#this is me trying to transpose the meeting at the beginning of the movie into human form.

[antarcticcrew]

[katsukikitten]

WARNINGS : N!SFW 18+ AGED UP AU! SOME SCENES MAY CONTAIN GRAPHIC CONTENT, READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YANDERE THEMES GIF MADE BY ME

It started out with a package.  

Roses really, neatly tucked away in plastic and a glass vase that nestled into loud styrofoam.

Or at least that's when you started to notice it.

Actually it started with a phone call didn't it?

Just a few days ago the old rotary phone,  the one you bought for nostalgia, rang. This in itself was not odd, you picked up the aged yellow receiver and pressed the cool plastic to your ear.

But you did not speak, waiting patiently for the other line to come to life. After a few moments of silence you figure it to be a telemarketer, the automated type that doesn't start its spiel until it hears a tone, a voice. So you hang up.

The random call lost to both time and thought.

But you cannot forget this package that acted as a catalyst, to what you were not sure.

You just knew it was something.

The white box with the flower company's name on the side of the cardboard sat on your concrete steps, just past the waist high fence. You were returning from a run, huffing as you bent over, you figured it was most likely for your neighbor but it had your address. The recipient's name had been worn off from the poor handling of the package, you had figured the contents to be broken. Despite the state of the box the roses were perfectly intact. Crystal vase sparkling even through the opaque wrapping, a note on top that read.

I'll love you always.

Ah so this was not for you. You scoff, this was meant for your neighbor as you first originally thought. It made more sense that way. What with his boyfriend being long distance, it was obvious. He most likely remembered his address wrong and put yours in error. As you're haphazardly closing the box, keeping the note in hand, your neighbor waltz from his door.

"Ah, um Denki-kun" You call,  a bright smile beams on his face as he makes his way to meet you at your shared fence.

"Love!" He greets, strong hand giving your bicep a soft squeeze, "Ah flowers? Spill!"

"Well they aren't mine. I...I think they're yours. Here." You shove the box and note into his hands, stupid tears trying to prick your eyes.

Why? You were unsure.

Maybe you were a bit jealous. Thinking back you couldn't remember the last time you had even had a flirtatious comment or cat call sent your way. You lived a normal quiet life with your "abnormality". Quirkless. You worked from home, spoke to a select few and hardly left your house. It contributed to your wait gain thus adding to your small list of places to go.

The grocery store.

And the gym Denki invited you to or around the block for a run.

After a gurgling amount of time you finally achieved your dream body. Now all that was left was to maintain it.

"Wait!" Denki calls, "This isn't my boyfriend's handwriting."

Furrowing your brows, hand on the handle the answer comes to you.

"Probably just one of those fonts meant to look like handwriting."

"No, come look. It was made with a ballpoint pen." Nothing escapes his pro hero trained eye, his finger slides beneath the words, "He seems passionate! Lucky duck look at how deep love is."

He passes the card to you, giving you a wink as he passes the white box. Sure enough there are divots in the card stock, love is the deepest. Deep enough it almost ripped through the thick paper. You swallow thickly racking your brain, your job requires you to have answers to every question. Logical answers. So it's no surprise your mind wanders until it comes up with something. Your eyes shift to the right, you were lucky enough for your little house to be on the corner of the block.

The delicate roses must have been intended for your neighbor diagonal from you. You wait until Denki is halfway down the block before you rush across the quiet street to set the flowers up neatly on the porch. Throwing the box and wrapping into the trash before you speed walk into the safety of your sanctuary.

Your cats prance to the door to greet you and then sprint to the kitchen to be fed. As if you hadn't just fed them before your run a little less than an hour ago.

The rest of your night is uneventful. You curl on the couch, nestled deep within an old cardigan and the comfort of your leggings with a pile of work to be analyzed. To find the devil in the details and solve what seemed unsolvable.

The answers were always there, under your nose. Found easily by your trained eye but how could you not see the obvious answers when you had the luxury of a bird's eye view. The luxury of knowing the whole story from the shakey beginning to the bitter end.

A luxury you would not have for your own story.

The shrill ring cuts through the comfortable silence causing you to jump from your skin, the cats perk their heads up lazily to see what disturbed them before tucking their head back down.

You tell yourself it's a wrong number, a telemarketer but curiosity is beginning to get the better of you.

And curiosity is a deadly, loud thing. Louder than reason. Reason you had learned from the safety of your home, from other people's mistakes. The same very mistakes that sit on your lap with harsh red ink labeling them C L A S S I F I E D.

It rings a fourth time as you stand, the bell calling out for your attention, demanding you speak. You lift the receiver, again there is silence on the other end.

You wait patiently, is this another automated telemarketer? Had you entered your real number by mistake for one of those stupid store discounts?

You must have, still you resist the urge to tap the speaker of the phone to see if it would trigger the recording.

Instead you drop the receiver onto the base, rattling the hidden bell.

And that was that, you return to your work. Pouring over the details to find the pattern, to build a psychological profile to avoid a tragedy in the future.

Ironic how you cannot prevent your own.

It isn't until a few weeks later does the first letter find its way into your mailbox.

It seemed harmless enough you thought it to be an accident, just neatly looped words proclaiming their love. But it was never fully addressed to you and when you tried to pass it off to Denki, again he denied that the letter belonged to him.

Still, those looping letters twist into your memory, coming to the forefront of your mind every now and again. As if the paper that lies on your dining room table reads itself aloud, from beginning to end at the top of every hour.

As if the ink doesn't want you to forget.

"I am not sure when it started, but it did. I had fallen for you despite my efforts not to. A half of a year I've told myself to forget it, to forget you. And yet I cannot bring myself to stop, the more I try the more you come to mind. And the more I find myself near you. It's as if you're a bad drug I can't quit. I've been watching you. Everything you do is done in such cautious beauty. Please answer next time my dear."

Silence for weeks after that, at least as far as the rotary phone and the mailbox were concerned. You would occasionally get a text from an unknown number.

A transposed number, an error on the sender's end. Or so you assured yourself, especially when they would seem a bit too coincidental. When you were out for a jog or out at the gym at a different time than usual a text would come through.

For a second your mouth would go dry, your blood ice cold as you read the black letters atop the white screen. Huffing as your lack of breath came from a psychological response as opposed to your physical running.

Why aren't you home?

See you soon?

But these couldn't be intended for you. How could they? You could list the people you knew outside of your family and work place on one hand.

Denki.

And only because he spoke to you first!

So these texts, these little messages laced with concern could have been for an estranged spouse, a forgetful spouse or some partner who lacked the ability to properly communicate.

You just knew they weren't for you.

Or so your new mantra goes.

Paranoia didn't begin to sink it's sharp teeth into you until you noticed your cats' odd behavior.

In an immeasurable amount of time they went from lazy, happy go lucky animals to hostile even aggressive creatures. As if they were suddenly feral.

Oddly enough they only acted this way during certain times, mainly at night. Their moon eyes saw things you could not, their enhanced hearing heard things you could not, things you labeled, rat or mouse.

Would a mouse or rat cause a cat to hiss at shrouded corners? To claw at the wall with a howl that sounded more like a scream? Would it make them avoid the closet door in your room?

Maybe it was bigger? The floorboards above did groan more often than not lately. Maybe it was a raccoon even.

Yes, that had to be the cause of their behavior.

And yet there was still that one time, that one instance you sometimes dream about waking in a cold sweet.

The thing you cannot explain away, nor label as mouse, rat, not even a raccoon.

A cocktail of a tired mind and a trick of the eye but simply not vermin.

It was overcast, a sickly grey as the day wept deep into the night. The weather, naturally, caused you to melt into the plush material of your couch as you consumed comfort movie after comfort movie. You were given a reprieve from your worry as your cats seemed normal, sleepy just as you were that day. Even Nyx chose to laze on your chest as a temporary throne. Your couch is flush against the arch way that leads into the dining room and kitchen, giving it's back to part of the hallway towards the main bathroom and your bedroom at the back.

This angle always caused you great anxiety but there was no other way your luxury couch could fit in the small living room and so you always sunk low into the cushions.

Suddenly Nyx's ears twitch and her eyes snap open, waking only a cat knows how. On high alert to a sound totally lost to your draft ear. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating to adjust better to the shadowed room. The glow of the TV casts such a glow on the objects around you, flicker in soft and harsh lights. Slowly Nyx cranes her neck to see what exactly disturbed her sleep, just as her eyes lock on whatever is behind you, you see it for just a fraction of a second.

In the reflection of those moon eyes you see it. Distorted only from the curvature of her lens and the grain of the TV but there is no denying its shape.

A crude outline of a man, broad shouldered and faceless in the dark.

You freeze, mirroring your cat. Breath held as you watch the figure in the pitch black pupil. Wishing, hoping and praying that what you see is not really there.

After an eon of a moment, Nyx begins to shrink in on herself before silently slinking from the couch to find shelter beneath it.

You are not brave enough to move, to crane your head just as your cat did before you to confirm if what you saw was real. And in the milliseconds that the TV goes black you avoid the corner the figure should be standing in. Goose flesh breaks out over your skin, making you feel vulnerable and cold. While your feet burn begging you to get up.  

To run.

After a lot of mental reassurance and silence you begin to settle down. Easing yourself back into the rational world. Even becoming brave enough to stare into the TV, into the corner where the figure should be reflected in.

Each passing second as you wait for that small moment of blackness sends your heart into an irrational pace. Finally it happens and when you see nothing you sigh with relief.

Mentally giving yourself an "I told you it was nothing." talk.

That is until you hear a sound, a thump and a click from the back bedroom.

Your bedroom.

But the sound seems as if it came from within, as if it were your closet door.

Your heart explodes into frantic erratic beating.

The shrill ring of the old rotary phone rips through the dialogue of the movie but it can be barely heard over the hum of your blood.

RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

BRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIING

Tonight you are frozen in place, whether that be from petrifying fear or sheer stubborn denial you cannot say. You just know one thing.  You do not want to deal with the automated telemarketer who never seems to speak.

It rings four more times before it stops.

You chalk it up to coincidence. To nothing.

Late evening turns into late night and sooner rather than later you find yourself in the mouth of the hallway. Staring down your bedroom door as your mind plays on repeat the sound of a door closing from earlier that night.

You cannot let the boogie man keep you from sleep. Slowly you enter, flicking on all the lights.

Everything seems to be in place, the small pile of laundry still lies abandoned by your hamper, your bed neatly made, pillows haphazardly lying about the comforter. Hell even your inherited diamond drop necklace still sits snugly in the jewelry dish on your night stand.

The townhouse makes an odd sound, you jump out of your skin. Clutching your phone so hard the lock and volume buttons imprint into your palms.

No longer can you ignore the elephant in the room as the silence from this particular space screams at deafening volumes until you dare to look. Your eyes flicker to your left and there it is.

Your closet door, seeming to yawn and stretch even in the harsh hue of the overhead light. A closet is always an ominous, odd place and the sounds it may or may not have made cause a great twisting in your stomach. The shine of the knob calls to you with deadly wonder. Begging you to turn the gleaming metal to reveal the darkness behind the bland white door.

It should be inspected shouldn't it? If you ever wanted to sleep soundly you would need to reveal what may lurk in the dark.

Creeping towards the door with baited breath until finally your hand hovers over the knob.

"Open me." It seems to whisper in delighted glee, elated to see your stressed, scared features distort in its polished brass. You retract your fingers as if burned, biting onto your lip as you scrape your large armchair against the wood. Shoving it into place against the closet door.

You sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door until your eyes burn. You turn off the overhead light but keep the soft light of your nightstand lamp on.

You dream fever dreams of flashing lights as a storm passes overhead. Dream of the closet door laughing in the night, of cool fingers pressed into your skin.  

Jolting awake you reach for your phone as your senses slowly come to you. Your eyes fly to the armchair in the mid morning light. It rests in the same spot you left it ominously staring at your bed.

Something seems off about it or maybe you just imagine that there is a deep divot in the cushion, as if someone or something sat in the armchair most of the night.

You close your eyes and go over rational explanations. Always bringing back to yourself the same question.

Who in the world would want you?

Bringing you back full circle, that you were getting ahead of yourself. The cart before the horse in a sense and letting your mind race without restraint.

Letting the season of Fall try to creep into your bones and cause an artificial fear.

Still it's not too long after that do the cats avoid your room altogether.

While you choose to do what you've always done, push the problem aside and explain it away.

The phone rings as you're lacing up your running shoes. You pick up the receiver without bringing it to your ear and place it down gently.

It's just a wrong number anyway.

Tonight air bites at your nose, leaves crunching underfoot as wind whips around buildings and trash, carrying with it the promise of a harsh winter to come.

Your feet carry you slowly back to the direction of home as they beat down your normal, safe route.

A right from your little townhome, straight for two blocks before you would find the winding black pavement. It would snake past the backs of homes through some small trees but never a path that was fully hidden.

Always out in the open but giving you the ability to peer into people's lives as you passed. Witnessing dinners, arguments and heated moments of passion. Silently you thanked Kami you were not positioned on this route.

You keep your eyes focused ahead, the music in your ears low to listen for possible passers such as a bike or a better runner than yourself.

You pass a tree that seems thicker than normal, your phone buzzes on your arm band.

An email, it has to be an email.

Yet your mind wanders to those worried texts, lingers on the thoughts of if that tree had always been that wide, if the quickly setting sun had always cast the path in blood red. The maroon leaves flutter overhead, falling to the ground.

More crunching than what you think your feet should produce has you running faster. Forcing yourself not to glance over your shoulder. Your breathing becomes rasped as you borderline sprint home, still the crunching comes closer.

It isn't until someone brushes your shoulder as they pass do you let out a blood curdling scream. Huffing to catch your breath as you take a step back.  The jogger, your neighbor from across the street that you occasionally run into, removes his earbud.

"You okay?" He addresses you by your name and suddenly you're embarrassed that you do not know his. He takes your silence as an answer, his brow furrowing.

"I thought you'd be less skittish since your new boyfriend's been coming around." Your mouth goes dry.

"Wh...what?"

"Yea he seems so sweet. He always checks the windows to make sure they are locked at night." He takes in your response and shrugs, "It's getting late. Since I didn't see your boyfriend there yet, I'll jog you home."

The jog home is agonizing,your mind racing far faster than your feet can go.

What did he mean he saw him checking the windows? What boyfriend?

Maybe, maybe he mixed up your house with Denki's again. It's happened once before when he was returning mail. So there was a good chance he was mistaken again.

Still the closer the two of you get to home the worse you feel. A brick sits in your stomach as he jogs in place before your fence. He gives you a knowing smile and a wink as you wave him goodbye.

It isn't until you turn to face your home do you notice it, the white rectangle stark against your black door.

There is an envelope taped to the thick oak, addressed to no one but "My beloved".

You rip it from the wood with ragged breath as you bring it inside. Already you can feel the contents squirming, fidgeting as it waits to be read.

Polaroid photos fall to the hardwood floors, pictures of you running down your favorite path. Blurred images of you walking down the aisles of the grocery store, and even a photo of you taken between the cracks of the fence in your front yard.  

There are no more photos after that, at least not this time. Just that fucking letter written in long looping ink  You feel the words tighten around your throat as horror wraps its spindly fingers around your guts and yanks them towards the floor.

Your knees threaten to buckle as your eyes rapidly move along the page.

"In these moments you are the most beautiful. Blissfully unaware of prying eyes. In my time I've come to care for you I've noticed I'm not the only one watching. People gaze at you with whispered murmurs, with pitying eyes as they spin tales of your life. Speculating gossip as you prance about the neighborhood. Flaunting in those tight running shorts that hold every godly curve of your thighs and ass. Of the light jacket you leave unzipped so they can get a better view of your bouncing breasts tucked in your black sports bra. I wonder, would they bounce like that when you ride on my cock? Would your hair stick to your forehead like that as I rail you from behind. Would that angelic voice squeak out for more? For me? Ah I'm salivating thinking of it, harder than I've ever been. Please do not wear those out while running. In fact you don't have to run anymore Doll. You just need to let me take care of you God damn it. You little fucking whore. You seductive vixen with your God damned doe eyes. Just...just fucking answer please."

Rage and fear fight for control as you reread the letter for the fourth, fifth time before you finally move. Rage, for once, wins. You slam the door behind you locking the deadbolt before running to the back bedroom. Throwing the heavy chair from the closet door and ripping it open.  

Nothing lies within it, just clothes that begin to smell of neglect. Of old running shoes you didn't have the heart to throw away.

Of relief that whoever was sending these letters, these ones that weren't meant for you. Wasn't currently in the house.

The floorboards overhead groan and for a moment you have half a mind to tuck your cats away into their carrier, buy a one way train ticket to bumfuck nowhere and set your house ablaze.

Instead you move the chair back in front of the closet, grabbing things from your back bedroom to start your new life on your couch.

Time passes as the trees become more bare, their spindly fingers reaching out to tap the roof at odd hours of the night.

Tomorrow you promised yourself you would run.

And yet you find yourself dressed, lacing up your shoes before slowly opening the door. Your jacket is zipped all the way up, your hair neatly tied back and just as you step foot out the front door a heavy wind rips through the yard causing Denki's unlatched gate to slam. You jump back startled as your fear clings to you like a second skin. The letter begins to overlap in your head and the polaroid photos you had trashed a few weeks ago burn into your retinas. A faint snap and a whirl comes from close by and suddenly your stomach churns. Bile rushes up your windpipe too quickly, slamming the door shut and running to the bathroom. You barely make it as you dry heave into the porcelain bowl, huffing in the air of fresh toilet water. The smell starts a vicious cycle of nausea until finally your clammy skin begins to cool, pressing yourself to the side of the tub. In your panic your skin becomes sensitive, hyper aware of each stitch in your jacket, your sports bra and your jogging leggings. Your rip at your clothes until you peel them off of you, huffing as you scramble to get into the shower.

It does not matter that the water is not yet hot. Hell it isn't even lukewarm still you find yourself in the stream as it becomes scalding. Scrubbing at your skin with soap over and over and over. Nails pulling away already raw skin until that burning water begins to cool. A floorboard creaks overhead causing your head to snap up. The ceiling holds no secrets and yet no answers until you see it. A small hole, one you aren't sure if it's always been there, gaping from the attic over your shower and bath. It's too dark to tell if there is someone peering down at you from above or not.

Instead of freaking out your head slowly tilts away from the haunting discovery. Turning off the water, opening the curtain and wrapping yourself in a towel. As if it were every day you see something like that, as if it were nothing more than a spider lingering that you'd wish to forget.

It's fine It's always been there

But that would be the last time you would take a shower in that house.

Even though you hardly left your couch, things would still go missing in yourself. Things like the remote or one of your hundreds of phone charger cords. Even documents to cases but you didn't care, couldn't care. Otherwise you would break. Shatter.

Your days consisted of lying on the couch and consuming an ungodly amount of television. Doing so until your eyes burned although you begged them to stay open. Sadly everyone needed sleep and so you did. Giving into exhaustion as your eyes fluttered closed and your body weak, relaxing into the comfort of the couch.

Hours are lost to you so you dream and dream. Of a better time or of yourself in one of your files to dissect. Giving yourself that perfect bird's eye view and wondering how the victim never saw it coming.

In your dream you feel something along your face, smooth fingertips trace down your cheek over and over at a lulling pace.

"So perfect." A whispered serenade melding in with a snap and a whirl. A flash of lightning from a passing storm.

Except there was no storm coming in.

Your eyes snap open as you jerk to a sitting position frantically looking around the room.  When your eyes find nothing you allow your beating heart to settle back into your numbed state, more than ready to melt into the couch.

Until your stomach growls forcing you to focus on a new problem.

When was the last time you ate? Your stomach had long forgotten about food, choosing to conserve energy in case you needed to run from whatever the hell it was in your head.

Forgoing dressing you place your hand on the knob, wallet in hand. Two sets of glowing eyes watch you from beneath the couch. Twisting the metal to yank the door open you are greeted with cold fall air. The wind whips hair into your face as your mind quickly wanders. You half imagined a man to be standing in the middle of the street. Mouth stretched too far over gleaming teeth, lips parting enough as the wind brings with it the sound of your name.

Frantically you move your hair from your face, eyes searching up and down the street to find no one, nothing.

As it should be at 10am on a weekday. Suddenly the weight of going outside sits on your shoulders, despite the convenience store being a ten minute walk both ways, the thought of you going alone scared you.  Slowly you shut the door, falling to your knees before lying face down on your floor openly sobbing.

A creaking board sends you back to high alert, you remove your jacket and decide to order take out instead.

The knocking at your front door jolts you awake, the TV drones in the background with hazed over words as you quickly come to. Heart slamming into your chest before your stomach growls loudly. Right, food.

Your hand hovers over the knob as if suddenly you cannot move, as if the person on the other side of the door is an imposter lying in wait. Another knock comes at the door, he announces who he works for which eases your phobia a bit. You swallow thickly before finally opening the door, hands sweating as the anticipation of the identity of the stranger on your porch.

He seems to check out, his outfit covered in logos for your takeout restaurant of choice, car labeled as such as well. He holds the receipt towards you. His eyes wander over the face of the house, giving you sudden chills.

The question falls from your numb lips.  

"D...do you see anyone in the windows?" The delivery guy visibly jarrs, eyes darting to the windows of your room and the living room. Suddenly his face changes as a knowing smile spreads on his lips.

"This is a prank isn't it? For Halloween right?" He chuckles, but when he sees the pen shaking in your grip his face goes stone cold. Eyes darting to your left, to the bedroom windows. He taps the paper, indicating where you need to sign, you take a moment to do so.

The old rotary phone screams from the living room, making you both jump.

"Guess I better get that." You gesture, grabbing for your food. He nods affirmation before stepping off of your small porch a little too quickly.

You slam the front door, appetite washed away by each shrill of the small bell. Hesitantly you reach for it,  you have to know, need to know who could be on the other side.

The receiver is cold against your ear, the other line is quiet, although you can hear something soft in the background.

Talking, it sounds familiar, like an echo or almost as if there is a delay. It almost sounds like the same commercial that's playing on your TV right now.

Gently you set the phone down, the soft click echoes in the space around you. You sit on the couch before lying, covering yourself in your blanket as your takeout sits by the door, forgotten.

It wouldn't be too long before it begins to rot, almost as quickly as you.

The phone rings

And rings

And rings.

Nightly in fact, for the next few weeks as you cry silently trying to ignore the sound. Turning up the TV as loud as it can go, 24/7 until finally the speakers blow and you are left with nothing but that shrill shriek. The demand of the small plastic item that was meant to bring to a comforting memory from the past comes more often. Every four hours, every three hours, every hour until finally when it comes to an end it breathes again.

Screaming into the night tearing away your hearing, your sanity until finally you get up from your spot on the couch. Clothes falling away from your frame as they had grown in the time you sat. The time that you watched.

Each step is agonizing as sobs rack through your body, shaking hands making it hard to reach for the cool receiver.

You press it to your ear and for a final time your mind attempts logic. It is just an automated telemarketer, a glitch or determined program but the thought crumbles as your ears strain to hear the soft breath on the other line.

"Please…please stop." You sob into the receiver when no one speaks. The silence deafening as your mind can no longer keep with the charade.

That everything is okay and has always been okay. That the red flags you studied for a living were never there, washed away by your feigned ignorance.

"Finally got a response out of you." A velvet voice chimes, agitation lacing his syllables, "Gods, I just cannot wait to have you. It was worth it you know? Living in your walls for months."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice barely a whisper, a soggy huff more than anything.

"I'm glad you asked." You body goes rigid, a haze blankets your mind and smothers the scream tearing up your throat.  

"Now walk out the door to me. Don't worry I'll bring your cats back to our home later."

You hang up the phone, body moving on it's own as you walk towards the front door. A door you had chosen to avoid and for good reason. But you should have known the danger lied within these four walls. Although your body feels heavy it moves normally despite you trying to fight it. Or as best you can with your worn down mind.and will. It is not as joyous as a moment for you and it is for the man in the street. His lilac hair is illuminated in the moonlight while his amethyst eyes glow iridescent. His smile is as you imagined, twisted and screwed up in such a way it makes your stomach churn. Lips stretched out almost too far over gleaming white teeth. Your face does not reflect your horror as it stays neutral, only your eyes give you way as tears fall from your cheeks.

The answer was there, under your nose, the devil in the details that you normally saw with your bird's eye view. One you didn't have the luxury of for your own story.

"Come now pet. It's time I finally teach you about what it means to be mine."

EPILOGUE

Everything is hazed over and slow, as if watching an old silent movie through the static and snow of the screen. Trying to read their lips to figure out what they are saying only for the text box to come too late.

"Perfect. Now get on your knees kitten. Open wide." You follow his orders numbly body moving on it's own as he smiles down at you. "God, you're so so perfect."

Long fingers tug at his belt before the shrill of a ring tone cuts through the silence. It is the same sound of your rotary phone at home except with an added element. The foreign sound of your whimpers and pleads for the phone to stop can just barely be heard. He looks down at the cell phone and answers.

"Denki, Baby I know I said I would come tonight. I'm just running late okay?" Amethyst eyes rove over to you and it is then that it hits you. The horror of the realization is like ice water dumped over you as you put two and two together.

The first time you saw him, visiting your neighbor over a year ago. It was such a quick exchange, eye contact and nothing more as his lips were pressed to Denki's.

Your mouth goes dry as it hangs open, slowly it becomes uncomfortable.

He changes his voice to sound like someone else's, someone with a gruff deeper tone.

"Oi quit talking to dunce face so we can finish this shit!" He removed the device from his mouth

"I'll be home after this patrol. Love you bye."

He tosses the phone before gripping your chin to spit into your mouth, his hand rests on the hem of his pants.

"Now...where was I?"  

[zaprlcorn]

Venus Rx and Fated Relationships

Is it possible you could meet your future spouse during a retrograde? 

A retrograde is when a planet reverses its motion—it moves backwards. Depending on the planet, retrogrades can last anywhere from 30 days to ~6 months. Venus goes retrograde approx every 18 months. Venus is the closest planet to Earth. In a world filled with hopeless romantics and love being the goal of life, when Venus goes retrograde, the effects are felt heavily.

Venus retrograde is a time when we are called to reassess ourselves in terms of “Venusian” things. These “things” revolve around love (internal or external), relationships, values, finances, pleasures, etc.

Because Venus is widely known as the planet of “love” it is no surprise that many people get into relationships when the planet goes retrograde. We’ve heard of exes coming back during Mercury retrograde to get closure (revising communication), but what about going back to people from past lives? Because retrogrades revisit the path a planet was once on, we do the same here on Earth. During this time, many people find themselves in relationships—specifically, “fated” relationships.

At the most basic level, our goal on this Earth is to procreate, carry on our lineage, and achieve happiness in some shape or form. The primary way of life goes: fall in love, have kids, and strengthen our family line. You hear songs about love on the radio, you see it in movies, shows, books, poetry; Love has been an emotion untouched since the beginning of time, so much that the idea of a “soulmate” is popular in pop culture and worldwide. Since astrology has gained popularity over the years, so has the term “twin flame”. A twin flame is essentially the idea that you are the half of somebody else’s soul, resulting in a star crossed lovers tale like Romeo and Juliet (with or without the suicide). In astrology, it has been proven that you can see karmic connections via synastry between two individuals—whether that’s two friends, an employee and boss, or a mother and child. However, in this post, I want to focus on the karmic connection between two people in the romantic aspect.

NOTE: I do NOT condone or support concept of twin flames for many reasons. This post is in no way shape or form about twin flames, saying the persons in this post are twin flames, or saying that you will meet your twin flame during Venus Rx.

Over the years, I have noticed that many people find a long-term partner, or even their spouse during Venus retrograde, in this thread I want to focus on one couple, in particular, that seems to prove the theory to be true:

Zayn Malik and Gigi Hadid.

August 9th, 2015

Venus, Uranus, and Jupiter were all trine each other at this time. Indicating an abundance of out of the blue fated connections and relationships.

There’s no denying that Zayn and Gigi are pretty much in “soulmate” territory. Despite breaks and breakups, they’ve amounted a total of 5 years together. Five years ago, when Zayn and Gigi first met, the planet Venus was in retrograde, which Zayn actually mentions in his song cruel:

Venus in converse, you put a spell on me

Converse: a situation, object, or statement that is the reverse of another or corresponds to it but with certain terms transposed.

Zayn and Gigi met at Kylie Jenner’s birthday party, on August 9th, 2015. The song Cruel is about meeting somebody at a party and feeling a spark. Put two and two together.

When looking at Gigi’s chart, Jupiter was transiting her 5th house with a pretty tight conjunction to Venus (3 degrees separation) in the sign of Leo meaning that Venus and Jupiter were in an exact conjunction that Summer.

Leo is ruled by the Sun, the center of our universe, the Sun shines down on humanity and makes everything beautiful. Leo is home to the 5th house.

The 5th house is the house of relationships, sex, children, parties, creativity, and joys. Speaking of Joys—Venus’ joy is in the 5th house, meaning that this is an extremely favourable place for Venus to be (side note, Zayn had a planetary joy transit himself during this time. His moon was transiting his 3rd house and 3H Moon represents the Goddess.) She enjoys being in the 5th house, as she can utilize everything on the table in that room of the house.

Moreover, Jupiter, at the utmost basic level, has to deal with abundance. Jupiter being in the 5th house is favorable because the sign Jupiter rules (Pisces) is the sign Venus is exalted in. That said, Venus conjunct Jupiter in the sign of Leo equals an overflowing abundance of Venusian energy. It should also be noted that Jupiter rules a woman's husband in the birth chart. At this time, Gigi was in a VERY FAVORABLE position to meet her potential spouse. Moreover, when Jupiter crosses one’s 5th house, this indicates that a woman could meet her husband.

“Whenever Jupiter and the lord of 7th house transits the first or ninth house this is more indicative of things like Marriage commitment, deeper and strong relationships. And if Venus or Jupiter itself rule these houses then it is a double significant of relationships.“

Lord of Gigi’s 7H: Mars & Pluto

Mars was transiting her 4H, ready to cross over to her 5th

Pluto was transiting her 9H

“The seventh house represents connecting with others in a physical bonding and 9th house represents long term relationship.”

Now, remember when I said the Moon was transiting Zayn’s third house? The Moon changes signs every 2-2.5 days, so this transit came and went, but it was extremely fitting for the moment. The Moon was in Gemini, the sign of communication.

The 5th house is the house of relationships, sex, children, parties, creativity, and joys.

Where did Zayn and Gigi meet? What happens at parties? 

Venus, Jupiter, and Mercury (Gemini’s planetary ruler) were in a nice conjunction during this time. The Moon was also making a few aspects to Zayn’s natal Moon that day.

Moon in aspect with his Venus in the 1st house (opposite of the seventh house, house of long term relationships) within 1 degree of each other. Venus signifies ones girlfriend or wife in the natal chart.

Moon in aspect with his Jupiter in the 7th house (opposite of first house, house of self and the physical body)

“The ascendant represents the body in the individual of the person who wants the relationship.”

Another thing to note is the planet Uranus. Uranus is an outer planet known for causing upheaval and out-of-the-blue events. During this time, Uranus was transiting Zayn’s 1st house of self. Another thing to consider is his natal 7H Jupiter sextiling Uranus transiting his 1H, which means positive, but abrupt change in relationships. 

“This is a good time to tackle difficult tasks that have caused frustration or limitations in the past.” Venus Rx tends to bring people into your life who you’ve had a “past life” connection with.

Because of Uranus’ influence, Zayn’s life was a bit all over the place, so he found himself in a more adventurous state. Because his 11H (the 11H is responsible for social circles) Sun and transiting 1H Uranus were in a square aspect within 2 degrees, That said, Zayn was meeting new people and doing new things with said new people.

We got such a spiritual connection...

Zayn and Gigi are a great example of proving Venus Rx to be a time for cuffing szn. Despite having breaks and breakups, they’ve always found their way back to each other.

I’ve spoken to many other people to have met their partners during Venus retrograde, and almost all of them say it’s like a spark. They feel an automatic deep sense of familiarity with their partner, saying it’s like a spiritual connection.

Zayn is always singing about Gigi and him having this spiritual, fated, and past life connection:

     I been feeling high when I touch your body     That's how I feel the soul inside her body

       — Flight of the Stars (2018)

  Think I'm from space, my soul fell down   I found the Earth, not leaving now   I know your face, think you fell too   And ain't no place now, if I got you

      — If I Got You (2018)

We got such a spiritual connection, Don't you know you're fuckin' beautiful?

     — Common (2018)

I found my life in between shots and getting high The cage I was in fell away when she asked me to dance again I found my life in between a first kiss and a last goodbye

    — BRIGHT (2016)

Girl we'd still make it If the planets all faded away 

    — Imprint (2018)

I know I seen your face In different times and places

....

We can be Something divine, planets align where we should be

   — Talk to Me (2018)

With all being said, I think it’s safe to say if you’re looking for love, lookout for the next Venus retrograde (or look for 5th, 7th, or 9th house transits). Sometimes the universe throws somebody in your path and it’s fated. While Zayn and Gigi are an example in the media, I’ve seen it happen numerous times with everyday people. While some find their exes coming back around for a second try, or end up in murky karmic relationships, for the most part: Venus Rx seems to be a good place to start if you’re looking. 

Venus retrograde does not always mean things will work out because retrogrades are here to reassess things we did not master in the past. But love is all about taking chances. So take your chance, and have fun. Soul mates do exist, and you may end up finding the one.

[aion-rsa]

Batman: Soul of the Dragon – Bringing a Little Bruce Lee to Bruce Wayne’s World

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This article contains Batman: Soul of the Dragon spoilers.

The latest DC animated film Batman: Soul of the Dragon is a complete reimagining of the Dark Knight. It’s an out-of-continuity story, the kind of tale DC usually places under its Elseworlds banner. Set in the 1970s, Soul of the Dragon places Batman (David Giuntoli) as part of an ensemble of heroes, a collection of the top martial arts masters in the DC universe including Richard Dragon (Mark Dacascos), Lady Shiva (Kelly Hu), Ben Turner a.k.a. Bronze Tiger (Michael Jai White), and O-Sensei (James Hong). 

“It’s a weird movie in that you can literally take the voice cast and transpose it into live-action and they can make the same movie,” gushes writer Jeremy Abrams, “They’re all accomplished and good looking. It all works!”

Batman: Soul of the Dragon is a mash-up of Batman and ‘70s Kung Fu films. For this film, the comics character Richard Dragon is reinvented as a thinly disguised homage to Bruce Lee. 

“I pitch a lot of martial art DC comic ideas,” confesses Abrams. “I’ve been pitching Batman meets Enter the Dragon for a while, and evidently, [Executive Producer] Bruce Timm had a similar idea.” Timm said he’d love to do a 1970s Batman martial arts thing, which led him to Abrams. “Bruce wanted to add on a Big Trouble in Little China element, which is like catnip for me. That’s one of my favorite movies. So, it ended up being like four hours just talking about stuff, and what would work, and what would be cool.”

Abrams and Timm have a great love of ’70s cinema. It’s an unusually fruitful period to set a Batman story according to Abrams. 

“One of the great things that they had is all these really distinct genres,” Abrams says. “You had blaxploitation, you had Kung Fu movies, you had James Bond movies. Then you had horror movies that were the satanic panic type cult movies. And our movie is in the center of that and it just all seemed to lend itself to this movie.”

In the 1970s Batman comics strove to distance themselves from Adam West’s campy TV rendition which had become the dominant impression of the character since its wild success from 1966-69. Part of this reinvention involved scaling down Batman’s reliance on gadgets and technology in favor of a more two-fisted, detective style approach. Batman: Soul of the Dragon explores Batman in his formative years, and scales back his resources accordingly. “You’re not going to get the Batcave,” explains Abrams. “You’re going to get the loft above a building, a dance club.” 

There are so many Batman stories already so to stand out, the filmmakers sought to bring Batman to his roots by making this more about Bruce Wayne.

“We’ve tried to humanize Batman,” adds director Sam Liu, “so he’s not in the costume for the majority of the film, and it’s more of a human story.”

There’s always risk when retooling a beloved character. 

“We get to work on big, A-list superheroes,” Liu says. “These are iconic heroes. They’re not just made up from cartoons and stuff like that. It’s a big responsibility sometimes, but if I spend too much time thinking what it means to so many people, I could get intimidated. After a while…you kind of want to try something different. We’ve done so many Batman stories. Sometimes you try something new and it’s interesting to you, because again, it’s different. But then the fans don’t get on board with it because they kind of want them to stay the same.”

Who is the Best Martial Artist in the DC Universe?

Given the formative theme, Batman: Soul of the Dragon illuminates Batman’s training in martial arts. However, this isn’t exactly Christopher Nolan’s Batman Begins either. Batman doesn’t study ninjutsu with Ra’s al Ghul. Instead, he trains under O-Sensei alongside the most powerful martial artists of DC. Abrams, a consummate comics and martial arts geek, already had his top three DC Universe martial artists picked out. 

“Well, I know Shiva’s in there. I know Richard Dragon’s in there, and I know that Ben Turner’s in there,” Abrams says. “I definitely think they are the top. I don’t think Batman breaks the top five in terms of DC martial artists. But he’s cool. I just think he supplements martial arts with so many other things.”

Even though Batman has top billing, he’s not the main character. According to Liu, each of the others in the quartet of heroes could carry their own story. 

“We didn’t want any of them to be sidekicks,” Liu says. “We’re so used to these Batman stories where Batman is the guy. It was a very conscious decision in building this, that we made sure that Richard was never a sidekick. If anything, this was a little bit subversively kind of supposed to be more of a Richard story. Batman is just one of the characters. He grew up with these characters, and he’s just part of this ensemble, and each of them have their part in this grander story.”

In the wake of Bruce Lee, Kung Fu oriented characters spread into comics. Marvel’s upcoming Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, based on a popular comic series that came out in the 1970s, is a leading example, however DC had their own stable of martial masters. 

“I know and I love the glut of DC martial arts characters of that era,” states Abrams emphatically. “Everybody has their peculiarities in the things they love about fandom. I know a guy that is really obsessed with the background creatures of Star Wars. But one of my obsessions in the DC universe are these really cool well-defined martial arts characters they have.” 

Batman: Soul of the Dragon takes a deep dive into several secondary DC martial artists like Judomaster Rip Jagger (Chris Cox), Edmund Dorrence (Patrick Seitz) and the nefarious Kobra Cult including Jeffery Burr (Josh Keaton), and Lady Eve (Grey Griffin). What is it about cobras and martial arts villains nowadays?  

Enter Richard Dragon

While all of the martial artists in this film have been reinvented to some degree from the comic pages to this animated adaptation, the biggest change is Richard Dragon. In the comics, Dragon was originally Richard Drakunovski, a Caucasian character. In later story arcs, Dragon’s title is usurped by his villainous student, Richard Diaz Jr. In Batman: Soul of the Dragon, Dragon is Chinese, a clone of Bruce Lee’s character ‘Lee’ from Enter the Dragon. 

“‘Race swapping’ is not usually where I go first because I’d rather just make a new character,” confesses Abrams. “But we made this an Elseworlds, so there’s a lot to be set up. We can do whatever we want.”

For Liu, bringing a positive Chinese character to the DC animated universe was huge.

“It’s funny because when we started this film, they sort of approached me saying, ‘Hey, we’re going to put you in this sort of ’70s Enter the Dragon meets Batman kind of a story.’ I was like, ‘Oh boy. This could go either way.’” 

Liu remembers laying out the ground rules in an early writer’s room meeting by saying “Look, I’m Chinese. I just want to make sure that you’re going to do this respectfully, because I don’t really want to be a part of something if it’s just sort of…irresponsible.”

Liu was reassured to learn that respectful representation was at the forefront of everyone’s mind from the very beginning and that sold him on the project. 

“I’m an older guy, so I’ve experienced racism and all that kind of stuff, because I grew up in the South when I was very, very young,” Liu says. “It’s horrible. I’ve always liked to get more representation.” 

For Liu, Batman: Soul of the Dragon is another step towards increased acceptance of diversity. As an Asian American, he has experienced xenophobia all his life. 

“As volatile as it is nowadays, it’s much better,” Liu says. “I remember my dad being an Asian man in the South, and some of the stuff we had to go through. I come from an era where you’re oppressed, so you’re just expected to be that way. Any little movement forward is a big step. For me, personally, I think it’s great.”

As the world’s first global Asian celebrity, Lee was a pioneer before long before diversity became an issue of debate. He lived by example, all the while infusing his philosophy into his constant battle against racism.

“It’s like a theme that’s in Enter The Dragon, the art of fighting without fighting.” In Batman: Soul of the Dragon, there’s even an homage to the scene in Enter The Dragon where Lee drops that line on Parsons (Peter Archer) and tricks him out of a fight. 

For Abrams, shifting Richard Dragon to Asian was true to the roots of the character. Dragon first appeared in a paperback novel written by Denny O’Neil under a pseudonym. According to Abrams, “On that cover, it looks like Richard Dragon is an Asian man. And for Bruce [Timm], that’s how he always saw him.” Abrams feels that bringing Dragon back to how he was depicted on that original cover was the way to go. “I think it adds a great diversity and it pulls away from, ‘Oh, here’s another white guy with Batman.’ It makes this really cool ensemble, even more definitively different.”

The Launch of a New Franchise?

The finale of Batman: Soul of the Dragon leaves the door wide open for a sequel. Batman, Dragon, Shiva, and Turner enter another hellish dimension, and what lies ahead is anyone’s guess.

“The ending is actually one of the first things that we came up with,” reveals Abrams. “We looked at each other and thought, ‘This is crazy. But, what if this happens?’ We’re looking around at each other, like, ‘Somebody’s going to stop us, right?’ It’s like, ‘Nope. We’re going to do it.’ The ending fits perfectly with the dream of Batman, which is, ‘I get to fight evil, forever.’”

So will there be a Batman: Return of the Dragon? 

“Bruce Timm had talked about potentially doing more if this does really well,” adds Liu. “I think he’s in talks with some other creators and stuff like that, because he’s such a fan of the ’70s that I think that he would love to be able to continue doing more stories, especially in this genre. This story is really, really personal as far as just all the things that he loves. I think both him and Jeremy are in love with this era and this genre.”

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Batman: Soul of the Dragon is available now on Digital and Blu-ray.

The post Batman: Soul of the Dragon – Bringing a Little Bruce Lee to Bruce Wayne’s World appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[clarestrand]

Deutsche Börse Photography Foundation prize Catalogue with text by Orit Gat.

The award will now be announced (virtually) on Sept 14th. For further info on how to join the webcast please consult The Photographers Gallery Website.

Image = Information

Orit Gat

1 A beginning

In Paris, an artist painting in a studio that used to be part of a monastery. She goes out and gets the largest drawing papers she can find. Surrounded by paint pots and brushes, it’s an image that belongs in a tradition of artists painting away in Parisian garrets, only this is not that story. What Clare Strand was painting in her Paris studio during a three-month residency at the Centre Photographique d'Ile-de-France in 2017 was a translation of pre-existing photographs that were ‘read’ to her over the phone by her husband in the UK. From across the English Channel, he would give her directions that would encode an image of his choosing, and she would paint it.

2 Transmission

Strand and her husband were following an existing model. The method they were using to transmit information was described in George H. Eckhardt’s ‘Electronic Television’, from 1936, in which he outlined how a photograph can be transmitted via code over telegraph. In this system, the original image is divided into a grid, with every square being given a value from 1 to 10. 1 is white, 2 has a tinge of grey, 3 is greyer, 4 darker and so on until 10, which is black. The initial source images from which Strand’s husband chose the images he would transmit to her were 10-by-8 inches, which they divided into a grid of forty-nine squares across and sixty down, each about 5 square millimetres. If it’s boring to read, imagine the couple’s phone conversations: he would call and say 24-2; 25-4; 26-5; and so on. Through conversation, with Strand following her husband’s direction, the language would form a representation of the original image. Like a human fax machine.

3 The result

Is a series of ten black-and-white paintings in acrylic on paper. The history of art brings forth associations and relations, from the development of the grid as a foundation for perspective in the Renaissance, to the nineteenth-century illusionism achieved through Pointillism. There are Gerhard Richter’s black-and-white paintings, László Moholy-Nagy’s telephone paintings, Agnes Martin’s feather-light grids. But the connection to the history of art crumbles in front of the actual framed paintings. They’re human, Strand says, as she reasserts that she is not a painter. They’re messy, imperfect. There are hairs that stuck to the paper, dust congealed into the paint. However, in installation shots of the whole series, they look like another kind of work. Photographed, the paintings seem faultless: the black, white and grey hues reminiscent of aestheticized black-and-white photography; the paintings look clean, their edges not frayed, the small mistakes blend into the frame. It’s like they have two lives, as object and as image. When I ask Strand which one matters more, she answers, ‘I don’t know. What I find ironic is that, as much I try to push “photography” into different mediums, I can never escape the camera and how it operates as a tool of representation. With each press or catalogue reproduction, the paintings are represented as photographs, which is somewhat at odds with the concept of the work – photography transposing into painting only then to be represented by photography!’

4 Utility

To talk about the history of art and about installation shots is to ignore how the objecthood of the paintings depends on their creation. This series, titled The Discrete Channel with Noise, is at once the result of and the documentation of communication and its possible failures. Looking at the paintings, I want to say they look pixelated, but that would make them more photo than painting, more final product than process.

5 The first man who saw the first photograph

The relationship between painting and photography always makes me think of Roland Barthes writing in his essay on photography, Camera Lucida, that ‘The first man who saw the first photograph (if we except Niépce, who made it) must have thought it was a painting: same framing, same perspective. Photography has been, and is still, tormented by the ghost of Painting.’  Later in the book, he writes about photography’s relationship to reality, or to the document: ‘No writing can give me this certainty. It is the misfortune (but also perhaps the voluptuous pleasure) of language not to be able to authenticate itself.’ The photo as confirmation of fact. That fact, that reality, is communicated over phone lines in The Discrete Channel with Noise. When we look at a photograph, what we’re looking for, according to Barthes, is knowledge that a thing, an event, happened. He writes about Polish soldiers in a 1915 photo by André Kertész: ‘that they were there; what I see is not a memory, an imagination, a reconstitution, a piece of Maya, such as art lavishes upon us, but reality in a past state: at once the past and the real.’ What we see, in The Discrete Channel with Noise, is a story about reality rather than proof thereof.

6 Whizzing through the air

When I meet Strand, she hands me an assortment of notes. She’s hesitant about it for a minute, as if giving me homework rather than help. Or as if she expects communication can fail, and thinks a list of references may offer a way out of an impasse. The history of Morse code; pigeon post between Paris and England c. 1870–71; Eckhardt; Cybernetics founder Norbert Weiner and American mathematician Claude Shannon’s information theory, which gave The Discrete Channel with Noise its title: Strand’s research does not explain as much as expand the work. And then in the notes is a quote from the 1973 movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory based on Roald Dahl’s writing, recreating Eckhardt’s transmission of images over radio. Here the character Mike Teavee, the winner of the fourth golden ticket, who loves this technology, explains: “You photograph something then the photograph is split up in to millions of tiny pieces and they go whizzing through the air, then down to your TV set when they are all put together in the right order” 

Mike Teavee, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl (1971).

That it is possible to share an image, and the labyrinthine process of it whizzing through the air is in line with Dahl’s 1971 book, in which the candy factory includes an impenetrable room-sized machine that, when operated, makes a lot of noise, takes a lot of time, and then produces a single bit of chewing gum. Unimpressive until someone chews it and realizes it is as nourishing as a three-course dinner: tomato soup, roast beef with baked potatoes, blueberry pie and ice cream for dessert.

Proof: the overcomplicated can sometimes be amazing. 

A lesson: also worth exploring.

7 Thirty-six images on a journey

The ten images in The Discrete Channel with Noise were chosen from a collection of thirty-six images Strand has compiled for a previous work, The Entropy Pendulum (2015), in which each of these photographs, which were taken from a tabloid newspaper’s archive, was eroded by the weight of a pendulum over the course of one day in an exhibition, then framed. Strand rephotographed the physical photos from the archive, creating a digital output that becomes a dataset ready for reuse. The subject of those images related to what Strand refers to as the subject of her work in general – magic, illusion, the paranormal, communication, transmission, the way people thought communication technologies were magical when they were first introduced, the way Alexander Graham Bell called the telephone a way to ‘talk with electricity’. How to read the transformation of these images through the process in The Discrete Channel with Noise These images are on a journey of losing and gaining information. The project is a metaphor, if not a realization, for what images do anyway: in flux, they move and shift in meaning.

8 Shifting in meaning

Why pay attention to shifts? Because shifts in context can mean that information is lost, or misused. An art historian friend of mine regularly points out that Alexander Nix, the founder and CEO of Cambridge Analytica, studied art history in university. Art matters, images matter, she wants to say. All channels of misinformation need to be decoded. Is there a present and a real, like Barthes thought there was in an only slightly less technological time than the one we occupy, today? Or is the subject of study now how realities are fractured across channels of communication?

9 An entire history of communication

The diagram used to explain Eckhardt’s ‘Electronic Television’ has a man sitting at a table in front of a large black-and-white image divided into a grid of a woman with short, curly hair who looks a bit like an early Hollywood film star. His sleeves are rolled up, his back a bit hunched, he is clearly concentrating. He holds a long pointer stick and taps information onto a device resting on the desk he is sitting at. The cable running from that device spirals into a growing network of telephone poles that reach a window, and from that window to a box on the wall, and straight from the box to a set of headphones that another man wearing a blazer (or is it a lab coat?) standing in front of a large grid, only partially completed with the recognisable top of the short-haired woman’s head. He holds a paint brush at the same spot the other man’s pointer is. Behind him on a table are 10 boxes of paint numbered from 1 (white) to 10 (black) and some paint brushes. The caption reads, ‘Fig. 26. A Simple Method for Sending Pictures by Wire or Radio.’

Visually, it matters that the example is always a woman and the transmitters and receivers are always men. The message is that even in new technologies, even in a new world, some old signals remain. That is what Eckhardt’s diagram exemplifies. An entire history of communication reinforces the idea of who gets to speak across these lines. It is therefore fitting that The Discrete Channel of Noise is structured and executed by a female artist.

10 A piece of Maya

When Barthes writes that ‘no writing can give me this certainty’, he is asserting photography’s relationship to what he calls ‘the real’. But as a writer, he must have known that it is the rest of the above-cited list – ‘a memory, an imagination, a reconstitution, a piece of Maya’ – that is one of the potentials of art: to reconstitute is a way of reimagining the world. After Cambridge Analytica, or in line with Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I want to argue that the redefinition or the exploration of that real is the contemporary condition. We come to things with suspicion, some of which is about recognising the failures of the systems around us. But we also come to them with a sense of possibility, a remnant of the Maya or the three-course meal chewing gum: the idea that the world is a story, and it can be shared.

[the-master-cylinder]

SUMMARY Vernon Coyle (Pasdar), a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department, is trying to solve a series of bizarre murders. His girlfriend, Grace (Polo), turns into a werewolf and is kidnapped by Crispian Grimes (Wise), a vampire and owner of the nightclub House of Frankenstein. Meanwhile, a man, claiming to be Frankenstein’s monster, comes to Los Angeles to find the vampire that killed his creator 200 years ago.

NBC120 7/18/97 PRESS TOUR — HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN — PICTURED: The Creature — NBC Photo: Paul Drinkwater.

He had lived in the Arctic Circle for centuries and had been thawed out recently. A medical examiner comes in and is shocked that he has no heartbeat and that his blood consists of that of several different people. The creature escapes and confronts Grimes in an alley, but gets arrested. Coyle realizes that the creature is really a creation of Frankenstein, and helps him track down Grimes and put a stop to his reign of terror. Grace turns into a werewolf and goes on a rampage, where she gets captured by Grimes and will be a part of his exhibit forever.

Coyle and the creature destroy Grimes’ army of the undead, but he escapes. The creature also escapes, having finally avenged his creator’s death. He sneaks aboard a research vessel on its way to Antarctica. Grace revives after a successful blood transfusion makes her human again. Coyle and Grace later visit his partner’s grave as he was the first victim of Grimes, who is watching them from afar.

BEHIND THE SCENES The miniseries’ title and the very basics of its story were taken from the 1944 Universal picture directed by Erle C. Kenton. “Karloff wasn’t playing Frankenstein’s Monster any longer,” explains executive producer David Israel, “but played Dr. Niemann. It was the first of the Universal horror films to feature Frankenstein’s Monster, Dracula and the Wolf Man in the same picture. So we used that as a jumping-off point.

“We didn’t feel we could directly remake House of Frankenstein, because with today’s sensibilities it just wouldn’t be scary.” adds screenwriter J.B. White. “We went back and forth as to whether we were going to do this as a period or contemporary piece.”

Israel admits that this is his first experience with the horror genre. “I’ve dipped my toes into the water, and I’m kind of enjoying it. This movie is not a parody. It’s a drama with elements of a police story, but three of the characters happen to be a werewolf, a vampire and Frankenstein’s Creature.” And don’t look for the latter to echo the appearance of Universal’s famous creation. “We had total say on what the Creature would look like,” Israel says. “We hired Greg Cannom, who is an Academy Award-winning makeup artist, one of the greats in the business who usually only does features. He did Bram Stoker’s Dracula, so he’s had experience doing vampires. He was clearly the best choice.

“Cannom had always wanted to have the opportunity to do his artistic interpretation of Frankenstein’s monster,” Israel continues. “I think this is by far the most ingenious interpretation; there are no bolts. Also, this is a sympathetic creature for whom we should have empathy. The actor who plays him, Peter Crombie, makes you feel that remarkably well.”

While the producers and Cannom were given artistic control, Israel confesses that they were careful about being too graphic in the horror and violence department. “We’re pushing the envelope as far as we can, but we still have to keep in mind that this is going to be available on every TV set in America,” he notes. “Kids are going to watch it, and sponsors have their needs too. It’s as graphic as it needs to be, but it’s never gruesome.”

Israel was involved in all aspects of the production, but the one element which gave him the most worry during the 48-day shoot was the training of real wolves for the lycanthrope scenes. “Our werewolves are not going to be hairy people,” he reveals, “The actors are going to morph into actual wolves. But we had to train the animals to do different types of stunts, which is probably the single most important thing we have to do on the show. Only the stunt people and the trainers work with the wolves; they’re too dangerous.”

Responsible for scripting all these hazardous scenarios was White, who was tapped by Universal and NBC to work on House of Frankenstein after the success of Beast last year. That two-part miniseries was his first exploration into monster movies, and though he’s not a complete fan of the genre, White admits, “It’s impossible not to be influenced by the past [horror] movies. It’s part of our collective consciousness vampires, werewolves and certainly the Frankenstein Creature. So my approach to this story is not as a genre picture, but just as another dramatic story which happens to have these rather extraordinary elements.”

One aspect which may surprise some connoisseurs of vampire lore is White’s concept of them as fallen angels. “It was just a notion that came to me while I was writing,” he recalls. “Part of the iconography of vampires is their abhorrence of anything religious, they often fly and they have power over people—they bring evil into people’s lives. This is a very satanic idea. Satan and his minions are fallen angels, and the concept felt right.

“One of the things I wanted to do was to humanize all of the creatures in the script,” White continues, then adds, “I don’t know if humanize is the right word, but to make us understand them better. I’ve always found something poignant about fallen angels. They lived in grace and fell from it; they always want to get back to it, but they can’t. They are creatures condemned by their own natures, and it’s heartbreaking.’

White also took a few liberties with the classic European mythology of vampires when it comes to the sun’s effect on them, acknowledging that he took inspiration from Coppola’s movie. “In that version, Dracula moved around freely in the daylight,” the writer says. “He protected himself from the sun, making sure his face and hands were covered. but that’s a practical consideration. If you’re going to tell a story like this in modern Los Angeles, you don’t want the vampires to only be out at night; it gets kind of tired. Also, these vampires have assimilated themselves; they have intermingled with us. I thought we could get away with making them a little more versatile.”

Yet White’s favorite character is undoubtedly the Creature. “I remembered clearly how the Mary Shelley book ended,” he explains. “It always seemed to me that she was setting herself up for a sequel, because she had him floating off into the darkness on an ice raft. I made it a mission in this script to make the Frankenstein Creature a real hero that and Grimes’ relationship with Grace Dawkins are the real heart of the movie. Boris Karloff’s original creature was sympathetic, but over the years, just because he’s designated as a monster, he has gotten a bum rap. I’m hoping that this, in some small way, will restore the Creature’s reputation. We wanted to show all of his aspects. He is a man out of time. His whole motivation from the moment he is awakened is to get back to where he came from.”   Great care has been taken to preserve some of the feel of and connection to the original Frankenstein movies. As an element of homage to the first House of Frankenstein, the man who searches the North Pole for the Creature is named Dr. Niemann. Also referenced is one of the most stein: the encounter between the Creature and a little girl. This often misunderstood and usually censored scene is now transposed to a meeting between the two on a bus, but the compassion will hopefully still be there.

Of course, none of the emotional scenes or extensive makeup can work if cast in the part. And for the role of Frankenstein’s creation, Crombie appears perfectly suited. The actor always refers to his character as the Creature, never “the monster,” which is the first indication of how carefully he respects the part. Even being subjected to almost three hours of makeup doesn’t deter Crombie’s enthusiasm; in fact, he believes that this long process is the best preparation he could have to get into the part. “I stare at myself in the mirror as Bill Corso, my makeup artist, puts each piece of the mask on my face,” he says. “I can’t really do anything else. I’m slowly putting the skin, metaphorically and literally, of this character on me.

“I remember an acting class I had at Yale’s drama school,” Crombie continues. “They had a closet filled with costumes and masks. You’d take a mask and sit in front of these mirrors and see what it did to you, what would arise emotionally. As bits of character would emerge, you’d put on costumes, compiling more and more of a character. You don’t get many opportunities to do something like that, especially using such elaborate masks as these. I knew I wasn’t going to begin to find this character until I had the makeup on. It was going to do things to me-affect the way I carried my head or make me move my mouth in a certain manner. And sure enough, that’s what happened. It turns out that the voice I had developed (for the audition) was too much. You can allow the makeup to do the work for you, and it will, if you let it.

“I was a little anxious at first,” Crombie admits. There was a touch of claustrophobia, especially when they did a full head cast. It was like being entombed. They told me it was going to be about 12 minutes, and it was 35. I just meditated to myself and managed to hold it together. They also did a cast of my chest and arms, because they were thinking of doing a kind of glove. But they abandoned that idea, and I think rightly so. The chest makeup was only used for one shot, when I first appear as the Creature and he’s still in 19thcentury clothes.”

The actor agrees with White’s inspiration to humanize this particular creation. “The idea is,” Crombie explains, “the Creature doesn’t totally look like a monster when he’s walking down the street. He could be mistaken for some homeless guy. If I were in New York, where I used to live, I would have just hit the streets in preparation for this character, because I would have found some version of him there. I’ve certainly seen enough of them over the years, and I’m working that into the Creature.”

Crombie also had to work carefully in animating his facial expressions, since his movements tended to become muted under the layers of makeup. However, this was not the first time Crombie had worked with such extensive makeup. Playing the Creature couldn’t prepare Crombie for the astonished reactions from the extras or the busloads of tourists who saw him on the backlot at Universal Studios, where some of House of Frankenstein was shot. “The trams ran by every three minutes in front of my trailer,” he remembers with a laugh. “I’d be waiting, and the trams would get backed up and I couldn’t get across the street. So I’d be standing there in my undershirt and full makeup, and the people wouldn’t know what they were looking at. They didn’t know if they should point their cameras or run and hide. I think they got their money’s worth.”

Serving as the movie’s resident expert on vampire and werewolf lore is the Professor Kendall character played by awardwinning actress Pounder, who devoted plenty of careful study to her eclectic role. “I love her handle,” she say proudly. “Associate Professor of Cultural Symbolic Anthropology. I think she invented a department for herself, and she’s got a lot of theory experience in a number of subjects. One thing I liked is that when I went into my office, the set designer had used ritualistic and mythological objects from all over the world-a very smart move.

“Kendall is incredibly curious about these legends and whether they were myths or reality at some point,” Pounder continues. “She’s a strong character and definitely an authority in her field. I play her dead serious. I don’t think that in the annals of horror films there has been a black female lead of this kind. If you’re going to act, you might as well go through this kind of door of opportunity. You know me,” she laughs. “I like to go where no man has gone before.”

As far as Pasdar was concerned, the best thing about playing Detective Coyle was that he didn’t have to spend hours in the makeup trailer.

  “I’m sleeping while they’re in there with the prosthetics,” he says. “That’s the best part. I don’t have to get up at 5 a.m. and sit in the chair. Every once in a while, I have to get a little dirt put on my face, a little smudge here and there. That’s the extent of it.”

Pasdar confesses to being a major fan of horror movies—“I like the ones that are done right almost as much as I love watching Plan 9 from Outer Space”—and is proud of having starred in the legendary cult movie Near Dark. “We don’t take credit for improving the genre, but we certainly took it in another direction. That was fun. House of Frankenstein is a different side of the coin. I’m not on the monster squad, I’m on the vice squad. It’s much more fun playing a straight cop chasing these guys. While the genre might be the same, my approach to the characters is completely different.

“Coyle is a by-the-book cop,” he adds. “He’s a detective trying to make the best of his job, to protect and serve in LA. He’s an average person confronted by a situation that is a bit above average. That’s when you get a real dichotomy between what needs to be done and what has been done before.

“To me,” Pasdar admits, “one of the most interesting aspects of the script is bringing the Creature into Los Angeles and keeping him as unmolested by human intervention as possible. He’s as pure as he can be. The irony is that the Creature seems more human than most of the people you run into on a day-byday basis in this town. He has an inherent soul that’s a beautiful thing to watch. That was one of the reasons I wanted to do this movie – to work with the Creature and a werewolf at the same time.”

Regardless of the thoughtful approach the actors might have towards their craft or the otherwise demanding schedule of a TV miniseries, Pasdar has some wicked ideas for a few good gags. “I’d love to walk into a 7-Eleven with the Creature to get a Slurpee; that would be fun,” he says, laughing at the idea. “Drive down the freeway in a convertible listening to Bon Jovi, or go down to the beach and have him try to get a little sun. Put him on rollerblades in the bike path. If I get a chance, I’ll tell you.” But at the time of this writing, neither Detective Coyle nor the Creature had been spotted at any of the beaches, or seen speeding down the freeways of Los Angeles.

Cannom doesn’t usually work in television. “It was really fun to be able to do a Frankenstein like the real character, plus all the werewolves and flying vampires,” said Cannom. “We had to do it. It was just too much fun to turn down.”

Though the Frankenstein monster is the character of the Mary Shelley novel, White’s script is contemporary and downgrades both Dracula and the Wolfman to a generic vampire and werewolf. Eighty percent of HOUSE OF FRANKENSTEIN was shot in and around Los Angeles on practical locations, including some exterior filming at the Ennis-Brown House, a residence designed in the 1920s by Frank Lloyd Wright, representing the mansion of Crispian Grimes (Greg Wise), the master vampire.

Wise is a British actor, who nonetheless portrays Grimes as an American. Wise explained how his approach is both similar to, and different from, what has come before. “I think the primary root of it is that he has to assimilate into the society. That’s why I’m playing an American. We’ve given him a very small scar and darkened my eyes using lenses, so I don’t think it’s too out of the ordinary. For a vampire to survive, he has to be able to fit within the society he finds himself in.”

Grimes can transform himself into an inhuman bat-monster, but there is a part of him that retains what once made him human. Noted Wise, “This piece looks at the period of his existence when he’s getting tired. It’s looking at the existential question of why we’re here. His story becomes a morality tale. He discovers we’re here to love and be loved. He’s a terrifically lonely man. I think that’s one of the more interesting ideas, that if you have been around for so long, nothing excites you anymore. You’ve said it all, you’ve done it all, you’ve seen it all.”

Grimes’ inamorata is Grace (Terry Polo), who gets bitten by Grimes’s werewolf protector and starts to change herself. “When she rebuffs him at the end, he stops his existence,” said Wise. He throws himself into fire. He kills himself because he realizes there is no point in walking this Earth without love.”

Cannom had fun working on Grimes’ bat transformation, a being which brings to mind the Man-Bat of BATMAN fame. “I wanted to create something for TV more elaborate than some

one would normally do,” said Cannom. “Because this was a flying bat-creature, a fallen angel type of thing, we wanted to really do a spectacular suit, but still keep it within limits for TV. Miles Teves designed the creature. He designed ROBOCOP and LEGEND.” The human-sized vampire bat not only has a bat-like head, but huge wings as well, suspended from a helicopter for the flight sequences. Hand-held controls make the movement of the wings.

Into this mix is thrown the Frankenstein monster, who is found by Grimes and originally brought to Los Angeles to be featured in his new night spot: The House of Frankenstein. The monster is sympathetically played by Peter Crombie. Crombie had to sit through a two-hour makeup application process which completely hid his features under a pliable latex mask. Unlike other versions of the Frankenstein monster seen in the past, this one isn’t a lumbering menace. “He actually turns out to be kind of a good guy, a hero,” said Crombie proudly. “What he really wants to do, like ET, is to get home, back up to the ice flows up north. It becomes a revenge mission for the creature to get Grimes, who ends up teaming up with the lead detective, played by Adrian Pasdar.”

Even though this version of the Frankenstein monster is supposed to follow more closely the description in the Mary Shelley novel, Crombie admitted that they did have to backoff a little since the production was being done for television. “Part of the description is that the skin is very translucent you can see through layers of it, to see veins and arteries. And to a extent you get some of that with this. An undead sort of look. I think the whole idea is that it’s much less of a monster, and much more of an innocent, an outcast, just a very vulnerable being, who is much more real emotionally, than the more traditional monster. That’s what I’m shooting for.”

The character Adrian Pasdar plays, Vernon Coyle, isn’t meant to be an unusual man, but instead is a man forced to make unusual choices. As Pasdar observed, “He’s your average cop. What’s interesting is having an ordinary cop confronted with an extraordinary situation. We tried to cut the dialogue down to as minimal as we could and it’s been effective in establishing the fact that it’s a realistic approach. He’s by the book and then gets confronted by a monster that you have to throw the book away and deal with a little more abstract solutions.”

In describing why a modern interpretation of an old idea can be both interesting and important, the actor stated, “There’s always room for a contemporary interpretation of a classic tale, from Shakespeare up to Bram Stoker and to Mary Shelley. There’s room for both interpretations. I think it’s interesting to watch a welldone classic. I think it’s much more difficult to do it contemporary.”

CAST/CREW Directed Peter Werner

Written B. White

Adrian Pasdar as Vernon Coyle, a police detective trying to solve the case of “The Midnight Raptor”

Greg Wise as Crispian Grimes, a Dracula-like vampire who is known to the police as a serial killer nicknamed “The Midnight Raptor”. He is the millionaire owner of the nightclub House of Frankenstein, which is secretly a haven for vampires.

Teri Polo as Grace Dawkins, a newly bitten werewolf who is also the love interest of detective Vernon Coyle and the heart’s desire of Crispian Grimes

Peter Crombie as Frankenstein’s monster, discovered frozen in a block of ice and planned as an exhibit for House of Frankenstein, but escapes

CCH Pounder as Dr. Shauna Kendall Miguel Sandoval as Detective Juan ‘Cha Cha’ Chacon Jorja Fox as Felicity Richard Libertini as Armando Karen Austin as Irene Lassiter

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY Cinefantastique v29n06-07 (Nov 1997)

  House of Frankenstein (TV Mini-Series 1997) SUMMARY Vernon Coyle (Pasdar), a detective with the Los Angeles Police Department, is trying to solve a series of bizarre murders.

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Questions for HSM III Continued

On Sharpay Evans

1- Sharpay begins her grand entrance by unrealistically causing death by heart attack for every boy in East High. Then we get the tired trope of “When’s the big game?” just so Barsocchini can remind the viewer that Sharpay is Queen Bitch trying valiantly to steal Troy from Gabriella. I have to say, I do like this scene, particularly Chad’s reaction, which appears to be one of admiration rather than his usual mockery. (In my headcanon, Chad and Sharpay get on really well at U of A together, whilst pretending to be mortal enemies.) Unfortunately, the whole trajectory of Sharpay’s character in this movie is destined to be stale, because the scriptwriters went overboard in HSM II and turned her into a psychopathic warlord in designer flipfiops. 

Why couldn’t we have some more depth to Sharpay in this movie? She is actually a far more interesting antagonist, and has a very sympathetic side despite her often ridiculous and selfish behaviour. She loves her art with a passion, defends her turf (probably understand the transient nature of fame), she loves her brother, despite how selfishly she often treats him and she does care about her friends. Why, screenwriters, did we get a revert to type: Queen Bitch?

(At least Sharpay is an honest bitch, unlike a certain someone. The scene in HSM II where Sharpay said “you’re a good guy, Troy” is a far more meaningful compliment than anything Gabriella has ever said to him.)

2- Tiara Gold. What possessed you, Barsocchini? Oh yes, you needed to spice up the Queen Bitch storyline by introducing Bitch Competition. Motivation? Not given. Background? Not given. Plausibility? Never heard of it. This obsequious cardboard character follows Sharpay along like a dog on a leash and whilst being somewhat helpful on several occasions, adds no value whatsoever to the movie. But what infuriates me the most is that she ruins Sharpay’s performance for plot-related reasons AFTER Sharpay had just suffered massive humiliation thanks to Jimmie’s stupid performance and Troy’s inexcusable failure to show up for the first act, let alone inform Kelsi or Sharpay of his absence. (Troy later has the audacity to look surprised when Sharpay is angry at him for waltzing in with Gabriella on his arm). It’s not that I think Sharpay would have gotten the scholarship to Juilliard, but it’s like the plot had to punish her more and more for no reason. Yes, her rendition of the song is overwrought, but she is still an excellent performer nonetheless. She wouldn’t bail on attending the musical on two days’ notice unlike a certain someone. Tiara’s final appearance added nothing, concluded nothing and destroyed everything. 

Why did she even need to exist?

(Next we have Jimmie “Yo Yo Yo It’s Lunchtime!” Zara. On second thoughts, I actually do like him, even though he is of limited use to the plot. I wish he had been better known in another capacity, rather than ruining Sharpay’s performance. And Donny/Dion/Dyson kid did not need to exist.)

By the way, watch Troy’s reaction to the prospect of Jimmie fancying Sharpay. He’s creeped out. People, WHY do you ship Troy/Sharpay?! Literally, tell me why. There is NO evidence supporting this ship. None. Niente. Nada.Troy does not fancy Sharpay in any way, shape or form, and has made that abundantly clear on several occasions. Her pursuit of him constitutes harassment. I can see a friendship between them, but not a relationship. Seriously, so many HSM fans love all the implausible and or unhealthy relationships and ignore all the great ones. 

On the Final Musical and Kelsi Nielsen

1- Yeah... Kelsi? You might want to check with people to see whether they can actually do the musical, before signing their names. This is another trope that I couldn’t ignore: Kelsi’s grudge against Sharpay. I am not going to excuse Sharpay’s behaviour towards Kelsi during the first movie, but that was a whole school year ago! In the time since, Kelsi had received an excellent summer job, thanks to Sharpay picking her instantly to play at an exclusive country club. And I’ve watched the transposed “You Are The Music In Me” scene from the last movie many times and if you follow Kelsi carefully, you see that she is actually getting into the music, despite having sighed melodramatically when Sharpay told her to “Transpose!”

So whilst they have not had an easy relationship, Sharpay did Kelsi a MASSIVE favour, despite Kelsi having shown clear bias against her during the Winter Musical by preferring Troy/Gabriella for the leads. Again, I don’t excuse any of Sharpay’s controlling, condescending behaviour. But let’s not forget how Sharpay expected Kelsi to write songs for her, clearly trusting her abilities after the success of the Winter Musical. Prior to the Winter Musical, Sharpay and Ryan had a rehearsal pianist. Afterwards, they used Kelsi exclusively. Isn’t this a clear sign of respect for Kelsi’s abilities? 

So the scene where Kelsi is so horrified by the prospect of a Sharpay Show (when she quite willingly transposed music for Sharpay the summer before... for a Sharpay Show) just shows Kelsi in a poorer light than Sharpay. She (Kelsi) wants it to be HER show. (Fair enough, she is an excellent composer). But more importantly, it just CAN’T be a show without Troy and Gabriella taking the lead. They would be PERFECT for her songs. She wants to write for Troy and Gabriella. Thus continues her raving obsession with the image of Troyella. They are perfect simply because they perform her songs well. So without checking whether they are actually available to do said show, she signs them up for the show and then makes a mad dash for it before anyone can corner her. 

Why couldn’t we have seen some depth and evolution between Kelsi and Sharpay? This goes back to the same old tired trope of Queen Bitch being used. The signs are very clear that Sharpay respects Kelsi’s musical abilities. What is the justification for Kelsi’s continuing problem with Sharpay? Did she seriously think that Sharpay wasn’t going to make it into the show like last time? 

(By the way, Kelsi is pretty good at pleading to get her way. I think all of this is directed at Troy, judging from her giddy reaction when he finally gives in. She wasn’t anywhere near as excited when Gabriella stepped forward to fight her case). 

2- “You guys listen up. Kelsi’s right,” said Gabriella, doing her best to sound genuine. “We should do this. This is our last chance to do something together. All of us.”  Gabriella wouldn’t know the meaning of unity or duty if they were standing right in front of her. I am in NO way discouraging Gabriella from pursuing her academic dreams, as her intelligence is not in doubt. (Except when it comes to simple things like recognizing how amazing her boyfriend is, and being kind/honest with him. Or not running in a science lab, as she did during HSM I). But her so-called intervention was simply done for plot-related reasons, as later on, everyone and their mother will be weeping over how Gabriella brought them all together/changed them all/put the sun and stars in the sky. All of this is absolute nonsense (as I will explain in later instalments), but this is worth bearing in mind when you hear another one of her sanctimonious speeches where she exhorts everyone to do the right thing. Because, as we find out later, Gabriella herself always does the right thing. Isn’t that right, Gabriella? Oh sorry; we can’t get an answer, as she’s just run off to California without telling anyone. 

The very simple question arises: Why the hypocrisy? Why push everyone into doing something you know you that you may not even attend? Why waste Kelsi and Ryan’s time in that way? Why pressure Troy into agreeing as a catalyst for ensuring group consent? Why waste his time in that way?

(By the way, Kelsi found it so horrific that Sharpay might be the lead, but said nothing when Gabriella bailed on the musicals because of her Honors Program. Sharpay might be many things, but she would NEVER bail on rehearsal, show up late for a musical, bail on prom or fail to meet any of her performance commitments. Honestly, the bias and wilful blindness that Kelsi has towards Gabriella in particular is astounding for someone as perceptive and intelligent as herself). 

On Juilliard

1- Sharpay gets offered a chance to attend Juilliard. Fine. Kelsi gets offered a chance. Fine. Ryan gets offered a chance. Fine.

Troy gets offered a chance and everyone laughs at him. It’s honestly quite distasteful; if ever one needed evidence of the poor friendship shown to Troy by the Wilcats, this would be it. Zeke starts laughing (seriously, WHAT is Zeke’s problem with Troy?), which is odious enough, given that Troy has only ever been encouraging and supportive of Zeke’s culinary ambitions. Did Troy start laughing when Zeke discussed all the recipe’s he had to work out? Would Troy have laughed at Zeke if he was chosen for a prestigious culinary school? (Many fans think he attended a school for Culinary Arts after graduating). Chad laughs, which is sadly the typically unsupportive behaviour that one can expect from a kid who says that he and Troy are “like brothers”. I actually LOVE Troy and Chad’s friendship. It is one of my favourite relationships in the movie series, but Chad’s brash, insensitive, interfering and even cruel behaviour are a huge problem. Chad needs Troy to be “Hoops” and only Hoops. But more importantly, Chad laughs at Troy AFTER having agreed to do a musical. Hypocritical, much, Mr Tough Guy? (Didn’t Chad waste around five minutes of viewer time during HSM II claiming he didn’t dance?) Jason laughs at the thought of Troy getting a scholarship, even though he will be lucky to graduate from high school. Gabriella, Troy’s girlfriend, laughs at him, which falls exactly in line with the disdainful way in which she treats his achievements and future opportunities. Rememeber when Troy was so delighted for her attending Stanford? Now, she’s actually standing next to him, laughing at him in front of everyone. 

Why was this never criticized? Why is this acceptable? Why do these guys call themselves Troy’s friends?

I’m going to bed now. But I will be back. 

TO BE CONTINUED.

[brooklynfireproof]

Eliza Hittman’s New Film “Beach Rats” Premieres at Sundance Film Festival This Month With Scenes Shot In The Seltzer Room Studios!

Progress—be it economic or social—is always uneven. A microcosm of this harsh truth is Brooklyn, a borough that commands some of the highest real estate prices in the city of New York, but where two out of five households fall below the minimum income for self-sufficiency. Eliza Hittman’s Beach Rats touches on this inequality by virtue of its location (Gerritsen Beach, a neighborhood in far South Brooklyn so far untouched by developers) and protagonist, a young adult who has extremely limited prospects in life or love.

At first blush, Frankie (wide-eyed newcomer Harris Dickinson) seems to be a typical beach rat: unemployed, blonde, and buff. He spends most of his time getting high with friends and wandering around Jacob Riis Park, but there’s an undercurrent of insecurity and unhappiness that his swagger can’t hide. Frankie’s father is dying (which provides him with a steady supply of painkillers), and at night he frequents a ChatRoulette-like gay cruising site. Over the course of the summer, he attempts a relationship with cute and confident Simone (a sharp Madeline Weinstein), but also becomes more confident about meeting up with guys. Eventually, his private desires and daytime friends meet in a harrowing seaside confrontation.

Like her previous feature, It Felt Like Love (2013), Hittman’s camera hones in on these youthful bodies, intimately documenting their moments of uncertainty and states of becoming. Film Comment Digital Editor Violet Lucca spoke with Hittman about fashioning this slight but powerful narrative last week in a coffee shop in (gentrified) South Williamsburg.

What was the genesis of the story? Did you talk to men about their sexuality and coming of age? How did it begin?

I was struggling after It Felt Like Love for a couple of years to figure out what exactly the film world was expecting me to make next. And I was very lost in trying to navigate both the industry and how to have a career and all of those things. So I decided not to think about any of those things and just go back and do what I had done before, but on a broader canvas. There were a couple of moments that I took note of while I was shooting It Felt Like Love. We were shooting along the water and we noticed that there was still a lot of cruising happening, and that was one thing I filed away in my mind. I cast a couple of kids from Gerritsen Beach, Brooklyn, and those boys are called “beach rats,” and I took note of that being a good title for something. When I got to Sundance in 2013, I started pitching another movie with the title Beach Rats that was about these guys. Throughout It Felt Like Love I did a lot of looking through Facebook pages and appropriating images, and I found one image that became the generative image for the film.

I was also thinking a lot about the guys from It Felt Like Love and how isolated they are class-wise and how those neighborhoods have a long history of violence that erupts when you introduce any otherness into an isolated group. They’re very far from the subway and they don’t have a lot of opportunity. Those were the things circulating in my mind when I started writing the film. I wanted to explore male sexuality as a kind of a companion—even though I have been told not to call it a companion to It Felt Like Love—but the characters are very similar to me. They’re both trying to conform to expectations around them even though they don’t quite fit into their worlds.

You really nailed that feeling of deep, deep South Brooklyn, and also the widespread use of Oxycontin and painkillers, which nobody really talks about.

I was aware of it also because some of the kids in It Felt Like Love had big meth problems. There was a kid in It Felt Like Love that was a hip hop artist named Nyck Caution and a lot of the music that he was writing was about how all of his friends had become heavily addicted to pills. I think that all those issues go hand-in-hand—isolation, no opportunities, drugs, and what it means to contend with identity issues in that world.

It shows the paradox of modern life where everyone is super-connected all the time because of smartphones and the Internet—anytime he wants he can dial up a guy for marijuana—

—It’s all just for drugs!

But also sealing yourself away and taking pills to a point where you can’t even articulate anything.

And the general inarticulateness of guys that age especially when dealing with things that they don’t know how to process, and then it kind of implodes and explodes. It will create a disastrous event either for them or for somebody else.

Male sexual awakening is taken for granted in film. Guys are made to seem like they were born horny, or it’s just treated as setups for jokes. Did you talk to men about their experiences or were you transposing your own experience onto this?

I took a lot of experiences I had with vulnerable men and learning how they cope with their own fragility in bed, and wrote from my own experiences. It was hard, at first, wondering, “Can I tell this story?” And then I thought about how so many of my favorite films about female sexuality have been written by men. So I gave myself permission to try. Beach Rats is not a coming-of-age story or a coming-out story. I think about it as coming to consciousness about who you are, which can be a painful process for people.

There’s been a lot of discussion about Moonlight representing—I don’t even want to call it a “coming-out story”—

It’s not a coming-out story. He never comes out.

Right! But Moonlight has been criticized for not being explicit enough in terms of representing sex.

As a filmmaker, I wish I could be more explicit, but it’s just so impossible in this country.

For ratings reasons?

For ratings reasons, casting purposes. In films like Stranger by the Lake they use body doubles, and it was a lot to ask from the financing company. I knew that I wanted to attempt to normalize male nudity in the film without being overtly provocative, but I knew there was a line that I couldn’t cross.

With It Felt Like Love, your lead actress flagged things in the script that she didn’t feel comfortable with. Can you talk about working with non-actors again, and if you went through a similar negotiation?

I didn’t. At first when the casting director and I started sending the script out, I got very negative responses from agents who were very flippant, and saying, “All this male nudity and gay sex!” It wasn’t something they wanted their clients to go up for, so I wasn’t drawing from a huge pool of actors. Harris Dickinson, who plays the lead role, actually sort of snuck into the mix of casting tapes from an L.A. office and I didn’t know he was actually U.K.-based. He sort of tricked us. He was 100 percent committed from the beginning and had zero questions about that stuff. He had watched my other film and knew it would be handled sensitively and delicately and he knew the crew was going to be small, so we didn’t have the same dialogue. He was a bit older too—he was 19. He was very brave and very committed and knew what he had signed up for and there was no backpedaling.

Do you feel that it is important to push that line of explicitness or showing things that aren’t often shown?

I do. I really liked Love, the Gaspar Noé film, because I thought the sex was staged so beautifully and it was very balletic. I am intrigued with films that push those boundaries. But it’s hard to do that as a filmmaker here. You will always be battling and you always have to choose your battles, and it’s hard enough to get your movie made in the first place!

I was surprised to find out that Harris is from the U.K.

He’s from a similar area in London. Along the water in Gerritsen Beach it’s a mix of Irish and Italian-American and Russian and Albanian and Central Asian, so he blended in a convincing way, I hope. He understood the world without having been there at first.

It is such seamless casting, even though he’s got such Anglo features. It feels like he has to be from there, like a blonde Sicilian or something.

“He’s Irish-American!” was our justification.

The storyline with his terminally ill father, is that based on your own experiences with your mother being ill when you were in high school?

For me I have always associated adolescence with being surrounded by illness. And I was also thinking a little about The Stranger and the narrative of someone who loses a parent and does something unforgivable without being able to justify or process it.

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