#my hope is to one day build an audience that will happily dissect my characters and the depth ive invested into my stories-

[shidoukanae]

how do people find people they can bounce their OC stuff off of for Encouragement TM purposes,,, and who might also be willing to help you construct plots and such and basically listen to you talking about the intricacies + nuances of your story you don't wanna reveal to the public quite yet,,,

i wanna chat about my OCs but i also don't wanna bother people either ahhhhhh

[babyleclerc]

The Way You Look Tonight

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x Fem Reader

Style: One-Shot/Drabble

Request: Yes, by anon: Maybe the Reader taking Hiddleston to his favorite play for their anniversary?

Warnings: Pretty much none. SO MUCH FLUFF!!

Word Count: 2K

Summary: Tom has always been one to spoil you, but on your second wedding anniversary you want to be the one spoiling. So after a romantic evening dinner, you take Tom to the theatre to see his favorite play & ice cream afterwards.

A/N: I apologize if this is rusty, because it genuinely feels rusty. It’s been MONTHS since I’ve last written anything. so THANK YOU to the anon that requested this!!! I haven’t broken out of my writing stump literally in 2019 & this idea just kind of hit me in all the right ways. I so appreciate you & I hope you enjoy this/I did it justice. Also, full disclaimer that I have never seen Much Ado, I read the play back in HS but that was literally almost ten years ago so I did research/tried to make it as realistic as possible but pls forgive me if I wrote about it incorrectly.

Also, thank you to my angel, @deartomhardy who helped me get through my block with this. Your support, encouragement, and constant belief in me makes the happiest little panini head in all the land. I hope u like what I did with this to finish it up! (gif not mine!)

“Will you just tell me where we’re going, already?” Your husband was borderline whining, his voice laced with curiosity and intrigue. He had been patient throughout the entire evening – allowing you to wine and dine him at your favorite restaurant in the city, Clos Maggiore (he even let you pay, after you insisted adamantly that tonight would be his night, instead of the other way around, as it usually was).

But as you were getting closer to the surprise, his eagerness was getting the best of him. He was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, looking like a child on Christmas morning. This was another testament to Tom’s patience – he loved driving you around and being in the passenger seat always made him antsy. Just let me chauffer you around he’d say adamantly, as you were trying to steal the keys to the Jag from him. This would last for only a few minutes, and after endless pouting and whining, Tom was stubborn and would only ever give into you on special occasions, and your anniversary was one of them.

“What fun would that be?” You grinned back at him, glancing your eyes away from the road to meet your husband’s steel eyes. Traditionally, you’d be staring into ice cold blues, but this evening, the way they were catching the low sunlight, they almost looked a pale green.

You couldn’t help the small somersault that flipped in your stomach. Six years with the man (well, only two if you were counting marriage), and he still had the ability to make you feel like you were on your first date again.

You sighed happily, lifting his hand to press a soft kiss against his skin. These were the moments you never wanted to forget.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.” You teased after some time had passed. Nearly ten minutes until you were at your destination, and your husband had been surprisingly quiet throughout the car ride after his earlier badgering had gotten him no answer. “No guesses?”

“I have an inkling,” Tom said, shooting you a sly wink. “But I don’t want to make a fool of myself – I’d rather just be surprised.”

Once you’d parked, you turned to face Tom in his seat, who was already grinning from ear to ear. He knew your secret, or at least, one of them.

“You’re taking me to the theatre?” He asked, his features turning soft as he took is hand in yours. “Darling, you hate the theatre. We could have done anything else, something we both liked.”

“It had to be this.” You shook your head adamantly. “Plus, it’s not just anytheatre.”

“There’s more?” Tom asked eagerly, now unable to hide his excitement and swinging himself out of the car. He quickly strode in front to open the door for you, offering you his hand so you could exit. Always the gentleman.

“I don’t want you to get too excited.” You start cautiously, taking his hand and straightening your gorgeous silk navy dress as you stood. Even Tom soaked in the way your dress accentuated every curve, his breath hitching slightly in his throat.

“Have I told you how absolutely stunning you look tonight, Mrs. Hiddleston?” He breathed, tugging you towards him with the hand that was still enveloped in his. You grinned before being greeted with a sweet kiss, molding into him and letting a soft sigh escape your lips.

“Maybe once or twice,” You replied cheekily, nuzzling his nose gently. “But back to the surprise!”

“Ah yes, your beauty distracted me momentarily. Apologies,” He winked, giving your cheek a swift kiss. “What’s this surprise, beyond the majesty that is the theatre and your company?”

You shoved him gently, chuckling at the way his “British” showed when you were in these types of settings. It was obnoxiously adorable – though you’d never admit how charming you found it or you’d never hear the end of it.

“OK, so I know it won’t quite be the same as when you originally saw it at Shakespeare’s Globe, but it looked like this cast got good ratings, and, uhm, I know it’s your favorite, so…” You pulled out a pamphlet from inside your clutch, handing it to him.

Tom unfolded it curiously, the papers now bent slightly at the corners after sitting buried in your dresser the past few weeks, in an effort to hide the surprise from him. It had taken months of online research, discussion with friends, and innocent questions to your husband to try to figure out what the perfect anniversary present would be. What do you give to a man who, seemingly, has everything? But then there was this; the idea to take him to a smaller theatre, on the other side of town – away from the paparazzi and the constant questions. Going to a play at the Globe would have been more of a celebrity outing vs. an intimate date – and so the second you had found this; you knew it was perfect.

“You’re not serious.” Tom deadpanned, looking at the artwork on the pamphlet for his favorite Shakespearean play, Much Ado About Nothing. “This is playing? Out here?”

He looked shocked – exactly the kind of reaction you were going for. You grinned, unable to contain your excitement in how much he was about to enjoy your anniversary gift.

“Happy Anniversary, baby.” You say, leaning up on your tippy toes to place a soft kiss on his cheek. He, too, was smiling from ear to ear.

“This is wonderful. Thank you, darling.” He pulled you in for a hug, giving you a tight squeeze, “I’m sorry that your first experience of my favorite play won’t be at the Globe, but this is going to be incredible. Any kind of live theatre is –“

“Is worth watching,” You interrupt, finishing his sentence and wrinkling your nose. “You’ve only said it about a thousand times.” You tease, shoving him with your hip gently as you both made your way towards the entrance theatre, hand in hand.

“Because it’s true!” Tom says through a laugh, allowing you to take the lead towards your seat, grinning happily along like a young schoolboy on the first day of summer.

---

You had to admit it; Tom was right. You had loved everything about the play. From sitting next to Tom, noticing how his mouth moved along with the dialogue during certain scenes. The way the theatre lights dimmed, so that it appeared you and he were the only ones enjoying the show even though there were hundreds seated next to you. The way he laughed with the audience at all the right parts (even if you were a little slow to get the Shakespearean joke), the way his lips pursed as he dissected every line. Attending the theatre with your husband was nothing short of a documentary on Tom itself, and half the time you didn’t know whether you should be paying attention to him or the play.

Afterwards, as the summer breeze descended upon the city, the towered buildings covered in a low pink haze as the sun said goodnight, you had both decided for a walk around the town, stopping at your favorite ice cream shop for a nightcap. You walked hand in hand, happily licking your coffee chocolate chip ice cream in a waffle cone, swinging your arm that held Tom’s hand gently.

“So, what’d ya think?” You ask him through a mouthful of ice cream. You knew the answer but wanted to hear that intelligent brain of his work at lightning speed. He regaled you all his favorite scenes, quoting his favorite lines very animatedly, and you grinned as he went on and on about his first true love: the theatre.

“…And did you see how that actor took that character’s role so fully into his own?” His monologue was coming to a close, and you recognized you needed to be tuning into your husband’s thoughts, instead of getting lost in his accent and gorgeous eyes that were shining just right against the ever-dimming sunlight. “Impressive, really.” He continued. “I’ve only ever seen Don Pedro played much cockier, that was such an interesting take on an otherwise quite elusive character… And what did you think, darling?”

He stopped walking and turned to look at you, shoving a spoonful of snickerdoodle ice cream into his mouth, leaning easily against one of the sidewalk railings. You could just make out the shape of the Big Ben in the background, its’ large shadow just visible along the London skyline. You smiled happily at this life that had magically become yours – talking theatre and eating ice cream with Tom Hiddleston. Sometimes you couldn’t believe it.

“Uhmm,” You started, answering his question, “The sets were really gorgeous.” Tom began laughing and you scowled, smacking his arm. “Hey! I’m sophisticated enough to understand Shakespeare plays!”

He grinned, folding a long arm across your shoulders and sweeping you into his tall frame. His warm body felt comforting in the cool summer breeze. You leaned into him subconsciously, allowing your head to fall easily into the crook of his neck. “I know you are, darling. I wasn’t laughing at you,” He soothed, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, though his features were still playful.

You kept your brows knitted together, glaring at him playfully. “Well you sure weren’t laughing with me.”

“I’m laughing because you are the most adorable woman in the world.” He was placating you and you knew it, but when he talked in that low husky voice, it made you squirm and lose feelings in your legs. You tried to stand your ground and sound intelligent.

“I was really impressed with the portrayal of Beatrice in particular. I know Shakespeare wasn’t much into strong feminine characters, but she really shone through in this play as a strong, badass woman.” Tom’s initial silence made you feel self-conscious, and you felt your heart beating furiously as you craned your neck backwards to gaze up into your husband’s dreamy features.

Tom nodded, suddenly looking serious, “Well said, sweetheart. I always appreciated Much Ado over Shakespeare’s other work but never really put much thought into why. I think Beatrice plays a big part in why.”

You grinned, feeling proud of your answer. “See, I can talk shop about plays and Shakespeare just as much as I can about sports and shopping.”

“There’s no doubt about that.” Tom laughed, setting down his now empty ice cream dish just to your guys’ left side and drawing you into him. You easily shifted so that you were sandwiched against him, snuggling your arms just underneath his chest with his arms wrapped around you. You placed your chin on his chest, looking up into him.

“Thank you for a lovely evening.” He murmured into your ear, placing a gentle kiss along your temple. “The surprise was wonderful and well worth the wait. Happy second anniversary, love.”

You grinned, feeling a million butterflies start from your heart down to the tips of your toes.

“Here’s to many, many, many more.” You replied, leaning up on tip toes to pull him into a sweet, slow kiss. The kind that made you forget you were in public. That made you forget there were people walking around just a few feet away from you. That there was even a life outside of him.

You hoped it remained that way forever.

Fin.

---

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[emperorren]

some thoughts by a long term multifandom-dwelling, meta-enthusiast shipper who has been countless times baited, disappointed, lied to, and kicked in the face by writers and showrunners backpedaling and boycotting their own narrative, taking impossibly stupid decisions, and being overall dumb as fuck:

“canon” is a non-entity. or at the very least a fluctuating notion, especially in the case of huge franchises (think of m*rvel). canon is incessantly rewritten, challenged, distorted, contradicted by new material. think of the ha n-leia romance, how it was a happily ever after at the end of the original trilogy. think of it now. there are old fans who utterly rejected the new trilogy as something essentially extraneous to the star wars story; for them, han and leia are still living their HEA, han is still alive, ben solo was never born, and nothing bad happened. This remains true for them as long as they ignore the new material, whose canon validity is disputable, if you’re a “purist”. These characters aren’t real, they are the product of someone’s imagination, and literally the only thing that separates your canon from THE canon is that the latter is imagined by someone who happens to be in charge of the commercial version of story. When none of this is real, several things can be true at the same time.

i’ve come to terms with the fact that shipping as we intend it doesn’t operate on the same level of mainstream storytelling. Mainstream storytelling is usually black/white and pretty straightforward; shipping exists in the margins and between the lines. For most mainstream writers, “romance” has a very narrow meaning. Very specific stuff has to happen to create “romance” (kisses, sex, googly eyes. “I love you” “I know”). Shipping doesn’t need those things. The shipper gaze is inherently transformative. The real essence of shipping is taking things that aren’t intended to be romantic, and RUNNING WITH IT, changing them, developing them, making them romantic in a way that the wider audience wouldn’t understand, or wouldn’t have the patience to follow in depth.

this is why we saw things as the interrogation and the duel and our brain wheels were immediately set in motion to come up with a million exciting scenarios. If we had seen a romance unequivocally blossoming between these characters, most of us (me included) wouldn’t be so drawn to this pairing.

some of us don’t even like mainstream romance. When people are like “huh, why do you ship this crack pairing instead of the canon one?”, well, this is the reason. Some of us feel a sort of disconnection from standard romantic narratives (and that’s because they are usually written by straight, cis, male writers, and designed to appeal to a generic and primarily straight, cis, male fanbase with little imagination. star wars, I’m afraid, makes no exception.)

because of the above, and because the perception of what qualifies as romantic is deeply subjective, it makes even less sense to talk about “canon romance”. 

I can see two characters holding each other’s gaze for 10 seconds as more romantic than two characters having a long make out session. I can hear a “forgive me, rey” uttered in a mouthful of blood at the end of ix and read it as more romantic than a kiss. Get what I mean?

Lots of us, however, care for those kisses and for an explicit validation. It’s okay, of course. It’s completely okay and natural to want that to happen.

but, again, experience has taught me not to pin all my hopes on THAT. Thing is, the canon story isn’t under our control. It just isn’t. It’s in the hands of a bunch of professional writers we don’t know personally, who do this as a job, who might or might not be emotionally invested in the story they’re telling, who’ll move on new projects as soon as they wrap up this one, and who - i repeat - approach this stuff with a professional attitude (whether they’re good at it or not, it’s another issue), not an emotional one.

what is under our control is how we handle our fandom experience. The ship is ours, and we make what we want with it. Fanart, fanfiction, meta, headcanons. They gave us the basic bricks, we create the building. None of this is less valid than what happens in Rian Johnson’s or Colin Trevorrow’s head. They just happen to have a higher budget. At the end of the day, though, they’re creating a huge toy machine that we’re going to use as we like. 

the biggest ships EVER, the real fandom behemoths, are usually the ships that “never happened”. Why? because no male writer ruined them because their stories were not completed, and it’s a natural human instinct to want to complete a story. Which means fandom tends to gravitate, by default, towards those pairings that weren’t given closure, or were treated unfairly, or had a lot of sexual tension but no resolution in canon.  

I see a lot of (understandable) anxiety over what I’ll call “the j*hnlock fiasco* and LET ME TELL YOU ONE THING:

YES, the TJLC turned out to be a bunch of crap, but in the end, who ended up living in the same house, taking care of a child, and being FOREVER BROS? As someone who witnessed the whole thing from the sidelines, with no dog in this fight, I have zero doubt that Sh*rlock/Watson is, has always been, and was confirmed to be the central relationship of that show, and of that verse in general. The conspiracy theorists fooled themselves (and caused a lot of harm to both their followers, and those who disagreed), because they made it unnecessarily complicated, and pinned their whole understanding of “canon” on something very specific that they were repeatedly told wouldn’t happen. but regular shippers? I know a couple, and they were satisfied with what they got. (frankly, I loved the ending of Sh*rlock, because it left things open for EVERY shipper. I would LOVE for SW to pull a number like that. I wouldn’t feel cheated, at all.)

meta is great. as i said, I’m a meta enthusiast. But please remember that even the greatest meta is nothing but an attempt to make sense of things that remain largely outside of our purview, with limited information, no access to what is in the making, and no confirmation that the writers are actually as competent as said meta needs them to be. Enjoy the speculation. Don’t marry yourself to one. Be a speculation whore. No commitment, no regrets. Worst case scenario, it’ll be excellent fanfiction fodder. 

none of this is an admission that *re/ylo won’t happen in canon* or an encouragement to stop believing it will. This is simply my attitude towards shipping IN GENERAL, and—after countless disappointments—I though it might be helpful for others, too.

remember: 

in december, we’ll see these assholes battling AGAIN, and being intense again, and we’ll be obsessing over inane details and speculating and dissecting microexpressions and shit EXACTLY LIKE WE’VE BEEN DOING SO FAR.

sure, a lot of these things we obsess over might be completely accidental (it’s always good to keep it in mind)—but that’s part of the fun, in fact, it’s the WHOLE POINT OF SHIPPING.

TO CLARIFY:

(because I’ve seen some bizarre interpretations of this post)

while the shipping fanbase might be predominantly female and/or queer, this isn’t a rule. Contrary to what some media outlets and popular forums believe, SHIPPING ISN’T A GENDERED ACTIVITY, and I, for one, am ENDLESSLY PISSED AND FRUSTRATED at the constant, blatant misogyny and gatekeeping with which shipping and fanfiction are treated in mainstream fandom circles. The shipping fanbase is an extremely diverse group, composed by anyone with a more transformative approach to fandom (which isn’t in an either/or relationship with the curative approach, mind), anyone who, for whatever reason, might feel dissatisfied with or underrepresented by mainstream narratives, especially the very simplistic ones we normally see in blockbusters. At no point this post wants to reinforce sexist assumptions about shipping and fanfiction as inherently *female*. 

what I’m also NOT saying, is that we should just passively accept this divide between what we WANT to see and what mainstream fiction gives  us; that we should just suck it up and stay in our lane. No, fam, I’m just presenting the way things (I think) are in blockbuster fiction, and saying that SW is (probably) no different in that respect. But we should definitely fight to change this status quo, and make demands for more diverse, inclusive, non-standardized romantic narratives.

[its-just-like-the-movies]

Raw (17, B), American Fable (17, C+), and Personal Shopper (17, C)

In my quest to review every 2017 release I see, I’ve decided to cramp down on some films that I’m sort of enthused by that could’ve been better versions of themselves. The Spooky Lady-Led Trio, you could call it. All of these films have something to offer to prospective viewers, and elements I’d happily endorse, as well as things I’d readily change about them. Either way, here they are!

Raw

As an advertising hook, a film with the idea of relating to cannibalism as just one of those things kids do in college while exploring themselves was a pretty great lure to get me into the theater. A French film with a breakout female director that won a Cannes prize with every review thumbnail featuring its heroine covered in blood? This smelled like the perfect mix of art house horror and gross-out horror. And it frequently was that, particularly in the mysterious opening scene and a later one explaining it, the eating of an accidentally mislaid finger, the worst seven minutes in heaven - all the sex scenes are actually sort of terrifying, - and a scene near the end that redefines the term “leg day”. The beginning hazing and party scenes are all pretty effective, as are the more mundane frights of being accused of cheating on an exam and walking in or your roommate having sex. We the audience all made an agreement with each other as that finger was being eaten that hey, if this is a lot for you, feel free to freak the fuck out. It’s easy to see the argument director Julia Ducournau is trying to make with this film, but too often she undercuts herself in the film’s most stylized gestures. Lights flare red and pink as protagonist Justine (played by newcomer Garance Miller) is prowling parties for men to sink her teeth into, and it’s simply not as effective as seeing her carnivorously oggle her gay roommate as he plays soccer, sexually taunting an opposing team member as her nose bleeds. A dream sequence sees a horse running forever strapped in a treadmill-type machine, another one sees a dissected dog rise from its metal table, still hidden under its plastic sheet. For a film with the objective of trying to portray cannibalistic impulses as just another thing kids do in college, it regularly struggles playing things as casually with Justine as does with her roommate’s promiscuity, the general partygoing/hazing rituals of her classmates, or the cannibalism her own sister partakes in.

Played with a lived-in, grubby casualness by Ella Rumpf that’s fascinating to watch even before we learn she also eats people, Alexia’s relationship with Justine becomes an even richer mystery than the women’s shared cannibalism as Alexia continuously fluctuates between taking her sister under her wing and leaving her out to dry, particularly in a vicious fight after Justine sees a video of what Alexia got drunk Justine to do, only for it to end in a moment of unity and bonding between the sisters, perhaps the most connected they’ve been the whole film. Her own nonplussed attitude as she peels back the layers of her own depravity while trying to coax her sister down the same hole is portrayed with the offhanded tone the film should’ve stayed in, instead of the flashes of stylized lighting and odd, seemingly unrelated visual imagery. A final-frame reveal that could’ve been a whole other chunk of the film, tying back to an earlier scene where Justine is shocked to learn that *her* parents would’ve been game for her vet school’s hazing, could’ve easily been a whole narrative of the film for Ducournau to explore for both sisters had she not essentially reduced it to a jump scare. I’ve seen critics try and assign social commentary to Justine’s relationship with the gay roommate portrayed by Rabah Naït Ouffela she and Alexia both contemplate going after, in different but not ways, as taking to task the ways that straight women use and abuse GBFs, but I haven’t read the take that would make me agree with that idea completely. There’s a lot in Raw I wish were better, even though it worked plenty of times just fine and Rumpf nails every one of her scenes. Given the rise of cannibalism as a topic in film, television, and pop culture in general, I hope there’ll be a take like this that goes further and achieves the rich goals it sets for itself. But if the chance to see Raw comes your way, take it. Even if it doesn’t hit all its marks, its successes are still as terrifying and inspired as the best horror movies around, with sections so tense and horrific you and all your friends will lose all feeling in their fingers at the same time. A fun, unifying experience for the whole squad.

American Fable

I’ll give American Fable credit for probably fulfilling all of its ambitions, but the success is marred by an odd directorial hawk and some too inevitably realized arcs, particularly the doomed neighbor and the escalating antagonism of the brother. Plenty had been said about the film’s stylistic and tonal debts to Terrence Malick, but I wonder how well this actually served the film. True, in a long dream sequence, director Anne Hamilton crafts a woozy, elaborately out-of-body experience that feels like an actual dream using Malick’s new-age style. Hell, actress Marci Miller, cast here as the protagonist’s mother, seems like a composite of Sissy Spacek and Jessica Chastain, while lead Peyton Kennedy is as close to Linda Menz as I’m sure Hamilton could find. However, I’d say the Malick inspirations are something of a limitation to the story, lending it a kind of fantastical or grand air that just doesn’t suit the subject matter. Why make such an event carry the kind of majesty connotations that that style implies, when something a little darker or less florid would’ve been a more apt treatment of the script. That subject matter by the way, is about a young girl who discovers that her father has agreed to imprison a land developer in an abandoned silo on behalf of a Mysterious Woman in exchange for enough money to keep their farm afloat. And that young girl, named Gitty, discovers that man around the same time her father falls into a coma, forcing this Mysterious Woman to share what she had commissioned The Father to do with His Wife and Their Son Martin, who gladly steps up to take his father’s place and falls easily to the words of encouragement this strange lady provides. She also bears a great likeness to a woman wearing armor with ram horns on the helmet and riding a black horse, who always shows up when shit gets fucked up. This woman also bears no real impact on the narrative despite being a semi-interesting figure, and it’s debatable that the actual Mystery Woman does either.

Gitty’s relationship with the Mystery Man, played with such panicked gentleness, faux benevolence, and earnest caring by Richard Schiff - what a good summer for The West Wing’s men! - is easier the most affecting part of the film. Even if it’s as easy to see coming as her relationship with her brother, Schiff and Kennedy manage to create a real bond of unclear fragility as Gitty begins grappling with what his being there means, and what she can do to help. The last shot rewards her and our faith in Schiff’s character, and if the movie around them feels somewhat under-realized, I’m still glad I got to see that relationship unfold. In fact, the film ends with more unanswered questions and loose ends than it started with, which doesn’t really do right by the parents or the ultimate payoffs, literal or otherwise, with the Mystery Woman’s request. Again, I think Martin’s arc becomes more or less predictable once he threatens the life of Gitty’s beloved pet chicken, but at no point do we see what his parents’ reaction is to where he’s left. I don’t regret seeing it, but looking back on it, there’s surprisingly little to parse over, especially in the areas it so successfully advertised as being about. A lot of that stuff - the wondrous stylization, potential supernatural elements, some kind of folkloric entity - all feel extraneous, underused, or ill-serving to the film, some parts more than others, but still. There’s bits of magic all over the place, but even more so are there missed opportunities.

Personal Shopper

So early into the year, I’m not sure this was necessarily the project I was most looking forward to, but it was definitely high up on the list. Kristen Stewart had been practically perfect in Olivier Assayas’s Clouds of Sils Maria two US released years ago, the story itself sounded so entrancing, and reviews from several critics I trusted had been rapturous. On the other hand, plenty of friends and people I talk to online (or both) weren’t that hyped on the film or Stewart, and the Best Director Cannes prize Assayas shared with Cristian Mungui for Graduation wasn’t exactly a saving grace for what many considered to be a lackluster set of awards that managed to ignore much better films almost completely. I for sure haven’t seen all or even most of the Competition films from 2016, but Aquarius and Elle already pose more ambitiously realized projects than Personal Shopper does, not to mention Loving’s lowkey achievements and the madness of The Handmaiden.

Hindsight being 20/20 and all, it seems almost inevitable that I’d be as unmoved about this film as I am now. Like Clouds, Personal Shopper seems to have fashioned a showcase vehicle for its leading lady without giving her a whole lot to play beyond material firmly within her comfort zone. Juliette Binoche got who knows how many monologues about the price women in Hollywood must pay to stay relevant, a sentiment that might’ve had a little more power or variance had Assayas cast an actress who could really relate to that character instead of an actress who’s stint with American movies was sort of a phase in the middle of all those French movies she was and has been making, building a massive amount of acclaim and goodwill in Europe along with winning numerous prizes in France and Europe in general. In a similar vein, Assayas casting Stewart as a woman forced to withhold herself emotional seems like perfect casting but really isn’t, constraining the actress to give the kind of laconic, uninteresting performance many had accused her charismatic, lowkey style of actually perpetrating in previous films (no, I don’t remember Twilight). I felt bad that my interest in her performance got higher as she got emotional, even though I never believed she’d actually die. I wish I felt more active restraint in her performance, trying to keep a grip on her hope and fear and curiosity at all times rather than seemingly not feeling anything except in the scripted moments to let that gas valve leak. Post-film, I kept wondering who would fit better in the lead role of Maureen. Lea Seydoux, perhaps? who gave such a restrained performance in Farewell, My Queen that was nevertheless tinged with palpable thoughts and emotions at all times and could’ve just let the film be in French. Ellen Page, maybe? not for any particular reason but if he’s gonna cast an American actress he might as well do another outside-the-box choice that could pay off big time. Taissa Farmiga, who’s been so great at doing the same kind of grounding that Stewart has been in horror films across tones and genres while being able to play perfectly with the ratio between ridiculous and earnest of each project. Fuck it, why not Julianne Moore?

I don’t mean this to rag on KStew herself, who I’d have happily handed an Oscar to for her work in Clouds, but this feels like miscasting disguised as no-brainer casting. Between Clouds and Certain Women, her particular style seems best as a kind of supporting seasoning, or at least not perfectly aligned with the tone of the film itself. Part of what made her so special in both projects is that she managed to carve a space in both films to accommodate her own persona while fitting her style into the film’s. Personal Shopper fails her by trying to tailor itself to what Assayas may think are her strong suits, which just ends up making Maureen unreadable in an uninteresting way. The plot itself doesn’t really help her, given how thin it ultimately is. Opening and closing with Maureen working in France until she finds out that her recently deceased twin brother had moved on and that there is an afterlife, the large middle of it is occupied with an unknown number texting Maureen, pretending to be and not be her dead brother and whose identity I guessed almost as soon as the first messages popped up on Maureen’s screen. There’s barely more here than Clouds, and it’s marginally better given the spooky subject matter - the few scenes of Maureen performing a seance or following her pen pal’s orders are appropriately tense - but it’s still alarmingly little for the film to work with.

Would a different director entirely have solved this trick. One person I follow on Twitter, Kyle Turner (who’s super great, go follow him, it’s @tylekurner) suggested Mia Hansen-Løve should’ve been given this project, and I firmly agree. Admittedly I’ve only seen Things to Come, one of 2016’s most perfect movies, but if that’s essentially the kind of film Hansen-Løve would’ve made Personal Shopper into, it’s an idea I fully support. That kind of observational style would’ve been a lovely prism to examine Maureen’s griefs and hopes for the afterlife, for her brother, and for her own life as she waits for a sign and puts off flying to her boyfriend in Wherever. It may also have been a fine match for Stewart’s brand of quiet charismatic performance, allowing it to flourish within her keenly observational style instead of subsuming it. Most, if not all of my thoughts on Personal Shopper are about how to make it a better movie, something I feel a little bad about given how well others have received it - David Ehrlich was practically rapturous, saying the film evoked his grief at the death of his father so potently, and his review was the best encouragement I had to see this - and I do hope people see this. It’s an ambitious project made by artists I’ve fans of outside this particular film with plenty more projects of theirs I’m actively searching for, and I respond to raves about Personal Shopper better than other positive reviews for projects I was equally meh on. See it for yourself. Maybe your opinions about it will make themselves known by smashing a glass or tearing wallpaper, or just manifesting physically and vomiting ecoplasm in your general direction. Either way, it’s an interesting project with a singular, spooky tone that’s trying more than plenty other films.