#though that is silly given so many other productions are directed and produced by men

[ellsieee]

It's the first week without any official Blue Boys content, but luckily we have Nami holding down the fort with some behind the scenes videos.

I laughed so much at Hoolim having a senior moment. Seungjin had just told him prior to the rehearsal, not to make Jaemin sound like a loser. Hoolim agreed and the next minute he flubs that exact line. I love Seungjin's little slap on Hoolim's hand and Hoolim subsequently patting Seungjin's hand in apology. They're so adorable.

These fools. 😂 If the series had ended with Jaemin downloading Tinder, I think I would have been so shocked and pissed, I wouldn't even have laughed. It's funny now because it didn't happen, I'm glad they kept that joke in the drawer. 😅

[tudorscharlot]

Bohemian Rhapsody (Bryan Singer/Dexter Fletcher, 2018)

31 Halloweens of October #34

(An important note about the following tirade: I know that this film was written by Anthony McCarten and Peter Morgan and that it was directed by Bryan Singer and Dexter Fletcher. But it is obvious from the course of its labored, years-long development and from the final product itself that this film was made in strict accordance with the views of Brian May and Roger Taylor. And I hold them ultimately responsible for the film that was made.)   This is the most deeply offensive film I've seen in years (probably since I saw Nymphomaniac: Vol. II). The music of Queen is so important to me on an emotional level and on a fundamental, worldview level that it would be fair to describe my devotion to it as religious. And I know I'm not alone on planet earth in feeling that way. Fuck this movie and everyone responsible for it forever. Do not go and see this. Don't give them your money and don't give them any sense of validation that what they've done is acceptable. (After seeing the cringe-inducing trailer, I vowed to never give this film a cent of my money. But then I was unexpectedly given a free ticket to see it. I went to see Suspiria for the second time in 24 hours with my best friend, but the theater it was showing in was having technical problems. The theater manager gave us tickets to a later showing of Suspiria and offered us free passes to anything that was playing right then, as well as free concessions. Even though I was now essentially being paid to see this film, I still only reluctantly accepted the situation.) It feels like a cheap shot to come at this movie over the chronological inaccuracies. The last thing I ever want to be is one of those "ACTUALLY..." guys who misses the poetic forest for the literal trees. I don't think it's critically important in a non-documentary, narrative film to be 100% accurate on dry, historical details, especially when it benefits the narrative structure to make slight revisions and combinations of events. Liberties taken in service of the spirit of the larger truth are fine by me. But the extremity of what they did in this film is egregious, lazy, and ultimately just confusing. So yes, I am going to go there, right now. The vocal version of "Seven Seas of Rhye" was not recorded during the sessions for Queen. "Another One Bites the Dust" was recorded three years after "We Will Rock You". Freddie Mercury did not release his first solo album until four years after Roger Taylor released his first solo album and one year after Roger released his second solo album (which goes some way toward debunking the notion that the band viewed Freddie's solo projects as a betrayal). Freddie did not return from an extended period of isolation in Munich and beg the band to perform at Live Aid. Queen just had completed the massive, nearly year-long world tour for The Works less than two months before their appearance at Live Aid - it had not been years since they played onstage together. The band did not decide to start sharing all writing credits equally until they recorded The Miracle three years and two albums after Live Aid. And, as far as is publicly known, Freddie Mercury did not find out that he was HIV-positive until 1986 or 1987. (And this is all off the top of my head.)

None of this should matter, but it does matter. Because the moment that Brian May and Roger Taylor slapped their names on this thing as executive producers, the nature of the project and its relationship to the Queen oeuvre changed. What is this movie, and who is it for? Queen is one of the biggest bands ever, but I would still argue that a biopic about Freddie Mercury ought to be aimed primarily at people already familiar with him and Queen and the music they made. It should be for the fans, and the filmmakers should assume a certain basic level of familiarity with their story among viewers. And in that case, they should know that having all of these historical inaccuracies is only going to irritate devotees like me who have a deeper-than-Wikipedia knowledge of the subject matter. And, whether or not these inaccuracies irritate me, I'd certainly expect them to irritate the two men who lived these experiences and who exercised serious executive control over this movie from start to finish. Why would Brian and Roger sign off on such an error-riddled version of their own story? I mentioned Wikipedia up there, and I've read at least one review that snarkily described this film as an adaptation of the Wikipedia entry for Queen. I think that even that is giving it too much credit. This film is like an adaptation of a Buzzfeed "25 Things You Might Not Know About Queen" list (with an emphasis on the factual inaccuracies those lists always have). Bohemian Rhapsody is clearly not intended as a thoughtful love-letter to serious fans of Queen. So does that mean it is aimed at the widest common denominator - a promotional item designed and deployed to attract record-buyers (or Spotify-streamers) unfamiliar with the band? And to stoke nostalgia among extant fans who may then be enticed to buy whatever new reconfiguration of Queen's Greatest Hits is being released along with this film? On the one hand, yes, obviously. I'll never fault living artists (or the estates of deceased artists) for working to keep their valuable bodies of work alive in the public consciousness and available to new generations of potential fans. But there are tasteful, thoughtful, discerning ways to do this (see the recent John Lennon Imagine boxed set or Queen's own Made in Heaven album). Careful and caring artists or estates share archival or celebratory releases that add substance. Greedy people who've lost the plot completely offer up crass, sloppy, tasteless cash grabs. And that's what this goddamned movie is. And what virtually everything Brian May and Roger Taylor have done in the name of Queen over the last two decades has been. I say "greedy" and "cash grab," but I don't think this is just about money. It's also more abstract. There's an idea and an image of Queen that is very real for them and for me and for so many people in the world, and it is precious. But Queen is in the past. Queen as we know them and want them ended when Freddie Mercury left us. It's not right and it's not fair, but what was can never be again. No matter how many Queen + whatever asshole tours or holograms or biopics are shoved at us. On the other hand, though, this film is a far more dangerous thing than just a promotional cash grab. It is a piece of propaganda. When Brian May and Roger Taylor made themselves executive producers of this film, it became canon. Which confers on this film and its creators a much higher level of responsibility with regards to the legacy of Queen. And every person who made this film failed to be honest or faithful to Freddie and the idea of Queen. It's shameful. Even if Brian and Roger set out to share an honest but loving account of the story of Freddie and Queen, such an endeavor is impossible in their hands. It is impossible for two members of a four-person group to present their own version of events and group dynamics to the world as though it were an official and objective record of what happened and get it right. Even free of conscious, questionable intentions, they are too close to be objective. But I do not believe they are free of conscious, questionable intentions. This film never disputes Freddie Mercury's genius talents as a performer or songwriter. And it is generous in its portrayal of his kindness, sweetness, and wit. But it also presents him as a pill-popping sexual deviant whose pursuit of a solo career in the 1980s was an ego-driven affront to the unity of Queen, rather than the healthy and fairly standard outlet for expression that any artist a decade in with a massively successful band tends to engage in (see also: Roger Taylor, for fuck's sake). And it also presents him as the only real source of discord in the band. This is all in striking contrast to the presentation of Brian and Roger as blandly stable family men dedicated wholly to the vision of Queen. (There are a couple of winking references to Roger cheating on his wife, but these references lack the weight of similar events in Freddie's story.) An important side-note: It should also be mentioned that John Deacon is presented as basically a non-entity whose only contribution is to frequently make silly faces that are eerily like Andy Samberg mugging (seriously, find a still or clip of this actor in this movie - it's fucked up). In real life, John Deacon more or less permanently parted ways with Brian May and Roger Taylor in the late 1990s. It has been widely assumed (he may even have said so at some point) that this was because he didn't like the way they were handling the legacy of the band. Fast-forward to 2018 and this film's portrayal of John seems to be grinding a major axe of butt-hurt at him. It's so fucking petty. But back to Freddie. What do we know about Freddie Mercury, the private citizen? We know he was extremely private and largely refused to ever discuss his personal life with the press. That doesn't mean that it's strictly off-limits and inappropriate to discuss his private life in a film about him now. There are private things about Freddie (both personal and professional) that the surviving members of Queen definitely knew. Jim Hutton and others have shared personal things about Freddie over the years since his death, as well. I believe it's okay to respectfully reveal private details in the service of telling a great artist's story. The problem here is that Brian and Roger have shot any credibility they had as reliable or unbiased sources. If they can't even get the decade and order in which two of their biggest hits were recorded - if accurately representing something as verifiable and relevant to the development of their work as that isn't important for this film, why should and how can we believe anything this films tells us that can't be verified beyond "the executive producers say it happened"? If major events in their recording and performing career can be juggled around willy-nilly to fit the desired narrative arc, how we can trust that the same wild liberties aren’t being taken with unverifiable closed-door meetings and private arguments? I'm SURE that Freddie Mercury was sometimes flamboyantly egotistical in the studio and backstage. But I'm equally sure that every other member of Queen was just as egotistical, just as often. They never would have accomplished the things they accomplished if there weren't huge amounts of ego and ambition and personal investment between them. But I do not buy that this film accurately represents Freddie's temperament, his ego, or his behavior in many of the specific situations it reenacts. It doesn’t get his style. Watch any video of Freddie performing or being interviewed - this film doesn't get him at all. I'm not queer and I'm not Parsi, but the way this film handles Freddie's relationship with his ethnicity, with his family, and with his sexuality feels pretty boilerplate and cliched. It doesn't strike me that any particularly negative stereotypes are being indulged, but it does feel like a lot of simplistic movie tropes are employed to quickly dispense with these matters. I am glad that so much attention is given to Freddie's relationship with Mary Austin, but it nonetheless feels tonally wrong. I think that their relationship was beautiful and I don't think this movie quite gets it. And sure, what the fuck do I know? Very little. But I know they were lifelong companions in ways that went far beyond sex, and that she was the love of his life. And I know that I can't trust that the two guys who were there are representing it truthfully now. I'd rather take Freddie's word for it. And UGH. What the ever-loving fuck is up with Rami Malek's prosthetic bucked teeth in this movie? Let's get something straight: Freddie Mercury was a physically beautiful man. My god, he was. It is an obnoxious insult to have some guy prancing around like fucking Nosferatu playing at being Freddie Mercury. No serious actor would need fake teeth to play this role, and no serious filmmaker would ever even consider such a thing. All this heavy, meta shit aside, this is also just a bad movie on the most basic level. It is so bloated with unnecessary show-off shots, rock and roll biopic cliches, embarrassing dialogue, and one-dimensional performances that even hearing some of my favorite music ever at high volumes in a movie theater couldn't transport me. Some serious acting talent was assembled here, and some of the cast do an admirable job with what they were given, but this movie has no heart. Bohemian Rhapsody makes Freddie Mercury a caricature. It tries not to, and it really is mostly a very flattering caricature. But it's a reduction that fails terribly in its mission to show us who Freddie Mercury was. Freddie Mercury deserves infinitely better than this film. This film should not have been made. If they had gotten everything perfectly right, it would still be a pointless and distasteful exercise. Go watch any video of Freddie Mercury performing or just talking and the emptiness of this film becomes instantly clear. (Note: I’ve tagged this film with my October horror film viewing because this film is horrible.)

[filmstruck]

DEATH IN THE GARDEN (’56) by Nathaniel Thompson

“I don’t direct film on subjects of my own choosing; among several that may be proposed I select the one that convinces me and that I can rework. Conceivably, I may introduce some irrational elements – under cover of a dream – but never anything symbolic.”

Director Luis Buñuel wasn’t referring to any particular project when he made that statement in a 1955 interview with François Truffaut, but it’s a fascinating comment when you bear in mind he was about to undertake DEATH IN THE GARDEN (’56, originally released as LA MORT EN CE JARDIN from the eponymous novel by José-André Lacour). Once thought a dangerous and rebellious artistic presence by the powers that be in France, Buñuel returned to the country in 1956 and, in typical whirlwind fashion, made this film back to back with the lesser-seen THAT IS THE DAWN, or CELA S’APPELLE L’AURORE, the same year. A Mexican co-production shot in areas around Mexico City, DEATH IN THE GARDEN was heavily rewritten before it went before the cameras due to the extreme hands-on approach by its multiple French producers who called the shots on casting and budget choices.

One positive concession that came out of the process was the casting of the great Michel Piccoli as Father Lizardi, the most Buñuelian character in the film. An underrated character actor able to project wry wit, perversity or intense tragedy with a simple glance, Piccoli was the secret weapon of many directors including Marco Ferreri, Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Demy and Louis Malle among others, but Buñuel really brought something extra special out of him. Piccoli is the one you remember here, and the director must have been impressed since they would continue to work together all the way through Buñuel’s twilight years, including the classic episodic trilogy of THE MILKY WAY (’69), THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE (’72) and THE PHANTOM OF LIBERTY (’74). However, the Buñuel film that most closely resembles this one in its use of Piccoli may be BELLE DE JOUR (’67), in which he plays the particularly savvy best friend who figures out Catherine Deneuve’s secret afternoon vocation before anyone else and isn’t above playing silly lunch games under the table.

Despite its partially French origins and the director’s pedigree, DEATH IN THE GARDEN initially ran only in Spanish-language theaters in much of the United States. It made little impact at the time, but it was submitted for Oscar consideration under the title GINA, a more accessible name given to the character Djin played by Simone Signoret. Normally a film starring the legendary French thespian would be given a splashy welcome in art houses, especially given the fact that DIABOLIQUE had just caused a splash in late 1955 in American cinemas, but this film didn’t have a particular hook that could lure in more than the die-hard cineastes in larger urban areas. Since then it’s remained more of a footnote in Buñuel’s career and barely earns a mention (if it’s even referenced at all) in the numerous biographies and critical surveys that have appeared over the years. Even the few reviewers who have tackled it on its handful of repertory screenings have been somewhat indifferent; for example, former New York Times critic Vincent Canby called it “a kind of halfway house for the film genius, made when he had yet to receive the acclaim that would give him full control of his movies but after he had been taken seriously enough by the money men to be entrusted with an expansive movie with big stars.”

Don’t be deceived though. This may be minor Buñuel, inarguably so, but it’s a sneaky and rewarding one. It’s an early example of the “one thing after another” approach you can find in some of Buñuel’s most famous films, with characters repeatedly butting against irrational or at least improbable obstacles that seem designed by a particularly prankish deity. That’s here in spades in the adventures of our protagonist, Chark (Georges Marchal), or “Shark” in some prints, who ends up tromping through the jungle after a string of betrayals and romantic twists that get him labeled as a dangerous revolutionary. The act of violent anarchy he commits is also akin to the random bouts of terrorist anarchy that would randomly punctuate the narratives of later Buñuel films, while the jungle trek that forms the main body of the film racks up a higher body count than you would normally expect from either the director or this particular vintage.

If you look closely, you’ll also notice that this is a real Tower of Babel of a film. Some of the Mexican supporting actors and extras appear to be phonetically speaking lines written in French which were then dubbed in later by others; the principals are speaking French with their own voices, and a handful... well, I’m not sure what they were speaking, but it has nothing to do with the words coming out of their mouths. It’s a dislocation far more common to Italian films than French or Spanish ones, though it isn’t unheard of; you can find a similar effect in Buñuel’s TRISTANA (’70), which features Fernando Rey visibly slipping between French and Spanish throughout while his voice sticks with one depending on the version you watch.

Finally, it’s fascinating to see how much more overtly violent DEATH IN THE GARDEN is than the filmmaker’s usual approach, which tends to feature quick, isolated moments of grotesque imagery. Here we see lots of people being gunned down at regular intervals, and the sense of sweaty suffering becomes truly palpable in the last 40 minutes or so. Whether characters are being nipped by bugs or twisting ankles, you feel the pain and struggle here in a way that’s more sharply drawn than you might expect. The fact that it’s shot in vivid, blazing Eastmancolor makes the unsparing nature of the subject matter even more jarring: there’s something almost queasy and overripe about the way Buñuel used color in the ‘50s, such as his garish and borderline hallucinatory ROBINSON CRUSOE (’54). I wouldn’t say this is necessarily the best film to start with if you’re new to Buñuel, but if you’d like to see how he could take a preexisting property and give it his own unique spin, this one is just the ticket.

[wooleeza]

Prompto’s Jap VA Interview

Today, Dec 24th, is actually the birthday of Prompto’s Japanese VA, Kakihara Tetsuya. I did this translation (of a translation, with the permission of the original translator) some time ago but did not find time to post it … I guess that now’s as good a time as any! I hope all who read this post can appreciate the work that Kakki-san did in the process of shaping Prompto into the character that we all know and love. Happy birthday, Kakki-san!

FFXV Japanese Voice Actor Interview – Kakihara Tetsuya (Prompto Argentum)

One of the companions of the protagonist Noctis, Prompto is the livewire of the group. He is an easy-going skirt-chaser, but with an extremely strong tendency to be considerate of his friends. Interest: Photography.

First time ever in the history of gaming?! Prompto’s lines are full of ad-libs!

Q: What kind of character is Kakihara’s Prompto?

A: Prompto is the only character who is not of royal or aristocratic birth, but a child of a common family. Hence, he is somewhat different from the other three characters. Despite this, he considers the other three his close friends, and they, in turn, do not mind the inequality in status. As he has the trust of his comrades, he sometimes behaves in a silly manner but is always aware of the general mood. It is quite obvious that he is always considerate of his friends. As the other members of the entourage are the quiet type, I felt that it was important to be the mood-maker during the recording sessions.

Q: Were the voice actors of all four main characters present during recording?

A: Yes, just like in anime, we did recordings every week. Other characters besides the four main characters were also present. The direction and rhythm of the other actors influenced me. Even if our schedules did not match, I listened to the recorded content as I recited my lines. Knowing that the next person’s line must come in based on where mine ended, I had to deliver my lines within that small window of allocated time. It was very enjoyable, like being in a play.

Q: You can only perform like that based on many years of trust among your cast-mates. In that case, please tell us what you were the most concerned about when you were voicing Prompto.

A: I felt that among the four characters, this character was responsible for creating a happy mood. Gladio reflected anger and greater fluctuations in mood, while Ignis kept things calm. Everyone was responsible for creating a different atmosphere, and Prompto’s responsibility was to create happiness. His character is one that tries to energise others no matter how depressed he is, which shows a great inner strength. Hence, the bright and happy moments were simply conveyed, and I also put in my all to portray how much he liked girls. However, when his companions are weakened in the face of difficulties or in more serious circumstances, he tones down and accepts the general atmosphere. This aspect of Prompto is his most likeable trait. It is something that even men appreciate, and it is very important to me. I think that the production staff was also trying to create this impression. When we first began the recording several years ago, I was told once about this aspect of his character. Now, I just portray him freely and naturally.

Q: In retrospect, how was Prompto’s voice actor selected?

A: Through auditions. I received a few details about the character’s design and lines from the original script. The confidentiality factor was very high, as I only got these on the day itself at the audition venue. Even though I did not know which character I was auditioning for, at the time my eye was caught, out of the four main characters, by the character with a cheerful disposition. I thought to myself “That should be my character”, and it turned out to be Prompto. (laughs)

Q: Just like that! (laughs) What was the audition like?

A: At first I was told, “Don’t try to force it. We hope to see a natural form of acting.” Just like in anime, there is no need to deliberately create a role, but to portray what the actor naturally has within his personality. So, I said the lines on the script very normally, but used many different techniques to act. The audition was completed after about half an hour, and I felt that whether I was selected or not, it was more important to leave an impression of my own version of Prompto. I was already very happy to even get a chance to audition. Back then, the product was “Final Fantasy Versus XIII” before it become “Final Fantasy XV”, and its design was gradually changed. The production staff said to me, “Right now, Kakihara-san understands Prompto even more than us.” So during the formal recording, I really had the liberty to portray him in my own way.

Q: The recording took such a long time. Were there any lines that left a deep impression?

A: Everything about Prompto leaves a deep impression, so it’s hard to choose just one. In addition, almost everything was ad-libbed, even the way the sentences ended. The production staff modified the original script based on the changes I made, which was tough on them! While I do feel apologetic, I was given the liberty to act freely, so I recorded with the mindset that “everyone just has to go along with me”. I was never told, not even once, to “please record once more, this time according to the script.” I also only said lines that I felt Prompto would really say. As for whether I overdid things, there were some things that were a grey area for me, times when even I wondered “Is this really OK?!”, such as adding “Bam bam bam bam bam - bam bam bam!” (FFXV’s victory fanfare). No NG was ever given, though I do not know if things like that ended up being used. (laughs)

Q: It seems it was indeed used! (laughs) That said, it is really surprising that there were so many ad-libs.

A: It is the first time such a scenario has happened in the Final Fantasy series. Initially, the concept was “As there is a motivation that must be conveyed, please follow the script exactly, without even a word out of place.” As the recording progressed, it became ��Kakihara-san’s Prompto,  please act freely for the whole thing.” It was the complete opposite of all the other characters – only Prompto was allowed to do this. Because it is such a plain and natural speaking style, everyone else was initially quite shocked. However, as the game progressed, they began to anticipate if I would add something silly at certain points. As I enjoyed this anticipation, once I began recording, I added something that caused laughter. As I hoped that this character will be loved by everyone, without realising it, I began to ad-lib more and more. As an actor, I received a really meaningful role.

“A character that is loved is not one that studies the atmosphere, but one that creates it.”

Q: Speaking of Prompto, the story of his youth in “Brotherhood” is fairly impactful.

A: “Hey hey, I used to be fat!” I was shocked by this as well. (laughs)

Q: And he was a reclusive and anxious character, the complete opposite of his present self.

A: After watching the anime, and knowing that Prompto had such a past, one should find Prompto even more lovable in the game. As the anime was produced much later, I didn’t know that Prompto had a history like this. Looking back at the scenes of his present self, I got a more concrete sense that this character is one who is really determined to improve himself. No matter how weak he is, having met such great companions, he becomes someone completely trustworthy. It also shows that before this, he would never have made it to where he is without his own effort. Because of the anime, I feel that Prompto has become even more lovable.

Q: Kakihara-san also acted as the older Prompto in the anime. Was there any difference acting in the anime compared with the game?

A: The length of time allocated for dialogue and the number of frames are predetermined, so there are limited lines that can be recorded. As the line-length and number of seconds given are already fixed, there is no freedom to manipulate the time, so the acting and speaking format becomes very strict. The seiyuus’ unique speaking style still exists on a basic level. In the game, there is no strict rule on the length of time taken for a line to be spoken, so just like speaking with friends backstage, one can be completely natural in delivery. While recording “Final Fantasy XV”, I often recalled things that happened when I was in high school, so Prompto was extremely natural and “Kakihara-like”. Under such circumstances, “acting” can become very artificial, so I was careful to avoid contrived ways of conveying emotions.

Q: What are some similarities between Prompto and Kakihara-san?

A: We are similar in terms of the cheerful personality, and in the way we seemingly don’t “read the atmosphere” but are actually carefully aware at all times of the surrounding mood. Initially, I used to consider it important to “properly read the atmosphere”, but over the past ten years or so my beliefs have changed, and now I am more of a mood-maker. Honestly, I feel that a lovable character is not one who is responsible for studying the atmosphere, but for creating a mood.

Q: I often hear that Kakihara-san is the one who enlivens the atmosphere during the recording sessions. This is exactly what Prompto does.

A: If there is no happiness then life becomes meaningless, so I must try to make others around me happy! In general, I make myself the one who enjoys the process the most, and then influence others. If I can help others to feel like the surrounding environment is a happy one, I become very happy too. I always approach a recording session with the attitude that, besides the acting, creating a convivial atmosphere is also within my checklist of duties.

Q: Are there any deep impressions regarding the recording of the episodes?

A: The recording sessions are always filled with laughter. The four of us have completely different directions, so playing off one another is very enjoyable. The trust and camaraderie among us has also been built up thanks to these four characters. When we began recording, I was in my 20s, and now I am in my 30s. Everyone’s ability is growing, so the opportunities to meet each year to do re-recording (for scenes that were not initially passed) have gradually lessened. Now all four of us are still active on the frontline of our voice-acting careers, and I feel very happy about that as it is not an easy thing to achieve. I am really grateful to everyone. I also have this production to thank for keeping me in this field, as I had the mindset that before this product is released, I cannot stop my acting career. As an actor, this has been a very meaningful project, and for the four of us, the time we spent together is the most unforgettable. This production holds everyone’s youth within it.

[doctorwhonews]

Shada (DVD/Blu-Ray/Steelbook)

Latest Review: Shada Written by: Douglas Adams Directed by: Pennant Roberts, Charles Norton Produced by: Graham Williams Cast Tom Baker (The Doctor), Lalla Ward (Romana), David Brierly (K9), Christopher Neame (Skagra), Daniel Hill (Chris Parsons), Denis Carey (Professor Chronotis), Victoria Burgoyne (Clare Knightley), Gerald Campion (Wilkin), Shirley Dixon (Ship), Derek Pollitt (Caldera), James Coombes (voice of the Kraags), John Hallet (Police Constable), David Strong (Man in Car) Cover Art: Lee Binding (DVD, Blu-Ray), Adrian Salmon (Steelbook) Originally Released: November 2017 Shada Reborn Quite possibly a record-breaking candidate for the longest filming period for a single script, Shada bridges two millennia – from 1979 to 2017 – and represents a heroic effort to finally plug one of the most egregious gaps in the Doctor Who canon. In a way, Shada mirrors the antagonist of that other great Douglas Adams story, City of Death. Just as Scaraoth is shattered into dozens of versions of himself across the centuries, the industrial action that stymied the original production of the serial saw it fractured into a number of variants and doppelgangers. Most famously, Adams decided the root concepts and ideas behind his final Doctor Who script were too good to waste and they found their way into his Doctorless novel Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. In 1992, a rough edit of the surviving footage was patched together with exposition from Tom Baker and some unsympathetic synthesizer music. Later again, an animated incarnation saw Paul McGann’s Eighth Doctor reunite with Romana and K9 and a new supporting cast to cure a nagging feeling of something undone in Cambridge 1979. But this Shada is very much the real deal. The entire surviving cast have been reunited to record the missing dialogue, the missing sequences have been animated where appropriate, though brand new models and have constructed and filmed by the Model Unit to act as inserts in the live action scenes, and a brand new score by Mark Ayers is constructed like an act of musical archaeology to recreate the instruments, methods and style of 1970s legend Dudley Simpson. It can never by Shada as it would have been, but it by far lays the strongest claim to being the definitive article. As with any such project, the team had to make creative decisions and not everyone will agree with all of them. For instance, with Denis Carey (Professor Chronotis) and David Brierly (K9) having died since their original contribution a couple of minor scenes requiring them are left unanimated, while others have their presence reduced to lines which could be reproduced from other recordings of the actors. While some no doubt may have preferred soundalikes to be used to make as complete a version as possible, it’s a sensitive decision and highlights that, in fact, the missing moments were largely padding anyway. Similarly, but much more controversially, is the decision to assemble Shada as a 138 minute film rather than as six episodes. (It even has - steady yourself - a pre-titles sequence). This will go against every instinct of many long term fans, still sore from VHS cassettes of hacked down stories and the fight to get episodic releases. But in this case it seems to work. Watched in one sitting it makes for a breezy, fun, adventure – yet the way the story is paced would have seen the episodic version with a curiously uneventful Part One and a number of extremely undramatic cliffhangers (only the midway point would have given us something as genuinely brilliant as “Dead men require no oxygen”). For me, the only genuinely poor decision is to seize on the existence of the original K9 prop, some original wall panels from the 1979 set, and the surviving (bottom) half of an original Kraag monster costume to recreate a few shots of K9 fighting a Kraag. I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but the fact the surviving bit of set to squeeze them into is so small, and the Kraag only visible from the waist down, makes for a weirdly, and unintentionally silly, looking moment that takes you out of the flow of the story more than the switches to animation do. Few would argue, though against the decision to bring in Martin Gergharty and Adrian Salmon to do design work for the animation. Not only are they brilliant in their own right, creating clear lined, loyal yet character-filled, interpretations of the cast in warm, friendly colours, it also helps smooth over the slightly stilted, flash style – the characters may not feel like they have a full range of human movement, but the presence of Gergharty’s art, so familiar to the readership of Doctor Who Magazine, makes it feel almost like panels from the beloved DWM comic strip brought to life.   Shada Reviewed But has all this effort simply been an ultimate exercise in obsessive, fannish, completeness? Are we seeing the resurrection of a poor story just because it’s there to be done, or the completion of a classic in its own right?  In short – is Shada actually any good? As it happens, Shada is brilliant jewel to add to Doctor Who’s crown if one, like all the most spectacular diamonds, not without its flaws. One the wittiest of Who scripts, and certainly with one of the most fascinating premises, at six parts it’s basically City of Death with extra portions. Famously, one of the script’s biggest critics is its own author – written, as it was, at a point when Douglas Adams was juggling several different projects and deadlines and pouring his greatest effort into his own personal work rather than Doctor Who. Considering that a billion years from now, stuck in the glovebox of an interplanetary roadster, the fruits of that rival project may be the last sign of the human race’s existence, it would be churlish to complain about that but still, Adams is being ungenerous about the serial. In almost every way, this is the fullest encapsulation of the latter half Tom Baker years. Tom himself exudes the same sort of relaxed charm, peppered with moments of total nonsense that marked City of Death while Lalla Ward has never seemed more possessed of an unearthly beauty. All of their scenes together are a joy and something as simple as them going boating, or visiting an old friend in his rooms for tea is all stuff I could watch hours of, even without any alien menaces showing up. And the alien menace that does show up is stupendous – possibly the most unbelievable thing about the whole story is the revelation on the commentary track that the people in the background of Cambridge genuinely ignored Christopher Neame in his outrageous hat and slowing silver cape as if he was an everyday sight. But the massively fun campness of Neame’s character Skagra is balanced by the imaginative and typically Adamsian plot the villain has hatched. Skagra is unusually preoccupied with the heat death of the universe in several billion years’ time and obsessed with stopping it. Like solving the central question of  Life, the Universe, and Everything the main stumbling block to finding the answer is processing power – so he’s going to absorb every mind in the universe into one great gestalt entity, so that every being in creation is simply a conduit for finding a way to save it without the petty distractions of life. In a way, it’s Douglas Adams inventing cloud computing thirty years early and typical of the scientific verve and imagination he brought to everything he wrote. (Tellingly, a year later his replacement would also craft a story about forestalling the heat death of the universe but, while propounding the superiority of ‘hard science’, would solve it by inventing some space wizards who use magic words to make it go away).There are undoubtedly flaws, mostly as we race towards the end with the mounting sense of a script with the ink still wet and no time for afterthought or final drafts. Chris Parsons is probably the best of the solid young everymen Doctor Who has ever featured, and pitched perfectly by Daniel Hall, yet despite early episodes spending more time of introducing and building on his character, he gets lost in the shuffle of the climax. There’s even a dramatic scene of Chris making a vital deduction and racing out to save the day, only for Adams to be plainly unable to think of anything to give him to do once he gets there (a problem Gareth Roberts ingeniously solved in his 2012 novelization but which, presumably for purity’s sake, the producers here don’t take the opportunity to steal). Meanwhile, the Kraag outfits are really quite poor, even for the era that gave us the Nimon and the Mandrel, and a lot of the location film work in Cambridge feels rather loose and in need of a tighter edit.Yet, there’s an inescapable magic to Shada that goes well beyond its status as a mythical ‘lost’ story, and had it been completed in 1979 it would still have been regarded as one of the highpoints of Season Seventeen.   Extras This release comes with a full set of extras the complement the story perfectly. A commentary orchestrated by the unsinkable Toby Hadoke on less funding than the bus fare into town sees him interview Neame and Hall about their experiences during filming, and Gergharty and animator Ann Marie Walsh about the pressures and effort involved in creating the project against incredibly tight deadlines. Taken Out of Time interviews many of the those involved in front of and behind the cameras on the original production to build a picture of exactly how it came to abandoned in the first place. Strike! Strike! Strike! uses contributions from those involved in industrial relations at the time to help explain exactly how the unions of 1970s television came to be so powerful, and give a potted history of their rise and fall through the lens of how industrial action had impacted Doctor Who over the decades both negatively (when it was at the BBC) and positively (when it was arch rival ITV left showing blank screens opposite the Doctor’s adventures).  Both of these are proper, half hour documentaries that tell a story of their own almost as compelling as Shada itself. There’s also fascinating Studio Sesssions - 1979, showing the working methods of the cast and crew in-studio as the cameras roll between takes. Most fun of all is are the Dialogue Sessions – in which we get to see Tom Baker and Daniel Hall record their contributions for the animation, with all Tom’s uproarious ad libs and suggestions for improvements to the script intact. The extras are rounded out with the video of the Model Unit filming of Skagra’s space station and ship, as well as the TARDIS model, new footage taken of Daniel Hall and Tom Baker’s stand-in as reference for animation, photo galleries, as well as the obligatory Now and Then tour of what the Cambridge locatoins look like three decades on. ROM content even includes a full set of scripts, storyboards, and the 1979 Doctor Who Annual (if, rather bizarrely, packed as 56 separate image files).The Steelbook release goes even further to try and lay claim to the definitive Shada package – with a third disc containing the 1992 reconstruction and the 2003 Paul McGann web animation adaptation (remastered for viewing on TV screens rather than computer monitors). About the only thing not included is the novelization.   Presentation and Packaging The DVD version has a slightly astonishing error where the coding that tells a television to display it as 16:9 or 4:3 is messed up – meaning that if watched on a 4:3 television the image will appear in the centre of the screen, with black bars on all sides – top, bottom, left and right. On a modern 16:9 television it displays the picture correctly (with bars on left and right as this is archive television intended as 4:3) but even then some resolution is lost as the image is basically being blown up to fit. That said, you’d be hard pressed to actually notice the lower resolution on viewing the DVD and it probably still looks better than it would have done on the average 1970s domestic television. All the same it’s disappointing to see such hard work by so many involved obviously handed off to someone much less fastidious at the eleventh hour for authoring the DVDs. It should be stressed, however, that the Blu-Ray and Steelbook don’t share this flaw so, if it’s going to bother you, those are the routes to take. The cover art, some may remember, was the cause of a bit of a social media flap last year when Clayton Hickman’s distinctive and unusual scarf patterned cover was ditched at the comparative last minute. In the final result, Lee Binding’s replacement is… fine, if a little bland and stilted seeming, probably as a result of the tight deadlines under which it was done. Strangely, a vestige of Hickman’s original design lingers on in the insert booklet.  “Bland” is not something anyone could accuse the Steelbook art of. Undoubtedly DWM’s most marmite love-him-or-hate-him artists, Adrian Salmon provides a cover piece in his distinctive, angular, impressionistic style. Personally, I love him. A thread long dangling frustratingly at the corner of Doctor Who history, Shada is reborn by a massive and dedicated effort by a hugely talented team to reveal it as an all time classic mix of Douglas Adams’ trademark whimsy and intelligence. Handsomely accompanied by a great set of extras and marred only by some inexplicable technical sloppiness, this is a must for any collection. But one, perhaps, to get on Blu-Ray if possible.   http://reviews.doctorwhonews.net/2018/02/shada_dvd_blu_ray_steelbook.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[aion-rsa]

How Doctor Who Was Quietly Revolutionised By Its Least Popular Season

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In 2014, when Doctor Who Magazine asked its readers to rank the show’s first 50 years, out of 241 options, Season 24 stories ‘Time and the Rani’ came 239th, ‘Paradise Towers’ 230th, ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ 217th, with ‘Dragonfire’ thought best of in 215th place. This was largely a repeat of its 2009 poll, although then readers rated ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ above ‘Dragonfire’. Season 24 was also ranked bottom in a GQ article ranking every series of Doctor Who – a combination of words I never thought I’d write.

Season 24 of Doctor Who went into production just as its 23rd season, the 14-episode ‘The Trial of a Time-Lord’ was finishing up on TV. By late 1986, producer John Nathan-Turner was expecting to be moved onto another show and had lost both his script-editor and the show’s most prolific writer (the former quitting after long-simmering tensions erupted behind the scenes, and the latter passing away during the making of the series). 

A surprised Nathan-Turner was given 13 months to hire a new script editor and produce 14 episodes under a BBC edict that Doctor Who had to become lighter and funnier (not dissimilar to the instructions producer Graham Williams found himself under in the Seventies). He also ended up having to cast a new Doctor, after Colin Baker was sacked and didn’t want to return for one story just to regenerate. Sylvester McCoy was formally cast at the end of February and started filming ‘Time and the Rani’ in April.

‘Time in the Rani’ was written by husband-and-wife duo Pip and Jane Baker (UK readers may remember their early-Nineties CBBC show Watt on Earth), who were given the job because there were no scripts either ready to go or in development. Nathan-Turner knew they could write quickly after they’d completed the final episode of ‘Trial of a Time Lord’ at extremely short notice earlier in the year.

The Bakers’ writing style was to produce frothy and campy nonsense and then act as if they’d just written The Seventh Seal. ‘Time and the Rani’ contains continuity references such as costume shout outs to past Doctors, a returning villain and references to the Lord President of Gallifrey. It’s set on an alien planet and makes no attempt to engage with contemporary life either directly or allegorically, and is happy to be adventure for adventure’s sake. It’s not a last hurrah for that style of story, but is a strong argument for why it had to be stop being the House Style after five years (though, to be fair to it, it has some nice ideas in it and the scene with the Doctor chatting away to the universe’s geniuses is great).

New Script Editor Andrew Cartmel wasn’t a fan of ‘Time and the Rani’ but arrived too late in the day to have much impact on it. He was able to influence writer Stephen Wyatt away from a story steeped in continuity and towards what became ‘Paradise Towers’. This was based on a combination of the novel High Rise by J.G. Ballard, Wyatt’s real-life experience in London’s East End, and Cartmel’s fondness for Alan Moore comics. Not only is it the first story for years to not refer to other Doctor Who stories and doesn’t feature the TARDIS interior but it is, in stark contrast to ‘Time and the Rani’, clearly about something real.

What ‘Paradise Towers’ did, which few Doctor Who stories had done before, was sympathetically reflect a working class setting by depicting people trapped in a block of flats by the whims of an aloof architect. In doing so, it didn’t go for realism. The show has rarely been in a position to, and here the budget and imposed tone meant it couldn’t. What it does have is a coherent approach: everything is big, be it the cleaning robots, the performances or the costuming.

So we have a Doctor Who story that isn’t aiming at its usual audience (Considering it had lost viewers this is clearly sensible) and is trying to overcome its restrictions by putting on a pantomime about social structures featuring cannibals and killer robots. Criticising it for lacking a realism it could never achieve is harsh.   

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Season 24 follows ‘Paradise Towers’ with a story set in a holiday camp and then in a shopping centre. Being Doctor Who, the shopping centre is in space and run by an intergalactic criminal, and the holiday camp becomes the battleground for an attempted genocide (“Now, let me try and get this right. Are you telling me that you are not the Happy Hearts Holiday Club from Bolton, but instead are spacemen in fear of an attack from some other spacemen?”) set to the backdrop of the space race and the coming of rock and roll. Again, it seems to be courting an audience other than organised fandom for the first time in five years, using recognisable aspects of contemporary life and mashing them up with fresh takes on Doctor Who staples.

While the tone is cartoonish, the satire of a building, designed by a celebrated architect, that actively harms its residents is clearly pointed. In fact, because the tone is cartoonish, it gets away with more. Over the past few series Doctor Who had been very ‘LOOK how NASTY this is. LOOK. It’s HORRIBLE’, whereas Season 24 knowingly presented things that were both silly and horrible simultaneously, revelling in the dissonance. This is one of the many ways in which the Seventh Doctor era prefigures Russell T. Davies’ approach. The survivors of ‘Paradise Towers’ coming together to fight their attackers feels very RTD.

In fact, given that ‘Survival’ is often heralded as a mirror image of ‘Rose’, it’s worth noting how Season 24 combines the recognisable with the fantastical in the same way we’d see Autons in shopping centres or plumbers and burger vans in space during Series 1. The Doctor was part of this too. McCoy was instructed to play the role like Patrick Troughton, but specifically Troughton’s lighter moments. Ultimately McCoy would gravitate towards how Troughton fully played the Doctor in the Sixties, but here he’s mostly being silly and avuncular. Indeed McCoy was clowning more than the role demanded.

What this allows, though, is for the Doctor to engage more with the people in these stories. In an extremely Troughton-esque move, the Doctor happily mixes and enthuses with the tourists in ‘Delta and the Bannermen’. In one scene he’s following an alien princess but stops to check on the sound of someone crying. He leaves a Doctor Who story to step into the real world, sitting in people’s bedrooms holding a guitar and making wistful observations about love. And he belongs. This Doctor fits in this world, and this version of the Seventh Doctor lingers even amidst the Winging-It-Chess-Playing manipulations of later series. It expands what the character is capable of in a positive way.

I’m not going to claim here that Season 24 as a whole should be thought of amongst the very best of Doctor Who, but it’s important to address how much it achieved in difficult circumstances. Despite the rushed production it managed to take Doctor Who from the lows of cancellation and its flawed return and point it in the direction of Seasons 25 and 26. Beyond this we have the New Adventures and the show’s return in 2005, all going further with ideas brought into the show in the late Eighties. I am going to claim that ‘Paradise Towers’ is great and ‘Delta and the Bannermen’ is charming in a delirious way. ‘Dragonfire’ is the only real dud of the new approach, being somewhat plodding and incoherent. What Season 24’s unpopularity demonstrates is that fans are far more willing to overlook a poverty of ideas over a poverty of appearance.

Once I’ve put my flameproof hat on, I’m going to say ‘Terror of the Zygons’ is a great example of a very well-made story that is ultimately just a fun yarn with some particularly egregious examples of ‘Activate the Unnecessarily Slow Dipping Mechanism’ type monsters. It’s not about anything. It’s just a blast. ‘Paradise Towers’ is furious and inventive, witty and (in Doctor Who terms) novel. It just looks like someone asked CBBC to adapt a 2000AD strip, and this is too much for some fans.

The show’s reach exceeded its grasp, however. Doctor Who had been temporarily cancelled and then returned diminished. It had become harder to disguise the lack of budget. This was a period of recovery and transition, and so the ambitions of the scripts (the caretakers being older men and Pex being a Stallone-esque slab of a man) were beyond Doctor Who in the late Eighties. If ‘Paradise Towers’ had been made in 2007, Richard Briers would certainly have taken it more seriously. Equally, given his influences, Cartmel’s Doctor Who would make a great series of comics.

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You don’t have to enjoy it, but you should acknowledge that without Season 24 Doctor Who would be a much duller place.

The Doctor Who Season 24 Blu-ray box set is released on June 21st.

The post How Doctor Who Was Quietly Revolutionised By Its Least Popular Season appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[idolizerp]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON HEAVEN’S LEAD VOCAL  MOON MONA…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 24 DEBUT AGE: 16 SKILL POINTS: 13 VOCAL | 12 DANCE | 0 RAP | 15 PERFORMANCE SECONDARY SKILLS: Multi-instrumentalist (guitar, piano)

INTERVIEW

debuting fresh off her sixteenth birthday, moon mona was perhaps an atypical choice for the group heaven. they came onto the scene with a healthy, fresh image that loosely translated to hot girls on a beach, and at sixteen this was probably not the image that mona ought to have been taught how to project. 

in fact, she probably shouldn’t have debuted that young at all. there is something inherently damaging in entering the public eye that early. the scrutiny wears at you, an endless tide beating against crags and cliffs until they wear smooth as sea glass. 

many times, this is how mona feels. 

a wild child plucked from the streets of jeju, from backroads where sand blows over the asphalt on the breeze that carries with it the scent of the ocean. maybe this is why she so easily melts into the role of summer goddess when it is bequeathed to her. she has the energy and power of the ocean, she thinks fondly, when she watches herself dance. this is what they capitalize on. she has a sensuality beyond her years, a grace that defies age, a presence that commands attention. 

it disappears offstage into a flurry of eye smiles and half hidden laughter, tucked behind a hand that trembles just a little bit, nervous still under the direct glare of the camera, the lights. she’s young when she debuts, and foolish, and the image that they have her selling - relatable, girl next door, but impossibly hot - is one that both suits her and stifles her. 

lead this, lead that, she isn’t the strongest at either skill. she doesn’t have the range to sing main, with her voice lending itself to a certain mellow, husky timbre. as she gets older and her voice continues to change and develop, it moves further into this range, and farther from the expected idol falsetto filled soprano range. but she manages within her range just fine. her live performances are stable and day by day, more and more, she commands attention. she draws eyes. it covers her shortcomings, the way she can move, the look in her gaze. they chalk it up to a natural sex appeal. mona could wear a potato sack and still look like a million bucks, still have fans knocking at her door, that’s what they say.  at eighteen, nineteen, even twenty the comments make her uncomfortable. by twenty one she doesn’t really watch her parts in their videos anymore. she knows what they’ll focus on, how the camera will pan over toned thighs or the curve of her ass, or her chest, she knows the look in her eyes because she’s spent hours practicing it in front of the practice room mirrors. it all feels so hollow, but it sells like hotcakes. 

she can feel herself changing, day by day, under the weight of a thousand eyes, purposefully smoothing out the rough edges of herself, until she is polished and shining and pristine. effortless in her casual charm, in her relatable silliness, in the way she can so naturally shine with a sincerity that doesn’t seem half so manufactured as it is. 

maybe it’s not. maybe this is who she is now, changed by the constant weathering of the sea. featureless and shining, polished until she is devoid of anything, a mirror held up to reflect the image men want to see in her. because let’s be honest, she was placed in the group  not for her outstanding talent, but for her visual appeal, even then. curves in the right places, a warmth and charm that drew in the viewer, a gap between on stage and off that compelled fascination. mostly, mona is just glad they can’t see that she’s tired of this. of the same summer tracks, of the same summer vibes, of the same shaking hips and the same casual undulations, suggestive but tasteful, they claim. she’s very well trained, she thinks, because she never rolls her eyes half so hard as she might want too. 

and she gets the sort of rumors that the hypersexualized type tend to get. is she dating this one or that one, is she posing like that on purpose? did she get her boobs done, are they real, is she showing them off? why does she try so hard, doesn’t she know this is trashy, isn’t this inappropriate? can’t she do anything but dance and make those faces, doesn’t she have anything else to show us? isn’t it always the same? 

it is, mona wants to tell them. it is always the same, because that’s what you all wanted. that’s what’s selling my albums and my merchandise. that’s why i’ve had a dietician and a trainer since i was sixteen years old, that’s why i spent my childhood smiling at leering middle aged men. and now you want me to do something else? 

she’d like too, sure. she dreams of an artsy, lo-fi album. something folk inspired maybe, just her and a guitar and some producers to fill in the gaps. but the company knows no one wants that, they tell her. no one wants that from moon mona of heaven. they want a toned body and a bright smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, they want long hair in artfully done waves that suggest she might just have left the ocean. and she can give that to them, so why risk anything else? 

and so mona is seaglass. weathered and unchanging, polished to a smooth shine. featureless but beautiful, meant to be admired, touched, and then put away again to keep for another summer day.

BIOGRAPHY

MOON MONA is born at the stroke of midnight, which might have meant something magical and mysterious in another story, but in this one, it means only that her mother had a little tidbit of a story to share about her midnight baby. The seaside hospital was perfectly well equipped and her mother faced no difficulties with the delivery, other than the usual. Her father was - and remains - quite typical of his generation.  Fifteen years older than her mother, he was smoking outside when Mona was born, and would remain sort of blandly absent for the remainder of their relationship. Mona holds no ill will here. In a rapidly developing society, he is undoubtedly the product of his time and not of her own. Not even of her mother’s, somehow. 

Her mother is a lecturer at a nearby school - a small affair, nothing notable. She teaches biology to freshmen and an upper level botany course and Mona is surrounded by flowers and the sea from birth. The young girl is tangled in them, in the smell of fresh cut grass and salt spray, flowers braided into her hair during long hours in the fields on the edges of town, only a bus ride away. 

She loves the bus, loves to stare out the window as it rattles and lurches through the town. When she gets older, her indomitable will and unstoppable energy demand trips to the nearby city to go to dance classes. She’s grown tired of the basic fare offered her in her smaller town, and so an hour off she rides, thumping along the road and dozing between stops. As she grows older and her interest refuses to wane her mother expresses gentle discouragement and her father nods in distracted agreement in the corner. 

Perhaps the most attention either of them pay to her, she thinks later, is when she skips school to attend auditions for the first time. They’re furious of course, at the call from the school, at the fact she hadn’t answered her phone, at the fact she dared run off to audition at all. What a stupid pipe dream, they tell her. Do you think we moved to Busan for this, so you could gallivant off to the capital and do whatever you want? 

The move had upset her, honestly. Stealing her home away had been the most intolerable cruelty for a girl of thirteen, had unleashed a rebellious fury only the unbridled ocean and other parents of teenage girls with strong wills and fierce eyes could imagine, or hope to match. So at thirteen Mona’s willful teenage form of rebellion is to pursue a pointless dream, spurred on by her fondness for the likes of SNSD and the Wonder Girls. She copies choreography, she practices singing, begs her way into continuing vocal lessons. She skips after school classes to put in more hours dancing or singing, she spends her time making faces in the mirror and wielding a hairbrush, as so many do. 

The difference is that one day, someone sees something in her. 

She’s promising they tell her. She has a look, a vibe, and how old is she right now? They don’t seem deterred by her confident answer of fifteen, just take a step back to examine her, ask if she can sing, or dance maybe, and are pleased when she answers to the affirmative. She should have known then, taking the card, turning up for the audition, that they’d been more sold on her face, her figure than anything else. But she was young, and she was foolish, and she had a silly little dream, as her mother might say. 

The second time her family really, really notices her is when she explains she’s thinking of moving in with her aunt while she trains. 

Her father is distractedly horrified, perhaps more because he should be than because he’s actually unhappy about it, and her mother has sort of just given up on the idea of an academically inclined daughter, a daughter she could maybe relate too, in some way. There isn’t an attempt to meet Mona at her level, to get to know her, or why she loves dance so much. They dismiss these things as childish whims, tell her to come home when she’s ready. 

She debuts instead. 

In an instant her life changes. Immediately she becomes frozen in time, it seems. Mentally she feels still as though she never quite left that moment of being a naive sixteen year old, practicing choreography designed to put more than mildly inappropriate thoughts into the heads of viewers, thrilled because this was her big chance, her big break. Foolish, ultimately, but not untrue. 

She has made it, after all. At twenty four she’s established a name for herself, a brand. That brand might not be one she wants, nor one she is comfortable with, but it sells. Sex always sells, and until she hits that magical age at which women cease to appeal to men sexually on a general level, and then she’ll retire and do something like mediocre acting or variety or nothing, just get married and fade away. 

Mona is seaglass. She would like to be a flower, taking root and blooming, growing day by day, flourishing, flowering. But Mona is not life and greenery, she is not reaching and seeking. She is sea glass, polished and glimmering, appealing in the moment and ultimately discarded.