#i love sally's incantations

[xbuster]

[beababoobies]

Hey there you said you needed a Hazbin Hotel request? I got just the thing. Is it okay you do a Alastor x witch reader? Like reader was a witch before she died and is basically pretty powerful especially in magic? I like to think she covers up her body because she’s covered in tattoos that look like magic ruins or ritual symbols. Idk i just thought it would be cute of Alastor falling in love with a classy yet a badass witch who can put him in his place.

Heya Anon! Yes, Absolutely! I love my witchy friends (shoutout to Tatianna because she follows my blog.) I wasn’t sure exactly on which type of Witch you were referring to, so I decided on a random mix of diff witch cultures! Please shoot me a request if that’s not what you had in mind and I can re-write this for you. Thanks a ton for the request!

From Experience

Alastor x Fem!Witch!Reader

words : 1k , no warnings!

You let out a sigh as you started the spell you had been planning for weeks now. You had to go to Lust to get aphrodisiac rose powder, cannibal town to get the dried blood (and have a coffee and chat with Rosie, of course.) you even attended to Blood Moon festival very shortly to get some black tree root straight from the source from your friend Sally Mae. The candles had been lit - your spirit guides told you it was ready. You closed your eyes softly as you started to read out the incantation in your head.

You sighed softly through your nose as you felt yourself slowly start to float, the bone-marrow candles you had bought starting to glow a blood red colour as you felt the power of the spell start to wash over you, the magical ruins carved into your body lighting up, making you glow softly, and it was all coming together nicely, perfectly one might say - 

“Hello, Darling!” 

You let out a small scream and opened your eyes, falling to the floor with a small thud, groaning as you open your eyes to the familiar face smiling back at you, chuckling softly as you rub your head gently, rolling your eyes. Not an evil spirit. Okay, an evil spirit. But a very familiar one. “Alastor, what a surprise.” You said as he walked over to you, offering you his hand and you took it, hoisting yourself up and letting out a soft sigh as you saw the spilt wax across the floor. 

“How rude of me to interrupt you! Allow me.” He hums softly, and you watch as the candles are returned back to their original state, turning back to him with a smile, brushing your now messed hair back into place, tilting your head. “Back again so soon?” You said with a chuckle, walking into your kitchen to get a cup of tea, him following quickly behind.

Now that you thought about it - he was back very, very soon. You had last seen him yesterday for lunch, and just two days before that for an evening stroll. After seven years of absence, you could’ve sworn you hadn’t even seen him this much before he disappeared. This meant he either needed something, or he was playing you in a big plan.

“Oh, well you just make the best steaming cup of chamomile, my dear.” He compliments, sitting at your small window-side table. You chuckled, taking a spoonful of the mix you had taken years to perfect, crushing the leaves, adding in just a bit of cinnamon. You had even figured out the best tea bags. Possibly your best spell ever. You dismissed your worries as your own overthinking, sighing as you poured the boiling water into the mugs.

“No sugar for you again?” You say, eyes not looking back at him as you pull the cane sugar out from your cabinet, spooning a couple helpings into your mug. “You know me too well, darling.” He says and you blush softly, putting the cane sugar back, bringing both the mugs to the table, placing one in front of him, and one in front of yourself.

“So, why are you back so quickly, hmm?” You said teasingly, leaning back in your chair, mixing the tea in your mug lazily, toying with the spoon as you watching him dip the boiling liquid - always uncanny, how he could do that - before looking back up at you. 

“One could say I’ve taken a bit of a liking to you, my love.” He says with a smile, and you feel your face get hot - from more than just the steam from your tea. He chuckles softly at your reaction, taking another sip from his mug, leaning back in his chair and watching you try to find the right words. Platonically? It’s hard to decipher a man who’s walked out of a couple decades before your time. 

“One might even say you… like me?” You say, testing the waters as you discard your cup back onto the table, crossing your arms over your chest, skepticism all over your expression causing Alastor to let out another chuckle. “One could say that. But I hate that way of saying it.” He responds flatly, putting his mug down as well, tilting his head at you. Trying to read a man who’s face was always carved into that sharp-toothed grin was hard.

“While we are speaking of taking a liking to things.” He says, holding out his hand, a small jar of black sand from the burning desert - one of a kind, unbelievably expensive, and your eyes widened. You swallowed thickly as you eyes the small vial, looking up at him with a small grin. 

“I’m not giving you my soul for this. Tempting, though.” You said with a playful smile, watching him place it delicately on the table. “Oh, no, darling, it is yours for the price of this cup of tea. A friend gave it to me in exchange for a… favor.” He says with a small chuckle, watching you pick up the vial cautiously and inspect it, turning it upside down and watching the pitch black sand move around in the glass. 

Oh, the things you could do with this. 

“And why should I take your murder sand?” You say with a smile, looking back up at him as you toyed with vial carefully, raising your eyebrows, watching his eyes trail down to the vial and then back up to you. 

“Well, I’ve heard it’s good for love spells.” He hums softly, taking another nonchalant sip of his tea, watching you nearly cough on your own spit over the statement, collecting yourself before piercing your lips together, eyes going from him to the vial over and over. 

“And how would you know this, hmm? You some sort of ritual expert now?” You said with a playful smile and tone, clutching the vial in your hand and leaning forward, chin resting on your palm. 

“Let’s just say I can speak from experience.” 

[effeminatenightmare]

so, this is a more solidly written review on my thoughts on the new 2021 Cabaret West End Revival cast recording.

i'm very intrigued by some of the creative / acting / casting decisions made. i've been listening to it So Much and can't seem to stop myself. 🥴

• eddie redmayne's portrayal of the emcee feels like a mix of both pavi largo from repo! a genetic opera and alex delarge from a clockwork orange. weird, wonderful, otherworldly, and childlike are just a few descriptive words to describe him.

• the way in which he switches from a haunting tenor with vibrato for days, to a more animalistic snarling is ✨ nightmare fuel ✨. seriously, his singing is outstanding!!!! i don't know why people hate it so much.

• his interpretation of "money" is astounding, probably My Favorite version of the number.

• "i don't care much" has been warped to a more slightly more villainous tone than Alan Cumming's the original. it's been transformed into a seductive almost incantation. which is certainly a choice, and it works.

• jessie. buckley. need i say more?

• her rendition of the title song "cabaret" is spine-chilling and made me think that ✨ THIS ✨ is how sally bowles should be played. sally's NOT supposed to be a good singer. jessie manages to pull this off perfectly. i absolutely love what she brought to sally. *chefs kiss*

• i could go on for days about how heartbreaking her "maybe this time" was. 🥲

the other voices from the other cast members are just as alluring as eddie and jessie are.

i'm hoping and praying this'll transfer over to broadway. i need to be able to be a part of something this special and be present in the kit kat club at least once.

i hope you've enjoyed my little review and will listen to it yourself, if you haven't yet. it's worth it, trust me.

[ninjakasuga]

Sonsally Celebration Week, Year 3, Day Four!

Sonally Celebration Week, Year 3, Day Four!

Another day of Sonsally Week, unlike the last few entries, this is where I break linearity and go travel back to a prior period in the timeline. When the prompt of ‘Power’ was shown my mind of course went to the Super-Forms, the Deep Power Stones, and the like. Yet also my mind went back to some fanart from last year about a certain someone I would have loved to have seen share a Super Form with Sonic… Y’all can see where this is going.~

Forward: Timeline wise, this is 9-10yrs before Crossroads; the last battle of the war with Dr. Eggman. I admit I’m once again sprinkling tidbits from my still WIP Archie-Sonic-Verse that has yet to be published, but I think the easter eggs and hints of things yet to be seen will be fun for the reader.

Power:

“Sal, are you flipping insane?!” Cried Sonic as he stared Sally down at her suggestion. “You want to use the Deep Power Stones to amplify our Super Forms? What about all that ‘overload potential’ nonsense?!”

Standing beside Sonic, one eye on the half of the Deep Power Stone in her hand, the other on the approaching Egg Armada. A legion of robots, ships, and what other mechanical horrors Eggman had left to try and quash them all for good. With the world-wide alliances winning victory, after victory, Eggman grew desperate and now was throwing everything he had at them in a ‘If I can’t have it no one will!’ tantrum of a scorched world move. Basically it was done to the wire, and now they were as desperate as Eggman.

Her grip tightened on the stone, that madman would not have the last laugh. He wouldn’t end their world as he did the Mobius he came from! “It’s something I was thinking about for awhile, Sonic. We’ve seen what the stones can do just augmenting the individuals who bring the stones together. If we bring that kind of augmentation to the Super Forms? We have the Master Emerald already channeling to empower the Seven Chaos Emeralds, imagine channeling the Stones through it to the Emeralds and the Power Rings. All of you could not just have a greater power boost, but potentially the forms will last longer, long enough to wreck most if not all of the Egg Armada and put an end to this war for good!”

“It might work…” Murmured Tails, standing on the other side to Sally. “Channeling the Stones' power through the Master Emerald, which itself is a beacon and conduit for the Seven Servers…” He began to murmur as his brain went over the numbers and possible calculations. As the two-tailed fox finished his thoughts, he turned to the Guardian of Angel Island, wanting his thoughts. “The Master Emerald is your expertise Knuckles, you think it will work?”

The red-furred Guardian furrowed his brow as he contemplated this. “Maybe, I admit while my communion with Tikal or my Great Grandfather has given me greater insight to the mystical aspects of the Master Emerald, I’m still a novice truth be told.” He sighed, looking apologetic. “Sadly I know more of the scientific side of things given the Brotherhood’s data mostly focuses around that. Even my Father’s old notes are more historical musings than proven theory.” He sighed again, mentally cursing his forebears for yet another aspect of oversight the Brotherhood neglected during their long tenure of guarding Angel Island. Then again, save for the Lost Tribe, it would seem most of the old mystic arts were lost to the Echidna of today, what few were left. “Given we’ve found many connections to the old mystical artifacts of the world, there’s a good chance they’ll work together as Sally thinks.”

A low growl-like ‘hmm’ punctuated the air, before a stern voice interjected aloud. “Or it will overload the Emerald, destroy it, and fry all of us, or potentially create a super-bomb.” Shadow stated with arms crossed, and looking pensive. As all looked his way, he spoke on. “I’m not saying we ditch the idea, but it’s something to consider. I have a vow to protect this world to uphold, as well as too many I care about to let them die.” His thoughts dwelled on Rouge, Omega, and Hope especially. His other comrades within G.U.N. and the Thorndyke Labs. Even of those here, despite any past animosity, he wanted them and their loved ones to equally live. They all had family, and friends to protect. 

The last member of the group, his expression uneasy, yet a deep resolve in his eyes looked about his comrades, and then the horizon as their enemy continued to fly toward them. “We don’t really have a choice do we? This is the last chance, for all of you, as well as the Future I want to prevent from coming to pass.” Clenching his fists, Silver felt his powers hum through his being. It had been a long journey, and one not without many hurdles. From his bungling to interpret data from then Future, and its founding in the past, to dealing with the truths of his own ‘Master’ and the struggle of wondering if he was truly a pawn to bring about ‘his’ world versus a world for everyone to be happy. In the end he was wiser, more experienced and ever resolute to ensure the dark future never came to pass. All other obstacles save Eggman had been dealt with. This was the final hour. “So, save for Sonic we’re all in agreement?”

Hands on his hips, Sonic frowned deeply, looking rather indignant. “Hey, hey! I never said scrap the plan, I was just pointing out how before everyone kept yammering about doing something stupid with the Stones. Given either configuration usage done wrong could lead to KAB-BOOM! Jus’ pointing that out!” Eyeing everyone, his gaze rested on Sally, those deep blue pools that always sucked him in. Reaching for her hand, he wrapped his hand over hers, their wedding rings shining in the sun together. “You think this is our best bet, Sal? If you’re really onboard, so’m I.”

In truth, Sally did share the same concerns as Sonic and everyone else. She knew even using just the ‘boost’ augment which so far had been the safest, could lead to disaster as much as the other configuration which always ended destructively. Plus this would be the last time they could use them. As per Merlin Prower’s warning, the Deep Power Stones could be used a handful of times, and the mystic had given them warning they were on their last usage. This was due to a special magical limiter the Neo-Walkers put on the Stones, halving their ability so the Freedom Fighters and their allies could have an edge. However with the last use, the limiter was off, and so it was full power, and potentially the best opportunity for the worst case scenario. After this the Stones would vanish for another millennia until they were recharged and reappear randomly about the planet again.

Yet as Silver pointed out, what choice did they really have? Eggman was going all out; and thus, their hands were tied. “It’s the best shot we have. G.U.N.’s mechanized forces are exhausted and what isn’t in the repair bay is out fighting the forces encroaching their borders. None of the rest of the allied nations have any armies big enough to fight this horde. We can’t call for help from Blaze or any other friends from other dimensions because the Zone Cops sealed all dimension travel to Mobius Prime to prevent Eggman from escaping. This, this, is all we can do.” Her resolve sounded unshakable, despite her internal doubt, she had to sound resolute. Matching her gaze with Sonic, she managed a grin as she laced her fingers with his. “Let’s do-it-to-it, gang!”

Smiles formed about at the catch-phrase that was so infectious even Shadow was sucked in. One by one, Tails, Knuckles, Shadow and Silver joined in placing their hands over each other, forming a lock. “Let’s do-it-to-it! They all cried, before breaking to get into place. While Sally stood by the Master Emerald with Knuckles, the others began to loop around the Master Emerald, each linking their hands together. From Shadow to Silver, to Tails, to Sonic. Instead of holding Knuckles’ hand, Sonic placed his own on the Echidna’s shoulder. Knuckles did the same with Sally, while his free hand touched the Master Emerald. Sally held the Deep Power Stones in each hand, waiting for the right moment to place them together. Craning her head to Knuckles she nodded, and he nodded back, his gaze shifting to the large emerald his bloodline made their mission to protect along with Angel Island itself (well Echidna population for them, Knuckles was out to protect everyone).

“The servers are the Seven Chaos… Chaos is power, enriched by the heart… The controller exists to unify the chaos!” As he started the chant, he briefly saw a flash of Tikal within the Master Emerald, smiling at them all. This allowed Knuckles to smile, but he didn’t let this distract him. “We who are blessed by the Chaos, beseech to wield your power and wisdom, to save the planet and the innocent lives that dwell upon it. Let us be the Guardians of Mobius, of the Chaos, and the Light of Gaia!”

“We will gladly give our lives if you can let us protect all we love, please help us.” Murmured Sally, interjecting her own addition once Knuckles’ incantation chant was finished. Staring at the two halves of the stones, Sally placed them together, the halves flashed as they became one. An intense glow emanating from the black object that soon blinded them all. A bright, green glow from the Master Emerald broke through the white, with the gathered Power Rings (including Sonic’s Billionth Special Ring) all giving off a golden glow as the colors mingled together. A pillar of the mingled colors erupts from the Master Emerald’s resting place, shooting up, and up into space as the island is bathed in its warm glow.

Tails was the first to regain his sight, and once the relief they did not explode passed through him, a wide grin formed on his face as he felt it, the power of his Super Form. Not only that but he could ‘feel’ the power was increased. “Alright I think it worked!” He hollered, pumping his arms as he felt the power of Turbo Tails peak and flare briefly. “Hooo it’s been a long spell!”

Shadow merely made a ‘heh’ sound, yet smiled as he stared at his own glowing hands. “Yes, I can feel it, now those machines can feel Super Shadow’s fists and Chaos Spears.”

“This still blows me away with how powerful it makes me feel.” Murmured Silver as he marveled at his Super Silver transformation.

“Oh holy crap…” They heard Knuckles utter, followed by Sonic stammering “S-S-Sal?”. Everyone turned their heads and gasped in awe.

“Oh, my God…” Was all Sally could murmur. Her fur was a pink-orange tinge, and her hair a golden glow, flowing freely from the sheer power itself. “H-how? I thought only those with a tie to the Chaos Force could achieve super form?!”

“Maybe the powers that be felt you were worthy.” Knuckles mused, giving a nodding approval to this development. The light-pink glow of his Hyper Knuckles form, arcing with energy like everyone else. “In any case it looks like it worked.”

“I’m not a fan of the colors, they remind me of when I spent hours scrubbing chemicals out of my fur.” Muttered Sally, recalling the chemical splash that caused her fur and hair to change colors twice, before finally returning to her proper brown and auburn tones. She shuddered at the memory; she was lucky Rotor and Quack were able to make a fur-shampoo solution to cleanse the stuff from her fur, and luckier she wasn’t exposed long enough to cause any health issues.

Rubbing his chin, Sonic flashed a wide smile as he drew in his wife’s Super Form. “I dunno Sal, you rock the colors, and do’. It’s giving me ideas-.”

Tails held up one hand, and the other he put a finger to his mouth. Making a faux-gagging sound. “Sonic, I’m right here, don’t wanna hear that stuff!”

Snorting, Sonic rolled his eyes, “Hey, hey Li’Bro who said my mind was going to the gutter?”

Knuckles shot Sonic an incredulous look. “And I quote, “I’m always horny for Sal.”, end quote.”

Both Sonic and Sally managed to blush through the color of their super forms. Each coughing, and averting their gazes from their friends for a time.

“How about we can the small talk, and focus on saving the world?” Shadow stated, breaking up the moment as he turned and pointed towards the approaching Armada. “I’m sure Eggman saw that light show and is going to get even more antsy to try and finish us off.”

Clearing her throat, Sally stepped forward from the Master Emerald, letting Shadow’s comment further help to put that momentary embarrassment behind them. FAR behind them hopefully! “Shadow’s right, we got the power, now let’s use it.”

Pounding his fists together, Sonic began to jog and jump in place to pump himself up. “Juice and jam time folks, let’s show ol’ Eggy he should’ve stayed on that satellite in his home dimension.”

“If not just shriveled up and died.” Growled Knuckles as he flexed his fists before slamming them together.

“For everyone here, and those yet to come, we must win.” Silver uttered as he began to float, flexing his psychokinetic powers in anticipation.

Spinning his twin-tails, Tails began to hover as well. “Sally, give the word, we’re ready!”

“Everyone, it’s been an honor… LET’S GO!!”

[femmesfollesnebraska]

Kristin Anahit Cass, artist feature

Excited to feature artist, activist and writer Kristin Anahit Cass! All photos from The New Freedom Fighters project (c) Kristin Anahit Cass.

Where are you from?

I grew up in Chicago and am based there now.  I love the energy and rhythms of urban life, the possibilities for connection with so many different people.  

How did you get into creative work and what is your impetus for creating?

I returned to my artistic practice after having kids, realizing that I was involved in one of the most creative endeavors of my life despite society’s devaluing of women’s work.  I had so much to share, and really valued the encouragement I received from a group of women artists to start putting my work out in the world.  

My artistic practice explores the intensely personal spaces where our lives intersect with others, considering questions of social justice and human rights.  I work through photography, video and writing, giving tactile reality to the stories behind my art through three dimensional works based on found objects and artifacts as well.  My work interacts with the viewer through as many senses as possible to create a strong connection.

My art is about gender and oppression, the intergenerational effects of family and other history, the dislocation of genocide and ethnic cleansing, and nonviolent responses to state sponsored aggression. Growing up with genocide survivors, I understand how it is for people, especially women, to survive in a world of extreme violence and oppression, and what it means to have all ties to home and culture deliberately severed. My work often questions whose stories are told and why.  In addition to my arts education, I trained as a lawyer giving me a unique perspective on the injustices and challenges that so many people and communities in our world face every day. I make art because I feel called to, because I have a drive to create and share ideas and the beautiful works they become.

Tell me about your current/upcoming show/exhibit/book/project and why it’s important to you. What do you hope people get out of your work?

I’m currently working on several projects.  The project I’ve most recently finished is The New Freedom Fighters: Women And Nonviolent Resistance.  It examines the realities of creative nonviolence used by women to preserve their human rights and build a more just social system to live in.  The project inspires people to think about their own communities and the ways in which they can work towards a better future with the resources they have.  It uplifts the viewer with the compassionate and creative thinking of these women who are living in a conflict zone in a society where women do not yet have as much opportunity as women in the West. It speaks to the possible and shows a way forward, and this is what I hope to share with my work.

Does collaboration play a role in your work—whether with your community, artists or others? How so and how does this impact your work?

Collaboration has been critical to my work.  Whether it’s collaboration with other artists or the people who have participated in my projects, working with others is what I do.  The full story can’t be told by me alone, the voices of many need to be heard.  I have collaborated on several projects with my daughter, the writer Araxie Cass, and that collaboration has been illuminating and joyous.  

Considering the political climate, how do you think the temperature is for the arts right now, what/how do you hope it may change or make a difference?

In the current political climate when many people’s voices are not heard, art has the power to uplift those whose stories aren’t being told by mainstream media or society in general.  Art has the possibility to reach people, to give them an opportunity to think about new ideas or to look at things differently, making art a catalyst for change.

Artist Wanda Ewing, who curated and titled the original LFF exhibit, examined the perspective of femininity and race in her work, and spoke positively of feminism, saying “yes, it is still relevant” to have exhibits and forums for women in art; does feminism play a role in your work?

Feminism is central to my work.  And the art world is no egalitarian utopia.  We are at least half of humanity.  Our unpaid work is unaccounted for in GNP and unrecognized by the social safety net.  We are still not paid the same wages as men.  Violence against us still goes unpunished.  Toxic gender roles damage all of us.  The feminist revolution is still incomplete, we have work to do and we are up to the task.  

Ewing’s advice to aspiring artists was “you’ve got to develop the skill of when to listen and when not to;” and “Leave. Gain perspective.”  What is your favorite advice you have received or given?

I’ve been so fortunate to have had love and support from other artists, including great advice.  A very successful artist friend gave me some good advice during a really difficult time.  She said to remember that when you feel like this work will never make its way into the world, it just hasn’t happened yet.  But it will happen because the work is good and meaningful, and there is a place for it.  When I’m going through a rough period, it’s like an incantation for me and it keeps me working towards my goal in some way every day.

-

kristincass.com

~

Les Femmes Folles is a volunteer organization founded in 2011 with the mission to support and promote women in all forms, styles and levels of art from around the world with the online journal, print annuals, exhibitions and events; originally inspired by artist Wanda Ewing and her curated exhibit by the name Les Femmes Folles (Wild Women). LFF was created and is curated by Sally Deskins.  LFF Booksis a micro-feminist press that publishes 1-2 books per year by the creators of Les Femmes Folles including the award-winning Intimates & Fools (Laura Madeline Wiseman, 2014) , The Hunger of the Cheeky Sisters: Ten Tales (Laura Madeline Wiseman/Lauren Rinaldi, 2015 and Mes Predices (catalog of art/writing by Marie Peter Toltz, 2017).Other titles include Les Femmes Folles: The Women 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 and 2016 available on blurb.com, including art, poetry and interview excerpts from women artists. A portion of the proceeds from LFF books and products benefit the University of Nebraska-Omaha’s Wanda Ewing Scholarship Fund.

Current prompts:

What does a womxn mean to you/your work?

Home Studios: Show us where you create!

https://femmesfollesnebraska.tumblr.com/post/614036096689504256/new-series-call-home-stud

[mistyyygoode]

Practical Magic- 1: The Movie

Her father wasn't home, he was on a weekend trip with the church. This meant Misty and her mother, Cherie where home alone for three days. Usually on weekends like this, Cherie would bust out her vinyls, the VHS tapes, old home movies, and even her books that she kept hidden away from Dan, her husband.

Over the eight years that Misty has been alive thus far, her mother taught her things about herself that she couldn't share with others, not even her own father. She was a witch, as was Cherie, and her mother before, and so on up the line. Misty never asked questions, but she had a deep sense of understanding that if she were to tell anyone, something bad would happen to the both of them.

That night, Misty and her mother popped popcorn, gathered up some candy hidden away, and turned out all the lights as the movie started. Mere minutes into the movie and Misty grinned from ear to ear as she heard the sentence, "She was a witch." She looked up at her mother, blue eyes shining from the light of the TV screen. "Like us, Mama?"

"Just like us." Cherie smiled.

Misty smiled even more as she looked back at the TV. As the scenes changed, she watched with intent, soon she was saddened to learn of the curse. She looked back up at her mother. "Do we have a curse?"

"No, no, love-dove. Just watch the movie." Cherie said as she wrapped an arm around the girl.

Misty nodded before looking back toward the TV. Six more scenes played until, what would be Misty's favorite part of the movie, played. Sally and Gillian stood in the greenhouse, casting a true love spell. Misty found it interesting, intriguing, and something that sounded fun.

An hour and forty minutes passed before the movie was over. The girl was mesmerized and still had that ear to ear grin on her face.

"So, ya liked it?" Cherie asked as she turned on the lamp.

"Oh, Mama, I loved it! Why hadn't I seen that before?" Misty asked.

"I didn't think ya were old enough until now, baby. Plus, we don't get many movie nights anymore." Cherie frowned softly. "Come on, up to bed for ya."

Misty frowned, but nodded.

That night, after Misty was certain her mother was asleep down the hall, she pulled out one of the spell books she had hidden underneath a floorboard in her bedroom. She turned on a flashlight and hid under the covers to flip through the pages. Before she hit the last page she found an incantation for true love's spell.

Sneaking out of her room, Misty quietly headed downstairs and gathered up the ingredients for it. She thought back to the movie and what Sally has wished for in a man.

As she mixed the ingredients into a bowl, she thoughts aloud. "They'll hear my call from a mile away. They'll hum their favorite song. They can ride a pony! And uh... dang it, what else?" she thought for a moment. "Oh! They'll flip pancakes in the air. They'll be marvelously kind. Their favorite shape will be a star... and lastly they will have one blue eye, and one brown eye." She smiled to herself before finishing up the spell with a few words from the book.

Easily, she crept back into her room and went to bed for the night.

_______

I know this chapter is pretty short, but it's the opener for the story! I hope you guys like this, and what is to come! Let me know what you guys think!

[raleigh-ocean]

| Raleigh Ocean x Cordelia Goode x Misty Day Alphabet |

A - AU (My favorite AU for them)

College AU probably. Cordelia and Misty couldn’t help to fall in love with this mysterious librarian and history nerd that Raleigh is.

But also I dig for the good Charlie’s Angels AU where Raleigh went missing and Cordelia and Misty team up to get her.

B - Baby (Do they want a family?)

Raleigh arrived at the time where Misty and Cordelia started to consider starting their own family, because Cordelia always wanted to have a kid and having it with Mist feels just right. Raleigh maybe wanted it too at some point, before she went missing, but now the feeling is buried under a thick layer of worries because she isn’t sure she is going to do well.

So I’ll say both Cordelia and Misty, yes; but Raleigh would need a lot of talking to considere being a mom, she is overall okay with her being an auntie.

C - Cuddle (Cuddler? How would they cuddle?)

The three of them cuddling together is a rare view, because Raleigh is pretty much the least touchy person, but when it does happen is usually after they have sex. Raleigh is taller than both of them and she is the biggest spoon for both.

D - Dates (What are dates like?)

Raleigh and Misty have a hard time going on dates, but they love to make their outings (going to get groceries/fast food at 1 a.m/picking up whatever) their little dates because everything it’s less awkward and feels natural.

Raleigh and Cordelia enjoy having indoor dates, talking about books and listening music in the kitchen while cooking. But sometimes they go out to restaurants they like to have some alone time away the Academy.

Raleigh, Cordelia and Misty’s dates however jump from being in the greenhouse the three of them to go out to the cinema or staying in the kitchen playing board games, there is not in between.

E - Everything (You are my ______? Life, world, etc)

Raleigh to Cordelia: You are the love of my life.

Raleigh to Misty: You are the wind at my back.

Raleigh to Misty and Cordelia: You are the gift that keeps on giving.

Cordelia to Raleigh: You are my soulmate.

Cordelia to Misty: You are my sunflower.

Cordelia to Misty and Raleigh: You are the dream I don’t want to wake up from.

Misty to Raleigh: You are my greatest surprise.

Misty to Cordelia: You are my starlight.

Misty to Cordelia and Raleigh: You are my tribe.

F - Feelings (When did they first realize they had feelings for the other?)

Cordelia and Raleigh found their feelings for each other when they were like 16/17, when they were trying to get an essay done for Pembroke’s class at the little library in the house and they spent all night up just to fall asleep in the couch together. After that they became closer than ever, the whole nine of puppy love I’m telling you.

Misty and Raleigh is a tricky question, because it wasn’t till the night before of the Seven Wonders that they realize about this. They went out at 1 a.m to get chicken nuggets and burgers because Raleigh was craving and when they were talking about some really important stuff over it, Misty knew she was in love with her. But Raleigh knew a year after that, when she was being nursed by Sally at the Hotel Cortez.

G - Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Cordelia and Misty are the most gentle between them and to Raleigh, which never cease to impress her because she is always so hard on herself all those years that she can’t actually be gentle that easily. However she is ‘gentle’ in the way she cares for them, mostly through acts like cups of tea and getting stuff done for them.

H - Holding Hands (Do they like it? How often?)

Cordelia and Misty are like human manifestation of holding hands but Raleigh not, she is totally the opposite. I think the first time she actually could count it like holding hands it was probably their wedding day. Raleigh isn’t fan of it but tries to oblige for them.

I - Impression (What was their first impression of one another?)

Cordelia’s first impression of Raleigh was ‘how can someone survive eating that much sugar?’ along with this slight disapproval, since they were roommates and Raleigh is the messiest roommate in the history of sharing rooms.

Misty’s first impression of Raleigh was actually wariness because she could sense something dark deep in her and also annoyance/anger because they are like fire and ice and when they met Raleigh was an asshole almost half of the time.

Raleigh’s first impression of Cordelia was curiosity overall because she was the Supreme’s kid and also everything she did amazed her because it was so different to the other girls (and the only one seemed to dare and talk with her). As for Misty, well, also annoyance due to her personality and her way of dealing with things.

J - Jealous (Would they ever get jealous? How would they act if they were jealous?)

‘Jealousy is the most stupid feeling and I won’t waste my time with that’ is a sentence Raleigh told to Madison when she asked her if she wasn’t jealous of Misty and Cordelia’s relationship. Post-Apocalypse!Raleigh despise it, but pre-apocalypse!Raleigh was the type of feeling guilty and egoist when this thing came up.

Cordelia get jealous in harmless ways overall, like when she doesn’t get kisses or stuff like that and it always end up with her smooched to death. I think she has watched her mother’s behaviour for so long that she tries to keep her cool and think about other ways to sort this stuff.

Misty? Heck yeah, the first time her and Cordelia convince Raleigh to go out to a club along the girls she end up punching a dude that was too close to her girls. But she is this kind of jealous folk that gets worked up, reach a peak, and then let go after the situation is gone. 

K - Kisses (How do they kiss?)

When Raleigh start the kiss, she does it like tomorrow they aren’t gonna be there, whichever the situation she is. It’s a needy approach, her way to say the biggest ‘i love you’ indeed. Cordelia always blush like a silly teenager and melt, holding her close. Misty sometimes feels she is drowning in it, the raw emotion too much, but she loves it from the start to the end of it.

Cordelia kiss affectionately most of the time, she likes to linger in the touch and she pours all her feelings in that slow time. Raleigh gets really impatient but Cordelia leads her hands to places she knows soothe her; Misty loves it, she is the one melting in this one, arms around Cordelia’s neck and all.

Misty is the happy and natural kisser, those kisses that you want more but you think they are enough. They having breakfast? Morning pecks; She bumped on them after one of their classes? Reward pecks; She just got out from the shower? Pecks and more pecks. Raleigh find it refreshing, a way to ease her usual anxiety over mundane stuff; Cordelia giggles and craves for more.

L - Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

Cordelia to Raleigh: when they were ice-skating in the Academy’s backyard. Raleigh found some spells and incantations to turn the place in a mini-ice platform to have some fun. The whole thing melt pretty fast, but when they were hugging each other, red noses and laughter still in their ears, Cordelia just blurt it out and Raleigh said it back right away.

Misty to Cordelia: they were working together at the greenhouse, late at night; they were like a few months into their relationship when Misty mumbled it in Cordelia’s ear, afraid of not hearing it back. But Cordelia said it too, of course, kissing her tenderly to reassure her heavy heart.

Raleigh to Misty: they couldn’t sleep due to both having night terrors and end up in the kitchen, drinking tea at like 4 a.m silently. Misty voiced finally one of her most fears, if Raleigh hated her?, and Raleigh looked at her as if she could see her soul and took her hand to say ‘I love you too much that sometimes it scares me, but I would never hate you, believe me’.

Extra: the first time Cordelia said ‘I love you’ to both at the same time was after they got into a fight with each other (Misty and Raleigh are pretty feisty when they are angry, imagine them fighting), and she told them ‘I love you two idiots so much but next time you throw hands at each other, I would beat you two senseless’ while healing their wounds.

M - Memory (What’s their favorite memory of the relationship?)

The memory is placed a few weeks after Misty and Cordelia decided to have the talk about having a ‘family’ with Raleigh too. What they wanted, if she wanted to be part of it directly, everything that could cause a worry in her. Long story short: it threw Raleigh’s anxiety over the roof and into a den full of wolves.

It took her a few weeks to actually feel in control of her mind again, but one night when she was in one of hers ‘i’ve been awake for two days and not planning to get any sleep yet’ moods she feels someone knocking at her door after midnight. At first she brushed it off as her sleep deprived brain usually made up things, but when it kept going she got up, just finding one of her younglings standing there and crying because she had a nightmare.

When Cordelia and Misty went upstairs to check on Raleigh because she didn’t show up, they found Raleigh curled up in bed. She was hugging protectively Haley, her student, both deeply and peacefully asleep there. Raleigh woke up a few seconds later, realizing the situation and only telling them ‘maybe if they give us one all grown up, I could do well’ jokingly.

However both knew that Raleigh was a bit more receptive about the whole kid topic after that, and it was open to talk about everything again in another light.

I would like to write this memory in particular, so I won’t give much more details yet!

N - Nicknames (What do they call each other?)

Raleigh is very specific and has nicknames assigned for everyone, not using them for others: Cordelia is Deli, honey, love and sweetheart; Misty is Mimi, sweetcheeks, sugar and babe. 

Cordelia tend to say sweetie a lot to both, but she loves saying Ray and my love to Raleigh and Mist and angel to Misty. 

Misty picks whatever she finds in the moment, she is quite affectionate, but set for Leighs and dear to Raleigh and Dee and baby to Cordelia. She likes short affectionate nicknames. 

O - Orange (What color reminds them of each other?)

For Raleigh, beige reminds her of Cordelia and dark blue for Misty. For Cordelia, yellow is a must when she thinks of Raleigh while she sets baby green for Misty. For Misty, burgundy always reminds her of Raleigh while for Cordelia is lilac.

P - Proposal (Who proposes and how?)

Raleigh! Over breakfast on Halloween day! All the girls had bets placed for so long and everyone was biased towards Misty somehow, even Cordelia, except this little girl (Hayley) that really look up to Raleigh and Madison?? who are betting for her; so when they enter the kitchen to see the serious tall woman knee down and two velvet boxes in her hands, there is this awkward silence till Madison arrives like ‘bitch what are you all doin- OH MY FUCKING GOD HAYLEY?? GET DRESSED WE GOING SHOPPING WITH ALL THESE BITCHES MONEY’

Q - Quiet (Do they like to talk, or are they more of an actions type of person?)

Misty and Cordelia do the talk the most, since Raleigh is a quite person most of the time and likes to listen to them. But both find fascinating when the other woman picks up one topic and goes full at it, leaving their brains a bit like jelly (more like Misty ends up confused and lost, Cordelia is used to it even when later it makes her feel mushy) because of that intensity.

R - Rich (Do they spoil one another?)

Misty spoil them most of the time, she is a bit of a spendaholic and that’s why Cordelia doesn’t let her go alone shopping. Cordelia is more of small things here and there, most of the time after thinking a lot about to get it or not. Raleigh goes from ‘do you want a burger? okay, i’m buying’ to ‘do you want this 52″ television? okay, let me take the card’ I call this the ‘rich auntie’ disease, but she have under control most of the time.

S - Sleep (What are their sleep habits?)

Cordelia is the only one having a decent sleep schedule, so she ends up making sure the other two don’t go wild. 

Misty always oversleep a little, especially when she is awake past midnight, but she also likes to accompany Cordelia early in the morning from time to time. 

Raleigh is a mess because she can pull two days without getting sleep and be just fine, used to those destroyer schedules, or sleep through the day (only waking up for her classes and then going back to sleep) and waking up feeling like a tornado ran over her.

Though when she feels like that Cordelia and Misty trap her between them in their bed, because it seems Raleigh sleeps decently when they three are together.

T - Touch (Their favorite place to touch?)

Cordelia has a thing with touching Misty and Raleigh’s nape and playing with their hair, but individually she loves resting her hand in the small of Misty’s back and also draw her fingers along Raleigh’s scar (these moments are really intimate and always happen behind closed doors since the scar is a really touchy subject).

Misty love run her thumbs along Cordelia’s collarbones because it always brings the softest and warm hum from her lips; she also loves to run her fingers over Raleigh’s knuckles because she finds it soothing for both.

Raleigh hands always find the right spot in Cordelia, her thumb caressing her hipbone or this spot behind her ear where she knows calm her down when she is stressed; with Misty always has a bit of trouble, just because she still isn’t used to have a partner that touchy, but she loves Misty’s neck. 

U - Unencumbered (What do they do to relax?)

Misty is obviously in her most relaxed state when she is dancing and twirling around, is like therapeutic in some way because the only thing she is focusing is in the music and her body and her magic.

Cordelia sits in the windowsill of her window’s office with a cup of tea in hand, watching whatever is going on in the backyard or just nothing in particular. She finds being alone like that really relaxing.

Raleigh likes to play videogames, surprisingly! When she came back to the Academy one of the younglings showed her the new pokemons and she freaked out so hard? because she didn’t play it since 1998 (when she disappeared). So after a week munching the idea, she - for once! - asked shyly to Zoe if she could help her buy a video console and some games. It really helps her shut her anxiety down. 

V - Virgin (What’s the sex like?)

Too intense. Misty is an intense lover but also Raleigh is intense, and Cordelia sometimes feels overwhelmed. It’s like running three marathons when the other two team up on her. The girls (aka Zoe, Queenie, Mallory, Coco and Madison) know better than knocking on their bedroom door at all, in case they are together. 

W - Wedding (What’s the wedding like? Big, small?)

Small, the smallest, like the whole thing is held in the backyard of the Academy. Only them with Zoe (Cordelia’s), Mallory (Misty’s) and Madison (Raleigh’s) as their bridesmaids + Coco and Queenie and maybe Stevie. But is the most private thing ever held and there’s food for everyone, everyone gets to dance with the brides and is overall like a family reunion.

They also have Sally on videocall, crying her eyes off because she is watching her bestfriend getting married; and Wilhemina is there too. They both are important to Raleigh, both her past lovers and now best friends.

X - Xylophone (What’s their song?)

OKAY THIS IS MY TIME TO SHINE

pre-apocalypse!Raleigh + Misty: Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac

pre-apocalypse!Raleigh + Cordelia: Sara by Fleetwood Mac

pre-apocalypse!Raleigh + Cordelia + Misty: Tender Offerings by First Aid Kit

post-apocalypse!Raleigh + Supreme!Cordelia: I Think We Are Alone Now by Tiffany

post-apocalypse!Raleigh + Misty: Say You Will by Fleetwood Mac

post-apocalypse!Raleigh + Supreme!Cordelia + Misty: Still Alive by José González

Y - Yearn (How do they cope with being away from the other?)

Misty text both Cordelia (she answer everything) and Raleigh (allergic to technology but text her back at the end of the day) a lot when they are away. Cordelia likes to facetime/videocall Misty because she knows at some point she is going to burst in Raleigh’s room and she would see she was doing okay. Raleigh has mixtapes with their favourite music, obviously she at least call them once or twice, but she prefers to listen their music because it soothe her.

Z - Zoo (What kind of pet would they have, if any?)

A dog, no doubt, probably named Morgana or any other name related to a legendary witch because Raleigh is that kind of history nerd. Also it would be a big one, when they first got the puppy Misty and Cordelia adored them to pieces and then it started to grow up and Raleigh is all ‘heck yeah that’s my booboo’, cuddling them like they are still a tiny puppy (Misty and Cordelia are worried about being the one left out of bed ‘cause Raleigh let them sleep with her in the bed).

[momalyn-writes]

Carl’s New Home

Okay so I made this for a friend who wasn’t super eager about her new dog

There once was this dog named Carl, his fur was so mangy it was almost unreal and his eyes bulged out of his stupid ugly skull. Tito was far superior in looks, a landslide victory really. But Carl had something far more important than looks. Love.

Lol, sike he was magic. Yeah so his fur was like enchanted by a witch or goddess I don’t know and it’s doesn’t really matter. What matters is that he could do anything his little ugly heart desired, except for becoming beautiful. No matter what incantation of barks he tried, he stayed just as ugly as before.

Eventually, he gave up and decided to use his powers for good instead of vanities. He went up to Tito and conjured up apple slice covered in peanut butter for him. It was Tito’s favorite, and he enjoyed every bite.

Carl left Tito to eat his apple and went around the pound to help others. Charlie felt belly rubs without any being there, Sally’s ticks died, and Dusty finally caught his tail etc. Carl left them before they could thank him, that’s what he did. He showed up, did magic, and left.

When Carl finally helped everyone in the pound he went down to his kennel to take a nap. Dozing off to sleep he relaxed his magic fur, knowing he could knock himself out he decided to take the rest of the day of magic and went to sleep the old fashioned way.

After years, this became a common occurrence as his magic only lasted a day. He thought to himself that he was tired of living in the pound and wanted a family, every night before falling asleep.

Lame.

Anyway, one day when he woke up he found Tito above him. Carl asked what Tito needed and got his fur ready to make another peanut butter apple slice. Tito put his adorable paw up to stop him and simply barked at him. He didn’t need anything, he just wanted to tell him that he was getting adopted by a four-person home.

Carl barked, asking why he out of all the far and I mean far cuter animals got chosen. Tito explained that he didn’t know why, but the biggest female seemed to like him, but the smaller female wanted Tito. Carl said that Tito should go, get a good life with a good family. Tito licked Carl’s face and told him not to be so worrisome.

Carl went up to the glass to see the humans, thinking to himself if he accidentally used his magic on them. A large human female came up to the glass and started making strange noises. Minutes later, he was let out of the pound and put into a box with the humans.

The only thing running in his ugly head was that the magic was going to wear off in a day. He waited, and tried not to get to attached when he was brought to his new home. He tried not to have too much fun with the new toys, and he tried to deny how good the new food was.

When the sun went down, he waited and slept. He thought to himself, wishing, that he didn’t want tomorrow to be so heartbreaking. The sun rose and he woke up and expected to be brought back to the pound. When the large human female came by and pet him on the head, he realized that his magic didn’t work.

And it didn’t work when he wished to be taken away from the pound, they really loved him. So I guess love really is more powerful than magic, go figure.

[myvirtualbookshelf]

rosehip and roibis?

Rosehip tea: Which book did you love when you were younger? 

I’d say my favourite book from when I was little was Charlotte’s Web. I also really loved (still do) I am Regina by Sally Keehn.

Rooibos: What is one of you favourite books?

The Narnia series, Through the Looking Glass (Lewis Carroll), Incantation (Alice Hoffman) and Valiant (Holly Black) are definitely at the top of the list.

[tenaflyviper]

Since a sudden head cold put the kibosh on my other plans, I decided to spend my time sick in bed this weekend indulging in a bit of Youtube, and I happened to run across what I consider to be a real diamond in the rough.

Shrunken Heads (1994) was a Full Moon Entertainment picture originally conceived of by studio head Charles Band, directed by Richard Elfman, with a main theme composed by Danny Elfman, and written by Band and Matthew Bright (original member of the Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo, writer of the cult classic Oingo Boingo vehicle Forbidden Zone (1980), and childhood friend of the Elfman brothers).

With that kind of a line-up, I’m honestly surprised the film isn’t more well-known and loved.  I personally found it really earnest and enjoyable, though there is no denying that it has its share of issues (most related to Hollywood ignorance, and the time in which it was made).

First, let’s talk about what makes this film interesting and unique.  The cast is likeable, and the acting is appropriate for this type of low-budget horror comedy (i.e., expect a few exaggerated stereotypes, but nothing too cringe-inducing).  Among the teen protagonists are Upstanding-to-a-fault Tommy, his jelly bean-loving friend Billy, naïve, asthmatic “new kid” Freddy, and good-girl-dating-the-bad-guy Sally (who legit looks like the Monster High doll face molds were based after her).  They are aided by the eccentric Mr. Sumatra, who’s said to be a former member of Haitian dictator François Duvalier’s Tonton Macoute death squad, and also engages in the practice of shrinking heads (yes...he’s a good guy).

The main antagonists consist of a gang known as the Vipers (assumed to be in their late teens/early 20′s), led by Sally’s boyfriend, Vinnie.  The Vipers answer to a mob boss known as Big Moe--a tough woman with a pompadour (referred to as “she” by everyone else) who is implied to at least have a preference for women (in the form of Mitzi, the stereotypical airheaded moll-with-a-heart-of-gold, with hair so big it actually caused lighting issues during the film’s production).

As I said before, there are some minor issues with the writing and presentation.  Mr. Sumatra (and that unlikely name only gets a pass due to being a pseudonym of the director) is supposed to be Haitian (described by the protagonists as both a “police officer” and a “magician”), yet his “voodoo” includes the practice of shrinking heads, which was only ever performed by certain tribes in South America.  In the filmmakers’ efforts to make this old man out to be a secret badass, he’s been given extremely questionable credentials for someone we’re meant to believe is an otherwise decent person (but then, I suppose the film is generously ambiguous about his ethics, though other characters do call them into question, which is refreshing).

The Vipers--and everyone else working for Big Moe--are negative mafia/greaser stereotypes straight out Old Hollywood and “rebellious teen” exploitation flicks.  If it weren’t for Sally’s early-90′s fashion sense, you’d almost wonder if this was meant to be a period film.  There are a couple of uncomfortable moments regarding the young cast that are explained/implied quickly enough so as not to linger (Tommy’s disembodied head flies under Sally’s shirt in order to rest against her heart--the closest a shrunken head really has to a “hug”--and Mr. Sumatra asks Sally a very inappropriate question that’s actually crucial to her performing a ritual incantation).  There’s also an awkward shower scene featuring a male character played by the director’s son, Bodhi Elfman (who was around 25 at the time, but sure as hell didn’t sound like it).

In spite of these flaws, the characters--even the stereotypical ones--come off as surprisingly human (Vinnie is distressed by what he does, even if only briefly, Big Moe cares about keeping Mitzi happy, and it is mentioned that Vinnie, Sally, and the Vipers all have abusive and neglectful situations at home).  Tommy is admittedly kind of a dickhead Gary Stu--not just in the way the heroine realizes she always loved him, but particularly in how he ends up endangering himself and his friends through his aggressive do-gooder attitude, but it should be remembered that the Vipers have been a constant source of torment for him and Billy since kindergarten, so it can be excused as ill-conceived vengeance.  Sally is a decent heroine that stands up for herself and others, even while still dating Vinnie.  She seems to adjust all too easily to the supernatural situation, but I suppose you can only deny so much after being visited by a flying head.

I don’t want to say much more about the actual plot (well, what isn’t already given away by the cover art), but I definitely recommend giving this one a chance.  There isn’t too much blood (there are a couple of mild throat-slashing deaths and cartoonish zombie makeup), and if you aren’t put off by the concept, the stereotypes, or the hasty mixing of foreign cultures, I think a lot of folks will get a kick out of it.

The movie can currently be viewed for free on Youtube here.

Bonus! Full Moon Video Zone “Behind the Scenes” Featurette.

[ldentidem-archive]

Muse Update! - Main Verses

Adding:

       SALLY FINKELSTEIN from NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS [ Sophie Turner ] : Dressmaker and seamstress. Sally lives with her overbearing, overprotective father; a disabled man dedicated to his medicine and scientific work and who’s taken to treat Sally not as her daughter and main carer, but as his personal maid despite her having work of her own. Sally loves him, of course, but wishes to explore her own life as an individual and not as “the scientist’s daughter”.  

       FELICIA HARDY from MARVEL [ Dove Cameron / Margot Robbie ] : Mainly thought to play in MCU threads, but will go for 616 as well. Felicia’s the only child of Walter and Lydia Hardy, a wealthy couple living in Queens. She’s much of a popular girl, very much interested in gymnastics, a Cheerleader, and very much into basketball. Felicia is very focused on her own activities, leaving her with little to no time to notice the people around her. She dotes on her father, despite him not being around much due to his constant business trips and aspires more than anything to be like him; with the same drive and passion he holds, not only for his job, whatever it is, but also for his family. 

       SALLY WICKHAM # DEMIGOD OC - CHILD OF APOLLO [ Dianna Agron ] : Created on a forum roleplay I was a part of but sadly died four years later, slightly based on Percy Jackson. Sally is the daughter of an heiress named Charlotte who lost everything after becoming pregnant, and with Apollo just up and disappearing, she had no other choice but to raise Sally all on her own. They had a modest life, though Charlotte worked her hardest to ensure that would go unnoticed, raising Sally to be a perfect Lady in hopes of having her be the salvation of their little family. However, Sally’s heritage was too strong, and she eventually left her home with nothing but her bow and spears, only gift left behind by her father, and her healing powers. Now Sally lives in a small apartment, working as a baker and waitress to sustain herself. She’s not in contact with many other demigods, specially not other children of Apollo, since she wishes to have no contact with any of them.

      ROWELLA GALDUR # DEATH WHISPERER - WITCH OC [ Emilia Clarke ] : Rowella is regarded by the rest of her family as a very mediocre witch; not good for spells, incantations or potion making, no matter how hard her grandmother tried to teach her, stuff would simply not stick, and the only reason she was allowed to stay with them instead of being sent to her father, was because she felt death coming for someone in the family, only for her omen to be right; a gift that apparently no ordinary witch could inherit, much less such a wreck of a witch like she was at fifteen, an age by which most of her abilities should’ve woken already. Now, much older, she has improved a little in all areas, but her ability, now much more advanced, to see the dead, ease people’s passage through it and perceive when Death is coming is what’s kept her in high regard within her clan. She’s based in New York, selling oils and ointments at an Organic store. Not many know of the whole extent of her services, but those who do, pay handsomely for them. 

[restlessapprentice]

Oncoming Pain

Aching refined By finite design

Broken the soul on the wheeling divine Water to brine Pickled in time Arresting the best Is jarring to spines

I divest

The withering tide The day rests

All life defends a peace of the night Sleep

Glory to rousing bells Silver slumber slayers Conspire Florentine spires Awaken The great cathedral

Summer kiss Winter never tells We fall Stream springs forth, never the same Ring the morning bells

Edit

To the end 

Old railway light puts up a fight

Lick shine the tunnels 

tongue probe of light 

Thundering might 

Rattle the rails on the trail through the night

Light licking lampposts enumerate illuminations

Shoddy incantations, graffitied representations

Shadows chased from furrows and all for naught want not 

To the back end before he isled up idle

The summer of bedtime bedraggled and bedridden all an aside to ride out the tide

Foamspill designed 

And the waking world washes up

In salt swelling lines 

Of off shores stuck between two places in time

The back seat defined

God news to all who linger 

Stick your hand’s probing finger

Down dark pupils of gopher holes

Feeling for gold

Hoping its honey not bees that you hold

Repressed without finesse, processed, pity with time the willful stay blind 

Ten years behind

Form in the farmwave brings cold clouds to ride

Rippling the fence, an earthquake regrets 

The fire and water and wind it begets 

Gray glaring skies between great big brown eyes 

The bridge between hemispheres cut 

Now no highway 

No simultaneous pairing 

Recuse cut the fuse and no feedback loops

You can have the stream or the consciousness but you have to choose. 

I’ll go for the booze. 

Train your brain, the lights in the tunnel, oncoming rain needs no refrain. 

Well, lightning cries to bedtime 

sally forth and all who wait misbehave

There’s little trust in faith

The whipping cloaks of fate blown by ticking clocks of late 

Daggers to drive into hearts torn alive 

Blood bursting forth changing its course 

Well man maybe that’s simply par for the course

A means to a time, a rattling pride, a musical note tuned to stay alive

Nothing works when wandering 

Is only half true for a very select few

Someone like you

Lost in a hive of jellyfish mind

Left behind two different consciousnesses from the left to the right 

Dichromatic in time

Spin to thin out the herd of the kind

Music to chime in, poker to buy in, belly fills up bet the pot that pot that you lie in 

Light canceling out

Shimmering doubt

Interference patterns are what the world’s all about 

And a prize for the show 

Food that you know

Bellyfull recourse is vomit to most

And sober as that sizzling fat spits the cream to the ceiling 

A syrupy splat

In your eye

Sticking to perfect 

Sickness 

Never lost the best weakness 

A paltry side dish 

Something delish 

Spices and herbs and gardenfood bliss 

Pepper blind favor kills all the flavor 

Time tasting blandly is more than familiar 

Pallet dry future and rough on the tongue 

All those who wait for the war to be won

Live to placate 

But never empty the plate 

Map the road where to go nothing and everything’s the key

In the idling motor car engine

The buckling shocks 

Awe stuck doors without locks

Mirrors in the meantime look backward 

Step out for a minute

Lose the shoes 

Toes dig into earth like old worms with the blues

The great microscopic tree eaters 

Floor dwellers 

Sperm cellars

Rank tellers

Damp dirt in all who lie

In decomposition reclaiming the mudworld floor

In cahoots with the roots

Hilarious decay

Saw dust to dust in the mouths of the smallest of us 

Nature’s course on death and rebirth and other unpleasant circles 

Tree theme

Full steam. 

Light in the tunnel 

Ride the tide or be lifted 

With all other boats 

In ordinary moats 

Is never as interesting as shipwrecks remote 

As in for the television 

Tuned to the wrong channel 

The seaworthy mammal

Body spit foam and milk from the mother 

Salt milk silver sea

 Hole blown and alone

A forest to roam 

To play all the day is a west worldly moan 

And there’s your zen koan. 

Which means love the unknown. 

Makes the light in the ocean of darkness your home. 

Two petty kaons Three Petty loans Two cheap expressions oppose jetty coats 

Bitter in bayside

Par for the course 

The cable is cut on the cart of the horse 

Bitter is better than sugared remorse

Lemonade limes the bastard opines 

The master was faster than severing ties

Killed for his spine 

A pin in the crime

Shopkeepers grim reepers slip maps of their lines 

Smiles so wide 

The pickles in brine turn barrels to wine.

Vinegar eyes

The once upon a time 

You can waltz away from your problems but you foxtrot in time

The life of the lifted foot, swigning hips to the beat, arms reach the stars if they  stretch for carefree  

Leave it in bars 

The best picture tincture of scuttlebutt scrap jaw.

There are never old toils to see new ways 

Screw jack the pooch and he’ll cut you lose. 

Bite the leash take the teeth.

Grime of the bigfoot stall petty coat drawl bringer of binges and paint splattered walls

God images feed the fish 

The sparkling pond 

Fishing grown fond 

Information pulled wet from the depths with a net

It’s all about the teaching to fish right?

And all the slobber coats and the pilfering dopes gather too many clinking crinkles in their lines, never knowing where the crickets reside, so biteless go hungry, stomach in thoughts, empty in knots. 

At the bottom of his pockets two empty eye sockets 

And how you gonna fish with no peepers like that?

Fails are the scales on a writhing rainbow trout 

Hook in the mouth 

No forever and gone with needy eyes drawn finished for nothing and assigned some truth well what you going to do? Throw it back? 

Mowgli and Bagheera 

Death creeping nearer. 

Pistol pocket apricot 

Pistol pocket pepper jack princess timely for sure 

She makes her debut scowering the line scowling in time 

The drools of the fools drip down diamond hearings

Debutants twirl ribbons unfurl champagne corks pop across the lightning struck world 

Visions commissions and fission omissions there’s awkward science standing there 

The word play playground is full of bland mines 

Mind time 

All the rest dressed their best made the front of the line

Certainly fine

Clock stuck in gears with nothing but jeers bewildered to the back of the bar hands over ears willowing tears running like rainbows across the sky of her years 

Wrinkle appears

Collapsing contracting the faith of her peers.

All in the eyes of a new generation perfect contemplation a life fully lived ends in degradation 

Tragedy mined is the source of all time 

Fueled by the salt at the end of the line 

Bitter dark tumbles through damp dripping tunnels

Those ever winding railways in a rattling car

It’ll be ok it’ll be ok. 

Buried in the back seat by daylight where art thou through the wind in the window?

Who’s left behind?

Make it rain naked raincoats

The belly of the beast belays with no makeup 

There’s a person to take up delusions of fake diamonds

 The perfect carbon footprint

Nigh tide follows on the ride home from take off 

Well spring forth a force from the source. 

Winter falls from summer

All my strength to steal your pain

The pretty refrain

The flower is wilted and that strikes a vein 

Tragedy well played

And heaven awaits 

Her spirit forever 

My grandma is dying 

Doesn’t mean I can start lying

The truth is no shield when feeling like crying. 

Bitter residing

In the heart of all sweet light buzzing bitter bees betray their sweet honey pulled from flowers it only takes hours

A pestle of pollen to fresh sugar powder 

You’ll never leave me I’ll never leave you I love you I love you I love you it hurts. 

Fuck using words 

Their power don’t matter when matter disperses. 

Time robs our purses 

Ignores all our curses 

Death is deaf to our dumb universes 

Never reverses 

Music of the spheres moves in the wisdom of verses 

Cemented as scripture and true as black hole behavior

Or sickness

The physics of being.

Finite.

I want you to hear me I want you near me 

To feel 

That love is the light that makes the world real

The guardrails put up are hardly like steal 

Melting

Nothing to heal.

Finished the reel

Only a picture of Mary who suffers with zeal.

The light appears rushed. 

Brace myself

We are together. 

Letter cry 

Let her fly

God’s standing by

I love you. 

[novirginia]

25 for 21

Film critics have been playing an interesting and unexpected game this year. They’ve been naming the 25 Best Films of the 21st Century (so far). It was Manohla Dargis and A.O. Scott of the New York Times who first got the ball rolling, and what follows represents my two cents in this regard. As to what ‘best’ means, these are all movies that I either love or admire; that I can watch over and over; that I have watched over and over; and that I think will stand the test of time.

It obviously goes without saying that I don’t see everything. And that there are (many different parts of) many (different) national cinemas that pass me by completely. There is also only one woman filmmaker on (the first part of) this list. Such absences are a gaping big part of many of these 25 for 21 lists. The Times roster, for example, includes only four films by women, and one of these is actually illegible. Agnès Varda’s The Gleaners and I was released in 2000 and—pace the Times—the 21st century actually begins on 1 January 2001. As to the other three films by women on the Times list, Kathryn Bigelow’s Hurt Locker does nothing for me, while I think that White Material and Wendy and Lucy are far from Claire Denis and Kelly Reichardt’s best (though the final third of Reichardt’s Certain Women would for sure have made my list if it had been released on its own as a short). However, I would argue that Sally Menke (who edited all of Quentin Tarantino’s films prior to her untimely death in 2010) was both integral to and partly constitutive of the three Tarantino films on this list (and that the sharp drop in the quality of his output post-Basterds is in large part due to her loss).

The format of my list is a bit odd. It comprises a run of 14 filmmakers responsible for one or more best film-objects. These filmmakers (and each of their films) are arranged in rough order of their best-ness. This list is followed by a number of special mentions (in rough order of their best-ness, too). Also included are a number of (scattershot) observations.

[Revised and reshuffled April 2019]

Terrence Malick — The Tree of Life, The New World, To the Wonder

For a blog where I don’t write much, I’ve managed to write a great deal about both The Tree of Life and To the Wonder — two extraordinary films in two extraordinarily different registers. The former is a form of prayer and—to my mind—not just the Best Film of the 21st Century (so far), but one of the all-time greats. Malick attempts nothing less in The Tree of Life than the architecture of a theology. His ambition is Tarkovskian/Kubrickian in its scale—and then bigger still. The film races for the edges of space and time, and then dives deep into the singularities of memory and desire; the exercises of mystery and grace, intellect and will. It functions in a mode where beauty is both an expression of God and a path to God, and where art (on life) is both a benediction and a judgment. What ultimately makes the film so powerful, though, can be summed up in Goethe’s line, “half children’s games, half God at heart,” for what Malick attempts in The Tree of Life is to fold together both the time spans of childhood and the universe: we’re told that God has no beginning and no end, and Malick’s boldest move in The Tree of Life is to enfold a story of childhood into the expanse of this infinity, conjuring thereby the endless timelessness of childhood. To borrow from Wordsworth, Malick’s recollection of childhood works as an intimation of immortality. 

It is this extended depiction of childhood in The Tree of Life—unrivalled in the movies except for a few brief moments in Tarkovsky’s Mirror—that represents the film’s highlight and its crux. Forget the sublime movements of Malick’s great cosmo-drama; once the films settles down into small-town Texas, you get to really see the world: its shapes and its shadows and how strange and beautiful it is. You’re reminded that the world is made for children. The real world. They’re the ones who climb trees and jump in puddles and roll in the grass. Malick’s film performs Wittgenstein’s dictum: “Just let nature speak and acknowledge only one thing higher than nature, but not what others might think.” And what The Tree of Life holds high(est) is childhood—that sense and experience of the world; that way of being in the world. Where leaves scatter and shadows dance high and piggledy and upside-down across the lawn and in the sunlight of the street; where a bone found in a field descends from the dinosaurs, and a frog launched skywards in a firework reaches the moon; where furniture shifts of its own and time moves unprecedentedly slow; where games get out of hand at a swivel of the pivot so quick as the shift from saints into devils; where sibling hatred flares spitting bright and burns back into goodwill in the same bright flash; where the discovery of the mirror and of (cruel) mimicry are perfect mysteries unfolding new laws of interpretation for everything else around you; where shame knots into perfect ecstasies and church is endlessly dull. The film is about all those days and years and slow dusks spent circling your childhood home—and how all those twilit evenings create the fundament. “Once, when there was a choice of being kings or messengers, we, being children, chose to be messengers, arms and legs flying as we romped from castle to castle” (Guy Davenport). The Tree of Life is the message that says it was all most real when we were first setting out.

David Lynch — Mulholland Drive, Twin Peaks: The Return, Inland Empire

Everything in Lynch is uncanny, unmoored and out of joint, and the velocity of this disjoint unravelling crescendos across the course of his work this century: Mulholland Drive, Inland Empire and Twin Peaks: The Return. And while the latter is a TV show, the Twin Peaks universe already venned the cinematic with Fire Walk With Me and Lynch spoke about The Return as an eighteen hour movie, so I’m happy to count it as a film-object. I also happen to think that The Return is Lynch’s masterwork. I’ve placed it second to Mulholland Drive only because it’s an eighteen hour movie that I’ve only seen once; it would need multiple viewings both to process and to say anything more meaningful about it than that it’s a form filled with endless, confused, beautiful, black feeling. Like all his work, The Return demonstrates Lynch’s commitment to working primarily in the register of atmospherics and affect rather than plot. Its emotional resonance is as profound as its willingness to defy concrete narrative explanation and accommodate uncanny intrusions and extrusions upon narrative law. Watching the series feels like you see but that you can’t see.

Nevertheless—and I’m remembering now the dark cracks that radiate like some final, fatal, flaw through the rest of the series from the extraordinary nuclear bang of Part 8—I think The Return is primarily about the eruption of evil into the everyday. Part 8 is an episode occasioned by (and which briefly depicts) an actual historical event: the 1945 atomic tests at White Sands. But though it might appear so, I don’t think the episode depicts the birth of BOB. BOB’s violence is more community-centred, visited upon individual bodies; he’s no awesome burst of atomic energy. If anything, Part 8 tells the story of a flare: a bright flash sent up by mankind indicating to the evil already inherent in the fabric of existence that it was safe to walk out more freely in the world. Thus the woodsmen; that slumbrous incantation sent out over the radio waves; and that egg-hatched, insect-winged frog’s journey from the site of the atomic test into an unconscious girl’s room and down her throat. This is the water and this is the well. Drink full and descend. Part 8 represents the metonymic genesis of the hole in the universe that Laura Palmer left behind, while The Return as a whole represents a shout into that hole, an attempt—like Fire Walk With Me—to wake us again to the horror of abuse and murder at the centre of the Twin Peaks story. That plot was always meant to be the centre of the show, but it gradually fell away, partly due to the realities of TV, and perhaps partly because Lynch stepped away during season two of the show’s original run. The story of Twin Peaks, and the show itself, evolved so much that its central premise was obscured or—more properly—collectively forgotten by its audience in favour of the show’s folksier elements. But this central horror returns with a vengeance in The Return. 

Just like Fire Walk With Me, which reminded us that this was all Laura’s story, The Return descends into the sheer fish-scale clammy cold of trauma and “the evil that men do” (which is how Albert theorises BOB). The Return is like being thrown into a disoriented black hole of doublings and doppelgängers. All these doubles and split-selves represent the fractured results of various evils:  they are attempts to keep on existing in the world after the worst has had its way with you. Thus, while Cooper’s decision (after 25 years in the Black Lodge, and fifteen episodes as Dougie Jones) to step back into the place he has recently escaped (and into the night Laura died) may well represent a vain attempt to rescue Laura, I think it should properly be read as part of Twin Peaks’ wider attempt to understand the source of violence and the possibility of self-sacrifice as a way to bear it. Doubled and doppelgängered and split throughout (like the many female victims of male violence throughout the show) the briefly whole Cooper goes back. One of the finest and kindest moments of the show is Gordon Cole’s farewell to him before he steps through that locked door: “Be thinking of you, Coop.” There is so much warmth and kind-heartedness in that moment—and throughout the show—even in spite of the fact that what Lynch sees out there is primarily dark matter, thick and unknowable and aching to take shape as a bad, bad world. Lynch’s question—broached most forcefully in the show’s final shot, where the new/the non- Laura hears her mother’s voice calling as though to rouse her from sleep, and screams—is always this: what is she, and what are we, waking to?

P.T. Anderson — The Master, There Will Be Blood

In one of the releases of his New Biographical Dictionary of Film prior to 2007, David Thomson predicted that Anderson would go on to make the great American movie (i.e. the great movie about America). And he did: There Will Be Blood. Then he followed it with an even better film: The Master.

There Will Be Blood is an origins story, vivifying the (holy) spirit of American capitalism and its push-n-pull of faith-n-greed. Lit by a crazy holy-roller dynamism and anchored in the most precise of formal techniques, it’s difficult to think of a film that so effortlessly captures the recklessness of the past several centuries in the West. And which performs it all with so much poetry. (Just think of that moment where the father baptises the child in oil!) But if There Will Be Blood is an origins story, then The Master is the story mid-stream; the story gliding along unknowing under everything that is happening, then jumping out to see where it is, lit with quicksilver flashes of insight like fish breaking the surface.

The film’s avatar is Joaquin Phoenix, dancing the twisted tight-rope choreography of a misfitted and jitterbugged amateur chemist. Fortified by ship fuels and solvents, cough medicines and dark-room chemicals, spirits, pills and paint thinners, The Master launches straight into the milky-way nightscape of his mind in its opening shot (of a ship’s frothing wake) and then cuts to Phoenix’s face. Projected there is the frightening play of a fierce intelligence at the limits beyond boredom. The film then hurls us into his unhinged state-of-being in-the-world, like a crystalline stream of ship fuel shot through a mind already operating in flashes of black and night and blinding white; like a jittering bug in black and white ‘round a light. I wrote about The Master before as a kind of elegant high-wire tone poem, borne out of an electric blue movie-saturated brume, but could not believe—watching the film again recently—how far Phoenix embodies its project. The slant and alienated mind he projects, and the weird slow-dance he performs with Philip Seymour Hoffman’s character — all this somehow affects the (soul) fractures of our post-nuclear age and its competing charismas and shape-shifting ideologies. I think this film can only get more and more contemporary.

Quentin Tarantino — Inglourious Basterds, Death Proof, Kill Bill Vols 1–2 

There’s not much more to say about these three choices than that Inglourious Basterds, Death Proof and Kill Bill are almost perfect movie movies in that pure-strain, sheer-thrill, sex-as-sound-track, motion-picture-mode that represents Tarantino at his best. So there’s only a little regret in me saying that there’s a universe where Tarantino became the feminist crime movie guy instead of the stylised violence guy, and in me noting that—in spite of the overwhelming cinematic verve of Kill Bill and Death Proof, and the scope and deeply self-reflexive investigation of screen violence in Inglourious Basterds—I get a bit wistful for that world every time I sit down with Jackie Brown. And while saying this might sound like praise for Jackie Brown at the expense of the three Tarantino films that made this list, this is not my intent. (After all, where Kill Bill Vols 1–2 picks up on the themes of Tarantino’s last 90s film, I’m tempted to place it above Basterds and Death Proof as his best this century so far. Where what I’ve got to say about Jackie Brown sounds like praise at the expense of Django Unchained and The Hateful Eight, though, this is completely my intent.)

Part of what sets Jackie Brown apart from Tarantino’s other films is how grounded its characters are. They have style, but that style is earned. It never veers into the affectations and (sometimes effective) cartoonish licks of Tarantino’s earlier and later output. Their motivations are small, and the film’s big set-piece scheme is necessary and organic. Jackie Brown comes out of a real place—the urban spaces of Southern California—and not the subsequent movie-verse of Tarantino’s own making. It’s meditative and it’s observant and it has room for big social truths. There’s no other movie by Tarantino that really goes after a theme the way Jackie Brown sinks its teeth into the business of getting older and having to rectify where you thought your life would go and who you thought you’d be. More importantly, though, the film’s also about feeling like—as a black woman—you’ve run out of the roles that society permits you to inhabit. Jackie Brown is deeply, passionately, and intersectionally feminist in a way that Tarantino hasn’t attempted since. Just picture the film’s intro and the way Pam Grier’s walk morphs into a half-run and then a mad, high-heeled sprint — all to make it on time to her shitty job, and only to be told by Michael Keaton’s ATF agent that he’s leveraging the future she’s scraped together in order to further his career. This film’s so much more thoughtful about what crime actually is and how it actually comes about than almost anything else in the genre; just the contrast between Ordell, Jackie, and Louis’ motivations for the crimes they commit is such a rich dramatic space to work in.

As to the films that followed Jackie Brown, both volumes of Kill Bill—which Tarantino intended as one film—remain the closest Tarantino has come to building on the best of his 90s projects. Vol. 1 is almost wholly an homage to a thousand kung fu movies, while Vol. 2 deepens and explores the relationship between Beatrix and Bill. But if you’ve seen enough wuxia films, this movement across the film’s halves isn’t so surprising — this is a genre that lives for complicated character relationships. Nevertheless, it’s still a deep and silent thrill to reach the final portion of Vol. 2 and realise that the Bride’s brilliantly quiet showdown with Bill—Tarantino’s most effective meditation on mortality since Jackie Brown—consists almost solely of 45 minutes of Beatrix and Bill just talking.

Apichatpong Weerasethakul — Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives, Tropical Malady, Cemetery of Splendour

Alexei German — Hard to Be a God

I wrote about this here.

The Coen Bros — Burn after Reading

This film is excoriating. It’s also funnier and funnier each of the thirty-plus times I’ve seen it.

Special mentions to No Country for Old Men (a film to study endlessly, but which I don’t love) and A Serious Man, whose metaphysical angst beats out Inside Llewyn Davis for me. I also still think that A Serious Man is the prime example of the perfect little film — a film that gets its every frame right, but whose ability to avoid cracks or flaws or strain comes about because the film’s scope or subject or reach doesn’t ask that it strike out quite so far as to break the vessels. Odd to say about a film that engages both the book of Job and Ecclesiastes.

David Cronenberg — A History of Violence

Lars von Trier — Melancholia, Dogville

Dogville’s better, but whatever. Melancholia comes first for me. I’d also like to give a special mention to Antichrist, which was properly unhinged (and so much more insane and perfectly tilted than anything else in recent memory). Like much of von Trier’s recent output, Antichrist was a study in perverse, promiscuous storytelling—cycling all polymorphous-like from abject tragedy through absurdity to sexual excitation and horror and back again through the same warped register, but never once cheapening what’s serious or making you feel guilty about what’s funny. Many of von Trier’s recent films have also been about the paralysis of depression, and this is reflected not just in their dramatic contents but their style. Like Antichrist, Melancholia begins with a crazed operatic sequence in maddened slow motion. It’s all about the agony of stasis, and the soul’s domination by an all-enveloping (lack of) emotion that swallows everything in its path. This crystallises in Melancholia’s master image—an all-consuming silvery orb—a symbol of pure geometrical stasis constructed to match the dominant characteristic of clinical depression. 

Carlos Reygadas — Stellet Licht

Special mention also to the opening scenes of Post Tenebras Lux: the startling build up of that thunderstorm as purple twilight falls around the child in the field, and the uncanny entrance of that bright red animated demon (with non-animated toolbox) into the sleeping house.

Werner Herzog — Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans 

This film is demented. A deranged and degraded urban swamp nocturne. A piece of close portraiture that places Nic Cage under the camera eye only to watch him unspool like some delirious force of nature. Just think of Scorsese’s inability (even to the detriment of his films) to turn or cut away from Joe Pesci in Goodfellas and Casino, and you’re close to what’s happening here: a battened-down camera registering an immense whirlwind of energy roar through the shutter. Herzog is like the moth battering itself up against the lit glass, unable to cut away from Cage even as the film singes. It’s like being back in the 70s and 80s and watching him watch Kinski. And while Cage is no Kinski, this film revolves around him like Herzog’s earlier masterpieces revolved around the German. You can’t look away.

Asghar Farhadi — A Separation, The Past

Farhadi’s such an understated, fluid, and cunning formalist. His precision—and his fragmented and constructivist organisation of domestic spaces—is thrilling in the quietest key, even as his narratives build to perfectly pitched slow-motion disaster-climaxes along the weave of Aristotle’s ‘complex plan.’

Maren Ade — Toni Erdmann

Manoel de Oliveira — The Strange Case of Angelica

Many of the films on this list—like most masterworks—are to some extent an allegory of their own making. But this is most pronounced in The Strange Case of Angelica (perhaps de Oliveira’s most extended meditation on the medium of cinema). Angelica tells a ghost story, but what are ghosts in the movies but the past cut or superimposed into the present? The story Angelica really tells is all about film’s unique capacity to embalm time—to preserve time and time’s passing through the photographic registration of light, and to thereby preserve indefinitely a fragment of the world and its duration. In Angelica, we find Bazin’s beautiful ontology of the movies brought forward, dusted off from his teleology of the image, and thrust onto the Mulveyan/Lacanian spectatorial axis. Isaac, a young photographer, is asked by the owners of a hotel to take a death portrait of their deceased daughter, and de Oliveira’s film depicts his slow enslavement to the images he takes of the beautiful Angelica. The scenes of Isaac repeatedly removing his photographs from his stop-bath and hanging them to dry on the line—one ‘frame’ after the other—points not just to photography ‘becoming’ cinema, but to the ‘dead’ or frozen image waking to life and overtaking its maker, somehow becoming more real than the world from which it was obtained. Isaac’s desiring gaze is an animating one—just like ours in the dark of the movie theatre, and the moviemaker’s behind the camera and in the dark of the editing room. The film’s parable of amour fou, in which the outsider projects his fantasy life onto the passive screen of the inert object, evokes that wicked thrill of light becoming emulsion.

Two Days, One Night (The Dardennes) No Country for Old Men (The Coens) Birth (Jonathan Glazer) Under the Skin (Jonathan Glazer, who understandably but unfortunately could not find a way to to sustain the extraordinary achievements of the film’s first hour) The Headless Woman (Lucrecia Martel) Holy Motors (Leos Carax) Adaptation (Spike Jonze) Once Upon a Time in Anatolia and Winter Sleep (Nuri Bilge Ceylan, master of that space where landscape meets and maps onto psychology) I Am Love (Luca Guadagnino) Children of Men (Alfonso Cuarón) The Counselor (Ridley Scott) The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson) Fat Girl (Catherine Breillat) The Life Aquatic (Wes Anderson) Elle (Paul Verhoeven) A Serious Man (The Coens) Irreversible (Gaspar Noé, whose subsequent output makes plain that Irreversible’s brilliance was totally accidental; nevertheless, it’s an almost unwatchable formal masterwork) This is 40 (Judd Apatow)

Films that need a little time to settle: Zama (Lucrecia Martel)