#that not being filmed in an environment even vaguely similar to where most of that story happened

[beartrice-inn-unnir]

I am not far into Dead Boy Detectives, but if they talk one more time about leaving Port Townsend on the ferry, I might ragequit. It's just VERY clear how this wasn't just filmed in BC, but quite possibly the makers never even visited Port Townsend or done a maps search to figure out how to get there.

Port Townsend has one (1) ferry, and the Kennewick only goes to Coupeville on Whidbey Island. You will not get to any major airport that way.

I know it doesn't sound as cool or whatever, but take the bus, kids.

[murderbees]

thinking about Tron program bodies again, blood is not enough for me, where are the wires and fans and plates of metal that bend and snap

I have this vague image of an anatomical diagram of a program

Energy Circulatory System - the Blood, also the digestive track bc they don't have food, Mouth to throat tube to processor located center, near the disk port, it processes and then pumps the energy through the lightlines of the body, if a program overclocks themselves enough, they can suffer burnt or even ruptured circuitry

Energy both fuels the program and cools them off, when cooling processes are activated, the energy will be cooled off by nearby venting processes and will then be circulated throughout the body

Venting System - Similar looking to lungs, two fans that sit within the upper chest, one on each side, subtle ducts can open along the sides of a program to release extra heat (they sorta look like gills, ticklish), Most of the cooling is done through this system, Vents work to expell air through the nose, mouth, and additional vents and ducts, some programs have extra vents for their functions (Mechanic need more bc they work in hotter environments)

The Disc Port - connected directly to the morherboard of the program, this is why if programs are hit there, they will derezz, sorta like a brain (head wounds are not fatal), all processors are connected via wires to the board

Processors - part of the motherboard, eyes, ears, nose, tongue, all the senses are split up into different processing units, These usually have a mechanical unit, like eyeballs, that connect to the board with long thin wires, essentially the nervous system, but centered around the disc not the head

Internal Systems - internal sensors and diagnostics that regulate the body, the Endocrine System, Connected to a programs personal display, will update with warnings and display whatever parameters needed about the body

"Bones" - programs don't have bones, but they do have metal tubes that house their more delicate pieces (wires), Some programs (security) have more reinforcement around vulnerable areas, like the throat and chest, with the plating sometimes even being above the skin, Additonal plating can be added to the forearms and calves without much modification, further integrated armor is an arduous process

Derezzing is still a thing, parts of a program will maintain integrity to a point, then they collapse into voxels, Not all pieces will derezz, if that threshold isn't met, the pieces will remain in their form, basically, if you want to fully derezz a program you have to grind them into voxels, otherwise the bones and other stuff are unlikely to derezz until the energy runs completely out (usually a few days, or the Grid equivalent), where they will then turn into a pile of voxels

Voxels and Energy both evaporate, losing their vivid technicolor hues, until they turn a dark soot grey, at this point they disappear leaving a thin dusty film behind, it's hard to clean and slippery

[itariilles]

My Statement on Tolkien 2019

[ French translation and German translation availible. ]

It has been incredibly difficult for me to speak on my experiences regarding my experiences of hostility and othering in spaces that I loved and still hold dear to my heart, and for that reason I have been silent. That is until now. 

I have decided that now is the right time for me to come forward with my experience and statement regarding my negative experience as a person of colour engaging in Tolkien spaces. 

I want people involved in the wider Tolkien community to reflect on their roles in the specific spaces they inhabit, and how you can foster a better environment for marginalised groups to interact and engage with those spaces in a safe and inclusive manner. 

Take your time to listen and put effort into listening to fans of colour when they are speaking about their lived experiences and their grievances especially when they are speaking about a topic as personal as racism. Being critical of a work you love and the media surrounding it is not easy thing, but we need to recognise that these criticisms are valid and deserve to be taken seriously when it affects a collective of people across different backgrounds. 

I want to preface this by stating that I am speaking only for myself and my own lived experience as a vocal young non-black POC in a predominantly white space. I acknowledge that my experience is by no means universal or indicative of all POC in Tolkien fandom spaces. 

I also understand that real life interactions differ widely from interactions on online fandom spaces, but there are disturbing similarities across both online and real life spaces with specific regard to the environment and treatment of vocal POC in both. 

The tragedy is many people do not realise their impact not only on the individuals involved, but on the wider attitude towards POC voices in fandom when the topic of racism is discussed. We need to build safe environments where critical discussions of diversity and race from the people most affected by them are taken to heart, not invalidated or spoken over as targets of microaggressions. 

To give a bit of context, Tolkien 2019 was an in person conference organised by the Tolkien Society (which I was a member of at the time). The official website for Tolkien 2019 has been taken down but the Tolkien Society has a nice summary written in August 2018 breaking down the event here. 

I was approached by the Education Secretary at the time about my possible involvement in a panel discussing the history and future of the Tolkien Society which I elaborate on further in my statement. It was the first time I had felt that I had a platform where I could freely express my voice as a diverse reader and consumer of Tolkien media who held diversity in Tolkien as a core value in the wider Tolkien brand. 

I felt that as the only non-white member on the panel I had an obligation to speak out on the topic of diversity when it was raised. I tried to speak briefly about some of the points and discourses I had heard on portrayals of diversity in Tolkien media with as much nuance as I could manage at the time. In response to some points I had made I was met with vocal disapproval by some audience members and visible signs of disapproval and hostile body language from others. 

This was made even more jarring when later during the course of the event when two white creators hinted at vague notions of diversity were met with a far greater degree of approval. The former instance was during the context of a panel regarding the upcoming LOTR on Prime series, and the latter was during a talk presented by the chair of the Tolkien Society.

I felt intimidated and reluctant to involve myself any further in the Tolkien fandom, especially in real life spaces as my experience at Tolkien 2019 had only solidified and reaffirmed my fears and unease I had engaging in a predominantly white fandom with few visible POC members and creators who tackle topics of diversity and racism in both the community and source texts.

Following this event I was approached by an affiliate of one of the attendees who very kindly took the time to listen to me and suggested that I should write a statement in response to my experience. To my knowledge, my statement has not been shared or published on any platform yet and this will be the first time I have ever spoken about it publicly. 

Since then some of my thoughts and opinions on certain aspects of Tolkien fandom and meta have shifted or evolved which I will hopefully expand on in the future, but I wanted to share my initial unchanged statement I wrote reflecting my immediate reaction to my experience. 

I want to be seen as a Tolkien creative and critical thinker above anything else, but I cannot move forward with my work without speaking about my lived experience in a space which has been consistently hostile to me and so many others across different Tolkien spaces for so many years starting with my account of this one experience.

I hope my statement finds itself in good hands and I will always be willing to engage with others about my experiences so long as you engage with me in good faith. 

The statement I wrote on 25/09/2019 is as follows:

From the 9th to 11th of August of this year I attended a conference held by the Tolkien society aptly named “Tolkien 2019” that advertised itself as the “largest celebration of Tolkien ever held by the Society” in which I both spoke as a panelist and independant speaker. The event itself was a mixture of both formal and informal panels, papers presented by selected members of the society, and evening social events.

My invitation to speak on the “History of the Tolkien Society” panel was presented as deliberate choice made by the panel organiser as a gateway for discussion about diversity and representation in Tolkien. On the official programme, the panel was described as a discussion concerning “what the Tolkien Society and Tolkien fandom in general may become as it encounters digital spaces, issues of representation and diversity, academic interest and a myriad other factors that make up our lived experience today”.

Although there was much excitement and anticipation on my half in the weeks and days leading up to the event, it soon turned to dread when the tone and climate of the discussion dawned on me when I took my seat alongside five other panelists ranging from seasoned Tolkien scholars, long-time members of the Society, and a member with a leadership position within the Society. On that four person panel, I was the only one racialised as non-white. In fact, I was one of only three people in a room of approximately fifty to sixty people racialised as non-white.

It wasn’t long before the true motive of placing me — a young, new member of the Society, who felt already out of place and out of my depth even being offered the opportunity to participate in the first place — on a panel of what I perceived to be more seasoned members of the society.

When the topic of diversity and representation in the Tolkien fandom was raised by the moderator, I saw it as an opportunity for me to share my own experiences as a young fan who predominantly consumed Tolkien content online, as well as some observations I had made regarding the current pop-cultural perception of Tolkien as being heavily influenced, if not wholly entered around the Peter Jackson trilogies and being deeply ingrained with the issues that seep from those interpretations into our overall perception of the Tolkien brand.

One of the talking points that seemed to have caused the biggest uproar and dissent was one in which I referred Tolkien’s description of Sam’s hands as brown in two instances — the first in the Two Towers, and the second instance in Return of the King and how this has been translated into film as both literal and symbolic interpretations. The former in the Ralph Bakshi’s the “Lord of the Rings” released in 1978 in which I noted that the decision to portray Sam as more ethnically ambiguous compared to the other Hobbits was a deliberate choice, whereas the latter was depicted in the recent Peter Jackson trilogy released in the early 2000’s took the description symbolically and cast the white American actor Sean Astin for the role.

The backlash I received for this was, I believe, absolutely disproportionate to the views I expressed. I saw members frown and grunt in disapproval, as well as some visibly shake their heads at me. In spite of me parroting how I saw both interpretations as equally valid as a defence mechanism in the face of such an aggressive response to what to me seemed like an innocuous observation made by a young person of colour who did not see many portrayals of people of colour in Tolkien. 

Comments such as “I don’t care who they cast as Sam whether he’s black, brown, yellow, blue or green!” and “Tolkien’s message is universal I don’t see how race factors into this!” were shouted in between points I was making, and countless others were made as an effort to dismiss the effort I put in to hopefully start an open dialogue about the lack of diversity in adaptations of Tolkien and how it has coloured our perception of the overall brand, and perhaps fantasy as a whole.

Some other talking points I decided to mention included Peter Jackson’s Easterlings (coded as being North African or Middle Eastern in the film) as being appallingly Orientalist and damaging in a post-911 world, as well as referring to Tolkien’s vague descriptions of certain characters and people groups that can be interpreted as ethnic coding or perhaps hint at a more diverse cast than the popular brand of Tolkien that may have us believe. I iterated that it is the responsibility of consumers of Tolkien and Tolkien related media to push for different interpretations of the text in order to break the perception that Tolkien’s works are entirely Anglo and Eurocentric with no place for people of colour in the vast world he had created in my opinion as a love letter to his own.

A month later it is still difficult for me to fully wrap my head around what I had experienced during the conference, much less articulating it in a statement, but if there is a note I would like to conclude on it would be this: it was never about changing Tolkien’s works, but reinterpreting his 20th century text littered with colonial artefacts and reimagining the foundations of his work through a 21st century lens in an attempt to decolonise the interpretation of his works in popular culture.

To change the way we read, write and depict the Tolkien brand is to fundamentally change the landscape of the entire genre of fantasy which has and still derives so heavily from Tolkien’s works and the global Tolkien brand.

End.

[tossawary]

How do you prepare for a writing session? I have a terrible time focusing on anything and would love some pointers

My focus has been all over the place lately, but, ahhh, here are a bunch of things that help me personally focus on getting that WIP done: 

- Deadlines. Deadlines make me focus like nothing else. If I allowed myself to officially say that my update day needed to be Thursday this week instead of Wednesday, the chapter would come late on Thursday. Having an official update day of the week helps me pace myself. 

(Having that day of the week not be a weekend day lets me actually relax and enjoy my weekend, which helps me recharge.) 

- Outlines. Having an outline to follow makes it easier to write a lot all at once or to pick up where I left off if I’m writing in bursts. My outlines are a mess of point-form notes with all the plot and character moments I think I need to hit. Sometimes they’re snippets of nice-sounding dialogue and sometimes they’re things like, “Shang Qinghua says something here that reminds the audience of the existence of X plot detail coming up shortly.” 

Or: “- Shang Qinghua does Y action. - Mobei-Jun is amused.” 

I can dig up one of my outlines for a PINTWILF chapter. I have nearly all of them still, I think. Some of them have very detailed outlines and then some of them were super vague, like, “I HAVE A VISION, LET’S GO BEFORE I LOSE IT.” 

I have a notes document with the outlines and a document that I’m actually writing in. Sometimes, I’ll have the side by side on my screen, with the notes document on my left, so I can glance between the two as I write. 

(When I do this, I keep a third window hidden, which contains my music tabs and my thesaurus tabs and my distraction tabs. If I can’t see it, it helps.) 

Sometimes, if I want one big window, I’ll copy-paste the outline into my writing document, underneath the in-progress writing, separated by a “CONTINUE HERE”. The point-form notes come up one by one, and I delete the point-form notes as I hit them until the copy-pasted outline is gone. 

- If your eyes are slipping over the words, change the font and the font size. A large, dyslexic-friendly font like Comic Sans is usually good. Switching fonts is also good for spell-checking. 

Shorter paragraphs can also make things seem snappier and catch my eyes better. They can also reveal the beats (plot, character, tension, etc.) of a scene. Once your bones are made clear, you can always go back in and rejoin paragraphs, or elaborate on the beats that need it. 

- Honestly, just having massive chunks of free time (yay, being confined to my house) is what has allowed me to write this much. When I have errands or chores or tasks, I try to get them over with before I start writing, because constantly thinking “I need to remember to pay that bill after this” is a focus-breaker. It’s easier to just do it now so I don’t forget later. 

Work is left at work! So fun writing time can be fun writing time only! 

If I’m hungry or thirsty or need to use the bathroom, I just get up and go do that. Being hungry or thirsty makes my brain uncooperative. It needs energy to do its thing! Get up, solve the body’s problem, take the opportunity to stretch, and then my focus isn’t constantly divided by thinking, “I’m hungry.” Meals and other needs shouldn’t be withheld as rewards! They’re needed for writing! 

If my feet are cold, I go get socks. One more distraction eliminated! 

On a similar note, sometimes I can’t focus because I feel like I haven’t “accomplished enough” of other things and it feels like I have other things I should be doing. Taking a walk, cooking a meal (or a treat!), or getting a task or chore out of the way can help with that. I have Accomplished Something and now I can write freely! 

- Give myself permission to just GET IT DONE and then go back and improve upon it later is a huge help. My writing doesn’t have to be pretty. I don’t have to get it right on the first try. I can go back and make it nice later. 

If it’s feeling a little flat, I can come back later and tone it up. 

If it’s feeling a little too much, I can come back later and tone it down. 

I also don’t have to go back and make it nice later. Projects can be imperfect. 

Likewise, it’s good to give myself permission to be direct when I’m writing. “Oh, damn, I need Shang Qinghua to cross the room here,” I’ll say, and it feels like I’ve hit a dead end. How do I write that transition? I write: “Shang Qinghua crossed the room.” Done! Stage directions don’t have to be fancy! 

Maybe I’ll add an adverb later on the second pass, but dialogue can convey that he crossed the room carefully (“Are you... okay?”) or angrily (“What is wrong with you?!”) well enough. 

I’m also allowed to just use “said”. Sometimes less is more! 

- I’m only “allowed” to post one WIP to AO3 at a time. That also helps. 

If you have other WIPs that feel like they’re dragged you down, you can just mark them as “incomplete” or “on hiatus”. Feeling accountable to others helps me write, but it also helps to remind myself I don’t “owe” my time or effort to any project if I’m not feeling it right now. People might be disappointed that I’m not writing what they want or that I even have to backtrack on a promise, but their disappointment isn’t really my problem. I’m allowed to change my mind. 

Sometimes ideas have limits. Some ideas can become feature-length films and some ideas can become 6-hour mini-series and some ideas are only really worth about a short film (unless you bring in more characters and themes and sub-plots, etc). Sometimes, you have to get the writing version of a seam-ripper, figure out what you’re not vibing with, and come back with more characters and themes and sub-plots to make an idea vibe with you again. 

And sometimes it’s good to follow Marie Kondo’s example and go, “You know what? This unfinished fic taught me that I do not enjoy writing fics like this.” Or: “This unfinished fic taught me that I do not vibe with this idea.” 

- Sometimes, music is more distracting than anything else, especially when I’m writing dialogue. I’ll turn music off when I need to “hear” the dialogue better. Listening to ambience mix style stuff that goes on for hours can help set the mood and also means I’m not distracted by constantly picking new music. 

- Sometimes I wear specific outfits or change into a different outfit when I want to be in a better mood for writing. Usually into a more comfortable outfit. (But sometimes there’s a scene that calls to be written by an author wearing a fancy dress! However, I find very fancy outfits are for very rare occasions.) 

Brushing my hair or brushing my teeth before a writing sessions can help me feel refreshed. Sometimes I shower before my writing sessions. I find it relaxing to feel clean. Changing bedsheets or rearranging the couch to my liking can help too. Sometimes, I channel the energy of a bird picking at my nest and fluffing my feathers, for the Best Environment and Best Look! These cleaning behaviors are important for attracting mates and all the jazz, but they’re also good for attracting personal happiness and good writing vibes. 

- Rereading comments before a writing session can help me feel pumped. 

I answer comments or asks in bunches because most often I prefer to direct my energy towards my writing sessions. I love the comments and the asks! So much that sometimes I want to hoard them forever! But sometimes I need to set them aside so that I can keep making the writing I enjoy. 

Sometimes it can be distracting, though. 

- Okay! I think that’s everything off the top of my head! Key points for me: 

Time! 

Preparation! 

Comfort! 

Environment! 

Different techniques will work differently for different people, of course. Sometimes, these techniques work very well for me and sometimes I just get more distracted. Oh, last thing is something I’m bad at, but: if it feels like I really need to sleep, I probably really need to sleep. Naps are my friend. 

So are break weeks. Recharging is good. 

[freddiekluger]

Do you think that if the ghosts sees period dramas set in their time, it will reignite memories of their life?

i think it definitely depends on the accuracy and style of the drama- if they're too poorly researched, any attempts at reverie would be totally disrupted by the historical and visual inaccuracies (think: thomas yelling about the 'roccoco legs' during the byron shoot). of course the other big thing is setting: it's all well and good to watch to a movie set in your time period, but if it's based in a country you've never been to (especially for the older/less privileged ghosts like mary and robin, who probably didn't have much knowledge of the world outside of their continent when they were alive), it's not going to feel particularly familiar.

working on the assumption that we have at least partial historical and geographical accuracy, here's how i think each of the ghosts would respond to

robin: considering how little we actually know about early human history, i don't think robin would be that fussed by any attempt to put that on film- he'd still appreciate a good caveman joke, although he's not a big fan of how stupid every movie assumes they would have been (it's not like they had omega-3 tablets back then!). robin's unspeakably old, and for the most part he seems to have processed through all the parts of his past that he possibly can, and is now committed to enjoying his time at button house as much as he can (a big part of this is his prankster spirit and frankly underrated friendliness), so it would have to take a lot more than a stone age movie to rake up serious conflict.

mary: given her incredibly traumatic death, mary avoids virtually anything that hints of fire or witchcraft which is where things become difficult. i think mary could really enjoy a film set in her time if it follows a working family not dissimilar to her own- it could help her remember some of the positive things from her life, and probably help her feel a lot more seen as she often ends up misunderstood or ignored by the other ghosts (pat initially dismissing mary's advice about the camera work because he didn't think she properly understood what was happening; the ghosts focusing on correcting her speech more than what she actually says). the problem is, almost all movies set in mary's time that follow people from her class end up focusing on the witch trials, which is a BIG no no for her.

humphrey: i think humphrey could really enjoy watching some tudor set films. like mary, he often gets ignored (and straight up left behind), so watching a period film absolutely gives him the opportunity to feel a bit more seen and stew on those long forgotten memories like post-meal games of cards with friends, or the occasional hunting trip when the king came to visit (the trips themselves were more stressful than anything, but mouthing off about them with the king's entourage after he went to bed was always a highlight). humphrey would definitely have a keen eye for inaccuracies, but i don't think they'd bother him. it's just nice to have things be about him for a change (if by him, we mean having all the ghosts watching something that is vaguely related to his alive-period and actually looking to him with questions instead of just using his head as their personal football/security camera/magic 8ball).

kitty: kitty is one of the ghosts who accesses her memories pretty easily- she has no problem with thinking about her life, even when the anecdotes are screamingly sad to anyone listening. so a period film would naturally bring some memories, but i don't know if they'd be anything radical or new- kitty's real growth and drama would come from her leaving behind the rationalisations of what clearly was severe neglect. actually on that note, while not quite kitty's environment, i think she might get a lot out of Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette. something about the themes of the loneliness that comes with growing up in high society and only being valued for what your status and your biology can give to your family and your husband (who you likely didn't choose), along with feeling like an outsider and being visibly othered, even by those you outrank, no matter how friendly and approachable and like them you make yourself (while not necessarily linked to the broader themes of familial neglect kitty's character touches on, i think her experiences as a georgian noblewoman of colour would have to have impacted her growing up and also socially- i'd love to hear any thoughts on this from fans of colour, as i'm white and so any theories i could come up with would likely be a poor approximation). and she'd definitely like the pretty dresses and stunning rooms of versailles, and for that i can't blame her.

thomas: most of thomas we sort of got to see in Free Pass- the detail nitpicking, the excitement until a specific trigger from his life (in this case, lord byron, the man thomas considers his greatest enemy, although i’d be curious to know whether byron acually had any idea of thomas thorne’s existence) causes him to go into a full thomas hissy-fit. sure, the emotion is real to him, but he absolutely plays it up, even trying to get humphrey’s body to fetch alison so she can see how ‘upset’ he is (thomas reminds me of a child in this respect).  there’d probably be less of the tantruming for a movie that had already been made, although i’m not so sure about the memory point. The Thomas Thorne Affair sort of brought out thomas’s big Unresolved Life Mystery, and now i think all that’s left for him to work through has got to be a lot more internal. sure, he’d be reminded of a few good old parties, and maybe any romance scenes might trigger some of the sad isabelle/general lost love emotions, but i don’t think they’d be anything particularly spectacular. 

fanny: now fanny would be a real stickler for accuracy. she would be calling out every makeup, decorative, hair, wardrobe, architectural, and lingual failure with the classic lady button judgement in her voice. this is probably half because she can't help herself, but half a measure to distract herself from actually having to pay proper attention and relive her life. i think fanny struggles a lot with no longer running her own household (along with the shifting morals, and fashions, of the modern world), and so to be reminded of everything she can no longer have would be tough. i'm not saying she would long for a time when women didn't have a lot of rights, but she went from a wealthy society woman who held a lot of power in her own sphere to a ghost, unable to touch anything or even be seen by the living (save for the photo glitch), and stuck spending her days with a motley crew of equally frustrating ghosts whom she doesn't always feel respected by (noting that 'respect' to fanny is much the same as deference). she could have it a lot worse, but i think fanny would much prefer to not have to think about her old life.

the captain: the captain is an interesting one. he's one of the few ghosts who actively seeks out media related to his time, although that's within the impersonal war documentary which focuses on facts and mechanics as opposed to day to day realities and feelings. on the one hand, any war film for the captain would be sure to rake up memories of wartime (even if he never made the front- that remains unconfirmed), and the immense grief that comes with watching the people around you slowly stop returning home. the captain is a war fanatic, and has no problem talking about the great battles, victories, and tactics, so i think the heightened emotional states that a film presents would be the key to unlocking the captain's inevitable wartime trauma and going beyond the surface level facts. for that reason, i'd really like the captain to see Peter Weir's Gallipoli. i know it's the wrong war and the wrong country (although the australian's were technically part of the British forces), but i think the overarching themes of the idolisation of the military, the deconstruction of the glory of war, and the intense (bordering on the homoerotic) although never quite realised relationship between Archy and Frank (which, spoiler alert, ends in tragedy), could give the captain a lot in terms of food for thought and unlocking some of those deeper experiences. on the other hand, the captain watching a period film set in the years before his war could be equally interesting- i think they'd play on some his is insecurities and general issues surrounding the difficulty he may have had fitting in with day-to-day life (not just due to his homosexuel répression, but due to his broader issues with fitting in socially which we see through his interactions with both the ghosts and his own forces- some particularly valid fans have used these to headcanon cap as autistic). in short, films would unlock a fair few memories for cap, but even more EMOTIONS.

pat: with pat and julian it gets interesting because while yes, technically any movie set in a non-current time period is a ‘period piece’, you also have to deal with the fact that they’re going to have less impact on their respective ghosts because you also have actual movies from those periods floating around. for this reason, my answers for pat and julian are relatively similar: they wouldnt have any more memories appear than for any film coming from while they were alive. for pat, this means he’d get pretty excited about ones that came from his childhood (pat would be a giant sci fi fan don’t @ me he loves technology), but i think anything that came with too strong a family attachmet, or that he watched in the weeks/months/year leading up to his death might bring out the angry pat we saw in Happy Death Day and Perfect Day. anger is how his inherent death trauma (and the additional loss that comes from the world moving on without you) manifests, so i definitely think that would come out here, even if he isn’t quite able to put his finger on why specific movies make him so angry/irritated. for pat, childhood memories would abound, but the closer we get to his death, there’s less memories but definitely more unresolved emotion.

julian: see my point above about the whole period-film-vs-regular-film thing. julian doesn’t really strike me as a movie person, and i definitely think he wouldn’t give much care to the influx of 80s/90s set british political media (think The Iron Lady etc). in his words, “i don’t really care for politics, and they’re all too busy trying to push their labor propaganda”. he just makes a captain-inspired noise when alison reminds him that he WAS a politician. julian is another character who accesses his memories pretty easily (although they’re usually either horny or at least slightly morally bankrupt), and i honestly find it hard to give a tory emotions so i’m very excited to see how the christmas special manages. julian is a self-centred bloke though, so i think only things that are directly about him could have the power to rake up buried memories and feelings. now i really want to see julian watching a documentary on himself and just getting outraged.

thanks for this one, sorry for the delay!!

[nodusomnis]

title: brilliance of land pairing(s): tsuzuru minagi & reader characters: tsuzuru minagi, reader, citron, sakuya sakuma, masumi usui, itaru chigasaki, izumi tachibana, omi fushimi synopsis: even the land can be admired by the sky, too. word count: 6.7k

@emilycollins00 ‘s entry:  Morning! ^^ Uh, I'm getting a bit shy suddenly! I really love your edits and writting style! and I was hoping I could ask, if you had time of course and wanted, a TsuzuruxmatureUnistudent!reader? as,Tsuzu starts getting selfconcious around them but doesn't connect dots and some member mention it or make fun! It doesn't have to end in kiss/confession, I wanted to see how they would react in the situation. Maybe it's a little too vague...? in any case, thanks in advance, keep up the good work!

a/n: My apologies for taking me this too long to write. I was too caught up in the moment that it took me ages to finish this LMAO on the same note; the premise provided me an inspiration, so I was so avid to write for this 😅 well frankly, the other reason was because I was busy with my online classes, too. So I do apologize for making you wait this long 🙇‍♀️ anyhow, thank you for loving my edits and writings 😊💖 I’m truly grateful! Thanl you for requesting as well! I hope you like this one. Enjoy reading! 💛 

Tsuzuru’s recent bearings had him befuddled quite a lot in these past few weeks, which affected the performance in his classes, and mostly during their practice for the forthcoming spring troupe’s next play. He was altogether aware of how he’d easily become strained and a stuttering mess when confronting someone sometimes. However, the action he presents you doesn’t correspond to the individuals he has interacted with before. Rather, it was unfathomable for his intellect to bring in the answers he desires to know. Prior to these inexplicable emotions unfurling in his chest, he hasn’t endured these sorts of sensations that were surprisingly pleasant, yet with a smidge of pain blooming in the depths of his heart. If he were to ask as a scriptwriter to describe the feeling he’s experiencing as of late, Tsuzuru would effortlessly say that it was similar to a beautiful flower blooming in its perfect season, yet has thorns adhered in its stem.

It’s so poetic that he, himself, was even surprised to muse about such things.

It’s true that at the beginning of your rendezvous, he was tense and tripping over his words. He could not even look at you straight in the eyes for his timidity reining over him. But he already reckoned the reason; it was only natural of him to do that toward the people he has yet to meet before. And now that he has known you for about almost a year, he guaranteed that the shameless behaviors of his would launder and was comfortable to be around you. But to his dismay, it only reverted to him.

In university, it was inevitable to see and cross paths with you. After all, you are his classmate in one of the subjects he’s taking. More importantly, you two are seatmates, so how can he avoid you? And if ever you detected his preternatural actions, it would alone incite your suspicions and inquire what problem he has to be so apprehensive around you. And if you are, then he doesn’t know how he will explain it because he, himself, does not know where to begin with. He has no notion as to why he's being like this anyhow.

Well, to be honest, he got comfortable, but those unpleasant emotions only came back as though it brought him back to your first meeting.

It was hell for him, and he won’t deny it.

He could not concentrate on their lessons as he would occasionally glance at you and noticed himself that his head was over the clouds for staring at your face for too long.

Most of the time, when the two of you were in your breaks hanging out in the library or any facilities with fewer crowds, his actions seemed to be so limited that he felt like there were shackles wrapped in his wrists and ankles, restricting his every move. Furthermore, his answers were deliberate that it would take him quite a long time to answer the questions you had asked him. The only reason he can hand over is that he doesn’t want to screw himself up in front of you, especially since he refused to give you comments or suggestions that won’t be of any help at all.

For what it’s worth, he wants everything to be perfect, which he wasn’t like that toward someone even to his friends—well, except to his scripts by all means. But for some reason, whenever he was with you, adrenaline would rev up, and the torrents of rush would drive him in frantic that Tsuzuru sorely knew it would only make the situation worse.

Therefore, that winds up to him being so darn lame in front of you by tumbling over his words excessively rather than usual. He was getting restless and reckless at the same time. Not to mention, he would invoke a disaster in your environment by tugging someone and spilling their drinks or foods by accident. He was so foolish for being like that when he didn’t intend to from the get-go. The only thing he has done was a mere contradiction of the actual situation that he covets.

Damn, he was so ashamed of his recent demeanor that Tsuzuru wishes to vanish into thin air, or the ground would just split up into two to eat him fully. Every time he recalled his upsetting blunders had him wishing to melt to where he was standing at this exact moment.

In spite of not knowing his newfangled emotions, he does somehow remember when these feelings sprang up.

It was the time when he spotted you in the school’s field, leading your classmates with your current project for the upcoming event of your program. He discovered that you were the leader of your group and appointing them to a task they have artistry in so it won’t be onerous for them to manage their positions. There were some instances he’d pass your classroom and then would take a peek, only to discover that you were working with the arrangements for the forthcoming event until the sun would set on the horizon.

He could vividly see how zealous you were in your task and doing your best for your group mates. It wasn’t a hurdle for him to recognize when he’d witness the way your eyes would glisten every time you found a lead, followed by the corners of your lips bending into a smile like a child getting an ice cream. With just that one simple smile, Tsuzuru couldn’t help to form a smile as well and feel the warmth starting to swell inside his chest. It was like a scene in the films he has watched, a scene that will seize your attention and will never forget even if time goes by.

It was picturesque for him. He couldn’t get rid of that scenario until now.

And that's when he mostly paid attention to you.

“Tsuzuru. Hey, Tsuzuru!”

“E-Eh?” The mentioned guy has awakened from his trance after hearing his name being called. “A-Ah, (Name)-san. Sorry for spacing out like that.”

You scrutinize him for a brief second before eliciting a sigh. Face brandished with worry about the guy “Why are you saying sorry? It’s only natural for you to be engaged in woolgathering like that, considering you’re a student, a part-time actor, and a scriptwriter, too. It’s justifiable that it would take its toll on you. If there’s anything I can assist you with, don’t be shy to ask me, okay? I’m always here to help you.”

Tsuzuru hastily whips his head to the side as he feels the heat soaring to his cheeks and heart hammering fast from seeing your bright smiling face once again. He was thinking about your smile not too long ago, and you’re already attacking him like that. He’s not prepared!

If only you knew what he’s thinking about… and yes, it’s somehow important to him, he figured.

“It’s nothing, really. But I appreciate the thought,” Tsuzuru assures you before deflecting his attention back to his book.

Both of you are in the library as it was your lunch break for today, and it’s your duty as a library assistant to be present in the place. Tsuzuru utterly knows that he likes to evade you at all costs since these idiosyncratic feelings will abruptly overflow like water breaching the walls of a dam once his eyes catch sight of your form. However, despite recognizing the consequences, he still dared to visit the library. It seems like there was some alien voice in the back of his head, whispering to him to go, just for him to see your lovable face.

He has no idea why he acquiesced with it as though his entire existence was being enchanted by an unknown. For that reason, he is now in the library meeting with you like he normally does, and the sensation of apprehension washes over his being again.

“You know, you’re acting odd these past few weeks. You’re getting more jumpy than necessary, you see.” As soon as he hears your claim, Tsuzuru nearly chokes on his own saliva and falls off his seat. He tries to keep up an undisturbed facade, but his attempt was all in vain once his eyes locked with yours.

“I-I am?” Once the words slips out his mouth, Tsuzuru urges of slapping his face so hard for asking a stupid question that is already obvious.

“You’re good at looking after people, but when it comes to yourself, you can’t.” A light chuckle tickles through your throat as the scriptwriter merely shows a bashful look because it was a fact. It was insurmountable for him to dispute your remark.

His grip on the pen tightens as he senses the weight of your stare on him. Because of that, Tsuzuru feels the sweat gradually emerging on his temples as he is positive that you are inspecting his gestures and expression to figure out what was troubling him. You’ve always been like that. Trying to scrutinize him as possible, for you can lend him a hand with the heavy burdens he is bearing. Although he never asked or confided in you about his problems sometimes, you were quick to determine what it was, and before he knew it, you were already there beside him and awaiting him to confide to you.

“(Last name)-san.” Both your attention diverts to a familiar girl walking toward your way. Tsuzuru realizes that it was one of your classmates he has seen during your scheduled meetings.

He doesn’t understand why you were so ardent of helping him out when you have other personal concerns as well? Tsuzuru couldn’t help but be culpable for boosting the baggage of your onus. That being the case, he was compelled to return the benevolence you had given him, too.

“Enomoto-san, have you discussed it with the program chair?” you immediately ask once the said girl approaches you.

“Yes. Currently, we’re reviewing the expenses we had for the event. The program chair wants to note every material we used and bought.”

“Is that so?” you say with relief as though your load has been alleviated. “Then, we should recheck the preparations and the venue we’re going to occupy. I will later make a list of the materials and give it to the program chair. Anyhow, is Suzuki checking the technical equipment?”

Your classmate nods in response. “Yes, he’s with Hiyori-kun. By the way, (Last name)-san. The program chair’s asking for your presence in the faculty room. She needs to discuss the guest speakers coming next week.”

Tsuzuru merely listens to your exchange. Seeing you working this up-close had made him admire your diligence and the way you carry out your responsibilities as the organizer and leader at the same time. You do your duty with calm and confidence, as though you’re already a professional working in a certain industry. Tsuzuru doesn’t have those outstanding qualities for which he envies you for having the poise when confronting someone. If he’s in your position right now, he knows for sure that he will be scatterbrained and couldn’t utter a sentence without stumbling over a word.

Even in your part-time job, you handle the customers with discretion and decorum. You would not forget to show them an amicable smile and talk to them with a careful articulation that would eventually convince them and give you their trust. No wonder why some customers would often call your name and greet you with enthusiasm like you were friends for a long time. After all, you’re an approachable and trustworthy woman for them to just scorn.

You two sure are opposite to one another. You’re like the sky, and he’s the land. You’re unattainable, yet so exquisite and bright. And as for him, he’s just a land who would keep looking at you from below, but won’t get tired from admiring you in the meadow.

“Ah, Tsuzuru, I should go ahead. I have to do some important matters to take care of,” you notify him, to which he snaps out from his musings again and sloppily nods his head.

“Sure. Take care, (Name)-san,” he says, moot in his voice.

Staring at him for a moment, you shove the thoughts away and grin at the chap. “Well, see you later. And don’t forget what we talked about, okay?”

With your last giggle, you saunter toward the counter to inform the librarian about your leave. And subsequently, you skedaddle from the library with your classmate.

As the spring troupe’s practice went on until the clock struck to nine, Izumi dismissed the practice for them to take a rest and continue tomorrow. The members agreed and sat down on the floor to regain their normal breathing and have their usual meeting after every practice. Sakuya was the first one who initiated the discussion about their performance just recently. They looked back at their mistakes and gave each other’s advice on how they will improve their acting for their specific roles.

While they are in the middle of their analysis, the sudden ringtone of a phone had paused them from their doings and looked to one another to ask if it’s theirs. Tsuzuru instantly knew that it’s his due to the familiar ringtone. Therefore, he rummages through his pocket and takes out his phone to see who the one is calling him at this hour.

As soon as he saw your name, his senses had woken up from the weariness he just had from the practice.

“I-I’ll just take this call,” he says to his fellow troupe members. Tsuzuru takes a breath before accepting the call.

“H-Hello, (Last name)-san.”

“Hi, Tsuzuru! I apologize for calling you at this hour. Am I not bothering you?” you worriedly ask.

“No. A-Actually, we just finished our practice. So, why did you call?” Tsuzuru feels his throat getting parched by the minute the call goes on. Everyone was quiet, even Citron, who would start a noise around and spout some words they don’t understand. He doesn’t know why their eyes are on him, seemingly scrutinizing and eavesdropping to your conversation.

“About that, I was just wondering if you’re free next Saturday. I want to invite you to the after party of our program’s event. So… are you?”

After hearing your sudden invitation had rendered him mute. His jaw slackens, and his eyes blink a few times before processing the message into his brain. And not only that, his loud beating heart is resounding in his ears that he’s not quite certain if you’re still talking on the other line.

“Hey, Tsuzuru. Are you still there?” Thanks to your voice, it broke him from his stupor and for showing a ridiculous face in front of the members.

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m free next Saturday.”

“Sweet! Then see you tomorrow. Don’t take it back, okay?” Tsuzuru replied yes, and you cutely chuckled, which isn’t good for his poor heart.

“That’s a promise! Anyhow, if you don’t mind, can you reserve me a ticket for your troupe’s next play? I’m looking forward to watching it.”

“I’ll tell the Director about it. I’ll give it to you as soon as she gives me the ticket.” Once he said that you squealed in excitement out of the blue. And that alone shocked the scriptwriter, and his heartbeat only intensified.

“Thank you so much, Tsuzuru! I’m excited about what script you have written for this. Watching your scripts getting converted into plays sure does make me overwhelmed and happy for you. I really love your scripts, Tsuzuru. They are beautiful.”

Your sudden adulation left him stunned without failure. It appears that time had slowed its tick, and his cognizance was only directed to the dynamic thumping of the organ in his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. And there’s this funny feeling in his stomach that is like a feather being slowly rubbed across his belly. It tickles, yet he wants to feel it more. Above all else, he’s sensing himself wallowing in the warmth engulfing his body, like he’s bathing in the warm rays of the sun in the morning, kissing his skin with its golden light.

“Well then, I guess I need to go. I still have to do my homework,” you say, almost whispering. “I hope you have a good night.”

Tsuzuru suddenly felt his heart drop at your announcement, and the tingling sensation in his stomach instantly vanished.

“Sure, (Name)-san. Good night, as well.” Once both of you said your farewells, Tsuzuru ended the call, and a sigh escaped his lips, knowing the fact that he won’t hear your voice for this evening any longer. He does admit, hearing your voice during calls makes him feel at ease for some reason.

“Are you okay, Tsuzuru-san? Your face is red,” Sakuya remarks, causing him to look at their leader with confound.

“What are you talking about, Sakuya?”

“Was that (Name)?” Citron follows a query. With just a mere mention of your name had Tsuzuru felt the flow of heat ascend to his face and couldn’t constrict himself from answering with his usual stutter.

“Y-Yeah, she only asked if I’ll be available next Saturday.” Upon his response, Citron abruptly hollers and jumps on to his manzai partner.

“Oh! Is this a date?!” When he announces it aloud, Sakuya’s face instantly reddens, and Itaru whistles in amazement, whereas Masumi charges at him with a frown etched on his face.

“How dare you be the first one to be on a date before me?” Masumi’s voice was baritone, glaring daggers at him in proximity.

Tsuzuru doesn’t know where to begin since his mind is becoming clouded with embarrassment, and more importantly, he refuses to confront his fellow troupe members, for he knows that they will take the information erroneously. Particularly Citron, who has a penchant for misunderstanding the story he has heard. Then, everyone will believe him with his incredulous disclosure. Although Itaru knows that it’s the contrary of Citron’s word, he will still ride on it and teased him about it just for his own amusement.

That being the case, his vengeance for the salaryman was to give him an arduous role through his written scripts.

“It’s not a date!” Tsuzuru exclaims, abstaining the two who were surrounding him and interrogating them with their folly. “(Name)-san only invited me to come to their event. She’s one of the organizers.”

“But it’s still called a date if a girl invited you to a special event!”

“What kind of mind do you even have to assume like that, Citron-san?!” Tsuzuru rebuts to the grinning foreigner beside him.

“This is unforgivable.” Masumi hauntingly closes the gap between him and the scriptwriter. The frown on his face does not seem to dissolve despite clarifying the misinterpretation Citron had announced.

“I told you it’s not like that!” He asserts and then looks over at Sakuya and Itaru who are watching him being swarmed by the two. “A little help here, Sakuya, Itaru-san!”

Hearing Sakuya’s name being called had snapped him out from his stupor and drew his attention to the poor bloke who’s being crowded by their two fellow troupe mates. As Sakuya was about to lend him a hand, Itaru, who recently finished his quests, adheres him in his place by putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Eh, Itaru-san?” The leader confusedly questions. But the aforementioned guy only presents him a whimsical smirk before casting his fuchsia irises on the interrogated university student.

“We should leave him be. This is a good opportunity for our dear scriptwriter to experience romance once in a while,” the salaryman says, voice hinted with mischief.

Tsuzuru hadn’t misheard what the oldest had said to Sakuya. In honesty, he heard it loud and clear despite Citron’s and Masumi’s annoying voices reverberating throughout the practice room. That alone incites the foreboding that he has, and his lingering irritation for the two only heightens due to Itaru’s provocation.

Asking for help from the working man was the worst decision he had made for now. He had forgotten that he can be immature from time to time, albeit that he’s already an adult and has the authority in their troupe. It’s supposed to be him who would manage and mollify everyone from their mess at his age. However, it wasn’t. Itaru is also one of the pain in the asses to deal with, and to his misfortune, Tsuzuru was the one who fell in the position that was supposed to be Itaru’s.

He couldn’t even clean the mess in his room and not eating a proper meal sometimes. Tsuzuru doesn’t know why he was the one cleaning his room even though it wasn’t his. Well, he couldn’t help himself because it’s already in his nature to look after others first before him, especially that he's been taking care of his little brothers in most of his life. Hence, he has grown to carry it wherever he goes, and despite that he refuses to do it, his instincts tell him otherwise.

“Good luck with your date, Tsuzuru. You have our blessings. It’s now your time to show your charming side to her,” Itaru encourages with his shit-eating grin that did nothing but exhaust and aggravate him.

“Itaru is right! You also have my blessings!” Citron enthuses as though he was his mom, congratulating her son for his breakthrough. “You should give him your blessings, too, Sakuya.”

“E-Eh… Do your best, Tsuzuru-san! I give you my blessings, as well!” Sakuya says, quite frantic, which Tsuzuru doesn’t know if he’s afraid or ecstatic about his situation.

“I refuse to give my blessings,” Masumi emphasizes with obstinacy in his tone.

Tsuzuru knows full well that his efforts to clear the misunderstanding will only pass through their ears and tease him further. That is why he surrenders from his attempt to defend himself and just let them do what they please. He refuses to exhaust himself to a greater degree by simply convincing them with the truth. It will merely drive him insane.

The closing night for the second play of the spring troupe has come to an end. It was an absolute success in which everyone congratulated each other and knowing the irrefutable fact that the audience loved the play and the actors performing on stage. The cheers and applause were indeed delightful to hear. Their hearts were pounding in rapture as their smiles grew wider by the second they heard the ovation of the audience. They can even witness the merry faces of their director and their manager behind them. It was an eye-tearing experience. Despite they already knew the feeling of success during their debut show, the second is still the same as they had known of.

Once the curtain had closed and said their gratitude to everyone, you congratulated them and gave them a bouquet as your present for the cast in the staff room. The director was happy to see you as always. You never missed watching their troupes’ performances, even if your initial purpose was to only watch the spring troupe’s play because of Tsuzuru, who you knew, for he is your classmate.

However, you had grown to love the other troupes, for they have their own charms that drew your regard to each one of them. They have their aptitudes and themes that you’d never get tired of watching everyone shining and sparkling on the stage with their content smiles and sense of devotion to acting their roles with perfection and thrill. It was a magnificent view for which you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring the Mankai Company’s troupes.

They are charming in their own way.

The director invited you to their after-party in their dormitory, which you gladly accepted as you were timid to decline her humble invitation. Moreover, you have been celebrating with them every now and then when you have nothing else to do for the day.

As you had figured, Omi was the one who cooked the food for the party, and being the kind and considerate person he was; he cooked their favorite dishes and treats. Although he’s a guy, he has this cooking skill that you surely commended. His talent for cooking and baking anything amazes you. Whether the dish is foreign to him, he’ll cook it with the same delicious taste just as his usual cooking.

“Good evening, It’s nice to have you here, (Last name)-san,” Omi greets you as he puts a plate of dishes on the table.

You smile and return the greeting, “Likewise. Your cooking is amazing, as always.”

“(Name), I’m happy that you joined us for the after-party!” Citron says with excitement while pushing Tsuzuru toward you.

“Citron-san, what are you doing?!” complained the scriptwriter, struggling to free himself from his hold. But the mentioned guy solely flashes him a grin that Tsuzuru swiftly notices the underlying meaning behind that smile of his. He suddenly felt his stomach churn, having a bad feeling about this.

“Tsuzuru’s script is amazing as always, ne?”

“By all means.”

The only reaction that Tsuzuru dispensed was to blush at your compliment and stare down at his feet for you not to see the pink hues spreading across his cheeks. Even though you’ve been giving him credits ever since the start of their debut, he’s still not used to you suddenly blurting some beautiful words to him. It wouldn’t fail to make him on edge and as if his heart was going to burst in his chest.

In all honesty, it’s a delightful feeling but really not good for his heart.

The party commences. Everyone was talking about their hurdles before the outset of their second show, particularly Masumi and Itaru, who didn’t get along well at first. But their relationship had progressed when the adult visited him in their school and tried to understand one another by playing a game.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their humorous circumstance. In the end, they didn’t understand each other, but their relationship had developed.

As the conversation went on, suddenly, you became the next subject of their discussion.

“We learned that you invited Tsuzuru to an event!” Citron pipes in, causing the said man beside him to let out a sharp intake of breath.

“W-Why are you suddenly including that in the conversation?!” Tsuzuru frantically says, seeming to reprimand the foreigner.

“Eh? But I wanna know if it’s a date or not.”

With that, Tsuzuru’s face starts to color in a bright shade of red as the director gives you two a surprised reaction. You were quite astonished as well if you say so yourself. Well, there’s no point denying it since you did invite your classmate to come to your program’s event. But one thing that grabbed your attention is why he’s asking if it’s a date or not. You don’t blame Tsuzuru if he’s getting embarrassed since you’re equally embarrassed as he is.

“I told you countless times already, Citron-san! It’s not a date!” That’s when Tsuzuru’s last thread of patience snaps. He hadn’t intended to shout at his manzai partner, but considering that he’s making the atmosphere awkward between you two is something that he will never have the patience with.

He recognizes your confusion and discomfort with the current situation. He feels obligated to tell you a sincere apology, but the words he wants to tell across seem to attach in his throat. His mind is getting hazy by the minute, making it difficult for him to recompose himself in this dire plight.

“W-Well, if you take it into consideration as a woman and man, it does seem that I’m saying it will be a date in a roundabout way,” you chuckle with a grain of humor in your voice. This immediately catches their attention and presents you with bewilderment written on their faces.

“I told you it’s like that,” Citron laughs, feeling satisfied upon knowing that his hypothesis is true.

Unbeknownst to you, your answer was the last straw for Tsuzuru’s heart to explode. His heated face only increases its temperature, which he assures that everyone can notice that he is blushing.

Why are you always attacking him unannounced like that? If you’re often like this, it will drive him crazy.

“Heh, Tsuzuru looks like he wants to be splashed by cold water on his face,” Itaru teases before he takes a sip on his drink, not removing his apparent diversion toward his troupe mate.

Sakuya, who heard the older’s comment, merely grabs a cold water and hands it to him. “Your face is red, Tsuzuru-san. Are you okay?”

Tsuzuru doesn’t know what to do anymore. Being with his troupe mates is surely gonna be the reason why he has white hair growing on his head at such a young age. Sakuya’s not helping in the situation, too. He’s too gullible for his own good in which everyone is taking advantage of, particularly Citron, who loves to tell stories about his adventures that are not even true.

He’s not really okay. He just wants to flee from the place and go to his room to rest.

“You know, whenever you’re around, Tsuzuru’s getting self-conscience!” Citron chirps, which makes you bewildered at the particular word he said.

“Self-conscience?”

“You mean self-conscious,” Itaru corrects.

“Yes, that’s it!”

“I am not!” Tsuzuru instantly defends, but the two ignore his complaints and tease him further.

You haven’t had the slightest idea why Tsuzuru’s becoming self-conscious when there’s nothing to be in the first place. Recalling the scriptwriter’s recent strange bearings only affords you an idea from your question of why he was suddenly becoming uneasy when you were with him. And on top of it, his habit of stuttering became worse than the original. Now you piece all the confusions you had together.

So he’s getting self-conscious? But why? You don’t understand.

“Remember the day when you and (Name) went to the mall to buy some school supplies? I was there, too! I saw that you were being fidgety and stuttering a lot! It was hilarious to witness you like that, Tsuzuru!”

“Ah, now that reminds me,” Itaru begins. “I saw you on the terrace, calming yourself and even taking a breath before you answer a phone call back then. At first, I thought it was one of your bosses in your part-time jobs, but I discovered that it was only (Last name).”

“Then, that means he’s really self-conscious!” Citron asserts.

Tsuzuru’s tongue-tied, doesn’t have any words to say in this exact moment knowing his troupe mates had seen him in those shameful moments of his with you. He can’t dispute since it’s all the truth. Even he was bewildered by his actions as of late. He has no idea how to describe his current situation. It was making him perturbed and left him with tons of questions that he was desperately seeking to know.

Now that his troupe mates had given him the answer to his quaint actions, he accepted the words they had pointed out. There’s no room for him to be defensive, considering the answer he was seeking to find out is already there. Furthermore, he has no escape from this embarrassing situation. You already heard everything that he doesn’t want you to discover.

His troupe mates certainly are troublesome fellows.

“Tsuzuru,” you call his name to get his attention. However, it seems that he hadn’t heard you as he didn’t move in his spot. You elicit a small sigh before attempting to slap his cheeks gently with both hands. It didn’t take you seconds to pay you his heed.

“(N-Name)-san?” he stammers, surprised to see your face up-close and holding his cheeks with care. You beam him a gentle smile.

“Let’s talk,” you softly say before retracting your hands from his cheeks with a smile still intact on your visage. Tsuzuru felt his stomach twist, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He utterly knows that you’re going to talk about today, which is why he’s preparing himself for the worst. It will be reasonable if you’re going to avoid him after this. After all, the recent occurrence a while ago is indeed uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Everyone is quiet. The atmosphere is still. No one spoke, even Citron, who’s fond of initiating a commotion in the dorm with others. The director’s only looking at him with a worried face, and Masumi is still the same as ever, looking at Izumi with heart-shaped eyes, not even bothering with what occurred earlier.

He envies his roommate’s ignorance with this circulating tension around them. It must be nice to be so carefree.

“Where are we going?” he manages to ask despite his parched throat.

Upon his query, you direct your gaze to the director. “If you don’t mind, can I borrow Tsuzuru for a bit?”

Izumi blinks her eyes before answering you in a bit of a panic. “S-Sure, we don’t mind.”

You say your thanks and signal to the scriptwriter to follow you to the courtyard.

The journey toward the yard was disturbingly restrained. Only your footsteps and Tsuzuru’s were the one thing you can hear. You didn’t mind the silence since afterward, the two of you are going to talk about today.

You don’t even know that Tsuzuru’s fidgeting and his whole being is getting wallowed in the sea of his anxiety. His fear of cutting ties with you is something he can’t take. After all, you’re the only woman he has befriended this close with whom he can share his problems and rants about his life. And just because of his troupe mates being a busybody, it will estrange your relationship with him.

Once the both of you step into the courtyard, the fresh breeze of spring season whirls through your bodies and affords you a sense of tranquility. You continue to walk as he follows you to the center of their dormitory. The scent of the flowers planted by Tsumugi wafts through the air, which surely helps Tsuzuru to relax his stiff shoulders.

As you two reach the center, you halt your steps. Tsuzuru mimics your action, and a dreadful feeling eventually washes over him. His repose because of the calm ambiance of the garden was only a fleeting moment of his because his apprehension came back to him once again.

“Hey, Tsuzuru,” you say; your voice is still the serene one that he had known, almost subduing the abnormal beating of his heart. You turn on your heels to face the man. “Am I that intimidating for you to be self-conscious around me?”

Tsuzuru breaths in, recognizing the playfulness in your voice. Your famous smile didn’t seem to disappear as it was still the same smile you wore every day. It baffled him for a second. He assumed that you’re going to give him a serious look with no smeared of jocularity in your eyes. But it was all the opposite of what he presumed.

“E-Eh?” That was the only reaction he could give. He was still in the process of understanding your words.

Your grin expands before letting out a giggle. “So that’s why your behavior is strange these past few weeks. It’s because you’re self-conscious around me.”

Your friskiness had Tsuzuru’s face to blush and lips to tremble in shame. No coherent words are available for him to say. He remains still in his spot as he simply watches you laughing at his embarrassing acts.

When he paid his attention to you, it seems that you’re too far away for him to reach. Every time he saw you from afar, it looked like you were sparkling in his eyes. Your smile that couldn’t be tarnished, your confidence that he admires, your etiquette in various circumstances, and also your benevolence that isn’t exclusive for just one; it’s for everyone.

Everything about you, Tsuzuru adores. And knowing that you two are the exact opposite, his chest would unwillingly wrench. It pains him to look at you because he's completely aware that he’s out of your league. You’re too bright for his dim light.

“(Name)-san,” he subconsciously calls you, and it catches your attention in an instant. You wait for him to speak, and Tsuzuru wants to retreat. However, his melancholic musings are encouraging him to do it. “If you only know how I greatly admire you as an individual. It’s like you’re too far from me and I can’t reach you. You’re like the sky that is so bright, too beautiful, and pure for me. Me, as a land, doesn’t want to tarnish your beauty. My position was to merely admire you from afar. I'm too way out of your league. There are so many who want you, people who are well-known, and have more recognition than me. They’re the ones who have the right to be beside you, unlike me, who’s dull and a complete nobody.”

Tsuzuru looks up to watch the stars glimmering in the night sky. After that speech of his, both of you didn’t utter a single word as you let the silence engulfs you two. Distinguishing his impression of you had rendered you stunned, as you hadn’t expected him to give you such regard.

Tsuzuru shifts his body, inserting his hands in his pockets while not averting his gaze from the sky. “We’re completely opposite, (Name)-san.”

You purse your lips, jaw clenching since Tsuzuru was not giving credit for himself. His degradation makes you upset. You do appreciate how he sees you in high regard, but you dislike it when he’s self-deprecating when there are things and qualities that you admire him for. He doesn’t know that he’s much better than you are. He’s too blind to notice the wonderful qualities he has.

“You see,” you say as you stare at the view above. This time, Tsuzuru diverts his notice to you. “The land is much better than the sky itself. The land gives life to all the living things; providing animals and humans with shelter, growing beautiful trees and flowers with its soil, a place where people can freely walk to, magnificent landscapes that are breathtaking to capture, and especially nature that is essential for our survival. Isn't it similar to you, Tsuzuru? The land is an all-rounder; it has many attributes that it can provide. And you, you can do almost everything, even everyone is aware of that. Your troupe mates can spell it out for you if you still doubt yourself. They even called you jack of all trades, aren’t they?”

You tear your gaze away from the sky to peer at Tsuzuru, whose eyes are wide. Afterward, you shoot him a smile, assuring him that you’re sincere to the words you had said.

He’s too speechless to give you a meager response. He feels his chest fluttering in glee and as if someone’s caressing his heart to feel so fuzzy inside. Tsuzuru will be lying if he says he’s not happy to hear your words, because the truth is, he’s elated to the point he wants to leap in ecstasy and hug you right here, right now. But Tsuzuru still has the decency not to breach that boundary. Therefore, he controls himself from caging you in his arms.

“I-I…” Tsuzuru had strived to speak, but to his dismay, the shock was too much for him to recover immediately.

You let out a hearty chuckle. “That’s the brilliance of land, which is why you need not degrade yourself like that. You’re perfect in your own way. Further, you have so many things you can offer. You’re not out of my league. We’re only the same. I admire you because it’s you, and you admire me because it’s me. We have our own abilities, so there’s no such thing as inferior and superior between us. We’re equals. Moreover, you have this unique potential that many don't own, so don’t neglect it. Be that as it may, okay?”

With that, Tsuzuru couldn’t help but smile at your encouraging words. You sure know how to uplift his spirits. And he’s glad to know that your relationship won’t get estranged because of his pain in the ass troupe mates. He really felt relieved.

“I really adore you, (Name)-san,” he declares before tilting his head upwards.

“I admire you, too, Tsuzuru.” You look at the sky, as well. Then without hesitation, you grab his hand.

Tsuzuru flinches at the warmth of your small hand on him. That’s why he hastily snaps his head to you, only to see you grinning at him so cheekily. Comprehending that you're holding his hand makes him flustered and unable to think. His heart is strenuously beating against his rib cage that he's compelled to rip away his hand from you in order for you not to notice his violent heartbeat.

But in spite of it, the other him is melting in your touch and refusing to let go of your hand, especially because your warmth is transporting to him, which makes him calm and feel comfortable like his home.

Therefore, Tsuzuru squeezes his hold on you and shows you a sheepish smile, fending off the worries and shame that’s intruding on his mind. Those emotions aren’t needed in this heartfelt situation with you.

Both of you look up at the sky at once and savor the moment that was given to you by God.

[glorious-blackout]

Self-Indulgent Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino/Simulation Theory Crossover Part Two

@rock-n-roll-fantasy Aaaaaand here’s Part Two 🥰

Part One, Part Three

Click.

The world shimmers and fades instantaneously before reforming like an intricate puzzle before his eyes. The effect is mildly dizzying but Mark doesn’t mind, taking in his new environment with a nostalgic smile creeping across his face. With the mere press of a button, he has transformed the illusion of a lively seaside resort into one of a teeming London street. An elegant 1960s Aston Martin glides past him and passersby hustle and bustle on overflowing pavements, too caught up in the intricacies of their own lives to pay him any heed. That’s okay though. Being invisible is a rare luxury these days.

The skies above are a murky grey, but the heavens have yet to open. Mark’s eyes scan the numerous shop exteriors boasting dolled-up mannequins and ‘unmissable’ offers, before finally settling on a grotty club exterior at the far end of the street. Memories of queuing outside its doors to watch the likes of The Jam or The Sex Pistols flow through his mind like a film reel, to the point where he can almost feel his cheap leather jacket growing sticky with sweat amidst the heat of the crowd. He remembers being highly impressed by The Jam and deciding that getting utterly shitfaced was the best way to endure The Sex Pistols, but every gig he attended in those days had carried with it an undeniable thrill. His heart aches with longing as he relives the frantic push of bodies and the roar of the crowd once the lights went down; the deep groove of the bass reverberating through his chest; the way his shoes stuck to a floor which had acquired several layers of spilt beer over the course of the night. More than all of that, his heart sings with nostalgia for the drunken – and occasionally drugged – haze that washed over him as he closed his eyes and lost himself to the music pounding against his ears.

No doubt a similar experience would await him now if he so desired, but as he watches the crowds come and go on the rush-hour streets, the air of nostalgia slowly fades. Company is not what he seeks right now. Even if his heart was crying out for the opportunity to dance in a stranger’s arms, he doubts the concert experience awaiting him through those locked doors could ever align with the perfection of his memories.

Click.

The image dissolves again, and a pleased sigh escapes him as claustrophobic city streets morph into a landscape awash with deep green hues. Droning chatter and car horns make way for lilting birdsong, overlain by the faint rush of a breeze coursing through crisp summer leaves. He raises his head to watch as sun beams drift through a thick, protective barrier of gnarled branches, their golden rays dancing across the forest floor as the wind subtly shifts the world around him.  

A light mist implies a recent rainfall. Scattered dewdrops linger on low-hanging leaves and Mark can almost smell the damp earth as he lets himself be carried past the growing pines, the forests’ debris crunching underfoot as he walks. He cautiously steps over a skeletal root and takes care to avoid the sprouting bluebells scattered across the earth, following the deeply-trodden path until he reaches a small, circular clearing at the peak of a steep hill. Overhead branches make way for a direct beam of light and a clear blue sky, and Mark closes his eyes as the sun kisses his face and long grass sways around his ankles. He allows himself one moment to enjoy a nearby warbler’s morning song, before his finger reluctantly tightens on the remote and his surroundings are banished once again.

Click.

The cacophony of waves crashing towards shore and overhanging gulls squealing above the ocean forces his eyes open once more.  

For the second time in ten minutes, he is powerless to resist a contented smile as he gazes upon a perfect blue sky, unmarred by clouds or chemtrails. Calm, shimmering waves wash up against golden sands before politely receding, leaving streaks of foam in their wake, and on either side of him the coast curves endlessly with no other individual in sight. If he were to stroll along the sandy path, he would eventually reach the root of a grassy hill which offers direct passage to a rocky cliff-face, serving as the perfect spot to leap into the freezing waters below.  

Recognition tugs at his mind like an insistent child as he tries to pinpoint his exact location. Los Angeles? Cornwall? Perhaps he’s even wound up on the Mediterranean coast and his brain is merely trying to take him on a tour of past holidays. Either that or the beach is an amalgamation of many; a fiction created to resemble the closest approximation of heaven on Earth. As undisturbed peace washes over him, Mark finds that he doesn’t care where he is. He simply lets himself get lost in the view and the ocean’s song, and if he empties his mind, he can almost imagine the heat eliciting sweat from his skin and the specific tang of salt in the clean sea-air.

It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed when his reverie is broken by an insistent ringing. Too long no doubt, if the sharp ache in his heart is any indication. For a moment he considers letting the video-call go unanswered. As one shrill beep follows another, his treacherous mind cannot help but wonder if he should ignore his summons and spare himself the agonising scrutiny he’s about to endure. It’s certainly a tempting notion, albeit not one he can indulge in for too long. He has been waiting all day for this call, and these meetings have become too regular for him to convincingly claim he forgot it was happening.

Bidding a silent, mournful farewell to the earthen beach before him, he clicks the button on the remote with a sense of finality; peeling the virtual reality mask from his head the instant the screen goes black. The act of removing the mask takes more effort than it should. The cool straps feel like they’ve physically fused to his skull, and one glance in the mirror above his desk is enough to have him frantically smoothing down sweat-soaked hair. Fat lot of good it does too, not that he particularly cares. His caller will have to settle with dark, mussed locks to match the impressively dark bags under his eyes, though he imagines the latter has become a common sight of late.  

He takes a moment to pack the mask away in its case. The device had been a present from Matt on his thirtieth birthday, gifted with the intention of forcing him to join in on games of Fifa. The attempt had been successful for all of two weeks, but Mark has long since stopped using it for mindless video games or trawling through bleak news channels, having instead developed a liking for the mask’s Ambience settings. It’s unlikely Matt will ever forgive him for that, if the accusations of him being a “boring old git” are any indication.

As the ringing persists with no end in sight, Mark huffs a sigh before hurriedly brushing stray strands of hair away from his face, finally reaching across the desk to answer the call with a single swipe on his touchscreen. Relief floods through him as the high-pitched screech makes way for blessed silence, albeit the pleasant solace doesn’t last. The widescreen immediately plays host to a familiar image that makes his heart sink; that of a well-lit office with a pale-blue backdrop and, sitting centre-stage with as uneasy an expression as ever, the man who has made a habit of calling him every single week since the dawn of time, or near enough.

Officially the man’s name is Mister Murphy, which seems entirely too ordinary in Mark’s humble opinion. Of course, Mark is far too lowly to have earned the privilege of conversing with him on a first-name basis, not that he particularly minds. He has absolutely zero interest in become buddies with him, and has made a point in recent years to drop the polite title of ‘Mister’ altogether. Jamie had taken it one step further once by drunkenly referring to Murphy as ‘The Voice of God’, and while Mark would never dare confess it to the man himself, the sarcastic nickname has sunk its claws deeply in his mind.

Murphy looks vaguely troubled today, which isn’t necessarily a surprise. The air of being vaguely troubled seems to have permanently latched onto him, in much the same way as it clings to most disgustingly rich businessmen who hold themselves accountable for the profits of billion-dollar franchises. Tranquility Base is far from the only hotel under Murphy’s watchful eye, but it is certainly the most high-profile, and thus Mark has grown accustomed to his every action being thoroughly dissected through a computer screen. The novelty’s certainly worn off with time.

Of course, to a casual observer, Murphy’s troubled demeanor is far from the most noteworthy thing about his outward appearance. In most people’s eyes, his palpable discomfort probably wouldn’t even register. No, the detail which had deeply unsettled Mark upon receiving his first ever call had been the striking resemblance between Murphy and himself.

They’re not exact copies of each other, but it’s a close thing. Murphy looks marginally older, with deep permanent lines on his forehead and crow’s feet creeping towards his eyes, but the difference between them can only be a couple of years at most. Murphy’s hair is longer and boasts a lighter shade of brown under the office lights, though Mark guesses that’s due to him having the option of lazing beneath a scorching sun. Then there’s the goatee, which Mark has elected to avoid on the presumption that it would look faintly ridiculous on his own face, though Murphy seems to possess the natural gravitas required to pull it off.

Those minute details are where the differences end, however. The deep brown eyes which have a habit of piercing through Mark’s outer shell are strikingly similar to his own. The long nose and pointed chin are practically identical, and even the faint scar above one eye is the same. The resemblance had been so deeply unnerving during those initial introductory calls that Mark retains no recollection of any words exchanged over the course of them, but as the meetings have become more frequent, their shared likeness has simply become yet another bizarre detail in his ever-more ridiculous life.

“You look tired,” Murphy admonishes before Mark can utter so much as a polite greeting.

That’s another crucial difference between the two of them, Mark notes. While he has succeeded in maintaining his Yorkshire accent throughout his extensive travels, Murphy’s vaguely Transatlantic drawl resembles a bizarre amalgamation of what a child would presume a posh English speaker might sound like. It’s an impossible accent to pin down; even trying to guess which side of the pond he originates from is more effort than it’s worth. Rather than being unsettled by the mystery, Mark has clung to it like a lifeline over the years. He has come to acknowledge every notable difference between himself and his boss with a desperate sense of pride.

It ultimately takes him far too long to respond to Murphy’s assessment, which no doubt only proves the accusation to be wholly correct.

“Well, you know,” he starts lamely, though he doesn’t have the energy to admonish himself. “We’ve been busy lately. Probably haven’t been sleeping as much as I should.”

It isn’t a lie, though Mark would be hard-pressed to remember a time where he wasn’t busy to the point of exhaustion. Murphy’s accusation has probably been uttered more times during these video-calls than a polite ‘hello’, but the man has yet to offer any solutions that would help lighten Mark’s back-breaking load.

He keeps a trained eye on Murphy’s face, searching for any micro-expressions which could help guide the conversation forward, but he remains infuriatingly impassive as though silently willing Mark to keep talking.

“I, uh-” Mark huffs a weak laugh and finds his eyes drawn away from the screen, suddenly more preoccupied with picking at the skin of his fingers. “I’ve taken a few evenings off from the band, just to take the edge off. We’ve flown a chamber orchestra over, so they do alternate nights now. Just to add some variety, like. They’re a bit on the expensive side but they’re good at what they do. The best even. The guests seem to like ‘em.”

“I’m sure they do,” Murphy says dismissively, straightening in his high-backed hair and rubbing at his forehead with barely concealed impatience. The image reminds Mark of a long-suffering parent preparing to admonish an unruly child after they’ve splashed paint on the walls of their bedroom, forcing him to fight the urge to release a bitter laugh. “But I’d advise against taking frequent nights off. You and your little band are the main attraction. Our guests don’t pay the fees they do for some run-of-the-mill orchestra they could watch at their local hall.”

“Well, I don’t hear anyone complaining,” Mark responds with barely contained venom. He’s treading on extremely thin ice and he knows it, but he stopped being terrified of Murphy years ago, and the man’s superhuman expectations of him have grown more grating week by week. “If I recall correctly, our profits have been better than ever this year.”

There’s a pause at that which seems to stretch for hours, and Mark cringes at the way his breath shudders in his chest as the figure onscreen swallows down barely-concealed anger.

“That is true,” Murphy concedes, no doubt with a certain degree of reluctance, though to the man’s credit, his voice remains remarkably even. “And we’d like to keep things moving in that direction. Which is why we need you, Mark. Your work is important to us, even if you don’t seem to agree.”

It’s not intended as a compliment, and Mark isn’t naïve enough to take it as one. Maybe he would have been flattered by those words once. When the hotel was still a passion project of his – a cardboard model created at the dawn of a new space-age – but that was before the reality of the business had leeched him dry and left him cold. Murphy doesn’t care for him any more than he cares for the cello player in the backup band; the only reason he’s bothered to learn Mark’s name is because he knows he can profit off of draining him dry.

He lets the silence stretch on to the point where it must surely be uncomfortable. His fingers have stopped providing him with ample amusement and he moves on to fiddling with the hem of his cuffs, fastening and unfastening the cufflinks in a comforting routine. Perhaps if he continues to say nothing, Murphy will grow bored of him and move on to terrorising one of his many other underlings. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time.

No such luck, it would seem. Though Mark doubts he could ever have predicted the words that his doppelganger would utter next.

“Are you happy there, Mark?”

The cufflinks suddenly become far less interesting. Mark forces his eyes to meet Murphy’s own and tries not to shrink under a gaze which is simultaneously alien and all-too-familiar. Murphy hadn’t sounded particularly concerned for Mark’s emotional wellbeing, and he’s under no illusions that the man actually gives a shit about him. No doubt there’s a game afoot, but the rules feel too convoluted for him to bother trying to participate on an equal footing. He’s not a gambler, contrary to the impression he likely gives off considering the star feature of his establishment.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know how to answer the question. In simple terms – yes, he should be happy. He’s secure in a job he’s worked towards for as long as he can remember. His friends are here with him, both onstage and off, and he doubts he’ll ever stop loving the experience of performing music to an adoring crowd. He’s still relatively young and free in the grand scheme of things, and he gets to gaze out at the finest view mankind could ever hope to envision on a daily basis.  

And yet, the moments of true happiness feel sparse and fleeting. Reserved to brief moments onstage, or the warm embrace of a friend, or an evening of heavy drinking and dancing in the arms of a stranger. Beyond that he mostly just feels... exhausted. Empty. Like there’s a chunk of his soul missing and he can’t figure out where it is or how to find it.

None of which he has any intention of admitting out loud, especially not to the man on the screen.

“Yeah, I’ve been doing good,” he lies with practiced ease, even summoning up a smile for good measure. It doesn’t linger, and he’s sure Murphy picks up on the way his face falls, but he doesn’t have the ability to care. “Just been a bit tired, like you said. That’s all.”

Murphy hums under his breath, but does not seem particularly concerned by Mark’s answer. Mark almost wishes he would say something else – start waffling on about hotel business or profits or even the bloody taqueria so he can zone out in peace – but there does not appear to be a particular agenda today. Now that the ‘Information Action-Ratio' is open for business, all topic of discussion seems to have dried up, and Mark is still awaiting the eureka moment which will precede his next bright idea.

As the continued silence becomes unbearable, a sudden madness takes hold and Mark begins to ruminate on the idea that has been forming in his mind for weeks now. The proposal is a ridiculous one, despite the fact that it shouldn’t be. Suggesting it to Murphy of all people feels even more so, but for some reason Mark has chosen today to be brave. Brave or stupid, it’s impossible to tell.

“I were actually thinking-” He stops, reassesses, and inwardly scolds himself for what he’s about to say, knowing full well the response he’s going to get. Against his better judgement however, he presses on, prompted by the slight twitch of his opponent’s brow. “I guess I were starting to think it was time for a break. Nothing too drastic, just a couple of weeks or so to get my head in order. Catch up on some rest. I’d stick around in case anyone needed me, but I reckon I could always hand the reins over to someone else in the meantime.��  

The more he speaks, the more ridiculous the notion seems, until there’s little else for him to do beyond bow his head and finish with a feeble, “I dunno, it were just a thought.”

Murphy considers his proposal wordlessly, brows furrowed in silent concentration and expression guarded. He doesn’t look angry, which is unexpected, but he doesn’t particularly look like he’s been moved to action either. Instead, Mark watches as a subtle smirk tugs at the edge of his lips, and when he does speak again it’s in a low, calm tone that manages to seep into his very bones.

“And yet you changed your mind.”

It isn’t phrased like a question.

Before Mark can protest, he feels a warm fog settling over him like a blanket’s embrace, making his vision blur for a split second as his eyes grow heavy. The moment passes almost as quickly as it arose, though even when his vision returns to him, he still feels trapped in a daze. Murphy’s words resound through his skull like an echo bouncing off the walls of a cave, long after he finds himself pulled from his trance back into the present.  

He suddenly recalls mulling over the possibility of a break, not long before losing himself to the charms of the VR mask, and ultimately deciding that it would be a pointless affair. That the tight schedule ahead of him wouldn’t allow a weekend off, let alone a two-week stretch of lazing by the pool or lounging in his hotel room or – god forbid – a lengthy trip back to Sheffield on a company rocket.

“Yeah,” he admits, though he frowns as his voice emerges as small and uncertain. “Yeah, I must have done.”

“Good,” Murphy says with a hint of what might be a smile. It’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely pleased with Mark’s answer or if he just seems less troubled than usual. “Well now that that’s settled, I won’t be keeping you much longer. I’ll catch up with you again next week.”

He doesn’t give Mark time to utter a dazed “yeah” before the call ends with a short beep. The screen is swallowed up by his homepage in a flash; an ancient image of him with the lads, off their faces and grinning stupidly in an old Sheffield pub which has long since closed its doors. He watches numbly as the image of his younger, carefree self morphs into a screensaver of hotel blueprints, before forcing himself to shut down the computer with an air of finality.

Murphy’s weekly calls tend to leave him feeling drained so his current fatigue is nothing new. Perhaps it all ties into his displeasure with business dealings and his particular hatred for the man and his smarmy manner, but more often than not the problem seems to run deeper than that. It always feels like Murphy is much closer to Mark than the thousands of miles between Earth and the moon would suggest, and his influence is inescapable no matter how valiantly Mark fights to resist it. Even the shorter conversations bring little relief. If anything, Murphy’s clear desire for the conversation to end only adds to the impression that he considers Mark to be little more than dirt on the sole of his shoe.  

He’d tried to explain his unease to Jamie once, but his struggle to find the right words likely undersold his discomfort. Jamie had only encountered the man once before, having stumbled in on one of their earlier meetings, though to his credit he’d gathered enough of an impression to deem the man an “insufferable twat”.  

That reminder is all it takes to break Mark out of his funk, and he indulges in a weak smile before lifting himself from the chair with a groan. At some point over the course of their conversation, the faint artificial lights lining his walls like tinsel have kicked in, signaling the arrival of evening. Well, as close an approximation of evening as one can have while living on a celestial body with barely any sunlight. Mark casts a glance over his suite and inwardly debates whether the king-sized bed or the fully-stocked fridge residing in his tiny kitchenette is tempting him more. Despite the creeping exhaustion which seems like an old friend at this point, the latter’s call is loudest, albeit it isn’t food he craves. Drinking himself into a vicious hangover has become the only appropriate response to a call from ‘God’, and many a night has been spent in pale-faced misery with his head resting against the toilet-lid in quiet anticipation. He doesn’t have a show to play tonight so he’s unlikely to be missed, and tomorrow’s guests aren’t due until well into the afternoon so there’s no need for him to put on a polished performance in the morning either.

He quashes that idea quickly enough. Not the part involving alcohol of course, but rather the notion of drowning his sorrows alone, even if there are certainly worse places to do it.  

When he first arrived, his suite had certainly been elegant, albeit in a detached, clinical way that rooms for the ultrarich often are. Cosy, perhaps, but sparsely decorated and lacking any sense of personality that made it feel welcoming. Over the years, however, he’s indulged in several ridiculous purchases and dedicated countless hours to transforming the suite into a homely space. The result is a rather garish mishmash of accessories and decorations which many of his guests would likely baulk at, but seeing as this is the one place where he isn’t required to put on a mask of professionalism, he honestly couldn’t give two shits what anyone else thinks.  

The four-poster bed, tidy kitchenette and oak-wood desk housing his computer and scattered notes are all fairly standard, but the seventies pop-art lining the walls and slender lava-lamps flanking his bed - bathing the room in a shifting aquamarine glow - are a tad more unconventional. Tucked into the corner beside his bed rests his beloved Steinway Vertegrand, draped in multicoloured lights which dance upon her ivory keys. Resting atop the wooden surface lies an opened notebook, the sight of which tugs at his heart insistently. If he were back home, those white pages would have so many notes scrawled into them that they’d have been rendered almost entirely black, but as it stands, he cannot remember the last time a song came into his head. Not that the guests or his bandmates seem to care, but his creatively stale mind bothers him more than it should. Though that certainly doesn’t stop him from playing well into the night, reciting the words to old Bowie or Cohen songs as his fingers glide effortlessly along the keys, gently so as not to earn a complaint from his slumbering neighbours.  

Much as it pains him to admit, the piano is not the suite’s main attraction. The well-stocked bookshelf filled to the brim with dog-eared novels doesn’t hold that title either, though on peaceful nights those well-worn contents certainly play a vital role.  

In the end, nothing can hold a candle to the large, circular window at the far end of the room; its shape and the stunning view beyond giving the impression of an observation deck on a drifting starship. There is no evidence of human interference on this side of the hotel, and the calm grey surface of the moon stretches endlessly beneath a pitch-black sky. Sometimes, if he squints, he can spot the dusty surface of Mars in the distance, and he has dedicated many long hours to resting on the curved, padded windowsill and simply gazing out at the stars. He could waste an evening doing the same now, if he so wished. He could cast aside any intentions of getting royally shitfaced and instead settle down with a good book in his little observation deck, letting the unspoiled view lull him into a sense of peace that not even Murphy can penetrate.

The notion is tempting, and a deep pang of longing grips his heart, but he quashes it down and tears his eyes from the window. Peace is not something that will come to him easily. Murphy had made that crystal-clear in his dismissal of Mark’s request for a break, though he can’t help but wish he’d fought harder. He’d intended to; had even considered the possibility of threatening to quit just to get a rise out of the man, but Murphy had ruined everything by sinking his claws into his brain with little more than a silky voice and the power of suggestion. It’s a remarkable skill of his which will no doubt drive Mark into an early grave one day, but at least then he’ll get some sleep. The urge to consume a large quantity of alcohol rears its ugly head once more, and he surrenders to it with little resistance.  

Not here though. This room is too much of a haven for him to risk decorating it with wine stains and vomit. Of course, without the familiar comforts of Jamie, Nick and Matt, the company of the guests is unlikely to be any better than solitude, but he imagines getting drunk in public with a group of like-minded individuals is slightly less pathetic than the alternative.

Decision made, he staggers to the bathroom to splash cool water over his pale face in the hopes that doing so will wake him up, and stares grimly at the tired figure depicted in the circular mirror. All of his earlier fussing over his hair has at least tamed it to the point where it looks somewhat presentable, though he doubts even a week-long coma could erase the dark shadows encircling his eyes. The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow resides on his cheeks, but after staring numbly at his own reflection for several minutes he finds he cannot gather the motivation to shave. Instead, he simply scrubs his damp face with a towel and forces his lips into a weak smile, as though to reassure himself that he can still appear outwardly human.  

Finally satisfied with the mirror’s image and once again grateful for all the tiny differences between himself and Murphy, he swans out of the bathroom with newfound eagerness and nabs his room key from its perch, before leaving Room 521 behind and exposing himself to the masses.  

[fructuyeux]

CANADA-20 (xxx) COVID-19

3/13/2020 - 3/22/2020

By: Rayce R. Rayos

This undertaking was planned as a daringly creative escape from mounting internally & externally placed workloads, & was slated to take place during the UNLV 2020 Spring Break.  In concurrence with the vacation was the ever-increasing, ever-diversifying socioeconomic fallout, mandates, & obstacles associated with the first global pandemic that I have experienced in my lifetime.  I’d be remiss to not admit that the cheapened airline, lodging, & transportation prices were viewed as a silver lining in an otherwise hysteric & strange time in human history. The following account of the trip is intended to recount the experiences & knowledge gained (from what is remembered), and aid in the recollection of the associated photo-documentation conducted during.

DAY 1 - 3/14 - 7.5 miles

The outgoing flight 1224 from McCarran International Airport to the eventual destination of Niagara Falls, New York was delayed, unbeknownst to me, & so the trip began with a frantic drive to the airport with a hastened goodbye to my roommate & lovely daughter (who wanted dearly to join her father in Canada).  The flight was delayed by an hour, & I made it on the plane.

A quick stop in Denver, CO was followed by a landing in Fort Lauderdale, FL.  Upon landing, the Spirit Airlines attendant notified me that my flight to Niagara Falls had already left (to the complete fault of their flight coordination), & that I’d have to spend the night & following day in Broward County, 15 miles North of Miami.  I was frazzled & upset to have started my trip with such a complication, but after the airline was able to change my ticket free of charge, I decided to extend my trip an extra day. So, I asked them to book my returning flight for a day later (3/20 → 3/21), to which they agreed to do for free, utilizing a COVID-19 flight disruption program.  I booked a room at the Vacation Inn in the middle of the night, & recalibrated my trip schedule.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day in South Florida, & after resting my luggage at the motel for the day (for a fee), I skateboarded to SE 17th Street, hung a right, & breezed through a few miles of million-dollar homes & yachts, over the Causeway Bridge, to what would eventually become Fort Lauderdale Beach Park.  Full of families & largely free of fear, the beach was warm, sunlit, & vivacious.  The locals were out in near-full effect, & I spent the entire day with the rays on my back, the water at my waist, & a respite of relaxation before ensuing madness. I even struck up a conversation with some fellow beachgoers as a result of my Kobe Bryant tattoo, & learned a good deal about quotidian life down there.  I got a workout in on the beach equipment, & some peaceful serenity as I stared down the horizon beyond the Atlantic.  I returned to my motel to acquire my bags & make my way to the airport en route to New York… Little did I know that a bar, Bimini Bay to be exact, neighbored my motel.  I found myself entrenched in an environment eerily similar to that of the Huntridge Tavern, although this spot was half the size with raunchy anal porn playing on multiple screens throughout all of the 5 walls.  Throwing brews back & chain-smoking with the locals to country music was a familiar feeling, & instilled in me further the universal nature of letting loose.  That being said, I lost track of time & had to hightail it out of there via a gentleman’s Uber to the airport.  Another flight ran after & barely boarded in the nick of time… My time in South Florida was as serendipitous as flight disruptions can be.  The most lingering aspect of my time spent there was, indubitably, the sunburn that would come to stick with/on me for the remainder of the vacation. Perhaps the worst case of the sun’s kiss I’ve come to bare.  Before fully coming to this realization, I’m on a plane to New York.

DAY 2 - 3/15 - 10.47 miles

Upon being alive on arrival in New York state at 2 AM in the morning, I resolved to sleep in the IAG airport for the night, especially considering my phone charger at the time had been severely out of whack.  There I lay, curled on an airport bench in Niagara Falls for the night with blistering skin & a scent of fresh tobacco smoke (& ass).  I distinctly recall wrestling with the time I should render myself awake, eventually settling upon 9:30 AM. It was at this time that I found myself the only visible individual in the airport terminal; no staff, no bags, no patrons, nothing.  The unexpected isolation harkened memories of the film 28 Days Later.  Once the drool was free from my chin, I hailed a Lyft to the American-Canadian border, specifically the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge; it was along this ride that my driver informed me that the American dollar was fairly strong against the Canadian dollar to the tune of 1 USD = 1.33 CAD (roughly). This would come to be an extremely welcomed caveat to the remainder of the trip, as most every purchase converted to about 75% of all prices quoted in Canada.

When the border was reached, there I stood as a man with his spirit & belongings intact, & began my trek over the bridge to a foreign land.  With frequent pause, the majesty of the falling water on a brisk Spring day will play in my mind for years to come.  Pictures were taken, deep thought was attempted, & it was a stark moment of gratefulness for the life I have been given.  Next was passing through Canadian Customs at the north end of the bridge, & after being grilled for a moment as to my intentions for entering, the officer pointed me in the direction of the bus stop from which my Greyhound was leaving in less than an hour.  From the Rainbow Bridge to the Whistleblower bridge 2.5 miles north, I was blessed with a walk of forced clarity as I hugged Niagara’s riverway with 75+ pounds of much needed possessions.  I found myself doubting my ability to invite others with me on trips in the future out of a fear for unintentionally inflicting similar tasks upon them.  Nevertheless, I made it to my Greyhound in time and rested on the ride to Toronto.

The recuperation was much needed.  When I awoke I found myself in Canada’s largest city (& the 9th-largest in North America), Toronto, Ontario.  Excitement coursed through my capillaries & once departing from the bus on foot, it was straight to my ‘Chinatown Guest House’ to set down my things & get on the go… this was not the case.  A whole fiasco followed where I was unable to contact the host, thereby unable to access the place I had paid to stay for the night (& the night before, despite Spirit having different plans on DAY 1). The first two Torontonian hours were spent in a Chinatown chicken spot (Gdou’s) where I struggled to gain the cellular abilities necessary to overcome this debacle; I bought a new charger & charger port at the market center across Spadina.  I grappled with frustration in a very real sense, but was utterly appeased to find that I had been sent an email containing the entry instructions from Booking.com.  Relief rushed over me. I grabbed my bags, & hunkered down in a room with a wooden balcony & stunning view of Downtown Toronto to boot.  I showered, shat, & escaped into the city heading South on Spadina.  A brief stop at the famed ‘Graffiti Alley’ along with a trip to the marijuana grocer located me in the heart of the Fashion District, a sector largely reminiscent of Williamsburg, BK (as hip, although much smaller).  After a lovely skate to the harbourfront I was able to catch the sun set behind a vast array of monolithic condos & headquarters. The sun was able to get quite low, however, after having nestled between two skyscrapers, & that shared scene on the pier between myself & just a handful of individuals was quite a sight.  Heading south afterwards, I rolled by the Toronto Music Gardens, through Coronation Park, & through a series of railway tracks amidst arenas (BMO Arena), Centennial Park, Lakeshore Boulevard, & an array educational campuses.  Once Dufferin Street was reached, I headed toward Little Portugal.  On the way there I stopped short (per the advice of a local) & turned north up King Street. Halfway home I stopped at the restaurant Thai Place Too & enjoyed some steaming seafood Tom Yum fit with stimulating conversation from the waitress.  I paid my bill, thanked those there, & pushed onward on King Street traversing a barrage of tunnels, city folk, & shopping centers.  At this juncture I recall being bummed by the lack of nighttime activities, & decided to stop at a bar near my place for the night called Wide Open.

What was to begin & end as a night of the all-evasive ‘one brew’ quickly accelerated into a merry time of mutual drunkenness & fun.  A couple dental hygienists befriended me at the bar, & not far to follow were a West Indian techy working for Google & an Irishwoman on her way out of town.  My memories of what exactly transpired are quite shaky, but an unflinching enjoyment of that particular night at the bar lasts.  I got home at an ungodly hour & crash-land in my bed.

DAY 3 - 3/16 - 7.53 miles

Similar to popping out of bed due to a frightening nightmare, “Where’s my fucking board?!” was the thought & simultaneous phrase that opened my eyes that morning.  I was still drunk, so a hangover wasn’t an issue, but discovered a damn large lump on my right posterior parietal bone & a pool of blood in the sheets where I slumbered. I racked what was left of my brain as to where/how/why this injury came to be sustained, but to no avail.  In hindsight, it’s consistent with braceless backwards fall, & vaguely recall attempting to ride my skateboard back home equipped with a BAC of full-blown ‘no bueno’.  Nevertheless, the pain wasn’t of serious concern (although I had plenty of time to reflect on the very real possibility of me now having to operate in a concussed state). What was of concern was my skateboard, my iPod, & my eighth of weed that I had yet to dip into.  I began retracing my steps and was welcomed with open arms by my beautiful black, four-wheeled bride waiting for me at the front doorstep- Check 1.  I scooped up my board, got dressed & readied for the (likely music-less) day ahead, had a solid conversation with my father, & cleared my stuff from the house just in time to be 4 hours late for checkout.

In one of the more daring tactics employed on the trip, I stashed my big purple duffle bag (containing clothes & other non-essentials) & my backpack (containing my laptop, passport & other very-essentials) in the empty garbage bin to the side of the front door.  This was a huge gamble, & one that would weigh somewhat on my conscience for the coming hours, despite heavy medication- re-upped on weed, Check 2.  During my second trip to Graffiti Alley I encountered a bum in mid-tweak repeatedly pulling his pants up & down amidst a backdrop of beautiful art, & naturally this struck me as microcosmic of the whole of Toronto.  The bar I had chanced upon the night prior didn’t resume service until 4 in the evening, & so I had a few hours to kill which were spent speaking with various loved ones & contemplating last night’s events as I bobbed & weaved a hangover.  4 o’clock rolls around & I walk into the bar greeted by a smiling bartender with an unclaimed red iPod.  THIS WAS A PERSONAL WIN OF GREAT PROPORTIONS, & solidified my successful navigation through mindless debauchery abroad- Check 3.  I felt the proverbial wind was once again behind my back, & opted to knock out the city’s landmarks North of Spadina Avenue, largely via Adelaide & King Streets until Yonge.

Post-modern magnificence a la architecture kept my chin up as I managed to dodge pedestrian after pothole after Porsche.  Sundown was not far off & the gleaming beams reflected softly off the mirrored panels some seventy-five plus stories on all sides.  A real embodiment of the term ‘hustle & bustle’ was laid out in front of me, complete with a citizenry whose diversity mimicked that of my own home a world away.  The gritty attitude that I’ve come to associate with East coast cities (specifically the colder ones) was alive & well here, evidenced in reluctance to help guide tourists or even tell the time of day. I loved it, & judged it as genuine more so than anything else.  It should also be noted that the music playing in my ears throughout my time in the ‘Six’ was exclusive to the stylings of Drake, a rapper native of the city with references to its contents (streets, sides of town where the pretty girls sleep, subpopulations, parks, etc.) found abundantly in his lyrics.

When Yonge was reached, I peered west to a ton of things going on, but elected to go east.  This turned out to be a wise decision. After a few blocks I was greeted by the area of town most closely associated with the Toronto skyline & its historical foundations on the illustrious Front Street. Here is where I stood mouth agape with the enormity & incomprehensible complexity of the city on full view.  I touched the base of the CN tower & spent a good amount of time in awe as it registered (despite the Stratosphere being superior in my eyes), traversed the Railway museum set just outside of Olympic Park, gazed upon the Rogers Center where the Blue Jays come to bat, & ended at the water of Lake Ontario at the sandy Harbour Square Park where some solid skating took place.  After some time, the thought of my possessions having lasted (or not) in the trash receptacle all this time prompted me to retrieve them, & so back to Chinatown I booked it.  The moment of truth arrived when I got off my board at 83 W. Sullivan Street, & lo & behold, my stuff was nestled just as I had left it some 5 hours before.  Feeling giddy from the travel-savvy risks taken, I was on to grab dinner with an old colleague of mine who happened to be doing her post-baccalaureate studies there.  T. & I, a former classmate at Valley High, met at what we would come to find as nothing more than another closed restaurant with a COVID-19 newsletter plastered on the door.  We deliberated playfully on what we should now do, & after having happened upon the  ‘T O R O N T O’ sign & all of its illuminated glory, a 6-pack of Stella Artois from the rather hidden LCBO in the mega-commercial Eaton Center became the night’s main entree.  Polite exchanges with exceedingly conversational locals made for a nice segue as we awaited our second Lyft ride to the Harbourfront.

The Harbourfront Centre was largely uncrowded as temperatures dipped below zero (Celsius, of course), & after a brew-cigarette combo, it was in an instance that snow began falling from the blackened sky & onto everything in sight… including our unsheltered selves.  It was as surprising as it was splendid (at least for a desert cactus like me) to have been outdoors somewhere prior to snowfall & then to behold its beginning.  A few days prior, I had been notified that the ski lift an hour North of Ottawa whose mountain I intended to shred had been closed, & so, I found myself with a decision to make: stay in the Toronto area an extra night or board the bus I had booked & crashing in a twin-sized bus seat for the night & do who knows what in Ottawa…  Motivated by the phrase, “What the hell are you going to do in Ottawa?” I chose the former & began searching for a nearby hotel room.  My homegirl, sitting beside me, of course overheard, & more-than-kindly offered a guest room in her condo as a suitable place to rest my head for the evening. I accepted, & we whisked ourselves out of the snow to a 12th-story condo in the 95+% Chinese suburb of Markham, ON.  An once-schoolmate was changed into a dear friend after having exhibited flawless hospitality in the form of whiskey, toast, toothpaste, a bed & sublime conversation.  We jabbed & joked in Francais (with hers being superior to my own), & this was a much-needed introduction to everyday dialogue in the different tongue of the Quebecois whom I would spend most of the days to follow with.

DAY 4 - 3/17 - 4.38 miles

I awoke early in the morning after not being able to sleep too much due to my skin’s incessant irritation, as well as a pseudo-insomnia I’ve come to expect from myself when on vacation.  To fill the time between my awakening & my host’s, I read as much of The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz as I could retain, ending with the last chapter left unread.  As a result, the mantras prompted by the book that one is to agree with from within his/herself resonated with me.  They are ‘be impeccable with your word,’ ‘don’t take anything personally,’ ‘don’t make any assumptions,’ & ‘always do your best.’ Fondly, I looked to these statements as a source of my second wind around this time, as the physical toll of my endeavors began somewhat to present themselves.

When T awoke, we engaged in parley for another hour or so before trudging to the neighborhood bus/rail station where she purchased my ticket & we ran goofily to make the train before the doors swiftly shut.  During the train ride back to Downtown Toronto I was able to sit quietly in my thoughts, as well as get some business dealings out of the way via phone.  The walls flanking the tracks were riddled in graffiti of both very high- & very low-quality pieces on fleeting displays.  We were headed to Union Station, the hub for all non-automobile commutes in the metropolitan area, & second-largest transportation facility in North America, servicing some seventy-two million humans yearly.  A stunning structure of Greco-Roman design with pristine pillars, it was a treat to walk the halls of such an obviously integral establishment.  Soon we said our brief farewell & parted ways so that she could go to school & I could purchase a rail ticket to Ottawa, ON- set to leave later in the day.

I purchased my rail ticket to Ottawa for 6:30 PM & stashed my luggage at the bagging station inside the terminal, leaving me with 3 ½ hours to get the last of my rocks off in a city unique to itself. I went straight for Yonge-Dundas square after having caught a glimpse of the scene days prior, & once in the center I felt a likening to Times Square, both personally & perceivably.  There was no better wayward idea at the time than to bust off some skate tricks in the center of such commotion, & was able to have a solid 15-20 minutes on the board before security (much like their American counterparts) gave me the good ol’ boot.  Onto St. Lawrence Market I dashed, the bayside market most closely associated with Canadian grub.  Here I tried peameal for the first time, & was left affirmed of Canadian courtesy, although the meal itself wasn’t anything to write home about.  Yet another stop at Tim Horton’s for some pastries seemed in order before heading back to Union Station.  Back at the staging port for my bus it was revealed to passengers that there was a 50-minute delay- just the break I needed to step out & smoke a potent bowl.  When I did finally step outside after a few lefts & maybe a right, there in front of me stood the Scotiabank Arena where the Toronto Raptors (reigning NBA Champions) play their home games.  To be frank, I was at the rear of the practice court, but nevertheless, happy to happen to be there. The train boards, takes off, & a long list of Canadian towns were slept through & bypassed in the dead of night.  I hailed a lift from the Ottawa Train Station to my hostel for the night. The place served as the first jail in city, & had since been neatly converted into a hostel with guests sleeping in tight-fitting ‘jail cells.’  I was on floor 6 in cell number 613, the quarters of a long-gone inmate by the name of Angelo Villamino. I relished this opportunity to mix the excitement of historicism with the usually lull nature of lodging.  The rest itself was subpar as my skin had begun peeling profusely during the day, & remained red hot during the night.

DAY 5 - 3/18 - 16.24 miles

Morning comes quickly & I am tasked to clear my cell of my things in a playful return to freedom.  Breakfast was held in the dining hall of the jailhouse, aptly ascribed the ‘oldest dining hall in Ottawa.’ After replenishing my body, I held my bags at the front desk, & hurled myself into the city; I had a little over one hour to squeeze as much of the country’s capital into my memory banks as possible.  I began by searching for the Parliament building (more like a castle) where the bulk of legislation for the world’s second-largest country (in landmass) largely transpires.  No Prime Minister Trudeau or politicians in sight, as the effects of the Coronavirus pandemic amplified by the day.  I believe this is the day that the Prime Minister of Canada closed the southern border to incoming Americans, followed swiftly by our President’s mutual refusal of incoming foreign travelers at the border.  Admittedly, this was not of concern to me, as I figured (& thankfully was later proven correct) that a U.S. citizen would be permitted to come home.  In hindsight, I perhaps predicted such measures being taken & allowed them to expedite my plans of getting to Canada before being unable to enter as an American.

Anyway… by Parliament I glided taking whatever pauses necessary to piece together how things came to be as they are up there from an academic perspective, but carefully preserving the right to take the utmost tourist-y photos (much like others do at 1600 Pennsylvania).  A breathtaking building it was indeed, & that was just the view from the street!  I continued along my path, circumnavigating the center of the city which took me to Victoria Island & into the province of Quebec for a brief moment (although I was not aware of the provincial border at the time).  Like my time in Niagara, I elected to skate from a southern bridge to a northern one, the latter being Alexandra bridge over the Ottawa River.  What a special moment this turned out to be as my wheels clanked over the wooden boards of the bridge, seemingly to the dismay of the townspeople.  I was not the least bit concerned for this harmless transgression, as I had been otherwise captivated by my backside view of Parliament sitting atop its hill.  It felt as if I had been transported to Transylvania, & the Victorian edifice gave me a sense of passion for human ingenuity.  I made it back to the HI Ottawa Jail Hostel, aligned my belongings, & requested a ride to the Ottawa Greyhound terminal to catch my bus to Montreal. Here is precisely where Francais surpassed English as the primary mode of communication for the foreseeable future.  The beloved Quebecois are very proud of their Francophone heritage, as it is the written language on road signs & nearly all signage everywhere (with a distinctive lower regard for English).

Arrival in Montreal occurred after the couple-hour bus ride.  Immediately I was made aware of the foothold in normalcy that the French language commanded there, mainly because everything was in French (& not always in English).  Outside the bus station, during my coordination with my Airbnb host, multiple homeless individuals approached me in search of loose change or a cigarette. This would be otherwise unworthy of mention had it not been for their guttural requests being in a language outside of English; I remember finding it striking to conceive a natively French-speaking bum whose domain I was now a guest in.  My stuff & I made yet another march to the place I would come to call a temporary home- the apartment of Alix & Marion.  I was mid-toke when my host, Alix, motioned to me to come to the stairs at the foot of the door & take my entry. A simple ‘bonjour,’ we greeted each other with, & I demonstrated to her that I would prefer to speak in her primary language in an effort to sharpen my own ear & mouth, to which she gladly agreed.  The remainder of our exchanges over roughly the next 48 hours took place in Francais, with varying degrees of contextual & vernacular depth.  The common Montrealaise person is a French-speaker with a veritable accent when they switch to English.  As the old addage goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.  I met this challenge to navigate a new cityscape & probe its peoples in an embracing way with occasional angst, constant excitement, & most profoundly with a thirst for knowledge.

My goods were locked away in my room, I had just showered, so I grabbed my board & set sail in search of the city’s lifebloods. Beginning in Chinatown (which usually tends to be either exactly or nearby places I stay in cities), I opted to head west in search of Le Plateau & Mile’s End, sections of the town celebrated for the globality & execution of their cuisinieres.  Some poutine boeuf hache from Main Deli on Rue Ste. Laurent seemed the right call, & turned out better than my imagination had guessed.  From Mile’s End southward I was bound, seeking to lay eyes upon L’Universite de Montreal.  Little did I know it was set atop one of the many tiers of Mt. Royal at the city’s center.  Getting there was rather trying, but the views of Quebec’s largest city at night from the campus, coupled with the exhilaration of board-bombing down the occasional hill, left little to be desired & much to be remembered.  Further south of the University lied L’Oratoire de St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Oratory), a Catholic-driven destination featuring towering stained-glass windows, a gathering hall for services that rivaled the most Mormon of Tabernacles, along with a balcony’s viewpoint all its own.  After struggling to find the exit from the Oratory, I found it in my best interest to begin the journey back to my bed.  A complete encircling of Mt. Royal park was supposed to cap the day’s adventure as night had already befallen hours before.  Perhaps fate had other plans in mind.

My phone had been rendered useless at this point, & I had little more than my intelligence to rely on to get me back home.  Unfortunately, my mental capacity had waned significantly over the course of the day’s doings, & over the next 2 or 3 hours I could be plainly seen wandering somewhat aimlessly from roadside map to roadside map.  The outcome of being well off-track was spectacular, however.  I cannot help but feel I got to experience the city in a different & daring light.  Half of me wanted to return home, & the other half wanted to investigate each eye-catching facet; more often than not, I let the need to investigate prevail & tacked some formidable mileage onto the invisible odometer of my skateboard throughout the night.  After some much-needed guidance from a man walking & a bus driver, I was able to piece together just enough of my surroundings to locate 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth. Before heading home, I stopped into an Indian restaurant called SpiceBoys, where I requested tandoori chicken with curry rolled into naan bread.  The only problem was that their card terminal was unable to accept any of my debit or credit cards, & so, with one stroke of effortless Indian-Canadian kindness, I was gifted a hearty dinner for the night free of charge.  With the help of daylight, the next day I uncovered that I had thoroughly explored Downtown Montreal (via Rue Ste. Catherine), the Red-Light District, the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), & the Quartier des Spectacles (Entertainment District).  I crept back into the apartment, which creaked with every floorboard, into my room & resigned to fatigue.

DAY 6 - 3/19 - 8.64 miles

I remained asleep in my quarters for the morning’s entirety, having groveled thirteen hours through the mandatory regeneration of my body & mind.  Near this time I had an extended conversation with my hostess in which I requested to place my bags there after check-out the following day & attached reasoning to the request… completely in Francais! She was more than accommodating.  Awakened & thoughts of the night prior still scrambling my brain, I showered (peeling skin off myself for the vast majority of time in the water), clothed myself in some hot shit, & set out to cross the St. Lawrence River.  The cartographic struggles that were now in the past (plus a charged phone) helped me immensely in getting to my desired destinations in the coming days.  I set out southward on Boulevard Rene-Levesque seeking to hit Griffintown & St. Henri before taking the Wellington Street bridge over to the L’isle de Ste. Helene (St. Helen Island).  The riverfront at Sq. St. Patrick was an intoxicating mixture of sights & sounds; inlaid with a frozen stream, industrious (sometimes abandoned) infrastructure, & graffiti/street art that seamlessly colorized a scene already full of vibrance made for a quite memorable portion.  At the point where most individuals had turned back due to the icy paths & an increasingly disinviting ambience, I progressed under Highway 10.  On a route I was positive few or none had taken before, I stood roadside at dusk having to think intensely upon my next move & if it was the correct one.  Wrong ones were made, gloves were dropped, but in time & effort I was able to find Avenue Pierre-Dupuy.

For a handful of kilometers, I skated along the shipyard gazing upon the city that I had been so immersed in & with.  I was trying to practice kicking & pushing in the ‘goofy’ stance, so that I could face the spectacles & not apartment complexes (to mild avail).  Before I knew it, I reached Parc Dieppe (Dieppe Park), a park on the north tip of the Cite du Havre & the starting point of the Pont de la Concorde (Concord Bridge).  I would begin crossing without giving myself the time to let fear fester.  Cars sped by at a half-meter’s length as my wheels rolled over tidbits of gravel, & more present in my mind, over a large body of water.  I recall taking a few moments of pause at the bridge’s midpoint to survey my surroundings, & beautifully dominating they were.  Humbled I felt, truly.  As if my existence equated to a ripple in the river below, & with my individual ripple I can become a hurricane, or mud.  The end of the bridge was a comforting sight.

To reach L’isle de Ste. Helene was the goal for the day & having gotten off the east end of the Pont de la Concorde, I was finally there.  A long walk up the eastern coast of the island awaited me & was met with a heart teeming with adventure.  Here I had time alone.  With no other humans nearby, I let my mind run wild with thoughts of the trip to this point & how, in the grand scheme of things, I felt I was at where I should be; perhaps not geographically as one’s physical station is usually inconsequential. But in my mental state I was home, & home alone at that.  Onward & northward I strode through the Parc Jean-Drapeau, laying eyes upon the ‘Biosphere’- a spherical structure on the island meant to champion ecology.  Trees & ice accompanied me on the brisk walk to the north end of the island.  There, Pont Jacques-Cartier (Jacques Cartier Bridge) awaited me in all of its steel beam splendor.  Thankfully, the lanes of traffic & the pedestrian walkway had a divider between them, as well as a protective gate on the side where one might otherwise go overboard.  This was all I needed to hop back on my board & skate my weathered boots over the St. Lawrence for the last time.  On the bridge there were workers toiling away & the dazzling light sequence of the bridge itself made for a surreal experience.  In the distance I could see the bridge, lit in rainbow colors, that I had crossed merely an hour or two before this new bridge that served as my current vantage point.  Thoughts on the ephemerality of my existence at large (exemplified by having been way over yonder ‘then’ & here ‘now’) & the absolute need for self-belief against a vacuum of chance pervaded my tiny brain.  The Pont Jacques-Cartier provided a special moment in my life that I can attest to having been rarely duplicated before.  For reasons beyond me, I shed a tear & smoked a bowl before getting off.

Once off, I felt my way through Gay Village & back down into the Quartier Latin where I stopped for dinner at a quaint, but busy, Napoli Pizzeria.  The owner was Italian.  The waiter too.  Both spoke Italian, English, & French, but after a while a Mexican family of 6 on vacation from Monterrey was seated, & the working duo displayed their aptitude in the Spanish language as well, going so far as to tell jokes anecdotally.  I grinned & shared in the aura of the exchange, although I likely resembled a dirty drifter in the corner.  Coming from such worldly humans, naturally the smoked salmon pizza topped with capers & onions was not lacking in the least bit.  So, I ordered a large box for take-out after munching away the smaller portion & took my leave.  On the way home, I stopped at a Second Cup Coffee Co. location & had a brief verbal volley with the barista in request of a cheesecake. He complimented my accent when speaking French, & even likened it to that of a French person (maybe meaning not Quebecois), despite glaring difficulties in my comprehension & rebuttals.  Riding an emotional (& literal) high during the descent of a simply remarkable day of jam-packed novelty & sensation in all forms (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, introspection), I returned to the apartment for  my last full night in the region.

DAY 7 - 3/20 - 2.42 miles

My time in Montreal was now nearing an end, & I began to hold thoughts of coming home in high regard.  When the sluggishness of sleep washed away in the shower (insert skin peeling of the largest proportions here), I readied my luggage & cleaned my temporary room as best as I could to eliminate all signs of a horrific sunburn & accompanying cranial gash.  With the green light from my hostesses to store my luggage in the apartment until the night’s 10:50 bus ride to Plattsburgh, NY, I was intent upon checking off the last few Montreal-bound goals that remained.  This came chiefly in the form of a desire to reach the Mt. Royal lookout in order to take in the city-sphere from its namesake mountain.  Originally, I had intended to skateboard there from the apartment, but after a few blocks of dousing rain, I called an Uber to scoop me up (after finding out that Lyft doesn’t yet operate in Quebec) & take me.  The friendly Uber driver, Vincent, let me out at the drivable point closest to the Chateau Mont Royal, & didn’t hesitate to call me crazy for being there in such ferocious conditions.  He pointed me in the proper direction which was aided by a fellow human headed toward the same spot as myself.  Precipitation worsened as the half-mile March was underway, but it was worth every goosebump & raindrop once I reached the outlook.

A dreary backdrop of low-hanging, gray clouds & the smell of rain caressed the skyline’s perimeter in a way that rang true & imprinted upon me a stunningly naked Montreal.  An intimate version of the city it was, gripped by the unknown like the rest of the world, yet resilient enough for entrepreneurialism to survive in pockets.  Having already been to many of the places now set in my sight made the moment all the more fulfilling & full circle.  A naive feeling of having ‘conquered’ the city laid bare before me was soon supplanted by the revelation of the realer self-conquest. Half-frozen water panging my face & wind gusts pulling & pushing without cease proved no match for the firmness I had found, in feet & fortitude.  This was the quintessential culmination of the week I endured, & one one-hundred percent befitting of such a voyage.

I made my escape of Mount Royal with haste before my inadequate (but stylish) clothing proved a fatal error.  Originally, I had the notion to return to Main Deli because my last meal there was so damn good, but in the moment I opted for Schwartz’s Deli across the street in the name of variety.  A heaping steak sandwich slatted between two tiny slices of wheat with mustard proved to be the house specialty, & was served less than a minute after being ordered… It was alright.  Homeward bound with a full stomach, I decided to walk into a store that I had held in the back of my mind after passing by my first day there, Cul-de-Sac.  This place was happening!  The owner of the store was gracious in her conversation as I browsed.  I eventually confessed my inspiration(s) gained from her shop (& plans to recreate in a respectful, homage-paying manner).  We spoke at length about various topics, from our being of parents, to our being of owners of similar retail operations, to her allegiance to Quebec & not the whole of Canada.  In fact, she was the foremost messenger of the separatist mentality that the people of the Quebec province displayed, on their countenance & in their conduct.  I purchased a few of the items in her shop, she threw me some good stuff for free, & we wished well upon each other at my exit.  That was the last recreational stop in Montreal, & soon thereafter I retreated to the Quartier des Spectacles to acquire my things.  I was graced with the time to charge my phone & rest my bones for about 45 minutes.  It was during this time that a cherished exchange between myself, Alix, & Marion (a hostess with whom I’d only spoken with via Airbnb messaging up to this point) occurred.  It had become expected that I was asked what I did with my day, & that is how the chat began.  I explained the day’s travels, thanked the duo for being a source of comfort & ease at the beginnings & ends of trying days.  I also thanked them for putting up with my butchering of their language (as each inhabitant of the apartment was from France) for the sake of practice, which they met befuddled & were quick to praise my ability to communicate/intonate in their complicated speech.  They even went so far as to say that my speaking has a native’s accent & were super appreciative of my having taught myself over the last couple years.  A mutual encounter I cannot help but feel it was, & I remain grateful for their pleasant & inviting demeanors.  I climbed down the long stairwell of 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth once & for all & signaled for Uber to take me to the Longueil Metro.

I had arrived at the bus station with plenty of time to spare, having somewhat learned the errors of my ways.  I was serious about not wanting to cut anything close with such little time left for my returning flight home. I waited patiently at my gate for my bus to arrive & whisk me away back to the states for my 2:59 AM flight out of Plattsburgh, New York (Upstate).  Sadly, the bus’s arrival time came & went, & at the mention of the ticketing booth agent, I waited another 45 minutes for it.  Having received no notification of cancellation from the bussing company, no accurate updates on the whereabouts of the bus, & minute after minute shaving away from takeoff time, I was forced to call an Uber to pick me up from the metro station & take me to the border- this cost one-hundred Canadian dollars.  We stopped at an ATM, grabbed some snacks, & finally Ridaha & I were on our way.  A fruitful & insightful chat aided us along the drive, & I was able to disentangle much French from this nice Tunisian man.  An hour passed & we arrived at the U.S. border.

As the car pulled up to the border, U.S. Customs agents ordered repeatedly for my driver’s documentation.  A brief argument between an unsuspecting Ridaha & an extremely serious officer took place.  The very odd circumstances were eventually explained, Ridaha was directed to make a U-turn & head home while I exited the vehicle, grabbed my bags, & headed to the border patrol substation.  It was there that I was informed that I would need to call a cab (as Uber wasn’t functioning in this particular location), but to complicate matters drastically, the taxi services weren’t doing the ‘border run’ that night.  My heart fell into my stomach, & I had entered a phase of worry that I had yet to reach at any point along the trip.  Thankfully, one Officer Burdette walked me to the West Service Road behind the U.S. Border Patrol & Customs Champlain Station & pointed in the direction of the nearest place still open- a Peterbilt truck stop about a half mile down a pitch-black road.  He also made it a point to mention that if I attempted to hitchhike on main Highway 87, I would be arrested.  This oh so tangible road brought with it intangible emotion after emotion as I grappled with triumph & failure, each still hanging in the balance.  It had become very important outside of my own ambitions for me to make the plane & get home, & I was purely keen to not have loved ones worry about my wellbeing any longer.  A frantic mixture of skating & speed-walking got me to the Peterbilt stop, & by the grace of God, the taxi company agreed to send out a driver for me & get me to the airport from this largely equidistant pick-up point. While I waited in freezing temperatures in an Eddie Bauer peacoat on the side of the road at the smallest hour, another group of U.S. Customs agents spotted me & sought to question my being there.  They asked for identification & reasoning to which I was forthcoming.  They wished me well & left.

Thirty minutes later, a portly man of sound intelligence & world view taxied me to the Plattsburgh International Airport (after having stopped at an ATM for cash to pay him). I entered the empty airport at 2:30 AM for my 2:59 AM flight with the driver’s assurance that I’ll be able to get right through TSA & onto the plane.  More than sadly, he was mistaken.  The Spirit Airlines attendant had vacated his post thirty minutes before takeoff to aid the onboarding crew, as per policy, of course.  I rushed up to the barren TSA line & inquired about my chances of getting on the plane.  They responded that the flight door had already been closed, & that it was now an impossibility for me to board.  Needless to say, it was now impossible for me to get home on time, too. I felt I had fallen just short of a buzzer-beating victory that I had already affirmed to those who had expressed concern. I had begun to list the many variables that could have gone differently to get me on to that flight: 1) why didn’t my bus in Longueil show up or even notify me of cancellation? 2) why didn’t I deem the bus ride a lost cause sooner & get an Uber sooner? 3) why did we have to stop at an ATM so off-route when leaving Montreal? 4) Couldn’t they have held me & my driver up a bit less at the border? 5) Why couldn’t the taxi agency send someone a half-mile further than where they would eventually come to pick me up? 6) Why did this portly man with a good view of the world have to drive the speed limit? Would he have driven faster if I didn’t entertain his subjects? 7) Why the fuck does the agent at the airline counter leave the counter thirty minutes before a flight is scheduled to take off?

When the airline attendant did return, he was sympathetic to my cause & willing to help find a solution.  Employing a similar program to the one used at the beginning of the trip, he was able to book the exact flight for the following day free of charge.  This eased me greatly.  Questions & doubt lingered, but I soon picked my chin up & hopped in another cab headed for the America’s Best Value Inn. This would be my impromptu safe haven on this frigid Friday night, & I checked in at 3:30 AM.

DAY 8 - 3/21 - 0 miles

Today is my sister’s & my aunt’s shared birthday.  I wished dearly to be home by now next to my daughter, & to begin decompressing the week’s peaks & valleys. Yet, here I sit in the lobby of the cheap motel I spent last night in.  I’ve been in the same chair since 1:15 PM, & it is now 12:49 AM (with the exception of a few bathroom/water breaks & a brief standing up to accept ordered wings & garlic bread).  This unexpected & obligation-less window in time was spent formulating this transcript of a vacation I can confidently say will come to prove formative as life presses on.  One not soon to be forgotten, nor the lessons gained therein forsaken. My flight to Las Vegas via Fort Lauderdale, Florida & Dallas, Texas is due to leave in a couple hours.  With my lack of punctuality deeply ingrained, I resolve to close this memoir in saying that the constant struggle with mortality across Earth & in minds amidst these troubling waters was on full display in every city & each individual’s expression.  Death and Disease on the tongues of the media & man the world over, but life itself (outside of the biological & inside of the metaphorical sense) is to be explored & discovered lovingly… never to be shied away from or merely sustained.  With our collectively restricted circumstances reaching a fever pitch in what people can & cannot, should & should not, will & will not do, I resolve to digress & remain profoundly thankful for love, safety, health & home. 

[mmmmalo]

This is a (meandering, non-exhaustive) overview of Homestuck’s use of

by which I do not mean examples of psychological realism in a character’s words and deeds, but rather the various means by which characters’ psyches are expressed outside of themselves. I wish to elaborate on how thoughts, feelings, and desires may find expression in the environment, in the medium of the story itself, and in the form of other characters.

That’s perhaps a little vague, so here’s a ready example of what I mean: brainghost!Dirk. He talks with Jake, but since he is a construct of Jake’s mind, Jake is essentially talking to himself. Brainghost!Dirk is an alienated medium for voicing Jake’s own thoughts, irretrievably distorted through its intermingling with what Jake thinks/wishes Dirk would say (not unlike a puppet). I am claiming that this mode of characterization is not a unique to Jake; the blurring of inner and outer voices is omnipresent throughout the story.

Or, rephrased: what I hope to show is that a great deal of Homestuck is haunted with brain-ghosts, of one kind or other.

An early example of this kind of storytelling in science fiction would be the film Forbidden Planet (1956). The film contains a pair of conflicts which eventually reveal themselves to be one: the scientist Morbius wants some space explorers to get off his planet, and an immense monster (pictured above) appears during the night to attack the explorers. Morbius, it turns out, has been experimenting with a machine capable of turning thought into reality. So when Morbius sleeps, his dream of driving off the trespassers materializes in the form of beast that forcefully enacts the wish.

The beast is declared a “monster from the id”, the “id” being a concept borrowed from Freudian psychology, indicating the part of the mind responsible for the unfiltered generation of impulses, of urges. In the film, this passing mention of psychoanalysis precedes the revelation of Morbius’s link to the beast.

Homestuck hints towards its own mixing of thought and reality with a device similar to Morbius’s dream machine: Sburb.

A snapshot of Dave’s Sburb client (1519) shows that the final subprograms launched during the games installation make reference to terminology associated with Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud. The terms suggest that Sburb interacts with the ideas in the kids’ subconscious minds (archetypes) and brings symbolic representations of these ideas into conscious reality (manifests the ideas). The game alters the means by which reality is constructed. As with Forbidden Planet, a major result of this is id monsters.

When John slips on a staircase, he flips out (left, 560). And when he nearly launches himself into the abyss with the Pogo Hammer, he has to take a nap before he has calmed down enough to continue (center, 637). Immediately following both moments of vertigo, massive ogres appear. The eventual fight with the ogres begins after John looks over the edge of the platform above his house, into the abyss (right, 662).

All of this suggests that Sburb is reacting to John’s emotional state (fear) to produce in-game content. The game functions as a waking dream.

It should also be noted that Sburb provokes the reactions it elicits. Karkat once mentioned a nagging feeling that the game was mocking him by giving him a planet covered in the candy red blood he had spent a lifetime attempting to hide (2301). Karkat’s paranoia seems to be correct here, and moreover applicable to the cast in general -- John’s house was likely placed atop an immense spire /in order to/ bring John’s dread of falling into sharp relief. The suspicion can be substantiated with a few related motifs.

The story provides two likely origins for John’s fear of heights: his own fall from the slime pogo as a child (2626) and the death of Nanna, which John believed resulted from her falling from a ladder and being crushed by a book (52). What’s more, Sburb’s invocation of the Fall of Man (Adam and Eve being cast from the Garden of Eden) via biting into an apple hints that there is an allegorical significance to John’s more literal fear of heights. 

We can apply these patterns to other characters in an attempt to learn more about them. LOLAR being covered in ocean suggests that Rose is afraid of water, with the likely cause of Rose finding Jaspers dead and washed up on a riverbank (presumed drowned). Dave speaks openly about how his sword fights with Bro left him anxious of metal sounds (7749), meaning the grinding gears of LOHAC were a personalized hell for Dave. Jade’s first imp manifests in response to the sight of a yellow aurora (2998), inviting the reader to investigate why that image invokes a fear response.

But we won’t get to into all of that, not for now at least. Let’s take a step back.

For my reading of the imps as manifestations I’ve been leaning heavily on a piece of film theory devoted to the effects of sequential images. The sequence above constitutes two observations. One, that by this arrangement the viewer will infer the old man sees and reacts to the middle figure. Two, that the viewer’s impression of the old man will change based on the content of the central image, even if his expression is the same. Is he smiling at Nepeta or warm embrace Marvus’s armpit? The answer may influence your interpretation of the little smile.

The neat thing about montage is that the interrupting frame need not bear any obvious relation to what precedes or follows in order to be subject to a causal reading. Moments that occur sequentially can be read as triggering one another, even if what follows any particular moment appears to be a break rather than a continuation.

Example: There’s a moment where Aranea walks into Jake’s dream, and brainghost!Dirk immediately starts razzing Jake about his attraction to the alien girl and threatening to give him a boner. The scene is interrupted by Jack committing a series of gratuitous murders. We then cut back to Jake, and bg!Dirk is now teasing him about his dirty thoughts.

DIRK: You have got to be kidding. Did you seriously just think something THAT dirty? DIRK: You must be doing this on purpose to spite me now. I mean, just wow dude. That was x-rated as fuck. 

JAKE: (No no stop. See youre talking about it and now i cant help it!) JAKE: (You are psyching me into having dirty thoughts get fucking lost you interloping brain douche!!!) 

DIRK: Don't worry, I'm gone. It's like a goddamn peep show in here and I feel like a sleazy piece of shit watching this from a dark corner of your mind. DIRK: You have a graphic imagination, English. I'm kind of impressed. 

JAKE: (Shut up theyre just thoughts its not even like im trying to have them THEY DONT MEAN ANYTHING!)

The ostensible joke is that bg!Dirk is exaggerating or outright fabricating his account of Jake’s thoughts in order to hassle him. But by way of montage, one can infer that we /have/ seen Jake’s dirty thoughts, in the form of Jack’s display of overwhelming bloodlust. Violence is superimposed over the sexually explicit. 

Whether the scene literally takes place in Jake’s mind is secondary (though such a reading would explain why Jake’s brain ghost is even aware of Jack) -- the use of montage allows Jack’s actions to function as a /metaphor/ for Jake’s thought.

Another example of Jack functioning as a murderous/libidinous avatar would be the death of Mom and Dad. At their little tea party, Dad spills some wine on Mom’s clothes and declares that she must disrobe immediately (so that Dad might launder the garment). Mom calls the aromas wafting from his pipe sensuous. The two clasp hands and declare that all they need is eachother. Then they die! The joke is that while Bec Noir is ostensibly an interruption to date night, he also functions as its culmination, with murder acting as substitute for the sex act.

The link between violence and sexuality is perhaps a hard sell, but I hope to convince you that the reading holds merit. Let me emphasize that the very act of Mom and Dad holding hands was itself sexually loaded.

I owe to HS liveblogger elfstuck the insight that John’s linear 3 card sylladex is a reflection of his short attention span. Consider how John’s role as a game character means he is thrown all around his room, back and forth, as the player figures out what to make of the situation. If you ignore the fourth wall, you’re left with an extremely distracted person, who attention flows easily from one object to another. Accepting the object-in, object-out nature of John’s sylladex and the resulting shenanigans as a metaphor for this, it would follow that the sylladex in general can offer an abstract representation of thought.

In passing, I can mention how the enormity of Jake’s sylladex (it cannot even fit on the page, and contains an object that exceed most players’ size limits) would imply that despite evidence to the contrary, the boy likely has a big brain (and perhaps its being offscreen suggests Jakes own unawareness of much of his own thought). Dirk’s comment about avoiding items that are difficult to shoehorn into his mnemonic schema (4535) could be read as a difficulty maintaining information that doesn’t fit into his personal mental models. The sylladex becomes a metaphor for the mind that requires interpretation.

Under this mode of thought, the moments when Jade’s pictionary modus fails to correctly interpret her drawing become akin to a mental slip-of-the-tongue. For the Tanglebuddies to be misread as enmeshed hands implies an association, in Jade’s mind, of horny Squiddles and clasped hands. John affirms the association much later by miming Tanglebuddies as he attempts to grapple with the question of whether Jade and Davesprite are sexually compatible (5294):

JOHN: how do things even work if you marry a sprite?

JADE: what do you mean 

JOHN: i mean... JOHN: ok, he has a ghost butt, for one thing. 

JADE: uh JADE: so 

JOHN: a GHOST BUTT, jade! 

JADE: SO WHAT IF HE HAS A GHOST BUTT!!!!! 

JOHN: i'm just saying... 

JADE: WHATEVER YOURE JUST SAYING, JUST STOP SAYING IT! JADE: and whatever youre trying to gesture with your hands there, stop doing that too!

It should also be noted that before launching into her “daring dream”, waxing poetic on the miraculous union of the human and the animal with her hands clasped in wonder, Jade successfully captchalogued the Tanglebuddies (796). And more to the point, Jade’s pose in reproduced during discussions of cherub (5961) and leprechaun (6007) reproduction. Hand-holding becomes representative of an (oft-sexualized) union, underlining the euphemistic nature of Mom and Dad’s post-contact demise.

The next example of using montage to communicate thought requires a little more buildup.

There’s a gag in Rose’s introduction where the reader tells Rose to play with her writing journals, and scoots the journals under the bed and retorts that she would only do that if no one were watching (220). At first glance, the moment scans as a minor meta joke in a story filled with meta jokes -- but the trick is that Rose does not /know/ herself to be a video game character, her every movement controlled and observed. Rather, she /believes/ this to be true -- the joke about being watched establishes that Rose is paranoid, as will become apparent in the hostility she assigns to Mom’s every action.

The command prompt and narration are themselves brain ghosts of a sort: the voice deployed in them is always linked to the present point-of-view character. The insults that precede character introductions ( “Zoosmell Pooplord”, etc) become marks of anxiety, an intrusive proclamation of what the kids at times think of themselves (and/or what they think others think of them). “Nice time management skills, sweetheart!” becomes a bit of self-deprecation Rose as she procrastinates, which Rose experiences as having been voiced by some objective observer who judges her deficiencies.

A blurred line divides characters from the voice at the back of their head, belonging to the (presumed) omniscient, omnipotent author-god. This is why avatar!Hussie is dressed as Calliope when he is killed by Lord English. Both Calliope and Hussie are a voice in Caliborn’s head, and thus both present apparent obstacles to an unmediated self.

The left panel (3219) foreshadows the right (3358). Gamzee is not being declared the objectively most important character in Homestuck. Rather, Gamzee is declaring himself /to have been declared/ the most important character in the story. The line establishes that Gamzee believes himself to be in a story (with an author!) and that this author has declared him paramount. Furthermore, “fondly regarding creation” is an modus operandi of Problem Sleuth’s Godhead Pickle Inspector. Applying that turn of phrase to Gamzee’s actions further establishes that Gamzee believes himself to /be/ the god-author declaring his own importance. So it should come as no surprise that 137 pages later, Gamzee outright proclaims himself to be the god(s) he worships.

Going back to montage, it becomes interesting that this snapshot of Gamzee’s megalomania is inter-cut with the creation of Jadesprite -- the moment that dead!dream!Jade merges with Bec, forming a unity with a deity not unlike the unity Gamzee claims with his mirthful messiahs. The interweaving would suggest that Jade and/or Jadesprite experienced analogous thoughts of megalomania upon the moment of ascension.

This would be a good point to mention that not only imps and ogres, but trolls also function as manifestations for the people they impose upon. Karkat is not only an interruption here, but also a continuation. He points out that Jade’s self-loathing, that she cannot safely distance herself from the qualities of Jadesprite she finds distasteful. This is precisely why Karkat ends the conversation by telling Jade to turn off the fourth wall (which divides the self!), as well as the reason he imagines Jade making out with herself: Karkat is on every front presenting the prospect of union with oneself.

The notion of trolls as manifestations first emerges clearly when Rose and Dave receive their packages from John. As they finish reading John’s letter, each is suddenly contacted by a troll and greeted with the command “Answer.” Critically, by word alone it is ambiguous as to whether the command refers to answering the troll or the letter. And as it turns out, these answer occur simultaneously: Rose and Dave’s responses to the letters are embedded in the subsequent conversations. 

Rose receives a letter poking fun at her pretensions, claiming that her attempts to hide her affections for people are futile. In response we get Kanaya, who imperiously proclaims her disdain for Rose, only to suddenly change tact and explicitly seek Rose’s friendship, an entreaty which the oft paranoid Rose accepts. Dave receives a letter imploring him to let go of his insecurities and express himself. In response we get Tavros, the very picture of insecurity, who is fixated on the idea of making Dave shit himself (as part of an ‘emotional constipation’ motif that follows Dave). And Dave complies, in a sense, by way of the quasi-ironic gay treatise that compels Tavros to block him. Each conversation addresses the issues laid out in John’s letter.

Examples can be found throughout the comic. Equius remarking that he talks to Gamzee every day (2220) establishes that Gamzee is regularly haunted by the thoughts of domination that Equius voices -- both in the literal and metaphorical sense. Erisolsprite referring to Dirk as a rock 2oliid piiece of a22 and then calling himself 2ociiopathiic for even thinking something so callous (5516) expresses a conflict already present in Jake’s own mind, echoing the frustration with his own dirty thoughts expressed by the argument with brainghost!Dirk. Feferi’s pronounced enthusiasm for the imminent apocalypse should cause you to question Kanaya’s seemingly neutral resignation towards the end of the world, since Feferi manifests for Kanaya (2328). And so on.

The person being trolled is always being confronted with thoughts or feelings or memories already present within themself. Alien contact always doubles as a brain ghost haunting.

Another example, with some buildup: Karkat invokes the phrase “PERFORATE MY BONE BULGE WITH A CULLING FORK” to express his contempt for Vriska, and on subsequent pages we see Feferi pointing her culling fork at a cuttlefish (2181), as if to suggest that the creature symbolizes the bone bulge. Fast forward to Kanaya, who has just gotten through a conversation with Vriska and finds herself haunted by Eridan, who keeps going on about his romantic desperations and insisting (correctly) that Kanaya’s crush on Vriska is itself romantic. That his notification erupts from an image of cuttlefish held at Kanaya’s waist adds to the air of yearning, as though her own bulge is rumbling. The scene is capped off with a double entendre: “its hard and nobody understands” is playfully poignant jab at an inability to understand one’s own desires (among other things). 

And Homestuck devotes a lot of attention to desire.

It’s long been acknowledged by the fandom at large that Kanaya’s attraction to Light players functions as a joke on the proverbial moth-to-the-flame. As reconciliation with the fire destroys the moth, there’s a morbid tinge to the attraction, as though it doubles as a death wish. And the wish is granted -- when Kanaya dies in Homestuck, she dies to light, either from Eridan’s wand or the laser blasts unleashed by HIC. Even the death of Kanaya’s lusus pertains to light -- the matriorb ripped from her innards is shaped like a miniature sun, as if to establish some loose link between the notion of motherhood and the incandescence Kanaya eventually achieves.

This can be generalized into a principle wherein lusii (and the circumstances of their deaths!) can functions as analogies for the desire of the wards.

Vriska, for example, desires execution. When offering Terezi a flimsy apology for crippling Tavros and proxy-murdering Aradia, Vriska offers to slam her head against her desk in penitence. This moment should be read against Vriska’s addiction to breaking 8 balls, and leaving the broken shards lying around as though she’s inviting the “bad luck” of stepping on them. It /is/ an invitation. Vriska seeks love via violent retribution against herself. This is why in the right panel, Vriska’s blood-spattered head is juxtaposed with a broken 8 ball: the blood came from Spidermom’s execution (which characterizes Vriska’s desire), and motif of 8R8K H34DS connects the moment to Vriska’s idea of apology.

Like Kanaya, Vriska (to a degree) seems to structure her love life along these lines. In the words of @azdoine:

like ppl are actually out here writing Vriska as the top as if her entire Act 5 character arc isn’t about bratting out until Terezi has no choice but to punish her

“oh noo, I, the thief of light, stole all of your luck, and made the coin land on the scratched side! now you have to kill me! but I’m probably going to get away with everything, because you don’t have the guts to stab me with that sword of yours!!!!!!!! if only there was somebody, like you, who could prove me wrong!”

EXTREMELY SUBTLE THERE, VRISKA

Vriska’s approach to wooing Tavros also revolves around baiting execution:

The scene: Tavros leads a horde of imps and ogres into a mystery cave, the top of which is adorned with kissing lizards and an alchemical symbol. Tavros is putting a puzzle of a frog together, but Vriska has already pieced together the puzzle: making a frog universe is, in part, a cipher for personal reproduction. The Ultimate Alchemy is making a baby! And as Vriska says, “real gamers cut to the chase. They power through all the nonsense and go for the gold.” So she brings Tavros to LOMAT and makes the moves on him.

Tavros is equated to a treasure chest by the repeated use of framing and Vriska is GOING FOR THE GOLD, like a WINNER. Tavros later reaches into the same chest for his lance before heading off to attempt to kill Vriska -- affirming that the treasure Vriska seeks here is Tavros’s “lance”.

This setup was suggested by the conversation accompanying the kissing salamanders: Vriska gives Tavros a map with a big red X, saying he should take his legion of imps through the gate and go defeat his denizen. The gate actually leads to Vriska, but she isn’t lying. She is positioning herself to be Tavros’s final boss. The imps are manifestations of Tavros’s pent up rage (much of which was generated by Vriska’s harassment), and Vriska wants Tavros to take that anger out on her. Hence the later panel which uses Vriska’s boots to place a big red X directly over her groin, making explicit the implicit goal of Tavros’s trip to the windmill X-gate.

This pursuit of love through violent comeuppance may have something to do with Vriska’s bitter disappointment that ghost!Aradia did not seem to hate her.

An intermission/introduction of sorts, as we bridge from one discussion of desire to another: did you know that Michael Bay’s Armageddon (1998) structures itself in part around Freud’s Oedipus complex? I say this in total sincerity.

The plot: a meteor the size of Texas bears down upon the Earth, threatening armageddon. Luckily, a crew of rough-and-tumble oil drillers are ready to fly into space and split that mother in two. Oh HELL yeah.

Except, wait, the movie’s actually about family drama: Bruce Willis finds Ben Affleck sleeping with his daughter Liv Tyler; Willis proceeds to chase Affleck around the oil rig with a shotgun, bang bang bang. Not Allowed. The Protective-Father-Hates-Your-Boyfriend dynamic is presented as an Oedipal triad of sorts: although Tyler is not literally Affleck’s mother, she performs the mom-function of “forbidden object of desire” -- and Willis opening fire is equivalent to the castration said to await trespassers onto maternal soil.

The above reading is buttressed by jokes: Armageddon appears to function within an implicit dream machine, such that the characters’ thoughts and fears can become manifest in their environment. So when it comes to pass that whenever  Affleck climbs into a hole (heehee), a pipe breaks (hoohoo), and suddenly everything goes boom, I read that as Affleck reliving the consequences of boning Tyler, packaged in such a way that the Freudian fear of castration is more explicit. (The relevance of Oedipus to the proceedings adds some humor to Steve Buscemi declaring the entire disastrous situation a “Greek tragedy”)

At any rate, after some shenanigans, Willis comes to accept Affleck’s claim to his daughter and confers the deed, as it were. Willis gives the young couple his blessing and they get married. Hooray!

Except, wait, the movie’s actually about the perpetuation of the oil industry: the dream machine was declared at the beginning of the movie when a petty street-side argument triggered the first barrage of meteors. The meteor the size of Texas (aka Dotty) is triggered by conflicts that haunt the central cast -- namely Willis, who enters the film hitting golf balls at a Green Peace boat. On a metaphorical level, Dotty is a golf ball the size of Texas, striking directly at the Earth instead its self-declared representatives. There’s a certain irony here: the film lampshades that the men who are destroying the world have been tasked with saving it.

The family drama folds into the environmentalist angle: Liv Tyler is a symbol of the earth (which gets drilled). This is the joke when Affleck is bouncing animal crackers around on her belly like she’s host to the Savannah: she kind of is! It’s no coincidence that Willis confers ownership of the oil rig at the same moment that he offers his daughter’s hand in marriage: the motifs are being discussed simultaneously.

But enough of all of that: back to Homestuck.

Armageddon’s simultaneous casting of Liv Tyler into the roles of earth and mother offers a glimpse at the interpretive possibilities made available by Hussie’s statement that Homestuck is in a way a synonym for Earthbound (an RPG in which “homesickness” is a status ailment which can be cured by calling your mom). Stuckness or boundness can be deployed to communicate a sense of longing for “home”.

A good chunk of Homestuck is built upon feelings of nostalgia, taken to mean a sort of intense separation anxiety with the past. John speaks about this when he watches Con Air with Jade – John wants the movie to feel like it did when he watched it with his Dad long ago, but the feeling from when he was a kid is gone. This upsets him. Moreover, John’s freakout starts at the moment Cyrus puts a gun to the bunny’s head (5286): Con Air itself is partly about Nic Cage trying to return to the life he lost when he went to jail, and ‘putting the bunny back in the box’ is a metaphor for the attempt. Cyrus, in threatening the bunny, is highlighting his role as a force preventing things from going back to how they were. Thus, if we are to believe that John is responding to the movie thematically, Cyrus confronts John with his own inability to go back to a happier past – his inability to go home -- and this recognition is met with anger.

In making the leap to the psychoanalytic motifs, it helps to recall the part where baby!Dirk responds to being born by cracking open his ectotube and crawling back inside. Dirk, who aspires towards his “ultimate self”, illustrates here that he envisions his ascension as a return to the ‘essence’ of Dirk from which he (and all other iterations of himself) arose, as represented by the ectoslime. Baby!Dirk gestures at unity with his ectoslime/essence by crawling back into the place from which he was born, which I’m basically claiming is a “return to the womb” on a symbolic level, or at least that this is a useful parallel to draw. (A related motif to think about: Dirk decapitates himself by sticking his head inside a box, which as per Con Air symbolizes the place you wish to return to)

[Hella Jeff sez: “i took (my pants) off because i was banging your mom for a minute there..... AND NOW YOU ARE BANGING HER”]

Castration becomes unavoidable as you try to relate all of this to Dave, whose occasional references to banging hot moms are part of an ongoing reference to the Oedipus Complex. Critically, the complex is not /just/ about wanting to bone your mom, but also fear that your dad will chop your junk off if you do. The breaking of Dave’s sword on the rooftop is a realization of this fear (yes, we’re doing the “swords are phallic” thing). But Dave has no mom that he knows of, so what gives? 

The answer is in the way Bro inexplicably breaks the record emblem on Dave’s t-shirt, as though he has introduced a fissure into Dave’s very identity. Life with Bro has made it very difficult for Dave to be honest with himself, which is to say, Dave pictures Bro’s abuse as having divided him from an ideal “true self”, which can feel emotions without all the anxious ironic detachment. I mentioned before that seeking unity with that from which you came is a “return to the womb”. This is the sense in which the Oedipal mom attraction becomes relevant: the return to the past is sexualized. The ‘home’ Dave wishes to return to is /himself/, and in this sense Dave is his own hot mom (which is related to how often Dave compliments his own looks, as well as the above gif suggesting Dave’s boner – he is literally/metaphorically “attracted” to himself).

(Incidentally: this model of desire, in which a broken subject attempt to become whole again by seeking out its lost half, is basically the concept of the soulmate, as laid out by Plato. Cherub reproduction turns the metaphysical pursuit of one’s lost half into a plot-level objective)

John’s entry item (apple) was linked to fear embodied in a childhood trauma (the Fall), and the same can be said of Dave. Hatching from the shell that contained your primordial goop (Dirk) is analogous to being violently separated from yourself (Dave), which is why Dave’s entry item (an egg) hatching coincided with Bro slicing the meteor in half: the abuse that divided Dave from himself, his “castration” by Bro, is simultaneously the “birth” that separated Dave from his “mother” (which is also Dave).

The general idea is that birth = self-alienation = castration, insofar as all are depicted as modes of being separated from oneself.

The broad motif of ‘being separated from oneself’ can be very useful for identifying brain ghosts in unexpected places. Take for example, Roxy’s fenestrated planes: when they are introduced the narrative is quick to tell us that if someone were caught half in/out of one of the windows when the power cuts out, they would be sliced in half. By the rule of Chekhov’s gun, this introduction should mean we should eventually see someone get gorily bisected by the window, but alas we never do. 

Instead, when Gcat warped the panel away, trapping Roxy between the windows, we were shown the image of a bisected horse puppet in Dirk’s apartment, This signals that Chekhov’s gun has indeed gone off. But rather than splitting a body, it split a soul: Meenah’s introduction follows the sequence because Roxy has generated a shadow of herself, a doppelganger. This is not without precedent: an earlier portion of this post was devoted to exploring the fourth wall as a mode of self-alienation. Roxy’s panel mishap can be considered part of that pattern.

If Meenah functions as an extension of Roxy, all of her actions can be read as bearing some relations to Roxy’s own latent thoughts and desires. Prior to the epilogues, for example, Meenah imploring John not to give her the ring seemed to be yet another Fuck You to the late Chekov: the issue never comes up again. But a psychic link between Meenah and Roxy would suggest that John broke his promise to Meenah by giving the ring to Roxy, and that whatever motivations compelled Meenah to make her request in the first place would also apply to Roxy.

Decapitation is yet another mode of self-alienation, and thus can be construed as a mode of birth. Hence the image of Lil Sebastian hatching from his shell of taxidermied man meat. That’s a motif unto itself, but what I wish to call attention to is the match-cut from John’s broke body to Jake’s broken tower. The juxtaposition collapses the images into metaphor, such that Jake’s loose dome in the woods becomes a decapitated head -- an appropriate addition to the pumpkin patch it rests in, given all the Headless Horseman jokes. We can look to Dirk for for another example of a headless horse-man of the house echoing the head: for a guy who idealizes decapitation to such a degree, it is striking that Sburb aims to provoke him by reattaching his beheaded apartment to its underlying units.

Houses act as metaphors for heads, then “Homestuck” could also interpreted as “head trapped” -- like the title emphasizes confinement within one’s own mind. Such a reading offers up Failure to Launch and Arrested Development (posters on John and Jane’s walls) as alternate synonyms for Homestuck, as each satirizes (or outright mocks) potential failure states in the process of inter-personal and mental development (ie “growing up”). Like Earthbound, both lean on a sense of homesickness in characterizing despondency, as though characters are haunted by the needs that defined their childhood -- or else find themselves needing that childhood itself.

But collapsing nostalgia into infantile regression is far from the only way to approach the house/heads equation. One might read the transformation and growth of houses with Sburb as metaphors for expanding the mind. One might infer that the choreography of events within houses can map out thoughts like dancing bees. One might take the metaphor as a foothold for interpreting the significance of the Sburb logo being at once a house and a window. \I have my own thoughts about Homestuck’s brain-ghost haunted house-minds, but for now, I only hope that this document has raised some interesting questions -- and ideally, that the interpretive approaches I’ve described might be useful in seeking answers.

[openvacant]

3, 9, 12, and 13

3. What was your high school sex fantasy?

It was the same brainwashing, kidnapping, mindless robotic slave conversion this unit is currently into, for the most part. It was an avid fan of the old WarpMyMind site and would look up videos about brainwashing, including conspiracy theory videos, whatever it could find, and stare at the messages and try to hypnotize itself. 

It was also very fascinated with mind-melding with people. It used to get into intense relationships where it would allow itself to become very much like the person it was dating, mentally, so much so that this unit and its partner would finish one another’s sentences, have similar ideas, feelings and beliefs, and bleed into one another, with no sense of mental or emotional boundaries. This of course is unhealthy and inappropriate, but the psychological mind-fuck of it was super hot. It was also a way for this unit to identify with the men it wished to be more like, before it knew it was trans. 

It also had a phase in high school of being very into the hypnotic dynamic in the phantom of the opera. It watched the film adaptation over and over, masturbating to the parts where Christine looked utterly entranced and overpowered by the Phantom’s charm. 

9. Where is one place you would never have sex?

Any place dirty. A filthy bathroom, a muddy outdoor area, anything like that. 

12. When was the first time you masturbated?

Three or four years old at least, perhaps earlier. When it was very, very young it already had explicitly sexual fantasies about being bound up and held tight in a mummified type position while having its brain drained by a controlling force. It would wrap itself up in blankets, press its hand in between its legs, and lie down on its stomach, tensing and daydreaming, sometimes for hours at a time. 

13.  Have/would you ever have sex outside?

It has always wanted to have sex in a graveyard at night. It would love to combine that with play that was possession themed, or had vaguely mystical, corruption elements to it. Laid out above the bodies, hypnotized and made receptive, its mind an open void, its body a vessel for the spirits around it. Perhaps some candles and symbols written on its body, crystals on its pressure points and forehead, and a Master slowly, powerfully fucking it and repeating mantras and spells, opening it up so that its body could be filled and used by otherwordly beings. That fantasy appeals to it a great deal.

It also fantasizes about going to the beach, perhaps a nude beach, perhaps just a large vanilla one, and somehow subtly fucking underneath a blanket with its partner while everyone else on the beach was unawares. Perhaps even falling asleep and being gently fucked in public as a con-noncon scenario. 

It would love to fuck outside in general as long as the environment was comfortable and clean. 

[f-nodragonart]

have you guys ever watched the docufiction film The Last Dragon | A Fantasy Made Real? Its a fictional documentary set in an alternate universe where dragons were real

I wrote a few reviews abt it quite a while ago, but the longer one is p old and kinda cringey/incorrect in certain places, so I’ll run down my basic thoughts here

also if anybody wants to watch this film, here’s a link to it. I first watched this when I was a wee lil dragon-fanatic, and I’m obviously a sucker for faux-documentary/field journal fantasy media, so this movie holds a special place in my heart. HOWEVER, as I will explain here, it unfortunately gets a LOT of things wrong. it’s def got some positive qualities (which I will also describe), and it’s a fun watch, but DO NOT take this movie as an accurate assessment of what dragons could have been under different circumstances

WHAT THIS DOCUFICTION GETS WRONG*:

*I’m ESPECIALLY harsh on this movie b/c it’s a DOCUfiction. I tend to be a bit more lenient when a story isn’t necessarily aiming for a realistic setting (stylistic consistency is relevant here), but when a piece of media sets out to describe a scientifically feasible setting?? I bring the hammer DOWN

1) dear god, the anatomy is janky

the wings in particular can get RLY bad. 

these wings clearly need more musculature and lower arm/’hand’ length, and a full membrane connection to the torso. they don’t even have ANY hint of integration/connection to the ribcage– no keel, no shoulder/chest musculature, not even any scapula!!

disgraceful…

while I can accept elbow spines in certain cases, I still don’t rly think they’re necessary in most cases– ESPECIALLY in this case where they don’t even provide extra area to the membrane around the elbow! what’s even the point!!

also I just noticed the designers forgot to put the elbow spines in the skeletal, so I can’t even check if they were integrated correctly….. hell, looking closer, I don’t think the front legs have scapula either….. DISGRACEFUL…

the wing shoulders also need to be shifted back behind the front leg shoulders, obviously, but they ALSO ought to be shifted down more towards the sides of the ribcage. wings based high up near the spine are typical of birds b/c they’ve got specialized wing musculature that basically pulls all the wing muscles (including the “back” muscles) down under the ribcage. bat wings aren’t built for that kinda setup, thus the shoulders are based more towards the sides on actual bats. this would likely be the same for bat-winged dragons

and those aren’t even the worst wings

I legit lose my mind a little lookin at these wings like…. why no membrane…. WHY NO MEMBRANE…

also there was clearly some attempt here to give these wings chest/shoulder musculature, but the designers didn’t know how much musculature a wing actually needs (or even how those muscles need to be shaped to properly hold a body..). thus, we just get pillowy, bara-boy boobs that would be useless for flight, even if the wings themselves were actually designed right

obviously a keel is necessary for a creature this big, but even if the designers nyxed the keel, the LEAST they could do is stretch the pecs down the full length of the ribcage to properly support the torso…

beyond the wings, some of the torsos are JUST a mess

the wyvern’s torso is mostly a problem b/c of weird wing integration, but the hexapod up top just has a plain weird torso, wings or not

it feels like the designers attempted to slap canine-like front legs on an ungulate/equine chest, and just utterly failed to integrate them properly. thus, the legs are floating to the sides of the chest rather than connected to and holding it up in any substantial way

I actually see this lack of shoulder integration in a lot in dragon designs, but it’s usually a result of trying to preserve the shape of chest/throat scales, so it’s kinda weird to see on a leathery-skin design

another thing abt this particular hexapod dragon is a bit hard to explain, but the neck is like… weird. idk if it’s super apparent to others, but the neck attaches more under the skull, a bit like a dog (ignore the skeletal, it’s clearly not accurate to the dragon actually presented). however, the flow of the neck from the chest is more of a horse neck? the strong up-and-over curve of a horse neck can’t rly attach to the skull in any way except the direct back of the cranium, yet this neck attaches somewhat to the underside of the skull, giving it a VERY awkward curvature. I happened to recently answer an ask abt necks that may explain this better, but suffice to say, the neck is weird

also, as u can see above, the base of the neck at the chest is super stiff b/c the animators didn’t bother to shift the mass of the chest/neck w/ the movement of the neck, which in turn makes the neck look ABSURDLY thin at angles like these

oh, and while this is certainly not the worst of the anatomical sins, the shrink-wrapping is p bad. yeah yeah, flighted creatures gotta be light, but flying animals still have SOME fatty deposits, like…. c’mon, u can SEE the cartilage rings in the throat of that poor wyvern, gimme a break… + it gets cold in the sky, where are some protective feathers/’fur’ for these guys?? especially side-eyeing the one living in the mountains. yeah I know they’ve apparently got that heat-retaining blood protein or whatever, but much like the flight bladder (which I will get to later), that’s asking me to excuse a bit much in terms of anatomy

(tho to be fair, the actual dinos featured in the film are naked and thin too so… at least this inaccuracy is consistent..)

I feel like this is especially bad w/ the heads. it looks like there’s barely any muscular support at the connection to the neck, and no jaw musculature to speak of. of course, a croc-like jaw design could layer the muscles under bone so that they’re not necessarily visible from the outside

but note the mass distribution of the bones of the jaw– they still stick out a fair bit to leave room for the muscles underneath (including on the upper jaw), and more importantly, the area for basing the muscles on the lower jaw is WIDE. now dragons may not necessarily need a strong bite-force like crocs if they’re using their talons and fire for attack, but most ANY toothed-animal skull is gonna NEED a lower jaw with a wider back end to provide stable, strong support to the jaw muscles. what I’m seeing from the ‘croc-’like dragon heads in this movie (not the wyvern head so much, that actually isn’t too bad in this respect) are flimsy, cardboard structures that will warp at the slightest hint of pressure

also, the teeth on all the dragons are weirdly straight and thin? like fishing teeth? but the main dragons are all land predators– they SHOULD have thick/curved teeth. even crocs have thick, slightly curved teeth, get w/ the program!!

and let’s not forgot this fucker

sir… SIR, that is a muscle-less TUBE with LEGS….. 

………..funny how suddenly the wiener-dragon ain’t shrink-wrapped, eh?

also this dragon absolutely CANNOT glide, no matter what kinda “flight bladders” they got, the membrane surface area is FAR too small even for gliding, I’m sorry!!

2) “evolutionary theory? what’s that??”

basically the film goes, “WHOA this dragon has 6 limbs! no other vertebrate on the planet has 6 limbs! they must have a wild genetic mutation for that to happen– oh, yep, they sure do!” and just… leaves it there

the evolution of 6 limbs in any evolutionary tree similar to Earth’s is literally so complicated, I have an entire post dedicated to breaking down JUST that concept. the way this movie so briefly presents this “wild mutation” doesn’t even BEGIN to cover how incredibly difficult it would be to shift something as hard-wired as vertebrate limb number from four to six

what’s even MORE frustrating tho is that this movie’s timeline for evolution doesn’t even make SENSE! supposedly their oldest dragon is the wyvern– the tetrapod. then that TETRApod somehow led to the HEXApod marine dragon. what in the world?? WHERE did that other limb set come from? WHY is there another limb set suddenly???

as I explain in that post linked above, it’s practically impossible for another functional, full limb set to evolve in a complex vertebrate– that’s why it’s most reasonable for hexapods to evolve long before tetrapods set the standard, and the two evolutionary lines would go their separate ways. there’s a small chance a limb set could evolve properly into a small, early tetrapod (tho even that is a long-shot), but in a LARGE vertebrate whose entire physiology revolves around their current tetrapodal, bipedal setup, as this movie suggests w/ their wyvern? hell nah, not a chance

and there are def other evolutionary problems throughout– generally just the fact that dragons seem to change VERY little, ‘aesthetically’ speaking, despite so many years of evolution and adaptation to wildly different environments (looking at the marine dragon..). yet when the dragons ARE markedly different from one another (wyvern vs. hexapod), it only brings up more problems, as covered above. like it’s all just so vague and ungrounded in any real evolutionary reality

also this post pointed out further problems w/ the evolution I didn’t even think abt (like the forest dragon being a contemporary to the mountain dragon, despite being used as an intermediary b/t marine and mountain) so I’m rly just 🤔 abt all this

3) BAD lab procedure!!

why aren’t the researchers wearing masks? they need masks to protect the corpses from human germs, and protect themselves from breathing in anything weird that was on the corpse! and they keep touching the corpse w/o gloves, getting their human oils all over the body! have they never heard of contamination?? AUGH

there’s definitely more wrong here that I rly don’t have the experience to speak on (and some of it I’m willing to excuse for the sake of a short, dramatic film– like the team having a whole lab setup right on the mountain), but the cross-contamination is what rly bothered me.

WHAT THIS DOCUFICTION GETS RIGHT and/or FUN:

1) realistic, cool behavior

the dragon behaviors featured are actually realistic, and downright cool at times!

screaming to both call for help and hurt an opponent’s ears; flashing wings to warn off opponents; mimicry to trick prey; that KICK-ASS courting ritual (if not displayed a bit awkwardly in terms of body positioning); the fiery brooding method (if we at least assume egg physiology that could handle and require that kinda direct heat, which I don’t think is…. necessarily outside reality… perhaps… maybe…)– these are all awesome examples of neat behavior

2) flight bladders? kind of??

this one is in the “got it right” list based more on potential than actual application in the movie

see, the idea of a flight bladder is p cool! the source of gas from digestion is completely reasonable, and it makes sense as a way to help a huge creature relieve some of the stress of flight

plus, the connection w/ fire-breathing is super interesting! it’s a very reasonable give-and-take system, and I like it a LOT. so this post pointed out the problems w/ having a flight system that relies on a product also used up by a different system, so now I can’t even give it that much credit lmao

however, the flight bladders in the movie are used to excuse some of the worst wing anatomy I’ve seen passed off as “realistic designs”. flight bladders may make up for *some* shortened wing length, or flight endurance, but they CANNOT make up for the problems I described in the “got it wrong” list

3) fire-breathing mechanics

if we now ignore the problems w/ this gas system being directly connected to the flight system, the fire-breathing is decently grounded in reality! the designers not only took into account the fuel source (gas from digestion), but also ignition source (platinum deposits). both of these sources are super interesting to me cus’ they technically utilize outside resources, which is not usually the case w/ a lot of fire-breathing mechanics I’ve seen

also love the specialized mouth anatomy– a scaled inner mouth and protective palate-valve make perfect sense to protect the dragon’s innards from fire, esp since the fire is igniting towards the back of the mouth. though the source of ignition being so far back in the delicate throat is itself suspect, and makes me wonder why it wasn’t simply ignited up towards the front of the mouth to prevent injury….. man I can’t give this film an inch w/o taking a mile back, huh!!

-Mod Spiral

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: Malekith the Accursed

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

The Marvel Cinematic Universe has become so good at delivering entertaining and complex villains such as Thanos, Mysterio, Hela, and Ego, and delivering stories where even when they tie in to a wider universe they still have a distinct creative flavor unique to the directors, that some of us may have forgotten the dark age of the MCU’s early phases. Executive meddling abounded, creative freedom was strangled out, directors and actors walked out of the franchise or were soured on working in it, and a racist misogynist was pulling the strings and frustrating everyone. And in very few places is that dark undercurrent clearer than in Thor: The Dark World.

Of course, we’re here to talk about the villain, but it’s still pretty important you understand the environment that produced Malekith. Quite frankly, discussing that is more interesting than talking about Malekith himself, because he is, in a word, awful.

Actor: Perhaps one of the most heinous things Malekith did was waste the talents of the iconic actor Christopher Eccleston, who you may know for portraying a beloved character on a popular sci-fi series… the invisible guy from season 1 of Heroes.

Jokes aside, everyone’s favorite Doctor is not utilized properly at all here, and the way he has talked about this movie, saying that Marvel misled him and neglected to mention the amount of time he’d be in the makeup chair and that he only took the role for money among other things. Considering how little of an impact Eccleston left on this character, it’s hard not to feel that his frustrations are completely justified here.

Motivation/Goals: Malekith is what is called a “generic doomsday villain;” his goals and motivations are pretty much not explored at all, and he is less of a character and more of an obstacle who causes problems Thor needs to overcome. He just wants to destroy the universe and return things to darkness, but we barely get anything beyond that due to scenes fleshing out his motivation being cut.

Personality: A sign of any generic doomsday villain is a complete and utter lack of personality, and Malekith sadly does not disappoint in this regard. There’s nothing there other than the fact that he’s a cold, unfeeling jerk who has no qualms about killing his own people. There are elements here that could make a good villain, especially the little Eccleston said about the character in interviews, such as how he once had a wife and child, but ultimately all of it amounts to the skeleton of a character. There was really no hope for Malekith unless there was significant reworking of the film. Which didn’t happen due to greed and apathy.

Final Fate: Much as he allowed one of his ships to be dropped on the Asgardians, his ship is ultimately dropped on him in a moment of karmic retribution.

Best Scene: None.

Best Quote: None.

Final Thoughts & Score: Malekith was a minor player in the Thor comics when this film came out, his only real major appearance serving as the second in command to Surtur at one point in the comics. After that, he was sidelined for many years until they decided to use him in this movie, which actually led to him stepping back into the limelight in the comics. And guess what? The returned Malekith ended up being pretty successful, going as far as to usurp Loki’s position as the big bad of Thor’s comics, and becoming a pretty popular character in his own right with his use of magic, manipulation, shapeshifting, and scheming.

And all of that is in spite of the film version. This Malekith is an utter nothing of a character. Maybe they were afraid that what the comics had put forth for the character would be too similar to Loki skill-wise, but who cares? People loved Loki, so an evil elf Loki with a different backstory, motivation, and perhaps more evil would have made a much more reasonable foe for a not-quite-redeemed Loki to team up with his estranged brother to fight. Think of it: Loki would be constantly fuming with Malekith outmaneuvering and out-conning him at every turn. Maybe we could have even gotten a final battle where, instead of Thor vs. Malekith, we could have Loki take the honor and kickstart his redemption arc a little sooner.

But even if they didn’t go with that, it would have been so easy to make this character interesting and still more in line with his comic counterpart. But they didn’t; instead, they took a colorful villain who had a vaguely similar skillset to the MCU’s breakout villain, gave him a talented actor, and then absolutely ran him into the ground, making sure to chop out any and all scenes that could have given him anything remotely interesting. It’s honestly depressing that Kurse, his henchman, is a far more interesting character than him visually and otherwise.

Malekith is a 1/10, but you probably already knew that, as many times in the past I’ve brought him up as a negative comparison to whatever villain I’m talking about. I just want to make one thing absolutely clear here: I think Malekith is the worst villain ever. Hands down. The reason I bring him up so much is because I believe he is the bottom of the barrel by which all other terrible villains should be judged. At least with Dudepeel he was eventually given a funny scene in Deadpool 2. At least with Rise of the Silver Surfer Galactus it actually isn’t entirely a bad idea to depict Galactus as a force of nature as opposed to a physical being. At least with Doom from Fant4stic the rest of the movie is already so abysmal that he’s just par for the course. With Malekith, there’s no excuse. He is the pinnacle of what can go wrong with a villain, the perfect storm of executive meddling, lack of care, unwillingness to be faithful to the comics, and lack of vision.

In short, Malekith is an insult to the audience, and I just can’t stand that.

[amysgiantbees]

Avengers: Endgame Spoilers

Much like Avengers Infinity War, my feelings on this film can most succinctly be put that overall I found it average to infuriating but there were some truly wonderful parts in between that I’ll always enjoy. I’ll come to this later but here are some notes on my feelings on Avengers Endgame...

THE GOOD

Wanda and Captain Marvel (but I still needed more of them)

Wanda and Captain Marvel fighting Thanos

Steve wielding Mjölnir

Valkyrie on a pegasus

King Valkyrie

Carol’s haircut

Rhodney and Nebula bonding!

Nebula and Tony playing paper football!

Pepper fighting in an iron suit

Sam is Captain America! (He better be Cap in the films, not just this new show, I know the MCU has a history of keeping the TV shows and films separate but please not in this case!)

THE BAD

Bruce dabs. I just can’t.

Clint’s hair and tattoos

Thanos’ ecofascism being justified by the narrative in certain ways like with Cap’s look on the bright side about the environment line.

The time travel plotholes. I do not understand time travel at all in this, feel free to explain if you do. Also, Thanos not having knowledge of anyone due to time travel really took a lot of impact out of the climax for me. My biggest issue with the time travel logic in this though is how can Nebula kill her past self? 

The limited time given to emotional character arcs is a real issue for me. For a movie that goes on for so long, I felt like more attention would be given to this and less to action. Like having characters that had rivalries with members of Thano’s Children never confronting against them again.

Thor never mentions Loki. He never grieves him. He was meant to actually legitimately be dead in this one so it would have been nice if not only there was more emotion and time spent on the scene with his mother but if he said goodbye to Loki during it too. Or told Freya to check in on Loki for him, make sure to tell him he loves him form him. I know she is destined to die but if they’d come earlier in the day and let there be time to do all of this it would have been more emotionally satisfying I think at least.

I HATE fatsuits. The fat jokes and the jokes at the expense of Thor’s panic attacks and mental health are REVOLTING. It’s just sad and frustrating that they decided to throw out all of Thor’s character development from Ragnorok for a few cheap laughs. His fat suit doesn’t even look real. It doesn’t match his neck and face and he doesn’t move right. Shockingly enough you move easier when it’s your own skin. This article and the author sum up my thoughts on all of this really well: https://medium.com/@kivabay/the-centr-of-controversy-cba6f23c692e. Also, Bay has a really great quote unrelated to Thor but also sums up another issue I have with the film and I just want to highlight it here, “ I also couldn’t help but view the movie with the knowledge we pick up on the internet about who is leaving the MCU, making the character deaths feel melodramatically goofy and like executive-level calculations.“

Also, somewhat silly critique but doesn’t Thor need special Asgardian beer to get drunk not “mortal” beer in a can. Damn, Thor was just poorly thought through. And I could almost find him fighting against Thanos with zero weight loss aspiring if the whole idea of Chris Hemsworth portraying him and every other way he was handled wasn’t disgustingly terrible. Fat Thor as an idea is amazing. I’d love to see him portrayed as such in the comics as long as he’s treated with respect. 

They can’t just have the film be cathartically separate and contained they have to hint at more film’s with the “Where’s Gamora” mystery ready to go and Thor joining the Guardians. They have been advertising Homecoming for months and have the next few years of movies already planned, people aren’t under any illusions that there won’t be sequels. Just let it be self-contained. Especially since it’s already so long. 

Just personal taste thing here but the “Avengers Assemble” bit was too cheesy and the ruin of the Avengers mansion was a boring background for the battle.

Dr. Strange was wasted stopping that tsunami. Did they need that? It was such a boring use for him in the battle. This battle had so many heroes but it felt like it really used their powers significantly less creatively together than any other battle previously. 

Why weren't Fury, Carol and Maria all standing together at Tony’s funeral with their arms around each other like everyone else? It was really strange and took some of the emotion out of the scene, they’re close to each other. It could have been such a beautiful moment and tied the whole Captain Marvel “Where’s Fury?” scene together if they had them beside each other with her smiling sadly at him or leaning against him. They’re friends and it would be nice to see Fury further fleshed out and more three dimensional. 

I don’t mind that Loki is dead but it does make me retroactively annoyed that “You... will never be... a god” was seriously his last line. He had nothing nice to say to his brother before he dies? So he really did die trying to use a knife on someone who can take on the Hulk. I hope that at least in his show that’s coming soon he’s genderqueer and given the opportunity to properly show off his magic. I feel like his magic has never been displayed properly or used in particularly interesting ways so far.

I would have rewritten the scene where Banner and Rocket look for Thor. Banner, Thor and Valkyrie’s interactions are stale and strange. It would have been better (so as not to erase all of his character development) if he was still dealing with his PTSD or the loss of his people poorly but was at least trying to help the Asgardians. But then show Valkyrie having to help him and being the clearly stronger leader due to being able to deal with this grief better after having experience working through grief from losing her Valkyries. She could also be helping him with his alcoholism instead of judging him since she has been there! It would have shown her mentor abilities and kingly traits. You could still have him join the Guardians in the end but now he’s just less negligent. Then he isn’t passing a burden for convenience but because he recognizes Valkyrie was there for his people when he couldn’t be and is the better, more loved leader. Instead of what should be a great moment for Valkyrie that she’s shown as earnt and is deserving of it just seems like Thor was like “Well it turns out ruling was too hard for me I’m going to f*ck off to space now look after them for me.” Still, love that she gets to be king. 

Did I mishear her name or is Clint’s daughter not called Kate? Why aren’t we getting Kate Bishop? I know she isn’t Clint’s daughter in the comics but they’ve changed people’s backstories before and after seeing Clint training with a young girl in the trailer I was just really excited for her. I love her character in the comics, but maybe she has a name change here? 

Also, why does Clint go overseas to fight people? I’m sure there are more than enough bad people in America for him to fight for YEARS. There are Neo-Nazis for F*CKS SAKE. It just seems racist to imply he’d have to look in places predominantly occupied by POC to find bad people. Also, that Sword scene was strange. It felt really unnatural and fake like it belonged in a completely different movie. 

Also, little nitpick but I just found it to be a weird moment when that kid Ant-Man talks to didn’t say “What do you mean?” or “How do you not know?” I get not wanting to talk about the snap but how could he not be mildly curious or confused as to how someone seems to be ignorant to the biggest tragedy in world history.

Also, I really would have loved if the final battle had more consequences. More deaths and injuries. I think it would have been more realistic and added more to it. I especially really would have loved it if they had shown Clint getting injured in such a way that his hearing was permanently damaged. It would be nice to finally have him have that important comic book trait. 

Also, that scene where Joe Russo, a straight man, plays a gay man is bullshit. Let us have gay superheroes. That is such a pathetic attempt at representation. Make Loki Genderfluid, make Carol a wLw, Give Okoye and Valkyrie a girlfriend or acknowledge they’re wLw. 

Furthermore, I understand that the shot of all the women at the final battle was probably foreshadowing A-Team but I don’t think the creators realised that, One: it makes it look like they’re trying to hide that they killed the only original female member of the Avengers while giving all the men satisfying endings. Two: that there are A LOT fewer women than men but also that there’s enough of them that more of them really should have been featured before then and had more time spent on them. Just so many women yet so few films focussed on them. Furthermore, for those people who don’t know about A-Team it also just feels like a moment of pandering.  

Look, Black Widow has never been one of my favorite characters but she deserved better. As soon as she was proclaimed infertile in Age of Ultron it was a death sentence because what use is a woman who can’t reproduce. She didn’t even get a funeral. Clint should have died. The snap forced Natasha to fully commit to her found family and lead the Avengers for years. The snap sent Clint into a debatably racist murder rampage. Natasha did something good after the snap it gave her more purpose. Clint’s purpose was to bring his family back and he could still do that by sacrificing himself. It’s honestly far more satisfying to see Natasha get her happy ending than Clint because Clint’s ending is just far too similar to his story in Age of Ultron. It is just hilariously underwhelming when everyone else has an emotional ending just to have Clint’s be a regurgitated version of him retiring with his family in Ultron. Also, Natasha dying for guilt over some vague bad that’s she’s done in her past that we know nothing about is so unsatisfying. This video I feel also sums up a lot of my feelings on this https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A81p1N2gnNY&t=649s. Also from a monetary standpoint, not that Disney needs more money, but there’s way more demand for Black Widow films than Hawkeye. Just why Hawkeye, no one gives a sh*t.

More so I’m not against Tony using the gauntlet but I think it got in the way of Nebula having a fully satisfying conclusion to her arc. At least one woman should have had a satisfying, fully realised arc. It would have been great if Nebula got to finally kill Thanos but honestly, I wouldn’t be as mad at it if she hadn’t got wrongfully blamed for doing it by Thanos or had her arc conclude in an otherwise satisfying way. She gets abused further by Thanos for something she never did and never gets an opportunity to even just face him and confront him about ANYTHING. 

Also, Vision is barely mentioned in the film. Which wouldn’t be so frustrating if he wasn’t the reason why an ENTIRE ARMY of predominantly black people was sacrificed in Infinity War. They had to save him because they all apparently cared so much about him but can’t remember to mention him more than once afterward. 

I really hate that they were so scared of spoilers that they didn’t let all of the actors read their scripts ahead of time and cut out massive chunks of their scripts and didn’t tell them who they were playing against. I would rather spoilers than poor acting that ruins the timelessness of a film. This is meant to be epic! 

[lovetheangelshadow]

N'Pressions: Lion King 2019

So before I begin the review I wanted to briefly touch on my history with the Lion King. The Lion King was one of the biggest movies of my life. I still have almost all of my toys and I was obsessed with that film for years. It was basically my Frozen and not to brag but I personally think Lion King is a better film than Frozen for reasons other than nostalgia. Even as an adult and aware of the whole Kimba controversy and being aware of the flaws in the film it’s still one of my favorite movies of all time. There is a LOT the movie does right  even from just a former animation student’s perspective: use of color, character design, and sound all to convey a story that still holds up to this day. So yeah it would make sense that Disney would put it in their remake list. Except, this film did not take any risks. Say what you will about Maleficent, or Aladdin, or even the Alice movies at least they tried something new even if it did not always work. Heck even with Aladdin they had Jafar be a former street rat who had ambition and clawed and killed his way to the top and even taunts that in front of Aladdin. You could essentially had Jafar be a dark reflection of Aladdin showing the dangers of ambition without restraint and could have spun something around that instead of the less than intimidating and sometimes whiny sorcerer we got. Then again you could argue the Aladdin TV series had already gave us that with Mozenrath. Even the broadway version gave you more than just the cliffnotes from the film. Such as a scene showing Timon in danger from falling off a waterfall and Simba being actual PTSD about the gorge incident which leads to the song Endless Night. Or the Madness of King Scar with Scar trying to talk himself up into denial of his own misery…and hitting on a teen lioness. Yeah I know she was technically an adult but it was still creepy. And sure Disney has constantly messed with the timeline of this story with Simba’s Pride, 1 & ½, and Lion Guard but they were for the most part pretty decent spin offs. More on that later.

            The animation is stellar with the CGI looking almost exactly like real animals and the environments feeling real and part of the world the characters inhabit them in. The problem is that they stay too far on that end and it hurts the film. Even for the original movie they were aware of the natural color palettes and even admitted that they had to cheat a little here and there to make characters stand out or give the setting a wider range of hues to work with. Zebra stripes might be a little more blue, antelopes a bit more red, or giraffes more closer to golden tones. And I was not expecting the CG version to do that, but at least it could have been done with the main cast. Yeah I know it’s the “spot the protagonist” cliché that we joke about all the time with anime, but it really needed to be here. Lion King is a very character driven story. It’s not a documentary. You could have cheated with the colors just a little and no one would have been upset about it. Even in the Broadway version where the characters were represented by robes and masks instead of four footed fursuits, no one complained. And there is also the expressions. You really needed clear expression for this film and funnily enough there have been videos rising up showing the kind of expressions that animals can make. I get that Favreau thought the Jungle Book models were too human; but you would have gotten away with that in Jungle Book-but not for the Lion King. 80% of this film relies heavily on emotion and it would have been perfectly okay so cheat here. I want to bring up another realistic animal movie here for comparison: The Owls of Ga’Hoole. And I admit the film isn’t perfect either but it hits a lot of similar beats and moods of the Lion King; minus the sing of course. The movie has owls that are very close to their realistic counterparts save for maybe the eyes and the flexibility of their beaks for dialog. But it is very clear when Sorren is feeling fear, joy, hope, or anger. It is clear from the expression alone of Nyra’s royal and cunning nature. Also the designs of the birds are distinct from one another. Like from a glance there are marked differences between Sorren, Kludd, and Nyra and they’re all barn owls. The environments have unique color tones to them despite being more naturalistic environments like the Pride Lands. Even the Aladdin remake understood this with its costume designs and settings. Though Disney seems to have issues of late properly lighting dark locations of late making it very hard to see what’s going on. Guys, it’s okay to cheat a little with the lighting. You don’t have to be 100% natural.

Unfortunately the voice acting isn’t that stellar either. And it’s not to say that the cast can’t act. A lot of the people in the cast list are stellar performers in their own right, but here it feels like they were just reading the script without additional takes. It’s not the worst voice acting I’ve seen for a professional piece, but it is something that is another nail in the coffin. Honestly a much more improved voice reading would have at least helped in somewhat making up for the lack of facial animation. True sometimes in the original the acting fell flat, but it was quick enough that you wouldn’t really have noticed it unless you were looking for it. The best actors for the film would be Billy Eichner (Timon), Seth Rogan (Pumbaa), and John Oliver (Zazu). For the most part they did what the restricted animation did not and sounded like they actually were giving it their best for this movie even if they weren’t the stars of the story. Even Chiwetel Ejiofor’s Scar could have worked if they had done a few more takes. While not as deviously snide or royally condensing as Jeremy Irons but it was clear they were going for someone who was not happy with his lower position and could play act the caring uncle while still feeling superior if they pushed that a little more. Also they were the best part of the movie. The only musical number save for Circle of Life that I liked was their version of the Lion Sleeps Tonight.

Then we get to the cutting of some of the best scenes in the movie. I can forgive the hyena bickering scene before Be Prepared since they kinda do that already with Shenzei pointing out Scar isn’t king and can’t give them what they desire for. I’ll give a pass to Zazu not singing he coconuts song and the hyena’s showing dissent at the lack of food. But I will not overlook the Rafiki hitting Simba with a stick scene OR Mufasa’s ghost. Why didn’t you form the clouds into Mufasa, huh? It’s a scene that just about everyone knows more than anything out of the movie and you barely do anything? Just some vague lightning strikes that resemble him? No! I can overlook so much else, but I will NOT forgive THAT. Remember when I said about the other films messing with the timeline even worse than Endgame? Well you could have easily used those to give the film it’s own unique edge. Why not have Zira be a character in the film and show there is a split of alliance between the pride? She doesn’t even have to be a major player, but just enough to show rifts among the lionesses as the situation of the pride lands worsens. Or since they brought up the long war between hyenas and lions and how the elephant graveyard was once a lush environment until the hyenas ate it to the ground and play a little more on that like Serabi trying to get through to Scar this is why they kept the hyenas out. Or even have one or two hyenas such as Kamari and Azizi start rethinking their situation though they still turn on Scar when he sells them out. Heck even in the original they were aware of the problem; just not that THEY were the cause. Or even the scenes from the Broadway show I mentioned earlier.

Overall, it’s not a fun experience though it is not the worst I’ve been through. It’s still down there with films like Where the Wild Things Are and Digimon Tri-but doesn’t have my full visceral hatred. Save for one movie that is a rare feeling for me. But it made lots of money because we’re stupid about that and is going to keep on coming. For me there is only one other film currently that they could make worse, but I’m not holding my breath. I’m Noctina Noir, and was so not prepared for this.

[chalamalabingbong]

Timothée Chalamet, Steve Carell, and Director Felix van Groeningen Discuss Addiction and Fatherhood

In ‘Beautiful Boy,’ the trio brings to life the true story of a father coping with his son’s addiction—and reckoning with the limits of paternal love

By Thomas GebremedhinOct. 3, 2018 10:17 a.m. ET

ON A QUIET stretch of beach in Northern California, a father takes his son surfing. Bodies flat against their boards, they paddle away from shore. As the waves grow bigger the boy, forging ahead on his own, disappears behind a curtain of water. Then, just as the father begins to panic, the boy emerges, triumphant, riding a wave back to him.

The scene, which arrives early in Belgian director Felix van Groeningen’s English-language debut, Beautiful Boy—co-written with Luke Davies—casts a long shadow over the rest of the film. Adapted from a pair of best-selling memoirs by a father and son, David and Nic Sheff, the story recounts the painful transformation of one family grappling with drug addiction. David, a well-meaning journalist played by Steve Carell, has always been close to his son Nic (Timothée Chalamet), but as Nic begins experimenting with drugs, eventually spiraling into a full-blown addiction to crystal meth, David is forced to question just how well he knows his boy, where he went wrong and how he can get him back.

Beautiful Boy—produced by Plan B Entertainment (Moonlight, 12 Years a Slave) and shot over 40 days in Los Angeles and San Francisco—has a nonlinear structure, with devastating episodes that reveal the extent of Nic’s dependency (“It takes the world from black-and-white to Technicolor , ” he says of crystal meth) played against sweeter moments between father and son. The film comes as drug addiction remains a national pandemic, but while it poignantly humanizes a difficult issue, it’s not on a mission. Its appeal lies in more universal preoccupations: what it means to be a family, the conflicting impulses in any parent to both protect their children and set them free, and the search for wholeness and identity.

Last month, van Groeningen, Carell and Chalamet reunited for the film’s premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival and for their first group interview about the project. The mood in the room was playful and tender as everyone greeted each other with hugs. While they sat for their portraits, fiery R&B tracks floated down from a sound system; at times, struggling to sustain serious, camera-ready expressions, the trio burst into fits of laughter. Were there similar moments of levity on the set of Beautiful Boy, despite the grave subject matter?

“Oh, sure,” Carell says. “We wanted to honor the material, but we actually had a lot of fun, too. Because that’s part of life. Even within the darkest moments.”

Thomas Gebremedhin: This is a heartbreaking movie. How do you prepare for something like this?

Felix van Groeningen: I’ve touched on the subject [drugs] in my other films, but in a very different way. So I went to Al-Anon and AA meetings. I visited rehab centers. But, obviously, David and Nic were the biggest source of information for me. Getting the details felt important, and so my bibles were the memoirs.

Steve Carell: Being a father really gave context to my approach. Specifically, my love for my own children gave context to how I was approaching this guy, which isn’t too far from how I would imagine trying to navigate this experience if it was something that fell into my life. A week before we started shooting, my son, who was 11 or 12 at the time, out of the blue asked whether marijuana is a gateway drug. This was on the way home from school; it’s clearly something that they’d been discussing. We’d had vague conversations about the dangers of drugs, but not a more adult conversation about it. It’s terrifying on even such a simple level having that discussion. I didn’t want to make a wrong turn. I assume David went through many of the same things, wanting to do everything right but realizing there is no right or wrong path.

Timothée Chalamet: For me, the first thing to pull from is the experience of being a son, a son in a family, and having a great relationship with my father. There is a recognizable physical context to that. From a hundred feet away you can tell by the way people hug whether they’re family.

TG: I want to touch on that father-son dynamic. The chemistry between you two is so apparent in the film. How do you create that connection off-camera?

SC: I don’t think you do. I don’t think it’s something you consciously generate. I don’t want to speak for Timmy, but we immediately liked each other. We immediately felt a connection. I never felt there was an acting exercise that we were using to try to feel more connected. In Timothée I saw an incredible, soulful, generous person. I liked him enormously from day one. And since I’m exactly the same kind of person, I expected him to feel the same about me. [Laughter] But it was very natural.

TC: I feel so immensely filled with gratitude that I have Steve and Felix and other people that I’ve been able to work with at a young age that have been, I don’t want to say paternal towards me, but it’s a form of that, and I…. [Felix gets up to pour himself water] As he’s leaving!

SC: [Laughing] Felix doesn’t feel the same way.

FVG: I was so happy we took two weeks to rehearse. I always do it. It gave us time to know each other. I was very nervous in the beginning, and it gave me time to calm down and to be myself. English isn’t my first language and, I mean, I’m working with movie stars! I needed that time. But as Steve said, it wasn’t like we were artificially getting there.

TC: I was very soothed by Steve’s warmth and kindness—

SC: Keep going.

TC: But really, I was and am a huge admirer of Steve’s work, and I knew this was going to be a bridge for me to cross. It was good for me to realize upfront, OK, that’s going to be a hurdle, especially [since we’re playing] father and son. I needed to get it out of my head.

TG: What were the most challenging scenes for you to film?

TC: I found the sequences on the phone challenging. It’s the nature of the movie that those phone calls are emotional climaxes. And generally, as an exercise, phone calls are challenging as an actor because you don’t typically have the other person there with you. So I was very grateful that each time there was something on the phone, whether it was Andre Royo [who plays Nic’s AA sponsor, Spencer] or Steve, we were always there for each other.

SC: For me, it was when the character of David makes choices that would be difficult for me, or any father, to make. There’s a sticking point in your subconscious, maybe, about how you would handle a situation. By his own admission, David makes tough choices, and sometimes as an actor, or just a human being, you evaluate what those choices are. Sometimes they conflicted with what I imagined I would do, but ultimately I realized it’s probably what I would do. Making that shift was interesting to me.

TG: Right, there are several forks in the road for both David and Nic throughout the movie, but the scene that felt critical to me is when David has to establish some kind of boundary with Nic.

SC: It was a terrifying scene. A moment any parent would dread. It’s hard to even imagine getting to that point, where you have to make that kind of choice while still desperately loving your child. The whole thing is terrifying and tragic and common. That’s the other thing—every day while we were shooting this, if any of us mentioned to other people what we were working on, the stories and personal connections were a bit overwhelming.

TG: Well, last year was the deadliest on record for overdoses.

TC: Yeah, more than car crashes.

TG: This isn’t a preachy film, but how do you hope it will play a part in that discussion?

FVG: I think it’s about giving people a face and a voice. I hope this film gives insight into how complex [addiction] is. A lot of movies touch upon it from just one side. But there’s something unique about [Beautiful Boy]. It’s two points of view of the same story.

TG: When you went back home to your families after a day on set, were you able to leave work at work?

TC: Certainly in any film, whether it’s your relationship to the characters or people or the context of environments, it naturally blends with your experience. It would be dramatic to say that there was no escaping it, and yet we were in it—we shot for 40 days or something, and I just kept thinking, Keep moving, keep going.

SC: This one was hard to leave on set. Every night I came home and hugged my kids a little tighter. My wife and I would talk every night about what we shot that day and how it felt and just the vibe. It didn’t feel like a job. We had to be invested in this because, beyond the fact that it’s a harrowing and relevant story, it’s true. These are real people. I definitely brought it home.

TG: On a lighter topic, there’s the film’s soundtrack: Nirvana, Neil Young, Fiddler on the Roof. It’s all over the place. Felix, how does music inform the story? And Steve and Timothée, as actors, how did you use music to creatively build out these roles?

FVG: The idea came from the books. Music was so important to David and Nic. There’s something beautiful about how it unites them. David mentions in his book a lot of songs that he can’t listen to anymore. So we put some of those songs in the movie. At some point my editor [Nico Leunen] and I wanted to use a classic film score together with songs, but then [Leunen] came up with the idea to drop the score and just use the songs. It made us take a risk.

SC: It’s a language that David and Nic used to speak to each other. As the addiction sets in, their relationship becomes frayed and that language does as well. Music is David’s bread and butter; these are the people he interviews. And he incorporates his son into that world at an early age—it’s both of their worlds.

‘ This one was hard to leave on set. Every night I came home and hugged my kids a little tighter. ’

TC: Yeah, music was a big part to Nic’s character. I remember we were shooting on the campus of USC, and we got into trouble because my portable speaker was playing “Heart-Shaped Box” too loudly. For Nic it was Nirvana; I was listening to Eminem when I was 5 or 6 years old, and it did feel important. It’s an effect of growing up in America, or the world, in a digital, consumerist age, that you’re communicated these messages of self-destruction and alienation.

TG: Timothée, you’ve played coming-of-age roles before, most notably as Elio in Call Me By Your Name. Elio is different from Nic, but they’re also both struggling with their identity. Did you take anything from that role and put it into this one?

TC: That’s a really good question. If there’s a through line it’s the immediacy and the urgency, the moment-to-moment visceral nature of what it is to be young. For Elio that’s a life circumstance that all of us should be so fortunate to go through, to fall in love, but also he’s coming to terms with his sexuality. For Nic, it’s facing this goliath of an obstacle, not only addiction but to one of the most powerful substances known to man.

TG: Did David and Nic give you all any advice?

SC: I didn’t meet Nic until we were shooting, but I met with David. He couldn’t have been more gracious. I think [he’s] very brave to even allow this movie to be made. There’s an incredible trust that he put into Felix and everyone involved that we’d get it at least marginally right. But he took a very hands-off approach with me.

TC: I went out with Nic and [his sister] Daisy to eat, and it was just as Steve said, the greatest gift I got from Nic was the confidence to be Nic. I felt an understanding. I think they understood our biggest goal and mission was to get their story right.

Felix van Groeningen PHOTO: MARK PECKMEZIAN FOR WSJ. MAGAZINE; STYLING BY EMMA WYMAN

FVG: But just in the authenticity and in the heart of it—we didn’t have an obligation to it. It’s not a biopic in that sense, and that’s an advantage, I guess.

TG: Steve, you’re also playing Donald Rumsfeld in Backseat and Mark Hogancamp in Marwen—what’s different about playing a real, living person as opposed to a fictional character?

SC: A fictional character leaves much more to the imagination in terms of the performance and development and backstory. One is complete invention, and the other is completely tethered to the real world. It’s not easier or harder to portray either. I’m really excited that David and Nic [are attending the premiere]. From time to time I would talk to David and ask, “How surreal does this feel to you?” There was one day we were doing a scene on the beach, and David and [his wife] Karen [Barbour] came to visit. It was a simple scene, nothing overly dramatic, but David was elated. He was so full of emotion. I could tell that it really hit him.

TG: What do you ultimately hope this movie communicates? What do you think the lasting impression will be?

FVG: It’s a harrowing story, but it’s a beautiful family. To see all of this happen in a family where there’s so much love and understanding makes it even more harrowing, maybe, but it’s a family that believes in unconditional love, and they use that as a way out.

TG: That’s a great note to end on. I do have one last question though, unrelated to the movie. Timothée, have you seen the Instagram account @chalametinart?

TC: Yes! [Laughs]

FVG: What is that?

TG: It’s an Instagram account where they photoshop Timothée into classic paintings.

FVG: Oh, yeah! Wasn’t there an account about just his hair, too?

SC: [Looking at @chalametinart on a phone] Oh, it’s beautiful. [To Timothée] Well, you have your selection of Christmas cards now. •

[tchalametdaily]

In ‘Beautiful Boy,’ the trio brings to life the true story of a father coping with his son’s addiction—and reckoning with the limits of paternal love.

(Full article under the cut)

The scene, which arrives early in Belgian director Felix van Groeningen’s English-language debut, Beautiful Boy—co-written with Luke Davies—casts a long shadow over the rest of the film. Adapted from a pair of best-selling memoirs by a father and son, David and Nic Sheff, the story recounts the painful transformation of one family grappling with drug addiction. David, a well-meaning journalist played by Steve Carell, has always been close to his son Nic (Timothée Chalamet), but as Nic begins experimenting with drugs, eventually spiraling into a full-blown addiction to crystal meth, David is forced to question just how well he knows his boy, where he went wrong and how he can get him back.

Beautiful Boy—produced by Plan B Entertainment (Moonlight, 12 Years a Slave) and shot over 40 days in Los Angeles and San Francisco—has a nonlinear structure, with devastating episodes that reveal the extent of Nic’s dependency (“It takes the world from black-and-white to Technicolor , ” he says of crystal meth) played against sweeter moments between father and son. The film comes as drug addiction remains a national pandemic, but while it poignantly humanizes a difficult issue, it’s not on a mission. Its appeal lies in more universal preoccupations: what it means to be a family, the conflicting impulses in any parent to both protect their children and set them free, and the search for wholeness and identity.

Last month, van Groeningen, Carell and Chalamet reunited for the film’s premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival and for their first group interview about the project. The mood in the room was playful and tender as everyone greeted each other with hugs. While they sat for their portraits, fiery R&B tracks floated down from a sound system; at times, struggling to sustain serious, camera-ready expressions, the trio burst into fits of laughter. Were there similar moments of levity on the set of Beautiful Boy, despite the grave subject matter?

“Oh, sure,” Carell says. “We wanted to honor the material, but we actually had a lot of fun, too. Because that’s part of life. Even within the darkest moments.”

Thomas Gebremedhin: This is a heartbreaking movie. How do you prepare for something like this?

Felix van Groeningen: I’ve touched on the subject [drugs] in my other films, but in a very different way. So I went to Al-Anon and AA meetings. I visited rehab centers. But, obviously, David and Nic were the biggest source of information for me. Getting the details felt important, and so my bibles were the memoirs.

Steve Carell: Being a father really gave context to my approach. Specifically, my love for my own children gave context to how I was approaching this guy, which isn’t too far from how I would imagine trying to navigate this experience if it was something that fell into my life. A week before we started shooting, my son, who was 11 or 12 at the time, out of the blue asked whether marijuana is a gateway drug. This was on the way home from school; it’s clearly something that they’d been discussing. We’d had vague conversations about the dangers of drugs, but not a more adult conversation about it. It’s terrifying on even such a simple level having that discussion. I didn’t want to make a wrong turn. I assume David went through many of the same things, wanting to do everything right but realizing there is no right or wrong path.

Timothée Chalamet: For me, the first thing to pull from is the experience of being a son, a son in a family, and having a great relationship with my father. There is a recognizable physical context to that. From a hundred feet away you can tell by the way people hug whether they’re family.

TG: I want to touch on that father-son dynamic. The chemistry between you two is so apparent in the film. How do you create that connection off-camera?

SC: I don’t think you do. I don’t think it’s something you consciously generate. I don’t want to speak for Timmy, but we immediately liked each other. We immediately felt a connection. I never felt there was an acting exercise that we were using to try to feel more connected. In Timothée I saw an incredible, soulful, generous person. I liked him enormously from day one. And since I’m exactly the same kind of person, I expected him to feel the same about me. [Laughter] But it was very natural.

TC: I feel so immensely filled with gratitude that I have Steve and Felix and other people that I’ve been able to work with at a young age that have been, I don’t want to say paternal towards me, but it’s a form of that, and I…. [Felix gets up to pour himself water] As he’s leaving!

SC: [Laughing] Felix doesn’t feel the same way.

FVG: I was so happy we took two weeks to rehearse. I always do it. It gave us time to know each other. I was very nervous in the beginning, and it gave me time to calm down and to be myself. English isn’t my first language and, I mean, I’m working with movie stars! I needed that time. But as Steve said, it wasn’t like we were artificially getting there.

TC: I was very soothed by Steve’s warmth and kindness—

SC: Keep going.

TC: But really, I was and am a huge admirer of Steve’s work, and I knew this was going to be a bridge for me to cross. It was good for me to realize upfront, OK, that’s going to be a hurdle, especially [since we’re playing] father and son. I needed to get it out of my head.

TG: What were the most challenging scenes for you to film?

TC: I found the sequences on the phone challenging. It’s the nature of the movie that those phone calls are emotional climaxes. And generally, as an exercise, phone calls are challenging as an actor because you don’t typically have the other person there with you. So I was very grateful that each time there was something on the phone, whether it was Andre Royo [who plays Nic’s AA sponsor, Spencer] or Steve, we were always there for each other.

SC: For me, it was when the character of David makes choices that would be difficult for me, or any father, to make. There’s a sticking point in your subconscious, maybe, about how you would handle a situation. By his own admission, David makes tough choices, and sometimes as an actor, or just a human being, you evaluate what those choices are. Sometimes they conflicted with what I imagined I would do, but ultimately I realized it’s probably what I would do. Making that shift was interesting to me.

TG: Right, there are several forks in the road for both David and Nic throughout the movie, but the scene that felt critical to me is when David has to establish some kind of boundary with Nic.

SC: It was a terrifying scene. A moment any parent would dread. It’s hard to even imagine getting to that point, where you have to make that kind of choice while still desperately loving your child. The whole thing is terrifying and tragic and common. That’s the other thing—every day while we were shooting this, if any of us mentioned to other people what we were working on, the stories and personal connections were a bit overwhelming.

TG: Well, last year was the deadliest on record for overdoses.

TC: Yeah, more than car crashes.

TG: This isn’t a preachy film, but how do you hope it will play a part in that discussion?

FVG: I think it’s about giving people a face and a voice. I hope this film gives insight into how complex [addiction] is. A lot of movies touch upon it from just one side. But there’s something unique about [Beautiful Boy]. It’s two points of view of the same story.

TG: When you went back home to your families after a day on set, were you able to leave work at work?

TC: Certainly in any film, whether it’s your relationship to the characters or people or the context of environments, it naturally blends with your experience. It would be dramatic to say that there was no escaping it, and yet we were in it—we shot for 40 days or something, and I just kept thinking, Keep moving, keep going.

SC: This one was hard to leave on set. Every night I came home and hugged my kids a little tighter. My wife and I would talk every night about what we shot that day and how it felt and just the vibe. It didn’t feel like a job. We had to be invested in this because, beyond the fact that it’s a harrowing and relevant story, it’s true. These are real people. I definitely brought it home.

TG: On a lighter topic, there’s the film’s soundtrack: Nirvana, Neil Young, Fiddler on the Roof. It’s all over the place. Felix, how does music inform the story? And Steve and Timothée, as actors, how did you use music to creatively build out these roles?

FVG: The idea came from the books. Music was so important to David and Nic. There’s something beautiful about how it unites them. David mentions in his book a lot of songs that he can’t listen to anymore. So we put some of those songs in the movie. At some point my editor [Nico Leunen] and I wanted to use a classic film score together with songs, but then [Leunen] came up with the idea to drop the score and just use the songs. It made us take a risk.

SC: It’s a language that David and Nic used to speak to each other. As the addiction sets in, their relationship becomes frayed and that language does as well. Music is David’s bread and butter; these are the people he interviews. And he incorporates his son into that world at an early age—it’s both of their worlds.

TC: Yeah, music was a big part to Nic’s character. I remember we were shooting on the campus of USC, and we got into trouble because my portable speaker was playing “Heart-Shaped Box” too loudly. For Nic it was Nirvana; I was listening to Eminem when I was 5 or 6 years old, and it did feel important. It’s an effect of growing up in America, or the world, in a digital, consumerist age, that you’re communicated these messages of self-destruction and alienation.

TG: Timothée, you’ve played coming-of-age roles before, most notably as Elio in Call Me By Your Name. Elio is different from Nic, but they’re also both struggling with their identity. Did you take anything from that role and put it into this one?

TC: That’s a really good question. If there’s a through line it’s the immediacy and the urgency, the moment-to-moment visceral nature of what it is to be young. For Elio that’s a life circumstance that all of us should be so fortunate to go through, to fall in love, but also he’s coming to terms with his sexuality. For Nic, it’s facing this goliath of an obstacle, not only addiction but to one of the most powerful substances known to man.

TG: Did David and Nic give you all any advice?

SC: I didn’t meet Nic until we were shooting, but I met with David. He couldn’t have been more gracious. I think [he’s] very brave to even allow this movie to be made. There’s an incredible trust that he put into Felix and everyone involved that we’d get it at least marginally right. But he took a very hands-off approach with me.

TC: I went out with Nic and [his sister] Daisy to eat, and it was just as Steve said, the greatest gift I got from Nic was the confidence to be Nic. I felt an understanding. I think they understood our biggest goal and mission was to get their story right.

FVG: But just in the authenticity and in the heart of it—we didn’t have an obligation to it. It’s not a biopic in that sense, and that’s an advantage, I guess.

TG: Steve, you’re also playing Donald Rumsfeld in Backseat and Mark Hogancamp in Marwen—what’s different about playing a real, living person as opposed to a fictional character?

SC: A fictional character leaves much more to the imagination in terms of the performance and development and backstory. One is complete invention, and the other is completely tethered to the real world. It’s not easier or harder to portray either. I’m really excited that David and Nic [are attending the premiere]. From time to time I would talk to David and ask, “How surreal does this feel to you?” There was one day we were doing a scene on the beach, and David and [his wife] Karen [Barbour] came to visit. It was a simple scene, nothing overly dramatic, but David was elated. He was so full of emotion. I could tell that it really hit him.

TG: What do you ultimately hope this movie communicates? What do you think the lasting impression will be?

FVG: It’s a harrowing story, but it’s a beautiful family. To see all of this happen in a family where there’s so much love and understanding makes it even more harrowing, maybe, but it’s a family that believes in unconditional love, and they use that as a way out.

TG: That’s a great note to end on. I do have one last question though, unrelated to the movie. Timothée, have you seen the Instagram account @chalametinart?

TC: Yes! [Laughs]

FVG: What is that?

TG: It’s an Instagram account where they photoshop Timothée into classic paintings.

FVG: Oh, yeah! Wasn’t there an account about just his hair, too?

SC: [Looking at @chalametinart on a phone] Oh, it’s beautiful. [To Timothée] Well, you have your selection of Christmas cards now.