#the complete and utter lack of critical thinking skills being displayed

[redmeet]

people trying to cancel keleigh and miles because of their PARENTS views like aren’t you tired. Aren’t you so fucking tired

[dusk-realm]

Chrysanthemum [Chapter 1: Light heart, heavy heart]

This is a Severus Snape x reader fanfiction, I do not own any of the characters mentioned unless clearly stated. 

Trigger warnings will be found at the tags.

For the sake of the narrative, your House has to be Slytherin, sorry for that.

This is my first ever fanfic, so feedback and criticism are welcomed. Please leave a ❤️ if you enjoy the story!

-Levse

Tagging: @featurelengthfics

(Y/N) stood before an abyss, perched on the uncomfortable railing; her feet loosely hanged above the far, faraway ground. She lingered in the pleasurable silence that inhabited the castle. The students were on their way home for a refreshing summer vacation, the crowd had left for the Hogwarts Express that very morning carrying heavy luggage and a light heart - that is, the whole mob minus one. The young Slytherin turned around just enough to look at what she had left behind, to which her spine protested with loud cracks of tiredness. There laid a pair of torn shoes, crowned by her wand resting in a perpendicular line. Underneath them, a folded paper. It was not, however, the type of paper one would expect in such a scenery. It was nothing more than her grades for the just finished course; which she did not need to consult in order to remember her marks for each of the subjects. The girl was not stupid, in spite of what many of her House mates may think of her. Rather, she possessed a cunning mind, which helped her overcome her own personal hardships and top in certain subjects: Astronomy, Potions and Herbology. As for any other student, there were unbearably disinteresting subjects in her curriculum (History of Magic and Flying lessons) for which she had only acceptable grades and, lastly, the nightmarish ones: Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms. (Y/N) was perceptive enough to recognise not only the teachers’ display of skill in their respective subjects, but also sense their disappointment and frustration when they dealt with incapable students like herself. Much to her disgrace, her fellow Slytherins had noticed as well her lack of ability with spells.

Fraud.

Such a waste...

Useless.

Mudbloods shouldn’t be allowed in.

Not even Hufflepuff would accept you.

Shame.

How do your parents tolerate this?

Why don’t you just drop out?

A bitter sigh escaped her mouth as she turned to look at her front again. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she should have abandoned Hogwarts after being the only one left behind in the first course, but, how could she? Wasn’t Hogwarts, after all, her tiny ray of hope? Her opportunity to escape from the cesspit she had to live in during her childhood? Where else would she go if Hogwarts wasn’t a possibility anymore?

(Y/N) allowed herself to slightly shift forward, inspecting again the landscape.

Perhaps she was wrong all the time. Maybe Hogwarts was not her place, but neither was the muggle world, the girl felt trapped in the anguish of in-betweenness, of not really belonging in any of the two worlds, of not having a place she could feel comfortable calling ‘home’. What to do, then? The view made her stomach twist and her skin get goosebumps. Her gaze traveled again towards the paper, (E/C) orbs pondering about the choices that had led her there, to the top of the Astronomy Tower. The majority of people would leave a note, a farewell, something explaining their deepest, hidden sentiments. But the youngster hadn’t written one - she had carefully contemplated the idea, always arriving at the same conclusion: For whom? Nobody was interested, nobody wondered why I repeated the first course twice. Nobody cared enough to ask, and nobody will wonder why… -a shudder interrupted her stream of thought- I…

Dark eyes drifted around the staff room, dull and tired. The professors held the last meeting of the course, dealing with the overall behavior and results of all four Houses. Slytherin received the usual dose of praise and criticism, so their Head was not really paying attention until a certain name was mentioned.

‘That (Y/L/N) girl… she didn’t make it this year either.’ Minerva had started, a hint of severity in her voice. She frowned before continuing. ‘I do not see her slacking off, but she, somehow, always manages to fail!’ The Transfiguration teacher looked around at her colleagues, seeking some sort of reaction. Albus seemed lost in thought, and nobody else seemed to reciprocate or deny her words assertively. Some teachers stared at her, expecting a further explanation, whereas others nodded in silent agreement. Flitwick intervened this time:

‘Indeed… I have seen a little improvement, but still, it is not enough. It seems as if she… didn’t have enough strength to cast even the simplest spells.’

Severus was now fully alert, but said nothing. He had noticed the girl had been stuck in the same course for two years, but he simply could not agree with his peers. Indeed, the student he knew was a very diligent one, who would actually put all her five senses in her task. However, he couldn’t conceive the image of Miss (Y/L/N) being a complete inept, for she was one of his most capable students. In fact, he had been hoping to get her into eventually brewing more advanced potions. The professor had also noticed how after her first year at Hogwarts, the witch had grown colder and more composed, which he had at first interpreted as a sign of maturity. She no longer seemed intimidated, but rather collected and distant. In a way, she reminded him of his own youth: he knew that behind the silent facade, a turbulent, active mind hid waiting to be aroused. Professor Snape’s elbows rested on the table, and his nose on his intertwined fingers, when the arrival of an unexpected owl snapped him out of his thoughts. The Headmaster received the note and took a little breath in before speaking.

‘It looks like… someone is not willing to abandon us just yet’ He knowingly looked up at the potions teacher.

Suddenly, Dumbledore’s words made something click in Severus’ mind, since he got up and bursted out of the room without uttering a word. Albus followed closely, and McGonagall chased out of pure instinct leaving the rest of the staff sitting there dumbfounded. Severus had a hunch that something was very wrong and rushed upstairs towards the Astronomy Tower. If anyone asked, the professor would never be able to provide a reasonable answer as to why going there out of all the hidden places in the castle, but he was both relieved and aghast at the sight of a fragile figure slightly bending forwards.

Towards the void below her feet.

His voice reverberated against the few walls around.

‘(Y/L/N)!!’

A foreign roar made the Slytherin sit right up and clench the railing, making her stay immobile in place and not even daring to look behind. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut as she clenched her teeth. Fuck. Steps could be heard coming closer. I’ve just lost my opportunity.

‘(Y/N)...’ A lower, softer voice called.

‘(Y/N) please stay where you are…’

The voice definitely belonged to Professor Snape, but it didn’t sound like Professor Snape. (Y/N) obliged herself to turn around to look at him as hot tears began to flood down her face. She clearly saw a tinge of pain mix up with Snape’s shock.

‘Please…’

He was half way there, advancing slowly as if he didn’t want to startle the girl. Further in the scene, she could see two more figures standing there. Dumbledore had his arm extended, impeding McGonagall advance any further. (Y/N) turned again to look at the depth before her and felt a knot forming at the the pit of the stomach. Severus took the opportunity and hurried to surround her with his arms from behind, pulling her into a tight hug before dragging her back to the safety of the stone floor.

‘I got you… I got you, it’s okay, you are alright…’

[delilahswritings-blog]

All About Love by Bell Hooks

            What is love anyway? Is it some sort of infatuation feeling of an opposite person or an attraction of HOW someone may make you feel when you are around them? The definition of love is an intense feeling of deep affection or a great interest and pleasure in something else. Some of us (definitely in the black household upbringing) have been in situations where “tough love” was displayed as a sort of affection. You’ve probably heard “Hurting you hurts me” or “I whoop you because I love you” which is really utter bs because if hurting me hurts you then why are you hurting yourself? Bell Hooks says, “To truly love, we must learn to mix various ingredients-care, affection, recognition, respect, and communication.” Hooks describes love not only in sense of fondness of romantic, but she describes love in all aspects such as political, spirituality, mutuality, community, and etc.

           At the beginning of her renowned best seller, Hooks mentions clarity. Clarity is just another form of transparency. “Love is as love does. Love is an act of will—namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love.” In order to truly give love, you have to be as open to it as possible. But some people give love with an armor of defensiveness up to not only protect their energy but to make sure that they aren’t the first ones to get hurt. Trust and believe everyone gets hurt and does the hurting. “Everywhere we are learning that love is important, and yet are bombarded by its failures.” Does every failure of love dig us into a deeper hole of lovelessness, or therefore, the lack of desiring to love anymore? She insinuates “Men theorize about love, but women are more often love’s practitioners” meaning more so majority of men are born to think of capitalism, whereas the women are supposed to think more domestically. Can men not be practitioners of love as well as being in capitalism?

Our childhood plays a huge part in how we grow up to love as well. She brings to our attention that “many men never recover from childhood unkindness. Studies shows that males and females who are violently humiliated and abused repeatedly, with no caring intervention, are likely to be dysfunctional and will be predisposed to abuse others violently.” which in cause results in toxic relationships and friendships. “many men confess that they lie because they can ger away with it; their lives are forgiven. To understand why male lying is more accepted in our lives we have to understand the way in which power and privilege are accorded men simply because they are males within a patriarchal culture.

Men tend to be taught from an early age that “they should not cry or express hurt, feelings of loneliness, or pain, that they must be tough, they are learning how to mask true feelings. Even boys raised in the most progressive, loving households, where parents encourage them to express emotions, learn a different understanding about masculinity and feelings on the playground, in the classroom, playing sports, or watching television.” Now this isn’t a “male bashing” segment where I point out all the flaws of the male species because some women tend to be emotionally unavailable as well but how many times have you came across a man that was just simply not ready and more so focused on providing longevity for his family? 3 out of every 4 guys that you meet right? Now this is where things get interesting. Hooks says “Early on in the feminist movement, women insisted that men had the upper hand, because they usually controlled the finances. Now, even the wealthiest professional woman can be “brought down” by being in the relationship where she longs to be loved and is consistently lied to. To the degree that she trusts her male companion, lying and other forms of betrayal will most likely shatter her self-confidence and self-esteem” meaning that once she feels as though transparency is one-sided in the relationship, she tends to be hard on herself and thinking that maybe she is the one to blame for his actions when really…..it’s just how he grew up and how he’s programmed.

Hooks also speaks on love from a friendship aspect. Let’s be completely honest. A lot of us females don’t truly know how to be friends. Not saying this in a bad way but this is me saying……OWN UP TO YOUR SHIT! We tend to be so heinous towards each other and when someone tends to point out the flaw in said relationship, that’s when the shatter begins. A healthy relationship or friendship has accountability and healthy communication skills which some of us tend to lack. Does that make you any less of a person? Absolutely not but it does signify that you might have some shitty ways and possibly need to work on them.

In this modern day and age, a lot of people have become succumb to spirituality vs a specific religion. Yes, some of us may believe in higher being (Christ, Allah, Jesus, etc.) but we’re not forcing ourselves to be stuck to just one religion. Hooks speaks on the divine spirit and “religious fundamentalism is often represented as authentic spiritual practice and given a level of mass media exposure that countercultural religious thought and practice never receive.” Love is something that is felt from the spirit. “Spirituality and spiritual life give us the strength to love. It is rare for individuals to choose a life in the spirit, one that honors the sacred dimensions of everyday life when they have had no contact with traditional religious thought or practice.” Hooks speaks about love in a spiritual sense, sort of like in a Christ like manner. We all tend to be Christ-like at the end of the day, but even He became angry in some sort of fashion. It’s okay to be angry but don’t let it consume you to the point where you walk around with a chip on your shoulder.

We are own worst critics. Especially with social media being so prominent, the world tends to compare to physical, social status, financial freedom, and overall lifestyle living. “Self-acceptance is hard for many of us. There is a voice that is constantly judging, first ourselves and then others.” We don’t tend to be accepting of ourselves because we’re so worried about what someone else is doing or what we may have heard from someone else. “The more we accept ourselves, the better prepared we are to take responsibility in all areas of our lives. Taking responsibility does not mean that we deny the reality of institutionalized injustice. Taking responsibility means that in the face of barriers we still have the capacity to invent our lives, to shape our destinies in ways that maximize our well-being.” She says that self-love is the foundation of our loving practice. In order to love out loud and give others love, we must first learn to love ourselves.

           There’s so much information to dissect from this book that honestly, this article would be 10 pages long, but I think I’ve covered the basics. It’s okay to love because we would want somebody to show us love as well but also remember that love has boundaries. Healthy boundaries to the point that we cannot be drained when we do decide to give love. Love is neither rushed or easy especially unconditional love. Most of us are hurting to the point where we can’t even trust anyone to love and feel as though everybody is out to get us. The more you retract your energy from certain people and certain crowds, the more you tend to become more powerful in your own self-love. Love yourself as you would love your neighbors.

[tesalionlortus]

LMAOF - those ought to be my fave comments about TFA...

“How did you get so many likes which such an inane and asinine comment? That sentence meant nothing, and even if it had it would have only done what you think it did because it was copy-pasted from ANH. You also talk about how no one really cared about Alderaan's destruction (aka you're critical of the fact that it wasn't fleshed out) but you ignore that this wasn't fleshed out at all either. After "the Republic was destroyed" no one cared either, they immediately just went back to finding Luke and crying about Han rather than even truly mention the Republic's end. Also, it's "destruction" doesn't even make any sense. How does the largest, (nearly) completely galactic government get destroyed just because it's capital planet was blown up? It wasn't even like a centralized capital planet, they voted on which one they wanted to be the capital all the time so it's not even like that system was really important. Every planet would have representatives to replace deceased senators and were supposed to believe this one act destroyed the whole government? Also, how was their entire fleet destroyed? I don't care if the New Republic limited their Navy there is no way they actually stationed 90% of their fleet in one system... Also, there's the whole fact that StarKiller Base lacks any creativity and is stupid, and the fact that it makes no sense the laser would break up into pieces, and the fact it makes no sense that that many habitable planets were that close to each other without being uninhabitable at best, and the fact it makes little sense everyone could see its destruction that well. Sorry for being pissy with you, but the new trilogy is utter garbage is makes my brain not feel like it has increased intracranial pressure if people realize that. P.S. The concept is dark but the execution was not one of the darkest scenes, it was fucking hilarious because of the distractingly blatant Nazi similarities that they pushed so hard and for all the reasons I gave before. Good day, sir. Lmao“

“Assuming the New Order has the resources to build such a weapon - which throws any reasonable assumption of balance out the window between them and La Resistance, if they were so superior in resources certainly they shouldn't have been fought to a stalemate. Furthermore, if we get past all that silliness the New Order loses this weapon in Episode VII along with whatever personnel and materiel were on Starkiller Base at the time of its destruction. Certainly, the loss of such a weapon and resources, already ridiculous in scale, would cripple them going forward, but we all know it won't. The Empire was the continuation of a Galactic Republic which had been building its weapons and forces with no real competition for three decades. The New Order is the remnants of a pack of dudes who were beaten - or at least tied - by a New Republic that has fewer weapons and resources than the old Rebellion. It requires a dozen excuses by see-no-evil fanboys to be even nominally feasible and EVEN PAST THAT it's still a lazy creative idea.“

“Maybe JJ Abrams sat down with his creative team and decided that fans need a third Death Star which can be blown up again, so as to invoke a feeling of nostalgy, which is good for ticket sales, and fans are now creating numerous theories as to how to place this enormous piece of bullshit in the SW universe. Basically, if Abrams had decided to come up with a giant piece of poo as the new superweapon of the new empire, fans would've created a backstory for it the next day, uploading it to the Wookiepedia and youtube as well. There goes your canon. You can come up with a backstory for everything. 'Snoke'! 'Kylo Ren'! 'First Order'! Of course, the SW universe can be expanded as we like, but I hate it, when the creators abuse this right and give us poorly devised, stupid and cheap random stuff that will sell very well among children. The original story deserves so much more than this. Take a look at Yoda (the original one), how much effort they put into his uniquely peculiar personality and his wisdom. And the jungle planet he lives on. Or Cloud City. Or Han's and Leia's relationship as it developed before our eyes. Or the conflict btw Luke and Vader. Or Vader's suit. Everything was original, everything was carefully designed, everything had enthusiasm behind it. I don't feel any of that with the new episode. They just copied everything from the old trilogy, giving everything and everyone a cool-sounding new name, and that's it. I only felt a bit of redemption when I saw Rogue One. That movie again dared do something new and use a lot of creativity.“

“Rogue one, although not even needed since it plays during the old triologies time period, featured a way greater diversity of new and starships in general than Episode 7 which plays aproximitly 30 years in the future. As far as i remember Episode displays 5 different Starships: "The Falcon" "X-Wings" "Tie Fighter" "Star Destroyer" "Kylo Rens Drop Ship", well reagrding the fact that 4 out of 5 featured ships were part of the old Triology that is  absolutly sad and is one thing that shows up the uncreativity which spreads throughout the film. That movie is supposed to play 30 years after Return of the Jedi, yeah cool story does look like the Galaxy just went on a quick nap to skip those years. Leia Organa a politican is the "General"(wtf) of a Resistance consisting of a dozen X-wing(wtf) and which appears to be hunting the First Order. Main tactic could be to destroy the shield generator of star destroyers and smack 1 or two X-wings right into the Brigde to disable them or something like that, pretty effective fighting style isnt it?... wait, huh well something seems to be wrong... list goes on btw Swamp planet, X-Wing support arrives shoots down 10+X Tie Fighters, dont scratch the main targets Drop Ship which is parked stationary at the ground. Damn those undisciplined "Rebel" Pilots, they rather want to show off their skills than to follow their mission objectiv. No wonder Ren got away, the resistance seems to really be a massive threat to the First order which reasons the destruction of multiple planets for that the New republic will stop supporting the Resistance with... wait with what actually ? 1 X-wing per year ? Well i dont think the Resistance even has 30 X-wings, i guess its only political support then, well and of course the First order cant allow that ! Good Idea to blow up planets worth i dont know massive amounts of credits in infrastructure whithout negotiations btw, really good plan tbh. This movie simply consists of made up uncreative shit.“

And finally:

“A new hope's plot hole of the Death Star exhaust port suddenly became the most clever plot in all of Star Wars while diminishing TFA to a child's tale.“

[shepgeek]

The Terminal

Often neglected as a frivolity lurking within Steven Spielberg’s CV of blockbuster hits and historically significant dramas, The Terminal is, in many ways, quite atypical. Sentimentality has always been the stick that Spielberg’s critics reach for whenever they seek to beat him and this film certainly has such a surface. It reunited Spielberg with Tom Hanks, who also had taken praise and criticism for Forrest Gump, another film which can be dismissed for depicting an idealised America but whose narrative also treats its kind and earnest hero with unrelenting cruelty. The Terminal was minimally marketed, with its poster depicting Hanks with his jaw jutting out comedically and, whilst the reception was positive, there was a feeling of uncertainty to what the film was intending to say. Looking back at it there is, from the start, a clear seed of concern at what America was becoming and a resulting film which seems on the surface to be a fluffy romcom but picks steadily at our modern perceptions of America and the wider west. The Terminal is a film of contradictions and extremes: from the hugeness of the set (built to scale) to the smallness of the story, the protagonist and antagonist are utter opposites and, whilst the film has a feelgood veneer it consistently makes interesting and challenging dramatic choices. It is certainly funny throughout and is not afraid to resort to some moments of unabashed clowning, but the script has a sharp satirical edge, consistently nudging the fourth wall with knowing dialogue that combines writer Andrew Niccol’s cynicism with Spielberg’s positivity. These ingredients juxtapose to forge this overlooked film’s greatest strength and, over the five films that Spielberg & Hanks have worked together, this piece is the only one not to receive awards recognition despite its containing many prescient themes, a deftness of storytelling focus and, yes, at its heart, a story about how a good and earnest man keeping his promise can prevail.

 The film begins as audiences might have expected: Viktor is a bumbling, innocent presence who is soon intercepted and cordoned off, bluffing blankly through English he plainly does not understand and then covered with smashed crisps as his predicament, based famously around a true story, is explained to us: a military coup in his home country makes him “unacceptable” to the US, incapable of returning home but unable to be waved through the doors to New York without immediate arrest. The opening is playful but marked by a sudden smash into reality when Victor learns of the coup and his panic is played completely straight, as he desperately but hopelessly begs for volume on the TV screens above his head that casually show pictures of the destruction happening in his home. Spielberg gives this scene considerable emotional wallop, as his camera pulls back to reveal Viktor perversely alone in a packed, indifferent crowd. This is the stuff of nightmares, as Viktor begs passers by who cannot understand him and are apathetic to his horror as a child innocently spins on the edge of the frame. When he finally finds a screen with volume, his lack of a first-class ticket leaves him marooned outside the lounge, his agony blurred by the glass doors separating him from us, from first-class. There is no humanity on display from anyone other than Viktor in this moment and it makes it clear to the audience that, whilst this film will have comic edges, it will not be a comedy.

 Artificiality abounds. Shining mirrors and lights dazzle seductively the but the effect gradually becomes oppressive. Spielberg repeats specific shots and camera moves along the same corridors invoking a feeling of the unwavering inauthenticity familiar to anyone who has done shift work. He also often places the camera low to the ground, so that 20% of the shot becomes ceiling, with squares of brightness caging the characters from above. Muzak twinkles in the background behind the noises of the crowd and the shuttling of the airport signs which move everyone else onwards except Viktor, quietly and subtly sapping the viewer. There is a clear irony behind the product placement since, as with Minority Report, the oppressive nature of their ubiquity undoes what companies must have hoped would be association with some feelgood Hollywood stardust- indeed many companies actively approached Dreamworks asking to be present on set when news of the film got out.  The terminal itself is a mirage of a consumerist paradise, a glimmering wall of capitalist promise. Viktor is told from the start that “There’s only one thing you can do here: shop” with the implication that they are talking about the country as a whole. There are numerous nudges of from the script in this way, with Viktor complaining to Amelia “I can’t go out with you”, or for his friends to be wondering who this mysterious stranger is leading to Gupta’s observation that “This guy is here for a reason and I think the reason is us.”

 The satirical sharpness to the film is fully manifested through its antagonist, Frank Dixon. Played with an understated predatory callousness by Stanley Tucci, he is introduced as a God from the start, cordoned off and surveying the domain of which he is the absolute ruler. He immediately demonstrates his intelligence and an outstanding instinct for spotting the worst in the people, but his lack of ability to see the best is ultimately what comes to define him. As Viktor tries in vain to find a moment’s rest at the end of his traumatising first day, Spielberg cuts to the masters of this universe chatting with nepotistic blitheness about buying boats. The Terminal is potently set in New York and brings to mind the oft-quoted poem mounted on the Statue of Liberty that reminds how America was once built upon “…tired…poor…huddled masses yearning to be free”, but the following line of the poem has arguably greater relevance to this film: “Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!” Viktor’s own tempest leaves him marooned upon a bureaucratic technicality, with New York’s golden glow tantalisingly out of reach although, as we will ultimately learn, his purpose here is always to visit: Viktor only ever seeks to be a guest, never a resident. Already sharply clear about how America (and, to be clear, these accusations could equally be applied to our country as well as the West as a whole) has moved away from its roots, the degradation of Dixon that follows is unnerving and, by the climax of the film, he is unravelled and left as a petty, embittered figure.

On the face of it Frank is living the American Dream: he is witty, sharp, ambitious, very hard working and believes that this entitles him to the rewards that his society demands that these skills accrue. The film’s greatest impact comes from contrasting the lengths that pursuing these desires to the exclusion of his fellow man can corrupt and degrade Frank in comparison with Viktor’s quiet and simple truths. Frank is warned, twice, that leadership means setting an example and having empathy for the world he inhabits but ignores this advice on both occasions, and the leadership that the US still enjoys in the world politically would seem to be the the target of this message: Frank is motivated by what he can get, not who he can be. His perfect world obeys clear rules and, despite his complete mastery of those rules, he is undone by a buffoon in a dressing gown, refuses to compromise his ego and ultimately is enslaved by certainty in his own flawlessness. It is inconceivable to Frank that anyone would not ultimately bend to his will and, as Viktor’s quiet and innocent resilience refuses to yield, Frank’s underlying bigot starts to become more steadily revealed. Is Frank how Spielberg really sees America- devoid of empathy? That would seem an unlikely extrapolation, but the film certainly has space to investigate the dualities of the role 21st century America has in the world.

Frank sees all of the people as fish in his river, to be added to his collection. He is often trapped in small rooms, taunted by the pictures of life beyond this box of his own making. Spielberg loves playing with screens, frames & reflections and is clearly having fun with this character’s rigidity: there are many shots where Viktor unexpectedly enters the frame, often to Frank’s exasperation, whilst the moment where Viktor senses the traps which Frank has set for him and starts to use the cameras as a way to stare back is when the momentum shifts in his favour during their chess match. The grin from that point on Frank’s face becomes increasingly fixed and Tucci’s performance becomes slowly but steadily dehumanised to the point where he is left being casually cruel and, finally, openly monstrous, dedicated to thwarting Viktor for no reason other than his own pride. By the end of the story Frank is visibly savouring the idea of crushing Viktor and it is a chilling depiction of a man utterly consumed by hubris. Far from the profound evil that Spielberg has shown with many faces in his films, Frank is a memorable and troubling antagonist for our times, ending his journey obsessed, morally bankrupt, disobeyed and defeated although, it is significant to note, he does get his promotion.

 If Frank is a bleak reflection of what the west might become, the friends Viktor ultimately makes show what it can still be. A vibrant, multicultural cast of characters show him small moments of kindness (the casting of a young Zoe Saldana as a Trekkie is a wonderful piece of serendipity) with the exception of the elderly and aggressive Gupta, whose pride at managing to hide from the world and live a life of what he realises is insignificance is ultimately transformed by Viktor’s example. Kumasi Pallana was 86 when this filmed this role and he twinkles with a weary sadness and raw, angry honesty. He brings a refreshing originality to the film, juggling deadpan beside the lead couple in a beautifully silly flourish. Spielberg loves moments in his films where something completely ordinary is brought smashing against something utterly extraordinary, and the final image of Gupta stopping an enormous 747 with his mop is the director’s most distinctive shot.

 The middle act of the film is arguably the least compelling dramatically as Frank connects with and attempts to woo an American sweetheart. Amelia, played with fragility by Catherine Zeta Jones proves ultimately to be unattainable as, like Frank, she too is trapped by her unwillingness to move away from the limits she has placed on herself by what she feels she needs to make her happy. Like Victor, Amelia is introduced in standard romcom way via a pratfall but her story also goes to far less familiar places. If the writing device of her love of history books feels a little forced, it reveals a character who appreciates Napoleon but whose favourite story is about how he tried to poison himself. Amelia’s self-loathing makes the character credible but gives Zeta Jones little to develop or much for us to invest in as her journey takes her around in a circle, and ultimately she finds herself more of a prisoner to the terminal than Viktor. As the film’s other American lead character, she is another clear example of the difference between what others expect to see in her and what is projected over who she really is. The film was reshot to remove a happier ending and their relationship ultimately proves bleak. Despite Viktor’s almost preposterously romantic courtship as he tries to help her “rewrite history”, he can’t convince her to join him in the real world. The “destiny” Amelia speaks of was shown to us in one of her introductory shots; the callous married lover waiting for her at the end of the unwavering escalator.

 Viktor himself is equally unwavering- the journey he goes on is to illuminate others. His musical theme, conjured with John Williams’ customary and seemingly effortless genius, is a toe tapping, purposeful and optimistic Slavic dance, played with a jazzy elegance by clarinettist Emily Bernstein. Tom Hanks brings enormous charisma to our hero, filling Viktor with the earnestness that has become Hanks’ defining movie-star quality. This is what I suspect Spielberg wanted from the film: honesty, charm, courtesy and optimism facing up to a cynical world and, ultimately, optimism winning out. There are many most interesting comparison pieces to this film but one would definitely be Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray is forced to live in the same day repeatedly. As in that film, there come advantages to having been given almost unlimited time as Viktor’s key victory comes when he uses his newly acquired mastery of paperwork to save a frantic comrade from this American microcosm. Viktor, in his time in the terminal, picks up the perverse rules to surviving in it and, despite having completely missed the nuance of such technicalities earlier in the film, embraces them to help a despairing traveller who is holding a knife to his own throat in a potent and horrifying image of desperation. Frank is outraged at being outmanoeuvred using his own rules, it marks the moment when both characters are publicly revealed. Viktor inspires honesty in everyone he encounters but, significantly, he does learn how to play the game, becoming a myth within the airport and a symbol that the film coalesces around.

The final rebellion is thrilling but, once Viktor crosses into a postcard NYC, it is notable that his only thought is of home. His motivation was always simply to keep a promise to his late father (a hugely significant theme in almost every film Spielberg has made) and it is fitting that, at the climax of the film, after everything he has put up with, Viktor is not taken in by any more shining lights, this time those of the big apple itself.

 The Terminal shows us who we are in danger of becoming and who we should aspire to be: it is a film with a strong humanist message that deserves wider appreciation.