#they had absolutely zero faith in jack the entire time man.

[soullessjack]

the one thing that always gets me about everyone slowly turning on jack at the start of absence isn’t that they think he’s dangerous. he is dangerous, even by his own admission, and up until now it’s just been kind of in the background because hey. he’s really pulled through for us a lot. we’d almost indefinitely be fucked without him. and he’s a good kid, so like whatever. it’s not that they think jack is dangerous.

it’s that bobby and whoever else followed him just decided that this is jack’s “true nature” finally and inevitably coming out now that kelly’s humanity and goodness is gone from him. Like. they fully react to the situation like Jack’s a sick cornered dog who they always knew was sick and who they always kept in the corner, waiting for him to inevitably go rabid and lash out, and they act like it’s so pitiful and tragic, because he was so good and helpful and held out for a while, but he was clearly helpless to fight against his true nature forever.

[islandfate]

s2 character recap time!!! this may get somewhat controversial but i am excited to share my feelings, so enjoy what's below the cut! i had a loooot of emotions this season and my fav man ever appeared so, that made me very happy. but some characters made me very UNHAPPY which you will see. also i really needed to finish this up so some character recaps are a little short. whatever. anyway!! enough chatter, let’s get on with it.

ben – you knew this was coming. there’s no way in hell i could talk about a lost season without starting with my favorite character ever, both in lost and otherwise: benjamin linus! now obviously we don’t get a lot of information about benry this season, and from what we do get, most of that isn’t even genuine. the ben we see here is just ... not who ben actually is!! the manipulation and the lies – yes, absolutely. his sass, too, which does slip out when he’s posing as henry gale. but his genuine personality is so wildly different from s2. this man doesn’t give a damn if he’s beat up. you could hold a gun to his head and he wouldn’t even blink. bc he always knows he can weasel his way out of everything!! but he’s gotta play it up as henry so .... obviously he’s gonna act scared and pathetic. honestly though, there isn’t one scene ben is in that i don’t adore. as usual, he captures the scene every time and just fully enhances it, even when placed next to characters i don’t really like. i am truly under the impression that ben was caught on purpose bc no way was that man wearing THAT outfit. and him getting caught in a trap just seems unlikely. but anyway, he was such a treat this season and just makes the show so much better.

charlie – i truly believe that charlie was done so dirty this season. as a whole, i don’t mind the idea of charlie having to continue battling his heroin addiction; i think the island tests people in different ways, and this was an interesting ( and heartbreaking ) way to go about it. what i didn’t like was the way everyone else reacted. ‘fire + water’ is already not the best episode, but to see the entire camp treat charlie as if he was nothing more than a drug addict, when it’s clear that other people have seen insane, nonsensical things﹘shannon seeing walt, kate and sawyer seeing the black horse, jack seeing his fucking dead dad﹘and not really been judged about it? it just rubs me the wrong way. charlie was unable to control himself, he was doing this while sleepwalking, and the one time he actually does take arron on his own merit is because he’s truly convinced that this is the right thing to do. and we have no evidence that charlie is even going to hurt aaron. but the whole camp ganging up on him, locke punching him, charlie being ostracized﹘to me, it’s just fucked up. no one tried to help him. and locke switched up on him so fast! i get locke was losing faith in the island, but to treat charlie like he was nothing more than a junkie really had me mad lol. i just think charlie just wasn’t given a whole lot of amazing screentime. i know that’s going to change in s3 for obvious reasons, but overall, i didn’t like charlie’s arc in s2.

sayid – ohhh sayid … here’s where my possible controversial opinions are coming into play. as stated in my previous character recap, i’ve never been a huge fan of sayid, simply because i don’t find him all that interesting. his flashbacks don’t really do it for me. and sayid in s2, well, i think he might be one of the most terrifying survivors. not necessarily in a good way, either. i understand that losing shannon was devastating for sayid, but the way he retaliates against the others is not it for me! there was absolutely zero evidence that henry gale was an other besides sayid’s gut instinct. and to me, enacting violence simply based on a feeling doesn’t cut it. obviously, later on, we know henry gale is an other. it’s ben. but, the survivors don’t know this at the time, and to see what sayid does to him is genuinely disturbing. he completely loses it, and if jack weren’t able to open that door, i have no doubt that sayid would’ve killed ben. even when sayid, ana lucia, and charlie go to find the balloon, sayid immediately jumps to the conclusion that ben lied without even looking around for it. he wants to kill him. he’s bloodthirsty, and that’s scary! but i do think it’s interesting how sayid is painted in this positive light, mostly because we’re seeing these events through the eyes of the survivors. and they trust sayid, however deranged he may become. but i like how they leave that trace of hesitation in the viewers; you watch sayid do this and you question it. it’s just interesting. and i love sayid’s line, “my name is sayid jarrah, and i am a torturer.” the look on ben’s face is great, and i just love him and sayid in this scene together. after this, though, sayid fades into the background for me. but from what i saw of him this season, i do not like sayid. i think his methods are questionable and always resort to violence. sayid might’ve been right about ben, but you even see later that ben is willing to talk without violence. it’s like there’s no other option in sayid’s head, and i just don’t like it! again, not saying he’s badly written, i simply don’t like his actions and i think there’s always another, usually better, way.

locke – as a general locke stan, i was surprised to see how much i disliked him in this season. which i guess isn’t anything new, that’s what this show does, but i expected to be a little more empathetic to his problems. i think how he treated charlie, however, really put a bad taste in my mouth, and it was just hard to watch anything with him afterward. genuinely, the only time i like locke in this season is when he has scenes with ben. i will always live by the fact that those two are the most interesting; i love their insane relationship, and to see the way ben gets under locke’s skin, even this early on, is so fun. ben truly is the reason locke decides not to press the button. crazy! locke just becomes so much more compelling when he’s having one of his verbal spars with ben. and the acting between those two is phenomenal. i’m sure i’ll have much more to say on these two in s3, especially s4, but i like what we see of them in this season. other than his ben scenes, however, i wasn’t finding myself enjoying many of his episodes. i think he’s so out of character in ‘fire + water,’ because to make locke angry enough that he would punch someone should take more than charlie taking aaron. something like that should be in a locke-centric episode. it was just … so stupid! and i’m not faulting the character for this, moreso the writers, but at the end of the day that’s what’s canon, so it’s what i’m going to judge. he just didn’t feel like the same character and it threw me off a bit.

jack – alright. as crazy as it is to say, i didn’t completely hate jack this season. he has his moments where he pisses me off, which is usual for him, but for the most part i didn’t mind his scenes and was actually on his side in some instances. mainly, when sayid was beating ben up and jack told locke he’d let the timer go down to zero if he didn’t open the door. i was like yes!! you did that!!! now jack made me mad with his dismissal of walt, telling michael that they were going to go find walt … just not yet? and when michael goes off to find the others and jack, locke, and sawyer follow, they’re obviously stopped by mr. tom friendly, who brings kate out, who was secretly following behind ( literally only because jack was being annoying and said she couldn’t go ). and jack seriously considers letting kate die in order to keep guns. that just made me so fucking mad i will not even lie to you. it’s jack’s fault for not letting kate come along; he knows how she is. and why he didn’t let her go with them is beyond me. i also enjoyed the scenes between jack and locke. the man of science / man of faith argument. it’s something that stays steady in the rest of the series, and i just really like their dynamic in this season. and jack playing poker was a little cute … i’ll admit. he was more in the background this season so i don’t have a whole lot more to say about him, but for once, i did not loathe this character!

ana lucia – not once in my life have i been a genuine fan of ana lucia. i’ve always felt a little indifferent toward her, but this season she was truly testing my patience. while i don’t completely blame her for shooting shannon﹘i know she was just afraid of the others﹘i think she was still a little too quick to shoot for having been a cop ( or maybe that’s exactly why LOL ). and her seeming lack of guilt for doing this is what also made me question her. i didn’t mind her relationship with sayid, that was interesting, but she didn’t seem to have many true relationships with anyone else. she and eko barely talk after they reach the beach camp, if at all. i guess she’s friends with jack, but their whole talk of an army didn’t even go anywhere, so i don’t exactly see what the point of that was. i just think she was in the right place to get killed off because she didn’t have much going for her, however terrible that is to say; it’s shocking, but probably not in a devastating way. it’s only really horrifying when libby is shot and lives, at least for a little bit. ana lucia simply didn’t do much for me. i didn’t despise her, but i didn’t really like her, either. she was just … there. always has been, and probably always will be!

eko – eko has always been one of my favorite characters. i think his backstory is not only intriguing, but completely heartbreaking, and seeing him become the new priest after yemi dies truly destroys me. i liked his short-lived friendship with ana lucia, and i just really enjoy the scenes he’s in. he has this air about him that makes you want to just … listen to what he says. and i think some of his quotes are the best in the series. i don’t necessarily agree with his idea to build a church, but i liked that he wanted to, and that he was still honoring his brother’s memory even now. and the plane boone died in being connected to eko still blows my mind. especially the fact that boone was literally talking to bernard on the radio. anyway, i think he’s just such a cool character, not only by looks but also by his personality. he’s gentle, but hardened. and he’s not afraid to kill if he has to. i just really like that, what can i say. his theme is also one of my favorites, something i of course have to mention, considering what a soundtrack junkie i am. overall, he’s just such a great character and it’s a shame we don’t get to see more done with him.

desmond – desmond!! he is absolutely one of my favorite characters in this show, definitely in my top five. maybe even my top three. i think he’s such a great addition, and not only are his centric episodes some of the best in the entire series ( flashes before your eyes?! THE CONSTANT?! god they’re soooo good ) but he’s also such a compelling character. i love his personality and i think he’s so fun to watch on screen. we don’t get a whole lot of him in this season, so i can’t say much about him, but i truly do adore him and he’s one of those characters post s1 that just makes this show so good. like, just an iconic fucking guy. i will never not love desmond and i think the writers killed it with him!! when he realizes that he may have crashed oceanic flight 815?? chills, every time. so good. ugh!

michael – as anyone who knows me knows, michael is one of my favorite characters in this show. something about him is so fascinating to me and i really just love his relationship with walt and how it completely shapes his actions. how love warps the very nature of his being, as we see in this season. it’s so fucked that he loses walt almost as soon as he gets him back. and i think his desperation is so … human. so understandable. and just heartbreaking. i honestly don’t know a whole lot of parents who wouldn’t kill for their children, so michael’s actions, however terrible, do make sense to me. if jack or locke or anyone had reached out more, had offered to help, had gone and done something for walt, then none of what happens might’ve happened. and if they’d done that, if they’d even bothered to have tried, then maybe michael would have trusted them enough to tell them what he had to do. because easily, michael could’ve told jack that he needed these four people to come with him to meet the others, and that they needed to let ben go. but he doesn’t, because he feels alone. and he’s terrified that he’ll never get to see walt again. however selfish it may be, it’s so compelling, and i just … fucking love this plot. it’s one of my favorites in the show﹘not only the benry gale era, but michael committing these murders in general. both things are just so unexpected and shocking. and you can see how horrified michael is by his own actions, and as we later witness, how much this really affects him in the long run. this whole plotline is just sooo crushing, but in the best way possible. i truly believe that it’s the best part of s2 and i will forever stand by that.

hurley – hurley has always been one of my favs. we really don’t get to see a whole lot of him in the first season, though we start getting a little more in s2﹘which i enjoy. i love the ‘dave’ episode and i remember being so shocked when you find out that dave wasn’t real. and hurley’s therapy session is just really hard to watch. he’s not in this season too much, so i don’t have a whole lot more to say, but i do think he’s one of the funniest characters in lost. like definitely in my top 3 for funniest characters ( which would be ben, sawyer, and hurley ). they all just crack me up. i know we’re getting to really fun things with hurley, especially considering the tricia tinaka episode in s3 is one of my all time favorites in the show, but i’ll hold off talking about that until i finish s3. but just expect more hurley thoughts next time!

sawyer﹘you know, i’m having a hard time remembering what sawyer actually did this season. i know he was shot, and there was the whole thing with the guns, but he really wasn’t too involved in anything else as far as i remember. that being said, he didn’t change much for me. he’s one of my top three characters and most likely always will be, i just love him so much and i think he’s absolutely hilarious! but, yeah, i don’t have much to say abt him this time around. i think he shines more in other seasons.

rose & bernard – i’m putting these two together because i probably won’t be talking about them again. they have never been insanely important characters to me, but i really do appreciate that the show gives time to them this season – not only with their reunion, but also with the ‘s.o.s.’ episode. they’re a cute couple and i genuinely enjoy their chemistry, and i’m glad we get at least one episode looking into their past.

claire – wasn’t a huge fan this season. i was slightly annoyed at how she made her problems everyone’s problem…i definitely understand with her prior trauma but it’s just like!! the whole camp doesn’t need to be involved! and i would get her being wary around charlie, i mean let’s be real he isn’t the best this season, but to just assume like everyone else that he’s taking drugs rubs me the wrong way. no, they weren’t technically together, but they’d been through so much shit together i felt like there would’ve been something more there. just overall, was not a fan of claire in s2!

kate – i was definitely able to stand her more this season, similar to jack. she has her moments where i like her and i think the thing with the black horse is interesting. honestly, being in the throes of s3, i’m kind of blanking on what she did this season, but all i know is how i felt aaaand … that was me being more tolerating of her! again, kate has never been a fav of mine, but at least i enjoyed her a little more this season.

shannon – yeah, they sure did shannon dirty didn’t they? dying weeks after her brother … phew. that’s rough. i really liked shannon so i was sad to see her go, but also her wanting to kill locke felt a little odd to me. like, you’re telling me this girl wants to kill someone? i’m sorry, but it’s just not connecting!! felt like tension for the sake of tension. i did like her seeing wet walt teleporting around and hated the fact that sayid never took her seriously about it. and being murdered by ana lucia UGH. but yeah shannon was fine this season, didn’t do much for me but also she was hardly around so. yk.

sun & jin – again with putting these two together because i’m too lazy to separate them. i think jin starts becoming much more likable this season and i like seeing him with the other survivors, especially sawyer and michael. sun is fine, i don’t have much to say about her as usual. can’t remember what these two did in s2 either. oh well! they’re simply alright to me.

libby – fuckin died in the worst way possible. literally no one listened to her. it’s heartbreaking!! but i did like her and i thought she and hurley were pretty cute. sucks she had to go but also it makes sense, michael had to kill someone and it wasn’t going to be a person in the main cast so … cue a somewhat background character dying. she didn’t deserve that. but i did find it so sad that she just went down for blankets and happened to stumble upon that scene. kills me!!

honorable mentions:

walt – was hardly around but the short scenes we get of him are fun. i have no idea what was going on with him and the others but it’s a fun plot for him to have been kidnapped. can’t even imagine the confusion of leaving the island and seeing the people he knows tied up and gagged while he and his dad get to leave! crazy.

cindy – the flight attendant. i liked that she was in this season and i enjoy seeing her in the next one. just some fun continuity with a character who doesn’t even matter.

pierre chang / marvin candle – slayed those orientation tapes. i have nothing more to say.

[puttingfingerstokeys]

[untitled]

Nanowrimo 2019 day 9  Featuring Leon Kennedy and Ricardo Irving Horror? ish? Resident Evil, alternate universe where Wesker picks Leon up instead of the US Government Unfinished and unedited

The contact was scheduled to arrive at the designated site—a predictably empty warehouse on the coast of a west African town called Kijuju—at six PM. As such, Leon Kennedy had arrived much earlier, set up his contingent of plainclothes and otherwise hidden men around the place in strategic locations, always assuming the so-called deal would go south. This was more of a recruitment mission anyway and, depending on the level of subterfuge and deception, this Ricardo Irving fellow would be a prime candidate for the position of VP of sales for Tricell, Africa. Irving, a black market drug or weapon (Leon was unsure which, though it had assuredly been in his file) dealer, knew none of this—neither the identity of his buyer, or any other affiliation was known to him, though Wesker had specifically instructed a trail of Umbrella-flavored bread crumbs to be left here and there to draw such a man in. This much had worked, though Leon suspected that Irving was too clever by half to fall hook, line, or sinker for the ruse.

It didn’t matter either way. They would get what they wanted. He was selling good product on behalf of a much more (ironically) well-known black market dealer who went under the moniker “Forrest Mars”. Leon was sharp of mind and absolutely of the opinion that it was a pseudonym of some kind, but neither he nor Wesker had been able to ascertain Forrest Mars’s true identity, so he supposed that, in the end, it was not so foolish after all. Sniping the competition’s best dealers was part of the bait to draw Mars out into the open. His name was known, but other than that, no one seemed to know anything. Through dubiously-supplied intel (Leon knew Ada Wong was at the other end of this little con), they had at least gathered the names of his top dealers. Ricardo Irving was priority one, as he seemed to be the most influential, if not the closest.

Leon paced, considering the choice. Irving was influential, meaning he made money. Making money was advantageous in its own way, but the fervor with which Irving moved his product told Leon something else: he was greedy. Greedy men could always be bought. Leon leaned against an abandoned vehicle which looked as if it had been put up on blocks when Leon was still in diapers. The rust scraped viciously against his battle suit, but did not so much as scuff the dark blue material. Leon didn’t dislike the tight getup, but he thought it was probably unnecessary for this deal. His sex appeal would not likely work on Irving, whose profile proclaimed him to be a prolific heterosexual.

“Should’ve sent Excella,” he rumbled, arms crossed over his chest. Of course he knew damn well why Wesker had not sent her. She was far too high profile. Her name and face (and breasts) were known. Still, he thought, she would have made a hell of a deal with this Irving bozo. Leon had not been impressed with the man’s psych profile. He was arrogant, greedy, and slimy as all hell, a Brooklynite if Leon had ever seen one—possibly Atlantic City. Not exactly a wholesome person himself, Leon felt he was a decent judge of these kinds of things. He sneered at his watch, deciding that if the guy didn’t show in five minutes—it was already ten after six—he would give Irving a welcome he wouldn’t forget and extract Forrest Mars’s information the fun way.

Just as he engaged his commlink to inform his team of this plan, they buzzed him. “Echo zero-one, this is Echo three-one, we have visual on the mark.”

“Solid copy,” Leon returned. “Echo zero-one maintaining radio silence for the duration. Don’t move without my signal, copy?”

“Copy. Over.”

The radios went silent and Leon shifted so that he looked as if he had been waiting far longer than he actually had. Setting Irving on edge right off the bat might make for a friendlier negotiation. If not, well Leon had no problem getting rough. Irving was dealing something Wesker needed—Leon was not paid to ask or to care—and he would get it for the man at whatever price he specified, not Irving. Leon thought that if Irving knew precisely with whom he was dealing, he might play nice, but that was never guaranteed either. Sharp as his mind was, he disliked this kind of shady negotiation crap. He was a field agent, much better with a firearm in his hand—not that he was currently unarmed; far from it—than a briefcase full of cash.

Presently, a small convoy of SUVs pulled up in front of the warehouse where Leon stood, leaning against the old vehicle up on blocks. He watched them but did not move, seeming more interested in the scenery than this obvious show of muscle and force. Maybe Irving did have an idea who his contact might be—or maybe his boss did. Leon’s steely blue eyes only moved from the scenery of the docks to the convoy when a short, skinny man hopped out of the middle vehicle. He wore a cheap-looking suit that was probably exceedingly expensive with a clashing orange button-down underneath the blazer. This, Leon thought, was intentional, either purely a fashion choice or, more likely, to give the impression of nigh-incompetence. Leon assumed it was the former, because he could not have been convinced of the latter now that he had seen the firepower Irving’s goons were packing.

Arms deal, then, not drugs, he thought to himself. Of course, why would Albert Wesker, of all people, need drugs? Tricell was the world’s foremost manufacturer of everything from ibuprofen to chemotherapy pills. It was irrelevant, however. No matter what Irving was dealing or carrying, Leon and his men would walk away with it and either Irving himself or, failing that, information on his employer. It was a win-win. Patience was a virtue, but Leon had never considered himself particularly virtuous and he was tired of waiting for this “win”. He caught movement on a nearby rooftop out of the corner of one eye, but betrayed nothing. The flash of a scope would set off Irving’s guards for sure, but this sniper had positioned himself with his back to the sinking sun.

“You’re late,” he pointed out, opting to break the ice and take control of the conversation. Leon pushed off the truck and moved forward, not extending his hand, but giving Irving and his men a full look at him, showing he was unarmed. Irving eyed him up and down, but did not appear to be searching for armaments of any kind. In fact, Irving’s ravenous gaze actually settled upon Leon’s chest, which was tastefully exposed. He had been instructed to give the impression that the battle suit was warm in this vicious, African heat, and that he had done what any uncomfortably hot person might have: unzipped. That he was also instructed to “forget” he had done so was just another part of his job.

“Traffic was murder,” responded Irving, not taking his eyes off Leon’s ample chest. Leon himself made a mental note to scratch out “prolific heterosexual” from Irving’s profile and replace it with “opportunistic”. He was not entirely sure of this yet, but most men did not eye his assets that way.

“Yeah, they’re real,” Leon said, stopping so that there was little more than five feet between the two of them and resting his weight on one foot. “My eyes are up here, big guy. What’ve you got?”

“Y’mean you don’t know?” Irving sounded incredulous. He was far too shameless and slimy to blush however and took his sweet time letting his eyes wander up to Leon’s. When they met, Irving suddenly wished he had not. He had seen eyes like that before, bombardier’s eyes, gunslinger’s eyes. This guy’s playin’ for the wrong team, he thought shrilly. He looks like one of those goddamn war hero types, but not the General so-and-sos, more like a fuckin’ black ops dudes. He checked his gaze from then on, wondering just how close he was to the truth. Leon wasn’t telling.

“I don’t get paid to ask questions, Irving,” responded Leon evenly, as if this was the simplest piece of knowledge, the easiest fact to grasp in all the world. “I’m a middle man, that’s all.”

Leon Kennedy was not, in fact, a middle man. After Raccoon City, the US government had picked him up and introduced him to the anti-Umbrella initiative, a small group of special operatives and the government officials who had volunteered to back them up, seeking to root out everything even vaguely resembling the perpetrator of the Raccoon City tragedy. They had given him special training, enrolled him with the CIA, sent him to the SEALs with no explanation to his commanding officers, and then, when the training was done, had sent him into the field. Operation Javier was his first foray and he had been partnered with a man named Jack Krauser. He had been fond of Leon, for some reason, and the two had gotten along strangely well, given their differing backgrounds. Leon’s experience with the undead paired well, it turned out, with Krauser’s days in the Rangers.

It was, ironically, this first exercise of trust that made Leon lose faith in the US government. He used the skills they had given him to disappear soon after returning, heeding the call of a mysterious woman in red who had appeared in 1998, in Raccoon, and had dogged his steps ever since, seeking to recruit him for “something greater”. At the end of that rainbow had been Albert Wesker, an Umbrella employee himself and the former STARS captain. Once the initial shock wore off, Wesker pled his case and Leon… had been swayed. “Umbrella made a mistake,” Wesker had said, “one which I will not repeat.”

Now, in 2009, Leon stood, making deals and scouting new recruits for Wesker, much like what Ada had done to him. She had long since defected, but still threw intel their way from time to time, keeping one step ahead only by Wesker’s good graces. Should he send Leon after her… Leon was grateful he did not. It was hardly a question of fondness; she had done nothing but play with him from the start, but rather a sick fascination with someone so much like him, yet so utterly different. She was quick and clever and devilishly devious. Did he admire this? Maybe a little. Leon’s tactics tended to be much more forthright, in the field at least. He and Jack Krauser had crossed blades, for example, multiple times since he had expatriated, though Leon was sure the man had died in Spain in 2003—regardless, their encounters had always been deliberate one-on-one tests of strength and cunning. He missed that. He did not miss Ada. Her intel was good, but her methods were undesirable at best. Still, whether he wanted it or not, the fascination remained.

“The goods’re back here; where’s the cash?” Irving was right down to business now. Leon had felt the shift when the man looked into his eyes. Good, he thought, get this ball rolling. His instructions had also included swiftness, as the BSAA had been seen sniffing around Kijuju recently. The last thing Leon needed was an encounter with that upstanding organization’s golden boy, Chris Redfield. He had survived with two other people in Raccoon, a girl named Sherry Birkin, and a woman named Claire… Claire Redfield. She was, in fact, Chris’s younger sister and for some reason, seeing her brother would have, he was sure, incite some strange feelings of regret, remorse, and/or guilt. He wanted none of those. He had no time for those. This was business. The US government had failed him, had failed them all—they had been the ones to cover up Umbrella’s “mistake”. Albert Wesker had not failed him once. It was to that man he owed his life and sense of purpose. It was not simple, but it was good enough for Leon. Why complicate things further?

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine one-shot - “The Gourd You Give” (Rated PG)

It’s just another day at work for Kurt when a handsome man bursts through the door and begs Kurt for a pumpkin. (1577 words)

A/N: This is a re-write. Warning for mention of illness. Meet cute.

Read on AO3.

“Help me! Quick! I need a pumpkin!”

The words fire out so quickly from the man’s mouth that his request is finished before the bells over the door stop jingling. Kurt looks up from the issue of Vogue open on the counter he’s sitting behind and straight into the eyes of the most desperate man he’s ever seen – harried for certain, curls that have been gelled down within an inch of their life breaking free around his hairline, hazel eyes shimmering from the cold, his cheeks flushed from running (Kurt assumes, since he’s panting like a tired dog). Plus, the door has a brand new dent from where the man slammed into it before he realized it was a pull door and not a push.

“Uh … okay.” Kurt puts a worn business card into the binding of his magazine to mark his spot, then closes it to handle his manic customer. “You do realize you’ve just entered a costume shop, though. Not a supermarket.”

“I know.” The man nods vigorously, taking a deep breath. “I need a pumpkin costume.”

Kurt sits up straighter, intrigued by this man’s request, as well as his adorable, slightly antiquated clothing choices - a sweater vest, a button-down, a bowtie, and a vintage U. S. Navy peacoat. Paired with his dapper good looks, the man pulls it together nicely. Kurt’s eyes zero in on his brightly-colored shoes and go wide. Where on earth did he find a pair of Moods of Norway suede wingtips in pink? They’re sold out everywhere! Kurt has to find a way to ask.

Kurt also can’t help but notice the pride flag pin fixed to the collar of his coat - the new version with the brown and black stripes. Kurt grins.

His recent string of dull afternoons might finally be looking up.

“A pumpkin costume for yourself?” Kurt asks.

“No.” The man shakes his head, a bashful smile splitting his lips. “For my little man, Andy.”

“Oh,” Kurt says, only minorly disappointed at the mention of a son. But children have never been a deal breaker for Kurt. He loves children.

“He’s six,” the man explains, “and when his mom asked him what he wanted to be for Halloween, he said he wanted to be a pumpkin.”

Okay, wife is definitely a deal breaker, Kurt thinks, but he chuckles at the thought of a little boy, who Kurt imagines looks somewhat like this man – raven hair, possibly the same hazel eyes, and olive complexion, waddling around the streets of New York dressed as a giant, gap toothed Jack-O-Lantern.

“He doesn’t even want to be a Jack-O-Lantern,” the man grouses, stunning Kurt into wondering if he hadn’t voiced that thought out loud. “A Jack-O-Lantern costume I can find. He wants to be a regular, boring old pumpkin.”

“How adorable,” Kurt says, giving the man a flirty smile when he knows he shouldn’t. He can’t seem to help himself. Something about the way this man is freaking out over trying to find his little boy a pumpkin costume is too endearing.

“I tried to talk him out of it. For weeks actually. I’ve bought him every costume under the sun that I thought he might like – Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Fluttershy …”

“Fluttershy?”

The man chuckles, but waves the topic off. “That’s a whole other story entirely.”

Maybe for another time? The words almost make their way out of Kurt’s mouth before he mentally slaps himself in the face.

Married. With a kid married. Gear down, Hummel.

“Anyway, he won’t budge. And his mom, she’s a really awesome seamstress, but she’s been sick …” He pauses and swallows after the word sick, and Kurt feels his heart double thump. He’s using the same inflection Kurt remembers his father using when he would tell people that Kurt’s mother was sick. It leads Kurt to believe that ‘sick’ might be a vague reference to something more devastating than the flu that’s been going around.

“Oh,” Kurt says. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

The man nods, pinching his lips between his teeth to keep from going into it. “It’s been kind of a tough time for the little guy. So I thought, you know, if he wants to be a pumpkin so badly, let him be a pumpkin. Only, I can’t sew to save my life.”

“Did you try papier mache?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” The man looks subconsciously at his hands. Kurt peeks and sees bits of dried plaster embedded underneath his nails. “But I thought that a professional costume shop might have something like a really kick-ass pumpkin. I’ve checked online, but I’ve had no luck. I even tried calling some of the performing arts schools, but nobody has one. I guess nobody ever plays a vegetable in a school play anymore.”

“I guess not,” Kurt says sympathetically. He looks at the distraught man and sighs. Kurt feels for him. He really does. He seems like a nice guy – sweet, kind, and caring to a fault, racing around New York City, trying to fulfill a little boy’s wish. Even with his bittersweet story, he’s a nice change from the customers this shop usually gets – cosplayers, Ren Faire folk, and, during Halloween, teenagers looking for whatever sexy comic book character they can get their hands on. In the close to four years since Kurt’s been part-timing here, it’s been a while since he’s had anyone come in asking for a child’s costume. They did outfit the Atlantic Children’s Playhouse performance of Cinderella a year back, but the pumpkin from that performance was six feet tall, and got trampled in the last act.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, “but we don’t have any pumpkin costumes here.”

The man stares at him blankly, lips parting an inch as if he’s about to argue, unwilling to accept what Kurt is saying.

“How about a squash?” he asks sadly.

Kurt’s heart breaks a sliver. “We don’t have any fruits or vegetables … or food costumes in general. I’m so sorry.”

The man sighs, looking about a foot shorter when he’s done.

“Well, this was the last store on the list. I can’t believe in all of New York City …” The man taps the counter with his hand, like putting a period at the end of his sentence, stopping himself before he unloads his grief at this situation on Kurt. “Thank you, anyway.” He smiles weakly, then turns to go out the way he barreled in.

Kurt watches him leave and knows he can’t let him. So, maybe the most compassionate (and probably the most handsome) man Kurt’s met in ages is married, but that’s not the issue, dammit! His kid still deserves to be a pumpkin!

“Wait,” Kurt calls out before the man’s hand reaches the door. “You know, I’m majoring in Musical Theater at NYADA …” The man turns back slowly, that hopeful look returning to his face. “I make a lot of my own costumes. Maybe I can help you.”

“Do you … do you really think so?” he asks, walking back to the counter.

“Yes! If I can make a Joan of Arc suit of armor in a day, I’m sure I can whip up a pumpkin. I mean, how difficult can it really be?”

“Oh my God!” The man jumps up and down, doing a tiny dance. “Are you serious?” Kurt nods, chuckling at the man’s ridiculous jig. “You’re a life saver! That would be … that would be incredible!” But then he stops dancing, and his face falls again. “Oh, but I’m afraid I probably can’t pay you what you’re worth.”

Kurt bites his lower lip. What he’s worth. He’s been so jaded by fair-weather friends since he’s moved to New York, he didn’t know there were people out there who worried about things like that anymore.

“Meh,” Kurt says. “I’ll take a ton of pictures and put them in my portfolio for school. Chalk it up as work experience. Just pay for the material, and the labor’s on me.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” The man shakes his head to decline Kurt’s generosity, but with the widest smile growing on his face. “That’s too much.”

“I insist. I need the extra credit points,” Kurt lies. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

That seems to sit okay with the man because he stops shaking his head.

“Well, can I at least buy you dinner while you’re toiling over construction of this gourd?”

“Absolutely,” Kurt says without thinking. Then his mind skids to a stop. “Uh, will your … wife be joining us?” Oh, please don’t be a cheater, he prays in his head. I’ll lose all faith in humanity if you turn out to be a cheater.

“My … wife?” The man’s brow wrinkles, and he looks as confused as Kurt feels. “Oh no! No no no! Andy’s mom is my sister-in-law, not my wife. Andy is my nephew.”

“Oh!”

“No, no. I’m single.” The man emphasizes the word single. “My boyfriend and I separated over a year ago. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, my name’s Kurt.” He sticks out his hand, and the man takes it.

“Blaine.” He holds Kurt’s hand for a moment after he shakes it, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes Kurt’s toes tingle. “So, can we consider tonight a date then?”

“Absolutely. Meet me here tonight at seven,” Kurt says, “and we’ll turn your nephew into a pumpkin.”

[weekendwarriorblog]

The Weekend Warrior Home Edition 7/31/20 – THE SHADOW OF VIOLENCE, SUMMERLAND, THE SECRET: DARE TO DREAM, SHE DIES TOMORROW and More!

As I started to gather what’s left of my wits for this week’s column, there seemed to be fewer movies than usual, and I was quite thankful for that. Then, a few of the movies scheduled for some sort of theatrical release this weekend were delayed and I discovered a bunch of movies I didn’t have in my release calendar to begin with, so this is a little bit of an odd weekend but still one with 8 movies reviews! I went into most of the movies this weekend without much knowledge of what they were about, probably was the best way to go into many of them, since it allowed me to be somewhat open-minded about what I was watching.

The first surprise of the week is that we’re getting another decent film from the one and only Saban Films, so maybe the VOD distributor has been using the pandemic to step up its game as well.  Directed by first-time feature director Nick Rowland, the Irish crime-drama THE SHADOW OF VIOLENCE (Saban Films), based on the book “Calm with Horses,” stars relative newcomer Cosmo Jarvis as Douglas Armstrong, known as “Arm,” the enforcer for the drug-dealing Devers family. Douglas also has a young toddler with local woman Ursula (Niamh Algar), but when his handler Dympna (Barry Keoghan) orders Arm to kill for the first time, he’s forced to rethink his career.

Much of the story revolves a member of the Devers family caught making a lurid pass at Dympha’s 16-year-old sister, leading to consequences, as Arm is sent to beat the crap out of him. For head of the family, that isn’t nearly enough and soon, Arm is ordered to kill the man. (This aspect of the story reminds me a little of Todd Field’s Little Children, particularly the Jackie Earle Haley subplot.)

As I mentioned above, I watched this film with zero expectations and was taken quite aback by how great it was, despite not having been that big a fan of Keoghan from some of his past work. On the other hand, Cosmo Jarvis, in his first major role, is absolutely outstanding, giving a performance on par with something we might see from Thomas Hardy or Matthias Schoenaerts, at least in their earlier work. Barely saying a word, Jarvis instills so many emotions into “Arm” as we see him playing with his young autistic son, Jack, trying to keep his jealousy over Ursula under control, while also being there when Dympna needs him.  Even as you think you’re watching fairly innocuous day-to-day stuff, Rowland ratchets up the tension to an amazing degree right up until a climactic moment that drives the last act.

Despite the film’s title, The Shadow of Violence isn’t just about violence, as much as it is about a man trying to figure out how to change the trajectory of his life. If you like character-based films like The Rider, this movie is definitely going to be for you. Another surprise is that the movie will be available only in theaters this Friday, rather than the typical VOD approach Saban Films generally takes, so check your local theater if it’s playing near you.

The faith-based drama THE SECRET: DARE TO DREAM (Lionsgate), starring Katie Holmes and Josh Lucas, is directed by Andy Tennant (Hitch, Sweet Home Alabama) and adapted from Rhonda Byrne’s self-help book, The Secret (which is based on a 2006 movie also called The Secret). Originally planned for a theatrical release, it’s now being released as PVOD, which seems to be the way that so many movies are going now. In it, Holmes plays Miranda Wells, a struggling widow living in New Orleans with three kids who on a stormy night meets a kind stranger (Lucas) who tries to pass on his philosophy of using positive thinking to get whatever you want in life.  

Mini-Review: I don’t usually buy into some of the faith-based movies that are released every year, but that’s mainly because I rarely get a chance to see any of them, so why bother?  I was ready to go into The Secret: Dare to Dream with a healthy amount of skepticism, because it seemed to be another movie about grand miracles… but in fact, it’s just a bland movie pimping Rhonda Byrne’s New Thought technique from her New Age-y self help book.

The idea is that positive thinking is all that it takes to get anything you want, something no less than Oprah quickly glommed onto.  While the movie doesn’t hit you over the head with such a message, and “God” is only mentioned once, it also just doesn’t seem to offer much in terms of storytelling to maintain one’s interest.

Katie Holmes does a fine job playing an amiable single mother who meets Josh Lucas’ Bray Johnson as a huge storm is about to hit New Orleans, and he seems like a nice enough fellow as he helps her replace a broken bumper (after she rear-ended him, no less) and then fixing up the house after the storm. But Bray has a secret (hence the title) and it’s in an important envelope that he hesitates to give to Miranda.

The film’s biggest problem is that there never is much in terms of stake when it comes to the drama, because Bray seems to be there to fix everything and make everything better. Miranda’s only other real relation is an awkward one with Jerry O’Connell’s long-time (presumably platonic) friend Tucker, which only gets more awkward when he surprises her by popping the question. She says “Yes” without talking to her own kids first.  The whole time while watching the film, I was expecting some sort of big Nicholas Spark level romance between Miranda and Bray, so when Tucker proposes, it throws a real spanner in the works, but only for a little while.

Incidentally, the “secret” of the title that Bray resists telling Miranda until pressured isn’t particularly groundbreaking either. I won’t ruin it. You’ll just be annoyed when it’s finally revealed.

The Secret: Dare to Dream is as generic and bland a tale you can possibly get, one that really doesn’t accomplish very much and feels more like a Lifetime movie than something particularly revelatory.

Rating: 6/10

Jessica Swale’s WW2-set SUMMERLAND (IFC Films) stars Gemma Arterton as fantasy author Alice Lamb, quietly living on the South of England in a small beachside town when she’s presented with a young London evacuee named Frank (Lucas Bond) for her to mind while his father’s at war.  Alice lives alone but many years earlier, she had a friendship with a local woman named Vera (Gugu Mbatha-Raw) that turned into something more, despite the taboo of their relationship during those times.

This was another nice surprise, and as I watched the movie, it was hard not to compare it to last week’s Radioactive, since they’re movies intended to appeal to a similar audience. This one seems to be more focused, and Arterton does a better job being likeable despite being as persnickety as Pike’s Marie Currie. Although this isn’t a biopic, it did remind me of films like Goodbye Christopher Robin and Tolkien, and possibly even Finding Neverland. (Incidentally, the Summerland of the title is a mythical place that Alice is writing about, which adds to the fairy tale angle to the film.)

As the film goes along, there’s a pretty major twist, of sorts, and it’s when the stakes in the film start to feel more dramatic as things continue to elevate into the third act. The movie actually opens in 1975 with Penelope Wilton playing the older Alice, although I’m not sure the framing sequence was particularly needed for the film to work the way Swale intended.

Summerland is generally just a nice and pleasant film that stirs the emotions and shows Swale to be a filmmaker on the rise.

Another really nice indie film that might involve a bit more searching is director Sergio Navaretta’s THE CUBAN (Brainstorm Media), written by Alessandra Piccione. It follows 19-year-old Mina (played by Ana Golja), a Canadian pre-med student who lives with her aunt, Bano (Shohreh Aghdashloo), who pushes her career in medicine, although Mina would rather be a singer. At her part-time job at a long-term care facility, Mina meets Luis (Louis Gossett Jr.), a quiet elderly patient who sits in his wheelchair never talking to anyone until Mina discovers his love for music, and the two bond over that, although Mina’s employers don’t think she’s helping Luis despite his obvious change in nature.

This was just a lovely film driven by Golja, who is just wonderful in the lead role with an equally terrific cast around her, and while it gets a little obvious, I can’t imagine anyone not enjoying this film that harks back to some of the great earlier work by Thomas McCarthy, as it follows a touching story that mixes a number of cultures in a surprisingly fluid way. It turned out to be quite a pleasant and unexpected film in the way it deals with subjects like dementia in such a unique and compelling away, especially if you enjoy Cuban music.

The Cuban already played at a couple Canadian theaters, but it will be available via Virtual Cinema and in some American theaters Friday, and you can find out where at the Official Site.

I was pretty excited to see Amy Seimetz’s new film, SHE DIES TOMORROW (NEON), since I was quite a fan of her previous film, Sun Don’t Shine. Besides having played quite a fantastic role in recent independent cinema through her varied associations, Seimetz also cast Kate Lyn Sheil, a fantastic actress, in the main role. It’s a little hard to explain the film’s plot, but essentially Sheil plays Amy, a woman convinced she’s going to die tomorrow, a feeling that starts spreading to others around her. I’m not sure if you would get this just from watching the film, because it’s pretty vague and even a little confusing about what is happening despite the high concept premise.

For the first 15 minutes or so, the camera spends the entire time watching Sheil as she cries and hugs a wall, while listening to the same opera record over and over. When her friend Jane (Jane Adams) comes over to check on her, she finds her vacuuming in a fancy dress. Amy tells her friend that she’s going to die tomorrow, and she wants to be turned into a leather jacket. Soon, after we’re watching Jane, a scientist, going down the same wormhole as Amy. That’s pretty much the running narrative, although the film opens up when we meet some of Jane’s family and friends, including Katie Aselton, Chris Messina, Tunde Adebimpe, Michelle Rodriguez and more. Soon after we meet them, they TOO are convinced that they’re going to die tomorrow. Incidentally (and spoiler!), no one actually dies in the movie. Heck, I’d hesitate even to call this a “horror” movie because it takes the idea of a pandemic that we’ve seen in movies like Bird Box, Contagion and others and sucks all the genre right out of it, but it still works as a character piece.

The thing is that the film looks great and also feels quite unique, which does make She Dies Tomorrow quite compelling, as well as a great vehicle for both Sheil and Seimetz. Even so, it’s also very much a downer and maybe not the best thing to watch if you aren’t in a good place, emotionally. You’ve been warned. It will open at select drive-ins this weekend, but it will then be available via VOD next Friday, August 7.

Next up, we have two fantastic and inspiring docs that premiered at Sundance earlier this year…

In recent years, Ron Howard has made a pretty amazing transition into respectable documentary filmmaker, and that continues with REBUILDING PARADISE (National Geographic), which takes a look at the horrible fires that struck Northern California in November 2018, literally wiping out the town of Paradise and leaving over 50,000 people homeless and killing roughly 85 people.

It’s really horrifying to see the amount of destruction caused when a spark from a faulty transmission line ignites the particularly dry forest surrounding the town of Paradise, destroying the hospital and elementary school and displacing the homeowners. This is obviously going to be a tough film to watch, not only seeing the fires actually raze the town to the ground but also watching these not particularly wealthy people having to contend with losing their homes. (It’s even tougher to watch now since you wonder how COVID may have affected the town as it’s in better shape now then it was last year.)

Using a cinema verité approach (for the first time possible?), Howard finds a small group of people to follow, including the town’s former mayor, the school superintendent, a local police officer, and others.  It’s pretty impressive how much time this doc covers, and often, you may wonder if Ron Howard was there at all times, because it seems like he would have to have been embedded with the townspeople for an entire year to get some of the footage.

As I said, this is not an easy film to watch, especially as you watch these people dealing with so much tragedy – if you’ve seen any of the docs about Sandy Hook, you might have some idea how hard this movie may be to watch for you. But it is great, since it shows Howard achieving a new level as a documentary filmmaker with a particularly powerful piece.  

Produced by Kerry Washington, THE FIGHT (Magnolia Pictures) is the latest doc from Weiner directors Elyse Steinberg, Josh Kriegman, this time joined as director by that film’s editor, Eli B. Despres. The “fight” of the title is the one between the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the Trump administration that began shortly after his inauguration in 2017, his Muslim travel ban that quickly followed, and going up until mid-2019 when a lot of obvious civil rights violations were being perpetrated by the U.S. government.

This is a particularly interesting doc if you weren’t aware of how active the ACLU has been in helping to protect people’s rights on a variety of fronts. The doc covers four particular cases involving immigration, LGBTQ rights, voting rights and reproductive rights, and we watch the lawyers involved in four important cases, including a few that are taken right up to the Supreme Court. In following these four particular lawyers, the filmmakers do a great job helping the viewer understand how important the ACLU is in keeping the conservative right at bay from trying to repeal some previous laws made to protect Americans’ rights. 

Of course, this film is particularly timely since it covers a lot of dramatic changes, including the nomination of Justice Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court, which ends up being ironic, since he was the judge presiding over an earlier ACLU case involving a pregnant teen immigrant who isn’t allowed to get an abortion. The movie doesn’t skirt the fact that often the ACLU is called upon to help the likes of white supremacists and potential terrorist factions, since they’re about protecting everyone’s rights. I would have loved to hear more about this, but it does cover the backlash to the ACLU after the Charlottesville protests went horribly wrong in 2017.

Be warned that there are moments in this film where the waterworks will start flowing since seeing the ACLU succeed against oppression is particularly moving. If you’ve been following the country’s shifting politics keenly and want to learn more about the ACLU, The Fight does a great job getting behind closed doors and humanizing the organization.

The Fight will be available on all digital and On Demand platforms starting Friday, and you can find out how to rent it at the Official Site.

Vinnie Jones (remember him?) stars in Scott Wiper’s crime-thriller THE BIG UGLY (Vertical) about a pair of British mobsters who travel to West Virginia to make an oil deal in order to launder money. Once there, they encounter some troubles with the locals, particularly the sadistic son of Ron Perlman’s Preston, the man with whom they’re dealing.

Sometimes, as a film critic, you wonder how a movie that has so much potential can turn into such an unmitigated disaster, but then you watch a movie like The Big Ugly, and you realize that some bad filmmakers are better at talking people into doing things than others.

That seems to be the case with this film in which Jones plays Leland, who comes to West Virginia with his boss Harris (McDowell) to make an oil deal with Ron Perlman’s Preston, only for the latter’s son “PJ” (Brandon Sklenar) causing trouble, including the potential murder of Leland’s girlfriend. Of course, one would expect to see tough guy Vinnie Jones out for revenge against the endless parade of sleaze-balls he encounters, and that may have been a better movie than what Wiper ended up making, which is all over the place in terms of tone. (It was only after I watched the film did I realize that Wiper wrote and directed the absolutely awful WWE Film, The Condemned, also starring Jones. If I only knew.)  

Jones isn’t even the worst part of the cast, in terms of the acting, because both McDowell and Perlman, two great actors, struggle through the terrible material, though Perlman generally fares better than McDowell, who doesn’t seem to be giving it his all.

There’s a whole subplot involving one of PJ’s friends/co-workers (recent Emmy nominee Nicholas Braun from  HBO’s Succession) and his relationship with a pretty local (Lenora Crichlow) that goes nowhere and adds nothing to the overall story. Once PJ is seemingly dealt with, there’s still almost 35 minutes more of movie, including a long monologue by Perlman telling a sorely wasted Bruce McGill how he met McDowell’s character. Not only does it kill any and all momentum leading up to that point, but it’s probably something that should have been part of the set-up earlier in the film.

The fact this movie is so bad is pretty much Wiper’s fault, becuase he wrote a script made up of so many ideas that never really fit together – kind of like Guy Ritchie doing a very bad Deliverance remake before deciding to turn it into a straight-up Western. Wiper then tries his hardest to salvage the movie by throwing in violence and explosions and leaning heavily on the soundtrack. (The fact that both this and the far superior The Shadow of Violence used a song from the Jam was not lost on this music enthusiast.) Regardless, The Big Ugly is a pretty detestable piece of trash that couldn’t end fast enough… and it didn’t. (It played in drive-ins and select theaters last Friday but will be available on digital and  On Demand this Friday.)

Available through Virtual Cinemas (supporting Film Forum and the Laemmle in L.A) is Martha Kehoe and Joan Tosoni’s documentary, Gordon Lightfoot: If You Could Read My Mind, about the Canadian singer-songwriter who changed people’s impressions of Canadian culture, covering Lightfoots’s greatest triumphs and failures.

Film at Lincoln Center’s Virtual Cinema will premiere Koji Fukada’s Japanese drama A Girl Missing (Film Movement) on Friday, while New York’s Metrograph Live Screening series continues this week with Manfred Kirchheimer’s Bridge High & Stations of the Elevated starting today through Friday, and then the premiere of Nan Goldin’s Sirens (with two other shorts) starting on Friday. You can subscribe to the series for $5 a month or $50 a year.

Premiering on Disney+ this Friday is Beyoncé’s Black is King, her new visual album inspired by the lessons from The Lion King, as well as the new original Muppets series, Muppets Now. Since I haven’t seen either Lion King movie, I’m definitely looking forward more to the Muppets returning to "television.”

Launching on Netflix today is Matias Mariani’s Shine Your Eyes about a Nigerian musician who travels to Sao Paulo to look for his estranged brother and bring him back to Nigeria, as well as Sue Kim’s doc short, The Speed Cubers, set in the world of competitive Rubik cube solving and the friendly rivalry between two young “speedcubers.” Also, Season 2 of The Umbrella Academy will premiere on Netflix this Friday.

Premiering on Shudder tomorrow (Thursday, July 30) is Rob Savage’s Host, the first horror movie made during the quarantine about a group of six friends who decide to hold a séance over Zoom.

Amazon’s drive-in series continues tonight with “Movies to Inspire Your Inner Child,” playing Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and Hook.

Next week, more movies not in theaters!

By the way, if you read this week’s column and have bothered to read this far down, feel free to drop me some thoughts at Edward dot Douglas at Gmail dot Com or drop me a note or tweet on Twitter. I love hearing from readers … honest!

[pavspatch]

My Love-hate Relationship With the Boys at Bower Fold

FOR my final Friday Throwback I’m taking a look at my relationship with the one club I haven’t covered so far: Stalybridge Celtic. And then, seeing as the season would be over by now, I’m going to take my summer break (I’m assuming no one will be sacked or resign).

I hope you’ve found my lockdown stories, interesting, informative and they’ve even given you the odd laugh. Fingers crossed that football returns (fairly) soon. Stay healthy everyone.

I SUPPOSE it was inevitable I’d have a rocky relationship with Stalybridge Celtic once I became the local sports editor.

While everyone outside Bower Fold considered my predecessor, Martyn Torr, as biased towards the Bridge, a lot of people, and possibly everyone inside Bower Fold, was convinced I’d be biased towards Hyde United.

That was never the intention. As a professional journalist my plan was give all clubs a fair crack of the whip while concentrating on the major stories. I did my level best to do that, but there were at least a couple of occasions when the Celtic faithful were screaming for my blood. Neither, I might add, was my fault although I had to take the stick.

The first occurred in the spring of 1992 when Stalybridge won the NPL championship. In the days leading up to the game in which they clinched the title, I learned that there would be some colour page in the relevant edition.

It was a rare treat indeed in those monochrome days and I spent quite a lot of time imagining a back page with a huge team picture or shot of the captain holding up the trophy. Fans loved photos like that and whenever there was a big game we’d do a picture special. Colour would surely give sales a huge boost.

Sadly, I had reckoned without our bumbling advertising department. They had made some sort of cock-up, so to apologise they wanted to put two enormous ads on the back page of all places. All I would get to cover the first Tameside NPL championship since Mossley in 1980 was a tiny area in the top left-hand corner.

What irked me more was that the paper had such a low opinion of sport, its biggest selling point. It was pointless approaching the editor because he was no lover of sport and his motto was “don’t rock the boat”.

Every Tuesday a hapless advertising executive called Brian Hart would be sent up with the paper’s size for that week — there had to be a certain ads-to-news ratio and we didn’t sell many ads — and invariably it meant fewer news pages than had been originally.

The editor would then explode and pepper the air with four-letter words for a minute or two. Calm would eventually descend, and after some seconds of silence, Brian would quietly ask “all right?” Boom! Off would go the editor again. But for all his anger and effing and jeffing he always gave in. Work would be ripped up and he’d start again.

My only option was to speak to the managing director. I explained that there was a huge story and if I failed to cover it properly on the back page I would be accused of anti-Stalybridge Celtic bias. He allowed me to remove the masthead which at least gave me space to publish a picture with a headline. Then I went big on the inside-back.

It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. In fact it was downright bad business. But I had to live with it. Of course, there were more than a few people who insisted I’d done it on purpose.

I wish I could say it was the only time something like that happened. But in 1997, when Glossop won the Manchester Premier Cup at Old Trafford, the printers bungled and the East Manchester back page was mistakenly put on the Glossop edition. Instead of reading about their victory at the Theatre of Dreams, North End fans were told the ins and outs of the Gorton League. Apart from me, no one in the building cared.

For the next incident, let’s fast-forward a year to Celtic signing Ian Arnold from Kettering Town for £15,000, an amount that remains a club record transfer fee.

Martyn Torr, who was then secretary at Bower Fold, had told me all about it so I was expecting an easier week. Big story, written for me, all I had to do was put it into place as the lead on the back page. But of course it wasn’t the expected, but the unexpected, that happened.

It was a different editor by this point and he had an even lower opinion of sport. He took absolutely no interest in my work but this particular week announced that the back pages had to be completed by Monday afternoon. There was no reason for this, and it never happened again, but this time the back pages had to be out before I’d had time to ring everyone.

Of course the one person I did ring was Martyn — time and time again. I desperately tried to get that story but with no success. All I could do was flag the signing and put a big article inside.

Well to say the Celtic faithful were unhappy would be an understatement, and of course I’d relegated their record transfer deal to a less prominent page out of sheer vinctiveness.

Peter Barnes, then the Bridge chairman, rang to say he was withdrawing all his club’s advertising from the paper which, I think, was zero in any case. There were angry letters and articles in Bower Bulletin. Even my old friend Keith Trudgeon accused me of unacceptable behaviour.

Then the editor ordered me to call Jack Thornley, a Celtic-supporting solicitor, to apologise for what I’d done. Despite several attempts I could never get him which was probably as well because he had a thorough dislike of me. Years later, when I came across him Walker Wilkinson’s butcher’s shop on Melbourne Street, Stalybridge, he refused to speak to me and turned his back.

In a way I was in the middle, powerless, while the fuss swirled around me and then, suddenly, my bosses changed their minds. After an angry letter from Pete Barnes, the managing director came to me and said: “Will you please tell the Stalybridge chairman that this is my effing paper and I decide what goes in it.” Even the editor, a horrible man, became vaguely supportive.

But none of it had ever needed to happen. What got into the bigwigs that week I have absolutely no idea. Then again, when I first became sports editor I can remember being approached on a Friday and angrily asked why I hadn’t got any pages away. “Because there’s been no sport yet,” I replied. Seemed obvious to me. I got a contemptuous snort in response.

Stalybridge also caused me to do one of my more memorable post-match interviews. I never got to broadcast it, but it ranks up there with Simon Haworth’s description of the atmosphere at Bower Fold as toxic and Eamonn  O’Keefe telling me the real reason he fled the Al-Hilal club in Saudi Arabia. In all three cases I was left with my eyes wide open with amazement thinking “wow”.

I don’t remember the exact date, but it was after a game at the Butchers Arms in the days when Bloods manager Dave Pace loved to inject a bit of gunpowder into the air by making some barmy statement such as Celtic would be relegated by Christmas. He’s quietened down a lot in recent times but he used to relish playing the pantomime villain.

The match proved an ill-tempered affair. Celtic went two-up, then the Bloods came back to draw. In the meantime, the referee gave Dave a red card.

At the final whistle, more than a few people asked me if I was mad as I prepared to approach Dave with my Zoom recorder. I must admit, I prefer to speak to a manager when they’ve calmed down, not right after a game, but you have a job to do.

After a few opening comments, and congratulations on a great fightback, I meekly ventured the question: “Do you think it might be wiser not to wind up the opposition before big games like this?”

I didn’t realise I’d lit the blue touchpaper, and that meant I had no chance to retire. I was right then when Dave exploded. Guy Fawkes would have been proud.

“Big game? Big game? This wasn’t a big game. A big game to me is when we play a Football League club like Chesterfield, Darlington or Leyton Orient. Playing Stalybridge Celtic isn’t a big game.”

On and on he went. Reminiscent of Inspector Blake in “On the Buses” he hated Stalybridge Celtic. He hated Stalybridge. I’m not entirely certain he didn’t want the entire town wiped off the map.

When he’d finished, I stood there blinking for a few moments, then turned unsteadily and started to look for the Bridge boss. But I’d only gone a footstep or two when I felt a hand on my arm. It was Dave. Rant over, he’d calmed down and looked apologetic. “Do you mind if we do that again?” he asked. I was happy to comply. Behind the mask he’s a really decent bloke.

Generally, I’ve got on well with the Stalybridge managers. Jim Harvey never wanted to talk but I think that applied to anyone from the media. All the others were fine.

And when you think of Celtic bosses, with all due respect to the many I’ve known including Pete O’Brien, Phil Wilson, Kev Keelan and indeed the present incumbent, Simon Haworth, my mind always goes to Peter Wragg.

One sunny summer’s day he summoned me to Bower Fold — managers used to do that sort of thing — and I walked up there through Cheetham’s Park. Wraggy wanted me to write something to cool the supporters’ expectations. After an unbelievable comeback the previous season, when they won game after game after looking certain to be relegated from the Conference, he was worried the fans were becoming unrealistic in their expectations. He wanted them to be made to realise the new season would be another fight for survival not promotion.

When I got to Bower Fold I was met by Martyn Torr and given a tour of the new facilities. We then walked out to look at the pitch where Wraggy was either mowing or rolling.

“What do you think?” he shouted to me. “Very impressive,” I called back. “Yeh, great out there,” he replied. “Just crap on here.”

Wraggy at his best.

[succubused]

oh child, you have never been alone: pt. 1

xxxxx author note so scroll past if u are tired of my Shit and just want to Read

Here’s a clip from my original story that is either going to one day manifest as a game or as a novel. We haven’t decided yet but

It’s important to me that I get feedback on things like this so if you read it please tell me what you thought, what was confusing, when i used the same words too much (I’m really tired and jacked out on ativan right now so my brain isn’t 100 percent sry friends)

But this is Valkyrie whomst I’ve been talking about a lot, and also Quinn makes an appearance as well as Lace and Maven. Let me know if you want to see the next part of this, because it doesn’t just end where I stopped writing, I just got too tired to finish.

I have posted pics of all these dudes except for The Valkyrie™ (different from Valkyrie herself i know it’s a lot) and so lmk if you want a picture of Lace or of the Big Man Valk Himself because would be happy to draw

xxxxx end author note thank u for ur support

“You mean, you’re saying Valkyrie isn’t your name?”

“Yeah.”

How long had they been walking for?

It wasn’t the sort of rhetorical question you ask yourself at night, awake, how long have I been lying here when you can’t sleep. It was I don’t know when I am.

Where, then?

Snowed-over mountain’s edge. Wooden planks spiky with deformities stuck up through the ice, defiant, still trying to be a fence. The sight amused her. They were still trying. We should learn from that.

The cold was the kissing kind that leached through your cheeks and left your teeth shaking where they stood. Valkyrie pulled her hood tighter, for all the good it did, which was none. Hood, scarf, gloves, boots, so prepared. For all the good they did.

For all the good we did.

I’m sorry.

It was like a voice. Someone was speaking but it wasn't her.

“Something’s off,” she said suddenly and it occurred to her that this might have been the first time she had spoken aloud in

“Valkyrie?”

“Quinn?”

She turned but couldn’t see him, or Lace, or Maven. The snow blew from all sides, thick and falling in a heavy veil over her eyes. Blind.

“What is this? What’s wrong?”

“What is what? I can’t see you!”

Edge of fear in Quinn’s voice that’s not good for him that’s not good for anything I know what this is I know what this is—

“We’re dreaming, aren’t we?” Maven this time. Not afraid. Exasperated. Never afraid. Did he even know how?

“I would know…”

They were still climbing. Had she decided to do that?

“…wouldn’t I?”

A soft thud and a yelp of surprise.

“Not a dream,” Lace called. “Maven’s still here.”

“You pushed me!”

“You’re surprised?”

“Don’t high priestesses take a vow of nonviolence or something?”

A dark laugh. Lace was all right. “Technically it just forbids you from using violence against the faithful. When was the last time you went to absolution?”

“Last week!” he snapped, indignant.

Strange. Valkyrie hadn’t known he cared much for the church. But for them it was absolution or Leaching and Leaching wasn’t really everyone’s thing. Besides, she’d seen his arms. Unscarred.

“Look at that,” murmured Quinn. Hand over eyes, he turned to look at the valley, clear and gray all over, illuminated by a rose gold sunrise. Flat for a long time. In the distance, maybe, trees with white leaves.

Valkyrie crept next to him, cautiously. He glanced at her. “The trees are like us,” he said.

“Realistically impossible to approach and potentially a hallucination?”

Quinn laughed. “No, Val, they’ve got white hair.”

She started to smile. She froze instead.

ice in your chest that is how you describe it is it not

“Wait. Something’s off.”

when it comes and it always does come the air turns sharp for you thunderhead shaker of the earth she has no choice but to shudder when confronted with the burning ice of your fear

She blinked and looked around, trying to break the debilitating feeling that she was wasting time she wouldn’t get a second chance to use correctly.

ice that pounds in every single one of your veins it will crystallize all through your blood and instead of killing you it will turn you into

“The stairs weren’t there before,” she said quickly, “and it was snowing before, it was really fucking cold? Right?”

it will turn you into me, and you little horror have no hope at all of accomplishing anything against your enemy if you have not become me. Valkyrie.

Valkyrie stood still. “I would tell you all to run but I don’t know where to send you.”

“You could say precisely zero things that would convince me to leave you here, Valkyrie, but it’s a sweet thought.” Maven braced his feet against the top stair, drawing the sword that always baffled Valkyrie as it was nearly as tall as he was (and though Maven was by no means tall, he wasn’t exceptionally short either) and yet he wielded it like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“If it attacks you just run, just go. I mean it. It wanted me. You don’t have to come in.”

“Yeah, we do.” Quinn bumped her aside with his shoulder. “Don’t pull this fearless leader riding solo into the unknown bullshit now, sweetheart. We’re past that.”

Lace and Maven exchanged a look, waiting for Valkyrie to round on him for calling her that of all things, but she just rubbed the place he had bumped her absently and muttered to herself, “Are we?”

Top of the stairs. They had been very steep. Climbing them must have been difficult. They would be very sore in the morning, assuming they actually had climbed them and not just been made to believe they had. The valley gleamed now, gray superseded by the light.

They weren’t in a dream, or a nightmare. Knocking Maven over had been necessary for nothing but breaking the tension. It is very, very difficult to trick a phantasm into believing they are awake when they are dreaming. Even half as she was, she would know, and she didn’t have that prickly-skull feeling she associated with dreaming. This wasn’t right.

Wing beats, enormous and slow, with a disorienting whap-whap-whap that raised columns of ash and dust through the cave mouth none of them had seen,

and then they were in freefall and this is how it ends, how anticlimactic,

and then they weren’t.

“Well, if it isn’t your name, what is it?”

Valkyrie rolled to her feet in a motion more convulsive than fluid. She felt for her swords and was glad to see she hadn’t speared herself in the fall. None of the others appeared to have been impaled either, or frightened to death. Yet. Quinn had jammed one end of his sword into the ground and was leaning hard on the middle guard, but it was hard to tell whether he was doing that because he thought it looked suave or because was in pain. It truly could have been either. Or both.

Lace had her arms crossed, contemplative but not afraid. Maven had his sword drawn and was staring at some point above him, but he wasn’t frightened either.

None of them were.

“My apologies,” they whirled, but the cavern echoed such that it was impossible to find a source. “I would ordinarily ask permission but I was concerned the spike in fear would kill your friends. Particularly that whom is already weakened.”

“Already—?” Valkyrie narrowed her eyes, then saw what it meant. “Oh, you mean Quinn?”

Quinn flinched and glared, muttering something about “weak ass” and “kick your ass” without moving his eyes from the shape slowly moving forward from the darkness.

“I meant no disrespect,” the voice said. It was sonorous, baritone, with a clipped accent Valkyrie couldn’t place. It almost sounded more like five men speaking at once rather than one. “I have seen many Afflicted die of acute terror. It is ugly. I wished to prevent it.”

“I…thank you,” Quinn said, looking slightly ashamed.

Valkyrie stepped forward. “You drank the fear,” she said quietly. “You, it was you, you brought me here, didn’t you? Are you a dread or a phantasm or, I mean, what do you want? From me?”

The laughter sounded of silk and molasses, collected somewhere in her chest in warm pools, filling empty spaces she hadn’t known were there. It was almost as beautiful as the creature himself.

He landed before them with two more of those heavy whump-whump wingbeats and stood, arms folded, still half-smiling a little. He seemed a little under six feet tall, in comparison to Quinn, but it was the way he held himself that made him seem like a leviathan. The man—at least, it seemed to be a man—he had dark skin that made his glowing veins all the more prominent. Every vein in his body, filled with lavender light and shining bright enough to illuminate the entire cavern, glinting off the gold hoops looping through his ears and his lips. He had been using his wings to block it out before, she realized. The wings—hard to see what was happening back there, but he had more than one set of them. The feathers gleamed slightly in the light from his blood. He took off his hood.

“I am the Valkyrie,” he said, softly, not taking his eyes off of her. “I am the same as you.”

They drew closer to one another while the other three backed away, as though propelled by opposing magnetic forces.

“What do you mean, ‘the’? Is my name your title?”

“Did you really think you were the only one?” he whispered. “The only one alive, maybe, but the only one? In all the centuries of the dread plague, the nightmare sickness, you thought you were all alone?”

“I am alone,” she said, quiet and controlled to avoid betraying that her voice was shaking hard.

“Oh, child,” the Valkyrie murmured. “You have never been alone.”

She inhaled sharply.

“You’re.”

“I have waited for another, and you have come.”

And she looked into that face, saw the long white braids, the white eyelashes and eyebrows, standing out so sharply against his skin, and oh god but the eyes, the dark red-gold eyes, his tattoo a single line right down the center of his face just like me and he looked more like a god than a man, really, but he wasn’t. He was—

“They called us Valkyrie. I was not the first.”

Hands clasped behind his back, he turned away.

“I do not know how many there were, nor how many were drowned upon birth, and I cannot find it in me to hate the mothers, not when the way we were conceived—the way most of them were conceived—I hate only the fathers.”

He opened his eyes. “I was half dread, half human.”

Valkyrie almost smiled. “Half phantasm. His name is Paroxys.”

The Valkyrie tilted his head. “Paroxys? I knew him. He was always…reasonable.”

[penniesforthestorm]

On ‘Twin Peaks’, Part 1

 A Policeman’s Dream

NOTICE: I have tried to avoid concrete spoilers, but honestly, if you haven’t watched the full series, all of this will sound like gibberish anyway, so read on at your own risk.

My very first favorite movie was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. There was a period of time when I watched it almost every day. My favorite scene, the moment I geared myself up for every time, was of Snow White in her glass coffin, being mourned by the dwarves and other denizens of the woods. I didn’t cry because she was dead (I knew how the story ended), but because the dwarves were sad, weeping for their beloved companion.

Fast-forward twenty years later, during my first year on my own in New York City, when I decided to watch David Lynch's Twin Peaks for the first time. I had developed an impression of what it was—Kyle McLachlan playing a more grown-up version of his character in Blue Velvet (which I saw during my senior year of high school), once again investigating the corruption and decay behind the white-picket-fence façade of an American small town. Something about pie and coffee and owls and a dead teenage girl.

I was not expecting the visceral grief of the pilot episode. The way Pete Martell (Jack Nance)'s voice warbles on the words "wrapped in pla-a-astic"—indignant that Laura Palmer (Sheryl Lee), not just princess, but prom queen, should wind up in so cheap and unworthy a coffin. The tears of Deputy Andy Brennan (Harry Goaz), the Galahad of the Twin Peaks police force, as he examines the body no kiss could revive. Sweet Donna Hayward (Lara Flynn Boyle) and James Hurley (James Marshall) sharing a look of horror as they realize their friend has slipped out of their grasp one final time. Laura Palmer's murder touched everyone in this modest mountain town, so reminiscent of my own home of Missoula, Montana—which, of course, ends up playing a role in the series (and was the birthplace of David Lynch himself).

Over the course of the series, I realized something else: David Lynch and Mark Frost are two of the very few filmmakers who have ever captured the nature of dreams. It's one thing to throw forty-five or sixty or ninety minutes of nonsense at an audience and call it 'dream logic'—it's an entirely different thing to actually transmit the experience of dreaming itself. Special Agent Dale Cooper (McLachlan) has a dream in the third episode, in which a black-gowned Laura Palmer whispers the name of her killer into his ear. A little man in a red suit, his voice recorded backwards and dubbed forwards, says, "Let's rock!" There are red curtains, and a floor with a black-and-white zigzag. That, I thought to myself, that looks like one of my dreams. A series of images and phrases which may or may not retain any meaning upon waking, but which feel incredibly significant while you're experiencing them.

Or take that wonderful scene at the Double-R Diner, when the cerebral Major Garland Briggs (Don Davis), sits down with his wayward, petulant son Bobby (Dana Ashbrook), and describes one of his dreams. In so doing, he helps Bobby understand that despite their disagreements, despite all of Bobby's ill-advised rebellion, his father still loves him. It's a beautiful testament of faith—a little rest from all the terror and confusion surrounding the characters. (An excerpt of Major Briggs' monologue shows up in Terrence Malick's 2016 film Knight of Cups, which is itself a flawed, but frequently arresting meditation on fathers and sons. I almost squealed in the theater.)

The best trick, though, is the way Lynch and Frost made the real world seem like a nightmare. Ronette Pulaski (Phoebe Augustine) crawling out of the fog in her white slip, unable to give voice to what she's been through, languishing under heavy sedation at the hospital. Poor Maddy Ferguson (Sheryl Lee again, but with dark hair and a mousy affect), betrayed by the same figure that killed her cousin Laura. Even jovial Big Ed Hurley (Everett McGill), trapped by guilt into a suffocating marriage, and our Special Agent Dale Cooper, haunted by the woman he couldn't save. In the world of Twin Peaks, all lines are blurred—dream and reality, future and past, even (ultimately) life and death.

So much for the original series. I finished it just after Christmas of 2014. Time moved forward. I followed the rumors of the show's return, that terrible period when it seemed like Lynch wanted no part in this expansion of his creation, and the wild mishmash of speculation on the fates of various characters. (Whither John Justice Wheeler? …Just kidding; no one cared about him.)

In the spring of 2016, I experienced a shattering tragedy of my own: the loss of a friend, a wonderfully talented and tenderhearted young man. He, too, was the focal point for a small, vibrant community of people. He, too, had secrets. In the fall of that year, I started watching Twin Peaks again, in preparation for the new series. Suddenly, the reaction of Sarah Palmer (Grace Zabriskie) to her daughter's death—her madness and devastation—didn't seem so extreme. Time moved differently in the aftermath. One foggy evening in December, I briefly felt as though I had left time completely. (The next morning, under the shroud of a brutal hangover, I experienced every second with thudding clarity.)

I sped through the series, exchanging observations with my brother—how I'd hated creamed corn as a child, the sweetness of the friendship between Shelley Johnson (Mädchen Amick) and Norma Jennings (Peggy Lipton), how, this time around, I felt a certain tenderness toward Bobby Briggs. I skipped a large portion of Season 2—the plotlines of Ben Horne: Civil War Enthusiast and Invitation to Love: The James Hurley Edition in particular. I nursed deep disappointment over the fact that Michael Ontkean would not be returning as Sheriff Harry S. Truman. There's a moment, fairly late in the first series, when Truman hears Agent Cooper coming down the hall, and his face just lights up: here comes my friend. I was sure his steadfast decency would be missed.

The day before the premiere of Twin Peaks: The Return, I finally watched the film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me, which is, chronologically, a prequel to the original series, but would make absolutely zero sense in isolation. (No, I am not going to make the obvious joke here. You can do that on your own.) It functions as something of a dark mirror to the TV show. Instead of the chipper, kindly Dale Cooper, we get Agent Chet Desmond (Chris Isaak)—vaguely louche and sardonic, investigating the death of the transient Teresa Banks (Pamela Gidley), in the badlands of Oregon. The Deer Meadow law enforcement is steeped in corruption and obtusely unhelpful. Harry Dean Stanton shows up as Carl Rodd, owner of the trailer park where Teresa Banks lived, spectacularly put-upon and haunted by… something. At the FBI headquarters in Philadelphia, David Bowie makes an outrageous, ethereal cameo, as a long-lost agent gabbling about convenience stores and someone named Judy (or, rather emphatically not about Judy).

And Laura. Laura Palmer, in her last week on Earth, already nearly crushed by her own secrets. Laura, of the coloratura scream and fathomless blue eyes, desperately trying to protect her darling Donna (portrayed here by Moira Kelly) from the degradation of the infamous Bang Bang Bar (a.k.a. the Roadhouse). Laura, paralyzed with horror when she finally understands the true identity of her tormentor. Laura, seeking one last respite in the arms of the faithful James, before disappearing into the woods where her martyrdom awaits. In a world where another season of the show would likely never happen, Fire Walk With Me provides an ending. Notice I didn't say 'the' ending.

Please join me for Part 2, coming tomorrow!

[pass-the-bechdel]

LOST s05e11 ‘Whatever Happened, Happened’

Does it pass the Bechdel Test?

Yes, five times.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Five (27.77% of cast).

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Thirteen.

Positive Content Rating:

Four.

General Episode Quality:

Powerful and heartfelt.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) UNDER THE CUT:

Passing the Bechdel:

Kate and Cassidy pass right at the beginning. Kate and Juliet pass later. Kate then passes with Clementine. And then with Cassidy again. She passes with Ms Littleton toward the end of the episode.

Female characters:

Kate Austen.

Cassidy Phillips.

Juliet Burke.

Clementine Phillips.

Ms Littleton.

Male characters:

Jin Kwon.

Phil.

Ben Linus.

Horace Goodspeed.

Roger Linus.

James ‘Sawyer’ Ford.

Miles Straume.

Jack Shephard.

Hugo ‘Hurley’ Reyes.

Aaron Littleton.

Richard Alpert.

John Locke.

Eric.

OTHER NOTES:

Kate and her lady friendships, man. Best relationships on this show, tbh.

Jack just refused to perform life-saving surgery on a child because he is and has always been a total piece of shit. 

I didn’t like the old you either, Jack. Nor do I like the new you. I know that’s not surprising to anyone, but I hate you and I’ll never be done saying so.

“Well, Jack...sounds like a piece of work.” Cassidy knows what’s up.

The idea that Kate raised Aaron as her own because she was just filling the hole in her heart left by Sawyer is pretty unfair. She looked at a baby whose mother was gone, a baby who she knew had been headed for adoption, and she chose to do the adopting right then and spare him the possibility of growing up in the system, perhaps bounced around foster homes, perhaps lost forever under a new name. Kate delivered that baby, she supported and protected his mother, and I would argue strenuously that one of her strongest motivations in raising Aaron as her own was out of respect to her connection with Claire. Kate knew that Claire had changed her mind about adoption, that she wanted to raise her child herself, and she made the decision to ensure Aaron grew up in a loving home with a loving mother, just like Claire wanted for him. I am zero percent here for anything that tries to frame Kate’s decision to RAISE A CHILD as if it is somehow selfish or morally dubious. She didn’t ‘steal’ a baby. She took responsibility for a life.

Juliet confronts Jack with no regard to the fact that he’s naked. Good. And then she tells him off for trying to pretend that he’s somehow righteous and that he’s doing anything at all for anyone but himself. 

See, Kate goes back to the island to find Claire because she’s an actual good person who is trying to do good things and do right by everyone and I will not abide any fucking bullshit accusations over her motivations here. Also, Evangeline Lilly is knocking the intense emotions of this episode right outta the park.

“His innocence will be gone” oh, great. Excellent decision-making from both Sayid and Jack, thinking they’re somehow fixing the future’s Ben Linus problem by trying to leave his child-self to die. I mean, it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy situation and all, but honestly. Jack especially wants to play the ‘whatever happened, happened, so my actions can’t change anything’ card, and evidently he hasn’t thought that through far enough to realise that theoretically not being able to change the future doesn’t mean you get to act with impunity. Your actions still matter because they are a mark of who you are, whether you make a difference or not. And your actions, Jack, are absolutely reprehensible. Go directly to Hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200. 

I said it and I meant it: you wanna start beef with Kate, you can start it here with me, I’m ready to fight for my girl. She ain’t a perfect person, but God damn if she don’t try, and that’s more than can be said for certain other characters around here who imagine themselves as paragons of righteous morality. Life has never been easy on Kate and she has spent her entire adulthood battling the consequences of forcibly rescuing her mother from abuse, so there’s a lot of additional baggage involved beyond the ethical decisions behind what she does for both Aaron, and little Ben. Kate is not someone who wallows in the sorrows of her past, nor someone who inflicts those sorrows upon others. She’s also not someone who has ever felt much faith in the institutions and laws that so often fail to help those in need - she’s a take-matters-into-my-own-hands kind of person, and she is consistently doing her best with that as well. Girl’s protective instinct is highly developed and not at all restricted to her own interests, and I am not going to fault her for it. We could do with more Kates in the world, to be honest.