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tarisilmarwen · 3 years ago

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RobStar Week 2021, Day 6 - Formal Night

(Have a RobStar/BBRae double date for this prompt as a two for one special!)

---

"Do we have to go to this?" Beast Boy whined, fidgeting a little as Raven straightened his bow tie. "Can't we just like, video conference in or something?"

"Metropolitan Society of the Arts hasn't quite nailed down simulcast technology yet," Robin said in explanation, helping the changeling into his dinner jacket. "We could watch the livestream, but it'd be really laggy, and we'd lose connection more often than not." He brushed Beast Boy's sleeves off when he was done. "Besides, this is culture. It's good for you."

Beast Boy gave an uncertain whine, but made no further comment, as Raven withdrew to slip her faux-fur-lined shawl around her shoulders and Starfire moved in to futz with his hair, smoothing it down into a semblance of orderly flatness.

"Do you not like the opera, Beast Boy?" she asked him, making sure his hair was to her satisfaction before stepping back and tugging up her long gloves again.

"Never really been my thing," he admitted, reaching up and feeling the slicked-down hairdo. "Always puts me to sleep."

Robin wound an arm inside Starfire's, his jacket sliding neatly against the silk of her gloves. "I wouldn't blame you," he laughed. "Opera is kind of an acquired taste."

Starfire beamed at him, her eyes sparkling. "It reminds me of the poetic ballads we would perform upon royal holidays," she commented. "I am very excited for this."

Beast Boy shrugged, grabbing up his wallet and shoving it into his back pocket before reaching to grab Raven's hand. "Well, as long as you guys enjoy it, I think I can manage."

Raven gave a wry smile as she entwined fingers in his. The contented feelings of love and happiness from their double dates were like a warmth on her senses, familiar and comforting. Starfire's eager excitement and the anxious thrill racing inside Robin at the thought of doing something with her she loved never failed to make the empath feel... more at ease, somehow.

The looks of adoration they traded with each other, the casual level of comfort they felt... She and Beast Boy were still navigating their awkward newfound feelings for each other but Raven very much hoped they could reach that level of ease with each other.

Beast Boy did like to cuddle, so that was a good start.

She squeezed his hand encouragingly, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"I snuck your gameboy into my clutch," she told him. "If you can stay awake until intermission, we'll sneak off and find a quiet corner."

He looked confused and bewildered a moment, but then seemed to light upon her insinuations. "Ohhh, leave the happy couple alone for an hour, I get it," he said with a grin.

Fortunately Robin and Starfire were busy fussing over who was going to hold the tickets and didn't hear their private exchange.

*** Starfire's eyes were shimmering; she clutched hands over her heart as she listened with rapturous emotion, her Tamaranian powers almost haywire inside her with the strength of her feelings.

Beast Boy was snoring lightly in his seat, his head slumped over the top and drooling a little from his mouth, but Raven didn't seem to mind, leaned against his shoulder and quietly listening to the music with a faint smile.

Starfire could feel Robin's eyes on her instead of the performers, watching her reaction to every line, every moment, but she barely paid attention, so enraptured she was with the moving story and the beauty and technique of the singers' performances.

The main soloist was onstage now, pouring her heart out into a powerful aria about difficult love and Starfire felt herself ache for the poor fictional girl, doomed to forever be apart from the one she treasured and adored.

She clapped vigorously with the rest of the audience as the act concluded, peeking aside at Robin when he stood up, and doing the same.

"What is this called?" she asked, observing the same phenomenon from patrons down below on the floor.

"A standing ovation," he explained, saying it into her ear. "It's basically used to compliment the performer, tell them they did a really great job."

Starfire beamed and clapped harder, joining the chorus of appreciation for the soloist, who stepped forward and took a quick bow as the lights came up.

Beast Boy snorted and startled awake, shaking his head and quickly wiping the drool away with his sleeve. "What'd I miss?" he asked.

Starfire jumped into an explanation at once, her dress swishing around her ankles as she turned eagerly to Beast Boy. "The heroine and her lover both snuck away from their houses for a secret rendezvous, in which they proclaimed their eternal affection for each other. But the heroine's stern guardian found them out, and attempted to duel the lover to the death. He barely escaped with his life and now the heroine has been locked in her room and has conveyed that she feels she cannot live without him."

"Oh." Beast Boy scratched his ear. "So pretty normal stuff, then."

"It was so moving!" Starfire exclaimed, her voice almost breathless. "The lyrics of the aria were so beautifully poetic!"

Behind her, Beast Boy observed Robin, his eyes shining at Starfire like she was the beautiful piece of poetry.

He smirked a little to himself. "Yeah I'll bet. Hey Rae." He nudged Raven conspiratorially. "You remember where the bathrooms were? I uh... kinda need to use the men's room. Fast."

She caught on to his excuse, rising from her seat with him. "Well don't pee on the floor, I'll get you there," she assured him, trying to hide her grin.

She quickly enveloped them in black energy and teleported them away.

***

He'd known Starfire was a sap—known for ages, really—but it still surprised and alarmed him when the Tamaranian princess burst into tears at the conclusion of another powerful number.

"Woah, woah, hey!" he said in concern, turning in his seat towards her at once as the applause filled the auditorium, almost drowning him out. "Star, are you okay?"

She hiccuped, her breath hitching and stuttering as she tried to get her words out. "It is just—so sad!" she managed around choked sobs. "They can—never tr—truly be accepted by their families!" Big wet tears were sliding down her cheeks, running the mascara Raven had so painstakingly helped her apply earlier that evening. Starfire fumbled in her clutch purse for a tissue, her hands shaky, Robin eventually producing his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing away at her eyes, worry pinching between his brows.

She looked at him gratefully when he finished, whispering a strained, "Thank you."

He nodded silently but sent an anxious glance back towards the door that led into their private balcony box. Raven and Beast Boy had been on a long bathroom break.

Where the hell are they?, he wondered anxiously.

Turning his attention to his distraught girlfriend, Robin wrapped arms around her shoulders and waist, rubbing up and down her back, trying to soothe her back to emotional stability. She calmed as he held her, her sniffles settling down, quieting into a somber ease.

"Sorry," he said. "I should have warned you this one had a tragic ending."

"It is not that," she mumbled, hiding her face against his lapels now, vibrating the words against his chest. "It is.. very silly but... these kinds of... melodramas about love and romance," she began, raising her head slightly, looking into his face with sad green eyes. "It just brings up... old buried feelings," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Starfire took a deep breath, wringing her gloved hands. "For the longest time... I feared you did not have any desire to be with me," she admittedly quietly.

That stung like the knife the heroine had stabbed herself with in Robin's own heart, and he gripped her tighter, fiercely. "I know," he whispered in apology. "I was stupid. I kept putting up excuses for why we shouldn't be together, and I hurt you with how long I stalled, afraid of my feelings." He shook his head. "Afraid of myself, of being vulnerable."

"That is not how you feel now," Starfire said with conviction, looking at him adoringly.

He grinned. "Nope," he agreed. "I can say it now. I love you, Starfire, and I never want to be without you again."

Her smile cracked her face and she flung herself at him, capturing his lips with a kiss as the audience applause and cheers down below became deafening.

***

Raven had the audacity to look completely unbothered as Robin stalked up to her, with Starfire trailing behind, leaned up against the wall just outside the men's bathroom with her arms crossed casually. Beast Boy sat indian-style on the floor next to her strappy sandals, thoroughly engrossed in his handheld gaming device, beeping softly as he mashed buttons.

Robin set annoyed eyes on them. "And where exactly have you two been?" he demanded.

"What?" Raven replied, shrugging. "Starfire gets a little overpowering on the senses when she's emotional. I figured I'd spare myself the headache."

"Besides dudes," Beast Boy piped in, not looking up, "we figured you two could use some alone time. You guys haven't been on a real date in ages."

"Is that what you were doing?" Robin pressed, still a little irritated. He nodded his chin towards Raven's shoulder, where her dress strap was askew, down around her upper arm. "Having alone time?"

Raven coughed lightly and surreptitiously reached to fix her strap and cover it over with her shawl.

"The sentiment is appreciated," Starfire spoke up, eyes soft but strained, "but I was looking forward to spending the time with the both of you."

"Well, the night's still young," Beast Boy said, standing up, his Gameboy loose in one hand. "I'm sure we can find something to do that we'll all like."

"Oooh!" Starfire exclaimed breathlessly, turning to her date. "Robin, there are newborn giraffes at the Jump City Zoo!"

"Sounds good to me!" Beast Boy said, immediately grinning. "Rae?"

"Nice quiet evening with only a few people and lots of calm content animals? Sounds up my alley," she quipped.

Robin had trouble finding his words for a moment, having been quite distracted by the warm golden chandelier light glistening in Starfire's red hair and the adorable eagerness with which she looked at him, and stammered a bit before his brain shook itself back into order.

"Uh... that's—I mean—uh... uh yeah, sounds—sounds good to me."

She gave him a peck on the check affectionately, amused by how easily she could still flummox him, and slipped her gloved arm through his elbow, settling comfortably into his side.

"Would we not be overdressed, though, in this attire?" she asked, slight worry wrinkling her brows.

"You should keep the dress on," Robin blurted, then blushed heavily and trailed off into babbling again. "It—I mean it uh—it suits you, green always—uh it looks—it looks really great on you and—"

Beast Boy rolled his eyes. "Ugh, they're like the model couple, it's disgusting," he commented aside to Raven.

"Revolting," she agreed with a smile. After a pause she shouldered away from the wall. "C'mon," she urged.

Giggling, Starfire tugged her still-blushing boyfriend along as the two couples made their way through the glimmering tiled halls of the theater towards the exit.

---

So I’m not saying that Raven and Beast Boy totally had sloppy makeouts in the men’s bathroom but... yeah I’m totally saying that lol.

#robstar #bbrae #robstarweek #Teen Titans #robin #starfire #raven #beast boy #fanfiction #prompt fics

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trbl-will-find-me · 7 years ago

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A Little Night Music (1/3)

Phantom of the Opera AU. (I should warn that this is probably not for Phantom purists. I’ve taken some liberties with plot and timeframe to better accommodate some plot and character bits. There’s also, you know, aliens. That being said, the Phantom plots is all here --- along with most of the XCOM cast, past and present. There is also a distinct lack of Phantom/Christine --- or their XCOM equivalents.)

[Washington, DC October, 1920]

She wakes in cold sweat, the memory of blue skin, flowing white hair, and horns like a ram still fresh in her mind.

Her eyes roam the room, as if expecting some intruder. Instead, she is greeted by the familiar sights of her armoire and dressing table, the pictures on the wall, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, the shadow of a dirigible projected on her bedspread. Next door, she can hear Lily puttering about, no doubt doing her best to reassemble her latest toy before the school day.

There is no phantom, she tells herself. It’s a superstition.

She washes her face and dresses for the day. She takes tea and breakfast with the Doctor and inquires after his work on the Elerium engine, before catching the first streetcar to the theatre.

“Heard we’re meeting the new owners today,” Jane says as they struggle into their costumes.

“Still can’t believe Volk is selling this place.”

“Come on, Elizabeth. He hasn’t been the same since the fall of the Czar.”

“He was born here!”

She shrugs. “When the old country won’t let you go, it won’t let you go.”

L’Assassina’s s high C ricochets through the corridor.

“She’ll be in rare form today,” Jane groans.

She shrugs. “When isn’t she?”

“Ladies! Gentlemen! Fools! Beggars! Before we begin today, I have introductions to make. As you know, I will soon take my leave of you, and of this theatre. But! I leave you in the most competent of hands.” He gestures with a flourish, and bows towards the man standing next to him, a broad, bald, hulking figure barely encased in his suit.

“I represent a council of investors who believe your institution holds significant cultural value,” the man says, never bothering to introduce himself, “and represents a significant stake in artistic relationships with the Others.”

“Grazie mille, Signor,” L’Assassina says, doing her best to affect a convincing Italian accent, and dropping into a deep curtsy.

Jane hides a snigger in Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“You’re inviting her wrath,” she whispers.

“Her wrath needs no invitation.”

“Herr Spokesman,” Frau Vahlen steps forward. “Welcome to our home. I bring you tidings from the Ghost. He instructs your council that box five is to be kept open for his use, and reminds them that his salary is due.”

“Your … ghost?”

“The Ghost. Did Herr Volk not inform you?”

Volk’s cheeks color.

“Ah, allow me to correct the oversight. This theatre is under the protection of … a spirit. We do as he asks, and he ensures the crowds are large and the reviews ebullient. This, in exchange for a small salary, and a private box.”

The Spokesman turns to Volk. “Is this true?”

“Of course it is,” Vahlen continues, as if the question had been posed to her. “Look around.”

“And what is this small salary?”

“Oh, about thirty-five-hundred. Though, with your investors, perhaps you can make it four thousand.”

“Frau Vahlen, I am not sure of your customs in this theatre, but we will not cave to the demands of an extortionist specter.”

“Very well, Herr Spokesman. But, he will not be pleased.”

She draws in a deep breath, and tries not to let the tension creep into her shoulders. It is the fourth time L’Assassina has put a hold on rehearsals to berate someone for something so inconsequential as to be unnoticeable even to the maestro.

“Da capo, per favore.”

She feels something sick and heavy pushing at the back of her mind. Everything slows and she struggles to think straight. She wants to scream at the sensation of something, someone, in her head with her. This is always the feeling she has the moment before it all goes ---

One of the backdrops crashes to the stage, narrowly missing the company’s pride and joy. It snaps her back to reality for a moment, before her focus is entirely fixed on trying to counter the nauseating loss of her own sense of self.

In the background, she can vaguely make out L’Assassina screaming at Volk and the Spokesman, spittle no doubt flying from her mouth. She feels as if she is being suffocated, the world starting to glow grey and purple at the edges. She can’t focus anymore, can’t fight, it’s like drowning, can’t push, can’t ---

“Elizabeth could sing it.”

The presence falls from her mind instantly.

“Jane,” she hisses.

“She speaks the truth, Herr Spokesman,” Vahlen offers. “Fraulein Regan has shown real promise.”

“I ---“

“Regan, come,” Volk orders.

“I hardly think a chorus girl will be a suitable replacement,” the Spokesman said. “She’s certainly pretty, but ease on the eyes does not a fine soprano make.”

She hopes the offense does not read on her face.

“Signorina,” the maestro says, gently. “From the beginning of the aria, if you please.”

She drops her shoulders and grounds herself, letting the tension out from her body. She draws in a deep breath, and waits for the maestro’s cue.

Her voice rings clear and true, easily ascending the high notes without sacrificing the warmth of the lower ones. She lets the music flow through her, reveling in it, in the way her voice carries through the space. This, she thinks, is what it’s about.

“Well, Mr. Spokesman,” Volk asks with a leering grin.

“I stand corrected.”

“And we’ll either need you in early or late tomorrow,” the stage manager says. “Costume will need to adjust the fit of the gown.”

She nods. “Of course. I’d prefer early tomorrow, if that’s a possibility.”

“8 A.M. sharp.”

She nods. “Thank you. 8 A.M.”

She pulls her coat around her shoulders in the mid-October breeze, and decides to walk home, rather than take the streetcar. This is her first real, leading role: no longer a chorus girl, no longer ensemble, but the lead. It is what she has spent years working for --- and is an incredibly lucky break for someone her age.

She wishes she could be excited, but she is only filled with a quiet dread.

She knows the intrusions, whatever they are, are growing more frequent, or, more accurately she suspects it. There are gaps where there shouldn’t be, holes where details should weave the story.

It is not medical, that much she is sure of. Away from the theater, at Doctor Shen’s or out in the world at large, it does not happen. She is herself, happy and whole. Her thoughts are her own, her movement, her actions. She can tell herself the story of the day without gaps, without questions.

By that same train, she doubts it is psychological.

She knows that the Others have established clinics, free places of help. She knows it would cost her nothing, that those who have gone in have reported miracles.

Maybe it is her grandfather’s superstitions carried with him from Ireland, but she does not trust them.

The Shens eat dinner late; it is the only thing that allows her to eat with anyone, instead of on her own.

“How is rehearsal?” The Doctor asks.

“Our leading soprano almost got crushed under a backdrop today, and then she quit.”

“Oh my.”

“Did the pulleys give?” Lily asks.

“Sorry, little one. I forgot to ask Wallace. Everyone seems to think it was human error from what I heard.”

“Who’s stepping in for the diva?”

“Me.”

“Well done!” The Doctor offers, smiling. “And so young, too.”

“I’m sure it’s just temporary. L’Assassina will be back. She could never abandon her public.”

“Why is she blue?” Lily asks.

She shrugs. “Some of the Others are. Not many, but a few.”

“Is she really an alien?”

“Lily,” her father interjects.

“Her skin really is blue, so take that for what it’s worth. All I can tell you for certain is that she’s a pain in the rump.”

The little girl laughs.

“Really, Elizabeth,” he says, turning his attention back to her. “Congratulations. It is quite the accomplishment.”

She smiles. “Thank you, Doctor.”

As long as she is on stage, she is safe. The thing, the presence, takes its leave and she can feel and focus and function as her own whole person. It’s when she is off, in the wings, in the dressing rooms, in the corridors backstage, that she loses herself.

At night, in her dreams, she hears him, beckoning her on, demanding she comply. It’s a crushing pressure in her skull, a ringing in her ears, a voice that she can’t block out. It’s the memory of her limbs, moving of their own accord; of her very consciousness, restrained against her will; of blue skin and a domineering voice.

It is coming for her, that much she knows

She steps into the theatre four hours before curtain on opening night, and wants to run.

You don’t have to do this, she tells herself. You could walk away. But, she knows in her heart, she can’t.

She sings the show as if it might be her last, her one shining moment before succumbing to the insistent pull of the darkness. Her voice carries out across the theatre, strong and lovely, the way she’d always imagined it would. She exists only in the moment, in the truth of the work and the rush of the adrenaline.

The applause are rapturous and the final standing ovation is something from a dream.

But the night is not yet finished with her.

Her make up is off and her hair loose when the knock comes at her door frame, and Jane’s head pokes its way in. “You’re being summoned. Apparently, we had important guests.”

Lizzies raises her eyebrows. “Who’s summoning me?’

“Mr. Spokesman himself.”

She follows Jane out into the hall and almost stops dead in her tracks.

The Spokesman is there, yes, but there is someone far, far more important.

The voice. The face. The carriage. She’s relieved to find he hasn’t changed. “John? John Bradford?” She asks, disbelieving.

“Ah, I see you’ve already met the Captain,” the Spokesman says.

“You were lovely,” he says, handing her a bouquet of sunflowers.

“They’re beautiful,” she says, beaming up at him. “Oh! Wait a moment!” She dashes back into the dressing room, and sets them on her table, before flitting back out, and catching him in a hug. She can feel laughter in his chest, and smell the aftershave on his skin.

He is real, and he is here.

He releases her after a moment, standing back to brush a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.

“As you can see, Captain, talented and lovely,” Frau Vahlen offers as she passes by.

She reaches up pressing a hand to his cheek. “I had no idea you were in Washington. I would have --- I would have said something.”

“Don’t think twice about it. Fate’s funny.”

“Captain!” A voice calls, and his face falls. “I don’t suppose you’ve got much free time?” He asks.

“I could find it, but it works better if I tell you where to find me.”

He reaches into one of the interior pockets of his uniform jacket, and hands her a pad and pencil. She scribbles down her address, and passes it back to him. “We don’t rehearse Sundays.”

“Clear your calendar. I intend to impinge.”

“I’m expecting it now.”

His smile broadens, and he catches another stray lock. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.”

“Thank you for the flowers,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Go before you upset someone.”

He shrugs. “For you, it’d be worth it.”

She watches him go with a glint in her eye.

“You seem to be better connected than we’d thought, Miss Regan,” the Spokesman says. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

As she returns to her dressing room to finish changing, she’s overwhelmed by that familiar, gut wrenching sensation.

The whole world goes black.

The thought of his visit is the only thing that rouses her from her bed, and through the next show. The slog through Saturday and its performance are agonizing. She feels the force, the creature with its blue skin and monstrous teeth, pushing at her mind, forcing its way in time and time again.

By the time he comes to collect her, her nerves are raw.

They walk the loop of Potomac Park, enjoying each other’s company and the sounds of the Tidal Basin. Her arm is comfortably looped through his, and she fights the urge to rest her head against his shoulder.

“The dressing room is nice, but I try to keep out of it.”

“I was surprised you didn’t take advantage of the relative calm.”

“As a rule, I try not to be anywhere too quiet in that theatre.

“Why?”

“You’ll think I’m loony.”

“I doubt it.”

She draws in a breath, then lets in out. She knows she’ll have to pick her way through the question carefully. “I lose time there. Not in the sense of being so engrossed in what I’m doing, but in the literal sense. I’ll be somewhere, doing something, and then the next thing I know, I’m somewhere entirely different with no memory of how I got there. It’s like something else is in my head, pulling the strings. Hours have passed. I don’t know why it happens.” She shudders. “And it’s happening more.”

His brow furrows. “More?”

She nods. “I can’t shake the sense that, whatever it is, it’s coming for me.” She shivers in the bright October sunlight. “After you left last night, it was another two or three hours before I went home. If I can account for half of that, it’s generous. I told you: you’d think I was loony.”

She’s surprised to see worry written on his face. “What does Dr. Shen say?”

“About the late arrivals? He doesn’t. Just takes it as part and parcel of having me as a tenant.”

“You must be a good tenant.”

She smiles. “I try. I’ve been with him since before he perfected the engine. I wasn’t rattled by explosions, or small fires before breakfast. I pay on time, I help where I can, and the first gentleman caller I bring to his door is you.”

“Like I said, good tenant. But if he takes it as the norm, then someone has to be concerned.”

“Who would be?”

“You are their lead soprano.”

“That’s still new. And it’s only until L’Assassina decides she wants to make her grand return.”

He frowns. “You don’t know that. Did you see the reviews this morning?”

She nods. “I did. But no human soprano generates the same kind of buzz as she does. It may have been fifteen years, but the awe for the beauty of the Others hasn’t died. I’m too young to be leading, anyway.”

“I was there last night. You’re not.”

“Why were you there, anyway?”

“I was invited by the Captain and his wife. It’s not the sort of thing you turn down.”

She nods. “It doesn’t sound it.”

“I’ve had a few too many missing persons cases. They thought a distraction was needed.”

“Why does the Navy have you investigating missing persons? Sounds like a civilian matter.”

“Not when it’s intelligence personnel going missing.”

“Defectors?”

He shakes his head. “By all accounts, loyal officers.”

“Strange.”

“Very.”

“In any case, I’m glad it brought you backstage last night.”

“I couldn’t not come say hello.”

“With sunflowers?”

“I used my time at intermission productively,” he grins.

She smiles back at him. “I’m impressed you remembered.”

“How could I forget? I spent three summers bringing you every one I could find.”

She blushes. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. I’m sorry I couldn’t write more.”

“Part and parcel of intelligence work.”

“When you’re abroad, at least.”

“But you’re stateside for now?”

“Permanently. I’m overseeing operations for the eastern half of the country.”

She lets out a low whistle. “You wasted no time making a name for yourself.”

“Lucky breaks.”

She shakes her head. “You sell yourself short.”

“Anyone could have done it.”

“You’re twenty-seven and overseeing Aero-Naval Intelligence for the entirety of the eastern United States. Anyone could have done that? No.”

His cheeks redden.

“So, you do still blush,” she teases.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Would you really have me any other way?”

“Absolutely not.”

They come to an agreement. He greets her backstage, she changes with the chorus, and deposits her costume in the dressing room, staying enmeshed in chaos and noise for as long as possible. He then escorts her back.

Their nightly strolls become the highlight of her day. He chases the worst of the dread from her mind, keeps the creeping fear at bay. He listens without judgment, without questioning the sanity she herself sometimes doubts. Slowly, the nightmares lose their hold on her, and she finds her dreams suffused with far more pleasant imagery.

At the end of the two week run, she’s forced to confess: she’ll miss their ritual. She doesn’t want it to end.

“Who says it has to?” He asks when she brings it up. “There’s nothing that says it does.”

“You don’t mind?” He chuckles. “Lizzie, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I like being around you. If that’s how my day ends, it’s better for it.”

They are standing on Doctor Shen’s front step.

“I know, “ she grins, “but it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“If you’ve got time tomorrow, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“I have the next week off,” she nods. “I’ll be free all day.”

“Good,” he says. “Then, it’s a date.”

They stand staring at each other for a moment, and then his lips are on hers --- or maybe hers on his. She cups his cheek with one hand, the other resting on his shoulder, and his arms are wrapped around her waist. He breaks the kiss first, ever mindful of appearances, and presses one to her forehead instead. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

#fic #central/commander #phantom au

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manutdfcmedia · 7 years ago

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MANCHESTER UNITED 4 NEWCASTLE UNITED 1 Premier League | 18 November 2017 | Old Trafford | Attendance: 75,035 | Scorers: Martial 37, Smalling 45+1, Pogba 54, Lukaku 70; Gayle 14 The returning Paul Pogba inspired Manchester United with a goal and an assist as the Reds came from behind to beat Newcastle United 4-1 under the bright lights of Old Trafford. Jose Mourinho admitted before the match that his side had missed the influence of his big stars and Pogba, who had been absent since the opening Champions League match against Basel on 12 September, played a pivotal role throughout. He first set up Anthony Martial's leveller after the Reds fell behind early to a Dwight Gayle strike. Chris Smalling turned it around seconds before half-time, heading in Ashley Young's cross, before Pogba put the game to bed with a second-half tap-in. Romelu Lukaku then grabbed his first Reds goal in eight games late on, smashing in the fourth of the night, and Zlatan Ibrahimovic made his long-awaited return to action with 13 minutes to go, to the delight of the Old Trafford crowd. As well as Pogba and Ibrahimovic, Mourinho had the luxury of recalling Marcos Rojo to the matchday squad after he had recovered from his long-term injury and took his place on the Reds' substitutes bench. The first chance of the game fell to Lukaku, who latched onto Antonio Valencia's low, front-post cross, but he fired over from five yards. Before this game, the Reds were the only side in the five major European leagues yet to concede a top-flight goal at home this season, but that record was ended as Newcastle took a shock lead. DeAndre Yedlin beat Young to the byline and pulled the ball back for the arriving Gayle, who capitalised on a Victor Lindelof slip to fire low past David De Gea, via help from the post. Yedlin nearly doubled Newcastle's lead five minutes later but he dragged his shot wide of the far post. That seemed to wake Mourinho's men up and Lukaku could have levelled the game, but he headed Lindelof's expert long ball over the bar. United continued to probe and were back on level terms through Martial's seventh of the season; he headed past Rob Elliot at the back post following fantastic skill and a stand-up cross by that man Pogba. Lukaku then had a shout for a penalty waved away but, with the next attack, the Reds had turned it around. Young whipped in a dangerous in-swinging cross, which was met by the towering leap of Smalling, who headed in his first goal of the season via the outstretched leg of Elliot. The Magpies were close to being level seconds later as Isaac Hayden's shot was saved by De Gea, before Matt Ritchie's rebound deflected off Gayle and, fortunately for United, evaded the post. United started the second half much brighter than they did the first and it didn't take long to end the game as a contest, as Pogba grabbed the goal his performance deserved. Lukaku was sent free down the left and he crossed for Marcus Rashford, who in turn headed across goal for United's no.6 to tap home from a couple of yards out. Lukaku so nearly played in Rashford for the fourth but his pass was too strong, as the Reds brimmed with confidence. Newcastle did threaten at the other end as Murphy's 35-yard curler was brilliantly tipped over by De Gea. Pogba, who was given a standing ovation as he left the field on 70 minutes, watched on as Lukaku re-discovered his goalscoring touch for United. The Belgian, fresh from becoming Belgium's all-time record scorer, cut inside and played a neat one-two with Juan Mata, before smashing past Elliot into the roof of the net. A second standing ovation of the night was given to United's new no.10, Ibrahimovic, who replaced Martial in the final quarter-hour. The big Swede's every touch was rejoiced as he looked to pick up where Pogba left off and so nearly got in on the act with an acrobatic bicycle kick, which Elliot tipped wide. It was a near-perfect night for Mourinho and United, who are now unbeaten in 38 consecutive fixtures at Old Trafford, but it's the returning Pogba who will grab the headlines. THE LINE-UPS United : De Gea; Valencia (c), Lindelof, Smalling, Young; Matic, Pogba (Fellaini 70), Mata (Herrera 83), Rashford, Martial (Ibrahimovic 77), Lukaku. Subs not used : Romero, Rojo, Shaw, Lingard. Booked : Smalling. Newcastle: Elliot, Yedlin, Lejeune, Clark, Manquillo, Ritchie (Aarons 66), Hayden, Shelvey (c), Murphy, Gayle (Diame 77), Joselu (Mitrovic 72). Subs not used : Darlow, Gamez, Mbemba, Perez. Booked : Hayden. TALKING POINTS #POGBACK WITH A BANG Pogba picked up where he left off before his unlucky injury lay-off, scoring on his return as well as setting up Martial's leveller with an expert cross. Aside from the key influences on the scoreline, Pogba dominated the midfield, showcasing his array of passing, and added the energy missed in recent weeks. He was quite rightly afforded rapturous applause as he departed on 70 minutes. UNITED'S NEW NO.10 Pogba wasn't the only big name to return to the United team as Ibrahimovic came on to replace Martial. His every touch was cheered as he sat in behind Lukaku and Rashford and looked to influence the game at every opportunity. A great sight to see the big man back! WHAT'S NEXT FOR UNITED? The Reds turn their attention back to the UEFA Champions League on Wednesday as they travel to Switzerland to face FC Basel (kick off 19:45 GMT). United will secure qualification through to the knockout stages with a just a point.

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babymilkaction · 6 years ago

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The President of Ireland, Michael D. Higgins and Mrs Sabina Higgins to attend screening of Tigers whistleblower film

Aamir shows Mrs Sabina Higgins, Ireland’s First Lady, the evidence of malpractice that caused him to resign from Nestlé.

Irish Examiner

A standing ovation and rapturous applause greeted Syed Aamir Raza, as he joined the panel of experts, following a recent private screening of the emotive and powerful movie Tigers.

The Last word with Matt Cooper

http://www.babymilkaction.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/MattCooper.m4a

Jen Hogan @mama_tude

Last night’s screening of the #TigersMovie & the panel discussion that followed was quite simply incredible. This is a movie more people need to see. Unethical practices in the area of babymilk promotion is something that we all need to be aware of. @sraamir15 you’re a hero!

Light House cinema, Dublin, Monday 8 April, 2019

Screening of the movie Tigers in the Light House cinema hosted by BFLGI (Baby Feeding Law Group Ireland). President Michael D. Higgins and his wife Sabina, Syed Aamir Raza (the main protagonist of the movie), Patti Rundall, Baby Milk Action UK (one of the characters portrayed), Professor Donal O’Shea, the HSE Clinical Lead for Obesity — Dr Cathal McCrory, Research Assistant Professor, TCD, Professor Roy Philip, Consultant Neonatologist, University Maternity Hospital, Limerick, and Laura McHugh, National Breastfeeding Coordinator, HSE. Also present, Mr Shahzad Dastgir Nousherwani, from the Pakistan Embassy.

Tigers is based on the true story of a former Nestlé baby milk salesman in Pakistan called Syed Aamir Raza (played in the film by major Bollywood star Emraan Hashmi) who took on the industry with the help of Baby Milk Action and IBFAN (the International Baby Food Action Network) when he realised that babies were dying as a result of his work pressuring doctors to promote formula.

Ireland’s President Michael D. Higgins, was sadly unable to come at the last minute, as his dear friend Sally O’Neill, of Trocaire, died in a car crash that day. We were honored that Ireland’s First Lady, Sabina Higgins, (far right above) was able to attend for the whole evening and promised to do all should could to help. (From the left: Aoife Hearne Patti Rundall and Syed Aamir Raza).

The marvellous Baby Feeding Law Group Ireland Team – including Malvina Walsh, Elizabeth O’Sullivan, Aoife Hearne and Claire Allcott.

Mr Shahzad Dastgir Nousherwani, Deputy Head of Mission from the Pakistan Embassy.

A central theme of Tigers is the inappropriate sponsorship of the health care professionals and how this can influence the advice and support parents receive.

The Baby Feeding Law Group (BFLG) was set up in the UK in 1997 following the adoption of the first of 8 World Health Assembly Resolutions to call for Conflicts of Interest safeguards in child health (1). BFLG Ireland was formed in 2017.

Since 1997 over 20 leading health professional and civil society organisations have worked together in an effort to bring UK and EU legislation on the marketing and safety of formulas and baby foods into line with WHA requirements (2). Over the years legislation has been strengthened – although it still fails to meet the minimum needed, especially in relation to look-alike formulas for older babies. These products are nutritionally inferior and often high in sugar, but are aggressively and misleadingly marketed – fuelling the obesity epidemic. Most BFLG members, such as the Royal College of Midwives and the Community Practitioners and Health Visitors’ Association, now have strong Conflict of Interest policies.

In the last few months the British Medical Journal (3) and the Royal College of Paediatrics have decided to stop taking formula company adverts and funding . C4’s Despatches – The Great Formula Milk Scandal also tackled this subject.

More information on Tigers

Contact: [email protected]

Patti Rundall [email protected] +44 7786 523493

Notes:

(1) The1996 WHA Resolution (49.15) states: “Concerned that health institutions and ministries may be subject to subtle pressure to accept, inappropriately, financial or other support for professional training in infant and child health”…urged Member States:….(2) to ensure that the financial support for professionals working in infant and young child health does not create conflicts of interest, especially with regard to the WHO/UNICEF Baby Friendly Hospital Initiative;

(2) Baby Milk Action IBFAN UK EU Chronology 1981-2018

(3) Calling time on formula milk adverts. BMJ 18 March 2019: The British Medical Journal (BMJ) and its sister journals will no longer carry adverts for breastmilk substitutes. The ban will apply to advertisements in The BMJ and other BMJ journals, including Gut, Frontline Gastroenterology, and Archives of Diseases in Childhood, as soon as possible. The BMJ says: “We have chosen a complete ban because previous attempts to implement a due diligence approach have failed. This will have a substantial effect on our revenues—a loss of an estimated £300 000 (€350 000; $400 000) in 2020. The ban on product advertising is not a boycott of the companies themselves. We will honour existing contracts for formula milk advertising, but the final advert will appear later this year. We are not alone in doing this: in February the RCPCH announced it would no longer accept funding from formula milk companies at a loss of £40 000 a year through event sponsorship and advertising.”

(4) EU Legislation and Global trade Although, as mentioned above, EU legislation on baby food marketing fails to meet WHO marketing requirements, in terms of food safety, its Precautionary Principle and the EU charter of Fundamental Rights are stronger than many. This is important especially when it comes to trade, where food and agri-business interests dominate. World Trade Organisation (WTO) rules in comparison are essentially the lowest common denominator for trade in the 21st Century.

At Codex meetings where global trading standards are set, it is often a fight to ensure that standards protect human health. Baby Milk Action – IBFAN UK has attended Codex nutrition meetings every year since 1995 in order to strengthen Codex standards and bring them into line with WHO recommendations.

Baby foods and the new threat of Anti-Microbial Resistance (AMR) are current hot topics on the Codex agenda. The EU phased out the routine use of antibiotic growth promoters between 1997 & 2006. If the UK leaves the EU – it is not clear if it would support the adoption of strict Codex standards or follow the US and others who fail to put human health first. Without effective action at national and global level, common infections and minor injuries – the kinds of things we have been able to treat for decades – will emerge as killers once more.

The President of Ireland, Michael D. Higgins and Mrs Sabina Higgins to attend screening of Tigers whistleblower film was originally published on Baby Milk Action

#breastfeeding #infant formula #Nestle

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happymetalgeek · 5 years ago

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Tonight was road trip time from Belfast to Dublin, because tonight was a special night in the 3 arena. Tonight was when the one and only mighty TENACIOUS D, Jack and Kyle, were landed to launch their European Post-Apocalypto Tour.

It was an uneventful drive down and going via the toll roads its basically a very easy drive straight down to the 3 Arena. Even with the bitingly cold wind whipping round the queue was already well formed well ahead of opening time. Once we were in it was plain to see that tonight was a special night for Tenacious D fans from across the island as the floor and seated areas were filling up quickly. The buzz in the 3 Arena was very loud indeed.

Photos by Darren McVeigh MetalPlanetMusic.com

Then the lights went down and the rumbling sounds of thunder and lightning booms from the stage. A quick stunned silence spread throughout the arena before a roar went up as two guys walked onto stage and picked up their acoustic guitars. Its important to point out this was not Jack and Kyle, it is in fact WYNCHESTER. The support act and touring with Tenacious D. Fronted by Kyle Gass Band vocalist Mike Bray and Tenacious D electric guitarist John Konesky. The band released their self-titled debut album – Wynchester in 2018.

With a “Hello Dublin” they launch into their title track from their EP “Spreading The Gospel Of Good Times”. Immediately they stamp how incredible they are with their brand of powerful booming country rock. The audience is stunned at what they are witnessing but soon rallied as they got into the catchy rhythm pouring of the stage. Once they finished to a rapturous applause the interaction was just as good with a “What’s going on Dublin?” and the joking begins. It’s a perfect start, not only was the opening song a sledgehammer of pure excellence in masterful vocals, lyrics and acoustic guitar but the guys are chilled, down to earth and ready to chat and have a bit of fun. The two tag team chatting back and forth with each other “Everyone ready for the D? we love those guys as they taught us a lot. Taught us about Satan, about Sasquatch, Keilbasa Sausage and Ronnie James Dio!” to the last a roar of approval filled the air. And with that they performed a fantastic countrified rock version of “Rainbows In The Dark” before then heading into their own “Two Man Job”

Introducing the next song as a new one “South of the Border” was just perfectly rocking out until there seemed to be a problem with the mic cable. One of the roadies ran out to fix it during this impromptu intermission to which the crowd in true Irish response sang out their lungs with “Olay, Olay, Olay, Olay”. Once it was fixed and as they started back up, they praised the audience for the magic powers of their chanting.

On they went with the drinking song “Ridge Runner” which seemed to be in tribute of the perfect Guinness before dropping a wonderful cover of “Easy Like A Sunday Morning”. They finished off with “High Desert Rambler”

And so the intermission for the set change. Down went the lights and on came an animated show on a screen in front. And Lo! From the stage came the entrance theme of Post-Apocalypto to herald the saviours of rock!

Photos by Darren McVeigh MetalPlanetMusic.com

To a massive deafening roar, the dynamic Duo of Jack and Kyle strode into the light and started playing their absolute hearts out kicking off with “Hope”. It was a little jarring to begin with as between the band and the audience was the screen. But it was quickly forgotten as everyone there began to slip into a trance of a fully immersive show as the Tenacious D performed their new album with added D as the slideshow and story telling from Jack and Kyle taking the jam packed arena on an epic journey of post-apocalyptic psychedelic proportions.

Interspersed between “Making Love”, “Take Us Into Space” and “Fuck Yo-Yo Ma” the animation pulled the story onwards into the type of madness only Jack and Kyle can create. On went the musical odyssey with “Daddy Ding Dong”, “Robot” and “Colors” until the end began to speed up with “JB JR Rap”, “Woman Time” and “Save The World”. Everyone was entranced as the story played out in front of them roaring with applause and pure joy all topped off with hilarious rude, crude and lewd jokes involving penises, vaginas, bums, a terminator that kills, sucks dick and fully kitted out to pleasure man or woman. The sheer lunacy of the plot line, the animation, the intermixing of Tenacious D performing live and the energy was a perfect storm of a piece of performance art of epic proportions.

And so the first half (yes! First half) of the gig came to close with the “Post-Apocalypto reprise”

Photos by Darren McVeigh MetalPlanetMusic.com

The screen disappears and in an almost jump scare moment Jack and Kyle strode unexpectedly to the fore of the stage as Jack calls out “Thank you Dublin. We missed you. You’re looking good and even better than we remember”. The crowd were going apoplectic with joy. “That was our album Post-Apocalyto. Now its time for our greatest hits!” The roar of approval was deafening.

Then they launched into “Rize of the Fenix” and “Low Hangin’ Fruit”. The absolutely packed almost fanatical D fans went insane jumping, rocking and singing along. Up came the infamous “Sax-a-Boom” as the trance beats dropped like a hammer dropped from a 30 floor high building as Jack kept stopping in disappointment. “no, no. This isn’t dancing.” Each time they started up again and then stop to cajole more dancing from the audience until both the floor and the balconies ‘be trippin’ out’. The security staff were freaking out with all the balcony dancers letting go. It was a beautiful childish moment taunting the poor guys just trying to do their job.

It settled (if you can call it that) back down a bit with “Roadie” before the ineviable moment when Jack and Kyle argue on stage in a moment of wonderful theatrics as Kyle loudly declares “I quit” and walks off stage to roars of “awwwww” from the arena. Jack follows only to be heard saying “He’s gone? What? Cancel the show? NO!! I need the money……for cocaine. What? This mic still on??” before he rushed back out and without a word the audience knew what was coming next with “Dude (I Totally Miss You)” and then “Friendship”.

The crowd were on a complete joyous high as “Kickapoo”, “Beelzeboss (The Final Showdown)” and “The Metal” were played with utter perfection. While Jack’s incredible vocals were pitch perfectly loud, so too the crowd fought back singing each and every word back.

“Dio” landed with just as much force before “Wonderboy” took everyone to a new level of experience. The sheer joy in people’s hearts showed clearly how much Tenacious D are beloved, how rapturous it felt to have Jack and Kyle physically grace the 3 Arena and how superb a performance was happening there in that moment.

Could it go any higher?? Well, yes. Yes, it could as the universally lauded song “Tribute” became a fully participation moment. The floor went mad with a mass of bodies heaving in time, lungs being pushed to hard and vocal chords pushed to their very limits as everyone was determined to become one with Tenacious D in that moment of ecstasy.

They finished their set with “Double Team” before thanking everyone. The applause was thunderous, it shook through everyone there.

And yet there was one last burst of musicality that night as Jack, Kyle and the band came back on to perform a cover of Thin Lizzy’s “Jailbreak” before finishing with “Fuck Her Gently”.

The final applause of appreciation was capped with a full standing ovation from the balconies. And thus the tale was spun, the band and audience were spent and the lights came up.

The whole show is something unique to behold, as a Tenacious D show should be. Wynchester were more than impressive and would be well worth seeing as headliners themselves. They rocked everyone’s socks off with relaxed, skilled and professional guitar mastery. Flawless, even when the set had its own hiccups. Tenacious D were transcendent, resplendent and 100% awesome. The first half was a weird musical Monty Python journey that just landed every song perfectly, even with the five minutes screwup from the slideshow. It was an accident, but the way they turned the whole thing round with usual comedic aplomb it could be something to watch out for. The second half of greatest hits was like a dream state for anyone who has ever heard of Tenacious D. each song and tune rammed home with passion and genuine energy. It was impossible for anyone there not to be moved or stand still. No one was leaving without a massive grin on their face as if they had the greatest and chillest trip with the Sasquatch in the world.

It is a show that you could watch night after night without ever getting bored. You really, really, really need to see Tenacious D live. That is all.

Originally on Metal Planet Music

GIG REVIEW: @tenaciousd Bring The Post-Apocalypto Rock To Dublin Along With #WYNCHESTER @jackblack @GassLeak @Metalplanet72 @mcd_productions @ColumbiaRecords @MikeBrayMusic @JKonesky Tonight was road trip time from Belfast to Dublin, because tonight was a special night in the 3 arena.

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years ago

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The Right Side of History: Backstage at the 91st Academy Awards

“This is my sixth glass,” quipped Spike Lee, drink in hand, upon entering the press room of the 91st Academy Awards. “And you know why.” The trailblazing director of such masterworks as “Do the Right Thing” and “When the Levees Broke” had just earned an Oscar for adapting Ron Stallworth’s memoir into the acclaimed Best Picture contender, “BlacKkKlansman,” along with fellow scribes Charlie Wachtel, David Rabinowitz and Kevin Wilmott. What should’ve been a joyous victory became bittersweet at best when Peter Farrelly’s intensely divisive “Green Book” took the night’s top prize, besting a slew of titles that favored diversity and representation over old-fashioned comfort food. Lee’s film is as unsettling and immediate as Farrelly’s is reassuring and eager to please. The focus of “Green Book” is an interracial friendship between an Italian-American bouncer and the African-American pianist he’s been hired to drive on a concert tour across various southern states during the volatile 1960s. 29 years ago, Lee received his first Oscar nomination for “Do the Right Thing” in the screenplay category—and lost—while “Driving Miss Daisy,” a strikingly similar feel-good picture about an elderly white woman’s friendship with her black chauffeur, was crowned as the year’s best film.

“Every time somebody is driving somebody, I lose,” Lee laughed while cavorting about the press stage, which he visited in the aftermath of the telecast. “But they changed the seating arrangement.” When pressed for his thoughts on the film to which he lost the Best Picture prize, the director said, “I thought I was courtside at the Garden. The ref made a bad call.” Lee’s prolonged sipping of his drink spoke more volumes about his frustration than any fiery elaboration. Yet he still credited April Reign’s #OscarsSoWhite campaign and the efforts of former Academy president Cheryl Boone Isaacs in creating the path that led him to win his first competitive Oscar, just three years after he was given an Honorary Award for career achievement. He also reflected on the alarming relevance of “Do the Right Thing,” where he tackled not only racial tensions and police brutality but gentrification and global warming. I instantly flashed back to the film’s 25th anniversary screening at Ebertfest, when an audience member suggested that the events portrayed onscreen had little relation to the present. It was mere months later that Ferguson occurred—a real-life mirror image of the famous climatic sequence in Lee’s 1989 film. By ending the story of “BlacKkKlansman,” chronicling a black police officer’s infiltration of the Ku Klux Klan, with a sudden cut to the white supremacist demonstrations in modern-day Charlottesville, Lee reaffirms that racist movements are not only still active but woven into the fabric of our culture.

“The coda of this film is where we saw homegrown red, white and blue terrorism,” said Lee. “The murder of Heather Heyer was an American terrorist act. When that car drove down that crowded street in Charlottesville, Virginia, the President of the United States did not refute, did not denounce the Klan, the alt-right, and neo-Nazis. Whether we won Best Picture or not, this film will stand the test of time being on the right side of history.” Lee told the press in attendance that he had prepared two acceptance speeches, one featuring a list of people to thank and the other, more artful draft, which he decided to go with instead. “I said to myself, ‘Self, your black ass may not be up here again, so let me go with the speech,’” the director recounted, and it’s a good thing he made that decision, since it resulted in one of most stunning monologues in recent Oscar history.

“The word today is irony,” said Lee after arriving onstage. “The date is the 24th. The month is February, which also happens to be the shortest month of the year, which also happens to be Black History Month. The year 2019, the year 1619. History, Herstory. 1619 to 2019, 400 years. 400 years our ancestors were stolen from Mother Africa and brought to Jamestown, Virginia, enslaved. Our ancestors worked the land from can’t see in the morning to can’t see at night. My grandmother, Zimmie Shelton Reatha, who lived to be 100 years young, was a Spelman College graduate even though her mother was a slave. My grandma saved fifty years of Social Security checks to put her first grandchild—she called me Spikie Poo—through Morehouse College and NYU Grad Film. N.Y.U.! Before the world tonight, I give praise for our ancestors who helped build this country into what it is today along with the genocide of its native people. If we all connect with our ancestors, we will have love, wisdom, and will regain our humanity. It will be a powerful moment. The 2020 presidential election is around the corner. Let’s all mobilize. Let’s all be on the right side of history. Make the moral choice between love versus hate. Let’s do the right thing! You know I had to get that in there!”

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The applause from members of the press that greeted Farrelly and Nick Vallelonga, who shared Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay Oscars for “Green Book,” was conspicuously chilly when contrasted with the rapturous ovation that welcomed Lee moments later. Their film’s portrayal of the bond between Vallelonga’s father, Tony Lip (Viggo Mortensen), and the far more fascinating musician Dr. Don Shirley (Mahershala Ali), has been blasted as “a symphony of lies” by members of the late pianist’s family. Yet Vallelonga insisted that he told the story in the precise way that Shirley had instructed, arguing that this perspective on the subject is as valid as any.

“If you're discussing the Don Shirley family thing, that falls on me,” said Vallelonga. “Don Shirley himself told me not to speak to anyone. He told me the story that he wanted to tell. He protected his private life and all the other miraculous things about him. He's an amazing man. He told me, ‘If you're going to tell the story, you tell it from your father and me. No one else. Don't speak to anyone else. That's how you have to make it.’ He also told me not to make it until after he passed away. So I just kept my word to that man. I wish I could have reached out to Don Shirley's family. I didn't even know they really existed until after we were making the film, and we contacted his estate for music. Then the filmmakers invited them all to screenings and discussions. But I personally was not allowed to speak to his family, per Don Shirley's wishes. I'm an Italian from New York. They call that a stand-up guy. I kept my word to the man, and that's the reason for that. But Don Shirley and my father had an amazing story together. They went on the road and changed each other, and I think that comes out. That's why the film is what it is. It's because of the both of them.”

The pro-Trump tweet from 2015 that led Vallelonga to delete his Twitter once it was unearthed a month ago was echoed in a question directed to the filmmakers about whether Tony might’ve been a supporter of the current president.

“I never thought of him as a MAGA guy,” said Farrelly. “It's a different era, and whether he would have been one of those guys, I don't know. But he was a guy who was flawed in the beginning. For a couple of months, he was in a car with a man who was completely different from him, and they got to know each other, and they realized they had a lot more in common than they thought they did starting out on this journey. The message is, ‘Talk to each other, and you'll find out we all have a lot in common.’ It's a hopeful message, because sometimes it seems like there is no hope, but there is. All we have to do is talk, and we get closer together. I know that sounds corny and like, you know, Pollyanna-ish, but it's the truth. The only way to solve problems is to talk.”

Though Alfonso Cuarón’s widely perceived frontrunner, “Roma,” lost to “Green Book” in the Best Picture category, it did become the first Mexican nominee to win Best Foreign Film, and also picked up richly deserved honors for Best Director and Best Cinematography. Cuarón’s astonishing portrait of an indigenous maid in Mexico City who becomes a second mother to her client’s children was based on the actual woman who helped raise the filmmaker and his family during the turbulent early 70s. In his second acceptance speech of the night, Cuarón quoted French icon Claude Chabrol, who responded to a question about the New Wave by declaring, “There are no waves, there’s only ocean.” Cuarón then stressed that his fellow nominees, including Paweł Pawlikowski—who also directed an achingly personal, black and white stunner, “Cold War,” have proven that “we are all part of the same ocean.” The filmmaker also thanked the Academy for recognizing a film centering on “one of the 70 million domestic workers in the world without work rights, a character that has historically been relegated in the background in cinema. As artists our job is to look where others don’t. This responsibility becomes much more important in times when we are being encouraged to look away.”

In many ways, “Roma” serves as a spiritual companion piece to the director’s 2006 thriller, “Children of Men,” another immersive film tackling the challenge of bringing new life into a chaotic world. When I asked Cuarón about the parallels between these films, he replied, “I don't really see my films after I finish them. I prefer to see other people's movies. I don't really think so much about my films. I know that thematically and in terms of cinematic approach, they have a lot in common, but I would go farther back, probably to ‘Y Tu Mama Tambien,’ which is very connected to this film. But yeah, I will tell you something. The whole theme of birth—I was not even aware that I had been repeating that in my films until you journalists, people from the press and critics mentioned that. So yeah, I guess that there is a connection, but it's more up to you to find it.” Before he left the room, Cuarón expressed his gratitude to members of the press for being “amazingly respectful and supportive” to him during the long journey of awards season.

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Another interviewee who made a point of thanking critics, surprisingly enough, was Best Actor winner Rami Malek, star of Bryan Singer’s poorly reviewed yet phenomenally profitable Freddie Mercury biopic, “Bohemian Rhapsody.” His sincerity and sweetness were so infectious that it left no doubt as to why Academy voters favored him on their ballots, in addition to the fact that his performance single-handedly carries much of the picture. “I don't think critically the decision on this film was unanimous,” said Malek, dryly making the understatement of the evening in his first words to the press, “but I do appreciate everything you guys had to write. As a kid, I read criticism of film, and I learned so much from it. So no matter what, I still do very much appreciate you.”

Malek got choked up when recalling the “tough battle” of making the film—most of it attributed to Singer, the fired director and alleged perpetrator of sexual assault who still was never mentioned either on or offstage—and how unlikely his Oscar win was in light of it. He also spoke about growing up as a first-generation American, the son of Egyptian immigrants, and how his status as an outsider made it all the easier for him to identify with the lead vocalist of Queen.

“I grew up in a world where I never thought I was going to play the lead on ‘Mr. Robot’ because I never saw anyone in a lead role that looked like me,” said Malek. “I never thought that I could possibly play Freddie Mercury until I realized his name was Farrokh Bulsara, and that is the most powerful message that was sent to me from the beginning. That was the motivation that allowed me to say, ‘Oh, I can do this. That man steps on stage and he moves people in a way that no one else does. He has the ability to look everyone in the eye and see them for who they are. And that's because he was struggling to identify himself. All of that passion and virtue and everything burning inside of him allowed him to look to everybody else and say, ‘Hey, I see you.’ Not right here in the front—I see you there in the back. I see all of you, I will play to all of you, and together we will transcend. Because it's not about being from one place or looking like one thing, one race. Any of that. We are all human beings. And forgive me for this, but collectively we are all the champions.”

Mahershala Ali’s unwavering class and genuinely humble demeanor also led him to emerge unscathed from the controversy endured by his film, as he received his second best Supporting Actor statuette only two years after his win for “Moonlight.” In the press room, he spoke warmly about his fellow nominees, all of whom had roles that fit the definition of “supporting player” much more than Don Shirley, who is practically a co-lead in “Green Book.”

“Any of those gentlemen could have been up here and would be, obviously, deserving of being up here,” said Ali. “They did wonderful work, beautiful work, work that inspired me. So to be the one that was chosen to get to hold this trophy again, it's not something that I take lightly. It's not something I take for granted. If anything, it makes me more aware of all the people that have really contributed to my life, from childhood to my team that works on my behalf and is always looking to take advantage of the best opportunities that are fit for me. And so I'm very grateful. The first one helped me get ‘Green Book.’ I don't think if I had won—I wasn't just getting offers like that, you know. Getting an Oscar for ‘Moonlight’ changes your profile. It gets you in other rooms, and it shines a light on your work. You could have been around for 15, 20 years and suddenly people notice you. I’m really grateful for that, because I've been wanting to work and expand and stretch. This was the first time I got to stretch my legs.”

Whereas Malek and Ali were largely favored to win their respective categories, hardly anyone expected Olivia Colman to claim Best Actress over seven-time nominee Glenn Close, who was considered to be unbeatable after her surprise win at the Golden Globes. No one appeared to be as shocked as Colman, the brilliant British star of Yorgos Lanthimos’ “The Favourite,” whose speech was so endearingly gobsmacked that it even got a laugh out of Close. By the time she arrived in the press room, Colman was almost entirely at a loss for words. I told her that I knew she was one of the great actors as soon as I saw her in Paddy Considine’s 2011 gem, “Tyrannosaur,” and asked how she went about finding the tragic in the absurd—and vice versa—as the neurotic queen in Lanthimos’ film. “Well, that is lovely of you,” Colman gushed. “That is a lovely thing for you to say. Thank you very much.” And then with a giggle, she answered, “I don’t know…sorry!” Later she admitted, “I could not tell you what I'm feeling. Next year, I might be able to put it into words, but I don't know what to do with myself at the moment.”

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The pangs of disappointment undoubtedly experienced by Close were shared by your’s truly near the beginning of the telecast, when Jimi Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi’s visual powerhouse, “Free Solo,” won Best Documentary over Bing Liu’s Kartemquin production “Minding the Gap,” one of the very best films I’ve ever seen. So deeply was I invested in its victory that I wore a shirt baring its title under my tuxedo, if only to ensure that the film would have a presence in the press room regardless. Liu’s film is a testament to the cathartic power of cinema, enabling its subjects to see themselves reflected in each other’s story, as they open up about their experiences of domestic abuse and how it has shaped their young adulthood. I was reminded of the film when listening to the riveting words of Regina King, winner of Best Supporting Actress for “If Beale Street Could Talk,” directed by one of Liu’s most high-profile champions, Barry Jenkins. Recounting her most wrenching scene in the film, where her character, Sharon, encounters the woman who mistakenly believes she was raped by “Fonny” (the fiancé of Sharon’s daughter), King said she drew upon her own experiences as a woman.

“If we have not experienced a violation on that level firsthand, we have lifted a sister up through that,” King said. “Every woman that had something to do with this production [had] the understanding and the need to make sure that it was very clear in the story that we all knew that she was raped. It wasn't Fonny, but she was raped. And we hold each other up through a secret that shouldn't be a secret, so often. That's the beautiful thing about the #MeToo movement. It has gone beyond that with creating opportunities for women to find their voice—even beyond just being violated sexually, but being marginalized. When you have put in the work to be at the table and are denied a seat at the table, this movement has allowed us and has inspired us to say, ‘No, I am supposed to have a seat at that table.’ That energy was going on throughout the production of this film. Barry supported that and lifted it up as well. When you have men and women working together, pretty amazing things happen.”

There’s no question Lady Gaga would agree with King’s words, as she joined co-writers Mark Ronson, Anthony Rossomando and Andrew Wyatt in the press room following their Best Original Song win for their showstopper, “Shallow.” Gaga appeared with Bradley Cooper onstage for an uncommonly intimate performance on their signature tune, recapturing the chemistry that ignited their duets—both musical and otherwise—in the movie.

“There are many songs written for this film, but there was one song that was written with true, true friends of mine that I've known, and who know everything about me, the ups and the downs,” said Gaga. “And the truth is people see what they see on the outside. In some way, shape, or form, at times, we become architects. The truth is, I was so determined to live my dreams and yet there was so much in the way. There were so many things I did not anticipate that broke me, that tortured me, that traumatized me. And I think sometimes, what you are trying to clarify, is that people think that it comes easy to us because when we show up and we have our suits on, that it's all okay. But the truth is every single person on this stage has been through so much. We are friends. We have worked on ourselves in life. We have tried to heal through the torment of this industry and being artists. And the truth is that this is very, very hard work. It is not for the faint of heart. But I would never want to imply that anyone in the world is faint of heart. I wanted everyone tonight to feel like they could be each one of us on that stage.”

When she was handed her Oscar, Gaga said that she looked it in the eye and “saw a lot of pain. I saw all the things that I've been through. And I also felt the camaraderie and the truth of the pain that the men standing next to me have been through as well.”

“The song itself is a conversation, and it's between a man and a woman,” said Rossomando. “I think that maybe there's some timing involved where people's hearts are open to that conversation. Maybe that's why it's translated so widely. Someone sent me a couple videos this week of an entire church congregation singing the song. And it actually brought me to tears.”

“I really believe in my heart that the unfortunate truth is that our cell phones—as I watch you all typing—are becoming our reality,” said Gaga. “It's becoming reality for the world. And in this song, we provide not just a conversation, but also a very poignant statement. I wish to not be in the shallow, but I am. I wish to dive off the deep end, and watch me do it. I think this is something that speaks to many people. And during, I think, a very shallow time, it's a chance for us all to grab hands, dive off into the water together, and swim into the deepest depths of the ocean that we can.”

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Though “BlacKkKlansman” was passed over for considerably lighter fare in the top category, an equally incendiary picture went on to be named Best Live Action Short Film. Israeli director Guy Nattiv’s “Skin” centers on a family of white supremacists and the senseless violence waged by its monstrous patriarch. When he severely beats a black man for having a harmless interaction with his son in a supermarket, the hateful sadist eventually finds himself having what can only be defined as an out-of-body experience. Asked whether the film was intended to be a response to the racism frequently voiced by President Trump and members of his administration, producer Jamie Ray Newman said that she and Nattiv weren’t necessarily trying to make a political statement.

“Guy is the grandchild of four Holocaust survivors,” said Newman. “He grew up with stories about the Holocaust. I'm Jewish as well, and I think that we just deeply want to explore. In the short, we explored how what you teach your children is going to perpetuate the next generation. We have a five-month-old, so we see she's a sponge. Everything we do, she inherits. The film starts out with a father shaving his boy's head because he's literally carving him in his own image. And the feature, which is next, is a true story about a very famous skinhead who was covered in neo-Nazi tattoos, and through the collaboration with a black activist, got all of them taken off. I think that the beauty of Guy as a filmmaker is he doesn't pound anything over your head. He's subtle. He doesn’t have answers, but he shows you the questions.”

While watching the film, I was struck by its excerpted inclusion of Mica Levi’s indelible score for Jonathan Glazer’s “Under the Skin.” It’s something only film musical aficionados would likely spot, and I couldn’t resist asking Nattiv about his soundtrack choice, considering Levi is one of the most exciting composers working today. “Mica Levi is probably the musician that influenced me more than any musician right now,” he told me. “I’m very influenced by her work, and I think that our musician was too. Inspiration is what I would call it. I hope to work with Mica one day on my next film.”

It’s only fitting that “Captain Marvel” stars Brie Larson and Samuel L. Jackson presented Spike Lee with his Academy Award, seeing as Marvel had a hugely successful evening, with Ryan Coogler’s “Black Panther” scooping up three accolades including the first Oscar for Lee’s longtime costume designer Ruth Carter. As the first-ever black recipient of the prize, she admitted to the press that she had been dreaming and praying for this night to arrive because of what it would mean for the young people coming behind her. Carter said that her innovative use of 3-D printing may have “tipped the iceberg” in her favor. It was UCLA professor Julia Koerner who developed the algorithm for the isicholo—the South African married woman's hat—in her computer and sent it to Belgium for 3-D printing.

“There were several iterations of the ‘Black Panther’ story through every comic book writer and illustrator, but it all started with Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, and their idea that the black community in the 60s needed a superhero,” noted Carter. “And guess what? The black community in 2018 needed a superhero as well. So with that, we created a new Wakanda because it's a forward nation. It's forward in technology. So we couldn't really use the old tech from the other comics. We had to create new tech. And with that, the door was open to us to be creative. […] I love the neck rings from the Ndebele tribe. I love the use of leather skins from the Himba women. I love the symbolism of the beadwork on the Dora Milaje. I love how their costume honors the female form. It shows that you can also be beautiful and be a warrior without being exploited.”

Another key member of the “Black Panther” team, Hannah Beachler, also made history as the first black production designer to be honored with an Oscar. Fighting back tears, she credited Coogler with enabling her to stand before the audience “with agency and self-worth,” and likened the massive undertaking of the project to “eating an elephant one spoonful at a time.”

“A lot of the inspiration came from where we located Wakanda on the continent, because if people were going to migrate, they were going to migrate around that area,” said Beachler. “So we took a very anthropological look at how the country was placed on the continent, and then from there, you've got your Omo Valley tribes that are in southeast Ethiopia. It's like they migrated down to Wakanda, and that became our river tribe. These were our inspirations. We wanted to be as real as we could.”

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Few films I’ve seen in recent memory earned as euphoric a reaction as this year’s Oscar winner for Best Animated Feature, “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.” When the titular superhero’s co-creators Stan Lee and Steve Ditko, who both passed away last year, turned up at the end in a dedication card, the entire audience at my screening rose to its feet and cheered. After recounting this experience to the film’s trio of directors—Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman—they told me that they had intended on mentioning the late comic mavericks in their acceptance speech, but were cut off by the music.

“We were going to thank Stan Lee and Steve Ditko for really inspiring this whole thing, and for being a force of believing that all of us—human beings—have the potential and the capacity to be heroes,” Persichetti told me. “Phil and Chris had put together a treatment for us to make a movie that challenged the audience to believe in themselves, believe in their neighbor and really be positive and make a difference in the world. And possibly be a mentor or be heroic. That was really it.”

Joining the trio onstage were the film’s co-writer/producer Phil Lord and producer Chris Miller, the extraordinarily inventive duo behind “The Lego Movie,” who are fully committed to expanding representation in cinema, as evidenced by the vibrantly diverse ensemble in “Spider-Verse.”

“When we hear that somebody’s kid was watching the movie and turned to them and said, ‘He looks like me,’ or, ‘They speak Spanish like us,’ we feel like we already won,” said Lord in his acceptance speech.

“To be a storyteller, it's really just about connecting with your audience, whether it's your little kid that you are putting to sleep or, apparently, millions of people who go see your movie,” reflected Persichetti in the press room. “So I think it's just validation of being a human and sharing the experience of being a human. It's kind of an amazing career.”

Added Miller, “To feel like you have affected someone else's life positively, one way or another, is a really magical thing that we don't take lightly.”

After the briskly paced three-hour-and-17-minute telecast came to a crisp close, I ran into Bing Liu, his mother and “Minding the Gap” producer Diane Quon outside the Dolby Theatre. I showed them the shirt I had been wearing under my tux all night, and they insisted on taking a picture of it. Liu may not have gone home with an Oscar in hand last night, but I have no doubt that when he encounters someone whose life has been deeply impacted by his work, he knows in his heart of hearts that he’s already won.

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