#it's just especially striking because like - the remakes are still delivering on having women in major roles

[sir-adamus]

the FFXIII trilogy ends with Claire "Lightning" Farron taking the collective souls of humanity and shaping them into a massive sword with which she kills God,

but now because of the whining of internet dipshits, 16 gave us mardy Clive and his girlfriend who might as well not be there for how fucking little she contributes

[misamerglova]

Headcanon - Levi’s teahouse

I’m still coping with chapter 139, don’t judge me... 

Also, I’m not a native speaker so ya know, deal with it... :D 

Levi opened a small teahouse in the port after he physically recovered from that shitshow. It was more like a group effort really since he didn’t feel like doing anything for months and it was that teahouse project that actually got him out of his letargy. Connie, Jean, Reiner, Pieck, Annie and Armin more or less pushed him into it and helped him set it up.

Levi got a small property in the port which was nothing much in the beginning, just an old ugly house reaking of old cabbage and dirt. But one day the younglings showed up and helped him clean it up - and it was A LOT of work.

Jean coated the walls with the perfect shade of dark green. Connie brought the furniture couple of weeks later since he got into woodwork as a hobby after the war. Than Reiner showed up and provided Levi with a bunch of crooked teapots since he decided to try a pottery class as a part of his therapy. Levi was suspicious that they all ganged up on him with the teahouse project as a part of HIS therapy but they were all so casual about it that he decided to be chill about it.

Reiner later opened a small pottery business close to Levi’s teahouse and brought him more cups and pots - each of them better than the one before, with the most delicate floral paintings made by his mum. Pieck stopped by one day and brought with her the most adorable tea warmers she knitted. Levi would never admit that to her but he admired her pattern since he was not able to knit himself now with his two fingers missing.

One day a cart stopped by, bringing bunch of carpets, books and other treasured possesions from the previous Survey Corps headquarters. Apparently, Armin pulled some strings to had it delivered there. Armin came with Annie a couple days later to help Levi unpack only to find the captain sleeping in his wheelchair burried under a pile of Hange’s notes, Erwin’s reports and Moblit’s doodles. They left the captain sleep and unpacked it without him. Levi later woke up and instructed them to put some of the books into shelves on the walls - that way any visitor who comes into the teahouse would have access to it, he said.

Not long after that, Connie stopped by and brought Levi an empty wooden sign with a chain. At that time Levi KNEW they all plotted this teahouse diversion for him to stop being depressed and alone but he had to admit that their plan had worked. He was really kinda glad he had something to work on. And so Levi spent days by painting all the letters to his liking and asked Onyankopon to help him hang it in the street above the newly coated door.

He named the place ‘Teas of freedom’. Occasionally Levi calls it a shithole since it’s in the port and sometimes the smell from the streets gets in. Secretly he doesn’t mind though because it reminds of Hange’s lab.

He was really touched by all that effort everybody put into it, especially after Nicolo got to the port with the news of a great deal for tea delivery. Levi decided that any of them can have tea on the house any time they show up and any time they need a place to crash, to calm down or to contemplate, his teahouse would be always opened for them.

On the opening day everybody came and Levi got the best fruit pastries in the town and gave each of them a slice - a gesture that none of them understood but all of them appreciated. The pastries brought back the memories of the Survey Corps and Levi thought of all his fallen comarades when he saw all the remaining folks he fought with on that day sitting around tables, drinking tea and jokingly talk about their lives. It would seem that Reiner was still pinning for Historia and Armin asked Annie to marry him. Jean was really popular among the local ladies but everybody kept teasing him about his horse face. Well, everybody but Pieck. It was strange that she was the only one who did not join on the joke. Levi made a mental note to himself to keep an eye on those two. Hange would surely enjoy that piece of gossip.

In the teahouse, there are pictures of all the veterans on the walls. Some of them are Moblit’s paintings that Levi got framed, some of them he commisioned by a local artist who was firstly very excited to work with a war hero. That was before he discovered Levi’s perfecionalism. He than got really stressed out whenever Levi stopped by and commisioned a new painting. Nevertheless, the paintings are spot on and they make the teahouse look very homey. Above the counter there is a beautiful picture of Erwin, Hange, Mike, Nanaba and the whole Levi squad and Levi is extremelly proud of that one because the likeness of everybody is just perfect. Also, Connie made great frames for it. Armin once jokinly said that it’s too bad that there is no picture of 104th trainees squad as well. Little does he know that such a painting is already in the making and Levi intends it as a wedding gift for him and Annie next month.

On the wall above the door hangs Levi’s green coat and his blades crossed as a sign that the war is over for him. He likes looking at that from time to time since it reminds him of the good old days. He reads the paper every morning so he knows that the times are turbulant again but he hopes that it will not escalate this time. He wouldn’t admit it but he’s tired of fighting.

Levi lives in a small room behind the teahouse but spends most of his time outside. There is quite a large garden in the back of the house. Part of is accesible for guests with an old bench and a large log that Connie brought as a table, but part of it is private. There he grows flowers and stuff for his tea and he’s very proud of the selection of the herbs he has there. He used Hange’s notes to purchase some of them and she was right - they taste excellent when blended with the tea leaves.

It was surprisingly Mikasa who helped him set up the garden. She showed up one day in his backyard, digging in the dirt, saying nothing at all. He joined her and neither of them did speak. They planted seeds he bought previously on the market and the next day she showed up again, this time with some new flowers. They continued to work on the garden until it was all done. The last thing they did was planting a tree. Levi brought the seed from a forrest where he once wished he could stay with a women he loved and it brings him both sorrow and joy to see the tree grow. There is a seagul that often sits in the branches and Levi thinks it’s a bit weird but whatever, the place is close to the sea and there are seaguls everywhere. Some time ago he found a strand of red fiber under the tree - it looked suspiciously like from the Mikasa’s scarf which is weird because Mikasa hasn’t visited much since he opened the teahouse.

Gabi and Falco are both working in the teahouse since Levi is not much fond of interactions with people and he likes to prepare and brew the tea more than serving it. He has a wide selection of teas and the mysterious names are often a headscratcher for the new guests. When in a good mood, Levi is keen to explain the meaning behind the names. Lately, he’s been in a good mood more often than not which is a progress.

There is a peculiar tea which has a weird dirty color and smells like crap but tastes the most sweet. It’s called Four-eyes. There is also a tea served in a very tall cup that has a rich floral aroma that changes nicely in time. That one is called Mike’s selection. You can also get Erwin’s choice, which is the finest green tea you can get served with a breakfast. There is also Eyebrows, which is a blend of lovely golden color and Levi sometimes says that it’s against constipation. Noone knows if he’s joking or not. There is also one tea called Monke which reaks of shit and probably is made of shit as well. Noone knows because this tea is so notoriously known that noone orders it, ever. If you ask nicely and catch Levi on a good day he will serve you with his speciality called No regrets. Its smell will strike you with a sudden melancholy and when you drink it, it leaves you with a bittwersweet taste in your mouth.

The younglings don’t know that Levi secretly prepares some new flavors that he wants to name after them. Colossal tea is hot and spicy chilly drink with steam coming out of it and there is also a new blend that smells like stables - a special tea dedicated to Jean. There is one that smells like smoked meat and Levi thinks it would be suitable to name it the Braus special. There is also one special tea blend which is so strong that it almost blows your head off. Levi plays with a thought of naming it suicidal blockhead or a little brat. He thinks Hange would appreciate that joke. He plans to announce those new flavors next time he sees all of the kids again.

Since Reiner’s pottery business started booming, Levi asked him to make him two variations of teasets. You can now get a tea size human or titan. It’s a silly pun but everybody seems to like it.

Overall, the teahouse is a good place to be in and all the survivors visit everytime they get a chance. Armin and Annie promised to get there more one they finnish the wedding preparations. Reiner visits basically everyday after his work along with Onyankopon and they just sit there with Levi, drink tea and silently listen to Gabi and Falco who are always there with the newest town gossip. Also, Jean secretly plans to ask Pieck on a date there.

As for Levi, he likes the place enough. Yeah, it smells like shithole somethimes. But it’s a new home for him and it provides him with purpose and peace he never knew. In the room behind the teahouse he has a small bed and above it one more painting he commisioned. It’s a picture of a forrest cabbin with a women sitting in front of it. Levi insisted the artist painted her exactly like on Moblit’s sketches and he made the artist remake it several times until it was perfect. Everytime Levi looks at it it’s like a path to a different life, the one he could have taken but didn’t because the choice wasn’t really his. He doesn’t regret it though. He knows he will get there in time. But for now he has his teahouse. And with it finally, his new-found family and peace.

[ifeveristoday]

you are the vessel and she’s the life

Okay. When I first read issue #3, I did not like it. The art continues to be amazing, the colors glorious and they add to the atmosphere of the Hellmouth world - but I felt at first read, this was a weaker installment for the non-movement of the plot. If Hellmouth was a longer arc, I would have less issues because Jordie & Jeremy are developing Buffy and Angel, and giving the space for the audience to learn more about them, just as other characters are being brought into the spotlight for the namesake comics. I want to learn more about Kendra, Jenny, Fred, Gunn, et al. But it’s also a valid criticism that Buffy was missing from her story, long before Hellmouth began.

To compare Buffy (the intellectual property) to another cultural juggernaut for a minute - Star Wars. The reboots, the prequels, the ever-expanding universe - it’s all Star Wars, no matter what fans may feel about certain portions of it. But I see a lot of the same argument leveled at the Boom!verse that I do about Star Wars - ‘it doesn’t feel like ________________’, or  ‘that’s not my Buffy.’ I’ve certainly done my fair share of completely ignoring/complaining about the Dark Horse ‘canonically approved’ verse, so I get it. And I think just by the nature of a reboot, there are so many expectations, especially when you use the same characters. And IMO, Jordie and co. have been doing an admirable job of balancing their version of Sunnydale vs. memories/nostalgia of the TV canon. 

The point is to remake something for a new audience while respecting the source for the ‘original’ (whatever that means) fans. And it’s such a rich world with many characters to play with, and lots of different ways to explore themes that the show didn’t, or botched/dismissed. It’s a daunting experience to adapt, I’m sure - and I’ve been enjoying reading what Jordie has been doing with character development and the emotional beats of a story. The characters do feel like they exist in 2019.

However, with this issue, I felt like there was retread/not enough of a building on the momentum that Issues 1 and 2 had, along with a last-minute feel of a brand new original character, and some in-jokes that didn’t really add anything. This was my first reaction. Then I read it again, and with the other Hellmouth issues.

Major spoilers underneath the cut.

Back to my earlier point about Buffy being missing from her story - we still don’t know very much about Buffy’s backstory but that was never the point of her character, she was always very much in the now. The earlier issues had her in full Slayer mode with little intervals of an awkward, uncertain teenager! Buffy, and the last time she gets to hang out and do teenager things, Xander gets turned. And we didn’t really see the fallout in terms of Buffy’s feelings about it - but we did get very much appreciated insight into Willow and Xander’s characters. 

Then Buffy flings herself into the Hellmouth, after feeling estranged from Willow and dealing with a lot of unspoken guilt/shame. Oh no, not like TV Canon Buffy at all. 

However, the break from the Scoobies and entering the Hellmouth brought out Buffy Summers in all her confused, messy, intense bravery. Here was the girl who quipped malapropisms, made up sassy nicknames and leaped into the fray, fists first. And here was the girl who’s self-aware that her impetuousness and desire to save people also hurts the people she loves because she pushes them away - both out of necessity and because it’s her job. It’s a common refrain throughout the run of the series, emphasized by Giles and repeated by Buffy - she has to do this, and often alone - she’s the first responder in the apocalypse.

Heroine complex, man.

And then she meets LA’s finest, the dark knight, Mr. Hunchy Shoulders Guy - Angel. I’ve said it before, Bryan Edward Hill’s decision to have Angel meet Buffy cold, with an already established backstory of his own and then Jordie carrying that over into the Hellmouth event really changes the Buffy and Angel dynamic in the Boom!verse. A welcome change, and then when the portents/prophecies kick in, Angel dismisses them completely. His no-nonsense, I’m just here to do a job and then I’m out mode is amusing to me, because obviously, this is going to end up in romantic comedy land, just with a higher body count and lots of blood.

Buffy and Angel in TV canon never really got that light-hearted, getting-to-know-you phase because there was always the pall of forbidden love/gothic angst/and willful misunderstandings on both parties, never mind the interference/concerns and complaints from the people who loved them.

In Hellmouth, not only do Buffy and Angel get developed as characters, so does their budding ‘work’ friends relationship. Their banter is just delightful to read, and they get to be vulnerable/honest (to a point) with each other, that they haven’t been able to do so with their respective friends. And as they’re fighting demons and tracking down Drusilla, it creates an understandably sudden bond that most likely wouldn’t have happened above ground. They’re the only ones who can stop the forces of evil and cover each other’s backs.

Except for the undead elephant in the room, that has been in the room since Angel first appeared in Sunnydale -

Angel is a vampire. Angel witnessed Drusilla attacking Xander -- and did nothing to stop it.

And he knew it was Drusilla and Spike.

That lie comes back to majorly haunt his ass in Issue #3. Drusilla gleefully tells Buffy that he saw the whole thing, and also he has this whole other name, Angelus, which Buffy completely mishears and then rounds on Angel, asking him pointedly if they need a moment, or can she do the job she’s here for.

The revelation that Angel didn’t stop Xander’s turning naturally pings Buffy’s anger defenses and she tells him actually, no, we’re not friends, you don’t know me (even though I vented my guts out to you and you know I’m a slayer and you give weird pep talks to try to make me feel better -- Issues 1 & 2) - and I think besides the fact that Angel stood by and did nothing, it’s also that he didn’t tell her. Angel not telling Buffy important things, lying by omission basically, breaks their fragile alliance. 

But it’s not until the second lie.

Something that has been driving me nuts since the first issue is that Angel hasn’t revealed his Vampire self to Buffy. There’s different levels to the relationships Angel has cultivated so far in the Boom!verse - with Fred and Gunn, he’s an ally (reluctant on Gunn’s part) and a friend (Fred) and he’s upfront with them that he’s a vampire. But with Buffy, who is going to be a major part of his life (if any of the previous portents and prophecies are to go by), he holds off/and hides his vampire self. And the question is why? Buffy already has a friend who has a Vampire side, but Xander’s a special case because he can still pass as human. 

And it’s humanity that pops up in this issue - I knew it was coming, due to Boom’s wildly spoilery summaries/previews, but the way it was delivered?

Auggie - I know he has a full demon name but I’m not typing it out - and I think his name is also derived from Augury which means an omen/sign of what will happen in the future, seemed out of place to me. I mean, okay having a hell hut in the middle of the Hellmouth is whimsical and not completely out of the realm of the Buffyverse tone, and demons just trying to demon with no ambition to destroy the world is always nice to see - I just felt the introduction of him was too McGuffiny. There already was a figure who could see into the future (two of them, if you count Fee Fee from Angel’s first issue, except she disappeared into the plot hole where women characters go in that issue) and the initial one who set Angel on this path: Lilith. 

Having Angel strike up a random conversation with an essentially magic demon eight ball when he could have been searching for Buffy or Drusilla felt like an unwelcome departure from the main story. Yes, the revelation that Angel could achieve humanity through some terrible ritual is important, but also - do you believe a demon who’s making a stew out of unidentifiable parts in the middle of the Hellmouth and just casually drops that information? 

Read the room, Angel. It’s probably a trap.

Back to the A-story, Buffy thinks the Cthulu shape-shifter demon is back when she sees the vision of the guys in her life attacking the women - Giles and Jenny, Eric and Joyce, and Xander and Willow.Just as the Demon Joyce taunted her about her absence causing more havoc than help, the Demon men call her out Greek Chorus style - Giles says, “Sunnydale burns, Sacrifice.” Xander tells her, “But we can stop all this. The mother awaits you.”Eric says, “Come. End this suffering.”

Buffy accuses Dru of orchestrating this, and she laughs and tells her, “This is the hellmouth. Adapt, won’t you? It’s adapted to you....these are your people. This your nightmare.”

Buffy denies it coming true, and Dru tells her that it may yet come true - and she’s left Sunnydale defenseless. A slayer without her friends. There are fouler things than beasts, above. There are men.

Who have become the puppets of the unseen Hellmother.

So Drusilla was a red herring, a pawn in the game of Evil Chess. And this bums me out because Dru as a tangible villain/opponent is more interesting to me than another shadowy doom voice from the ether. Hellmother? Really?

This is where the reboot kind of loses me - Buffy’s greatest villains have been the ones who were personal to her, not as in just wanting to kill her, but an active part of her life. Dru (and by extension, Spike) in the Boom!verse would qualify because of what she did to Xander and threatening her mother. Dru being the front of a disembodied voice (that probably will take form in the next two issues) is a letdown. It’s the First Evil again.

The side effect of the men being turned into malevolent goons - okay, that is scary, but are we talking the Pack/Billy scary? (aka not very good episodes of either show because they either pulled punches or handwaved consequences)

Buffy teams up with Drusilla, which was unexpected, but at this point in the game, Buffy doesn’t have that many options. Her friend is missing (and it’s telling that even though she was hurt by the knowledge Angel did nothing to prevent Xander’s turning, she still refers to him as a friend to Drusilla. It might not be true forgiveness, but she was willing to move on, just for the sake of finding him and working to stop this mess.) And she keeps on reminding herself, these demons are not her friends, and are not real.

Which brings us to the final act - in more ways than one. Angel gets ambushed by a bunch of orc looking vampires, and finally goes Not Today, Satan on them.

And of course Buffy spots him on a mound of corpses, in full vamp face.

As much as I’m disappointed with the way Angel’s vampirism is revealed, it had to happen, and I have to admit, those last pages and panels are incredibly vivid and affecting.

Angel’s outstretched human hands covered in blood?

Buffy’s disbelief and then hardened look of disgust and her, “Don’t touch me.”

Goddammit.

Jordie and Jeremy have specific repetitions that I find interesting in terms of character development and where I think the plot is going -

Friends - the potential loss of them, the making of them, who to trust and how personal actions always have a consequence in relation to friends - Buffy is down on herself because she pushes people away and tried to lone wolf and it always, always blows up in her face, so this new thing with Angel is Buffy trying something new - trusting the other person so she can trust herself (because even though Willow and Xander are helpful and her besties, Buffy still can’t fully trust them with the fighting of evil because of her Slayer nature and belief that it’s her sole responsibility. She’s never had friends like that before. Angel has an equivalent strength to hers and already knows the evil game.)

So this issue blowing up all those tentative friend bridges? 

Fucking painful. Because now it feels like Buffy was right - she can’t trust Angel, he’s not a friend, because why would he lie? Why didn’t he stop Drusilla? They clearly have a history. Has he been in on this from the beginning?

Buffy is alone, again.

And Angel? Who the fuck knows. Buffy has become important to him in a short amount of time, and it still needs to be addressed why he did nothing to save Xander. He was already on the saving gig, and was it because he knew Spike and Dru that he let it pass out of...familial bonds?  That still doesn’t jibe with what he’s atoning for now. 

As always, thanks to @jenny-calendar for being there for me to figure out all these fiddly parts. I still think this is the weakest issue of Hellmouth, and I’m not as confident as I was before in thinking it’ll be wrapped up neatly in the last two issues - but I hope this doesn’t signal the end of crossovers, and that the relationship wherever it goes, continues to develop over both of their lines. But I dislike it less on reread.

And Buffy better make an appearance in Ring of Fire, damn it.

AND WHERE IS CAMAZOTZ?

[suchasuckerformontages-blog]

Cold Pursuit (2019)

directed by: Hans Petter Moland

written by:Frank Baldwin

Thoughts:

Originally filmed in 2014 Cold Pursuit is an American remake of a Norwegian movie . While I usually don't love people remaking perfectly fine movies with more budgets to harvest financial gain (See LOL, Head full of Honey, The Upside), I guess it can be an opportunity to outdo yourself and reach a wider audience which I think was what happened here as it was directed by the same guy both times. Anyways in this case I was sold after watching the trailer. To the tunes of Bad Moon Rising you get one perfectly cut scene following the other (though sadly not in the original version). And I have to say the film delivers what you'd expect after the trailer: exactly the kind of macabre humor that I'm into.

It was funny because of its absurdity. A snowplow driver living in quiet skiing resort Kehoe starts killing members of a local drug cartel after the murder of his son with skills he learned by reading crime novels. One after the other dies without so much as a black title card acknowledging his death. The way they establish a distance to the brutal violence depicted by the characters being so incredibly sober whilst committing it in a Preacher kind of way is what I loved about it.

You also sometimes get things entering the frame in funny and unexpected - in short Edgar Wright sort of- ways like the protagonist dragging the gangster he just beat up across the car park or the dead son being pushed up on the rack from below.

However while I was digging the overall tone and humor I also noticed that they overused the stylistic and comedic device of a steady shot of silence with one sound disturbing it. I mean it was funny the first time but the fifth time around...

And there was an abundance of steady shots in general. Sometimes there were shots that just kept on forever that in my opinion could have easily been cut. I think it might have been a conscious choice to create the sort of calm atmosphere that makes all of the action even more absurd but the movie in addition to the advertisements added up to three hours and I believe that not every single one of the scenes had to be as long as they were.

But that's not to say that the movie was boring or deprived of clever directional and creative choices. For example as I saw it there were clear motives such as the act of disappearing in death and life as the several characters disappeared without any striking impacts on the ones that were left (apart from one exception that I'm going to mention again later) thus making you wonder about it and perhaps even more present the exploration of father-son-relationships.

The first one isn't really dissected as much as it is simply omnipresent throughout the plot (the end credits literally read “In order of disappearance”), the second one however is what I would describe as the essence of Cold Pursuit: It follows a father who seeks revenge (or something of sorts) for the murder of his son. His opponent is a drug lord whose innocent son is later kidnapped by our protagonist and the drug lord`s opponent, the leader of the Native American cartel wants to avenge the murder of his son. The two fathers who deeply cared for their sons and lost them were the two left while Viking whose son served as a moral authority and a mirror for his father died at the end.

I could go into detail about how else the father-son-relationships were shown and kept coming up but the movie already does that. Now inevitably because it is a movie about fathers and sons there are not a lot of meaningful female characters in it. But to be honest I didn't really care that much. The problem isn't with one film not passing the Bechdel or the Mako-Mori test anyways it's about the scarily huge amount of them. Having said that I totally acknowledge the right for movies like this one to exist as well. After all movies should be about the human experience and yes, surprisingly  men are also human. I also didn't really care that much because even though most if not all the important roles were men you could still identify with them because of the plot's reliance on relationships and every character having a purpose. It's interesting to note here that the protagonist actually loses all his relationships (there were only three family members to begin with, two of which died and one leaving him) throughout the movie while going on a killing spree and not sparing a line about his motives and still seems weirdly likable so I guess you'd need to congratulate Liam Neeson's acting and the way his character is written as such a blatantly and genuinely nice guy.

Notwithstanding he's not without flaws. His wife actually leaves him due to their complete lack of communication by leaving a blank card which I think is really smart and might be a commentary on women's roles in the movie but also doesn't seem do have any repercussions on the protagonist.

Apart from the female perspective being less present there is also a general issue and conflict of representation that I think might be rooted in the fact that it's a comedy.

The issue is the following, people are represented for example there is a Native American drug cartel and there are feisty women but in the one moment they are treated with dignity and in the next their faith or behaviour is played for laughs as if it wasn't valid in the first place or as if a women being superior to a man were something hilarious. I felt like especially with the Native American cartel there was a dissonance between validating its members experiences (e.g. when their leader went into a souvenir shop full of forged Indian cultural objects) and just making fun of them (e.g. when one of them couldn't light a branch at the place where another had died). Then there was the only black character who is a hitman that gets killed for his lack of loyalty, which is just great.  And then there is the protagonist's brother's Asian wife with whom the brother talked in her native tongue and seemed to be on one level with on the one hand but who was still characterized in such a superficial way on the other hand.

Now I think the conflict is that it's a comedy. And I could stop right there. It's a comedy and it's supposed to be funny so it's going to make fun of everybody. Which I think it did very well. Even the white villain (if you can even call him that because it would mean drawing a distinction between  which people someone kills when really you shouldn't ever kill anyone at all if it can be avoided) was presented in a mocking way. He's the boss of a drug cartel but obsessed with eating healthy, screams and has a tantrum during which he throws around a stability ball. All pretty funny but for some reason kind of terrifying and intimidating at the same time. He is also the only openly racist character so... good job.

It's not all bad either though. I do believe that they did a pretty good job with the black screens and choosing to show different symbols according to the faith of the person who died, instead of always taking a cross.

I also loved that they included a gay couple that wasn't a walking stereotype or only there for laughs. Of course one of them had to die though but it was the only death or disappearance that had an impact on the story because the remaining one later betrayed his boss for having killed his partner.

My overall assessment is that although there was something a bit off about Cold Pursuit which I think was due to its long lasting shots and precarious handling of representation it was also what I expected in the best way possible: a dark comedy and a good one at that, the writing of the characters especially, the acting and the unique setting of the story were what made watching it truly worthwhile.

[killingthebuddha]

I first began my extrication from the Jehovah’s Witnesses some twenty-seven years ago, at eighteen, when I had a practically dissociative flash of insight while delivering a sermon in a Kingdom Hall (“church” for the uninitiated), in Duluth, Georgia, circa 1990. While talking, gesticulating, pontificating, onstage, to a sea of white-haired congregants three and four times my age, I suddenly thought something like: what the heck do I know about life, death, the universe, wisdom, God? The answer was clear. Not much, if anything at all. I was a bookish virgin, in a boxy cream blazer, behind a podium, with a brand new driver’s license, in my Velcro wallet, a microphone at my mouth, staring at the sermon notes I’d written a half hour before, penned in probably fifteen minutes. (I was fast, and I was good. I was really good.) 

The sermon was certainly about remaining separate from Satan’s secular world, surviving Armageddon, Jehovah God’s holy war, and inheriting everlasting life on Earth after Jehovah destroyed all His enemies—the vast majority of humanity, neighbors, colleagues, kids in my class. I know this because, to some extent, virtually every sermon, every meeting, every prayer, every Witness conversation was, on some level, about or informed by that very same subject. Not long after my dissociative sermon, I stopped attending the handful of weekly, required Kingdom Hall meetings. And yet despite that first step, I remained surrounded by Witnesses, family, friends, and co-workers, even as I was becoming increasingly interested in the secular world. Before long, I stumbled onto and became obsessed with the novels of Don DeLillo (I was a reader, a dangerous habit), which subtly challenged the notion of apocalyptic revelation, and I began going religiously to the local Atlanta hardcore shows. Both had debilitating effects on my faith, and broke cracks in the wall. They let in light. Before long, I began playing drums (badly) in a band peopled by mostly drifting Witness. We covered Bad Religion with not one drop of self-awareness or irony. And but a few years later, I got married at too young an age (young marriage is encouraged in the community), to a Witness young woman, and we moved far away to Southern California, where we quickly found ourselves without a rudder. We did not worship. We did not talk about God. Nor did we talk about Armageddon. We did not pray. And, frankly, it was a profound relief. That said, I was filled with questions: about God, and the Bible, but mostly about child indoctrination. One night my (then) wife said we’d been brainwashed. I got angry. I yelled. She then demanded I look up the word in the dictionary. I did, and the definition read like a close description of what had happened to both of us all our lives. I remember next going into our “music room,” and putting on (probably) a Minutemen record, lying on our long black sofa, and staring at the ceiling for a very long time. In retrospect, it seems my wife and I almost certainly went to California in order to leave our communities, to run away. I have known several ex-Witnesses who’ve made similarly extreme geographical moves, physically extracting themselves from their surroundings, as if pulling ailing flowers from unhealthy soil. Sadly, I did not properly say goodbye to many of my friends, or my family. In some cases, I did not say goodbye at all. 

One cost of deliberately cutting ties from your bedrock, from your beginnings, is the blur, fade, and repression of whole blocks of memory. Neuroscientists now say we relentlessly make, remake, and rewrite our memories, including traumatic ones, by actively engaging with them. We remember, shape, reshape, and rewrite our memories every day. In my case, and to my detriment, according to my psychiatrist, anyway, I have most likely protectively ignored the memories of my Witness life. I prefer not to revisit the past, as I find it an intellectually disabling and morally troubling landscape. I am not nostalgic. Often, when visiting family back in Georgia, I am casually asked if I recall a specific, possibly even formative event, person, or place, from childhood. My answer is often no. I do not want to remember, and that strategy has mostly worked in my life. Mostly. If I’m honest, I was a resentful young man for many years. I resented the community who loved me, and raised me, because this same community taught me college was Satanic (a distressing 63% of Witnesses have no more than a high school diploma), that a lexicon of death and destruction was appropriate for young children, that all sex—unless within the bounds of heterosexual marriage—was wrong, that a life of the mind was selfish and unsound, and that one should never question authority, never investigate history, and always surrender one’s will to Jehovah. In truth, I wasted a good portion of my years and energy on that anger, and ran from my past as best I could.

There are flitting memories, however, that I can’t outrun because the dominion of the senses sends us reeling whenever it wants. For instance, when I think of SundayWatchtowerstudies, a forty-five-minute-long article-based Q&A session between a seated congregation and an Elder onstage, I see in my mind’s eye eager hands raising to answer simple questions provided at the bottom of the Watchtowerpages, answers prepped beforehand, often recited at the Hall by children. I hear the tinny clunk of dropped quarters on a hard wooden surface, as I sat guarding the Kingdom Hall Contribution Boxes. Occasionally, the citric air of flower shops strangely sends me back to the humid, piquant bouquet of a Jehovah’s Witness convention center’s cavernous restroom and the orange-floral-scented cakes dotting their urinals. I remember the sea of seekers in the seats, praying together, singing together, applauding together at every mention of Jehovah striking down evildoers, atheists, Muslims, and Jews, all non-Witness Christians, homosexuals, and countless others, for countless reasons, and my body recoils like a child’s about to be struck with a belt.  

The Witness convention has proven an especially anxious source of memories for me. I can still hear the drone of homely hymns, the rote clapping, the amplified and echoing voice of the Elder onstage, and his, to me, rather creepychildlike tone, and the opening and closing prayers for Armageddon, in Jesus’ name, amen. Perhaps most palpable are the memories of so-called apostate protestors, especially in the 1970s and 1980s, men and women of all ages with handmade signs, marching, shouting in unison, and making themselves heard. Their signs displayed announcements like: The Jehovah’s Witnesses are a Dangerous Cult; The Jehovah’s Witnesses Have a Pedophilia Problem; Jehovah’s Witnesses are Anti-Education; The Watchtower Corporation Took Away My Family; The Watchtower Society Has Blood on its Hands. They were passionate, loud, fearlessly critical, respectful, but angry as hell. I have great respect for their mission, now, for their dedication, their suffering. But I was a kid, then. They terrified me. After all, the Organization (the Witness term for the Watchtower body, corporate, social, and religious, in its entirety) repeatedly told us, especially children, the protestors were demonic. They were Satan the Devil’s material foot soldiers, “apostates,” and no force on earth was more evil.   

*

On November 13th, 2018, the network A&E, and Leah Remini, aired a two-hour investigative documentary television special on Jehovah’s Witnesses, which preceded the season three premiere of Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath. I found out about it because another ex-Witness contacted me through Facebook, asking if I’d seen the show. I hadn’t heard of it. I should also say, this ex-Witness asked that I please not reveal details about our conversation, to anyone. I won’t. Leaving the Witnesses can be a delicate, protracted affair. Not everyone can quietly disappear, like I did. Some fear the Organization’s punishing response for dissent: public disfellowshipping (akin to Scientology’s “declaration of a suppressive person”), which demands absolute shunning on behalf of family members and friends; or public reproval, a milder form of open shaming that doesn’t require full official shunning on behalf of the congregation. I was lucky, and was never publicly shunned, although I have been told I was privately shunned by several Witnesses: for listening to “Satanic” music, for “associating with worldly people,” for having short hair that “looked gay,” for spending un-chaperoned time with my fiancé. That said because I simply, abruptly disappeared, either they had no official recourse for public shunning (I was out of jurisdiction, so to speak), or they simply forgot about me. Perhaps it was a mix of both. Some dissenters voluntarily disassociate themselves, in person, by phone. Some do it legally, by attorney-drawn letter. Some refuse to recognize the Organization’s authority and just never return. Others precariously question the Witness system, while remaining embedded within their communities, as outsiders. Some are afraid to leave, and never do. Many do not know how to leave, especially those born to the Witness life, as they are largely unprepared for the outside world. I have known Witnesses who were leaving for years. Some exit because they fear for the mental health of their children. Some leave because they want to go to college, or want their children to go to college, or want their children to engage in extracurricular activities, like school sports (all explicitly forbidden by the Witnesses, certainly the case when I was a member), or perhaps they have awakened to the Organization’s inherent misogyny, anti-Semitism, xenophobia, Islamophobia, homophobia, sex abuse problems, suicide problems, or the apocalyptic death drive central to their theology, taught to children as early as possible. My sister’s departure from the Organization, for example, for the safety and health of her family, involved a five-year plan. All of which begs the questions: Why stay at all? Why join? I can only mostly speculate. I know this much, when I was a Witness, ensconced, protected from the “world,” for many years I did not think of death. It did not exist, not realistically. We called it “sleep.” To quote Harold Bloom and his study of American-born religious movements, The American Religion: “When death becomes the center, then religion begins.” If this is true, then one might imagine the more orthodox, the more separatist, the more punishing a religion becomes, the more unhealthy its relationship to the reality of death. I believe the future Witness, to a great extent, joins, remains, thrives, as an act of deep investment, a commitment to the mythic narrative that death, in the end, will not come for them, or for their children.   

Regardless, for me, after I left, I suffered apocalyptic nightmares for decades, and I have subsequently come to learn, from friends, from therapy, that such dreams are quite common to adults raised in apocalyptic cults. I can’t help but quote Bloom again, here, on the Jehovah’s Witnesses and their “intellectually weak, spiritually empty” literature, which reminds him “why very small children cannot be left alone with wounded and suffering household pets.” To Kate, my wife (my first wife and I divorced), not a Witness, not a fan of Witnesses, and decidedly not religious, all of this stinks of the sinister, the malicious.When she and I finally sat down on our sofa to watch the show, one week after it aired, not five minutes passed before I was completely, emotionally overwhelmed. I began to weep. Kate paused the show. I took a long sip of wine, got up, and paced about the room until I regained my composure. 

It took me some time to realize why. I was not sad. I was not mad. I was weirdly, tearfully ecstatic about seeing adults like me, who, unlike me, now had a powerful voice helping them tell their stories. We let the show play on. The ex-Witnesses being interviewed had been variously disfellowshipped and disenchanted, but all of them openly spoke of the wreckage done to their families by the Jehovah’s Witnesses. There were stories of suicides—in one family’s case, there were two; stories of public and prolonged shunning of daughters and sons, even grandchildren; of the secretive bureaucratic practices, wholly and currently conceived of by eight men, always men, known as The Governing Body; the rampant misogyny; the lethal blood transfusion controversies; spousal abuse problems; the Witnesses’ well-publicized sex abuse problem, and the unabashedly shameful Organizational response of blaming the victim. If there were not two witnesses to the abuse (a rule anachronistically based on an ancient biblical text; the verse before inconveniently demands the execution of sinners by stoning), the Organization’s institutional decision has been, apparently, to remove abusers from one congregation, only to quietly appoint them in another. 

As a young boy of fourteen, after discovering a peeper’s hole in the bathroom wall of a trusted Witness minister’s apartment, a friend and I told the friend’s mother. We were disturbed not only because we knew we’d almost certainly been watched, but also because this minister was known for entertaining the young boys from our Kingdom Hall. The minister always had the latest video games, and provided lots and lots of soda. We’d seen him holding and caring for the youngest boys, four, five, and six years old. So we told my friend’s mother. I can see the kitchen table, the grim light, and her frizzy, red hair. I remember her dropping her chin, and saying: No, no, not again… She then confessed he’d been found guilty of child molestation before, it was public knowledge, and he’d been moved to a different Hall. Mine. This disturbing practice is accompanied by yet more subtly insidious and debilitating behavior. Much like other religious groups, the Witnesses privilege jargon, but in many cases the lifelong use of specialized language approximates institutionalized brainwashing. I have known several ex-Witnesses who continued to use the phrase “The Truth”—the inside term Witnesses use for their religion—when referring to the Witnesses, long after leaving. An ironic phrase, since, in practice, Jehovah’s Witnesses demonstrate little use for facts. There is anti-social conditioning, like the tragic impractical life training that leaves one ill prepared for the secular world, and mostly prepared for apocalypse and a sequestered life of door-to-door preaching. After dating for some time, Kate was palpably unnerved that I had not gone to college, and that I had already been married and separated in my early twenties. Not to mention much of my time before her had been desperately spent on drugs, alcohol, writing terrible short stories, and working mostly incidental, menial jobs. I was a dishwasher at a pizzeria, that summer we met. I didn’t even have a bank account. Why save? We were dying. 

Such characteristics are common, obvious, and actively studied by cult deprogrammers across the globe because, well, the Witnesses are global. Founded in the 1870s by Charles Taze Russell as a publishing arm for his personal eschatological readings of the Bible, The Watchtower Society has now published well over two hundred million Bibles in more than 160 languages, and has become, by far, the largest magazine publisher in the world, a corporation largely funded by donations from its over eight million members in some two-hundred-forty countries. Their actual net worth is protected, but conservatively estimated in the low billions. They are vast. To quote author and activist Lloyd Evans, one of the ex-Witnesses interviewed on Remini’s show: “Take Scientology, add eight million members, and you’ve got Jehovah’s Witnesses.” The Witnesses have successfully, thus far, avoided effective public scrutiny, unlike Scientology, partly due, I think, to their politically neutral and affable public image. Also unlike Scientology, the Witness persona is not especially glamorous. There are no bright lights. They privilege modesty, long skirts, “heck” instead of “hell,” all this despite the fact that, like the Mormons, they routinely grant offices of leadership to strapping young men, which seems in retrospect a rather deliberate strategy for enlisting young women into fantasies of early marriage, as the gay men remain Witness bachelors and quietly enjoy the show. It should be said, here, too, friends of mine, ex-Witnesses included, have reported widely on the “down low” gay aesthetic and subculture of the Organization. Ex-Bethelites (workers in the Watchtower headquarters) infamously talk of clandestine gay sex, straight sex, and adulterous sex in bathrooms, stairwells, and basements. This is predictable. Sex in the Witness world is pathologized, repressed, and buried. According to Pew Research Center, Jehovah’s Witnesses have a decidedly low retention rate when compared to other religious groups in the U.S.; of U.S. adults raised as Jehovah’s Witnesses, some 66% “no longer identify with the group.” I would not be surprised if this had largely to do with their puritanical stance on sex. This has not, however, stopped the Witnesses’ historic growth.

To provide scale, according to some reports the Witnesses are two-hundred-and-fifty times larger than The Church of Scientology, and yet despite the several upsetting similarities, they remain the “nice people knocking on doors,” to paraphrase Remini’s initial impression. And yet, like Scientology, the Witnesses openly encourage fear, disgust, even cruelty for those who leave and dare criticize the Organization. Apostates. As a boy, the word alone, especially when spoken, froze me with terror and awe. No more, of course. Though, it’s likely I’ll pay a price for writing this essay. Which is strange, I admit. Some might wonder why I have not paid that price by now. Frankly, I have been lucky. I keep my mouth mostly shut. My criticisms have been subtle and respectful, even timid. I invented a new religion in my first novel to save myself from explicitly writing about Witnesses. My parents have been patient. As for other family members, I have effectively removed myself from them already. In some cases, they have removed me. Nevertheless, I’m sure some family members and friends will call me apostate, now. They will cut me off. Some already have. And I’m at peace with that, finally. But it has taken years. Among the footage on Remini’s show were photos of those late twentieth century “apostates,” men and woman protesting with signs in front of Kingdom Halls, and Jehovah’s Witness convention centers. I watched them and thought of other protestors I’d seen as a boy, in front of Bethel, Watchtower World Headquarters, once in Brooklyn, now located upstate in Patterson, Wallkill, and Warwick, New York. I paused the show, sipped my wine, took a breath, and said: Those people with the signs, protesting. I used to be scared of them. Kate said: Those people are heroes, every last one.

*

Ironically, the Jehovah’s Witnesses were born from protest, and their theology is inextricably defined by apostasy. Aside from the plain fact that they are fundamentally an American Protestant Christian movement, as a millenarian restorational nontrinitarian group they were born not only as a deliberate protest to Catholicism, but in vigorous protest to traditional Protestantism. God was not triune—and, more, Jesus was not God. Jehovah is God. There is no other. Famously, at least according to Witness lore, at the turn of the twentieth century, the Witnesses fiercely protested, in public, in a highly coordinated fashion, with signs, and loud voices, against religion itself. Signs boldly read: Religion is a Snare and Racket. They were not Catholics. They were not traditional Protestants. They were not even traditional Christians. The Witnesses, at least at the time of my leaving, continue to proudly own this history. This is rare, as the average Witness knows little of their story. Organizational history is rarely talked about at Kingdom Hall meetings, and when it is, in my experience, and the experience of more recent dissenters, it is cherry-picked for exegetical gloss. The image of early Witness protest, however, the Witness apostasy from traditional Christianity (apostasy merely means to set one self apart from a group; the original Greek means “to stand away from”) is owned, employed, cherished in their rhetoric. It is a defining personality trait.       

More interesting to me, though, is the Organization’s penchant for protesting its own legacy and historical practices. Most notable and well known are the dozen or so dates of failed apocalypse intimately tied to the developmental history of the Organization, or directly prophesied by The Watchtowerin print, by Elders from the Kingdom Hall stage. I certainly recall, as a child, the announcements of a world coming to its end in 1980. I recall, as a young man, promises of Christian apocalypse come 2000. Unfortunately, Jehovah’s Witnesses generally do not know much about this long trend, which stretches back to the late 19thcentury. They certainly do not talk about it, as these aborted endings have caused fissures and mass departures in membership. In most cases, the Witnesses smilingly deny the prophecies completely, I have witnessed this, as they offer a biblical explanation, creatively interpreting Proverbs 4:18—“But the path of the righteous is like the bright morning light that grows brighter and brighter until full daylight.” Apparently, the days of failed prophecy were darker times, and we’re in full light, now. I’m told they don’t make predictions anymore. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Organization soon claims they never made prophecies at all, as they willfully, disturbingly, once again, disown their own history, and their present story: that of a fascinating, and unique American invention, unwholesomely marked by secrecy, and thus riddled with the problems secrecy engenders: deception, betrayal, contention, and abuse. 

I should say here I have come to learn in my short forty-five years that ignoring one’s story is a seriously dangerous move. My psychiatrist will back me up. It seems, I ignored the apocalyptic beliefs, biases, and perspectives imprinted on me from infancy, and ignored my resentment for having them. I ignored my anger—until, one day, it boiled over. In early 2016, after an overwhelming breakdown, I was hospitalized, and thus began my struggle with a mental illness that has predictably dovetailed with an examination of my own history. The mind will have its way. I wonder if now is the time for Jehovah’s Witnesses to face their story. I know for a fact Remini’s show had lots of people shaking with concern. I received notes from old friends, colleagues, and neighbors who watched the show. They were shocked. On other hand, I’ve heard loyal Witnesses called it lies, lies, all lies. What more would you expect from apostates? Then again, perhaps daylight is here, finally here. In world no longer conducive to secrecy, it’s hard to imagine otherwise. The Internet knows, shows all. I am confident that social media, the ubiquity of online information, and our access to that information, will eventually light every dark corner of the Witnesses’ considerable Organization. I hope so—for their health, my family’s, and mine. I know this much: Remini’s show awakened something within me, and as a result I feel compelled to publicly, officially separate myself from any organization, like the Jehovah’s Witnesses, that knowingly endangers its most vulnerable members, which I sets me squarely, proudly in a rich, and complicated, historical tradition of protest. 

[hubakon1368]

#I'm still mad about that #like 15 had its issues with women lacking prominence #but that game had endless development issues and at the least delivered on having a strong party dynamic #with Noct and the boys #Clive's dog doesn't even bark unless scripted and Jill spends most of the game standing in the background of cutscenes smiling blandly #it's just especially striking because like - the remakes are still delivering on having women in major roles #and even spinoffs like stranger of paradise have a party dynamic and a party that's 2/5 women #so the next major title being 'one guy and the shallow party system clearly bootstrapped on late in development' #is just even more of a fucking disappointment #fuck off Clive - go do the plumbing or whatever it is you're good at

Preserving @sir-adamus' tags.

the FFXIII trilogy ends with Claire "Lightning" Farron taking the collective souls of humanity and shaping them into a massive sword with which she kills God,

but now because of the whining of internet dipshits, 16 gave us mardy Clive and his girlfriend who might as well not be there for how fucking little she contributes