#the original scene has such a warm homey feel to the set dressing that I love 🥰

[pluto-attacks]

Screenshot redraw from Our Dining Table.

I just love the energy in this scene from ep.1

[visual-explorxtion]

A Date With Rebecca [Rebecca Chambers x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: Taking your favourite girl on a date. Go see her favourite movie, have a candlelit dinner, take a short stroll. What more can you ask for?

A/N: Looking for some wholesome Rebecca content? Then you’ve come to the right place. Originally, I’ve planned to make this 1.5k words or less but somehow I kept adding more and more details to the story. Is it a fluff fic? Yes. Is it filled with cliché plots? Also, yes. Sometimes, cliché stuff are pretty wholesome. Bonus content if you read the whole fic ;)

Word Count: 2.7K

Hairstyle? Check. Outfit? Check. Time? You peered up from your full-length mirror and glanced at the analogue clock on the wall. The ticking dish points to 6:15 pm. Perfect, you still got time before picking up your lovely date, Rebecca. You've planned a surprise date night for her for weeks now. Only up until recently, she finally agreed and cleared up her schedule. Joy would be an understatement to describe how you are feeling right now, nevertheless, joy is the only thing that's coursing through your body. Ping! The screen of your phone illuminated in blue, revealing a text sent by your date.

'Hey! I'm on my way to our meet up point. I'll see you in 10 minutes x :)'

The message made your heart melt into a pool of jello, she even left a little kiss and a smiley face at the end. This made you even more excited to meet her, the sooner the better. With no time to lose, you grab your old-fashion helmet from the console table, reviewing yourself one last time before exiting the apartment. Keys to your scooter in your fist, you stick it in the ignition and the little yellow hunk of junk sputter to life. You smile to yourself and pray that your only transportation doesn't fail on you tonight. Index finger double tapping on the oil gauge disk displaying petrol 3/4 of the way full, tucking your hair neatly inside the helmet then you set off.

Round the corner and through the bustling streets of downtown, you parked your bike just a couple of shops down from where you're meeting Rebecca. Every step you take seems like you're walking on air, the bounce in your steps lights up every way of your path, leading you right to her. There, she stands under the fairy lights- strung from one side of the patio to the other wrapping around the redwood columns- waiting for your arrival just outside of her favourite cafe, 'Dans le bleu'. From the moment she saw you, her sweet smile has taken over her perfectly shaped face and time slows down around you as you take in the impression of her. Her hair twinkles under the warm white glow, eyes crinkled as she beams; draped in a celadon green vintage flare dress, fitted waistband hugging against her slender waist, she is your angel at heart even if she denies it.

"Hey, you look beautiful tonight." you resist the urge to pull her into your arms even with the whole world watching.

"You don't look so bad yourself. Did you style your hair? It looks great." she praised. "Should we go to eat? I think Bleu just flipped to their bar menu and I'm kinda craving pasta right now."

"Actually...I have something else planned. It's only 6:30 and I think it's still kinda early for dinner, so I have something else planned instead." you smiled mischievously.

"Oh no. What deathly things have you got planned for me." Rebecca's face drained as you chuckled at her expression.

"I'm not telling you, it's a surprise." you flashed a smug grin. "Come on, we'll be late." You grabbed her hand and tangle your fingers with hers. The warmth of her palm radiates onto yours and you can feel the nervousness and sweat running through with each beat of her pulse. But all of that did not bother you. You held her hand tighter even with the sweat binding both hands, you love her too much that you just accept every part of her.

After 15 minutes of waltzing through the artificially lit avenue, you and Rebecca both arrived at an inconspicuous movie theatre. "The cinema? But it doesn't even look like it’s in business." Rebecca frown.

The cinema looks a little out of place compared to the rest of the street. The creamy white façade has witnessed the testimony of time and history, all cracked and shedding off little pieces. But, the neon sign still glows ominously in the shade of red, the building itself it's illuminated with a standalone rustic street lamp and a retro letterbox that's yellowing with age, only one film is showing in bold letters.

"...Roman Holiday? Oh my gosh! D-did you do this?" she's dying to know as curiosity shimmers from her eyes.

"I have my ways." you winked and she playfully slaps your arm to return the gesture.

Upon entering the building, the scenery was so drastically different that you'd almost thought you stepped back in time. Or walked into a Wes Anderson movie set. Your feet landed on the carpet that was once plush and fluffy, vermillion red and sunset orange shades of intricate patterns stretched across the main entrance. The ticket booth stands in the centre of the hall with a two-tier crystal chandelier hanging above on the high rise ceiling. The leather lounge chairs face one another on either side, beige wrinkles and creases etched onto the chestnut seats with time. The pair of you gradually take in the scenery but was soon greeted by the sweet and savoury scent of popcorn. Rebecca's eye lit up with delight.

"Wait here, I'll get us popcorn." Swiftly, you turned and Rebecca's gaze follows. She watches intently as you carry two bags full of popcorn from the kiosk. Her eyes widened in bewilderment. "I didn't know which one you want so I got both." you shrug as she shakes her head in disbelief.

"The film's about to start. Let's go."

You and Rebecca found your seats with ease, considering the fact that only a dozen of people are here for this movie, scattered across the theatre in various age groups, even though you'd thought about having this screening just for the two of you instead. The lights went dim, shading your eyes in pitch blackness, then the screen comes on. The unfamiliar brightness made you squint your eyes as you shield them and blinked several times to get used to the luminosity. Actors appear in black and white, the deliverance of dialogues flows through the auditorium but not to your ears. Your eyes admire Rebecca as she’s fixated on the film. Adoration and excitement glisten in her soul, just like stars, watching this film as if it's the first time. As the story continues to play, the protagonists tour the city of Rome on a scruffy moped, her arms around his waist, riding away in this romantic getaway. You held Rebecca's hand laying on the velvet armrest, a little shock sent up her arm and she looked at your conjoined hands then up to your rosy gaze. Someday, you'd hope to take her to Rome, under the ray of the summer sun, riding on the same vintage moped and reenact the same scene in front of our very own eyes.

"That was such a good film! I haven't had this much fun in so long, I almost forgot what it feels like." she giggles. "I bet I'm going to have a sweet dream tonight."

"You'd think our date ends here? Just after one movie?" you blinked. "Honey, I'm taking you out on a date, not a movie night. We can go anywhere and do anything you want, just say the word."

Rebecca paused. "Anything?"

"Anything," you answered.

Her stomach grumbles and she laughs. "I think the first thing I want is dinner."

You chuckled along. "I think so too. You said you want pasta, right? I know just the place."

Leaving the cinema with the night claiming the light, Rebecca's hand hasn't left yours since halfway through the film, nor does she have the intention to. Everything just felt natural, like puzzle pieces falling in the right place. As you lead the way, a darkened cobbled street came into view as both of you turn a corner, Rebecca couldn't shake off the feeling of uneasiness.

"A-are you sure this is the right way?" she stammers.

"Trust me. I am 100% sure," you reassure her.

"B-but what if-"

"Ah, we're here!" you voice made Rebecca jolt.

She peeked out from behind your right shoulder, quizzical by what she's seeing whilst tugging on your sleeve, she asked, "A hole in the wall? That was a bit anticlimactic..." a hint of disappointment seeps through.

"Dear, you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. I thought you taught me that." you tease. Her face pouts but you still find her cute no matter what.

You push the wooden front door which made a stifling groan. Inside, the little restaurant is rustic and oddly homey. Photographs hung on the wall, from monotones transitioning to technicolour, each photograph tells its own story and heartfelt emotions behind it. Your eyes scan each decoration as you move further into the place, bits and pieces collected from around the world and written messages left by visiting customers. The reserved table is located in a less crowded area behind a half wall, just overlooking the rest of the room, an ambience mood under the candlelit atmosphere. Quiet chit-chats and conversions turn to waves of laughter, feeling content in each other's company as dinner went by in a flash. Spending time with Rebecca is every second well spent.

"I hope you still got room for dessert."

"I think you're underestimating my stomach's capacity." she returns the jab.

Flipping between pages, indecisive, Rebecca bites her bottom lip as her finger scans through the list of desserts, unawarely emitting soft 'umm's and 'eh's from her lips, tinted with a glossy shade of chilli red. Trying hard not to laugh at her child-like indecisiveness caused by this inconvenience, to which her brows begun knitting together bit by bit, the corner of your lips can't help but slowly crawled upwards. All the dessert dilemma ended with her favourite, Baked Alaska. The snowy white miniature mountain engulfed in a sea of blue flames, it's a form of entertainment in the shape of a dessert. You and Rebecca filled your stomachs to the brim with food, thus, this concludes the dinner segment you have planned for her.

The touch of the summer breeze caressed your face under the starry night, footsteps in sync with one another as the night winds down with a stroll into empty, midnight street. Silence flows through the air, except for the distant sound of traffic and Rebecca's angelic voice. Shop windows reflect the pair of you, illuminated by neon lights, you wish this moment could last forever. Music could be heard from afar which prompted the curiosity within Rebecca as she ran ahead to listen to the tune more clearly. The playing tune came from a speaker located just outside of the entrance of the theatre. An all-time classic 'Singing in the Rain'. The cheerful melodic song takes the centre stage as the vacant street acts as their audience. Rebecca looks at you with devious gaze in her eyes. You have a bad feeling in your gut as you can almost see the thought that runs in her mind. You shook your head.

"Oh, come on! You promised that I can do anything I want. Please?"

She gave you those pleading puppy eyes, a critical hit to your heart. You battle with your internal self but the latter isn't any good with arguments. You sigh and agreed. Rebecca jumped up in celebration of her little victory and took you by your hand and lead you to the spotlight. Hands behind her back, tapping one foot out to her right; heel, toe, heel and step. Knowing your cue, you followed. With the opposite foot, she repeats the same moves, gliding in the opposite direction and you do the same. One foot at a time, she hops with airy steps with arms flutter at her sides as she glides her footwork in the figure of eight, in time with the beat. Pushing her foot out with pointed toes, her leg lightly sweeps across the concrete floor as she shifts her weight and twirls on the spot. Her matte satin dress spins in the same direction, the seams floats up in a graceful manner as it whirls around like a maypole but it's gravitational pull delays when Rebecca halts to an end with a croisé pose as the song fades.

Mesmerised by the sight of her dance, you stand on the spot and gawk with your jaw hanging wide. Before you can react with applause, she extends out a hand to ask for yours in return. You happily accepted her touch with the heat of your palm. Fingertips tenderly brushed against her shoulder blades and even the slightest touch her skin can make your heart race a thousand beats per minute. With her hand clasped on your waist, she takes the lead. The incandescent bulb echos in her emerald eyes, twinkling like stardusts; each step she takes, you follow along. Moving to the adagio rhythm, Elvis whispering softly about hopelessly falling in love with somebody, swaying side to side in front of the dazzling theatre with half the city fast asleep. You wish the city could watch as both of you dance in the moonlight, but you need no audience, as Rebecca is your whole world. Prompting her right hand, she twirls for you once more, making a long-lasting image imprinted into your memory. Hands delicately raising the edge of her skirt with the pinky finger extended out for emphasise, she dips into a curtsy bowed gracefully towards you and you do so returning the politeness also as graciously as possible.

All seriousness suddenly turns into a bellow of laughter filling up the darkness and drowning out the music. The hilarity persisted until both your stomach muscles ache with a fiery pain and eyes filled to the brink with tears of joy.

"Alright, lemme take you home."

She nodded with a soft smile, strolling together once more, hand in hand. Wasn't long until you looped back to where you've parked your transport. Rebecca eyes the yellow, barely-holding-it-together machinery with uncertainty.

"A...vespa. Can you please make sure I get home in one piece?" she jest.

"Hey! This baby is as safe as a house." you shift just out of earshot and murmur, "Don't listen to her, baby."

"You should get an electric one. You know, to help save the planet."

"Alright, alright...Dr Chambers." she huffs in response.

Tucking strands of hair back into you hat of safety, you popped open the seat, revealing yet another helmet. This one, a cream coloured shell lined with a retro red-blue stripe inspired by 60s aesthetic. You bought this weeks before the date and with the intention that she'll be the only designated passenger. Rebecca picks up the helmet and paused, eyes gazing attentively at it. Internally, you start to panic. Is it too much? Does she hate it? You swallowed hard; your lips quiver as you were about to speak, she cups your cheek as the warmth of her palm spreads before you could register it her lips are pressed onto yours, taking you in by astonishment. Your hands instinctively supported her waist as her body leaned against you on tiptoes, then she pulled away. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but the lingering feeling felt forever. Still living in a daze, she calls out.

"Are you still going to drive me home?"

You snapped out of your daydream and found her already seated on the backside of the Vespa. Gleefully, you skipped your way to the driver's side, almost crashed landed onto the seat, still giggling stupidly to yourself. Sometimes, action speaks louder than words. And that kiss was all you needed. Ignition on, goggles strapped to your face, you yell;

"Hold on tight, babydoll."

The back tire squeals as you take off. Rebecca clutches your midriff for the sake of her life as you race into the twilight full of adrenaline. Engine roaring in the dead of the night amidst the summer wind streamlining around you, streetlights began to form in a strip of fluorescent lines. Her chin rests on your shoulder, squeezing you ever so tighter as the passing signs and billboards reflect off her visor, in shades of pink and purple hue, wondering if she's existing in a virtual dream state. Even though the music had already stopped playing for the both of you, this was once in a lifetime experience that you will remember for eternity.

-----

Bonus:

Love ya ☆

[thesummoningdark]

Okay, while I love everything you write I think for the DVD commentary I'd like a behind-the-scenes look into chapter 3 of At the Edge of the World. The entire fic is lush and gorgeous but I'm a sucker for the bits where Goody and Sam interact, and with the easy, sure steadiness that Billy brings to this experience that's so harrowing for Goody and would love your additional thoughts on either/both. -The Anon Formerly Known As Thrillingest

So this took forever. I’m happy to do more of these DVD commentaries (you can hit me up over on my writing sideblog!) if anyone’s interested, but I’d appreciate it if any further requests are for scenes rather than whole chapters. A chapter takes too long to do.

Anyway, answer below the cut~

When I originally set out to write this fic, the first neural handshake was what I’d actually been prompted to write (as a christmas present for @b-r-a-h iirc). It grew and took on a life of its own in the writing, but even so, that one scene was always going to make or break the whole fic. I spent a lot of time working on getting it just right.

It’s late enough by the time he finally leaves the kwoon that he doesn’t expect to find Sam in his office; he hesitates before going looking for him at all. But the prospect of another night stewing is unbearable. He doesn’t trust himself not to have lost his nerve by morning if he doesn’t commit to this now.

The shatterdome is quiet as he makes his way through. The overhead lights, motion-activated, flare one by one as he passes and settle into a steadily glowing trail behind him. It does nothing to quiet the sick unease simmering under his skin, feeling painfully exposed as his footsteps echo loudly in the silence of the bare corridors. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say. He can’t shake the conviction that there’s no choice he can make here which won’t turn out to have been a horrible mistake.

I was very pleased with the description of the shatterdome late at night, of how the quiet makes Goody feel so much more exposed and on edge. This opening part of the chapter was all about really showing his unease and how trapped he feels by the situation.

He hesitates in front of Sam’s door. Raises his hand; lowers it again.

He takes a deep breath, swears, and knocks.

These two lines work very well as punctuation to the scene, I think, slowing things down and underlining Goody’s hesitation. The short, sharp phrases are very different from how I normally write prose from Goody’s point of view - it’s actually a lot more like how I’d write Billy, oddly enough - but I like the sense it gives of these jerky, aborted movements and Goody second-guessing himself.

There are a few endless moments of silence before the sounds of movement emerge faintly from the other side of the door, a few muffled thumps and the quiet shuffle of footsteps. Goody hears the hollow clunk of the lock sliding back, but somehow it still startles him when the door swings open, his heart in his throat as he takes a step back and meets Sam’s tired eyes.

“I’ll do it,” he says in a rush before Sam can ask why he’s here. Sam regards him solemnly for a long moment before nodding.

“Good.”

“…I have some conditions,” Goody clarifies in a more measured tone, something sick and shocked crawling feverishly over the back of his neck as the magnitude of what he’s just agreed to tries to sink in. He pushes it away.

Sam sighs, and glances up and down the corridor before stepping aside. “Why don’t you come in.”

Writing this fic was the first time I really got to write interactions between Sam and Goody, and honestly, at first it was a little intimidating. Their conversation in the first chapter was the first time I’d ever written Sam period. I pretty much wrote this fic sequentially from start to finish, so by this point I was a lot more comfortable in their dynamic. I really love the ease between them, the sense of history in how well they know each other. A lot goes unspoken in their conversations because of it.

The Marshall’s quarters are larger than most others in the shatterdome, designed with the thought in mind that the occupant would be entertaining visiting dignitaries and the like. Still, it would take an impressive stretch of the definition to call any of the living quarters homey, and Sam’s have a certain barren neatness about them that speaks of a man who doesn’t own enough to clutter them, or spend enough time there to generate other mess. It’s very clearly a space where someone comes to sleep, not to live; there’s a distinct lack of personal touches. Save one.

Tacked to the back of the door is a single photo, unframed and a touch singed along one side, depicting a laughing family. Goody looks at it for a long moment before lowering his eyes out of some vestigial sense of respect. They all have their ghosts.

He sits on one of the spartan sofas, his gaze catching on the neat stacks of files spread out over the coffee table. Some he can identify; repair and maintenance records, duty reports, cadet evaluations. Others he doesn’t recognise at all. It’s truly startling, the amount of paperwork an organisation like the PPDC can generate in a day. “Has no-one ever told you it’s unhealthy to bring your work home with you?” he asks lightly. Sam snorts.

Some nice little set-dressing pieces of characterisation for Sam here. It doesn’t come up in any detail, but I imagine that he would have lost his family in a kaiju attack sometime before meeting Goody/joining the PPDC. That very clear sense of what he’s fighting for and why is something I consider to be pretty central to Sam’s character. I like having the old family photo there as a nod to his backstory - it crops up in the polyamory fill from KTT as well.

His room being fairly spartan is another hint at his character - very focused, all business - but it also handily doubles as a way of reinforcing the uncomfortable nature of Goody’s situation. The scene just wouldn’t feel quite the same if Sam’s quarters were cosy and welcoming.

“You mentioned conditions,” he says, sitting down opposite Goody and reaching for a gently steaming mug.

“Privacy,” Goody replies without hesitation. “And for it to be kept quiet. I’d rather not have an audience for this. And what a failed handshake would do to morale is the last thing the shatterdome needs right now.”

“We can arrange that,” Sam says, giving a nod, and Goody hadn’t even realised he was anticipating a fight until suddenly the tension is flowing out of him at the easy agreement. He sighs and sinks a little deeper into the sofa, scrubbing a weary hand over his face. Some part of him had half been hoping for an argument, for a refusal, but…here they are. For better or for worse, this is happening.

“For the record,” he says, “I’m still not convinced this is going to work.”

Sam considers him for a long moment. “So why agree?”

“Because…” Goody shakes his head, swallowing the sudden bitter taste at the back of his throat, some choking tightness wrapping around his chest. “Because in six months or a year, some green pilot pair riding a shaky drift are going to die in that damn jaeger.” He can see it clear as day from inside and out. The alarms screaming in the red-lit cockpit, the searing shock of the connection being violently severed; the roar of chaos over the radio back in the LOCCENT before everything goes abruptly, horribly silent. “I don’t need another what if to carry around.”

It was important to me in writing the first half of this fic to really work through Goody’s motivations: why he’s initially reluctant, and why he ultimately agrees. The progression from wanting to run from this to being willing to stand and fight even knowing how it’s likely to end for him is a parallel to canon I really wanted to keep. In a way this whole fic is about how he comes to that decision in this particular universe.

“I know the feeling,” Sam says quietly.

Goody gives him a thin, exhausted ghost of a grin. “Remember when we were young and bold and going to live forever?”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. “No.”

Have I mentioned that I really enjoyed writing their interactions?

Perhaps unsurprisingly he doesn’t sleep well that night. He can feel the enormity of the decision he’s just committed to hanging over him, a frozen tidal wave poised to come crashing down if he dares acknowledge it. He dozes restlessly and wakes often to the lingering claws of formless nightmares, a cold sweat on his skin and his heart beating too fast in his chest, fighting his way free of tangled sheets in a panic. The darkness of his quarters is heavy and close.

He finally gives up on sleep entirely sometime before dawn. A few of the night shift are haunting corners of the mess hall; he keeps his head down so as to not inadvertently provoke a conversation through eye contact as he pours himself a coffee and walks out again with tin mug in hand. On autopilot his feet carry him to the gantry behind the loading docks. The ocean is invisible somewhere in the inky blackness below, the steady crash of breaking waves drifting up out of the darkness. The wind plucks at his coat and snatches away the smoke from his cigarette as he exhales, watching clouds scud by above in the pale moonlight.

Slowly the sky starts to lighten, dawn breaking somewhere behind the clouds. Goody flicks away the spent end of his cigarette, sighs, and heads back inside.

I always enjoy writing Goody alone with his thoughts. As I’ve said before, writing from his point of view makes it easy to lend a poetic bent to the prose, and in this kind of context you end up with this lovely evocative melancholy air. Especially when coupled with the imagery of the cold, stormy sea that crops up so much in this fic.

He considers breakfast for token moment, but even the thought of food has the knots in his stomach tightening nauseously; he drops his empty mug off in the slowly-filling mess hall and instead traces the familiar path up to the kwoon. A few diligent souls are already warming up beside the sparring mat. Goody does his best to ignore them as he skirts the opposite edge of the kwoon and makes his way to the door of the attached office.

Billy is sitting at his desk, an empty mess hall tray by his elbow and a mess of papers spread out in front of him. A hint of surprise flickers across his expression as Goody enters.

“Twice in as many days?” He raises his eyebrows. “Did you make some kind of late new year’s resolution?”

Billy’s sense of humour delights me. It’s something we only really see brief glimpses of in canon, but I’ve really enjoyed fleshing it out a little more in writing him. It’s an interesting contrast to Goody, who tends to use a self-deprecating sort of humour to deflect; Billy uses humour in a more pointed way.

Goody chooses not to dignify that with a response. He takes a moment to close the door behind him before taking a deep breath and saying with no preamble, “I agreed to it.”

There’s a drawn out moment of silence.

“…you talked to Chisholm already?” Billy asks, carefully noncommittal. His expression is unreadable.

“Yes.” Goody pauses, his gaze dropping a little as he considers his next words. “….I’ve asked for it to be kept quiet.”

There’s the soft rush of a sigh from the other side of the table, followed by the creak of a chair; Goody glances up to see Billy standing. He circles around and twitches the blinds aside to look out into the kwoon.

“You still don’t think this is going to work,” he says.

Goody gives a small shrug. “I’d rather be prepared if it doesn’t.”

“And if it does?”

Even before they ever actually drift, Billy and Goody know each other very well, and it comes through in the way they talk to each other. Especially about important things. There’s a lot that goes unspoken because it’s already understood. They get straight to the point..which would be the case anyway, I think, but it’s particularly pronounced here because Goody is still in that mode of powering through as much of this as he can before he loses his nerve.

Something icy crawls down Goody’s spine. It seems a touch ridiculous, now he suddenly has cause to admit it aloud, but he honestly hadn’t given any thought to what would come next if they were successful. He hadn’t seriously entertained the possibility that they might be.

If somehow, against all reason and experience this works, if they make it through the joint drop sims and every other test and barrier between them and that conn pod…he’ll be a pilot again. He’ll be back out there facing the kaiju. Just the thought is enough to have the sick stirrings of panic clawing their way up his throat.

It made sense to me that, being so caught up in all the ways the handshake could go wrong and what happens if it does, Goody hadn’t even stopped to seriously consider the possibility that it might succeed, much less think about what he’ll do if it does. He can’t let himself think about what happens if they succeed, because that’s the only outcome worse than failure. If trying to drift again is bad, trying to pilot again is so much worse. He’s found himself backed into a catch-22 where there’s no good outcome, and a lot of what I was trying to do with the first half of this chapter was to really get across his sense of dread.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder and he starts, blinking wide-eyed at Billy, who’s suddenly beside him. His expression is calm, but there’s a spark of something in his eyes that Goody doesn’t know how to read; something implacable and determined, something fierce enough to be alien after so long without allowing himself the luxury of hope.

“Goody,” he says, steady and certain in a way that brooks no disagreement. “We’ll figure it out.”

Goody takes a deep, steadying breath and gives a shaky nod. Billy’s right. What happens will happen, and while he may lack Billy’s confidence that they’ll be equal to whichever challenge comes of it, he can’t let himself get tangled up in anticipating it when it’s going to take everything he has just to get through what’s coming next.

The next few days are nothing but the gnawing unease of anticipation, part of him desperate to have this over and done with, another hopelessly wishing he could put it off indefinitely. It’ll be a relief for it to be over, even if he already knows that relief will be tainted with an old, familiar kind of shame. But to get it over with, he has to get through it, and some nagging voice at the back of his mind is constantly whispering that maybe he can’t. He doesn’t know if he has another handshake left in him. He’s so, so tired of wondering every time if this trip down the rabbit hole will be the one that finally breaks him.

It’s not something I chose to dig into a lot in this fic, but this paragraph right here is actually a very important insight into where Goody’s at in this place in time. It’s not that he doesn’t want to move on from the trauma of losing his copilot, or that he couldn’t do it under the right circumstances, but he’s trapped in this cycle of having to relive it and be traumatised anew every time he tries to enter the drift. He’s in this limbo space where he wants to move on but he can’t. He’s not being allowed to.

In a way, his psychological situation parallels his real life one very neatly. He’s not a pilot any more, but his experience is too useful to waste, so he’s still a part of a jaeger program. The fight his copilot died in was a long time ago, but he can’t heal from it when he’s still having to relieve it. Both leave him in a situation where he can’t do anything to help himself where he is, but he can’t distance himself either.

More than anything else in those achingly empty days, he finds himself seeking out Billy’s company. Perhaps it’s a good sign that the undemanding quiet of Billy’s presence steadies him in a way that not much that doesn’t come in a bottle can these days. But some darker, more pessimistic part of him can’t help but wonder if this is nothing but him savouring the last days of this friendship while he can, before the handshake ruins it.

He feels a pang of guilt for it, occasionally. It seems disloyal even to entertain the thought that Billy wouldn’t be better than that. But he can’t bring himself to believe that anyone could be exposed to the wreckage of his subconscious, and not want to do the smart thing and distance themselves. Lord knows he would if he could.

This comes up a lot in writing their relationship from Goody’s point of view: that he feels it’s a disservice to Billy to think that their relationship is on such a shaky foundation, but he still can’t help but be afraid of it.

The few days they spend waiting seem to last an eternity. But when word finally comes that LOCCENT are ready for them, the only thought in Goody’s head is that an eternity wouldn’t be long enough to let him be ready for this.

The solid warmth of Billy’s shoulder against his is a comfort he desperately needs as they walk into the drivesuit room side by side to be met by a skeleton crew of technicians. He hasn’t set foot in this part of the shatterdome since that last disastrous failed handshake; just the familiar smell of relay gel and oiled metal is enough to have his heart beating faster, a slight tremor shaking through his hands.

Generally it’s a more relaxed process, preparing for a handshake. In a combat drop there would be alarms blaring, the countdown displayed on every screen, running out the seven minutes they have after an event to get into the cockpit and be ready to launch. There’s none of that time pressure here. No rush, although the technicians pride themselves on their speed and efficiency even when it isn’t a matter of life and death. And yet he knows he’s never been this nervous before a combat drop, sick with the anticipation of what’s waiting for him in the conn pod.

He closes his eyes and tunes out the low murmurs of the technicians, clinging to a fragile sense of calm numbness as he lets himself be turned and posed and strapped into the drivesuit. At least there won’t be an audience. Sam has been true to his word about keeping it quiet, hand-picking staff he trusts to run LOCCENT and the drivesuit room, and choosing a time toward the end of the nightshift when the few people still awake will be tired and incurious. However badly this goes, at least he won’t have to deal with stares and whispers following him around the shatterdome for the next week.

The technician at his shoulder gives his backplate one last solid thump and steps away. He sighs, gathers what little courage he has left, and walks forward.

If he thought the drivesuit room was sickeningly familiar, it’s nothing beside the conn pod, the lights of the control panels and the waiting cradle of the command platform. For an endless moment he finds himself frozen in the doorway. He’s never set foot inside Widow Rose before - she was built long after his last drop, and quickly filled by a copilot pair of her own - but knowing that doesn’t help. It’s still horribly, achingly familiar.

Billy nudges his shoulder gently, startling him out of his reverie. He swallows down the pathetic part of him that wants so desperately to find some way, any way of delaying this even if only for a second, and gives a shaky nod. This is happening one way or another. The least he can do is face it with what little dignity he has left.

Obviously any writer’s work is informed by their own experiences, but for me, this part was a lot closer to the bone than most others. In this case I was drawing on my own memories of having to go through with crash escape/sea survival training despite having a massive phobia of water. That feeling of forcing yourself to go through with something you’re desperately afraid of, how badly you want to grab any chance to delay it just a little longer…it definitely stays with you.

“Breathe,” Billy says, low and even. “You’ll get through it.”

“Said the butcher to the cow,” Goody mutters.

Billy huffs a laugh. “I’ll make it quick and painless.”

Despite himself, he can’t help but be lulled a little by Billy’s easy calm, even as he feels a pitiful stab of envy for it. He gives a thin, tired ghost of a smile and nudges Billy’s shoulder lightly in return. If he always would have had to find himself here again, he’s glad at least that it’s Billy here with him. He doesn’t know that he could have faced it with anyone other than Billy by his side.

I really enjoy writing these little exchanges that show how easily they play off of each other, especially in stressful situations. And the lighter flashes of humour that come from their conversations were something the first half of this chapter really needed. 

Harness set for test mode is flashing on the screens as they strap themselves in. Goody’s hands are shaking badly enough to have him fumbling the controllers as he threads his fingers through them, sick unease prickling feverishly over the back of his neck and cold sweat crawling down his skin under the drivesuit. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming fast and shallow; lord only knows what his vitals readout in LOCCENT must look like.

“Pilots on board and ready to connect,” Teddy’s voice filters in tinnily over the comms. Goody sucks in a sharp breath.

“Steady,” Billy murmurs.

“Initiating neural handshake.”

This is mostly an inside joke, of course, but the thought of Teddy as Tendo makes me laugh.

For an endless moment there’s nothing but the visceral rush of sense memory, too quick and tangled to make any sense of, the sudden feeling of everyone opening and unfolding, of the mind flowing out into the space suddenly opened to it. He hears his mother’s voice, sees a fleeting glimpse of her face from a child’s low perspective. Somewhere behind it is another woman’s voice, words in a language he doesn’t speak but somehow understands. A sharp stab of unease; a man’s voice this time, abrupt and angry. Helpless frustration. Silence.

There’s a mirror in front of him and bruises on his face and the taste of blood in his mouth, and pain comes tearing up his flank, alarms blaring in the desperate red pulse of the conn pod emergency lighting, and in the last screaming moments he feels something snap with a brutal whiplash leaving behind nothing, nothing, nothing—

There’s a lot going on here. Some memories, like the image of the red-lit conn pod and the loss of a copilot, are very clearly Goody’s. but a lot of the rest don’t distinctly belong to one or the other - it was a conscious decision on my part to leave it ambiguous which memories are coming from who. I wanted to run with the idea that a flash of memory from one would pull up similar memories from the other, and they’d keep feeding into each other. 

Off the record, the start and the end are Goody, and the middle (everything from another woman’s voice to blood in his mouth) is Billy.

Except that there isn’t nothing. Under it all there’s something solid, an unexpected rock to cling to and keep his head above water while he gasps for air. Just the shock of it, of being caught when he expected to fall, is enough to snap him out of the inward spiral for a precious, fleeting moment. It’s so very little, an eye in the storm of crushing panic. But it’s enough for something warm and steady to wrap in around him, and push back the howling dark.

It’s not the panicked clawing he remembers, the fingers of a doomed attempt to reel him in frantically scrabbling to find purchase on his spiralling subconscious. Instead it’s a mere brush of a touch, nudging him back toward an even keel so gently he might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it.

That sea/storm imagery coming up again here. That second paragraph was actually the first part of this scene I wrote, and it’s definitely something I wanted to run with for the whole thing: the idea that rather than trying to keep too tight a rein like previous candidates have tried and failed to do, Billy has a knack for gently nudging Goody at the right moments to keep him from spiralling.

“Billy?” he mumbles uncertainly, his voice cracking. He’s here in the conn pod, but no, the alarms are silent. The lights are a calm, steady blue. The only pain is sense memory.

“Breathe,” Billy says again, just as calm and steady as the lights. “I’ve got you.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and slowly exhales. The rabbit hole is right there, aching emptily like a missing tooth, but no sooner do his thoughts drift toward it than they’re steered in another direction; a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

With every step he expects to fall. But the connection stays steady, grounding him in the here and now. The jaeger is alive under his hands, and now he’s not so tangled in the cobwebs of painful memory…she feels different from Aura Blue. Lighter. And Billy is right there with him every inch of the way as he slowly settles back into the old familiar feeling of a jaeger’s heart beating with his, filling the drift with the undemanding quiet he’s always associated with Billy’s presence.

I liked the idea that once he’s been steadied enough to stop that spiral before it starts, Goody actually can more or less keep a handle on himself. Once again that reference to a light touch rather than a tight rein comes up, with bonus sea imagery - a flashing school of fish easily startled into darting off by a dark shape slowly cruising by below.

There’s definitely a turning point here: it’s the first time we really see Goody start to focus in on new things, things that are different, rather than the ways in which he’s reminded of painful memories.

Also fun fact, it took me for-fucking-ever to settle on a name for Goody and Sam’s jaeger. In early drafts it was referred to as “Ash” as a placeholder. It was that deleted scene that came out with Goody at the piano which gave me the inspiration to finally pick an actual name for it.

Tentatively he reaches out, testing the shape of their connection. There’s satisfaction radiating from Billy, pride tinged with relief, and— there, sitting at the centre of it all so deceptively unassuming that he scarcely recognises it for what it is, the cold certainty of what this means for them.

His own fears are skittering things, slipping away when his thoughts land on them in daylight; leaving only trails of lingering unease behind until they creep back up on him in the silence of his bunk at night. He half expects this one to do the same, but it doesn’t.

You’re afraid too he thinks, the realisation distant and dazed. He can’t see Billy’s smile, but he feels it. Grim amusement. Fatalism. Acceptance.

This was something I really wanted to put front and centre when they drifted: the idea that Billy knows what this means for them just as well as Goody does, but they handle that knowledge so differently that Goody almost doesn’t recognise it for what it is. Goody is the kind of person who tries to ignore his fears until he can’t any more. He’s not well equipped to get his head around the way Billy can look this in the face and accept it.

Goody says you’re afraid too, but he still isn’t quite grasping it. Billy isn’t afraid of this. Not in the same way Goody is. He knows that stepping into that conn pod together ultimately means dying there, but in his mind, he’s already weighed up the possibility and decided that it’s worth the cost. To paraphrase the original Pacific Rim: they’re all going to die one way or the other. He’d rather die in a jaeger.

Goody hasn’t accepted the inevitability of his own mortality; he’s still caught up in wanting to put it off for as long as possible. Billy has. It’s more important to him to die for something worthwhile than to avoid it for a little longer. When you get right down to it, I think this is probably the most fundamental difference in who they are are people.

The readouts on the screens are all in the green, the conn pod humming around them. “Full alignment,” Teddy’s voice comes again over the comms, static crackling on the line. “Handshake holding steady.”

“Congratulations,” Sam adds. To anyone else he might sound perfectly professional, but Goody knows him well enough to know what ‘self-satisfied’ sounds like on him. He’s sure that the fond exasperation that suffuses the link is wholly his, but the answering flicker of amusement is definitely Billy’s.

There is honestly no interaction between Sam and Goody in this entire fic that I’m not delighted by. There’s always such a sense of history and familiarity between them.

The process of disconnecting and powering down passes in something of a daze. It’s been so long since the last time a handshake ended in anything other than a spiral and an emergency shutdown for him that distance has made the standard procedure unfamiliar. It’s calm, matter of fact; clearly routine for everyone present but him. He barely has the presence of mind to follow what’s happening.

Fortunately, little is required of him other than moving when he’s told. In some kind of stunned trance he allows himself to be led from the conn pod and methodically peeled out of the drivesuit, the murmurs of the technicians and the voices from LOCCENT filtering over the radio so much white noise in his ears. […] 

It honestly wasn’t until I hit the end of the neural handshake scene that it really dawned on me how long it would have been since Goody actually experienced a normal disconnection. It isn’t something we see in Pacific Rim either, so unlike the initial connection (most of the procedure for which I lifted directly from the movie), I didn’t have anything to go on. Fortunately under the circumstances it made sense for Goody to be in a bit of a daze, so I was spared the necessity of getting into specifics.

[…]Everything seems distant and hazy and unreal.

Everything apart from Billy.

It’s momentarily disorienting to turn and see Billy facing him when instinct insists that they should be moving as one. Billy tilts his head, considering; Goody notices himself mirroring the motion half a heartbeat after he does it, the two of them still half in sync as they ride out the echoes of the drift. His heart is still racing, hardly able to believe that they really did it. He hadn’t believed it could ever flow that smooth and easy again. After all this time he’d forgotten what it could be like to slip into a solid, comfortable connection.

They’re close, he realises belatedly; enough so to look odd to outside eyes. So soon after the handshake his instincts don’t even question that of course Billy belongs in his personal space as much as he does himself. A day ago he might have felt exposed under that searching gaze. Now it’s nothing but familiar.

This part got written out of order very early on as well. The image of them moving together, still half in sync, was something I had very clearly in my head when I set out to start writing this, and I wanted to get it down before it faded.

“You could have said something,” Billy says after a long pause.

There’s no point in pretending not to know exactly what he’s talking about. A flush creeps up Goody’s cheeks, but he doesn’t lower his eyes. “It never seemed like a good time,” he replies with a small shrug.

It’s strange to think how recently the idea of having every fleeting want and idle fantasy laid bare would have been mortifying. Here and now, still half in the drift, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. There’s no unease, no knee-jerk revulsion. There’s nothing but slightly startled curiosity, and a trace of what might be cautious interest.

I toyed with a few different ways of approaching this conversation, but ultimately I decided that it would have to be very matter-of-fact. How could it be anything else, when they’ve just been inside each other’s heads? It’s not something that’s explicitly explored in Pacific Rim, but I figured that for a little while right after drifting successfully, you’d still be thinking of your copilot as essentially the same entity as you. 

As it says above, the idea that Billy knows seems as natural and unremarkable as admitting it to himself in the privacy of his own thoughts. It couldn’t work any other way, really, or the whole premise falls apart a little. They both know exactly what they’re talking about, how they both feel about it…the fact that Goody now knows beyond question that while startled Billy isn’t opposed to the idea is definitely helping him keep his cool.

One of the technicians clears her throat, breaking their shared reverie, unfazed as only a long-term drivesuit tech can be when their attention snaps to her in perfect unison. She informs them that the Marshal is expecting them for a debrief, and politely ejects them from the drivesuit room to make the walk to LOCCENT.

“I knew you had another one in you,” is the first thing Sam says, smiling broadly.

Goody huffs a laugh and lets himself be pulled into a hug. “We’ll see,” he replies, noncommittal. “One successful handshake doesn’t mean a combat-ready link.”

Sam shrugs. “We’ll schedule a joint drop sim tomorrow. In the meantime—” He gives a wry grin. “—why don’t you give me five damn minutes to enjoy something going right for once.”

“Yes sir,” Goody replies with an entirely spurious dutiful air, throwing a mock salute.

“Very funny,” Sam says, a hint of a smile curling the corner of his lips. “Go on, get out of here. Both of you. Sleep. You’ve earned it.”

I find something about the phrase politely ejects them inherently hilarious. I also enjoy the image of the techs being utterly unimpressed by all this drift bullshit just through sheer exposure wearing the mystique off of it.

As previously noted, I love writing Sam and Goody interacting, and it was particularly nice to write this conversation. It’s the first one in this fic where they’re both happy and relieved, and it gives it a much lighter feel.

The first hints of the shatterdome waking are starting to drift through the air around them as they make their way back down from LOCCENT; internal lights slowly brightening, footfalls and distant chatter in the air as the oncoming day shift begin the sleepy shuffle from quarters to showers to mess hall. No matter what else may be happening, the rhythm of shifts and rotations carries stubbornly on like the slow beat of some colossal heart.

They get a few glances and mumbled greetings in passing, but no-one seems to pay them much mind. After the last few days of aching uncertainty, it’s an indescribable relief to walk through the halls of the shatterdome with the weight of the handshake off of his mind, with the lingering echoes of Billy’s utter self-confidence bolstering him. It’s a relief to find himself not avoiding anyone’s eyes.

It doesn’t feel real yet. Part of him remains convinced that some other stumbling block up ahead will catch them out, that they’ll trip over a reason why it can’t work when they’re least expecting it. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid of it or hoping for it.

The theme of people coming together to form some joint entity greater than the sum of its parts is, of course, a powerful recurring theme in Pacific Rim. It’s most overt in the copilot pairs, but I wanted to throw in these occasional reminders that even the jaegers themselves are just one part of the greater entity that is the shatterdome itself.

The end of this chapter is probably the lightest and most hopeful in tone of any part of the fic, but Goody is definitely still unsure if he’s really prepared for what success means for them. He doesn’t want to have to go back out there and fight. 

“You’re still not sure about this, are you,” Billy says aloud.

Goody gives a small shrug. “As I said to Sam, compatibility doesn’t necessarily mean a link stable enough for combat.” Keeping the drift steady in the calm, controlled environment of a test handshake is a very different thing to maintaining it under the stress and demanding neural load of combat.

“Tell me you don’t think I can hold it,” Billy says, flat and matter of fact. Goody sighs.

“No,” he says. “No, when you put it like that, I suppose I don’t doubt that you can.”

One of my favourite things about Goody and Billy’s relationship, the thing which drew me to them in the first place, is how much trust there is between them. Goody still isn’t sure that he can do this, but he believes completely that Billy can. And he’s willing to trust that Billy can steady him when he needs it.

As I think I’ve mentioned in previous replies, I do struggle with ending chapters sometimes. In this fic I actually did it differently to how I normally would: I wrote most of the fic as if it was a one-shot, and then went back and divided it up into chapters based on where it felt natural to pause. It was a much easier way of doing it, and I think the transitions from one chapter to the next after are definitely improved by it.

[s0021845asfilm]

Evaluation

1.    What were the aims of your artefact?

In my brief, I stated ‘I will create a film sequence around two minutes in duration based on, and influenced by, aspects of my textual analysis and my planning’. As such, I wanted my short film to revolve around the theme of ‘loneliness’ – the same theme I explored in my textual analysis in regards to ‘Her’ (Jonze: 2013) and ‘Lars and the Real Girl’ (Gillespie: 2007).

Through my textual analysis, I wanted to research how my two focal films represented the theme in question; loneliness conflicts conventionally involve its characters overcoming their isolation by choosing to pursue a (generally, cinematically speaking) heterosexual relationship – a narrative convention that can be identified in both focal films. However it isn’t as simple as that. The protagonists in both films opt for a non-human love interest. Lars falls in love with a sex doll and Theodore falls for an A.I. named Samantha. Lars and the Real Girl and Her take on a more literal interpretation of the theme of loneliness as it features the impact on the protagonists’ mental well-being. Lars suffers a breakdown and Theodore goes into a sort of depression where he puts off social outings since the breakdown of his marriage. A relationship breakdown leading to the theme of loneliness was something I wanted to emulate for my own short film, as well as the unconventional romance - in the alternative universe my film is set in, humans only see in colour when they are in love. 

In my textual analysis, I identified the use of Montage theory AKA the Kuleshov Effect, therefore I replicated shot orders from Her in my own artifact to portray a third meaning - contrasting happy and colourful two shots with black and white one shots to show the hole left in Suz’s life after the relationship. The lack of colour acts as a visual embodiment of loneliness, therefore answering the question of my textual analysis: ‘How do the representation of main characters in Her and Lars and the Real Girl explore the theme of loneliness?’

Furthermore, another aim of my short film was to successfully emulate the iconography and conventions of my two focal films, pink is a symbolic colour and LATRG hence it’s relevance in the colour palette of my own film, the convention of loneliness followed by eventual healing or acceptance also features in my film.

2.       What codes and conventions identified in the textual analysis were used in your film?

Genre While I didn’t go into great detail in regards to the codes, conventions and iconography of the romantic drama genre in my textual analysis as it wasn’t my macro element of choice, I did attempt to consider and incorporate them into the production of my short film as a result of my genre research. The use of a new equilibrium being reached(generally with another person) is a prevalent narrative tool within the genre, and as such I tried to incorporate one into my own short film - Suz ends the voicemail with gratefulness rather than bitterness, she thanks her ex-girlfriend for the good times they had together with the intention to move on rather than get back together. This is reminiscent of Theodore thanking his ex-wife for their time together and moving on as well as Lars moving on from his fake girl friend to his (insinuated) new human living love interest. 

Mise en Scene

Loss is a common theme in romantic dramas, which to a limited extent influenced my choice of mise en scene – bare, colourless rooms to suggest the loss of the relationship and subsequently colour in my protagonists’ life. I had originally aspired to film on the Marina, however I ultimately decided against this as a more appropriate mise en scene would be the view from the St Stephens upper car park levels which instill the correct emotions into my audience – I wanted my audience to feel to feel an almost numinous, warm feeling inside when they see my protagonists hold hands against a pink sky, which is a feeling I doubt I would achieve as successfully at the Marina. Plus, the view from the car park was less time consuming to film as we were already filming a few shots in the shopping centre. 

Cinematography Throughout my short film, I attempted to replicate cinematography techniques as well as key shots that can be identified in both focal films. For example, I wanted to replicate the medium close up shot of Theodore writing Catherine (his ex-wife) a virtual letter via technology. Since I was doing a similar thing in my short film with Suz leaving her ex-girlfriend Lily a voicemail, but with my own twist - as she is no longer in love, this continuous long shot that I will be repeatedly cutting back to will be in black and white. Since the shot composition in the original shot is aesthetically pleasing I decided to replicate it, positioning my actress on the right side of the frame. 

Her

Colours

  Lighting is also a part of cinematography and the lense flare in this shot in Her is replicated in the close up of the sunflowers in my short film. I got up early in the morning to film the sunflowers in natural lighting and using a handheld camera I managed catch the sunlight filtering through the flowers by slow yet fluid movement, creating overall quite a beautiful shot. 

Her

Colours

I also replicated a close up two shot in Lars and the Real Girl in my own film as my protagonist is depicted about to kiss her girlfriend in a ‘honeymoon period’ montage.  I thought this was an instrumental shot in Lars and the Real Girl because of what it represents –  Lars does have romantic emotions and it is at that point I view him less like an asexual or more like a heterosexual. He is breaking down the barrier between what society thinks of him ‘sexless, awkward being with no previous interest in relationships or even touching someone else’ as well as the distance between him and his doll Bianca (yet still believing she is a living and breathing human). Likewise, I interpreted that this shot represented in my own short film as the moment it is truly emphasised that Suz and Lily weren’t ‘gal pals’ but actually in a romantic relationship where they both feel the need to explore their attraction to each other. This also helps break down stereotypes and society’s portrayal of lesbians and lesbian love as it is a tender and sweet moment that lingers more on what happens before the kiss and the nervousness of the characters and actually cuts before they kiss so it isn’t something that can be fetishized. The audience can see the characters as people who genuinely care about rather than two pretty girls who have sex.

Lars and the Real Girl

Colours

I thought this was an instrumental shot in Lars and the Real Girl because of what it represents –  Lars does have romantic emotions and it is at that point I view him less like an asexual or more like a heterosexual. He is breaking down the barrier between what society thinks of him ‘sexless, awkward being with no previous interest in relationships or even touching someone else’ as well as the distance between him and his doll Bianca (yet still believing she is a living and breathing human). Likewise, I interpreted that this shot represented in my own short film as the moment it is truly emphasised that Suz and Lily weren’t ‘gal pals’ but actually in a romantic relationship where they both feel the need to explore their attraction to each other. This also helps break down stereotypes and society’s portrayal of lesbians and lesbian love as it is a tender and sweet moment that lingers more on what happens before the kiss and the nervousness of the characters and actually cuts before they kiss so it isn’t something that can be fetishized. The audience can see the characters as people who genuinely care about rather than two pretty girls who have sex. 

Mise en scene

Regarding mise en scene, I found I was more influenced by Lars and the Real Girl. I had my actresses sit on sofas and filmed them arguing which was reminiscent of shots in Her’s ‘Dear Catherine’ scene. This is because Her’s futuristic American skyline day setting was less in keeping with what I had available whereas LATRG has a sort of homey, cozy effect that would bring out the softer side of the relationship in my short film. ��Likewise I asked the actress playing Suz to dress more in pink to resemble the costume choice of Bianca in Lars and the Real Girl and the actress playing Lily to dress in warm brown tones. 

Sound

I intended for a mixture of non-diegetic and diegetic soundtrack in my film to be predominantly inspired by Her rather than Lars and the Real Girl, and I believe I have successfully sourced a track that is reminiscent of the soundtrack that plays throughout the sequences I analysed. I originally went for ‘Girls’ by Death in Vegas, which was titled appropriately for my queer short film but also because it proved a positive and nostalgic sound, it also has a link to my textual analysis as it was featured in Lost in Translation and Her is said to be Spike Jonze’s response to that film. On reflection, I felt the ‘Girls covered up the voice over too much and kind of subtracted from what my protagonist was saying it also could cause copyright issues so I decided to go for a subtler song that was also Royalty Free (Bensound - Tomorrow).

Editing

I shot the footage in cine log format to have a wider dynamic range and larger colour spectrum for better editing. The films I studied used clear cuts for the majority of the films I studied however I realised the transition from black and white to colour would look too abrupt using a clear cut so I used dissolve instead so it is one fluid movement. In the Dear Catherine scene, editing is used to create a Kuleshov Effect which I have replicated in my own film - contrasting shots of a happy relationship in the past with a lonely black and white present. My intention was to try and move the audience and to show how my protagonist was a very human person who still reflects on past relationships even though she has moved on. 

3.       How were the planning materials used in the construction of the artefact?

I had picked Her and Lars and the Real Girl for my textual analysis because of their almost uncanny similarity to one another - their similar subject matter, compounded by their almost identical looking male protagonists and romantic-drama narrative structure. As a result, I thought it would be interesting to try and compare and contrast to the two in terms of how they approach the subject matter of loneliness and representation. In preparation for the textual analysis, I re-watched the two focal films to try and identify any key scenes to best exemplify the theme of loneliness. I then did a rudimentary micro analysis of the two scenes to form an essay skeleton, before researching auteur film theory which I could then further incorporate into my essay and later into my film.

When it came to filming, the most important planning material was undoubtedly the shot list. This is because it sped up the process of filming tenfold, which was especially important for my project. I wanted to film at sunset for its soft, pink lighting - giving me limited time to film, especially in the winter months that I was filming in. I carried the printed shot list with me so I could save time getting the shots that I wanted. 

By extension, the location report was instrumental to the planning of the film, as scouting the city gave inspiration to many of the shots in the film, and helped me visualise the lighting changes that would have to be made or corrected in the editing process. 

The product I have created is for certain different from the one I had conceptualised - I had initially planned for my product to be a lot more complicated with a more complex meeting between Suz and Lily, however I realised it would be difficult to achieve considering the time constraints and I decided to simplify my idea as well as make clearer links to my textual analysis. As I was employing only two actors to have on screen time due to nature of a romantic drama; filming was a lot easier to organise. 

Despite the heavy reliance on the shot list during filming, the end product is overall very different in terms of sequencing. When it came to editing the project together, I changed the sequencing of the shots, as some shots felt less important and others needed more time on screen for the audience to benefit visually from it. 

Overall, I am happy with the amount of planning I had done, and believe I did enough to create a product I am happy with the quality of.

How successful was the artefact in achieving the aims?

In the end, I believe my textual analysis and short film was successful in achieving its aims. Firstly, I believe my textual analysis was successful in exploring the theme of ‘loneliness’ in regards to Her and Lars and the Real Girl, and my short film benefited from this by extension. ‘Colours’ is only slightly over two minutes not including the credits and the candidate number slide. One of films’ biggest strengths in my opinion is the clear links to the films I chose.

My audience feedback shoes that they understood and appreciated the transitions from black and white to colour and I have reflected heavily upon their critique by shortening the lengthy phone scene and stabilising jumpy shots. But I am happy that they liked the emotive monologue I wrote and the cinematography. Both of my focal films narratives’ are emotional and features soft, feathered lighting and pink as a significant colour in the film’s colour palette. 

As mentioned earlier, another aim of mine was to try and incorporate diversity into the portrayal of people exposed to loneliness - a young lesbian woman in contrast to the middle aged men in my chosen films. I believe I have most clearly incorporated Auteur theory as I have put a part of myself and my own experiences into this film. This is demonstrated by the voiceover which I wrote myself and the props/costume I chose to feature, e.g sunflowers are my favourite type of flower but was used appropriately to exhibit the bright colours falling in love could ‘unlock’.

I wanted to successfully emulate the iconography and conventions of the romantic-drama genre, and I believe I was mostly successful. And as moving on is a key convention in the genre I featured it but my own twist featuring the motif of colour was received well too.