#if you like unhinged dream sequences there's set to be two more in the next updateeeeee

[un-local]

RAUGHHH the Alberich dream is genuinely one of my favorite parts of the SWRD… I always get excited whenever I read it!! The imagery is so so SOOO good.

Aaaaaa thank you!!!

Honestly, that surprises me and delights me greatly in equal measure. I was debating cutting that scene because I was afraid it was just too out-there. (I could never though, I had way too much fun with it.) But I really thought it was gonna be one of those points where people just close the tab XD

It seriously makes my day to know that you like it!

Also... whenever you read it? As in you re-read my fic???

Love for reader! Love for 1000 years!

[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 1

“Heila,” an Old Norse verb meaning “to heal.”

Self-insert F!Eivor/Reader fic where the reader is a Dane from a clan with an unhinged leader that lands them in a heap of trouble, and are captured by Saxons after a failed raid. Eivor rescues the mortally wounded reader from certain death & with a little help from the Raven Clan, they are nursed back to health, and Eivor and Reader grow a little closer via helping eachother to overcome their traumas. Then inevitable lesbian pining and one or two (a little horny) dream sequences that suggest Eivor and the reader have actually known eachother for a very, very long time.

Reader is DFAB and uses she/her pronouns.

There are very specific trigger warnings for this chapter that are only referenced to later on in the story - graphic descriptions of violence, physical & psychological t/orture, religious fanaticism, wh/ipping, v/omit, blood, and minor/background character d/eath.

Read on AO3. i havent rlly posted fanfiction before on tumblr be nice to me

The morning waves broke calmly against the eastern shore of Cent, the salty sea breeze & sting of sand against your face and arms both familiar and calming to you; despite being weeks away from the place you once called home, it seemed the ocean would never change, no matter where you went. You could hear seabirds cry above you, and the gentle bustle of your impromptu settlement as your clanmates began to stir and prepare for the day to come. This was not your home, nor your intended destination when you had departed from your homeland - but, hopefully, you & your clan would make a home out of it yet. Originally you were to sail to Normandy but an unexpected and powerful storm threw your ship off course & you'd landed somewhere in England, according to your navigator, Vilmar.

Sitting around & watching the sun rise would not do much to help your people build a base camp. Before you could even get up, you heard footsteps in the sand behind you, and turned to find Gunnar. "There you are, y/n!" he bellowed, helping you to your feet as you giggled. "We've been looking for you for a meeting - needing your level head and all. We need supplies quickly," he said, quickly guiding you to your leader's tent, the both of you somehow avoiding bumping into clansmen carrying lumber, goods and the like. "Oh, needing my guidance for once, Gunnar? Or are you going to suggest we ride into the heart of a storm again?" you jested, elbowing his side as you walked up the green hillside. He made some sort of huffing sound, like a grumpy animal, and simply ushered you into the tent where your leader Frederik & Vilmar were already arguing.

"We need supplies, Vilmar! Else we'll all starve by the end of the week!" Frederik growled, slamming his fist into the table, sending little carved statuettes out of their places on the map.

Vilmar moved to speak, then saw you and Gunnar standing at the entrance of the tent, visibly deflating & waving the two of you over. "Hello Gunnar, y/n." Your arrival didn't seem to placate Frederik at all… 

Vilmar continued with his thought. "I know we need supplies, Frederik, but the risks outweigh all rewards at the moment. We musn't rush in blindly going a-vikingr, we must make allies first and set up a trade route," he said, rearranging the statuettes to their original places. "We've sent scouts out to every corner of this kingdom, as far as we could, and every single one has come back with word of a potential allyship, and a warning that every single village here is armed to the teeth. We cannot afford to raid right now." 

Frederik seethed quietly, seemingly first accepting Vilmar's words, then growing even more agitated. "And how long will it take,Vilmar, to establish a trade route?" he spat, staring down at the other man with something unreadable behind his eyes. Vilmar held his stare, then looked down at the map. "...A week."

The effect was instantaneous. Before you could even get a word in, Frederik stormed out of the tent, leaving the three of you bewildered, confused & frightened. You knew Frederik could be hellfire at his worst, and he'd always been obsessed with the tales of glory & kings that were told to children, and you had always chalked it up to him barely being 22 winters old, but this was something else. Sharing a worried look with your friends, you chased after him, & were met with a small crowd that had already gathered in the center of the encampment. Frederik's clear & raucous voice rang out over your clansmen, and you saw him pacing back & forth on a wooden platform. Like a king.

"Hear me, kinsmen! We may have landed in a strange land, but it is not an unknown land! We are upon the shores of England, the holy country," he spat out the world 'holy' like an insult, "and we are not the first Danes to do so, and we will not be the last. England is the same as any other land - full & ripe of pickings for the vikingr. Any and all of the able-bodied, you will ride the waterhorse with me to their Christ-House, and we will deprive them of their stores & silver!"

No, no, no, no, no. This was suicide.

Frederik leapt down from the platform, immediately heading for the armory, his wolf-fur cape billowing behind him as if he were a great hero from the old tales, though you knew he was anything but . This was not a good plan, nor a sound plan. He was insane if he thought a band of two dozen sea-soaked & exhausted Danes could pillage a monastery & live to tell the tale. You rushed ahead & grabbed his arm. He did not look at you.

"Frederik, please! Listen to me! This will not end well for you, nor for this clan! Follow through with Vilmar's plan instead, please, I am begging you -" you cried, and were met with the man shaking you off as if you were a fly. He turned to you with a wild look in his eye, forcing himself in your space, close enough for you to finally smell the ale on his breath & to see the dullness in his honey-brown eyes. "I have seen great glory in my dreams, y/n. I will not be denied it." You didn't know what to say, staring at him in shock. He looked at you again, and decided something, muttering something under his breath. "You will ride with me," he growled.

This shocked you out of whatever daze you were in. "What? No! I…" you yelped, but he had already turned from you and stormed off again. This was not good. You were never an adept fighter. Sure, you had trained once or twice in your early years, but you would never call yourself a drengr. But to go against your leader's word & break your oath to him would be a worse fate, consigning you to Helheim. Begrudgingly, you went off in search of armor & a weapon, the distant sound of thunder rumbling in the sky.

A few hours had passed, and to the best of all of your abilities, your clan had mustered up a small yet intimidating army. Maybe things would go right, and you'll topple their church like a house of cards, but you couldn't shake the ever-present feeling of something being wrong. Finishing the warrior-braid in your hair and tying it with a leather strip, you donned the leather & fur armor handed to you by Runa, your weaponsmith. It did not fit you perfectly, but still fit, and would serve its purpose and protect you yet from whatever weapons the English would use to defend themselves. Your weapons of choice, an axe & a flail, hung from the belt around your waist heavily, and you were not used to the weight of them. A shield adorned with your clans symbol, the stag, laid against your back like a mockery of a security blanket. Taking a swig of mead to warm your belly & calm your nerves, you give one last glance to your tent & personal belongings - the dried flower & a bag of jewelry (that you've had to hide from your kinsmen many times) from your mother, a lovingly-written & tear-stained letter from your father, among other things given to you by your friends & family as parting gifts before your departure from Denmark. 

You did not know it would be the last time you would see them.

Taking a deep breath, you exited your tent and headed for the shore, where many of your clan had already hopped into the three longships, painted red & blue, the stark coloration of the paint looking even brighter against the dark waves of the sea. Were you looking at them any other time, you would have called the scene pretty, but not while you had to wade through knee-deep oceanwater to try and scramble up the side of one of them. You struggled for a bit before a hand grasped your arm and pulled you up, and you heard a familiar voice. "y/n? What are you doing here? You should be staying here, with the women & children!" Gunnar spoke, his voice hushed so that the figure of Frederik somewhere behind him could not hear. You could only send him a sad but stern look. "Frederik insisted." He looked at you for far too long, and you could almost hear him thinking - he knew that you were not a drengr, either. He made some sort of soft sound & pulled you fully up onto the boat, and turned back to face forward in his seat. You could not read the expression on his face.

You sat next to him, both looking forward to Frederik, who turned around as the rest of the drengr boarded the ships, his face somber for a split second before shifting to another, more spry and almost violent expression. His voice rang out against the waves, his blonde hair had already begun falling out of his warrior-braid, sending tendrils of it flying in the wind, and his iron armor shone brightly when the sun allowed it. He was a picturesque vikingr, one you would see in the margins of fairytale books.

"Hear me, kinsmen! Today we sail for Raculf Monastery, upon the Northeastern Shore, for glory & for life! For there it is where we will find the supplies we need to replace those we lost in that dreadful storm, and there is where we will succeed! I know many of you have become doubtful, but fear not - I have dreamt of these moments and seen the glory within, and I have all of my faith in the nine Nornir that we will prevail!" he quaked, earning a few rejoiced battle cries from those around you, and even you felt a little energized, his words setting a newfound battlelust within you that you didn't know you even had. 

Your clan set sail immediately, the wind from the brewing storm to the south boosting your speed on the short journey to the monastery. It would only take an hour or two to get there, if Vilmar's predictions were correct. Nervously you checked your weapons, feeling & testing the sharpness of your axe's blade-edge, and Gunnar gently elbowed your side. "Never took you for an axe woman," he said with a light chuckle, sending you an uneasy smile. You couldn't bring yourself to match it. "I have never been forced to choose, Gunnar." 

His smile dropped momentarily, then returned, albeit a bit smaller, and he turned to you fully. His blue eyes shone with confidence. "Listen, y/n. I know you are worried as I am, but I have faith in both Frederik & the Gods that everything will go right for us this day," he said, gently setting his huge hand on your shoulder and giving a friendly shake. Slowly, you returned his smile. Maybe so.

It was difficult, however, to be so confident & blindly trusting in Frederik & your luck when the storm roared behind you, moving just as fast if not faster than the longships. Too soon you had seen the white pires of the monastery in view, the columns of smoke from countless houses & other buildings rising high into the air as the monastery's denizens continued their lives unaware to the coming danger, and too soon had you heard Frederik's voice over the roar of the sea again. It began to rain heavily, soaking through the leather of your armor and chilling your bones. You felt as if you were in a dream.

"Look there, men! Our prize, to be split open & savored! Prepare yourselves!" he roared, and it seemed like you had blinked and were suddenly upon the shore: the sails lowered, and just as Frederik blew into his horn, a deafening crack of thunder prevailed your raid, and a fire had already started, the hay-roof of a villager's home struck by lightning. Frederik gave a booming laugh, joyous & strong. "Thor is with us!" 

And like that, you and your three-dozen clansmen descended upon the monastery, moving together like some unstoppable force. Taken off guard the Saxon warriors had little time to prepare for the assault, and many were immediately fell by the first wave of your brethren; thankfully you were at the back, but this left you open to attack from reinforcements - hopefully they would not come. You quickly entered some sort of fugue state where it felt like you were not truly there, not truly controlling your body, letting your arm guide itself, your axe cutting the chests & necks of already weakened Saxons, spilling red red bubbling blood - was this the battle fury felt by berserkir? 

You did not enjoy it. You did not find glory in taking these men's lives.

By the time you had advanced closer to the church, many of the buildings were already set ablaze, the smell of wood-smoke & hair burning making you choke. Not even the pouring rain could douse the fires. All at once you were overwhelmed by the sensations, the sounds - iron clashing, battle cries, the screaming of civilians caught in crossfire - it was too much. You felt yourself shake. But you pressed on, finishing the weak off as before, checking corpses (both of your clansmen and Saxons, though notably more of the latter) as quickly as you could to make sure none of them were breathing - you did not know what you would do if you did find one still alive, either kill him or spare him - and, thankfully, you were never injured. Somewhere along the line you had reunited with Gunnar, and you helped him finish off the last of the Saxon warriors, to which he gave a grateful nod towards you, then a nod to the church. Come with me.

The locked timber doors of the monastery's inner sanctum were no match for the wrath of the vikingr, and crumbled as easily as any other. You both had finally breached the walls of the church when you heard Frederik's victorious cry, and when you turned the corner you could see why - barrels upon barrels and boxes upon boxes of supplies, food, raw materials, and the like. 

You had done it. You had won, raided a monastery, and lived to tell the tale. You felt yourself let out a breath and breathe deeply in, something that felt entirely alien to you, as if you had not taken a breath in your entire life. You felt as if you could pass out on the spot. This alerted Frederik of your presence, and he turned to you and Gunnar immediately, wild-eyed and ecstatic. "We have done it, my drengr! Here is our lifeblood!" You couldn't match his enthusiasm, standing as still as a statue, but managed to let out a light chuckle. You had done it.

The chuckle turned into a scream as two arrows pierced your shoulder from behind.

Frederik let go of you and you crumpled to the floor with a sharp cry, taken aback as a dozen or so more Saxons forced themselves through the church's doors, and another had a knife to Gunnar's throat. Reinforcements.

If they had gotten to the three of you, who knows what became of the rest of your clansmen.

You writhed on the marble flooring, your blood staining the tiles red as you tried to gain your footing, your breathing, anything to keep you grounded in this world and alive as your body could not stand to produce adrenaline anymore from the strenuous and long battle, the sharp pain of the arrows lodged between your shoulder blade & your spine making it hard to do anything but lay there. At least it had not been your head.

You felt a boot come down upon your back, knocking the wind out of you again, and a hand tangled itself in your hair, pulling harshly against your scalp to raise you up from the floor - seemingly higher than you've ever been - and another hand came to pull your arms behind your back, as if you could even hope to try and break free. A Saxon, a zealot, you would later say, stepped forward from the rest towards Frederik. 

"Hail, heathen," he spat, the rustle of his gilded armor & the voice behind his helmet too loud, too harsh against the once-peaceful quiet of the church. You squeezed your eyes shut. "What brings you here to this House of God, to commit acts of heresy? Tell me why I should not slay you and all of your kin for defiling this place." Thunder roared outside the church, stained glass windows shaking with the sound.

Frederik seemed in shock & at a loss for words. He took a breath, then two, and the Saxon grew impatient. "Speak, worm."

"I, I - we came here for supplies, and -"

"And you thought you could pillage and raid and steal, or maybe you have tried to make peace and were rejected and thought this was the answer. I've heard the same story and the same lie from the other dozens of you Danes that I have slain. I want you to tell me. Why should I not slay you?" You were suddenly very aware of how much of your blood was outside of your body on the floor, where it should not be, and you felt bile bubble up in your throat, saliva drooling from your mouth as if you were a sick animal.

Frederik could not respond. In his mind, he did what he thought was best, not for his clan, but for him; he ran. 

At once arrows were drawn upon him, but the Saxon merely waved an arm & they were dismissed. "Ah, I love a good coward. Let him run & tell other Danes of his failure. Let him live with it. Take the others to Canterbury to be converted." 

You were again jostled around, catching a glimpse of Gunnar in your periphery, who had cast his gaze down at the ground with a blank stare. You both had the same thought.

He left us.

Before you could finally let yourself pass out from shock, you felt a hand on your jaw, turning your head this way and that. "You're a pretty one, eh? Not a fighter like the others. What are you doing out here with these barbarians?" The Saxon from before. You couldn't meet the man's gaze, locking eyes for a just a second before you looked to the floor again. He gave a light chuckle. Thankfully, he said no more, and you felt yourself grow weaker and weaker as you and your kinsmen were bound & loaded into carts like animals, the rain having let up, only lightly sprinkling now. You fell asleep and dreamt nothing. It was both a blessing & a curse.

You all sat there quietly for the remainder of the morning, any attempt at conversation harshly shushed by a well-armored guard standing nearby on watch. From what you could see, he was bored… as if these circumstances were normal to him. Capturing & abusing prisoners. These Saxons were a new ugly.

When you awoke, you were corralled in some sort of cage with a few others, and you could feel the morning sun beating down on your back. You went to move but were suddenly reminded of the arrows still present in your back and let out a wheezing, pained sound, frightening some of your clansmen around you, waking up others. They had not sustained much injury in the battle aside from bruises and little cuts - your injury, amongst all of those still alive, was the worst. The Saxons had not even been so courteous to break off the shafts, and the nauseating feeling of the arrowheads moving between your muscles as you sat up nearly made you wretch onto the dirt. You were not used to pain like this. Among the others in your cage - all women - you found Hanne, Runa's daughter; Ulla, who you truly didn't know her origins but she could fight like a bear; and little Lissi, a winter younger than you, and in almost the same boat, though she had trained for combat for several seasons now. They all sent you sorrowful looks as blood began to drip from your nose & mouth onto your front, staining your tunic further. Tunic? You looked down. The Saxons had stripped you of your armor, at some point when you were asleep. Figures.

At some point, maybe during noon or after, bells sang from the church on the hillside, and a small, squirrely-looking old man had come down to bring all of you some dry bread & bowls of water. It was not a filling meal but you ate it gratefully regardless. He looked upon you & your kith, bound & shackled and being handfed like dogs, with great pity. An hour passed, and you were all allowed to relieve yourselves, though for some it had come too late. Then dusk came, and a different man approached your cages, followed closely by another armored Saxon. The man spoke in a strange tongue from an open book with a cross on the front, and from what English you understood you supposed it was some sort of rite, or blessing, or maybe a curse. Then they both went away, and you were all left alone for the night. They had not treated your injuries, nor given you anything to eat past the bread & water from midday. You thought of those back at the settlement, and hoped that they were safe… they did not deserve this mistreatment. And then you thought of Frederik, and a new fury from somewhere deep within you came to light. That fucking ergi. Abandoning his people. Maybe he had gone back to them, alone, and the thought of it made your blood boil - what lies would he tell them? It did not even matter if he told them, there would not be enough men left to rescue you. You looked up to the world around you in the cage, ignoring the burning of the arrows, and studied the night sky, and how the lights of the city reflected against the villager's homes, and how the moon seemed to give the church its own glow. This is what Frederik gave me , you thought. Consigned to die in a cage, locked up by an animal by the Saxons. Or worse. You saw a lone crow circling the church's highest point. And to yourself, you made an oath.

I will see to it that the coward faces what he has broken.

Another day went by, the same as the last, and then another. Some priests came by in the early morning of the second day and finally rid your back of the two arrows, though they did not truly clean the wounds, only simply broke off the shafts & quelled the bleeding. You were all only fed bread and water. On the third day, you refused your "meal," partly because of your burning hatred of Frederik to do anything properly, partly because of the fever that had set in and worsened rapidly over a few hours. You did not feel like yourself.

As you did every day, you sat still in the corner of the cage & observed villagers, soldiers, priests & pilgrims pass by, like a dog staring from the back of a kennel. Today, however, you were given the chance to see two new faces pass by - two new outlander faces. One of a tanned man with a beard in strange white & red gear, who looked upon you & your kith with a strange expression, and a tall, hooded woman with bear fur draped about her shoulders. A Norseman, plain in sight, and none of the Saxons in the city had even batted an eye at the pair. She looked at you with pity first, then her brows furrowed, and muttered something to her companion, who gave a short reply. They continued up the hill to the church - pilgrims, maybe? Doubtful.

An hour passed, and then two, then three, and another priest approached your cages. He spoke of conversion, some rite, and honestly you'd tuned him out after the first few words. Suddenly he turned to you, and the ice-blue of his eyes shocked you still. "Will you accept the love of God into your heart?"

You didn't know what to say. This felt like an insult, after all these people have put you through. You made up your mind quickly. Maybe it was your fever speaking for you. "No."

He made another sort of sad face, and then was suddenly shadowed by the same Saxon that had cornered Frederik, back at the monastery.

"Then we will make an example out of you yet, little heathen." You did not have time to prepare for the pair of armored guards dragging you out of the cage, your arms still bound behind your back, and maybe kicking and screaming was not the best reaction, given one of them suddenly backhanded you and shocked you into quietness. A handful of villagers had heard & perhaps caught a glimpse of the debacle and stopped to stare for a moment, before another heavily armed Saxon waved them away. You were brought away from your kinsmen closer to the church, where a foreboding column of wood jutted out of the center of a clearing. Its purpose was made clear as you were made to kneel and your arms were tied to the bough of it, in mockery of a praying position. Public humiliation. Or worse.

Unfortunately worse. A notable crowd had gathered, and though you could not see them, you could hear them mutter amongst themselves somewhere behind you. Some cheered for your punishment, some began to cry, knowing what was coming. The Saxon zealot circled you twice. You did not meet his gaze.

When he spoke, he bellowed his words so that the crowd may hear. "Here we have the little Dane, a fork-tongued thing that has dared to cast aside the love of God! What heresy," he said, his words poisoned with sarcasm & mockery. Somewhere to your left, you heard the squirrely-man's voice call out for mercy. "Please, Eadwulf! This is not the way of God!" Eadwulf simply waved the man away. "These pagans killed more than two dozen of our men at Raculf. Only one death of theirs is a kindness." Death? Oh, no. You did not sign up for this. You don't deserve this. You found a new will to live in the way you squirmed against the bonds to no avail. Fuck.

Eadwulf prowled somewhere behind you, and you felt sweat dripping down your brow. You heard a chain, or a whip maybe, rattling, and the sound of the crowd's murmurs growing louder, and how the entire city seemed to grow quieter. This is not how I am meant to die.  

"If you will not accept the love of God, heathen, then bend to his wrath."   How poetic. The first slash was unexpected, painful, making your entire body seize up as if you were dropped into both boiling & freezing water as the cloth & skin between your shoulder blades split, fresh blood spilling down the already-stained tunic. The second came only a few seconds after, worse than the first, and you let out a scream loud enough to frighten a flock of crows from a nearby tree. You felt warmth on your back. Whenever you moved, you could feel the lashes rubbing against the dirty & coarse clothing, made doubly worse by the dull, throbbing pain of the arrows. The third came nearly half a minute later, unexpected, and you screamed again. Then the fourth, fifth & sixth came in quick succession. You felt bile rise in your throat, spilling out onto the too-soft grass beneath you, onto the lumber in front of you. The seventh, eight, ninth and tenth came and went, and in your shocked, adrenaline-addled state, you barely felt them. You felt yourself grow weaker against the pole, the too-warm sensation of your own blood running down your back almost a comfort. Eadwulf said something else, you don't quite remember, and then the crowd dispersed. You were left there to die a martyr.

You don't know exactly when you had passed out, but you awoke during the quiet coolness of the night to a blurry image of the strange hooded Norse woman in front of you, cursing. "Are you still alive, kona? Stay with me," she said, voice somehow strained yet comforting all the same. You could only barely lift your head to look her in the eye, to which she cursed a little more colorfully. "I'm getting you out of here." She cut you loose from the wood, and helped you to stand (which you could barely do) before realizing that wasn't really an option. Cursing even more colorfully, a feat you didn't know she could accomplish, she took her hood off & draped it over your back, making you sharply inhale as the cloth stuck to the dried blood at your back. "I know, little crow. I know it hurts, but please, you must stay with me." She whistled faintly, and a black horse came trotting over, giving you a weary look. Even the animals had pity! Or maybe it didn't want some half-dead creature on it's back. Either way, she set you on the saddle, sitting behind you so that you didn't fall off during the ride, apologizing immediately for any discomfort the position might cause you. Before she could grasp the reins, you stopped her. 

"Please…" your voice was hoarse, and you did not recognize it. "Please, my friends, my kin… are they still imprisoned?" The woman made some sort of sound, as if she had forgotten of the others she passed by today. "Yes, they are, but I fear it will be some time before they are freed. When we get back to my home, I will send my best warriors to retrieve them. Does that sound okay?" You could only nod your head, the simple action sending your world off kilter. She bid the horse to trot out of Canterbury to an unknown destination, breaking into a full gallop once you had left the city's boundaries. Both you and the Norsewoman understood you had mere hours left. She tried to keep you awake on the journey, asking questions about your name, clan and where you were from, though she mostly got one-worded answers.

"Are you a Dane?" "Yes." You pass over a bridge, the woods of England looking all the same to you.

"Why have you come here?" "Storm." An answer she didn't understand at the time, but continued regardless. The landscape slowly changed from forest to open plain, then to forest, then to marsh. You crossed two more bridges. It was your turn to ask the questions.

"What is your name?" Your speech was slurred, more incoherent. "Eivor."

"Why were you in Canterbury?" A question that she did not outright answer. "Looking for someone."

"Where are we going?"

"Ravensthorpe." A place you did not know, nor seen on any map.  "We're almost there. Stay with me."

You couldn't fight to stay awake anymore. "I'm sorry," was all you said before slumping forward on her horse.

She thought you'd died, grabbing hold of your wrist and feeling a wave of relief at finding your faint pulse. She rode twice as hard to her home then, only taking another hour.

When you awoke, you were not dead, nor in your own bed, and could feel bandages straining around your chest, and the scent of herbs filled your senses.

[woolishlygrim]

Winter Weebwatch #5

After last week’s surprisingly bad bunch of episodes, this week’s episodes are surprisingly good! There was also no Darwin’s Game this week, probably because it got pre-empted by a sporting event, but to be honest, I don’t think anybody was especially crying out for another three paragraphs of me struggling to remember what happened in it.

Also, there is a huge trigger warning for discussions of suicide, both in fiction and in real life on this post, specifically in the ID: Invaded review.

In/Spectre

★★★★☆

So, this episode was cruising along for an easy three stars for most of its runtime. Continuing on the Steel Girder Nanase storyline, the episode sees Kotoko and Saki simultaneously deciding to hate each other and deciding that they need to work together to decipher the truth behind Steel Girder Nanase, who they believe to be the ghost of an idol, Haruka Nanase, who was accused of murder and subsequently was found crushed by a steel girder, her face unrecognisable and even her teeth unidentifiable, the body only identified by virtue of carrying Nanase’s identification.

… Just so we’re all absolutely on the same page here, next episode is definitely going to reveal that Nanase murdered someone else to fake her own death, and that Steel Girder Nanase is actually some poor woman who was her victim, right? Right.

But anyway, this episode settles into a nice, consistent tone, sets up a fun and legitimately intriguing supernatural mystery, and seems all set to make its way to a satisfactory conclusion in one or two episodes, probably.

What elevates it to four stars, though? The fairly throwaway joke in which a fully animated opening sequence for a completely fictional magical girl show, complete with an original and fully vocalised song, plays, and ruthlessly satirises the far-right, taking shots at capitalism, militarism, and the police and justice system.

It’s a joke that doesn’t fit the tone of the rest of the series at all, but it’s so unapologetically vicious while also making me laugh out loud that I had to add an extra star for it. I just had to.

ID: Invaded.

★★★★★

Honestly, I wavered on whether this should be a four star or a five star. If I could do half stars, it’d be four and a half, but I think it edges out five.

This episode switches gears a little. With the Gravedigger killed, and the woman who was manipulating him into his murders arrested, Sakaido dives into the woman’s mental world, hoping to figure out exactly what caused her to turn to murder, and why murder in such a specific, gruesome, and sadistic way.

And he fails completely.

The story tempts us with just enough information that we can start forming the half-baked foundations of a hypothesis, but not enough that we can actually form any kind of cohesive theory. We see in the woman’s mental world that she is stuck as a child, endlessly riding a train that’s going in circles, each loop having it cross the train crossing where her mother committed suicide. We see that her victims are gathered at said crossing, waiting patiently to cross. And we see that her accomplice, the man she had killing for her, is present on the train as well, as a young boy very far removed from the blank, not-all-there man we’ve seen up to that point. We see Kaeru, usually representing the murder victims, in this mental world is presented as a suicide victim, having removed her shoes and asked the woman to wipe off her wounds before expiring in a seat at the end of the train.

But we never get enough to build any kind of meaning out of it. The show deliberately withholds closure from us, mirroring the woman’s lack of closure over her mother’s suicide (why did she decide to do it, and why do it by throwing herself in front of a train she knew her daughter was riding?), telling us that we will only ever have a handful of puzzle pieces and no way to piece them together.

I admit, that affected me pretty deeply. As someone who obsesses over puzzles and especially over the whys and wherefores of why people do things, whose lowered empathy response means that figuring people out is often a maddening struggle, the show presenting a puzzle that can’t be solved is infuriating. But more than that, as someone who has had a friend commit suicide, leaving no note and providing almost no indication beforehand that he was going to, I’m familiar with the bewilderment that can follow something like that, the attempts to piece together a cause-and-effect that makes sense.

This episode kind of got to me. I’m not sure I liked that it did.

‘Not having enough information’ is the running theme of this episode, anyhow, as the rest of the investigation team takes some time to discuss the recurring appearance of John Walker, a mysterious man in a red frockcoat who has appeared in five separate killers’ mental worlds (and who appears also in the woman’s, as a reflection in the train window). As they talk, they realise all they know is a baffling mess of contradictions about him: Nobody has ever seen him in real life, and yet the fact that five different people dreamed him up wearing the same bright red coat means he must be going around wearing what is basically American War of Independence cosplay; there seems to be no single link between the killers who have him in their mental worlds, and yet there are strange coincidental links; none of the killers remember who he is, but all of them have extremely strong recollections of him.

The end of the episode pulls another gutpunch on us, as Hondomachi, having killed the Gravedigger in seeming self defence earlier in the episode, finally gets her wish to be trained to dive into people’s mental worlds -- only for Hayaseura, her boss and the man who recommended her, to tell her that it’s not enough to have just killed, you have to be a serial killer, something he knows that she is. While we obviously saw her murder someone (by provoking them into attacking her and then framing it as self-defense) earlier in this episode, Hayaseura also points out something that I’d dismissed at the time and completely forgotten about: That in the very first episode, before Hondomachi was kidnapped by the Perforator, she was alone with one of his victims in the basement, and when we next saw him he was dead, even though the Perforator couldn’t have killed him.

That’s … actually some really solid writing. I hadn’t even realised on my first watch that the guy couldn’t have been killed by the Perforator.

Pet.

★★★★☆

I feel like I haven’t given this series enough credit for how surprisingly vicious it is. The first episode sets us up to think that Tsukasa and Hiroki’s friendship is pretty cute, and the second episode clues us in to the fact that they’re (quasi-?)romantically involved and sets up a clearly unhealthy but quite sweet all the same romance where you think that, hey, they’re screwed up people but they clearly love each other. It isn’t until the third episode that the rug gets pulled out from under you, with the reveal that Tsukasa is actually quite abusive, and this episode pulls the rug straight out from under us again.

It follows two plot threads. The first one is a milder one, with Satoru meeting the niece of the mysterious Company’s CEO, who exposits at him a little about how the Company was founded and some of the strifes that have led it to its current state of disarray -- namely that the qigong masters who created the psychic techniques the Company uses (just … roll with it) all simultaneously betrayed the CEO and were killed for it, leaving the Company with only one person who can pass on those teachings: Hayashi.

The second plot thread sees Tsukasa and Hayashi playing mind games with each other, with Tsukasa first trying to persuade Hayashi to return to the Company, before Hayashi tries to psychically rewrite Tsukasa’s memories, only for Tsukasa to rebuff him and for the two to end up in a psychic battle where they both try to repel the other one’s attempts to alter their memories.

It’s in this second plot thread that we learn all about Tsukasa’s many issues: Like Satoru, he is most definitely in love with Hayashi, and like Satoru, those feelings clearly aren’t reciprocated. Unlike Satoru, however, Hayashi doesn’t even seem to have filial feelings for Tsukasa, and we learn that when he started teaching Satoru, the Company told him that he couldn’t act as mentor for two people and had to choose one. He picked Satoru with what seems like startling ease, effectively abandoning Tsukasa.

There are allusions, as well, to the idea that Hayashi kept using Tsukasa even after that abandonment, entreating him to infiltrate the Company on his behalf and keep Satoru safe. Tsukasa’s … not happy about this at all, and also, as becomes swiftly apparent throughout the episode, more than a little unhinged.

As the episode ends, Tsukasa and Hayashi are ramping up their psychic battle, with Tsukasa informing Hayashi that he’s learned some tricks off Hiroki, so we’ll see where that one goes.

Infinite Dendrogram.

★★☆☆☆

More and more, it feels like this show is falling into a rut, and that’s honestly a huge shame.

There’s just no forward momentum to it. Things happen, but there’s no sense of motion, no sense of things winding towards a conclusion, either on an arc level or a series level, and yet at the same time it’s not fast and snappy enough to be a truly episodic series like, say, Kekkai Sensen.

So, this week’s episode sees Ray, now cursed with dog ears (for reasons which are not plot relevant, but I mean, it’s fine), teaming up with a new character, Hugo, a Dryfe Master whose job is essentially that he’s a giant mecha pilot, as the two attempt to tackle a base of bandits who have been kidnapping children.

The show tries very hard to set the bandits up as absolute monsters, and to sell us on Ray’s rage, but it kind of lacks the elements necessary to make an impact. The huge emotional moment where Ray sees that some of the children have been turned into undead is weakened by the fact that the cinematography is bog-standard, the animation direction for the scene is uninteresting, and the music is unremarkable. Even Ray’s reaction is strangely muted, with some anger but no real horror or anything like that, and not even a quiet fury so much as just moderate amounts of rage.

There are hints of a broader plot involving Dryfe, though (which we know from an earlier episode is prepping to invade), with Hugo making remarks that he can’t use his Embryo yet, because keeping it secret is part of some plan.

He does, eventually, use it anyway, and relatively without fanfare at that.

[brokehorrorfan]

Best New Horror Movies on Netflix: Winter 2018

There's an overwhelming amount of horror movies to sift through on Netflix, so I've decided to take out some of the legwork by compiling a list of the season’s best new genre titles available on Netflix’s instant streaming service.

Please feel free to leave a comment with any I may have missed and share your thoughts on any of the films you watch. You can also peruse past installments of Best New Horror Moves on Netflix for more suggestions.

1. Gerald's Game

IT was undoubtedly the most entertaining Stephen King adaptation in recent memory, but Gerald's Game may be the most tense. The novel - which revolves around a middle-aged married couple's attempt to spice up their love life - was seemingly un-filmable, but director Mike Flanagan (Oculus, Ouija: Origin of Evil) takes a creative yet logical approach to successfully translate the story from the page to the screen. The direction is stylish, despite largely involving only two actors in a single bedroom. Carla Gugino (Watchmen) and Bruce Greenwood (Star Trek) star, both delivering brilliant performances, with Henry Thomas (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial) and Carel Struycken (The Addams Family) in chilling supporting roles. Its left-field epilogue won't work for some, but the film remains a suspenseful, dead-filled experience that includes perhaps the most cringe-inducing sequence of the year.

2. 1922

1922 is an adaptation of a little-known Stephen King novella, published in his 2010 collection, Full Dark, No Stars. Like much of King's work, it doesn't shy away from the supernatural, yet it's firmly grounded in reality. The always-reliable Thomas Jane delivers a transformative performance in his third King film (following Dreamcatcher and The Mist). He stars as Wilfred James, a conflicted man who confesses to murdering his wife (Molly Parker. Deadwood) with the aid of his son (Dylan Schmid, Once Upon a Time) in 1922. Akin to Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart," Wilfred's unbearable guilt manifests itself. Cinematographer Ben Richardson (The Fault in Our Stars) utilizes a lot of natural light, while Faith No More's Mike Patton composes an atonal score. Writer-director Zak Hilditch (whose previous film, These Final Hours, is also worth seeking out) delivers a brooding, character-driven slow burner.

3. Raw

Raw made waves on the festival circuit when it caused multiple viewers to faint. It is indeed a uniquely repulsive film in more ways than one might expect - depicting everything from animal dissecting to bikini waxing to eye licking in graphic detail - but it's much more than a mindless gorefest. The French film is a compelling, darkly humorous coming-of-age story... with cannibalism. The plot revolves around Justine (Garance Marillier), a young vegetarian, as she enters her first semester at veterinary school. She receives the full college experience: hazing, coed living, experimentation, partying, flesh eating. Marillier's fearless performance is matched by a strong vision from writer-director Julia Ducournau.

4. Super Dark Times

From the first act of Super Dark Times, you might expect it to be a coming-of-age genre tale in the vein of Stranger Things and IT, but by the end you will find a film that shares more in common with River's Edge and Stand By Me. It's set in the '90s, complete with scrambled "adult" channels, but it doesn't beat the viewer over the head with nostalgia. Owen Campbell (The Americans) and Charlie Tahan (Ozark) star as best friends with a secret that drives a wedge between them. Co-writers Ben Collins and Luke Piotrowski (Siren) capture the adolescent banter better than most films, while director Kevin Phillips makes an impressive feature debut. Living up to its title, Super Dark Times is a dark, tense experience.

5. Cult of Chucky

Child’s Play is a rare horror franchise that has maintained its original continuity, thanks to having Don Mancini - who has written every installment and directed the latter three - as the driving creative force. Cult of Chucky, the seventh entry in the series, brings together the franchise’s three distinct story lines - Nica (Fiona Dourif) from Curse of Chucky, Andy Barclay (Alex Vincent) from Child’s Play 1-3, and Tiffany (Jennifer Tilly) from Bride/Seed of Chucky. Taking cues from A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warrior, the film takes place in a mental institution, where Nica bonds with the members of her therapy group. When they start dying one by one, Nica struggles to convince anyone that a possessed doll named Chucky (voiced, as always, by Brad Dourif) is responsible. Mancini’s well-paced script is fearless in its exploration of delightfully weird ideas, in addition to balancing the more serious tone with lighthearted fun. The result is as close as you can get to pleasing fans of all eras of Chucky. Read my full review of the film here.

6. The Bar

The Bar is the latest effort from reliable Spanish filmmaker Álex de la Iglesia (The Oxford Murders). It finds a group of strangers trapped in a seedy bar in downtown Madrid. Anyone that tries to leave is killed by an unseen assailant, with their bodies disappearing - blood and all - when no one is looking. Reminiscent of an episode of The Twilight Zone, suspicion grows and intrigue builds as the group must come together to solve the mystery. Iglesia does a fine job establishing an ensemble of quirky characters in a short time and then maintaining that momentum throughout the duration. He also injects his signature dark humor into the plot, helping to further set it apart from other contained thrillers.

7. Creep 2

2014's Creep (which is also streaming on Netflix and should be viewed first) was perhaps the last good, original found footage movie, made on a shoestring budget with copious improvisation. Star/co-writer Mark Duplass (Safety Not Guaranteed), whose eerie performance as an idiosyncratic murderer anchored Creep, and director/co-writer Patrick Brice return for Creep 2, which slightly expands the mythology without sacrificing the intimacy that made the first film so effective. Duplass' character now goes by Aaron, assuming not only the name of Brice's character from the first Creep but also his interest in filmmaking. Sara (Desiree Akhavan) responds to Aaron's Craigslist ad looking for a videographer, and it’s not long after their meeting that he admits to being a serial killer. But Aaron is going through a bit of a midlife crisis, so he employs Sara to film a documentary about him. Much like the first Creep, not a whole lot happens before the climax, but Duplass' eccentric character and vulnerable performance keep you watching with bated breath.

8. Killing Ground

Killing Ground is an unapologetic Australian thriller in the vein of Eden Lake, Wolf Creek, Deliverance, and The Hills Have Eyes. In other words, it's an intense punch in the gut. In the film, a couple's romantic camping trip is interrupted by unhinged locals against whom they must fight for survival. The familiar set-up is elevated by intriguing flashbacks to events a few days prior to the main story, the context of which adds even more weight to the harrowing situation. Although not the most original story ever told, Killing Ground is an effective, realistic debut for writer-director Damien Power.

9. Veronica

Verónica is a Spanish-language psychological thriller from Mexico. Co-directors Carlos Algara and Alejandro Martinez-Beltran opted to shoot the film in black and white with gorgeous, precise cinematography, bringing to mind the recent The Eyes of My Mother. A psychologist (Arcelia Ramírez) is offered a substantial sum of money to take on the evasive yet intelligent Veronica de la Serna (Olga Segura) as a patient. It's a simple set-up, consisting of little more than dialogue between the two characters, but the intriguing therapy sessions slowly reveal Veronica's deep-seated issues. The plot takes an unexpected, exciting turn for the final act, but it ultimately leads to a twist that is trite and, frankly, unnecessary. But don't let that deter you; the rest of the film is positively riveting.

10. Red Christmas

Red Christmas is a holiday horror film that - despite hailing from Australia - captures the typical Christmas season quite well, complete with the family drama it often entails. It also addresses the topical subject of reproductive rights, employs both a genre legend (E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial's Dee Wallace, in one of her strongest performances in years) and an actor with Down syndrome (Gerard O'dwyer), and tells a decent horror story in the process. Similar to You're Next, the film features a killer interrupting a strained family gathering, blending home invasion and slasher influences. It won’t replace any of the classics, but Red Christmas is a fine addition to the Christmas horror pantheon. Read my full review of the film here.

11. Don't Kill It

Don't Kill It is a fun amalgam of horror, action, comedy, and western from director Mike Mendez (Big Ass Spider). A rash of homicides - in which each killer murders the previous killer - lead FBI agent Evelyn Pierce (Kristina Klebe, Halloween) back to the podunk Mississippi town she once called home in order to investigate the case. She reluctantly teams with Jebediah Woodley (Dolph Lundgren, Rocky IV), a self-described demon hunter, to stop the body-hopping demon on the loose. There are a couple of big, bloody set pieces that make the abundance of exposition worthwhile. Clocking in at a lean 83 minutes, the film plays like a more charming and entertaining version of a Syfy original movie.

Bonus: Dark

Comparisons between Dark and Stranger Things are inevitable - both Netflix original series concern a mystery of a missing child in a small town in which supernatural elements are at play - but Dark approaches the material in am much more subtle, subversive manner. In addition to Stranger Things' coming-of-age through a genre lens, the German show has the mind-bending rhetoric of Donnie Darko and the mystique of Twin Peaks, with a touch of Back to the Future for good measure. There may be a few too many characters for its own good, but the story - in which a disappearance in the present is somehow tied to similar events that occurred in 1986 - is undeniably well told and well shot. I'm already eager to binge a second season.

Bonus: Mindhunter

Mindhunter is an original series from executive producer David Fincher (Gone Girl, Seven), who also directs several episodes, with Joe Penhall (The Road) serving as showrunner. Based on the true crime book Mind Hunter: Inside the FBI’s Elite Serial Crime Unit, it follows FBI agents Holden Ford (Jonathan Groff. Glee) and Bill Tench (Holt McCallany, Alien 3) as they conduct interviews with convicted murderers in the late '70s for their groundbreaking work in behavioral science. After an attention-grabbing opening scene, the show takes a couple of episodes to gain momentum, but it's virtually impossible to look away after that. There's an abundance of heady dialogue, in typical Fincher fashion, though it's never short of enthralling.

[robbieinterviews]

For Margot Robbie, the Hustle Never Stops, 2016

WEST HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. — Margot Robbie came racing into the tucked-away bungalow she was renting here. She had returned from recording the voice of a talking dingo for a DreamWorks animated movie, and on an April afternoon was doing her best to clean up strewn clothes from overstuffed suitcases — evidence that an intended one-week visit to Los Angeles had stretched into a month.

“I’m sorry it’s so manic,” said this 25-year-old actress, who was born in Gold Coast, Australia, and lives in London, yet had not seen either city in a very long time.

“I’m always like, ‘No, it will calm down next week,’” she said in a more relaxed moment, stretched across a patio couch next to a faded pillow that said “God Save the Queen.”

“And then the following week ends up being crazier.”

Ms. Robbie was on the latest leg of the globe-trotting journey that has consumed her since 2013. It began at roughly the moment that a worldwide audience discovered her in Martin Scorsese’s “The Wolf of Wall Street,” playing the no-nonsense lover-turned-wife of an unscrupulous broker played by Leonardo DiCaprio.

After three years of relentless film work, she is poised for two of her most prominent roles this summer, in franchise movies whose success could transform her from a wannabe to a deserves-to-be star.

First, she’ll be seen as a self-reliant and decidedly un-dainty Jane in “The Legend of Tarzan,” a new adventure of that jungle hero opening July 1. Then, on Aug. 5, she stars in “Suicide Squad,” based on the DC Comics series, as Harley Quinn, a cracked-up criminal psychologist who wields a baseball bat and a Brooklyn accent with equal ferocity.

These prospects would sound like an actor’s dreams come true, yet they have prompted Ms. Robbie to wonder if they are indeed the fulfillment of her aspirations.

While taking care not to sound ungrateful, she is openly wrestling with what it means to be so visible and whether this was quite what she envisioned doing at this stage of her career.

“It’s always a hustle,” she said. “I thought it would be a mountain, where you get to the top, and then it’s like: ‘Wheeee! It’s so easy after this.’”

Instead, Ms. Robbie said: “Any time I get near the top, I’m like, ‘There’s another mountain!’ The hustle continues.”

The third of four siblings raised by a single mother, Ms. Robbie has been in almost perpetual motion since the end of 2010, when her contract ended on “Neighbours,” an Australian soap opera on which she played a free-spirited bisexual woman in search of her biological father.

Within days, she was on a plane to Los Angeles seeking representation and auditions for American TV pilots. She was quickly cast in the ABC period drama “Pan Am.”

“It’s so much more fun for people to describe it as winning the lottery and the overnight sensation,” she said. “But it was all very strategic: These are the steps that need to be accomplished.”

The cancellation of “Pan Am” after just 14 episodes was actually a lucky break, allowing her to take roles in Richard Curtis’s romantic comedy “About Time” and then “The Wolf of Wall Street.”

Her formidable performance (and Noo Yawk dialect) in “The Wolf of Wall Street” became her calling card. But it also required her to appear in several nude scenes, including one in which she entices Mr. DiCaprio’s character wearing only a pair of stockings and high heels.

Ms. Robbie said she struggled with that provocative sequence. Recalling her thoughts at the time, she said: “The sacrifice I have to make is that I have to do this nudity thing that I don’t really want to do. But I get to work with Scorsese, which I really want to do. O.K., what outweighs what?”

Though the director told her she could play the scene in a robe or underwear, Ms. Robbie said that once she got invested in the character: “I was like, she wouldn’t do that, no way. She would be fully naked.”

Since then, Ms. Robbie has starred in “Suite Française” (adapted from Irène Némirovsky’s fiction) and the comic con-artist thriller “Focus” (with Will Smith).

But it is “The Wolf of Wall Street” that filmmakers keep coming back to and casting her from.

David Yates, the director of “The Legend of Tarzan,” said that seeing Ms. Robbie in that film made her look “glamorous and exciting” but also caused him to wonder, is she “going to be a flavor-of-the-month thing”?

The director (whose credits include four “Harry Potter” films as well as the coming “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them”), said that for his “Tarzan,” he consciously avoided creating a Jane “that felt too vulnerable, that needed rescuing.”

Meeting Ms. Robbie, Mr. Yates said, revealed a woman who was right for the part but different from what he expected.

“She’s very pragmatic,” he said. “She’s quite insightful. Despite the fact that she looks wonderful and she’s quite ambitious in a good way, she has her feet on the ground.”

For Ms. Robbie, “Tarzan” called for a lot of time in front of green screens in London, pretending to run from animal stampedes or endure a monsoon.

(In the midst of filming, she celebrated her 24th birthday with a 24-hour-long party. “So many people were like, ‘Margot, I’m tired,’” she said. “I’m like, ‘We’re not done yet!’”)

She faced a different kind of endurance contest preparing for “Suicide Squad,” whose cast also includes Mr. Smith and Jared Leto, and in which Ms. Robbie is one miscreant on a team of mismatched villains-turned-heroes.

From his first Skype conversation with Ms. Robbie, the film’s writer-director, David Ayer (“End of Watch,” “Fury”), said, “she was a very analytical and serious person.” He added, “But once she feels comfortable, she really opens up.”

That was the actor Mr. Ayer said he wanted for the unhinged Harley Quinn, who could bring to life the character’s “gear shifts, the wild forays and suddenly can be real and heartbreaking.”

As Harley Quinn, Ms. Robbie once again had to put much of her body on display: The character almost always wears tiny shorts and is seen, in one trailer, changing into a tight T-shirt. Ms. Robbie said she could justify the wardrobe: Her character is “wearing hot pants because they’re sparkly and fun,” she said, not because “she wanted guys to look at her ass.”

But, she added: “As Margot, no, I don’t like wearing that. I’m eating burgers at lunchtime, and then you go do a scene where you’re hosed down and soaking wet in a white T-shirt, it’s so clingy and you’re self-conscious about it.”

Mr. Ayer said that “I didn’t think denim overalls would be appropriate for that character” and that Ms. Robbie understood “that’s part of the iconography.”

Ms. Robbie said that when she is playing characters who are confident about their appearance — say, a self-assured war correspondent in the Tina Fey comedy “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot” or a satirical version of herself, explaining subprime mortgages from a bubble bath in “The Big Short” — she is not necessarily feeling that way.

“You need to act like you think you’re really gorgeous,” she said, “and you need to be completely convinced with that, because everyone else will believe it, too.”

Ms. Robbie said she can do that “when I’m really sure it’s not me.”

Should there be a “Suicide Squad” sequel, she said, half-jokingly and half not, “I’m not wearing hot pants next time.”

Her “Suicide Squad” co-stars described Ms. Robbie as a performer whose tenacity gets overlooked in a superficial glance.

“You might be fooled into thinking she’s such an easygoing person, but she’s very, very serious about what she does,” said Jai Courtney, a fellow Australian who plays Captain Boomerang.

“Her pursuit for it has been carried out doggedly,” he said. “She deserves it. She’s worked for it. But she’s also not resting on any laurels or gifts or physical attributes.”

Already, Ms. Robbie has helped create a new production company, LuckyChap Entertainment, to develop projects she could potentially star in, like a planned film about Tonya Harding, the disgraced Olympic figure skater.

Getting into producing, she acknowledged, was also a way to leverage her fame willingly before others can exploit it.

“It took a little while to get my head around the fact that, oh, you’re a commodity now, and there’s a value placed on your head,” she said. “Someone’s always going to be using your name, milking that and taking advantage of it. So you might as well let your friends do it.”

Asked if she felt she had achieved what she hoped for when she first came to Hollywood, Ms. Robbie thought for a moment before answering no. She couldn’t quite say what she wanted then but described a flight of fancy that had lately crossed her mind.

“Often I’m like, ‘I should’ve been a stuntwoman,’” she said. “I love doing stunts and being on set, but then you wouldn’t have to be famous.”

But then, she said, “You can’t really turn back the clock.”