!Takeo’s morals were suddenly absent at this point.

All his heart had felt was rage, the red-hot rage within all he could do now is to kill this virus, squeeze and crush the life out of him for what he wronged him for as he-

“Takeo, this is not you. Please remember the code you learned.”

Ultimis Takeo had heard this unrememberable voice echoed throughout his head, it was frightening and strange that it reasoned to him and that made him think about what he was doing to Alexander Mercer.

He had his fist clenching tightly to control the vines to strangle the crap out of the virus but now he is reconsidering it; what if his family found out? Was he a demon or a man, was there any honor in this?

The more he thought about it, the more his tightness on Mercer had losen, and the more the vines began to untwine, the more freedom he felt. Eventually, Alex was released from the cruel crushing of the snake-like vines and allowed him to greedily breathe in air as much as his lungs as he could.

Pause!

Takeo Masaki was lost in his thoughts as he subconsciously remembered Alex at this moment as he got up and had turned his both arms into claws, sharp claws to chop a man apart but ten noticed that U!Takeo wasn’t ready to fight and felt like something was off. Alex knew why it felt; has reason and mercy gotten to him?

“What has gotten to you, flytrap?” Mercer mocked him again, Takeo looked at him but didn’t say anything except he did say a few words that made the Blacklight virus confused.

“Can’t you hear her?”

“What?” Alex muttered in the confusion of this man and what he said about “her?”, “Who are you talking about?” he continued as he let his guard down a little bit. “I heard her voice but it was unfamiliar, how could you not hear her?”

Alex looked around the wild for anyone, nothing, he turned to look back at the man before him and said: “There’s no one here but us!”

“Maybe it is a spirit…” Takeo muttered that made Mercer even more confused, meanwhile, Broken who had been watching the fight is now visibly upset that someone had stopped U!Takeo before he could kill Alex.

“It was getting good!” she cried out of a fit of anger, “It was just getting so good but Knight had to come and ruin it! She had ruined the best part!” she continued to shriek out loud at the top of her lungs before she covered her face in rage while one of the Hallow had crawled up to her and then rubbed its head on her shoulder.

Broken had remained idly like that for a moment until an idea popped into her, a wonderful idea, oh she has a beautiful deadly idea…

“I think we better spice things up a bit.” Broken announced with an insidious tone in her voice, as she got up on her feet and then turned to the rest of the Hallows who were looking at her for a moment.

“You!” she barked and pointed at one of the Hallows in the area, this Hallow she had called over seemed a bit scared at first but then one of its fellow Hallows just simply slapped it on the back of its head, making it go forward a little.

“Yeah you!” she confirmed as that Hallow walked forward to her and she said “Since I know that you are different than the Alpha Hallows as you are able to take the form of any All-Star after you ate the 100th soul so I am giving you this!~” as she opened her gloved hand and a heart-shaped ball of light, a soul, and then handed it to the strange Hallow with a hole in its chest and if you can see it closely; the one thing missing in it was the heart, only organs and two or three heart valves in the hole.

The Hallow, a False Clone, greedily grabs it and holds for a moment as Broken ordered “And as for the two in the jungle; you know what to do.” while had the Jack-O-lantern grin as she looked at the screen and grinned wider than just a grin.

The False Clone nodded as it ran towards and then jumped into a screen that overwatches the postponed battle between the samurai and the virus.

Back to them, a roar had echoed out in the jungle while they were arguing to each other, which made them look around the area around them, staying quiet and unmoving, hoping to see anything with legs as they now knew that they were not alone in this map.

“What the hell is that…?” Alex muttered as he balled up his claw into a rock-like fist and looked around the area. “I sensed evil here... “ U!Takeo answered as he raised his sword up in his one hand as he looked around before he finished with “Other than you, virus”

Alex let out an annoyed chuckle as he shook his head a little as he scoffed “Yeah, other than you.” as turned back to look at him with the fist raised but then heard a twig snapped just on the left of them. They turned to look at what it was and there it was, a False Clone, a vex type of a Hallow.

By looking at that, he growled “You!” as he stands ready to fight the False Clone with Alex Mercer now standing by his side as he asks “Friend of yours?”

“One of them is the reason why we are here.” Ultimis Takeo answered hurriedly, he was ready for any more tricks from this Hallow as Mercer got himself ready to fight this Hallow as well.

“That’s a creeper-looking ****er, isn’t it?”

“That’s a creeper-looking ****er, isn’t it?” the Hallow repeated what Alex said in… his own voice?! Both of them are in shock at this creature, did it mimic his voice?!

“The demon had mimicked your voice, Mercer?” U!Takeo had questioned the confused man- creature beside him when the False Clone had repeated after him but with his voice this time, “The demon had mimicked your voice, Mercer?” before it giggled and then reached over to it’s back and then pulled out a soul as it held it in its greasy paws.

“What’s that…?” Alex muttered but Ultimis Takeo in a hashed whisper “A soul…?” as it raised over its head with its tongue licking its jack-o-lantern lips before opening its mouth and then letting go of the soul and letting it fall into its mouth as it’s mouth snapped shut.

It slid down its throat and soon the soul appeared in the hole of its chest, they watched for a moment until it was lit on fire and soon it screeched in a howl as its first annettas was lit on fire, soon arms and then legs and then it was fully on fire.

Takeo and Alex had to shield their eyes from the sight of the fire, glowing and ember flying everywhere as the False Clone changes shape and form into something that is merely human; It was turned into a form of a human as this clone was wearing a traditional palette swap ninja attire with bone-like structures lacing his uniform, two swords bore on his and his kunai and katana sword attached to a rope tied to his belt. He wore a mask different from anything that the warrior had seen before.

The False Clone of Scorpion was on his knees as he clenched on the chains that appeared to be red hot as he slowly got up with his head down as they noticed that another kunai was attached to the metal chain wrapped around his hand.

His eyes were glowing yellow as he gripped tightly on the iron chains as his hand were lit on fire, he and Alex had known it the moment his fist was in flames as they both took a few steps back a bit as the False Scorpion advanced towards them.

“Do not panic.” U!Takeo whispered but not afraid as he held the sword in front of him, “I am not panicking Takeo…” Alex harshly forced to whisper a reply as he looked back at him.

“We may be able to take him together…” but then noticed that the creature wasn’t beside him, Alex Mercer had fled and left him there to fight this hellspawn! Ultimis Takeo cursed under his breath at this excuse for a human had run from the battle for him to face this Hallow!

The False Scorpion then got out and sent his kunai towards U!Takeo but he quickly jumped out of the way but he had accidentally jumped off the branch as he shouted “Damn it!” but he was saved by a moving vine that coiled around this waist.

The vine gently uncoils around Takeo and lets him stand on it as he looks at the False Clone with interest, “A Ninja…?” He said this to himself, “This demon took the form of this ninja?” as the False Scorpion took out his blade.

U!Takeo grips tightly on his sword as vines that were hidden in his sleeves revealed themselves as they slithered out of them as he shouted “Face me, Hellspawn!” as the vine lowered downward, ready to throw him into action as False Scorpion is doing the same and getting ready to pounce. “I will send you back to hell, one piece at a time!” he yelled as he was launched onto the tree branch and then the False Clone took charge at him.

They both ran towards each other and then both blades met in a headlock and they both were glaring at each other as U!Takeo gritted his teeth and used the vine to smack the False Clone away and crashed into the tree that made the samurai groan through his teeth in pain. The False Scorpion growled and said “You will pay for that, with your life!” before he got back up but he didn't want to or had no time to wait and see what he did next so he whipped his vine into a branch and then he jumped to get out of the way. As he swung onto the new branch and landed onto it, he turned to the previous tree branch he was standing on with the sword ready but there’s no False Clone on it.

Confused, he looked at the tree to see if he’s still right there but he’s not there either and he had suddenly felt something warm coming from behind him and he had to turn around to look too late.

“You-!!!?” he gasped as a kunai was pressed against his throat, as it turns out that False Scorpion had teleported behind him before getting a kunai out to use the moment of vulnerability against him as he had U!Takeo pinned to the tree where the branch they are stand on was.

U!Takeo had looked around for an escape route but noticed a vine under this man and was thinking of a plan but False Scorpion somehow knew that so he pressed the blade harder on Takeo’s neck, maybe enough to draw blood as he hissed “Do not think it.”

Alex Mercer in the meanwhile had been hiding in secret as he watched the fight progress through and he was silently interested that the False Clone was doing the work for him as the warrior was on the verge of defeat.

“Heh, the creepy bastard is doing me a favor.” He thought as he watched the tension rising from this, “I can’t blame him for that though…” as he began to remember one regret about something in his past.

He had remembered that a mutant, a Leader Hunter had kidnapped his sister, Diana, as he was trying to rescue her but he was stopped by the other hunters and had lost sight of them. He was helpless to save her at this point as he was shouting her name.

Alex had pressed his hand to his forehead as he said “And… then I would feel guilty for not saving him. I had to-” but a kunai was thrown towards him as Mercer had realized but he was able to dodge the attack from the False Scorpion as he shouted “sh!t!” and he used his claw to latched onto a tree that caused to both it and to U!Takeo as he coiled in pain.

False Scorpion had still had his blade against U!Takeo’s throat while he looks at where the virus was, “You really shouldn't talk so loudly.” as he slowly got his sword out from its sheath.

“Better than killing a plant pulling it by the roots,” Alex growled as he looked at the False Clone while he was holding onto the bark of the jungle tree. “But you, you are nothing but ashes!” he shouted to finish that sentence that only angered the Clone even more, and with one swift move, he stabbed the sword under him that caused further pain to Takeo with the length of it.

With one choke of breath through the suffering, he had half-remembered that he had tricks of his own and the vines he felt were writhing under his undershirt sleeve so in a swift choice he made and he used the vine swiped the False Scorpion with full force away from him.

The relief of the blade away from his neck was good enough to allow the Captain to breathe easily for now as he kneeled down to the vine that was under the False Clone and he wasn’t sure that he was doing but he quickly began to treated the stabbed vine right away as Alex jumped downward in front of the man before him as his arms were gone back to normal.

Mercer watched as the vine was restored to a healthy version, a scar of the sword blade stabbing through it was there as U!Takeo’s hands slowly drew back with vines and retreated back into his sleeves. The visible black vines on the right side of his face had slowly faded and disappeared as they returned to normal.

Ultimis Takeo Masaki had been looking at the healed vine before he looked up to Alex and asked one question from his mouth: “Why did you come back?”

Alex Mercer seemed to be unresponsive for a moment but he realized that this man had said something to him, he shrugged and replied “I didn’t, I was just standing by.”

Then, a fireball just came out of nowhere and it was launched towards U!Takeo, he looked at what was heading towards him; survival instincts had kicked in and he ducked at the last minute before that ball of fire could hit him.

He turned to find what it was and with no surprise, it’s False Scorpion whose hand was covered in smoke. U!Takeo’s eyes had changed again as he weakly stood back up from his stupor with his family sword still gripping tighter in his hand that he believed he was ripping through the skin and drawing blood from his palm.

He is not going to lose today, he is not going to as Alex Mercer had stood ready to fight the Hallow while vines are slithering towards the warrior, like snakes before rising upward behind him. False Scorpion said nothing but he jumped high as they both watched him go up and then descending back down and then performed a roundhouse kick to the virus that successfully knocked Alex out of here with a burst of fire coming from this as U!Takeo stood ready to continue fighting this demon.

[Traditionally drawn by Icefir]

U!Takeo growled as he launched vines towards this False Clone but the clone was cutting through the vines to get to him but the samurai gritted his teeth as he kept on throwing the vines at the Clone until one of them got him by the arm soon the torso and soon the False Scorpion was trapped in the twisting vines.

“Stop…” he growled as his eyes were once again orange and yellow but the False Scorpion said nothing as he continued to struggle to break free from the snake-like vines. U!Takeo watches on at this failed attempt, he almost feels ignorant at this substance of the False Clone as he said “I do not think you can get out-'' he felt it before he could finish the sentence. He felt the vines were on fire and the scorching hot aura coming from the very place where he had trapped the False Scorpion.

He turns to look at the False Scorpion in shock and see that he is clenching his fist to raise the greater flames, he hisses in pain as he tries to resist through the suffering to what the fire is doing but it was no use, False Scorpion had burned through the vines as he yelled: “Now die!”

The fire had made it worse; U!Takeo was grown weaker from the burned vines, both physical form using the vines that resulted in them going through the torment and mental for feeling them being burned alive from what the False Clone had done to them.

He was panting on the wooden ground where he was kneeling on with his hand to his chest, trying to soften the pain as False Scorpion walked over to the defeated man with his sword in his hand before stopping in front of him.

U!Takeo looked up at him as he still had his hand close to his chest and watched him raised his blade up high for the sun to shine on it, ready for the kill and U!Takeo had shut his eyes as he was ready to feel the blade but when it was being put down on him at full force, something had stopped him from doing the deed.

A woman with a blindfold had come out of nowhere and blocked the blade with her staff with U!Takeo looked at her in shock and was astonished at what he saw as he was losing consciousness.

"Do you also wish to die!?" False Scorpion said with bitterness toning his rage.

The blindfolded woman said nothing but did say this:

Finish Him.

The False clone was confused about what she meant until he felt something going through his back and out of his chest.

He looked down to see a blade sticking through his chest as Alex Mercer had come back on his feet and had gotten his blade power since he was biomass and had come from behind the False Scorpion. He looked at the blade in shock as Alex declared “Go back to hell and tell the Devil he’s next when I get there!” before twisting it to greater the pain that he caused as cracks are forming around him before he screams in agony and then explodes into pieces as souls that the False Clone had eaten were freed and flying away.

Alex Mercer watched as he stood where he was a while the souls were from 5 to ten to 50 and then a hundred of them flew everywhere and disappeared into the trees while most of them flew into the sky. His thoughts were derailed when he heard a thud from in front of him, he turned to see U!Takeo had passed out from the mental suffering of the pants he had used against the clone but the woman who had defended the warrior had disappeared, like suddenly as she appeared only to never be seen again within instinct.

“Where the **** did she go?” he thought as he walked over to his unconscious body but stopped when he noticed the same vine that healed him before as he was going to reach him to grab his shirt. He backed up when the vine approached Takeo’s neck again and then opened up to reveal the thorn in its blossom again and then stick it into his neck again and once more, his vines glowed green.

Ultimis Takeo’s HP restored. Alex looked at the text above him for a few moments until he noticed the surroundings around him and the man was changing before them as the vine repeated itself from his collar bone and disappeared from existence.

The light dimmed a little as his eyes adjusted to the settled and then looked around the area and slowly began recognizing where they were before, they were back in the Wonderland Plaza and much to his surprise; a very few zombies were coming in. Mercer stood there for a moment before his eyes trained onto U!Takeo again, doing what he was going to do earlier; he grabbed him by the collar and then held him while he prepared to assimilate his cells or… for a better word of this: consume him.

“Alright then,” he muttered, “where were we?” as he balled up his fist and raised it in the air but hesitated when he heard someone yelling from the distance, “Follow me!” a man yelled and heard footsteps heading their way. Alex growled on his breath, “Not like this when I was…” he looked at where they are before slamming U!Takeo back down onto the floor.

“I’ll be back for you later.” the last words he said to Ultimis Takeo before he ran off quickie as Frank West was bringing more survivors that had managed to protect themselves from the horde of zombies. He was getting the hang of killing the undead but he knew the story is more important than just killing zombies all day long and since he had gotten Brad’s and Jesse’s permission to cover this story incident to which he will call it a zombie outbreak in Willamette- no, maybe an undead incident- no… Guessing with just the Willamette incident as he already pictured himself on the news about it.

But it was interrupted by one of the people he saved who had said “Look, there’s another guy and he’s passed out!” as he looked at who they pointed at the unconscious Takeo Masaki on the ground. Frank had taken off running to his side as he got out a walkie talkie and hurriedly talked to Jessie right away “Jessie, I found another one but he’s knocked out.” he said as he placed his two fingers on his neck, checking his pulse as Jessie answered with concern in her voice “He is knocked out? Is he alright Frank?”

[This is drawn by SamPostStuff on Tumblr]

“He’s unconscious but he’s all right.” he answered when he felt a pulse from his neck, he’s breathing softly but not life-threatening much to anyone’s relief. He then talks to Jessie again, “Get him back here now! We have to help him!” as he or everyone had been aware that a vine is slowly slithered back into his sleeve.

[alexsprincessparty]

Oh Boy, What a Week

Disney is a lot like Survivor in the way that "just when you think you know what's going on, you have no idea what's going on." (Shoutout to Sebastian from Survivor: Ghost Island...) A company can campaign all it wants about inspiring young girls to Dream Big, Princess while its men (both in the company and within its fandom) get away with belittling women and girls of all ages. Just this week, it was announced that John Lasseter would step down from his role of Principal Creative Advisor, following allegations of sexual misconduct from numerous women he's worked with. Earlier in the week, newly-minted Star Wars star Kelly Marie Tran disappeared from Instagram following overwhelming harassment from angry male Star Wars fans. As this is a Disney blog that discusses gender-focused issues (especially surrounding females), I feel compelled to discuss these issues as a kind of break from Princess discussion, as Disney Princesses are just one facet of so-called Disney Feminism. What happens in our films is one thing, but we still need to focus on what is happening around us, behind the scenes and off the page.

Monsters, Inc, or, the Scary Stuff Behind Pixar's Closed Doors

Let's begin with Lasseter. John Lasseter is best known as one of the co-founders of Pixar Animation Studios, the studio that brought us Toy Story, Finding Nemo, and Cars. Up until recently, he was Chief Creative Officer at Walt Disney Animation Studios (Wreck-It Ralph, Frozen, Moana) as well as DisneyToon Studios (DuckTales, Planes), as well as Principal Creative Director of Walt Disney Imagineering. So, naturally, we all associate Lasseter with his achievements and creations (as well as his trademark Hawaiian shirts). In late 2017, just days before the theatrical release of Disney-Pixar's Coco, Lasseter came under fire for sexual misconduct towards several female employees. Numerous women came out in protest of Lasseter, claiming the 61-year-old Disney head had repeatedly tried to kiss other female employees on the mouth without their consent, give very lengthy and inappropriate hugs (particularly with the actresses of the Disney Fairies franchise), touch inappropriately (one employee stated he would rub her leg under the table at meetings), and make comments about employees' appearances. This led to an apologetic statement from Lasseter, who subsequently took a six-month sabbatical from Disney, after which he will take on a lesser role before leaving for good this December. As I said, Lasseter is renowned for his art and his leadership, as well as his innovative contributions to the animation medium. Rightfully so. 1995's Toy Story, directed by Lasseter, was the first-ever feature film to be animated completely in 3D animation. Pixar specialized in this medium, but Walt Disney Animation Studios would not give it a shot for itself until 2005's Chicken Little, just before Lasseter took over WDAS. Today, nearly every Disney animated feature since 2010's Tangled has been animated in CGI. Lasseter and Pixar blew the door wide open on CGI animation, which dominates the animation industry today, Disney or otherwise. Add that to the work he's done as a writer or producer on films as early as The Fox and The Hound, through the Disney Renaissance, numerous Studio Ghibli classics, all the way up to the upcoming sequels to Wreck-It Ralph, Frozen, and Toy Story--the film that put his company on the map. These are all great accomplishments, but are they really worth putting over the basic needs of security and safety for women in the workplace? Should we really excuse habitual predators and violators based solely on the fact that they're great artists, actors, athletes, musicians? Perhaps it's best left to an individual basis, as some people are better at separating art from artist. For example, I love Toy Story. It is indeed a revolutionary film, a well-written one, and incredibly memorable. In fact, I love a lot of the work Lasseter has done with Disney, and Disney-Pixar. That said, while I cannot put myself in the shoes of the women he affected, I won't simply forgive him because of how much I loved WALL-E. It doesn't work like that. So then, why are so many supporters of the #MeToo movement quick to initiate boycotts of someone's work after these allegations come out? Great question. It's as simple as cutting off a supply, so to speak. Since the allegations against Lasseter came out just before Coco's release, some had planned to boycott the film in protest of Lasseter (which I don't recommend, because 1. a loooooot of other people worked on that film, and 2. it's the only feature film Disney has produced around Mexican culture that also features Hispanic voice talent). What it says is, "if you hurt or violate other women, we will no longer support you." The accused no longer have that supply. It could be a financial supply, an emotional supply of "but you're still so great though!" or "it's okay because I'll still be up at the Oscars/Golden Globes/Annies this year anyway." That, again, is probably best left to an individual basis, that is, you do what you feel is right. 

For example, T.J. Miller very quickly lost favor with me after he came under fire for numerous actions (including violence, transphobia, and also calling in a fake bomb threat! A piece of work, this one), yet still, I saw Deadpool 2...mostly because Ryan Reynolds and Zazie Beetz. And Yukio. (Hi, Yukio.)

If Disney wants to continue to promise a safe workplace environment for women, then it has to commit to punishing violators within its doors, no matter how high on the food chain they are. Nobody should be "too big to fail." Misogyny: A Star Wars Story

You could argue that Star Wars has declined in quality since Disney's acquisition of Lucasfilm in the early-to-mid 2010s. Perhaps it got too...you know, Disney. Too soft? Maybe. Too predictable? Yeah, sure, I could see that. But the most common scapegoats for this tend to be not Disney, and not Lucasfilm. Not even J.J. Abrams, or Rian Johnson, or Ron Howard.

Nope. It's the women. Earlier in the week, actress Kelly Marie Tran suddenly disappeared from Instagram amid a flurry of hateful comments from angry Star Wars fans. Tran made her Star Wars debut in last year's polarizing eighth installment, Star Wars: The Last Jedi, as Resistance tech Rose Tico. Since the film's release, many have criticized and questioned the need for Rose, as well as Tran's talents as an actress, in addition to her appearance. I know. Surprise. Granted, a lot of post-Disney Star Wars has seen its fair share of criticism, and it's normal to criticize cinema, regardless of how much you like it. However, I have to point out a glaring pattern with some recent Star Wars gripes. A lot of issues, particularly with male Star Wars fans, are with its new streak of female protagonists. Rey. Jyn Erso. Rose Tico. Maz Kanata. Captain Phasma. Qi'ra. Vice Admiral Amilyn Holdo. These are just a portion of the cinematic female characters introduced by Lucasfilm since its acquisition by Disney, many of which have been panned by the saga's male fanbase not only as "useless" or "boring," but also "pandering to women because representation/SJWs/libtards/[insert buzzword here]!" While I think all those characters invite their own well-deserved criticisms. However, simply blaming the new films' failures on the fact that they have female protagonists? Sounds fake, but okay. "Rey is the hero? But Finn was holding the lightsaber in the trailer! WTF is this?" You didn't complain about Poe Dameron essentially being the new Han Solo. "Captain Phasma is a waste of space! She didn't do anything!" Boba Fett though? "Rose stole Finn's heroic moment, what a bitch!" BECAUSE WE'RE NOT FIGHTING THE THINGS WE HATE, WE'RE SAVING THINGS WE LOVE, KEVIN "Jyn Erso is such a flat character, why is it all about women now?" Because maybe, just maybe, it would be awesome for female fans of Star Wars to see other females in Star Wars. Sounds pretty novel if you ask me. This seems to be a long-running problem with Star Wars. In fact, Tran is not the only Star Wars lady bullied off Instagram by overzealous male fans. Only a few years ago, Rey herself, Daisy Ridley, suffered the same fate and still hasn't returned to the website (honestly? Probably for the best). You can't claim that just because Emilia Clarke, Gwendoline Christie, Lupita Nyong'o, and Laura Dern haven't buckled as well, that Tran and Ridley are "sissies" and not oppressed. Believe me, they are (Clarke and Christie probably deal with this crap as Game of Thrones stars as well so they're probably just used to it). "But we didn't harass Carrie Fisher!" You reduced Princess Leia to a metal bikini until Disney intervened and conveniently forgot about it when it came to merchandising.

Again, you can argue that Disney is ruining Star Wars. I might even agree. But it's not because they keep utilizing female protagonists. In fact, Disney's only Star Wars film with a male protagonist, Solo: A Star Wars Story, has been the least profitable of the Disney/Lucasfilm era. That's not to say the male protagonist was to blame, of course. Personally, I think the problem is Star Wars fatigue, that is, Disney oversaturating us with Star Wars to the point where we just can't take it anymore. But yeah, go ahead and blame the women, sure. Clearly it has been an interesting week for female Disney fans. Some good, some bad. But, hakuna matata, I guess. The world still sucks. But remember the Fairy Godmother's words: "Even miracles take a little time." (I don't remember if she actually said this, but there's a lot of cute Tumblr gifs of her saying it, so she must have said it, right?) I'll be swimming back this way soon for The Little Mermaid, so hang tight. I've just got some bigger fish to fry at the moment. Dream Big Princess!

[cbk1000]

The review I just posted on Goodreads (under a cut because it’s long and contains excerpts depicting child rape):

This review is a warning for any readers who are looking for a cute, lightweight historical romance with a happy ending; you won't find it here. You will, however, find pedophilia and a 'hero' who turns out to be a child rapist. While I wish that were a hyperbolic statement it is not; nor is it open to interpretation: the main character himself confesses to feeling a sexual attraction to the main heroine while she was still a child and he an adult. He also confesses to sexually assaulting her in her sleep. I'm going to quote these scenes exactly as they are, so if you do not have the stomach to read an in-depth description of the assault, this is your warning to turn back now. This is the most vile book I have ever read. The writing is terrible; you wouldn't use it for toilet paper after a bad bout of food poisoning; even your poorly-digested Mexican food deserves better than that. But it's a hilariously over-the-top sort of terrible until the very end, when anatomical oopsies and characters with all the maturity and cleverness of a 6-year-old (and not a precocious one) are exchanged for the author's disgusting romanticization of child rape. I try not to judge a fiction writer based on their material; the manifestations of our imaginations are not generally indicative of our morality. But to write, in all seriousness, a scene in which your main character assaults a sleeping child, and worse, to use this scene as a way to assuage the heroine's fears that the 'hero' doesn't really love her, to persuade her that, in fact, the 'hero' loved her all along, that he never even looked at another woman once she came into his life (at the age of 12), is, to vastly understate my feelings on the subject, profoundly disturbing. The author's bio states that 'Her stories feature heroes who fall so much in love that they go a little batty, acting the way women often wish their lovers would behave.' RAPING A CHILD IS NOT 'A LITTLE BIT BATTY'. DROWN YOURSELF. To provide some context for the following excerpts: Vlad and Mala are married under English law. Shortly afterward, Mala is kidnapped by an unknown horseman who later turns out to be her brother. Vlad sets out for their nearby encampment to confront her family, only to find that Mala has gone willingly because she has persuaded herself that Vlad never really loved her; otherwise, he'd have had them married according to Romani traditions. Even though he has literally married her and pronounced an excruciating number of times (in language laden with the plunder of a thousand violated thesauri), how eternally devoted he is to her incomparable ladybits, she decides he doesn't really love her because these people are all flaming stupid and the author needed to throw in a bit of cheap drama at the last moment. It turns out Vlad has a big secret (that we the readers are not made aware of until the very last second because not being a complete dumpster fire of a human who thinks it's wonderfully romantic to have the hero RAPE CHILDREN isn't enough: the author wouldn't know how to competently tell a story if it crawled, fully-plotted, out of her ass and fucking bit her), and Mala tells him she will not return with him unless he confesses this secret to her and explains why he ran away from her family years ago, so she can judge whether or not he will just throw her over again and vanish. So here we go. This is his confession, word for word: 'I swear to you that I’m no deviant. I’ve never had a sexual interest in children. Never. Well, never until you were twelve and I came to meet your Papa and attend his wedding to my mother. Mother introduced us and my heart stopped. I froze and don’t even recall if I spoke. Then you ran up to give me a hug in welcome and my most private part unfroze with a vengeance.” He paused for breath and to give her a chance to kick him and run away–but when she did neither, he continued. “I was horrified at myself, but helpless against the force of my response. Through the ceremony I positioned myself behind a small shrub of a convenient height and vowed not to so much as look at you. Course, I couldn’t look at anyone or anything else. When the women began dancing around the couple after the vows, I watched your budding breasts jiggle when you kicked and imagined myself…,” A noise in the background halted his words, and he jumped ahead. “That night, around the fire, Tobar gave an amazing, emotional speech, where he said that in marrying my mother, he acquired another son. My blood father hated me for existing as I was a living reminder of his unpardonable lapse of judgment in wedding a damned gypsy. Your father accepted me, Russian blood and all. I couldn’t repay his affection by lusting after my step-sister. I left that night and vowed to stay away until whatever demon that had possessed me was evicted.' He then apparently went on to drown himself in a bunch of orgies, but decides not to tell her that part because she doesn't need to hear it. He continues: '"I thought it possible that I’d exaggerated the event in my mind. I returned about two and a half months after we first met, vowing to treat you as a younger sister. I kept my vow until I spotted you as I rode in, strolling in an area secluded from the caravan by a stand of trees. You were flirting with a lad a couple of years older. He brushed your hair back and tilted up your chin for a kiss he never got. I leapt off my galloping stallion, stormed over and told the brash bastard that if he so much as looked at you again, I’d geld him. I was jealous as hell.” “You were?” Mala asked. “I thought you were acting like an enraged big brother.” “No,” Vlad said. “Hell, no. Despite my every vow and intention, my love, I have never, for a single second, felt like your brother. My obsession with you grew worse, and more obvious. Your father says he saw it and so did Nic, but neither of them had a clue how low I’d sink, how evil I’d become. I kept myself mostly under control that visit, save for a few brush ups with some of the other fellows who had dreams and intentions that I destroyed rather ruthlessly. It was my next visit when my demon overthrew my will. That’s when the true evil started.” “That’s nonsense,” Mala said. “No, it’s not,” Vlad said. “All I can say in my defense is that the first time was accidental. I was away from the tribe, fishing and trying to clear my head and cool my loins. I succeeded only in aggravating the fish. After I packed up my gear, I strolled in the woods for a bit. A splash and a giggle drew my attention, and I stalked to a stand of trees and dense brush and peered through. ‘Twas you, dressed only in sunlight and your golden skin. You were bathing. Your youth, my supposed honor and morality, all of it commanded me to leave and give you privacy. I didn’t. After that, every night, at every campsite, I did it again and again.” Mala blinked. “You watched me bathe? And the other girls as well?” “There were other girls?” Vlad asked. “There are no other girls, Mala. There are no other women.” He steeled himself and continued. “And yes, I watched you, but I did more. I pleasured myself as I watched. I invaded your privacy and desecrated it. I reviled myself for it then and every moment since then. I ordered myself to stop but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’d leave so I’d have to stop, but I could not stay away. Then came my worst transgression. One winter’s night, your father and brother left with the other men to scout and liberate some horses. They asked me to sleep inside the vardo with you. I tried to do the right thing and made myself a separate pallet, but you complained of the cold. It took pitifully little for me to join you in your cozy nest. You cuddled up to my back innocently, for warmth.” Vlad paused and closed his eyes, but she made a noise of protest so he looked at her again. “My flesh felt every sweet inch of you, and I ate it up like a starving man at a banquet. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke, our positions had reversed. You’d turned over and I spooned you. My arm lay around your waist, but I moved it up until your breasts rested upon it. I jiggled them, slightly, imitating the way I watched them move whenever you danced. You didn’t wake, and I recalled your father and brother’s jokes about how deeply you slept. So I cupped your breasts through your gown, teasing your nipples to pert fullness that I couldn’t see.” “Oh my Great Duck,” Mala said. “I thought I dreamed that. You turned me over, and climbed atop me, didn’t you?” “To my everlasting damnation, I did,” Vlad said. “I hiked up your gown and positioned myself against your feminine mound. I moved your gown off your shoulders to uncover your breasts. I sucked you and humped you like an animal until I found the most shameful, the most splendid release of my life. I was beyond disgusted with myself, so I got up, cleaned up, and went outside to build a fire or kindle it or something.”' He goes on to say that he afterwards fled and “signed on to crew a ship leaving for America. I needed an ocean’s distance to keep me away else i’d return and likely do something even worse.” Keep in mind, this confession is made in front of her father and brother. So they stabbed him a bunch of times, right? Or at least kicked him in the nuts. No. Oh, well, what can you do; some families are extraordinarily shitty. SHE at least stabbed him a bunch of times and then sailed off alone into the sunset with her rapist bleeding to his slow and miserable death, right? That was the happy ending the author promised? No. 'Mala watched shame and love battle in Vlad’s eyes and recognized it as the expression she’d seen there for years. She hadn’t understood it then, but she understood it and him now. ‘Twas with effort that she managed not to dance as she said, “Ask me again.”' SHE'S SO HAPPY SHE CAN BARELY HOLD STILL. He then asks her to marry him once more, her dad and brother are like, “Yay! Let’s get this gypsy wedding on the road”, they have a Romani ceremony, and then the book ends with this scene: 'Vlad drew her close for a kiss, but paused to ask, “Do you finally understand that I’ve loved you since the moment we met, that I’ve never willingly spent a second apart from you, and that I will hold you in my arms, my heart and my life until eternity ends?” Mala was crying too hard to answer, so she nodded as he took her lips with tender intent, feeding her back happy tears, flavored with a taste of forever.' In conclusion: I wish I could Chinese water torture this book. I hope hell is a place where books like this go to burn for all eternity.

[laconservancy]

Los tallos amargos at Last Remaining Seats

Los tallos amargos (1956). Image courtesy the Film Noir Foundation.

Guest blog post by Maria Elena de las Carreras of the Latin American Cinemateca of Los Angeles .

Los tallos amargos was hiding in plain sight in a private collector’s home in Buenos Aires, when Fernando Martín Peña, an Argentine film historian and curator at MALBA – Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires – arranged with Eddie Muller of the Film Noir Foundation to have it restored. With the foundation providing the funds and the UCLA Film & Television Archive doing the lab work, the film got an unexpected new life in 2016, when, among other U.S. screenings, it became part of a six-film series at the Museum of Modern Art: “Death Is My Dance Partner: Film Noir in Postwar Argentina”. It should be noted, too, that the Hollywood Foreign Press Association also contributed to its restoration. 

Los tallos amargos is a knockout film, and the Latin American Cinemateca of Los Angeles is proud to show it as part of the Last Remaining Seats program of the Los Angeles Conservancy.

In 1954, journalist Adolfo Jasca submitted his novel “Los tallos amargos” [The Bitter Stems] to the prestigious literary contest of the publishing house Emecé, which gave it the first prize and recommended its publication. The novel captured the atmosphere of the newspaper world in the Buenos Aires of the 1950s as the background for a story involving a reporter, Alfredo Gasper; a Lithuanian refugee, Paar Liudas; and the journalism school by mail they concoct that leads to a seemingly perfect crime. The novel unfolded as a porteño update of Crime and Punishment. The essentials of the story were transferred to the film version of the same title, two years later, even though Liudas became a Hungarian exile. The film was a box-office success and earned top prizes from the Argentine critics association, for best film and best direction, in 1957.

Made as an independent production, and released through Artistas Argentinos Asociados, it was the second picture directed by Fernando Ayala (1920-1997), a filmmaker whose long career began at the end of the classic studio system and became emblematic of the new Argentine auteur cinema in the 1960s. With Héctor Olivera, Ayala founded Aries Cinematográfica, a production and distribution company relevant until the late 1990s, which combined commercial fare with titles that provided an astute critique of social and political issues, grounded in real-life situations recognizable by Argentine audiences. Always engaging, Ayala’s filmography is a road map to understanding modern Argentina’s permanent state of turmoil, with its cycles of boom and bust, and its impact on the middle class. Among his most renowned titles are: El jefe (1958), Paula cautiva (1963), La fiaca (1969), La guita (1970), Plata dulce (1982) and El arreglo (1983).

Los tallos amargos belongs to the visual style we now call noir – a term coined by French critics to describe the style and the content of American crime films made in the forties and fifties. Interestingly, U.S. and European filmmakers like John Huston, Robert Siodmak, Fritz Lang, Max Ophuls, Otto Preminger, Billy Wilder, and Orson Welles, among others, working in the Hollywood system, did not describe their work using this term. Films like The Maltese Falcon, Phantom Lady, The Woman in the Window, Caught, Laura, Double Indemnity and The Lady from Shanghai reflected a sensibility, a mood, a visual flair, that showcased psychological narratives where the action “however violent or fast-paced was less significant than faces, gestures, and words than the truth of the characters”, as New Yorker critic Richard Brody noted when reviewing two noir retrospectives in 2014.

Even if it is problematic to think of noir as a well-defined genre – like westerns, comedies or musicals – since it is primarily a visual style, determined by particular circumstances and heavily rooted in German Expressionism and a pessimistic worldview, the term has gained purchase, albeit as a “peculiar genre”, in Brody’s words. It has become a standard shortcut to group crime titles, in a large or narrow sense, where character studies are the focus of the films. In the case of Mexican cinema, Luis Buñuel’s Él (1953) and Ensayo de un crimen (1955) fit the description. When proposing an evaluation of Latin American crime cinema, MOMA entitled its two landmark retrospectives in 2015 and 2016, “Mexico at Midnight: Film Noir from Mexican Cinema’s Golden Age” and “Death is My Dance Partner: Film Noir in Postwar Argentina.”

Los tallos amargos (1956). Image courtesy the Film Noir Foundation.

If Buñuel did not think of his psychological studies of perverted masculinities in terms of a homegrown form of noir, neither did a young Fernando Ayala when he transferred the postwar paranoia of the literary original to Buenos Aires locations and studio sets rendered in the noir palette. He was an avid moviegoer well versed in genre conventions, and European and American styles; and he had finished his first film, Ayer fue primavera (1955), a romantic drama reconstructed from flashbacks.

Los tallos amargos showcases the increasing paranoia of the protagonist Alfredo Gasper (starring Carlos Cores, 1923-2000, a major star since the 1940s), the Argentine-born son of a German WWI military, with a tormented personality, while portraying Liudas, the Hungarian refugee (Vassili Lambrinos, 1926-2017, a dancer and choreographer) in ambiguous terms, thanks to the clever use of interlocking flashbacks. He is seen as refracted by the protagonist, and later as remembered by his son Jarvis (Pablo Moret).

In staging the story as an atmospheric crime film, or “policial”, Ayala was ably supported by cinematographer Ricardo Younis (1918-2011), who also had a long and distinguished career in the Argentine film industry. The reviews of this restored version of Los tallos amargos note that in a 2000 survey the American Cinematographer lists the picture as one the Best Shot Films between 1950 and 1997. (Beware of the substandard copies of the film found on YouTube!).

The dream sequence at the beginning of the film is an excellent instance of cinematography and mise-en-scène rendering the protagonist’s fragile ego; it is a visual forecast of Gasper’s unraveling, which unfolds like clockwork as a result of a fateful decision. The budding romance of Gasper’s sister Esther (Gilda Lousek, then an up-and-coming actress who went on to have a long career in film and television) and Liuda’s son Jarvis serves as a counterpoint: it restores the moral order at the end of the film, not without irony. The seeds that have germinated bring new life, but they carry the weight of the past.

Rooted in a time and place, Los tallos amargos is a gripping film in the noir style. To better grasp what it brought to Argentine cinema in the 1950s, I would love to suggest an analogy with the stunning Argentine neo-noir, Relatos salvajes (2014), directed by Daniel Szifrón, sixty years ago. Its style and subject matter embody the zeitgeist of today.

See Los tallos amargos at the historic Million Dollar Theatre on Saturday, June 2!

List of sources

Brody, Richard, “Film Noir: The Elusive Genre”. The New Yorker, July 23, 2014. https://www.artforum.com/film/id=58064

“Death Is My Dance Partner: Film Noir in Postwar Argentina”. Program Notes, Museum of Modern Art, February 10-16, 2016. https://www.moma.org/calendar/film/1616

Green Quintana, Roberto, “El vampire negro/Los tallos amargos”. Program Notes, “Recuerdos de un cine en español: Latin American Cinema in Los Angeles, 1930-1960”. UCLA Film and Television Archive series, Fall 2017. https://www.cinema.ucla.edu/events/2017/10/28/vampiro-negro-tallos-amargos

Krieger, Clara and Alejandra Portela, Eds, Cine Latinoamericano I: Diccionario de realizadores. Buenos Aires, Ediciones del Jilguero, 1997.

Lerman, Gabriel, “La HFPA ayuda a restaurar una obra maestra del cine latinoamericano”. Hollywood Foreign Press Association, February 10, 2016. https://www.goldenglobes.com/articles/la-hfpa-ayuda-restaurar-una-obra-maestra-del-cine-latinoamericano

Manrupe, Raúl, and María Alejandra Portela, Un diccionario de filmes argentinos. Buenos Aires, Corregidor, 1995.

Nick Pinkerton, “Dead Can Dance”. Artforum, February 10, 2016. https://www.artforum.com/film/id=58064

[digitalwhatever]

The paranoid style is back, and better than ever

I know I’ve said this ad nauseam in these pages, but oh man are we in trouble as a nation. We find ourselves today in such an extremely ugly place, in the post-Obama era—an era riddled with hysteria, paranoia, division, hatred, extremism disguised as normal discourse. In fact, thanks to Fox news and the public institutions of hysteria (Rush Limbaugh, et al) much of what once might have been considered radical, violent, extreme or just plain socially unacceptable views or behavior is now normalized across the airwaves on a daily basis. It’s mainstream!

This trend has been exasperated by the anonymity and free expression (or rather “free of consequence” expression) allowed by the internet that leads us deeper off the cliff. Thus, here we are now, in the throws of the golden age of paranoia—a deeply shameful and disgusting time in America. Hallelujah!

So I figured this is the perfect time to go back and reread the original article “The Paranoid Style” by Richard Hofstadter (from Harper’s Magazine, 1964) which put into writing, clearly and thoughtfully for the thinking world to see a phenomenon that’s plagued the human race for centuries.

Hofstadter writes about popular movements in American history fed by conspiracy theories, and politicians who used those conspiracies to manipulate and stimulate voters’ passions. The anti-freemason movement of the late eighteenth century; the anti-catholic movement of the mid-nineteenth; the ani-shadow banker movement of the early 20th century; and of course, everyone’s favorite anti-communist frenzy of the McCarthy era. He ends on, what was then, the current rage in Paranoid Politics: the Barry Goldwater campaign, in which many of the pillars of modern conservative conspiracies were born and cemented.

But one thing I can’t help in reading about all these great moments in paranoid politics, is how quaint they are. How simple and relatively innocuous.

Hofstadter writes that one of the noteworthy developments to occur in the “modern” Goldwater era was the infusion of mass media to help fuel whatever strange and depraved messages were being brokered. Oh, but how gentle and dated the Goldwater days seem now, in comparison to today’s white hot mess. If Goldwater only had access to forces like Fox news and the internet, there’s no telling how far he could have gone. But he didn’t.

Rereading about the basic tenants of the paranoid mind and the exploitation thereof, it puts much clarity on what is happening to us now in this moment, and on how it is happening. The fears, the types of conspiracies, the invented enemies that politicians and media personalities use to manipulate voters, they come from well worn places in the human (or at least, the American white male) psyche. Capitalism is being undermined! Infiltrators from “outside” have worked their way to the highest levels of government. Backed by, and in cahoots with international radicals and powerful shadowy figureheads, they are plotting the destruction of the United States.

By the way, here’s an exercise for you: watch Fox news tonight and count how many times the say the word “socialist” in the course of a between-commercials segment. Also, how many times they pair the word “socialist” with “democrat” or “democrat party.” This is a way to get very drunk, very fast.

Even more disturbing and appalling then the actual practice is the skill with which the perpetrators of today’s paranoid politics inflict their craft. Whether it’s Trump, Sean Hannity, Laura Ingraham, or some Russian troll farm, these people know what the fuck they’re doing.

Look at the Russian trolls of 2016, for instance. They knew the exact type of conspiracy theory to publish, the exact kinds of stories that would gain traction and be share (amplified) by their intended audience: Hillary Clinton’s missing emails. Proof she was corrupted by foreign governments—a corrupt insider who’s infiltrated the highest levels of US government! Classic stuff, right out of the pages of Hofstadter.

Our current president, despite his massive faults, nastiness and moral deprivations, is an extremely gifted Paranoid politician. He has taken the art to new heights. In fact, in most instances, it’s all he’s got.

His particular gift is language. He finds perfect little packets of words to neatly summarize, encapsulate and motivate the conspiratorial spirit:

“The system is rigged”

“Fake news”

“Witch hunt”

“Giant hoax”

He repeats these over, and over, and over.

Let us not forget as well, that this guy’s entré into the world of national politics was through the “birther” movement, which itself was something of a high paranoid achievement. The president (Obama) was actually born outside the United States and is therefore not legitimate. He’s a foreigner, hell-bent on destroying democracy, capitalism and the constitution! The fact that Obama was African American worked doubly well on the paranoid mind: the theory fit so perfectly into those warped pre-conceived paranoid notions that blackness is otherness, and that those with dark skin represent a threat to the natural order of America. It was a paranoid home run, giving rise to a whole new era of mind bogglingly delusional right-wing ranting.

Cutting his teeth on this vast and rich material, the current office holder of the presidency continues to use the dark sentiments of “birtherism” to his advantage. Another of his overused verbal bludgeons is to blame all negative things happening in our country on Obama. And weirdly, to justify any untoward practices he uses himself in office by claiming, mostly wrongly that “Obama did it!” There is no logic or reality to this, but to the paranoid mind, it all makes perfect sense.

Sadly, it’s this same deep paranoid fear of dark skin that gives fuel to one of the greatest national disgraces of our era: our current immigration policy and this ridiculous turmoil about “the Wall.” None of this nonsense would be possible if not for a broader fear of dark skin “infiltration” which has been building with the paranoid crowd over the last 10 years or so.

In fact, when you look at just about any of today’s most important political battles today, it seems that the obstacles to progress and sensible policy are built out of paranoid building blocks. Whether it’s immigration policies, stopping the epidemic of gun violence, curbing widespread sexual harassment, ensuring fair and equal voting practices, or just about any issue on the table, you encounter some very emotionally powerful appeals to the great, white, irrational mind.

For instance:

Immigration:

Dark skinned rapists are crossing the border, stealing our jobs!

Gun Violence:

Democrats and liberals want to take away our guns!

Institutionalized Sexual Harassment:

White men in this country are under attack. Liberals want to destroy our careers!

Voting Rights:

Black people, Mexicans and democrats are voting illegally! They’re stealing our elections!

Environmental Policy

Global warming is a Chinese hoax! Regulations are killing our jobs!

Healthcare:

They’re trying to import European-style socialism and destroy capitalism!

Religion:

Christians and christianity are under attack from atheists and democrats who want to dismantle your religious liberty.

Fair taxation:

Socialism!

The fact that these conspiratorial roadblocks have been in use for such a long time and have been set in high-repeat mode puts us in a very tricky situation.

These paranoid sentiments are no longer loony-bin, fringe and weirdo rantings. They have become a standard, acceptable form of mainstream political discourse. People are using them ad nauseam to distort and short-circuit any type of rational political debate.

The birth of a new Rational Movement in politics

Rereading Hofstadter's original article, and working through some of my thoughts have helped tremendously to give me a sense of clarity towards our current political predicament.  It’s also helped to clarify some thoughts about a possible way out of this mess.

Here’s what I hope to see: some politician, or several politicians really, thought leaders, public voices, personalities, spokespeople from all walks of life and political persuasions, rising up from the current crop to begin a massive, persistent de-bunking and re-framing campaign.

They will need formidable language skills, guts, conviction, and god-like perseverance. The end goal: re-frame the debate. Shed light on the bizarre and out-of-whack nature of our current politics. Make it crystal clear what’s happening.

They cannot be the wonky, policy-minded politicians of today’s left, or the quirky, quick-witted personalities of MSNBC or late night TV. They cannot be merely smart people with good ideas. They need to convey the weight of truth and urgency in their words. They need to clarify in a concise, colloquial way. They need to lay it all on the table.

We are fighting against deep paranoid fears and the people who exploit such fear.

This is not a debate between left and right or liberalism versus conservatism. It’s a debate between sanity and insanity. Between rational thought, and bizarre ranting. It's a debate between very real ideas and irrational fear.

The Fox news crowd needs to be called out again and again, not as the “right” or the “right wing, but as the “paranoid right.” The two words can never be uncoupled.

Most importantly, politicians cannot pretend to debate against opponents who eschew this garbage. Call off the debates. Don’t yell at each other across the podium or from different boxes of the TV screen. Do not argue with insanity—it only serves to elevate it and make it seem like it’s a real, valid point-of-view.

At this point in time, I believe there is still a soft middle in the American electorate—people who have not yet been radicalized, polarized, marginalized, cannibalized or disenfranchised. People  who are still open to political discourse and are still capable of making decisions based on thought and information. These are the people who need to be reached and influenced. These are the people that can save our collective hides.

Of course, a few other things need to happen. For instance, Fox news needs to be put off the air once and for all. And the internet needs to be unplugged. But those are discussions for another day.

[alexandrummer]

Ode to Oakland

*This will kind of be a different piece compared to most of my other posts on here... but for some reason I felt compelled to write about Oakland today.*

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with Oakland. Growing up as a San Diego Chargers fan, Oakland was always our city rival. So I was sort of indoctrinated from an early age that Oakland is everything opposite of San Diego. If San Diego was clean, calm, and laid-back, then Oakland was indecent, rowdy, and unkempt--certainly not a place where a true native San Diegan like me would ever live in, let alone be happy in. That is, until I went to college in Berkeley.

To this day, apart from the sovereign will of God, I don’t know why my 18-year old self didn’t choose UCLA, where the red brick was always pristine and aesthetically similar to San Diego. Instead, I chose Berkeley, a city whose streets were laden with litter and ubiquitously reeked of weed. If you don’t know, Berkeley and Oakland are seamlessly connected, so by virtue of proximity, they not only share a lot of the same streets, but they also share a lot of the same history, culture, and tradition. So while I never lived in an Oakland zip code per se, Berkeley was essentially an extension of Oakland--the very place I never thought I’d be happy in.

And for the first few years of college, this stood true. I often dreamt of those glorious La Jolla shores, world-class Mexican food, and the familiarity of family and friends. Every time I tripped on the poorly-kept sidewalks of Durant Ave or feared for my life walking home after late classes, my love for SD and disdain for Oakland would only grow more polarized.

There came a point, however, when Oakland stopped being just a mere physical location that didn’t require my emotional attachment. Lifelong friends were made here. Memories were made here--joyful and sorrowful ones. Through shadowing, I learned the incredible stories of Oakland families, and through church, I spent quality time with and served these people. Whether I liked it or not, a piece of Oakland had found its way into the fabric of my life. Think about it--four out of 22 years of life (at the time) were spent here. How could I not be attached to this city?

Fast forward to 2019, and I’ve lived in Chicago now for almost 8 months. Right now, I’m in the brunt of a brutal midwestern winter. So it’s no surprise that my mind subconsciously copes by reminiscing of better, warmer days in California. What is surprising, though, is that the mental pictures that occupy my mind are not of the sunny, powder-sand beaches of San Diego. I find myself dreaming about Oakland. The colorful murals, the cracked sidewalks, and Telegraph Ave. Driving down the 880 to Oakland Chinatown, where I’m pretty sure 1 out of 4 cars get broken into every night. Sitting in my parked car outside of San Pablo Park when the rain is coming down hard outside. The pink-blue-golden sunset backdrop against the Bay Bridge vista. All of it. How ironic is it that the city I resented to move into became the city I was so reluctant to leave behind? 

Not sure why I was compelled to write about this today. But I think the main takeaway is this--in times of transition, it’s very easy to experiencing feelings of being trapped, resentment, or impatience. But I think one thing the LORD is teaching me in Chicago is to remember what I learned in Oakland--that wherever I am at any point in life, be fully present. Love the city and love the people in Christ’s name. I’m not merely passing through this city on my way to the next destination. This is the LORD’s gift to me here and now to steward well for His glory.

Suffice it to say, I miss the Bay. And I can’t wait to come in April to meet my new niece.

[pnwdoodlesreads]

The reports began filtering in on election night.

At the Southern California offices of the Counsel of American-Islamic Relations, CAIR’s civil rights monitors received their first call within hours of Donald Trump’s victory. A Muslim woman wearing the traditional hijab headscarf reported being refused service at a gas station by an attendant who allegedly announced, “I don’t need to serve you anymore. We’re trying to make America great again.”

And a widely shared Facebook post from friends of a Calgary film producer showed a graphic photo of the man, who was bloodied outside a Santa Monica bar, allegedly for being gay, immediately after watching election returns with a date as raucous patrons shouted to the pair, “We have a new president, faggot!”

The new president’s rhetoric has been implicated in a flurry of incidents throughout the state, dating back to June of 2015, when he first announced his White House bid amid a blare of anti-Mexican and anti-Muslim vitriol, a tone maintained throughout a campaign that, according to CAIR, effectively mainstreamed Islamophobia in the United States.

Balmeet Singh is neither a Muslim nor an immigrant, but a member of Bakersfield’s large Sikh community and sports the full beard and distinctive turban that is mandatory dress for religiously observant Sikh men. He was born in Ohio to South Asian parents and moved with his family to Kern County as a child. During the final stretch of the election campaign, the 31-year-old Bakersfield realtor got a first-hand taste of the fear and public humiliation that an increasing number of Californians are experiencing in the age of Trump.

On the evening of Sept. 30, 2016, Singh was having dinner at a Habit Burger restaurant in a West Park commercial strip mall when he stepped out to a patio dining area to take a phone call from his cousin.

“He turned 14 that day,” Singh recalled in a phone call to Capital & Main. “And so here I am, wishing him a happy birthday, having a long conversation with him, when out of the corner of my eye [I saw] a Caucasian man approach and he started yelling at me, telling me that I was a terrorist, that I was going to blow up the country.”

Confused, Singh said he stared uncomprehendingly as the bearded and tattooed man repeated the words, adding, “I should fucking kill you right now.” Instead, said Singh, the man threw his drink at him, soaking Singh’s turban and clothes as nearby diners watched.

“I felt the adrenaline rush, the fight or flight,” Singh remembered. “I actually told him that I would call the police, and I stepped towards him . . . and had actually dialed 911, and I think that’s why he walked away.”

Fortunately, the cup contained nothing more lethal than a cold beverage, and Singh was able to give the police a description of the assailant along with his vehicle make and license plate number. But it was little consolation, given the shock of what had just happened. Most painful, he said, is the memory of what didn’t happen.

“They just sat there,” Singh said incredulously of the other diners. “I don’t know if this was the bystander effect or what, but none of them said or did anything. . . . That was painful because my cousins were inside the Habit Burger, so I had to walk inside afterwards past all of these people who had just seen what happened. They are talking and laughing and having a good time, and here I am, dripping this liquid and in shock.”

A December report by the Southern Poverty Law Center had California leading the nation in post-election hate incidents, tallying 125 for the state in the month following Nov. 8. The center also recorded a dramatic surge in the number of U.S. anti-Muslim hate groups, which nearly tripled in 2016 over its tally for 2015 — a year that itself saw a 67 percent jump in hate crimes against Muslims across the country.

A CAIR spokesperson told Capital & Main that November and December alone saw reports coming into its office of anti-Muslim incidents in Los Angeles and Orange County roughly triple that of pre-election monthly averages.

Some of those 2016 California incidents include:

A fire that was set to the Islamic Society of the Coachella Valley in December of 2015, for which a Palm Desert man is serving a six-year sentence for perpetrating a hate crime. The incident may have been prompted in response to the mass shooting in San Bernardino that had occurred earlier that month, which was denounced by Donald Trump.

The November murder of Will Sims, a young African-American jazz musician from Oakland, who was shot to death by three white men outside a pool hall in El Sobrante, Contra Costa County, just days after the election, in what police concluded was a hate-related killing.

November letters sent to multiple California mosques threatening genocide against Muslims — while praising Donald Trump.

In December, after a Muslim worshiper was stabbed in a parking lot adjacent to a Simi Valley mosque following Saturday prayers, two Simi Valley men were arrested on suspicion of making criminal threats and committing a hate crime.

More recently, a 30-year-old Davis woman was charged in the January hate-crime vandalism of a mosque in which security cameras captured her smashing windows, vandalizing bicycles and draping bacon — a proscribed food in Islam — on an exterior door handle.

The true numbers are likely higher. According to CAIR, because of the climate of fear surrounding the administration’s ramped up deportations and Trump’s executive order barring refugees and entry by citizens from seven Muslim-majority countries, those most vulnerable to hate violence also tend to be reticent when it comes to reporting incidents to police or speaking to the media.

The man who targeted Balmeet Singh turned out to be 40-year-old David Hook of Bakersfield, who later claimed that he had heard Singh “say something about a bomb” during the cell call and confronted him about it. Hook insisted he had a constitutional right to take direct action against Singh, believing that “If you see something, say something.” The Kern County District Attorney’s office, however, was unconvinced and charged Hook with two hate crime misdemeanors, including one count of interference with the exercise of a civil right and one count of battery. (Attempts to reach Hook for comment were unsuccessful.)

For his part, Singh, who formerly taught special education, thought there was a learning opportunity to be had. Since 9/11, he noted, the country’s Sikh community has increasingly found itself at risk in similarly mistaken and sometimes far more tragic hate attacks. And so Singh arranged with the DA’s office for a 15-minute face-to-face with his attacker, believing that the dialogue and perspective could result in something positive. But Hook was not open to persuasion.

“There was no remorse,” Singh admitted. “He basically told me that he didn’t want to see me again and that he was a military veteran. He said, ‘I have served the country, what have you done?’ He was just yelling this stuff over and over.”

On the positive side, Singh was inundated with hopeful messages on social media, and Bakersfield residents stepped forward with an outpouring of support, including an anonymous delivery of flowers to his realty office with a card that read, “Just remember: Bakersfield is better than this. We’re not all like that.”

Still, the experience has been sobering. Recalling his father, who came to the United States in the 1980s with $200 in his pocket, a medical degree and a desire to have a better life than the one he left behind in India, Singh reflected on the rising levels of fear, mistrust and misunderstanding that he fears have tarnished the American dream.

“Maybe I am a little naive in thinking that every story has a happy ending or thinking that people will change,” he said. “I see what’s happening here and [my father] talks about how America is different from the America that he remembers in the ’80s when he came. It seems that this hatred was maybe not as open — at least on a public level — by politicians and by leaders. It does affect everyone. I was speaking to a schoolteacher here, who said that in his school, kids were walking down the hallway chanting, ‘Build the wall, build the wall!’ These are the values that we are now instilling on our children.”

[byebyelemonpie]

Award Season Watchlist: post-Golden Globes / pre-Oscars

Hello, everyone! I had prepared this watchlist for Award season: you can also find it on IMDb, if you want.

So far I’ve watched eight of these movies, while I’m not sure I want to watch some others. I cannot wait to hear the Oscars nominations: some of these movies surely deserve a lot of awards. And most of them are already nominated for a BAFTA!

Personally, I liked very much all the movies I’ve seen, except for Downsizing, which I found quite boring and without any plot. The original idea for the story, of decreasing people’s sizes to just few inches, could have been developped better in another environment, or in another genre altogether.

I have very much enjoyed The Shape of Water, although the story might seem a little weird and, I’ll admit, I was a little skeptical in some scenes myself, but it was a delicious tale, told brilliantly by the actions of the main characters, who could not speak, but didn’t need words anyway.

Two of the most interesting movies were undoubtedly Call Me By Your Name and Lady Bird. Both are coming-of-age stories set in a limited period of time, and coincidentally both have Timothée Chalamet in the cast. Call Me By Your Name is a love story set in a small town in Italy in the summer of 1983; Elio and Oliver meet, fall in love, and spend the summer together, until their lives go back to what they think their reality was before. Lady Bird is the story of a teenager in a point of change in her life, and her relationships with her family, her friends, and her lovers, that will mark her life forever.

Battle Of The Sexes and I, Tonya tell stories that really happened. In Battle of the Sexes, Billie Jean King fights for women’s rights in sports by playing a tennis match against a man, meanwhile in I, Tonya, Tonya Harding skates her way to success and back. Both are very emotional stories of strong women in sport history.

And now for the Animated feature... I feel the most evident competition will be between Loving Vincent and Coco. I have a particular soft spot for both Pixar and Van Gogh, so it would be very difficult to choose one over the other. Loving Vincent is a masterpiece. Every single frame was painted by hand by over 100 artists, in the style of the late Vincent Van Gogh, whose death is investigated in the film. Coco is a celebration of the Mexican holiday of the Día de Muertos, the Day of the Dead. It has very important themes as family and heritage, culture and tradition, life and death, and it’s colorful and pleasant to the eye and to the ear.

I will come back to review the other ones when I’ve seen them, maybe after the Oscar nominations ceremony. I’d be glad if all these movies were nominated.

Except Downsizing. Sorry, Matt Damon...

[ncmagroup]

by Mark Walker-Ford

Well, it’s that time of the week again – our weekly round-up.

We’re back with ten (10!) of our favorite digital marketing blog posts to hit the screen.

The aim is simple. We save all the blogs our team has read this week and select our favorites.

And we hand them to you on our shiny blog platter. Why? Because we all need good content in our lives.

In this week’s round-up, you’ll earn everything from improving social media engagement rates to optimizing FAQ pages for conversions – and everything in-between.

It’s all for the taking.

Entrepreneur – 7 Quick Ways Every Startup Can Optimize SEO Without Breaking the Bank

Don’t you just love saving time, money, and effort? It’s my favorite thing to do.

They say humans favor the ‘least path of resistance’. Putting your feet up and watching Netflix really is good for evolution.

But when it comes to marketing, it’s not that easy.

Ask anyone – marketing can be expensive. Like, really expensive.

And to become successful, start-ups are expected to pour money in and simply watch it burn before they can expect as much as a grain of ROI.

Such is life.

Or, is it?

Well, nobody ever said starting a business and nurturing it into a successful one was ever easy.

But, there are a few tricks of the trade that, as a start-up, you can get comfortable with.

And many of them reside in that wonderfully simple world of search engine optimization.

From optimizing your content to finally getting around to link-building, Toby Nwazor is here to save your life.

READ POST

Search Engine Journal – 12 Examples of How to Earn High-Quality Links the Natural Way

So, you’ve decided – once and for all – that you’re actually going to invest in your link building strategy. Great idea.

This sounds amazing. Just think of all those relationships you’ll form with marketers, and all those insightful conversations you’ll have. Not to mention the clicks.

And traffic. Definitely the traffic.

But when you sit in front of your screen, you can see yourself in the reflection. Admittedly, you look worse than you did when you were 3 seasons deep into that average crime thriller. We’ve all been there.

Suddenly you’re hit with the question on everybody’s lips: just what does it take to earn high-quality, valuable links? They’re the holy grail when it comes to building your authority – but just how do you get started?

Thanks to this article by Jason Hennessey over at Search Engine Journal, you don’t need to give the world to get natural, high-quality links so you can rank higher on Google.

From content marketing to Quora, this article has it all.

Do something worthwhile over the weekend, and check it out.

READ POST

Wishpond – 50 Affordable Giveaway Ideas You Can Use Today

Who doesn’t love free stuff?

Truth is, in an age when you ‘remember when prices weren’t this bad’, giveaways are well-needed respites from this cruel world.

And, the fact is, giveaways aren’t just beneficial for customers, either.

For brands and businesses – big and small – giveaways are the perfect way to drive engagement, interest, and leads.

BeardBrand, for example, was able to generate 700+ likes, followers, and subscribers thanks to a giveaway they hosted for their customers (Source: ReferralRock).

Never again underestimate the raw power of giving away free stuff.

So, now that you’ve decided to launch a giveaway (everyone is so ready for it), you’re excited to see how it can help your business grow.

But wait. Is your budget your best friend at the moment?

Can you really afford this giveaway, no matter how hyped you think your audience will be?

We’re again turning to Victoria Taylor over at Wishpond for help.

We’re all for it, and you should be, too.

READ POST

CoSchedule – Social Media Management: The Complete Guide to Getting It Right

You think social media is just all fun and games? Sharing GIFs, following similar accounts, and liking someone’s content in the hopes of being recognized, adored, and wanted?

You’re absolutely right.

Well, half right at least.

Because underneath it all, social media is hard. There, we said it.

Social media management is more than sharing viral content in the hopes of picking up some traffic. It takes a shrewd understanding of your audience – and loads more.

And for brands who need to navigate this online maze successfully, they need to tread carefully.

Very carefully.

In this always-on, ever-connected world, the balance between being loved and hated by audiences online is pretty daunting.

When it’s good, it’s really good. Think Wendy’s, or Innocent Smoothies.

And when it’s bad – well, do we really need to go any further than Snapchat’s 2018 Would You Rather campaign?

Managing social media – whether for your business or for your clients – has just been made a whole lot easier thanks to this article by Ben Sailer over at CoSchedule.

READ POST

Social Media Examiner – How to Get More Social Media Engagement on Any Platform

Let’s get real: social media is complex and often difficult. And driving social media engagement is just the cherry on the cake, isn’t it?

The world is fast – and social media is even faster.

In one second, there are 8,500 tweets. In one second, around 7,500 images are shared online.

These statistics tell us two things.

First, we live in unprecedented times when it comes to connectivity, speed, and communications.

Second, the need to drive social media engagement from your audiences has never been greater.

Why? Because the social media-sphere is a crowded one: and to stand out, you’ll need better engagement rates.

In this brilliant article by Luria Petrucci, you’ll be told to do away with the professional Zeitgeist of the 1970s.

Want better social media engagement? You need to completely change the way you do social media.

And in the age of modern social media, personality sells and drives engagement.

READ POST

Crowdfire – 25 Creative Ways To Use Social Media For Storytelling

Now that you’ve reached a new social media awakening, how do you use it for one of the most effective forms of marketing?

Storytelling is hugely popular and successful with brands looking to form a better connection with audiences.

How many times have you liked, shared, and even re-watched/re-read marketing content simply because you enjoyed it?

As Kristin Savage tells us in her article, storytelling is nothing new when it comes to marketing.

However, storytelling is the perfect way to offer something new to your audiences’ news feeds other than yet another irrelevant promotional ad.

And by giving something new – we’re really not going to place restrictions here – you can really use storytelling to your advantage.

You might have a few storytelling concepts in mind, but how do you bring it to the people?

And, more importantly, how do you deliver your amazing story across each platform?

From Twitter Moments to Instagram Captions, this blog has it all.

READ POST

Visme – 6 Steps to Designing Infographics in Less Than an Hour

If you didn’t already know, here at Red Website Design we just love infographics.

Whether they’re about marketing stats to watch out for or the most popular Mexican meals you need to try – infographics are the easiest way to read, share, and collect information.

And we’re all for that.

It’s no surprise then, that when we discovered this article by Chloe West over at Visme, we had to share it with you guys.

And why is that? We metaphorically hear you ask.

For one very good reason.

This article tells you how you can design your own infographic. In less than an hour.

Just think, in under 60 minutes you’ll have an infographic that you’ll be telling everyone about. Even your neighbor.

Can you really look at yourself in the mirror and confidently say you can do anything better in less than an hour?

For new businesses who just don’t have the desired financial muscle yet, the DIY marketing road is a road you’ll need to get familiar with.

And designing your own infographics is the perfect way to seize that golden snitch without upsetting your bank balance.

READ POST

Single Grain – 12 Reasons Your SEO Strategy Is Failing

If your failing SEO strategy is keeping you awake at night – know that the struggle is real and you are not alone.

But Megan Mahoney at Single Grain is here with the honest advice we all need in our lives.

Your SEO strategy isn’t failing because search engines have some unexplained hatred for you and your business.

Your SEO strategy isn’t failing because your specific website out of the thousands indexed every day is suffering from an undefined penalty that, quite frankly, might not even exist.

Whilst ‘they’ve got it in for me’ is an alluring finger-pointing exercise, the reasons SEO strategies fail are never as mysterious as you’d secretly hope.

In fact, as this article explains, to get to the bottom of why your SEO strategy is letting you down, you need to get to the bottom of your SEO strategy.

Yes – you guessed it.

It’s time for another SEO audit.

But this time, you’ll find 12 actionable tips that will help you solve the ultimate SEO riddle.

From simply having faith in outdated tactics to being outright impatient, this article is about to make your weekend a whole lot more reassuring.

And we could all do with a bit of that.

READ POST

Quicksprout – How to Build a High-Converting FAQ Page on Your Website

I bet two positive things completely turned your world upside down this weekend.

First: Disney’s announcement that they are going to re-boot several of their classic films from Home Alone to Night At The Museum.

We still don’t know how we feel about this.

And secondly, this: you can build a high-converting Frequently Asked Questions page on your website.

That’s right.

When you think of high conversion rates, we’ll bet you all the toys in Duncan’s Toy Chest that you never even gave the FAQ page a thought.

It’s OK – we’re not judging. Everyone’s in the same struggle for better conversions.

But we are here to tell you that you need to head on over to read Quicksprout’s article.

As you’ll soon find out, FAQ pages are so so important for your website. Chances are, anybody who makes it as far as the FAQ page is on the edge of converting.

Nobody ever clicks on FAQ pages purely for some weird kick, right?

It makes sense, then, to optimize your FAQ pages for conversions.

And you can do this from ‘asking the right questions’ to incorporating SEO.

But wait, there’s more.

READ POST

Entrepreneur – What All High-Performing Social Media Posts Have in Common

And last but by no means least, we’ve got this article from Entrepreneur – featuring a video from their Empowerista series.

When it comes to high-performing social media posts, what comes to mind first?

Maybe you’re thinking of viral content that’s incredibly fun to monitor and watch sub-memes flourish.

For example, the classic Will It Blend Videos got us all on our edge to see if the original iPhone really could blend.

Or, maybe it’s your old neighbor’s latest Instagram post with all her purring cats that’s just racked up 200 likes.

We know.

But are these two examples really different?

If you think hard about it – not really.

Though their content may differ, they can both be high-powering because they share something in common with each other.

So, enough with the teasing.

What do all high-performing social media posts have in common?

More than you think.

  Go to our website:   www.ncmalliance.com

  10 Amazing Marketing Articles from the Best in the Business by Mark Walker-Ford Well, it’s that time of the week again – our weekly round-up. We’re back with ten (10!) of our favorite digital marketing blog posts to hit the screen.

[maxwell-grant]

What would a spider man: life story look like for the shadow?

Now that I've actually read Spider-Man: Life Story I can give this one a response. I'm gonna obsess about this question for a while because man what a ride Life Story was.

To those not in the know, the premise of Spider-Man: Life Story is: "In 1962, in AMAZING FANTASY #15, 15-year-old Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider and became the Amazing Spider-Man! Fifty-seven years have passed in the real world since that event — so what would have happened if the same amount of time passed for Peter as well?" and basically it tells the story of Spider-Man as one continuous narrative spanning 57 years, from his beginnings to a potential future, allowing Peter Parker and his cast and world to age in real time and factor in elements from the character's major stories over the decades.

And it's got a lot into it that the premise doesn't convey and there is no way I can even begin tackling a project like this for the 90 goddamn years of The Shadow's history without seriously just writing an entirely different fanfic continuity (and I already have 5, plus multiverses, possibly more) and tipping off way too much about my own plans for the character. Even I have my limits.

So instead, what I'm gonna do is go over the broad strokes of The Shadow's history as it would look like if you could try and condense it all under a consistent narrative, if you could focus on each decade's highs and lows, what kind of story would arise if a deranged Shadow maniac like me were to try and build a basic skeleton for a The Shadow: Life Story story.

Basic rules first: I'm sticking to the idea of Life Story and spanning every decade from the beginning of the character's life to the end of it. The aging and death parts are important so I’m sticking to those. The character's canonical birth date is 1892, so he's not making it intact to the 2000s. We're capping this off in the 90s, although it doesn't mean no further stories can be told. I will avoid mentioning specific historical events like Vietnam and 9/11 for this post to instead focus on The Shadow's trajectory. I will also not be including other characters, only somewhat referencing whatever aspects I deem relevant. I'm not sticking to any continuity, I'm pulling literally everything I can for this one

And putting this one below the cut

The 1930s: The golden years. In 1930, after a long line of life experiences in the Great War and traveling around the world under dozens of names, the man formerly known as Kent Allard has taken to fighting crime in the Great Depression. This chapter would be more of a standard narrative showcasing the trajectory of The Shadow's 30s career, how he's started off as a urban myth fighting gangsters and then progressed to urban avenger with dozens of allies fighting spies and supervillains. Despite being in his home element, he is restless. Another war is on the horizon. We gotta know where he starts, to get a clue of where he's going.

The 1940s: Despite it being the "family friendly American hero" Shadow era, shit gets very, very chaotic in the 40s, way more so than The Shadow could have anticipated. The pulps were relatively tame for this period, by this point instead you have the radio with it's constantly rotating writers and sensibilities, and comics that had far less reservations about either being really boring or really wacky. Far more encounters with the supernatural than before and with supervillains like Devil Kyoti and Monstradamus and Solaris, plus Khan is still around. The Shadow is forced to spend a lot more time traveling the world to deal with the war, spending a prolonged period establishing headquarters in Japan to aid Japanese underground organizations opposing the military. The agents perform rescue missions on concentration camps, and this is the period where you could have the "real" Lamont Cranston start filling in for The Shadow a bit while he's overseas.

There's a particular blurb that got released during this period that explains The Shadow acquired the power to cloud men's minds not by training, but by journeying to Tibet in an unrecorded adventure that forced him to beg the monks to grant him assistance in saving the world. I have some very mixed feelings on this whole backstory but I think there's something to this idea. Some shit went down in the 40s that was way beyond what The Shadow could have anticipated, and to protect the world from it he had to tap into forces that perhaps should have been left untouched.

The 1950s: The Shadow has dissappeared from America alltogether. He gathered up his agents and announced he wouldn't return for at least a decade, and left them with enough money to last a lifetime and retire should they feel like it. Burbank and Cliff Marsland dissappeared with him, and this chapter would probably be told from the Agents's perspective as they face the 50s while we get snippets from Marsland on what The Shadow's been up to. Some of it involves The Shadow helping protect Tibet after Mao's takeover of China. The real Lamont Cranston doesn't put on the costume anymore and instead operates as a fairly regular detective, although he's training on the skills and powers he's picked up overseas. Whatever fantasy madness haunted the 1940s is all but gone.

The 50s had basically nothing in Shadow content other than the last legs of the radio show, which are 200 episodes from 1950 to 1954 that currently don't exist anymore outside of a few scripts. During this time, The Shadow's sole appearence in US content was a parody in MAD Magazine. Overseas however, there were original Shadow novels published in Norway (a story for another day), as well as a Mexican radio and film series, which also featured Cliff Marsland. I have little information on either.

The 1960s: The OG Shadow is still embroiled in conflicts overseas, but the rise of the criminal organization CYPHER forces him to mobilize Burbank and agents old and new alike to deflect CYPHER away from where he's at, although most of them have retired by now. He still cannot return, but he has been secretly instructing Lamont Cranston on furthering along his own latent abilities if he intends to take over in his stead, and Cranston's powers have grown and developed to a point that, although he is pushing 60, he is able to do things even the original Shadow could not. He also invests a lot in merchandising and costume changes, which...doesn't pan out. Nothing in this era really pans out. It's just a really, really frustrating period of bad luck and supervillains that the aging superpowered detective Cranston is able to stop. Lamont Cranston seems to die in this decade.

The 1970s: Inspired by The Shadow's DC series, and most importantly Michael Kaluta's spiffy redesign.

The original Shadow returns to a crime-torn America, intent on starting anew, and sets to rebuilding his network. But something is off about him. He's leaner, meaner, less compassionate and trusting. Just as what happened the first time he returned to America following years abroad, what happened in his sojourns overseas has fostered something inhuman in him, another sacrifice of his own identity for the sake of a world where the weed of crime has only proven more insidiuous. His powers have grown and so have his resources, but despite that, he's bordering on 80 years old by now, and cumulative trauma deep within his bones hampers his effectiveness. He's doing a lot better than he should, by any rights, but he can't keep this up and he knows it. And so, as before, he starts planning for it.

The 1980s: This was the decade where Walter Gibson died with his final Shadow story incomplete, all the movie plans from the 70s were canned, and Howard Chaykin happened, plus the other DC runs. It's the SHIT decade, basically, where everything goes to hell. Whatever plans The Shadow had blew up, dipshit copycats start ruining everything, his network crumbles, and this is probably the ideal decade to kill off Kent Allard.

But this is also the decade where something weird started happening outside of the story: The Ghost of Gay Street hauntings, where visitors on the hotel Gibson wrote the stories in repeteadly claimed to see a ghostly visitor looking exactly like Lamont Cranston, and Gibson himself claimed that to be a tulpa he created by accident.

Kent Allard may have died. But death can never claim The Shadow.

The 1990s-onwards: Somehow, The Shadow is still active. Still elderly, in a much more limited fashion, but still as sharp as ever if not more so. His powers have grown more so than ever before, even blossoming into a limited form of telekinesis. Is he a ghost? Did he somehow survive the events of the previous decade? Somehow, both Lamont Cranston and The Shadow linger on, but is it Kent Allard or Lamont Cranston? Is it someone else?

Who knows?

This is the decade in particular where he's going to be interacting with more prominently with a new generation, whether it's descendants of the original agents, or new heroes that have found themselves in his orbit. Inspired mainly by the Dark Horse Shadow comics, Ghost and The Shadow, and Peter Straub's Mystery and modern takes on the character like Batman x Shadow and the 2017 mini that play up the miserable immortal and ghost teacher aspects, also inspired by my recent realization that The Shadow's ideal future in-universe may be getting to age and mentor the next generation in some capacity.

Anything beyond that, only The Shadow Knows.

[newmayhem]

Remixing Risika: Family Dynamics + Race

You can find a recap of the changes I’ve made to Risika’s backstory so far here. In this post, I’ll be going a little more in-depth talking about her family situation and also discussing more about the role that race might play in shaping her experience. As mentioned before, I’ll be referring to everyone by their new names just to keep things consistent, but I’m using her original name in the title because I’m posting this in the main tag and I just want to signal that it’s relevant.

So I’ve relocated Roksana’s backstory from Concord, Massachusetts to Puebla, Mexico. I’ll go in depth about this setting with some actual historical research in a separate post later on, but for now, here are the basics: Puebla, Mexico in the 1700s was a part of New Spain- the predominant religion of that setting is Catholicism, the Mexican Inquisition was a thing, it was a highly diverse society, but was also strictly (almost obsessively) socially stratified along racial lines.

It should be noted that the Catholics definitely were not as intense about the whole hellfire thing as the puritans were and they (or at least the Spanish Inquisition) firmly believed that witchcraft wasn’t a thing. They were way more concerned with heresy. That said, the Spanish were super into aggressively evangelizing the native population and supplanting the traditional indigenous religions. Remedios’ family, because they are mixed race, they were a part of the mainstream society, but were of low status. One of the ways they might try to better their situation was probably to prove that they were good Catholics (which would fit really well with all of OG Alejandro’s angst about his powers and his fear of damnation).

Something I noticed about Roksana is that throughout the story, she’s going through an identity crisis of sorts. She’s adjusted to life as a vampire as best she could and on some level she’s ok with it, but you get the feeling that she still hasn’t come to terms with it and that she’s still haunted by her past. Additionally, in the flashbacks, there’s also brief mention about how she and Alejandro did have some sense that they were different from the people around them mainly because of their golden eyes but subtextually due to their magical heritage. I’d really like to lean into all that and explore the parallels between these two struggles, but particularly explore how her early identity crisis informed her worldview and personality.

So like I said in my that previous post, I’m not just race-lifting Roksana on a superficial level. I have to take responsibility for it by fully going into how it affects the character’s experience and I think this is a good angle to further explore her identity crisis.

Acknowledging that this could get problematic if I’m not careful (i.e. the Magical Negro trope), I think it would be interesting to have their father, Pedro, and their half sister, Lupita, be more white-passing while Remedios and Alejandro would have taken after their mother (who was mostly African and Indigenous), and to have the family be raised in a mostly white (or white-passing mestizo) community.

Remedios would not only feel othered and alienated, but she’d also be missing a connection with a part of herself because she grew up without a mother and without any knowledge about that part of her heritage, and that probably makes everything worse. For marginalized people, especially when all of that oppression is not only overt, but legal, life sucks, but it’s definitely much easier when you’re part of a community and when you can turn to things like your traditions...but Remedios and Alejandro didn’t have any of that.

In the original text, the lack of a maternal figure in their lives didn’t seem to have a lot of impact, and it makes sense because I imagine at that time people had shorter lifespans and it was common for women to die during childbirth. But with this additional dimension of their mother being a representative of/connection to their otherness, the loss is probably more deeply felt. I think this could also be used to further galvanize Roksana’s story. Maybe she made the connection between Alejandro’s powers and their mother’s side of the family and she wants to investigate that.

In terms of family dynamics, having to grow up in a community that’s not only so different from her, but also actively treats her as inferior would definitely cause a lot of tension and resentment against Remedios’ father, who most likely thought that he was protecting his children by 1) moving them to the place where he grew up, a place that has nothing to do with magic; 2) never telling them anything about their mother; 3) treating their race like it’s the elephant in the room; and 4) keeping them very sheltered even from the human world they lived in because he also felt the need to protect them against racial prejudice.

Remedios would’ve also had some resentment towards her half sister, who looked more like she belonged and never seemed to have any of the emotional baggage that only Roksana and Alejandro had to face. Roksana would never outright admit it, but a part of her wished that it was Lupita who was sacrificed instead of her. And then in the post-transformation, Roksana was hurt by how quickly her father moved on from the loss of her and Alejandro (like how he moved on so quickly after the loss of her mother), and the fact that he moved on again with a woman who was whiter than them also reinforced her deep seated belief/fear/paranoia that he was always trying to erase them. And with Lupita, at time that Roksana (post-transformation) visits her family, Lupita’s the same age Roksana was when she was changed and so Roksana kind of sees her basically living the life that she always wanted but never got to have. Lupita got to keep her innocence and live out her life peacefully, which is something Roksana would never have.

In the original text, her relationships with her father and her half sister were fairly neutral and weren’t given much development, which was kind of a missed opportunity. I’m hoping that by embedding some more tension as well as moments of caring and love would really flesh out Roksana’s character and make her transformation even more impactful (so like, something along the lines of The VVitch).

I’ll go into her relationship with Alejandro in a separate post because it’s just so much, but I will say that based on the personality differences I saw in the original text, I think that though this common struggle caused them to develop a sort of codependent relationship, they probably had vastly different viewpoints and coping mechanisms that eventually caused a rift between them.

The original text kind of portrayed Remedios’ human life as...not necessarily idyllic, but definitely more comfortable, safer, and happier than her life as a vampire. I just think it would be an interesting complication to completely destroy that. It’s no longer a black and white, “humanity is beautiful/vampirism is a terrible curse” type thing. Like, what if a part of Remedios craved the ability to be strong and have the power to fight her oppressors? What if on some level, she kind of hated her life as a weak, vulnerable human and enjoyed being a vampire.

[how2to18]

Fame, if you win it, Comes and goes in a minute. 

— Jule Styne, Betty Comden, and Adolph Green, “Make Someone Happy” 

The pure products of America go crazy.

— William Carlos Williams, “To Elsie”

¤

DRIVE DOWN some of Hollywood’s major thoroughfares or visit some of its celebrated tourist attractions, like Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, and you’re bound to see at least one mural featuring  bona fide pop icons like Marilyn, Elvis, and James Dean. Depending on the artist, the players joining Marilyn might include Sinatra, John Wayne, or Chaplin. If Duke Haney, the author of Death Valley Superstars, commissioned his own mural, the Hollywood Chamber of Commerce might not approve. Yes, Marilyn would still be there, but her supporting cast would be a bunch of troublemakers as obscure as she is famous — Steve Cochran, Sean Flynn, Mark Frechette, Christopher Jones — as well as the notorious Lee Harvey Oswald and William Desmond Taylor, the victim of one of Hollywood’s greatest unsolved mysteries.

The personalities on Haney’s mural are just some of the subjects he profiles in his engrossing new collection of essays, Death Valley Superstars: Occasionally Fatal Adventures in Filmland. All but one of Haney’s pieces were originally published on Brad Listi’s literary website The Nervous Breakdown, where I discovered his work in December 2013. Familiar with Haney’s experience writing screenplays and acting in low-budget films, Listi, who had published Subversia (2010), Haney’s first collection of essays, invited him to begin writing about Hollywood. Haney twice demurred, not wanting to be known as just another Kenneth Anger. “I had been struggling to start a novel for two years to no effect,” Haney recently told Listi on his podcast, “and it might rejuvenate me to work instead on a quirky tour of a neglected career and colorful life [tough guy actor Steve Cochran] — an appreciation with elements of biography.” He accepted Listi’s invitation and began writing biographical essays on some of destiny’s darlings, and a number of also-rans who briefly achieved a measure of fame only to see it undone by scandal, misbehavior, or malign fate. Superstars isn’t restricted to luminaries of the screen: Hugh Hefner, Jim Morrison, and the aforementioned Lee Harvey Oswald show up in its pages. Haney’s deep research, fresh insights, and engaging prose bring these subjects to life. He also includes several lively accounts of his own experiences working for legendary cheapjack producer Roger Corman and even more marginal Hollywood operators.

Haney leads his book with a powerful memoir, “When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth,” a real cri de coeur recalling how the New Hollywood films of the ’70s celebrated in Peter Biskind’s book Easy Riders, Raging Bulls inspired him to journey to Hollywood to make the same kinds of films, only to discover that the blockbuster success of Star Wars and its successors had already killed the New Hollywood movement, torpedoing the career Haney had imagined for himself in Charlottesville, Virginia, where he had immersed himself in movies screened at the palatial Paramount Theater and a local revival house. There, he discovered the Holy Trinity of Method acting — Marlon Brando, Montgomery Clift, and James Dean — and their ’70s equivalents — Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Jack Nicholson, and Dustin Hoffman — all of whom he had hoped to emulate once he hit Hollywood.

Haney’s essay could easily be titled “Star Wars and Its Discontents.” He spends a hefty chunk of “Dinosaurs” expounding on the detrimental effect of that beloved franchise. Star Wars did more than merely change Hollywood’s commercial ecosystem, infantilizing movies. It became a cultural Death Star, Haney contends, whose puerility pervaded society, reducing adults to Peter Pans who are not ashamed to line up at the box office for movies that would once have been considered strictly kid’s stuff and to buy “adult” coloring books.

In the powerful conclusion of “Dinosaurs,” Haney recalls his childhood self going to see a movie (When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth [1970]) for the first time:

I can picture him now, about to see a movie alone for the first time. He walks up the long corridor, carpeted in red, of the Paramount Theater, pausing at the concession stand to gawk at thumbnail photos of the posters for sale, and a voice in his head says, Don’t look. God doesn’t want you to look. But the voice is quiet in the darkness of the auditorium, where the boy watches a girl in a fur bikini cavort anachronistically with a dinosaur, and the boy thinks, Man, I would love to be that dinosaur, never dreaming that, when he’s a man, a dinosaur is just what he’ll be.

Someone once wisely said that participation in sports doesn’t create character, it reveals it. The same can be said of the effects of fame and its pursuit, something personified by Marilyn Monroe and Lee Harvey Oswald, Haney’s most famous subjects. They were both pathetic wretches who thought that fame would enable them to escape the pain of anonymity. Monroe was a perpetually unhappy woman who never knew her father and whose mother had a disordered mind. The response she got for modeling for some rather chaste cheesecake photos set her direction. With considerable effort, she became a worldwide sex goddess, but her fame only exacerbated her unhappiness. She finally found release in a bottle of Nembutal one lonely night.

In “Golden State Girl,” Haney argues that Monroe was a genuine artist whose greatest creation was her inimitable screen persona.  “There’s no pathos in the image they propose,” Haney writes, after describing several instances of her hateful behavior,

but there’s pathos aplenty in the image of Marilyn as a wounded stray, as the candle in the wind of Elton John song, as a martyr of celebrity, of Hollywood, of men and patriarchy and the male gaze. This image — and it’s finally a single image — excludes those traits it can’t, and doesn’t want to, accommodate: opportunism, toughness, willfulness, petulance, all of which, and then some, can be found in a convoluted woman with a genius for appearing the opposite.

Lee Harvey Oswald was born two months after his father died. His mother was a kook. He believed that he deserved to be a major actor on the stage of history, not just some nobody sweating his life away stacking boxes of schoolbooks in an old warehouse. The secret delight he must have enjoyed after making himself the focus of the world’s attention lasted only two days before a .38 bullet in his belly ended his life. In “Oswald Has Been Shot,” Haney explores the possibility that three movies that Oswald saw — We Were Strangers (1949), Suddenly (1954), and The Manchurian Candidate (1962) — may have inspired him to kill the president.

As his essay on Oswald demonstrates, outsiders fascinate Haney. And that fascination extends to Hollywood’s outsiders, the nearly forgotten actors who were deserted by fame in their own lifetimes. Haney is their champion. In Superstars, he tells the stories of Sean Flynn, Mark Frechette, Steve Cochran, and Christopher Jones in captivating detail and provides us with the most complete biographies these men are ever likely to get. 

Sean Flynn inherited the handsomeness of his father, legendary screen swashbuckler Errol Flynn, but lacked his casual élan in front a movie camera. Sean sought adventure as a photographer in war torn Vietnam and Cambodia, where he disappeared in 1970. Steve Cochran possessed a kind of oily charisma that suited his portrayals of shady characters in films like White Heat (1949) and Private Hell 36 (1954). He was an uncomplicated man who cared only for masculine luxuries — exotic sports cars and boats — and women: he had an insatiable sexual appetite. He could also be physically violent with them. He died horribly when a mysterious disease suddenly struck him as he was sailing his yacht Rogue in the waters off Guatemala, while a crew of barely legal Mexican women he had hired to help him promote a film project could only look on helplessly.

Mark Frechette never wanted to be an actor. He didn’t know what he wanted to do until he fell under the spell of cult leader Mel Lyman in Boston. After a talent scout for director Michelangelo Antonioni spotted Frechette in New York, Antonioni cast him as a campus radical running from the law in Zabriskie Point (1970). Frechette often sparred with Antonioni during the shoot. It didn’t matter; he was only doing it for Mel. Frechette’s misbegotten idea of a revolutionary political statement was to rob a bank, which got one of his accomplices killed. Frechette died in prison when a barbell fell on his neck, asphyxiating him. He was only 27.

Christopher Jones rocketed to stardom in only his second film, Wild in the Streets (1968), a political fantasy about a 22-year-old rock star who becomes president. He bore a striking similarity to James Dean, with the same mesmeric ability to seduce an audience. Jones quit acting abruptly after filming Ryan’s Daughter (1970) and became an enigmatic recluse until his death in early 2014 at age 72. In what may be the most fascinating piece in Death Valley Superstars, Duke Haney does much to unravel the shadowy mystery of Jones’ post-Hollywood years for the first time.

“I think Hollywood is the true Death Valley,” says Haney, “because it’s where dreams go to die, and sometimes the dreamer.” Fortunately, Haney is still with us — and we owe him our thanks for Death Valley Superstars, a dream of a collection.

¤

Peter L. Winkler is the author of Dennis Hopper: The Wild Ride of a Hollywood Rebel (Barricade Books, 2011) and the editor of The Real James Dean: Intimate Memories from Those Who Knew Him Best (Chicago Review Press, 2016).

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