#i tend to jump between expert and master -> ill play up to a master 29 most of the time if i can handle the chart

[m-y-fandoms]

[SDR2 Girls] x selectively mute reader - imagines

Request: SDR2 Girls reacting to hearing a selectively mute S/O speak for the first time, please!!

Sure thing! Also, so that more people can relate and read this with themselves in mind, if you want to, you can read this as an s/o who simply doesn’t talk often due to shyness, idk. I wrote it with selectively mute in mind like the request says though. Also, some of these take place in SDR2, some in DR3 the anime, in Hope’s Peak Academy. - Admin Kokichi

Warnings: selectively mute reader, implied past trauma, self-hate and doubt, insecurities, mild and not in detail, always resolved with fluff.

Mahiru Koizumi

     “(S/O), what do you think of these ones?” Your loving, strong-willed girlfriend, Mahiru Koizumi splayed out a bunch of photos before you, carefully ordering them in a particular way and looking to you with an almost nervous anticipation in her eyes that was uncharacteristic of her. She stood behind you, looking over your shoulder anxiously. She valued your opinion highly, above most of the artists and creative minds she’d become acquainted with in her years of expert-level photography.

     Your eyes scanned the pictures thoughtfully, appreciating every inch, every focal point, every hidden meaning. You took in the composition, the symbolism, the saturation. Your girlfriend was so passionate, so gifted, and far too hard on herself. Slowly, your brows raised. She took this expression immediately to mean disapproval, and began to defend herself.

     “I know, I know. I was trying to do a series here. It was a new concept I’m trying... a bit too bold I think for now. I should stick to just quality headshots for the time being, that was my last concept. Following the first photo, the rest were suppose to connect and flow like a story but I understand if it’s not coming through-” you interrupted her speedy string of words, the shield she put around herself and her work.

     “This is the best one yet!” Your mouth hung open, lost in the colors. Your eyes swam, bouncing from polaroid to polaroid.

     “No, be honest because like-” Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “(S-S/O)???” She spun you around to face her, tears at the corners of her eyes. She pulled you into her chest, nearly squeezing the life out of you. All doubts about her work went out the window. If it was good enough to make you speak, it was good enough for her.

     She left little pecks all over your cheeks, and insisted of taking a photo to remember this moment.

Peko Pekoyama

     Being rather quiet and reserved herself, Peko didn’t mind your timid nature. She knew of trauma, seeing much of it growing up in the yakuza way of life. She had trauma of her own, and had caused others great trauma in the line of duty, protecting her Young Master. Once she’d started dating you officially, she’d become your sword and your shield, quite literally as well as emotionally. She didn’t need words. She knew how you felt, when to back off, when you needed comfort. Being intuitive, preceptive, strong-willed and incredibly intelligent made her your perfect defender, your rock. 

     She was used to you pointing, signing, even drawing out your feelings at times, and didn’t need to know what your voice sounded like to love you, but when you spoke up, breaking your silence, for her sake nonetheless, she held back tears, eyes glistening.

     “Peko, I worry that you’re not happy sometimes… the Kuzuryuu’s overwork you. I want you to be happy.” You’d been sitting across from her in the dining hall, just the two of you all alone, Fuyuhiko having ordered her to fuck off for the day. Your voice was small, gentle, barely existent, but it was there. Her intense, scarlet eyes flew up to your mouth, sure her mind was playing tricks on her. She could tell from your posture and expression the past hour that you’d had something on your mind. Something was bothering you, but surely that hadn’t prompted actually speech?

     “(S/O)... did you just speak to to me?” Peko spoke concisely, purposefully like always. You nodded nervously. Maybe you’d overstepped by bringing up her line of work or the Kuzuryuu clan. It wasn’t your place. She’d been doing that far longer than you’d been with her.

     At your reply, the swords-woman merely closed her eyes pensively, almost appearing to be in a state of meditation. A small, barely noticeable smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was elated, ecstatic that you’d chosen to speak for her, that you loved and trusted her this much, but she wasn’t one to make a big scene of things.

     “I appreciate your concern for me, but no matter how hard I work, being with you makes me happy, preforming my duties make me happy. I’m sorry if I ever gave you reason to doubt either of those facts.” Her steady, confident hand reached out and stroked your back lovingly. You smiled, leaning into her touch.

Ibuki Mioda

     Ibuki talked enough for the both of you. You found comfort in the way she could endlessly hold a conversation where you could not. She made friends with ease and people loved her. Sometimes you feared that you held her back, that your quiet personality and baggage from your past was a grey stain on her neon spirit.

     Despite your doubts, Ibuki never hesitated to show her love for you. She held your hand all the time, regardless of if you needed that physical comfort at the moment. She carried the conversations, easily rolling with your signing, gesturing, and nods. She never forced you, never pushed your barriers, taking you completely as you are. You’d seen her bite people, scream, pull people away into her manic fantasies and crazy ideas, but with you she was a bit more patient, reserved.

     “Ibuki... w-why do you go easy on me? You’re so wild and free with e-everyone else... I hope I’m not holding y-you back,” you stuttered, fighting back tears. You weren’t really in the mood to talk, but this question had been burning in the back of your mind for too long. Ibuki’s fiery eyes widened. Her hands flew to her cheeks in a state of amazement and awe. You smiled sheepishly at her, completely in love with how passionate and alive she was at all times.

     “Whaaaa?! (S/O)!!! Your voice is like, totally adorable!!! Ibuki love-love’s it!” She ran over to you and wrapped her arms snuggly around your waist before jumping up and down in place, ignoring your actual question completely. 

     That was your Ibuki.

     “But-”

     “You think Ibuki goes easy on you!?!?! Perish the thought, oh lovey dovey lover of mine! If this is going too easy on you, I can go harder!!!!” She pulled away, shredding an air guitar in front of you with her teeth gritted in false exertion. You could tell she was purposely ignoring your second comment, the one about you holding her back. Ibuki didn’t like to focus on the negative, and her not answering your silly, nonsense question was her was of saying it was in fact a silly, nonsense question. She loved you, and she wanted to be with you.

     No if, and’s, or but’s about it.

Mikan Tsumiki

     Mikan was rushing back and forth, cleaning up messes, doing paperwork, organizing her backpack. The nurse’s office would be a hell hole without her. Hope’s Peak wasn’t even paying her for her endless duties as the nurse’s assistant, which was an outrage in your mind already, but then she spent every day fretting over homework, her studies, her friends, her job, and your relationship with her. It was criminal, the stress life put on that girl.

     Today was no different. Mikan had been to class, the to the nurse’s office to tend to ill students, then back to class, then lunch, and now here she was again, nearly in tears as she tidied up the actual nurse’s files in-between writing her own notes and research. She never let up on researching and perfecting her ultimate talent, and feared letting down anyone in her life, whether they deserved her attention or not.

     You sat on a hospital bed behind your frantic girlfriend, watching her struggle with a lump in your throat. You technically weren’t allowed to just be here unless you were sick, but the nurse hardly ever did her job, so she would never find out. Mikan sat before you, her cheeks wet and a grimace seemingly permanently etched into her face. You couldn’t take it any more. You stood, walking over to her and grabbing the files and pen from her hand. She let out a small yelp of surprise, so entranced with her work that she didn’t even notice your approach. You placed the cursed objects down, and wrapped your arms around her tightly.

     “Mikan, please. You need to slow down. You can’t keep working this hard.” Your voice shook, jittery as you buried your head into her shoulder. She jumped, startled by your actions. 

     “(S-S-S/O)! Y-you just spoke! You just spoke to m-me!” She froze, excited, anxiety-ridden, surprised, overwhelmed all at the same time. “Your voice is s-so cute! S-Sorry! Sorry if that’s weird to say!” Her bandaged hands reached up, grasping onto your forearms embracing her chest.

     “It’s not weird, but did you hear me?” It was imperative to you that she understood, that she agreed to pace herself, to put herself first from now on. You couldn’t watch her stress herself into an early grave any longer. With her already existing tendency to trip and fall clumsily, she didn’t need this constant stress and exhaustion to cause even more accidents.

     “Y-yes. Yes. I heard you. I’m sorry for not answering. I’m so s-stupid! I should’ve b-ben listening closer, eh!” She shook her head frantically, holding back tears. You only squeezed her tighter.

     “You’re not stupid. I love you, Tsumiki.” She stiffened up, then began to sob loudly, snot and tears rolling down her face. These words were so new to her, so unfamiliar. She didn’t feel like she deserved your love, but yes, she loved you, too.

     She loved you more than herself, more than work or school, more than nursing.

     More than life itself.

Hiyoko Saionji

     You loved Hiyoko, you really did, but she got on even your nerves at times. Your relationship with her started as one mutual respect, a kind of unspoken agreement that she would be little nicer to you than she was to others. She liked you, physically and mentally. She found you attractive in every way, and showed it the only way she could at first: by teasing, by bullying you, but you never responded, never gave her the satisfaction of a response. She liked that. Well, she hated it outwardly. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t get a rise out of you, but inside her admiration for you only grew with every exchange.

     She started to treat you like a best friend, an older sibling like Mahiru, and loved that you could keep up with her, that you weren’t intimidated by her, or at least if you were, you didn’t show it. She eventually pushed her pride aside enough to ask you out, wanting to make you hers before anyone else could, and you accepted, but again, it didn’t mean she didn’t get on your nerves from time to time.

     Today in particular, she was trying your patience. Everything you did, she complained about or belittled. She was teasing you, in some horrible mood today, demeaning everything move you made. You’d been spending the entire day together, and it was going a little something like this:

You went to the diner, she criticized your choice of food.

You went to the beach house, she made fun of the way you bonked your head off a surf board in the storage room.

You swam at the beach with some of your classmates, she pointed out the silly way your wet clothes clung to your body.

     Now you were back in your cabin with her, just shooting the breeze and making small talk, when she waltzed out of your bathroom with something in her hands. Something of yours.

     “What is this? I didn’t know you were this kind of pervert! Gross!” She cackled, holding up a pair of your underwear that were, let’s just say, maybe a more flashy and indulgent... not for daily or casual use. You’d discarded them just before your shower the night before, and forget that you’d simply left them on the bathroom tiles.

     You felt your cheeks heat up as she feigned disgust, swinging the garments around while continuing to comment and mock you loudly. You fists began to shake, and your blood felt like it was boiling.

     “Can’t you ever just give it a fucking break, you little troll?!” You marched forward, snatched the underwear from her hand, snarling inches from her face. A look of shock and horror crossed her face, and you both stood there, frozen for a few moments. Then, impishly, mischievously, her hand slipped up to cover her mouth, and she smirked devilishly.

     “Well, well, it’s about time you showed some back bone. Put me in my place, pervert~!” She giggled maniacally, stroking your cheek with one hand. “That was kinda hot.” Your cheeks continued to heat up, but now it was more from a flustered feeling in the pit of your stomach rather than anger

Chiaki Nanami

     You’d been dating Chiaki for a long while now. You guys went together like peanut butter and jelly. She was quiet, a bit lazy, low maintenance, and didn’t require you to speak endlessly... or ever really. She didn’t talk much herself, but she would when she needed to. You see, Chiaki could’ve been the ultimate empath, in her own right. She could feel for others, support them, comfort them, read their hearts, give the best advice. When it came to the things that really mattered, she was never one to slack off and be lazy. She was your perfect match.

     What’s more, her main hobby and passion, gaming, often didn’t require any speech, any communication at all. You either watched her play, resting your head in her lap silently, or during co-op, the game either guided you with tutorials, or Chiaki herself did all of the talking, looking to you for nods of confirmation. You two spent hours upon days upon weeks like that, just enjoying one game after the next. She often even let you choose the game, loving all genres herself.

     Today was the day: you were going to finally tell her how you feel. You were going to work up the courage and speak your heart. Of course, Chiaki knew you cared about her, and you knew she cared about you... but was it love? Did she really love you, or were you just comfortable, easy to deal with, her little outlet for social interaction? Were you just best friends, platonic soul-mates with the false label of a romantic relationship? Today you’d find out.

~

     You and Chiaki sat in her dorm as usual, in the dark with only a screen lighting her face gently. A soft blue glow softened her adorable features, and you felt your heart flutter. God you loved her so much...

     Scooting closer to her on the ground, you placed your head into her lap, heart beating at the speed of light.

     “Chiaki?” You spoke quietly, gently, anxiously.

     “Hmm?” she hummed in acknowledgement, her fingers never halting their rapid movements on the controller in her hands.

     “I... I love you.” You inhaled sharply and held that breath, heart thrashing violently against your ribcage. You waited eagerly for a response that you both desperately needed and were terrified to hear.

     Chiaki simply smiled warmly, the sounds of gunshots and a level-up in your ears as you waited. She didn’t make a big deal of your speaking. She knew it would come eventually, when you were ready and comfortable.

     “I love you, too, (S/O).” She gently stroked your hair with one hand, reassuring and calming you, masterfully owning the battlefield with just one spare hand.

Sonia Nevermind

     “I just don’t see why the others won’t try it out with me! You’d think even one of them would be interested!” You sat across from your regal lover, watching her throw her little tantrum in her unique and particular way of speaking. You loved the way she put accents on certain syllables, the way she messed up common lingo or phrases at times. It was so adorable. You couldn’t expect someone who knew dozens of languages to be perfectly fluent in all of them. “You know what I mean?” You nodded enthusiastically, lost dreamily in her eyes.

     She stood, beginning to pace back and forth in the dining hall on the second floor of the restaurant, a clear nobility to her strut. It was clear in her tone that she was used to giving orders, to speaking with purpose so that others would listen with fervor.

     “I mean, all I wanted was to try cosplaying, just once with everyone. Father never let me at home. He says it’s a silly past-time, and gets in the way of my royal duties!” She paused, fists in front of her chest in a gesture of exasperation. You nodded, eyes trailing up and down her milky skin. Wow, how did you get so lucky? “Hajime said he’d feel silly dressing up, Mahiru said she is busy, but I know she is not! Akane said it just wasn’t her thing. How does she even know unless she tries?!” You nodded, watching her chest rise and fall passionately. “I need at least five people to do this! It’s a group cosplay! Why don’t they understand? And Chiaki is nowhere to be found! She’d say yes, I know it!” She stuck one finger out matter-of-factly. Her eyes met yours, and she frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I do not mean to sound ungrateful. It means a lot that you said you’d do it with me-”

     “You are so beautiful when you’re all riled up...” You spoke, your head resting in your hand lazily. You felt in a daze, so enraptured were you with her aura, her energy. Her eyes widened a bit, before she rushed over to you, cooing and giggling like a fool. “S-Sonia!” Your princess, so strong and bold despite her demure and innocent appearance, scooped you out of your chair and into her arms, twirling you about in the air.

     “Ahaha! My, my! I will have to get riled up more often if I get to hear your voice as a reward, my love!” She nuzzled her button nose against yours, setting your heart aflame.

Akane Owari

     You sat in your room, crying, weeping softly into your blanket. Today had been a horrible day. Not only were you suffering the normal anxiety about being in this killing game, but you were already a naturally stressed person despite that, and today, your insecurities and self-doubt were at an all time high after a savage bullying session from Hiyoko. Your pillow was now soaked, and your body was shaking. Hiyoko really knew how to wound a person at their very core.

     “(S/O)! Check this shit out! Teruteru-” Your lively, protective girlfriend, Akane, came bursting into your room, startling you half to death. She halted in her tracks upon seeing the tears streaking your face and the pink puffiness of your eyes. On her own face, numerous crumbs from various fried meats and sauces from what were no doubt extravagant dishes were displayed proudly, sticking to her chin and cheeks. In her hand was a silver platter of what was unmistakably the offending feast. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Who do I need to beat the shit outta?!” She set the platter on your bed, rushing to your side and hugging you to her ample bosom. You looked up at her, shaking your head softly and wiping some crumbs from her cheek. “Who is it?!” 

     She was starting to get frustrated. You shook your head again. Akane didn’t mean to get mad at you, and truly, she was more upset at the situation than at you. You knew that. Akane was simply a fire-brand: strong, short-tempered, loud and opinionated. You never took her outbursts seriously.

     “So you’re just sad? It’s one of those days? Nothing happened?” You nodded. “Something did happen?” You nodded again. “Gahhhh this is so hard without you talkin’ and shit!” She threw her hands up in the air, fuming until she saw your lip start to tremble, a wetness glossing your eyes. She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Look... you know I love ya, (S/O). I’m sorry for being a loud-mouth asshole. I’m not mad at you.” She squeezed you tight enough to break a bone, but then pulled you away, looking into your eyes deeply. “Who?” Now she was dead serious.

     “Hiyoko...” You nearly whispered, but it was there. Your voice was there. Akane blinked once, twice, her head tilting slightly. Had she heard that right? She was looking for an answer, but she’d never actually prepared for one. Slowly, her shock, rounded out lips turned upward into a devious smirk. She stood, walking briskly toward the door. “Akane-!” You reached out after her. She spun on her heel, hands on her hips.

     “I’m gonna go give that little shit a piece of my fist!” She turned to leave again, a shit-eating grin on her face. Pausing, she twisted around again to face you, pointing her finger toward you with gusto. “And when I come back, I’m gonna ravish you, babe! You better be ready!” And she sprinted out the door, leaving it wide open in her wake.

     Your cheeks had never been so warm.

[mrmichaelchadler]

Thumbnails Special Edition: War of the Worlds

Thumbnails is a roundup of brief excerpts to introduce you to articles from other websites that we found interesting and exciting. We provide links to the original sources for you to read in their entirety. This special edition of Thumbnails commemorates the 80th anniversary of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds broadcast on October 30th, 2018. Special thanks our Editor-at-Large, Matt Zoller Seitz, for the idea.—Chaz Ebert

1. 

"The Fake News of Orson Welles: 'The War of the Worlds' at 80": Peter Tonguette of Humanities Magazine chats with filmmaker John Landis and Welles scholar Marguerite Rippy about the historic broadcast. 

“It’s easy to imagine why Welles might have been tickled pink at the public’s purported panic over The War of the Worlds, which celebrates its eightieth anniversary this month. While retaining the basics of Wells’s original tale, Welles and scenarist Howard Koch tinkered with its setting: What had been 1890s-era England became 1930s-era New Jersey. Even more devilish—and, frankly, potentially confounding to the public—was the choice not to dramatize the story but to dish out its details newscast-style. In a cast full of talented voices, Frank Readick played a reporter from the made-up Intercontinental Radio News and Welles was a university professor attempting to reckon with the news of the interstellar invaders. ‘We made a special effort to make our show as realistic as possible,’ Welles said in an episode of the 1955 BBC television series Orson Welles’ Sketch Book. ‘That is, we reproduced all the radio effects, not only sound effects. Well, we did on the show exactly what would have happened if the world had been invaded. We had a little music playing and then an announcer coming on and saying, ‘Excuse me, we interrupt this program to bring you an announcement from Jersey City. . . .’’ In fact, Welles was accustomed to courting a kind of danger in his productions. About a year before The War of the Worlds, the Mercury Theatre had put on Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, which was marred when Welles, seeking a particular lighting effect, demanded the use of a real dagger, rather than a fake, when he, as Brutus, stabbed Caesar (played by Joseph Holland). During one performance, Welles managed to wound Holland, an incident recounted by Mercury actor Norman Lloyd in my book Orson Welles Remembered. ‘These things happened with Orson,’ Lloyd told me. ‘I never checked again, or even thought about checking, whether Orson kept using a real dagger. But I know that was the end of the dagger with Joe Holland!’”

2. 

"Us and Them: Leo Goldsmith on 'War of the Worlds'": An excellent essay published in a 2012 issue of Reverse Shot.

“Precisely what fears these sinewy tripods are intended to represent—or, indeed, whose way of life is being threatened—remains ambiguous, even as it seems clear that Spielberg wants us to think something important about our lives during wartime. For H. G. Wells, however, there was no such ambiguity. An avowed socialist and advocate of ethnic and regional self-determinism, Wells deployed his novel at the twilight of a long and bloody century of British imperial expansion. Wells’s novel supplies a grim, detailed account of occupation at a time when the British Empire was engaged in violent insurgency management around the globe (especially in Africa, where resistance raged from Egypt to South Africa, and a half-dozen places in between). Wells’s unnamed narrator, who’s rather more reflective than Ray, frequently ponders what he calls a sense of humanity’s ‘dethronement,’ ‘a persuasion that I was no longer a master, but an animal among the animals, under the Martian heel. With us it would be as with them, to lurk and watch, to run and hide; the fear and empire of man had passed away.’ Wells’s story has a Darwinist bent that is social as well as natural—humanity’s complacent masses find themselves crushed and enslaved, reduced to livestock by the alien occupiers, and the microbes that ultimately prove the most effective weapons against this occupation suggest an inevitable, if unexpected insurgency at the smallest level.”

3.

"'Special Bulletin': Transfictional Disavowal": Jump Cut's Tijani El-Miskin analyzes Edward Zwick's 1983 TV movie, currently available on YouTube.

“Many of War of the Worlds' approximately 12 million listeners (a figure based on the 1930 census, American Institute of Public Opinion survey six weeks after the broadcast, and Hadley Cantril's research) who heard the Sunday night (8:00 p.m. Eastern Time) Orson Welles' broadcast knew that it was Welles speaking. If some did not, they were told at the beginning of the broadcast by the announcer, but they had to have tuned in on time: ‘The Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations present Orson Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the air in War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells.’ The announcer added further ‘Ladies and gentlemen: the director of the Mercury Theatre and star of these broadcasts, Orson Welles…’ All the signs of fictional formalities were observed by the announcer, such as mentioning the name of Orson Welles, clearly not a newscaster, and appealing to a famous science fiction writer, H.G. Wells' name, evoking the name of the Mercury Theatre, and mentioning fiction-related words like ‘star,’ words not associated with news bulletins. This bracketing of fictional conventions did not lull the audience into a sense of fantasy. Not even the four spoken reminders from the beginning of the broadcast to the end achieved that purpose. The operation of transfictional disavowal should force them to demand a separation of fact and fiction. Of course, not every listener would be frightened into believing the invasion was real. Some may have known the fictional story. Others may have had other dispositions. But the impact of manipulating the resources of one convention so as to mingle it with other conventions had a concrete effect. Needless to say, the director Edward Zwick was fully aware of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds (see Los Angeles Times, January 31, 1983). Indeed even the name ‘SPECIAL BULLETIN’ appears to have been taken from Wells' 1938 broadcast's manipulation of ‘factual’ radio conventions. Very early in the beginning of Wells' broadcast, the announcer, as part of the fictional ‘drama,’ informed the listeners that the station would ‘bring you the music of Ramon Raquelo and his orchestra.’”

4. 

"'The War of the Worlds' review in The New York Times": Byron Haskin's 1953 screen version received a solid recommendation in the respected paper. 

“There's no point in smugly rusticating behind the protection of the hydrogen bomb and jet planes. Those Martians, first reported in 1898 by H. G. Wells and terrifyingly revived for radio listeners by Orson Welles some forty years later, descended, with an assist from Paramount, on the Mayfair yesterday via ‘The War of the Worlds.’ Now it's either a mad dash for the hills or to the theatre. And, after calm deliberation, it would appear that the movies is the better bet. Make no mistake about it, science-fiction, like comic books, is a part of our culture, and George Pal, who produced this latest amalgam of fact and fantasy, is no tyro in this field. Like his previous sorties into interplanetary space—‘Destination Moon’ and ‘When Worlds Collide’—‘The War of the Worlds’ is, for all of its improbabilities, an imaginatively conceived, professionally turned adventure, which makes excellent use of Technicolor, special effects by a crew of experts and impressively drawn backgrounds. Equally important is the fact that Director Byron Haskin, working from a tight script by Barre Lyndon, has made this excursion suspenseful, fast and, on occasion, properly chilling.”

5. 

"'War of the Worlds' review by Roger Ebert": The critic was less than enthused by Steven Spielberg's 2005 version of Wells' classic. At his Scanners blog, Jim Emerson examined the film's Scientology-related subtext.

“The problem may be with the alien invasion itself. It is not very interesting. We learn that countless years ago, invaders presumably but not necessarily from Mars buried huge machines all over the Earth. Now they activate them with lightning bolts, each one containing an alien (in what form, it is hard to say). With the aliens at the controls, these machines crash up out of the Earth, stand on three towering but spindly legs and begin to zap the planet with death rays. Later, their tentacles suck our blood and fill steel baskets with our writhing bodies. To what purpose? Why zap what you later want to harvest? Why harvest humans? And, for that matter, why balance these towering machines on ill-designed supports? If evolution has taught us anything, it is that limbs of living things, from men to dinosaurs to spiders to centipedes, tend to come in numbers divisible by two. Three legs are inherently not stable, as the movie demonstrates when one leg of a giant tripod is damaged, and it falls helplessly to the ground. The tripods are indeed faithful to the original illustrations for H.G. Wells' novel The War of the Worlds, and to the machines described in the historic 1938 Orson Welles radio broadcast. But the book and radio program depended on our imaginations to make them believable, and the movie came at a time of lower expectations in special effects. You look at Spielberg's machines and you don't get much worked up, because you're seeing not alien menace but clumsy retro design. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to set the movie in 1898, at the time of Wells' novel, when the tripods represented a state-of-the-art alien invasion.”

Image of the Day

Medium's Grovers Mill Podcast illuminates "a few things you may have missed about" about Welles' "War of the Worlds" radio landmark.

Video of the Day

The complete hour-long broadcast of Orson Welles' brilliant "War of the Worlds" adaptation for radio.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2CQFYTz

[ethanalter]

Lizzy Caplan returns to her dark comedy roots on 'Ill Behavior'

Lizzy Caplan stars in ‘Ill Behavior’ (Photo: Showtime)

When Lizzy Caplan ventured across the pond last fall to film her first British TV series Ill Behavior, it was supposed to be a fun way to spend her between-seasons hiatus on the Showtime series Masters of Sex. But that hiatus became permanent when Showtime announced the cancellation of the period drama, which featured Caplan and Michael Sheen as world-famous sexperts Virginia Johnson and William Masters. “I found out about the cancellation while I was shooting Ill Behavior — so that was a fun day,” she tells Yahoo Entertainment with a rueful chuckle. “I would have liked to have done one more season, just because that final chapter of their lives is so fascinating. The two of them had gotten married at the end of Season 4, and stayed married in real life for close to 20 years before Masters left Johnson for his high school sweetheart. It’s such a twisted tragedy, and I really wanted to tell the rest of the story.”

While Showtime declined to bring Masters of Sex to Caplan’s desired conclusion, they have kept her in the family by becoming the U.S. home for Ill Behavior, which spins a twisted yarn in its own right. The brainchild of Sam Bain, one of the co-creators of the cult comedy, Peep Show, the limited series — which premiered as three episodes in England this past summer, and airs in six half-hour installments on Showtime starting Nov. 13 — follows a cancer patient named Charlie (Tom Riley, Caplan’s real-life husband) who purposefully declines treatment for his condition. This decision infuriates his best mate, Joel (You’re the Worst star Chris Geere), and spurs him to forcibly medicate his pal with the help of Tess (Jessica Regan) and perpetually drunk oncologist Nadia (Caplan). The actress says that the idea grew out of Bain’s own real-life experience watching a good friend succumb to cancer. “He decided not to pursue treatment, and subsequently passed away. Sam couldn’t do anything about it, so he wanted to write a TV show where he did carry out his darkest fantasies about saving his friend.”

Although Caplan hadn’t seen Peep Show prior to joining Ill Behavior, Riley made her aware of Bain’s exalted status within the British television world, an industry she’s a more than casual fan of. “We spend a lot of time in London, and it’s always raining there so you end up watching a ton of TV. I’ve become an expert in British TV shows, both reality and scripted.” Still, watching British television is very different from making British television — at least in terms of perks — as Caplan quickly learned. In place of the lavish craft service tables that are an essential ingredient on most U.S. shows, there was only a “tea kettle and maybe some cookies” for snacking. And the actors, rather than their stand-ins, remain on set while each scene is being lit. “The working conditions are crazy!” she jokes. “But it’s a BBC show, and it’s publicly funded, so it’s not about the perks — it’s about the work. How about that?”

Real-life husband and wife Tom Riley and Lizzy Caplan in ‘Ill Behavior’ (Photo: Showtime)

Playing Nadia allowed Caplan to revisit the kind of work she was doing before Masters of Sex came along, slinging tart-tongued witticisms around in darkly funny shows like Party Down and such films as Bachelorette. “There was something exciting about returning to that kind of comedy,” she admits. “Boiled down to one line, this is a cancer comedy and reconciling those two words seemed like it was going to be a challenge. But that fear slipped away as soon as I read the scripts: at no point are we trying to make a show that makes fun of cancer. I don’t know how one would pull that off! It’s about bigger issues, like can you control other people?”

Caplan also sees Ill Behavior as a jumping-off point to discussing right-to-life legislation, a hot button issue in both American and Europe. “I personally am all for people making the choices they want to make with their own lives, but for the characters in the show, it’s a trickier situation. The right-to-die legislation tends to refer more to people who have incurable diseases and going through treatment would prolong their lives, but it would ruin the quality of their lives and not cure them. If Charlie did do chemotherapy, chances are he would be completely fine. So it’s a way to explore these themes in a bit of a safer place, because it is a bit more black and white. If he takes the chemo, he’s cured. If he doesn’t, he dies. In reality there’s a lot more grey area.”

With no Masters of Sex to return home for, Caplan opted to remain abroad for her next TV assignment an eight-episode re-telling of Wolfgang Petersen’s World War II-era submarine epic, Das Boot. Where the movie version stayed largely on a German U-boat, the series ventures onto dry land where Caplan’s American resistance fighter is aiding French troops. “It’s very different from what I’ve worked on before — a massive production and huge scope. We have an Austrian director and a Czech crew; it’s like a little United Nations making this show!”

Ill Behavior premieres Nov. 13 at 10:30 p.m. on Showtime

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