#there is NEVER enough Claude Rains

[ennaih]

Every Film I Watch In 2023:

191. The Phantom Of The Opera (1943)

bonus Hume Cronyn!

[thealmightyemprex]

Top 10 Favorite Classic actors

So I was thinking of doing a top 10 actors list....But the list was dominated by classic actors ,so doing that list .Might do more modern actors too.Also this is both actors AND actresses

Rule to clasify for classic actor ,I went exclusively with actors who have passed on

10.Christopher Lee-Guy with a long and very varied career,Lee brings a dangerous villanous yet sophisticated and even seductive vibe to most roles

9.Peter Lorre:Arlene Francis once described Lorre as "Our favorite sad eyed villain" and that sums him up well .He brings both a creepines and yet a sense of sadness to many roles while also being an underrated comic talent .Even though type cast as villains he could play diffrent types of villains ,as shown by his three breakthrough performances in M ,Man Who Knew Too Much and Mad Love,where he plays a tormented pathetic childkiller ,a cool levelheaded kidnapper and a obsessed mad stalkerish surgeon with equal pinache

8.Roddy McDowall-Theres a sad cliche that child actors often have bad careers ,Roddy McDowall is a big exception,transitioning from child star to one of the most praised character actors of the 20th century with a six decade career .Be it film,television ,theater or voiceover,McDowall conquered it ,and be it a historical epic , a horror film,a cartoon or a certain franchise about talking apes .....McDowall NEVER phones in ,he brings the sauce

7.Vincent Price : Vincent is one of my favorite personalities of the 20th century ,known for his sophistication and wicked sense of humor .He started out as a matinee idol before finding his niche playing villains ,usually in horror.What I find interesting about Vincent is he is really good at playing the "Man drivent to villainy ",he can play a right evil bastard but his villains tend to be either sympathetic to an extent or they are clearly having a ball so you cant help but like them .Whether villain ,protagonist or even a side role hes just a hoot to watch

6.Boris Karloff -Karloff for YEARS was my go to answer for favorite actor .Of the classic horror stars Karloff is so understated,like he could go big if he wanted to but the little inflections and movements he does are effective enough.PArt of my love for him is his voice,like watch the GRinch or him telling the story of Death and the Servent in Target and you are just pulled in .He can do sinister very well,(I will always remember his slimey grin in The Body Snatcher) but of course his greatest legacy is being the FRankensteinMonster which if you ask me is one of the greatest performances in cinema ,he is brutal and vacant but at the same time sad,frightened and child like

5.Ingrid Bergman -So while I adore Casblanca and she is great in it....It is her performances in Gaslight ,Murder on the ORient Express and especially Anastasia that put her so high.I have never seen a performer just ....."Go there" as well as she does ,so consistantly and I kind of forget Im watching a movie .Shes not higher cause I just havent seen enough of her

4.Humphrey Bogart-Bogart is cool,and while Ive always thought he was cool,i wasnt initially impressed by ol Boagey .......The more stuff Ive seen with him the more I realize beneath that coolness is a really good actor who can do comedy,romance,be a tough guy and even be the second most paranoid nervous wreck of a villain I have ever seen (Behind Tony Goldwyn in Ghost ),theres more to him then just being cool

3.Katherine Hepburn;.....DO I have to explain placing one of the greatest performers of the 20th century so high? .....Just watch Philidelphia Story,African Queen and Lion and Winter,youll get it

2.Eli Wallach-I pretty much love this guy anytime he appears in something .Hes another guys who can play vilains but add a layer .Hes always entertaining and he played one of my favorite film characters ever Tuco in The Good the Bad and the Ugly

1.Claude Rains.....I think Claude Rains should be called the greatest actor of the 20th century over the likes of Charles Laughton,LAurance Olivier and John Gielgud.....Cause this guy TRAINED Charles Laughton,Laurance Olivier and John Gielgud !!!!!He is one of the greatest character actors of the 20th century .He has possibly the greatest voice of any actor (The competition is James Earl Jones and James Mason ) which was so striking,his big break was the Invisible Man ,a movie where you dont even SEE HIM .Man did horror,adventure ,sci fi ,musical ,dramas and was in both Casablanca (As my favorite film character ever Louis Renault ) AND Lawrance of Arabia ,AKA two movies considered pretty darn good .And if you want more proof ,watch his death scene in Deception where he is shot by Bette Davis ....And just smirks and says "You fool ".I stand by Rains being my absolute favorite actor

So thats my list,share your favorits if you want ,or just share your thoughts on mine

@piterelizabethdevries @the-blue-fairie @ariel-seagull-wings @themousefromfantasyland @theancientvaleofsoulmaking @princesssarisa @countesspetofi @amalthea9 @barbossas-wench

[deadboyfriendd]

I. The Science Fiction Double Feature

Don't Dream It, Be it.

Summary: Eddie had a performer's heart. The world was his stage and you were lucky enough to be his audience. Though he never mentioned an acting career before this.

Content Warning: My content is 18+, Minors DNI, suggestive, no explicit smut, reader gets a lapdance from Eddie, Steve in a gold speedo.

Word Count: 1.9K

Eddie was inherently a strange person. This was a fact of life– and it was a fact that you could neither deny nor ignore. He did not abide by the laws of personal space, did not contour to the ebb and flow of the daily routine, did not care for the should be’s and inherent truths and facts-of-the-matter��s. 

You supposed only dead fish swam with the current.

You liked him and all of his strangeness, because he was an easy person to like in his closeness and insistence of constant physical connection. You liked the loudness that followed him. You liked that, in his more-or-less two decades on this planet, he had not learned any subtleties. Considering how many other people didn’t in their meanness, you didn’t think you would ever have the mind to teach him any.   

You’d figured that’s why you stood here now. 

The marquee lights loomed over you like a slovenly lover:

Tonite! Tonite! Tonite! Rocky Horror Live on Stage!

You felt underdressed, though, not for lack of coverage. In fact, you might have been the most dressed person here. With the least amount of sequins. The whole ordeal seemed very harum-scarum, devil-may-care. The thought made you rigid with fear. There is not a lack of sequins or glitter in this place, morally ambiguous figures that loitered around this place like roaches seemed to be slathered in it in the absence of clothing. There are people in fishnet tights, stockings with uneven seams positioned up the backs, onlookers in corsets and feathered teddies and coats with party hats– an uncertain amount of etiquette for this displacement of formality. 

You felt plain. Unseen and painfully looked at in every way. 

The historic theater is surprisingly spacious, though, now that you were painfully aware of yourself and how your clothes touched your skin, that feeling seemed almost cavernous. You looked down at the ticket Eddie had handed you in advance. Seat 15A. Right in the front. 

The fanfare to signal the start of the show sent the audience scrambling like a horde of glittery, sleazy roaches, settling in seats like gold in a pan. And a woman approaches the scene. She looks like a cheap recreation of a campy 50’s waitress, she holds a concessions tray over the front of her body that says DAIRY across the front. The spotlight stops, abounding and white, across her personage, affixed stage-left. 

“Lips! Lips! Lips!” The crowd chants, a riot before you. 

A large, red pair of lips appear behind her, glittering and smiling in the basking glow of the projector lighting. 

“A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, God said, ‘Let there be lips!’ And there were. And they were good” Someone shouted from the further back rows, an ensemble of hoots, hollers, and laughter to follow. In this time, Roxy begins to sing, 

“Michael Rennie was ill

The day the earth stood still

But he told us where we stand

And Flash Gordon was there

In silver underwear

Claude Raines was the invisible man…”

You’d wondered why Eddie had never mentioned an acting career before this.

“Oh, it’s just kind of a tradition. Nothing serious.” He’d told you, when you asked him last night, his long, gangling legs swinging back and forth in a vapid tannenbaum excursion from where he suspended them out of the back of his van. 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. He couldn’t see it from where your head rested on his shoulder, but he could feel it in your smile, “Oh, come on, is this like code for a strip show or something?”

You’d wondered the same thing now, why he had not mentioned these friends or practices or rehearsals before this. You’d wondered why he had kept it such a secret. 

“I would like if I may…” A man in a suit reeled over a book on stage, giving brief, pregnant pauses awaiting the crowd’s response like a birdsong. 

“You may!”

He picked back up, eyes alight with mischief and manor, “To take you…”

“Take me!” Someone calls from the back block of the historic theater, and the crowd erupts with laughter. This catches the narrator off-guard, and, even from your seat in the front, you can tell he is suppressing his own laughter. 

“Perhaps later…” The crowd roars with laughter, drawn-out and hearty, though the narrator presses on, “It seemed a very ordinary night…”

“Ordinary?” 

“When Brad Majors-”

“Arsehole!” The crowd is relentless in their scrutiny of the male half of the main protagonist, and they will let it be known. 

“You’ve met.” The narrator states, simply, creating another roar of laughter from the crowd. 

“And his fiancee, Janet Weiss–”

“Slut!” The crowd is also relentless about their distaste for the female protagonist, however, you cannot tell if this title is to be worn as a crown or a dunce cap. 

“Went to see a Dr. Everett Scott…”

The crowd seemed ravenous, you had never seen a show like this before. Before long, you realized that the crowd was as much in on the script of the show as the actors were. It felt like some sort of inside joke that you weren’t in on, though you had not felt entirely ostracized. Everyone here was a freak. That title was worn like a crown. A dunce cap worn proudly for all to see. That comfort rained down over you in a shrouded confetti sea of glitter and rice at a wedding, and sprayed you with the mist of a water gun from somewhere far behind you, even shielded you beneath the news paper of a stranger, the light at the Frankenstein’s place looming like a light at the end of a deep, dark tunnel. 

You soon figure that this, at its worst, is a campy reprise of Frankenstein, shrouded in a gilded lining of glitter and sex. A prim and proper couple is engaged and travel too see the man that introduced them in order to relay the good news, though, their excursion is derailed by a blown tire in a rainstorm. 

You had managed to scrape by unscathed in your newness up until this moment, but the fanfares and excitement despite the blatant, yet somehow, still vague descriptions of its just a jump to the left, seem to expose you in its own gilded golden way. 

Despite your embarrassment, it was still surprising to see people you knew on stage, people you had hung out with once or twice, met in person, seen at the bars. Some of them were your classmates, some of them people you talked to on a semi-regular basis. You’d recognized Robin straight away, adorned in a corset and a cropped red wig. But there was one person you still had not seen yet. 

A piercing scream that could only be described as the banshee call from a white woman possessed ripples through the air in a ghastly introduction, covered by guitar fares and somehow even more glitter than before. 

Though you cannot process any other words besides: Oh my God. 

“How d'you do, I

See you've met my

Faithful handyman

He's just a little brought down because

When you knocked

He thought you were the candy man…”

There he was. In all of his glory. 

There was a certain correctness seeing him like this, the way his calloused fingers ran over the corset top and rippled the fine sheathings of the back seams of fishnet nights. The way sweat beaded down his made up face from the stage lights like a glitter– or even the way the dark glitter gilded his alabaster skin like gold flake on ancient relics. 

This was Eddie, you couldn’t quite place how, but you understood that this was where he had settled in space and time, in a choreographed symphony of stardust and feathers. How the fine matter of the universe accumulated to create this beautiful creature before you. This sweet transvestite. 

You had known about his love for performance before this, it was the premise of his very being. The world was Eddie’s stage and you had the honor of being his audience on a near-constant basis. He was beautiful then too, hair flying over a soft cotton-clad shoulder as he paraded around the backwoods. He was beautiful on stage, when the sweat beaded down his forehead and his large smile pushed on the apples of his cheeks and pinched the corners of his eyes together– much like tonight. He was especially beautiful when he wasn’t performing either, in moments of shared silence and concentration. In stolen glances and passed grins and inside jokes. 

Eddie was beautiful always, but this was a beauty that you had never seen before– an entirely new sight to behold. The only second to this had been Steve, your frat-boy adjacent, golden-skinned, all-American friend from the bars, clad in gold speedo armor. But Steve had always been conventionally beautiful, and he was no different now. 

You could see them well from your gifted seat 15A. You laughed with the crowd, called the discrepancies of Brad Majors and Janet Weiss in loud, choreographed distaste from your seat, and tried your hardest to feel at home in this crowd– which had not been hard, per se. Even from your space here, they had not been unwelcoming, though you could not help but feel constant passing glances at you as the show progressed. 

Then, it happened. 

Hot white light tinted fuschia from the film warmed your face and drowned out the flush that crept hot against your neck. This was not a backsplash or residual lighting from the stage, this was attention. And it was all on you. 

“Whatever happened to Fay Wray?

That delicate satin draped frame…” 

Eddie sang, vibrato carrying across the fuschia that tethered you together like a bind and delivering it to your soul. His eyes locked into yours, and you couldn’t not catch the smile that only you could recognize as shit-eating, your own communication horror and the exact words: you fucking didn’t. 

“As it clung to her thigh, how I started to cry

Cause I wanted to be dressed just the same…”

A mist billowed from the undersides of the stage, pooling around your feet and spilling upwards into your lap. Eddie began to descend the stairs in a sinful strut, mink stole sliding across alabaster shoulders in one sensual movement. 

“Give yourself over to absolute pleasure…”

“Swim the warm waters of sins of the flesh…”

The mink stole found its way around your shoulders and settled there, and your face burned hot with both the stage light and embarrassment. Though, you couldn’t help but tilt your head back and cackle with the movement of Eddie’s hand against the niche between your jaw and neck and the weight of him against your legs. 

You shouldn’t like this, should you? 

No, this was okay. It was more than okay actually. You only existed in this moment. You didn’t understand how you could live any differently outside of this, now.

“Erotic nightmares beyond any measure,

He was heavy and hot against you. You could feel every nerve in your body, the lacy, delicate spider web strings of fishnet tights taught and stinging against your fingertips. 

And sensual daydreams to treasure forever,

You understood your place in space and time now. You felt the stardust settle in the cave of your body. You felt the universe combust and implode in a cosmogony within your body. You knew where Eddie was supposed to be. 

You also knew where your place was, too.  

Can't you just see it?”

[thehumanistcrusader]

I don't think we realize just dangerous Silver Snow could be for Byleth as a character.

(EDIT: Changed the title to reflect the headcanon-esque nature of this post.)

In the other three routes, Byleth has the house leaders to anchor themselves down when they receive their divine powers. In Azure Moon and especially Verdant Wind, they are able to maintain their humanity despite their rise to godhood because they have those bonds, and in Crimson Flower, they end up losing their powers altogether. But Silver Snow? Oh, Silver Snow is a whole other ball game.

In Silver Snow, Edelgard, who in another timeline would have been the one to relieve Byleth of their divinity and perhaps even fill their life with love and compassion, instead turns on them, leaving to fulfill her own ideals. Dimitri ends up going insane from his own demons and dies at Gronder, likely not in a very nice way, too. Claude is forced to leave Fodlan for Almyra in order to save himself. Worse yet, all the other students who weren't lucky enough to join Byleth are likely dead as well.

And Rhea, the one person they've been holding out for this whole time, the one person that they had hoped would be able to turn things around, is either dead, or has retired to Zanado. Byleth was just beginning to show their humanity, to warm their stone cold heart, and what did they get for it? Nothing. Their home is ravaged by war, so many of their students, their friends are dead, and the ones that did make it out will never get to see their dear Professor grow old alongside them. Even Cyril, the youngest voiced character in the entire game, will be nothing but a blink to the immortal Byleth. Sure, Seteth and Flayn are still there, and maybe Macuil and Indech could be convinced to come hang out at Gareg Mach, but even these 4 are nothing compared to the 40+ friends that Byleth has lost.

A major part of Byleth's story is the relationship between their humanity and their divinity. Azure Moon and Verdant Wind manage to strike a balance, albeit leaning towards human and divine respectively. The Black Eagle routes, then, are the extremes. In Crimson Flower, Byleth sacrifices their divinity to embrace their humanity, finding themselves in the loving arms of close friends, and perhaps eventually, family. In Silver Snow, what does Byleth do when almost everyone they know is dead, and they must now shoulder the responsibility of leading Fodlan for all eternity? Simple. They reject their humanity, and with it the memories of happier days, and embrace their divine nature wholeheartedly. There is no longer Byleth, there is only The Enlightened One.

Fodlan is transformed into a theocracy, ruled eternally by The Enlightened One, who rules with daft precision and perfection. Thanks to the technology from Shambala, Fodlan is transformed into a technological paradise. Every building is self-powered, all foods is grown in buildings with perfect conditions, all jobs are handled by machines. There is no disease, because The Enlightened One heals all the sick. There is no crime, because The Enlightened One rains divine judgement on those who sin. There is no war, because The Enlightened One destroys all who threaten Fodlan.

However, just as The Enlightened One guards those under the wings, so too do they strike down any from outside. Under their rule, Fodlan becomes even more isolationist, to the point where had folks like Petra or Claude tried to enter Fodlan, they would have been chased off like savage bears outside of one's house, because to The Enlightened One, that is essentially what they are: savage beasts threatening their precious home.

Fodlan becomes a perfect world, and yet, because of this, there is no growth, no change, no evolution. The Enlightened One has become a cold, apathetic, and pragmatic ruler in their rejection of humanity. Fodlan becomes cold, stale, emotionless, blanketed forever...

...in silver snow.

[dweemeister]

“Why, you speak treason!” “Fluently.”

When it comes to Robin Hood, it doesn’t get any Robin Hood-ier than this. Swashbuckling legend Errol Flynn is Robin Hood as much as Olivia de Havilland is Maid Marian in what might just be the most entertaining film of the 1930s in Michael Curtiz’s The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938). Every single Robin Hood film release since stands in this version’s shadow.

Action-packed without being overly silly or too violent, witty as any of the screwball comedies released in the ‘30s and ‘40s, costumed and designed with an eye-popping color palette, and enjoyable enough for anyone who has never seen a film this old, Michael Curtiz’s and William Keighley's The Adventures of Robin Hood continues to delight as it approaches its eighty-fifth anniversary of its release. Flamboyant performances from Claude Rains and Basil Rathbone add to the fun! Perhaps its most innovative aspect is the rollicking score by Erich Wolfgang Korngold - Korngold (as much a composer for film as he was for contemporary classical music) was one of the first to use Wagnerian leitmotifs in association with characters and ideas in his scores, which would go on to influence almost every film composer working since.

At that year’s Oscars, The Adventures of Robin Hood - the most expensive movie yet produced by Warner Bros. at that time - was nominated for four Academy Awards, winning three: Best Art Direction (Carl Jules Weyl), Film Editing (Ralph Dawson), and Original Score for Korngold. Its only loss was for Best Picture (You Can’t Take it with You). 

[free-for-all-fics]

Last night I dreamt that Claude Rains was playing a totally different character. Like a kind older man named Angus, complete with thick rimmed glasses and a neutral plaid shirt and overcoat. It was like a romance movie where he was married, but his wife was getting older (she was in her mid 50’s while he was in his 60’s) and she was feeling insecure about herself, her body, and their sex life. Their bedroom wasn’t dead, but chilled out considerably compared to when they were first married in their 20’s. So she tells him that if he wants to go out and find other younger women to sleep with, she won’t be mad or upset. She loves him and wants him to feel fulfilled in the bedroom and knows he still has a fairly high libido despite his age. She just wants him to be happy. But he immediately shoots such an idea down because he could never ever ever ever entertain the thought of going to another woman for that sort of thing. His wife is his best friend, his wife of 30 or so years, and he married her because he loves her more than anyone and can’t imagine being intimate with anyone but her. He shows his wife just how much he loves her and proves to her that their sex lives haven’t changed all that much from when they were younger by taking her to bed and making love to her for hours, proving to her that they still got it. A part of her insecurity was that they never had children even though they tried many times, and now that she’s been through menopause, she can’t have them. Though he wanted children at one point, he learned to be okay with not having them because he had her in his life and she was all he needed. Just her, him, and the dog(s) make up their little happy family, and that’s enough. He doesn’t want to have children with a younger woman. Even if he outlives his wife, he can’t imagine ever remarrying. Why try again at love or another wife when he already has the best? Then he and his wife go to the eye clinic together because “Angus” has an eye exam and needs to pick out a new pair of glasses. He likes the ones he has, but you point out that the black and glass frames are sooooo thick and heavy. He should go for a plastic pair with thinner or different colored frames to better suit and bring out his eyes.

[project1939]

200 Films of 1952

Film number 173: The Man Who Watched Trains Go By

Release date: December 1952 

Studio: Eros Films 

Genre: crime drama 

Director: Harold French 

Producer: Josef Shaftel, Raymond Stross, David Berman 

Actors: Claude Rains, Marius Goring, Märta Torén 

Plot Summary: A meek and lowly bookkeeper finds himself in the middle of an embezzlement and murder case, giving him the opportunity to flee his boring life for the traveling and romance he’s always dreamed of. Escaping the crime might be a hopeless cause, however. 

My Rating (out of five stars): **½  

Damn! I really wanted to like this one- when I heard it was a noir-ish drama starring Claude Rains and Marta Toren, that was all the convincing I needed to watch it. The film was promising for about the first 30 minutes... but then it went totally off the rails (see what I did there?). If not for Rains, there would be very little reason to like this film, much less watch it. It was somehow both too melodramatic and too cold at the same time. It was the kind of film that sounds good in theory but fails in execution. 

The Good: 

Claude Rains. Duh. He was bound to be good in this, and he definitely was. It was very interesting to see him play a humble everyman kind of role. He most often played rich or regal characters, and his range here was impressive. At the beginning of the film, he broke my heart as a pathetic “little guy” whose life was falling apart. As he slowly became more and more deranged, it was painful to see. 

The set up and story were interesting and entertaining- it was filled with suspense, intrigue, and psychological drama. I was never bored. 

There was some good location shooting in Paris. I especially liked that it showed a dirtier seedier side of the city, rather than a romantic postcard. 

Goring and Toren were both competent and looked the part, even if they weren’t outstanding. 

The Bad: 

The music. Oh my god, the music! It was way way too much- some of the most noticeably overwhelmingly melodramatic I’ve seen over the last 173 films! It was at turns humorous and distracting. It really affected my enjoyment of the movie. 

The melodrama in general. By the time the third act came around it was so histrionic I lost any empathy or connection I had with the characters. 

It also had a cold standoff-ish feel to it, despite the melodrama. None of the characters were really fleshed out and humanized, even Rains as Popinga to some degree. I felt a kind of disconnect, especially as the film went on. 

How did he just leave his wife and children like that? It was horrible. 

The insanity of the end! The final lines of dialogue had me laughing, “No! Oh my god, no!” 

Visually it was pretty pedestrian. With a noir-like tone and a grimy view of Paris, there was a lot of wasted potential. 

The Technicolor looked awful. Awful! I don’t know if it was the print I saw, because it wasn’t the highest quality, but the color was so bad it often reminded me of a “colorized” movie. Some of it could have been the fact that not enough lights were used on sets and locations, because Technicolor always looks best under bright lights. 

The title! It’s clunky and... just bad. It got renamed for the American release as The Paris Express, which is just boring and no better. 

[brooklynislandgirl]

Which of her many relations would Beth most like Ron to meet?

Asks Open Forever {{tagging @morgansmornings and @big-d-little-i-big-n-little-ozzo for reasons:tm:}} A twenty minute drive, give or take, is eschewed in favour of a leisurely late afternoon-early evening walk for those three and some miles back to Cedra Court from Vallance Road. The late spring weather is mild, free of rain, and there's a gentle breeze in the canopy of newly leafed treetops lining the sidewalks they amble along. For all that Claude could strain his broad shoulders and barrel chest, half dragging Ron in his wake, the giant black Cane Corso prefers the more sedate pace. Focused, alert, and a little less interested in the smells that seem to draw Topper's nose. Beth's hands are equally occupied with much more sedate friends; Mo is graceful and Noe ~their smallest, and the one gifted to her by Ron himself~ is simply content to be included. A good five or ten minutes flows by with companionable silence; little noises or tugs on leashes to communicate with a portion of the pack surrounding them, the sound of the occasional traffic be it automobile or pedestrian, greetings murmured in passing which Beth had come to realise a year or two ago was a distinctly American trait. Too friendly, Reg called it. With the implication of nosy, of being a bee in everyone's garden. Normally Beth might be a brook of chatter, words spilling out over the banks of her lips, filtered over teeth and tongue to be as crystalline as their mixed slang can be to them. She'd have questions about the things she's learned, the customs observed, and she might, in a rare moment of particular joy or vulnerability, dislodge a similar experience or tid-bit about her own family. A glimpse of a life she hardly bothers to talk about. Best put though, it seems some of the Ink that Ron vigilantly guards against has splashed up on tawny skin. Muddied her thoughts and put clouds in her internal sky, and her silence comes away with a hint of trouble she has no defense against. The only good part about all that is that Ron seems to understand the source of her mood. He doesn't need to ask what in particular his mother had said. What particular piece of wit from his brother is taken like something she'd need scrape off her shoe. Why Frances eats into her like a worm does a ripening apple. His armour is often thicker than her own in different ways. So instead, after a time, he makes that rumbling little beckon in the back of his throat,herald to something he'd like to say, and when he's certain she's paused and her eyes linger on his mouth, he asks her gently about her own clan and kin. Beth has never felt quite so bankrupt in the history of her existence. Takes at least two more drag-heel blocks to even pry loose her voice. "I s'spose firs' an' foremos' I'd like ya t' get t' know my hanai-sistah. Like some of ya aunties, we're not blood-blood, but could be. I was her roommate durin' University, start a year before she did. Been bes' good friends evah since. She date Andy briefly, but it became kinda obvious dat dey were too same-same for it to work out, an' he became jus' as ovahprotective of her as he was wi' me. She's supah smart, she funny, an' she bakes like no one's business. She's also my lawyer even dough she gave up practising for da most part. Keeps her license wi' da Bar current jus' for me. I love her." Talk of Jay does brighten her up and puts a soft smile on her face. "Den dere's my cousin Tony. Funny enough, if we nevah were anyt'ing more dan friends, he'd be da one I try f' introduce you. He smells nice, dresses well, is smart an' is funny, great hair, amazin' cook, writes his own songs, play piano, I mean I could go on f' days but really he has da worst luck wi' guys. Mebbe because he's sorta like a Military Cop...but not like in da Military, but a separate department of investigation. He also has an attachment t' his boss even if da man is horrifically toxic to Tony. An' tru'd be told? I t'ink its because he had an off relationship wi' his dad, too. Guess dat runs in da family."

She catches the corner of her lip between her teeth and worries it as she often does. "An' lastly, my Auntie Aishling an' her wife Siobhan. She's fiery, Irish as can be, an' I suppose you could call her da current matriarch of da clan, much t' da Admiral's knicker-twist. She is also a peer, so I dunno if you wanna boddah wi' all da fancy formality of one of her social get togeddahs. Of course, I could arrange for us t' have a private dinner wi' her. We could fly an' get picked up Belfast Airport, or we could drive an' take da ferry..." She glances up to try to gauge his feelings about that.

[lunarsilkscreen]

An FF7 Theory

There's definite reason you wouldn't want to continue reading this. So I'm putting a disclaimer here saying just that. Also; I haven't played Rebirth yet. No spoilers pls.

The character FF7, I mean Cloud, famously can't differentiate his own memories from ones he was given from the Sephiroth program. This has caused many to think that he was always just a clone experiment.

One theory suggests that Zack was always the original Cloud, and therefore both Tifa and Arieys don't remember Cloud despite fully seeing the resemblance between the two.

With the main difference being that Cloud is much shorter.

I think that the backstory explains this well enough; they were battle buddies who shared a lot in common, immediately hit it off and planned on staying buddies long after they were able to escape the claws of the {[Shinra Deep State]} and HoJo.

Cloud faced the extremely traumatic event of watching his entire village burn at the hands of Sephiroth.

That's not quite the case is it?

The village was home to many experiments performed by HoJo and ShinRa. And I think that the meltdown that Sephiroth had was entirely shared by Cloud.

The entire village was experimented on after Cloud left. When Sephiroth, Cloud, and Zack came to Nibelheim; they were taken back by their own individual Trauma.

Sephiroth is a clone. Clouds saw the atrocities that befell his hometown. And Zack; Well he nearly died after he got thrown off that bridge.

This is evident in the similarities in appearance shared between Jenova and Claudette.

{(As Cloud stares into one of the pods containing his former friends and family. He utters only one word: 'Mother...')}

These traumatic memories that three shared were inextricably linked. Sephiroth went on a murderous rampage. Tifa never saw the Horrors, despite being the squad's Sherpa.

She knew people had been going to the Reactor to do work, and hadn't seen them come back in a while. But she didn't know why they didn't come back.

Cloud had kept his standard Shinra Armor on, not because he was ashamed. (maybe a little.) But because the task at hand was too heavy.

Zack had been Cloud's stand in. The one who investigated the town and quote; "Inspected Tifa's underwear drawer on Cloud's behalf "

What a bro.

This is where people keep making the mistake; Sephiroth, despite being an S-Rank warhero, is still human. And Cloud, despite being lower ranking had reached his level as a fighter.

Despite his observations in combat that made him feel inferior because his lack of experience. That's why he is able to defeat Sephiroth with relative ease whenever they encounter each other.

It's because of this; even the audience doesn't think Sephiroth could be affected in the same way cloud is. His memories are also scrambled. And he confuses many of Cloud's memories for his own during the events of FF7.

The same way Cloud does.

Since Sephiroth is the villain. Calm, Collected, Psychotic. It's easy to believe he is in complete control. And because we see Cloud's weaknesses and admission of Trauma, and the hardships he tries to keep to himself.

It's hard to see him from the outside. The same way everyone else sees Sephiroth. They see Cloud the same exact way, just without the psychosis.

Probably.

Cloud and Sephiroth are dealing with this trauma that their former employer experimented on them, their family, and then even had the balls to ask them to cover it up after framing it as a defensive mission.

And Sephiroth decided it should all burn.

Cloud. He decided to make it rain. And at least put out the raging flames. Maybe. Clouds also create thunder and lightning.

---

You notice that with the newest FF16 release, it's possible that Cloud is actually named after a deceased war hero himself?

A fellow name Claud.

[waugh-bao]

@fakrichie tagged me to post four characters who are "my man." so, in no particular order:

Endeavour Morse (Inspector Morse: 1987-2000)

We have the exact opposite taste in opera, but I do love the Jag Mark II. And his love for Lewis and Max and Strange, no matter how much he might like to act like he doesn’t care. He’s an arrogant, insecure, brilliant, oblivious mess who can’t stop getting in his own way and making himself lonely, but you can’t help rooting for him all the same.

Jep Gambardella (The Great Beauty: 2013)

A feted writer who hasn’t written a book in decades, Jep is surrounded by beauty and ugliness and vacillates wildly between focusing on one or the other, facing 65 and the closing salvo of his life. The ennui cursed intellectual is an old European cinematic trope, but he’s fleshed out enough to make a fascinating, if not always especially sympathetic, character and his endless search for something is relatable in the most disquieting way.

Howard Justin (The Passionate Friends: 1949)

I have a soft spot for all of Claude Rains’ characters, but Howard has always struck me as one of the most interesting, particularly for the age of the film. He’s a man married to a woman who he knows full well doesn’t love him, and whom he doesn’t love, because he prizes companionship and mutual freedom above romantic love. And then discovers, in the course of having his heart broken, that those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Joseph Kern (Trois couleurs, Rouge: 1994)

In any other context, ex-judge who eavesdrops on his neighbors phonecalls would probably be the beginning of either a bad sex comedy or a horror-thriller in French cinema. But Joseph develops into something entirely different, and I never get tired of watching him rediscover having a reason to live through his parallel relationship Valentine and Rita/her puppies. It’s a very bittersweet, but ultimately uplifting take on a found family late in life.

Hate that I’ve gotten to the end of this and really shown that I have a thing for sad, unloved-feeling intellectual old men, but we’re just going to ignore that.

Tagging: @agentidiot , @charliesmydarling , @smittyjaws , and whoever else would like to participate.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

The Unsuspected

Michael Curtiz’s THE UNSUSPECTED (1947, TCM) starts with a bang. A secretary in a posh mansion is murdered and strung up from the chandelier to appear to be a suicide. In one brief shot, we see the killer (Claude Rains, in a role originally intended for Orson Welles and then Humphrey Bogart). A week later, Rains is presenting his radio show, in which he describes famous murders. As he speaks of an unsolved case, the camera catches shadowy glimpses of various men looking guilty, including one in a cheap hotel room lit by a neon sign outside, with only the letters “K-I-L-L” visible. A week later we see a party at Rains’ home, which contains enough scandalous stories to keep a prime-time soap going for years. And then it all fizzles out. Even with two more murders and great camera work by Woody Bredell, there’s no real excitement. Part of the problem is that the film is too long. The other is the top-billed star, Joan Caulfield, an actress with all the charisma of stewed prunes who was briefly a top-ten box-office star on the strength of a few films in which she teamed with Bing Crosby (some have suggested they were involved; kissy, kissy). She’s Rains’ ward, whose fortune he’s living on. At the start, she’s presumed dead in a shipwreck. Unfortunately, she turns up, having been rescued by a fisherman with no taste in acting. Her scenes are a total downer. Rains has a niece (Audrey Totter) with an alcoholic husband (Hurt Hatfield) who was supposed to marry Caulfield (see what I mean about those prime-time soaps). They burn up the screen, only for Caulfield to turn up and throw a wet blanket over everything. The only person who can get anything out of her is Rains, who’s so good he seems to be dragging a performance of her. There’s also an amateur detective (Michael North), who’s almost as bland as Caulfield and a homicide detective (Fred Clark) who says, “Find the killer and you’ll find the motive.” Only we never really find out what the motive was, so I guess he was wrong. Constance Bennett is also on hand, in a role originally announced for Eve Arden, as Rains’ wisecracking producer. She’s stylish, witty and energetic, and, as with Arden in most of her films, there’s not nearly enough of her.

[ghost-town-story]

15 Questions, OC edition

Thanks for the tag (and your patience lol) @dogmomwrites!

Random WIP picker decided on unnamed superhero WIP, so answering as Julian (with occasional interjections from Stella)

Are you named after anyone?

Not that I know of, but I also never asked.

When was the last time you cried?

......... Don't remember. (Stella in the background: "How about last week when Claude showed you that cat video?") ................ It was raining.

Do you have kids?

Nope. Not planning on it any time soon either.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

*deadpan* No, absolutely not. (Stella: "Yes he does")

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Looking for a hero marker. Force of habit, I guess.

What’s your eye color?

Blue.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Doesn't really matter to me. Zombie movies are always fun because Stella usually spends most of the movie being really judgy. (Stella: "Sometimes he cries if a movie gets too sweet.") Who gave you the right to talk?

Any special talents?

On paper, healing. Off the books... It's a little more complicated. I'm still figuring out everything I can do.

Where were you born?

New Orleans. Born and raised there. (Stella: "Until one fateful day.") Jeez, you make it sound like I died. (Stella: "Well technically--") And we're moving on.

What are your hobbies?

Baking. And knitting. I like to keep my hands busy.

Have you any pets?

We have a cat. Her legal name is Lady Whiskerton the Fifth, but most of the time we call her Mothman cause she's our little cryptid.

What sports do you play/have played?

None, unless you count training for hero work as a sport.

How tall are you?

..................... Tall enough. (Stella: 5'7". Same height as me.)

Favorite subject in school?

..... Biology I guess? (Stella: Oh my god, just say your healer classes you nerd.) ............ Technically they were biology classes.

Dream job?

Still trying to figure that one out. I want to help people, wouldn't mind going into the medic side of hero work, but that's not exactly an option for me right now.

~

I'll tag @aquadestinyswriting, @duckingwriting, and @oh-no-another-idea. Have a clean version under the cut :)

Are you named after anyone?

When was the last time you cried?

Do you have kids?

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

What’s your eye color?

Scary movies or happy endings?

Any special talents?

Where were you born?

What are your hobbies?

Have you any pets?

What sports do you play/have played?

How tall are you?

Favorite subject in school?

Dream job?

[changsbin]

0325 ; to love someone is to exist with them

tw: mentions of depression and su*cid*l thoughts (a small blurb about skz's 5th anniversary bc they have been and still are one of the biggest parts of my life)

six years ago, i was in the eighth grade and getting ready to enter my freshman year of high school. although excited, i still had this lingering feeling—like i was lost—i had friends, i had family, i had activities that i enjoyed, but it was never enough. i would go home, and the smile would melt from my face like candle wax. i would go home, nothing made me feel real—nothing made me feel full. so, i consumed tons of debris and molded myself into whoever i thought i should be in the hopes that i would be able to fill the emptiness in my chest.

it didn’t work. nothing did. every day was the same as the last; i ate the same food, wore the same clothes, listened to the same music, went to the same classes. hope was beginning to feel more and more like a stranger to me. good days were becoming more and more scarce. i started thinking: “maybe everything would be easier if i didn’t exist; maybe everything would weigh less on my soul if i wasn’t here anymore.” i didn’t want to die, but i didn’t want to live—if that makes any sense.

in october of 2017, i started watching the survival show, and it was my sanctuary, my escape; i got to watch these boys follow their dreams while seeing them grow and change. i was taken by their talent and their passion and their love for one another. to me—a young girl who gave up on looking for light in the dark long ago—they shined brighter than the sun. to me—a person teetering on the edge—they became my world, my galaxy, my universe.

and, in 2018, all of their hard work and dedication came to fruition. with tears in my eyes, i watched as they embraced and adored one another with whole hearts and open arms. it’s been far too long to remember the weather, but i know march 25th, 2018 was a warm day.

and, since then, i think i’ve grown warmer as well. now, my depression has not gone away, and those aforementioned thoughts still plague me to this day. but, they’ve become easier to manage. stray kids has helped me realize what it means to search for hope and what to do when i find it. stray kids has taught me to hold tightly onto those i love and to be gracious to those i don’t. stray kids has reminded me that it’s okay to not feel okay; they’ve reminded me that vulnerability and weakness and fear are natural. stray kids have placed their hands over my heart, and let me know that existence is fleeting, and that i should not squander it; they have taught me that embracing the fragility of the human spirit is the only way one can grow stronger.

chan, minho, changbin, hyunjin, jisung, felix, seungmin, and jeongin—they have all given me a second chance.

i see chan in the evergreen trees of my hometown; strong and resilient, but not being afraid to drop leaves and plant seeds because that is how the future is made. i feel minho as the warmth of my cat’s body seeps through the fabric of my clothes; gentle, loving, and tender while displaying trust and adoration in a quiet way. i hear changbin in the thunder of an impending storm; its rumbling evokes a sense of comfort in me, and i know only good things will remain after the rain. i see hyunjin in claude monet paintings; soft greens, muted yellows, and calming shades of lavender coming together to ease the ache of my soul. i hear jisung in the laughter of my friends; a sound that is unique to each person, a sound that reminds me of happier times that are still to come. i smell felix in the homemade bread that my dad and i make together; like an all-encompassing hug, the aroma is safe and delicate and makes me feel loved. i hear seungmin in the song of the morning doves outside my house; a beautiful symphony that tells of family and connection and the difference between being alive and truly living. and, jeongin—i see him every time a spring flower starts to bloom; courageous and filled with nervous excitement, they make the decision to begin again in spite of the tribulations they may have to endure.

simply put, they are my everything.

and, in this moment—5 years after dreams became reality—i realize that hope and i are growing closer once again. it seems a bit silly, doesn't it? the fact that eight people have had this big of an impact on my life? the fact that eight people take up so much room in my heart? but, i can't bring myself to care—not when i'm gazing up at my stars, not when i know that they will always light my way, not when i know that our story has yet to end.

the darkness is still here, though. it stalks me when the weight of the world becomes too much for me to bear; when it strikes, it digs its fangs into my skin and turns the blood in my body ice cold. and, unfortunately, i don't think the sting will ever go away. but, it doesn't scare me. it doesn't control me. it doesn't define me.

not anymore.

to skz (jic ;]): i would not be the person i am today if i didn't have stray kids. i am forever grateful for the music you make, the stories you tell, the love that you give. thank you for saving me. to love someone is to exist with them, and i plan to stay by your side for a very long time.

[darchildre]

Sara Reads an Infuriating Book, the Conclusion

Friends, I have finished W Scott Poole's Wasteland. Here are some notes on the last two chapters:

Chapter 4:

Like chapter 3, this mostly discussed subjects outside my bailiwick - the chapter focused mostly on the rise of fascism in Europe and America throughout the 1930s and only touched on film a little. And the films it did discuss are, to my mind, only horror films if your definition is very broad: M, and the Dr Mabuse movies.

I have one small rant here: Poole, in discussing M, talks about the movie's "fully human monster" and the fact that American and British film wouldn't "fully explore this subject for another three decades." And I thought, okay, sure - making a movie as frankly about a child killer would be pretty confronting even today, that seems fair.

But no, this is not what he means, because the films he uses as examples of British and American films exploring the subject matter are Psycho and Peeping Tom, which means we're just talking about serial killers.

Sir. Even leaving aside movies like Murders in the Zoo and Mystery of the Wax Museum (which he's going to discuss in the very next chapter), between 1927 and 1944, people in Britain and the US filmed three separate versions of The Lodger. I am absolutely not claiming that these movies are anywhere near as good as M, but you cannot argue that no one outside Germany made a serial killer movie before the 1960s.

On the up side, this chapter did remind me to rewatch M and that I've always meant to get around to the Mabuse films.

Chapter 5! This chapter was called "Universal Monsters", which of course made me excited. Unfortunately, this is the last chapter, so Poole has to cram a lot of stuff in and can't really give anything enough space for proper discussion. Especially since this chapter is as scattered as all the others: we do discuss the American horror cycle of the 1930s, but we also have to drop in on Lovecraft, T S Eliot, and Machen (as we do every chapter), as well as discuss the revival of Spiritualism, the collapse of Victorian mourning culture during WWI, and some thoughts on ghost stories as comforting when compared to, y'know, the omnipresent mutilated corpses that Poole never stops talking about.

Because there's so much, nothing gets a lot of focus. Here are some bullet points:

Poole does not discuss the 1931 Dracula at all. It gets a sentence or two marking that it has been made, but no discussion of the actual film. And sure, you can't talk about everything, but my dude! You have been yammering on about symbolic/metaphorical portrayals of shell shock for chapters now and you don't want to talk about Dwight Frye's Renfield? We're just going to move right past Lucy quoting "Stand to Your Glasses" to a literal walking dead man? I get that you talked about Nosferatu a lot but damn, that seems like a hell of an omission.

Talking about James Whale and his horror movies: "We unfortunately have really nothing from the director himself regarding how the war shaped his vision of horror." THIS IS WHAT I'M SAYING. Look, I am generally death-of-the-author as hell and I think that Poole's reading of most of these films is a legitimate and valid reading. I just object to the idea that it's the only valid reading, especially when he never presents solid evidence other than his opinions about the films.

Petty nitpicking time: friends, I just watched every damn one of the Universal Invisible Man movies and there is no suggestion in any one of them that Griffin is “a disfigured scientist who seeks invisibility to hide his mutilated face". That's just wildly inaccurate. Poole loves facial disfiguration so much that he sees it in films where it does not appear at all. (Claude Rains as Griffin is visible for all of 10 seconds in the original film, his face is entirely unmarred and, frankly but irrelevantly, really lovely.)

Even pettier nitpicking: if you are going to make a snarky comment about people mistakenly referring to Frankenstein's assistant in Frankenstein and Bride as Ygor, it's going to come off better if you remember that the character in the original film is named "Fritz" and not "Karl". Karl is in Bride.

I will admit that I only skimmed the Afterword because, frankly, I've been reading this book at work and I got to it when we were about to close up and go home. Thus, I don't have anything to say about it.

In conclusion! This is not the most infuriating book about horror I've ever read, because Poole a) doesn't hate people who like horror and b) doesn't think that all horror stories are about incest. I disagree with a lot of his conclusions, but mostly because I think he's making too strong a case on too little evidence and I don't like anything that only allows for one reading of any work of art. I also found the structure irritating and I think parts of the book would be better if the scope was narrower - wandering off to talk about Surrealist painters or T S Eliot every damn chapter got old after a while.

It's absolutely not the book I would recommend for a first entry into horror film history - that's still Skal's The Monster Show. But, if you want some context for 1920/30s horror film, with a focus on European film, it's not a bad book to argue with or make film lists from.

And now I have to go track down Shell Shock Cinema by Anton Kaes, because it's the book in the works cited that sounded the most interesting.

[canon-asexual-poll]

Nomination Review: Bizu from Bizu

Bizu from Bizu; confirmed in the album "Le Signe D'ys" (note this series is entirely in French and no English translation exists for this album). At the start of the album the book spends a page going on about how every creature in the forest is feeling the power of love/lust in spring and then shows Bizu just standing there going "oh it looks like rain" with a voice over saying "except for Bizu, he's never experienced it. A little melancholy perhaps but even then..." (you can see the page for yourself here in the internet archive:

Just as a note, this album came out in 1986 and does not use the specific word "asexual" so I understand if you disqualify this as not being "canon enough" though I feel the book deliberately pointing out that he doesn't experience sexual attraction while other people do (several of the animals featured are major/recurring characters) pushes it past headcanon territory

Verdict: Accepted

Even if the terms didn't exist yet Bizu is explicitly shown as aro/ace.

I do worry about him getting crushed by more well-known characters (among English speakers) so hopefully there'll be enough obscure characters for him to fairly compete against.

[murfpersonalblog]

And in light of all the flack AMC caught after Ep5, even if they originally wanted to take Louis/Claudia's version seriously, more than likely they'll also have to obfuscate/retcon events to make Lestat more palatable for audiences (he's TVC's hero/protagonist/MC after all).

Thus, Louis seems even more unreliable & unhinged, Claudia even more spiteful, and (potentially/most importantly) Armand as even more sinister (if they lean into him fabricating/manipulating memory with his Mind/Spell Gifts & effing with Claudia's diaries). (I've said 1000 times that I DO NOT trust him & what's going on in Dubai.)

"There are three sides to every story: Your side, my side, and the truth. And no one is lying. Memories shared serve each differently." -- Robert Evans

There are elements of Ep5 that are VERY true--from the state of Loustat's coffins, to the busted mantelpiece, to Come to Me. Loustat's 6-year long separation started that very night--WHY? Whatever happened--but it was clearly bad, and Lestat clearly had to grovel several times (the whole kerfluffle over the remastered versions of Come to Me) before they let him move back in. And Les was clearly STILL BAD enough afterwards, that Claudia/Lou went through with the Murder Plot! SOMETHING went down. Ofc Armand, Lou & Claud (hyper)focus on the bad more than the good, but that doesn't negate that there was bad. Book!Lestat (hyper)focused on the good, but he also NEVER DENIED that there was BAD. The details don't matter--oh, Louis lied about how many times we met up in the 1900s, or what I said during this argument, or what color the wallpaper was, blah blah--"was it raining Louis?"--but Lestat never ONCE denied that he AND Louis hit e/o, or that he tried to beat Claudia, or that he didn't DESERVE them turning on him. AR pointed out SO MANY TIMES where Lestat & Louis not only physically fought pre-Claudia; but also where Les tried to beat Claudia (in a FIVE year old's body, not even 10 or 14, ffs) & Louis had to get in the middle & fight Les off to protect her--a la Ep5.

At the end of the day what really matters isn't whether Lestat beat Louis to the white meat & dropped him from the sky and got his throat slit & left in a dump. It's what that says about us viewers/Louis/even Lestat holding Lestat accountable for his actions, AND still having him earn/redeem his place as the likeable/lovable protagonist--becoming a "vampire WORTHY of your love!"

How can AMC spin this so that the people who believe Louis (AND Lestat!) in the books/film/show that Lestat was a villainous fiend who deserved to be roasted alive & dumped keep watching the show, when Lestat takes over the narrative in S3? Rolin Jones has a lot of WORK to do to redeem Lestat--the question is whether he'll Show or Tell enough in 7 episodes to be convincing.

A REDEMPTION Arc is different from a Retcon. Redemption means you did something effed up and are actively atoning/being redeemed. A Retcon is just handwaving all the unsavory elements aside--the show must go on, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Does Lestat deserve eternal vilification (by the fans AND Louis--a la the film, where NoHomo!Loustat never got back together) forgiveness (sympathy for monsters) or acceptance--a la the Prince Lestat trilogy, where Lestat openly acknowledges/accepts that he (and vampires as a whole) are all monsters, while still trying to curate an environment where they can learn to live in HARMONY with e/o--Loustat's problem since Day One.

The Number One rule amongst covens is not to kill other vampires. It's the only one they actually take seriously--not just with Claudia, but with Santino & Thorne, Rhosh & Baudwin, etc etc. In TVC it's a recurring theme from AR's very first book in IWTV to her very last book in BC. The main point is WHY these vampires are killing/fighting e/o. What did they do that was THAT BAD? In the books Claudia's wrath vs Lestat is simply a matter of age & gender dynamics. The show makes their family so much more complex, and there are plenty more reasons Lestat gets his throat slit here--but still boiling down to the simple fact that Lestat did something bad enough to DESERVE it. Rolin Jones openly said they gave Louis "more of a spine" on the show, taking agency into his own hands when Lestat effed round and found out (AS USUAL in the BRAT Prince's books).

The new teaser already confirmed that Les' throat really was slit--he's haunting Louis' memories as he appeared in Ep7 (although the filters & the L'oreal hair & Jesus pose are also pointing to how Louis "editorializes"). I'm assuming that scene happens in Ep1 (the Eastern European leg); before Lou & Claud meet Armand in Paris/Ep2.

If Claudia was the one who really slit Lestat's throat, it falls more neatly in line with the books, and Armand's trial. However, if Louis really did slit Les' throat, that ALSO falls in line with the books AND film, where Louis set Lestat on FIRE and dumped him in the swamp to get nommed on by frikkin GATORS. Y'all think Louis manhandling Lestat in Ep6 & bashing his head in the teaser was bad? They were legit SCARED of this dude!

YES, Louis was still deeply in love with Lestat despite it all, and YES, they got back together & are endgame, but come the eff on, Lestat's Ep5 "villain sequence" is NOT unique to just AMC's version--"it's what's written in the book!"

Some folk stay acting like Loustat never fought a day in their life and Lestat's always been unimpeachable & whatever Louis' saying must be a lie cuz their beautiful blonde blorbo would NEVER. What part of TOXIC ABUSE is not registering?

I've said before that these hugs plot holes and even bigger gaps in time are being chalked up to "memory is a monster," and while I love it as a premise, in practice it is a slippery slope towards relying on unreliable narration as a crutch any time the writers need to pivot in a different direction to keep the torches and pitchforks at bay. I don't envy Rolin his job, istg, cuz YES, it's gonna be interesting seeing where they take Loustat going forward, but I'm here for whatever, so long as Louis isn't thrown under the bus just to make Lestat the "victim" in their relationship, like wtf.

???? Pray tell what is Lestat’s version of events. There’s literally no alternative presented to Louis’s version of iwtv and the most telling line from Lestat himself is saying he deserved to be killed and would’ve done it too. Anne was just a lazy writer who wanted to change the protagonist and had to quickly convince readers to get on board. But then in subsequent books he’s still a rapist and abusive monster so even Anne decided that making him more “”likable”” did not preclude him being an abusive rapist.