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drakeandkatherine · 4 years

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The Royal Romance AU Fan Fiction- Drake x MC Trouble: Chapter 2 I Dare You

Finally! Chapter 2 is here! Catch up with chapter one here! (also made a couple small dialogue changes so feel free to read it again! also...cause its been months since i posted the first chapter I feel like a refresh might be needed)

Trouble will be completely different from my previous fic, Trouble Is.

As always, Drake, Hana, Liam, Maxwell, Olivia, Madeline, and any other characters from The Royal Romance belong to Pixelberry. My MC Katherine Delacroix is all mine and i love this bean.

Description: A game of truth or dare with a twist await Katherine and friends. What could go wrong?

In this AU the TRR gang are in college and royal life never existed for them! As I write these characters, I am trying to think of how they would be and how they would act and talk, if they never had courtly manners and rules to follow. I want to keep them similar to TRR canon, but not so much that it isn't realistic with how they are without a royal life in Cordornia. So please bare with me!

Warnings: drinking/alcohol use, language, drug mentions, death mentions

Tags: @drakewalker04 @burnsoslow @marshmallowsandfire @princessleac1

“Alright! I think we have enough players. Let’s get this game started!” Maxwell smiled and looked around the small circle that had formed around the fire pit.

“What are the rules this time, Maxwell?” A blonde sitting across from Katherine asked. ‘He looks like a prince.’ Katherine thought.

“Ah, good question, Liam. The rules tonight will be...” Maxwell took a minute to think. “Aha! If you pass a dare, you have to take a shot. Truths are free game, but you can’t pass a dare without taking a shot!” Everyone nodded. Just then, a platinum blonde came stumbling to the circle, sitting on Liam’s lap.

“Are we really playing this stupid game again?” She asked, taking a swig of the bottle she held in her hand. Liam sighed, looking visibly annoyed.

“You know, Madeline, if you don’t want to play, you can go back inside.” He said, clearly not enjoying the drunk girl sitting on his lap. Katherine couldn’t help but stare. This girl, Madeline, was clearly wasted. Madeline noticed Katherine’s eyes on her.

“What are you staring at?”Madeline’s eyes narrowed. Katherine shook her head.

“Just admiring how pretty you are.” Katherine lied. She didn’t say anything more. Drake leaned over and whispered in Katherine’s ear.

“That’s Madeline. Liam is her ex boyfriend, the one who’s lap she's sitting on. Liam is also my best friend, so I truly have a distaste for that bitch.” Katherine nodded, understanding. “They had a bad break-up, but every time Madeline gets like this she believes they’re still together.” Nodding, she turned her attention back to Maxwell.

“Okay, time to start! Hmm, I think I’ll choose the newbie first. What’s your name?” Maxwell looked to Katherine.

“Me? I’m Katherine.”

“Alright then, Katherine, truth or dare?” Maxwell smiled.

“I guess I’ll start off strong. Dare.” She noticed as some of the others in the circle smiled and snickered, possibly thinking she was a fool for picking dare on the first turn.

“Oh, hell yeah! Starting the game off right! Okay, I dare you to stand on one leg until you’re chosen again.” Katherine groaned.

“I’d rather take a shot, thank you.” She grabbed one of the bottles nearby and poured a shot. She tossed it bag, ignoring the urge to gag. ‘Ugh, vodka is not my thing.’

It was her turn to choose next, so she chose Madeline. “Madeline, truth or dare.” Katherine smirked.

“Ugh, if I have too. Truth.” She slurred.

“Why are you acting like a clingy, pathetic puppy towards Liam when he is clearly annoyed with you?” The group went silent. No one had ever stood up to Madeline before, much less insulted her. Katherine hated these kinds of girls, but never had the confidence to do anything about it. ‘Again with this weird confidence. Who am I?’

“Why you..” Madeline started to get up from Liam’s lap. “How dare you speak to me like that?”

“Speak to you like what? Like a normal, sane person asking why you’re being the exact opposite? Get a clue, dude. Stop acting like you’re still together with him, he clearly wants nothing to do with you. Anyone here can see it.” Madeline was seething now. She started taking steps towards Katherine, stumbling. Partygoers had begun to pull their phones out, recording what was happening.

“You’re going to regret th- ow!” Madeline tripped and fell onto the grass, the bottle in her hand dropping and spilling all over Hana.

“Oh my god!” Hana jumped up from where she was sitting, now soaked in the vodka Madeline had spilled. Some who saw what happened started to laugh. Some looked like they felt sympathy for Madeline.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Liam sighed as he went over and helped her up. “I’m sorry about all of this, excuse us.” He left with Madeline, nearly having to carry her into the house.

“That. Was. Awesome!” Maxwell exclaimed, turning excitedly to Katherine. “I haven’t seen anyone put her in her place like that since Olivia did, almost a year ago.”

“Did someone say my name?” A red-headed girl walked over. “That was impressive, I’m Olivia.” Olivia held out her hand. Katherine shook it and smiled.

“Thanks. I despise people like that, so I just said what everyone was thinking.” She shrugged.

“Well, you’re good in my book. I hate that soul sucking succubus.” Olivia laughed. Hana walked over to the little group and grabbed Katherine’s hand.

“Hey, I am soaking wet, mind coming inside with me while I dry off?” Katherine nodded.

“Sorry guys, gotta go for now. I’ll see y’all later!” Katherine followed Hana indoors and stood outside the bathroom as Hana grabbed a towel to dry off the vodka. After a few minutes of waiting and growing impatient, Katherine wandered down the hall. She noticed a door was open and took a peek inside. Drake was sitting on the bed in the room, filling up a glass pipe with what looked like marijuana.

“You gonna share?” Katherine asked, stepping into the room and spooking Drake in the process, nearly making him drop the pipe.

“Jesus, knock next time would you?” Drake scolded. Katherine took a seat next to Drake and laughed.

“I could, but that wouldn’t be any fun.”

“Whatever. I guess I could share a couple hits of this with you.” Drake said before lighting the bowl and taking a long drag. As he exhaled, he passed it to Katherine. “You smoke?”

“Occasionally. Not as often as I used to.” She said before taking her own long drag from the bowl. “Whenever I snuck out and went to my friends house we would always smoke a bowl.” Her fingers brushed his as she handed it back to him, a jolt of electricity running through her from the touch. ‘I wonder if he felt that too.’

“Heh. I only smoke every once in a while. Just to calm my nerves or irritation from all the dumbasses who come here.” He put the bowl on the side table next to the bed. “Sneaking out? Guess you must have had some strict parents.”

“My grandma was pretty strict.”

“What about your mom and dad?”

“Dead.” Katherine said deadpan. Drake cursed himself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something.” He apologized, but Katherine shrugged.

“It’s okay, they died when I was 6.” Katherine forced a smile. “I barely remember them.”

“What happened?” Drake scooted a little closer to her on the bed, hands nearly touching.

“Some bad shit. Like, really bad.” Katherine took a breath. “When I was six, we were visiting my grandma and they had gone out in the middle of the night. They were heavy drug users, I’m talking about heroin, meth, pills. The whole works.” Drake put a comforting hand over her own, nodding and listening.

“Well, I found out what happened when I was older. I found out about how they were users. That night they left, the night they died, was because of a drug deal gone wrong. My mom waited in the car while my dad went in to the house they were at to buy more heroin. He never came back out. Apparently he started a fight with them about the cost and the quantity or something and it got so bad that they just shot him dead. They found my mom, high off of her ass in the car. She had no idea what just happened, and she didn’t even notice when they walked up to the car window. They shot her through the window and fled the scene.” Katherine’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t quite sure why she was telling the whole story to a man she just met, but something about him made her trust him. Something about him simply screamed to her that he was safe.

Drake squeezed her hand and pulled her into a hug. He held her as she sobbed quietly.

“I’m sorry, that got really dark and now I’m getting make up on your shirt and I must look like a mess.” Katherine said, wiping the tears from her eyes and sitting up right. Drake gave her a small smile.

“It’s alright, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry that happened to your parents. And to you. No one should have to go through that.” Katherine managed a small smile, thankful for his understanding.

“Thank you, Drake.” A moment of silence passed between them, before she spoke again. “What about you? If we’re sharing our life stories, might as well get it out.” Drake looked at her for a long moment before sighing.

“Well, my mom lives in Texas. It’s where I grew up and met Liam. My dad was in the military and died overseas. My sister goes to a college in Texas, she didn’t want to leave. I felt like I had to the moment I could or else I was going to go insane and be trapped there forever.” Katherine knew exactly what he meant.

“So, how did you end up here? How did you meet Liam?” Katherine asked, lightening up the conversation.

“Liam lived in Texas for a few years when we were kids. We went to the same school and became best friends pretty quickly. He ended up moving here, due to his dad getting a job as this colleges dean. After my dad died, I knew I had to get out of Texas. I’d see Liam on breaks from school occasionally, and one time he mentioned that I should try to get into Applewood. So, that’s what I did. I played sports and kept my grades up in school to make sure I’d get accepted. I’m here on a scholarship, believe it or not.”

“I can believe it.” Katherine said, smiling. “That’s why I’m able to be here.” She looked at him, feeling the magnetic pull becoming stronger from their conversation. Drake felt it as well, now inches away from her lips, until they heard a loud round of cheering coming from downstairs. Startled and flustered, Katherine stood up from the bed. “We should get back to the party.” Drake nodded, standing up as well.

Upon returning to the party, they made their way to the kitchen where none other than Hana was lying on the kitchen isle, with her shirt pulled up. Three shots were lined on her stomach, along with salt and lime wedges.

“Hana, what are you doing?” Katherine asked, walking up to the isle.

“Body shots! This is so much fun!” Hana laughed. After a random partygoer took the shots and licked the salt off of Hana’s stomach, she stood up and nearly fell to the floor.

“Whoa, we should get you back to our dorm. You’re definitely drunk.” Katherine said as she caught Hana before she could fall to the floor.

“You’re probably, hiccup, right.” Hana giggled. Katherine looked at Drake. “I’m sorry, but I have to go get this one to bed before she throws up.”

“It’s all good. Make sure you guys get back safe. I’m sure we’ll see each other again soon. Good night, Katherine.” Drake smiled, before turning away and walking back up the stairs to his room. ‘Dumbass. Why didn’t you offer to walk with her?’

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“Alright, Hana. Here you go.” Katherine laid her down onto the bed, even going as far as taking off her shoes. Within an instant, Hana was quietly snoring away. Katherine quickly changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed, mind reeling from the events of the night, and thoughts of Drake. Before long, her body gave out and she fell into a heavy sleep.

#drake walker #drake x mc #mc x drake #katherine delacroix mc #DRAKE AND KATHERINE #drake x katherine #trr fan fiction #trr au #hana lee #liam rhys #maxwell beaumont #olivia nevrakis

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

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Justice League International #7 (1987)

Kevin Maguire not really trying looks an awful lot like John Romita Jr at his best.

Ah! It feels good to be back! Taking a crack at John Romita Jr while he's just sitting there not doing anything particularly wrong. Just going about his business pretending to be a comic book artist! I don't know what John Romita's politics are but I bet he now agrees with Donald Trump on one thing: naming your kid after you is a huge fucking mistake. Was all that previous nonsense poisonous, vile, and toxic? I suppose one could argue the point. But I'd also guess that somebody arguing that point has never seen John Romita Jr's art. Or perhaps they have seen it and like it because they have a terribly underdeveloped sense of aesthetics. Otherwise nobody would argue with me at all! They'd just read the previous poisonous, vile, toxic nonsense and nod their heads in agreement while pausing for a second to snort a line of Adderall. Fine, I'm sorry, JRJR! Obviously you're an artist! Drawing squinty people with block heads and weird noses holding geometric guns without a single curve on them absolutely falls under the definition of art! Although I draw the line at accepting that Rob Liefeld is an artist. That's a bridge too far! What the fuck does that even mean, "a bridge too far"? It must be a term bombers in WWII used, right? "What the fuck do you mean, carpet bomb Dresden?! If we fly past the Geralthauskopfplatz Bridge, we're definitely getting scrawked by anti-aircraft flak, you bingehart!" Did that sound like an authentic American bomber pilot from the 40s? It's not like Catch-22 is my favorite book or something. Wait. Catch-22 is my favorite book. I guess I'm just no good at written impressions. I assure you it sounds exactly what you'd expect from an American pilot in the Forties if you heard me do the impression live. Also, this is probably the last month of my life where I'll be able to say, "Catch-22 is my favorite book." Because I'm over 500 pages into Gravity's Rainbow and it's just as fucking amazing as everybody who has pretended to read it says it is. This issue begins with Guy Gardner regaining consciousness after having been violently assaulted by his employer.

Why was the mouse glowing green?!

In my memory, Guy Gardner's change from dickhole to sweetest guy on the team came after Batman punched his lights out. But apparently that isn't the case. It's possible this new whack on the head is the cause or maybe it's something a bit later. I bet an editorial mandate came down which said they couldn't have Guy suffer serious head trauma from Batman punching him. So they had to add this new scene where Guy basically gives himself the head trauma that results in a catastrophic change in personality. The Justice League didn't quite finish destroying The Gray Man last issue so that story gets resolved pretty quickly this issue. Doctor Fate transported him to the Realms of Order where a big blob of Order disintegrates him. Which is what he ultimately wanted. It's what we all ultimately want. It's just you don't know that you want it until you've lived long enough for all the wonder to be bled out of life. That's why he's the Gray Man! Some people think life's too short but at 49, I'm beginning to suspect that it's way too fucking long.

This comic book passes the Reverse Bechdel Test: "Any story that has only one woman in it and every scene she's in, she's treated like a sexual object."

With The Gray Man out of the way, it's time to get to the important part of the story: turning the Justice League of America into Justice League International! I wonder how many people this change pissed off in the 80s? Fucking globalist woke elite bubble bullshit! People talk in derogatory terms about the coastal bubbles but they absolutely shouldn't. I won't disagree that I grew up in a totally different environment in the San Francisco Bay Area than people who grew up in the Midwest. A bubble? Sure. But it was a fucking good thing. I was recently showing the Non-Certified Spouse some of the station breaks from local stations in the late 70s and early 80s out of San Francisco and she was amazed at the representative shorts these stations presented, especially KTVU's "Bits and Pieces." Sure, there were the ones about ethics and morality humorously presented with a horse and bulldog puppet. But there were also the ones that showed different ethnicities and their lives, often ending with "I'm proud to be a Chinese American!" or "I'm proud to be a Black American!" The one about Japanese Americans even mentioned how Japanese families were put in interment camps during World War II. One was about Italian Americans and instead of Italian history, it just showed Italian art and various activities of people in the Italian community. One of the Japanese American shorts just had a Japanese American kid having to explain how he was tired of answering questions about being Japanese in America because he was fourth generation and just American as anybody else. But I guess that kind of commie pinko hogwash is why I'm a big fat America hating socialist! As I was saying before my politics politely interrupted (my politics interrupting impolitely would look like this: Trump voters should be forced to shit in their own mouths for all eternity), the main thrust of this story is to set up Justice League International. Judging by the cover, that means hiring some guy with a bucket on his head from Russia and Captain Atom, another white American male.

Ah yes! The introduction of the best character of the series: Big Barda!

Big Barda might not be on the team but at least there's another female character. Sure, Doctor Light was sort of on the team for three pages. And pretty soon, Fire and Ice will join. But it's mostly just been poor Black Canary having to put up with Booster and Blue Beetle's jokes about banging her. Max and J'onn discuss the United Nations possibly backing the Justice League while Superman talks respectfully with President Reagan. What a mistake! The biggest do-gooder on the planet normalizing fucking Ronald Reagan! He should be scolding him with a liberal smattering of Kryptonian tsk-tsks! That's when a Kryptonian gives you a little burst of heat vision every time you deny the AIDS crisis or invoke the spectre of Welfare Queens or destroy the economy by lowering the top marginal tax rates pretending that the money saved will trickle down to everyone instead of fat corporate cats simply keeping all the extra for bonuses and investors. Fuck that guy. I'm so mad now!

Of all the digs they could have taken with Reagan, they poke fun of his dementia?! Christ, Giffen and DeMatteis.

Hal Jordan drops by headquarters to give Guy a good talking-to but Guy doesn't need it because he's suffered a traumatic head injury on top of his brain damage alongside Batman's sucker punch to the face and now he's Mister Sweetbeans. And because he's acting so nice, nobody gives a shit that this is actually a medical emergency. Backing Maxwell Lord is a computer satellite in space. Is it Brother Eye already?! Are they already working together in 1987?! Or is it just some alien gizmo from the Millennium bullshit coming up? I don't remember! Heck, this Maxwell Lord might even be a Manhunter! Anyway, the satellite begins destroying shit on Earth with a giant heat beam. The Justice League, having nearly nobody who can do anything about it, doesn't call Superman to fix the problem. Instead, they decide to spend precious hours borrowing a space shuttle from STAR Labs to launch them into space to battle the space station. Also, they leave Guy Gardner back at headquarters on monitor duty. Because who needs the guy with experience battling in space with a ring that can protect every other member of the League while in space? Also the ring is the greatest weapon in the universe. So, you know, sideline that guy, right?

It's possible this was in the era where Superman couldn't survive in space either, really. But then that's even more incentive to get fucking Guy Gardner up there with them!

The Justice League manages to stop the satellite's destruction but mostly only because it was a huge set-up so every nation could see them save the world. Everybody wants them defending the planet now so the United Nations agrees to back them with one condition: two new members, one to pacify the U.S. and one to pacify the U.S.S.R.

I've read a lot of ridiculous things in comic books but Rocket Red's power levels being nearly equal to Captain Atom's might be the most ridiculous.

I love how Captain Atom's power level is 9+ but Rocket Red's power level is 8.43 instead of 8+. I guess the accuracy of whatever system they're using breaks down over 9. Captain Marvel quits the team and Batman steps down as leader so J'onn can lead. And that's about it, I guess! The issue ends with some kind of flim-flam about how its the 80s and we've become a global world and boundaries just don't work anymore and superheroes are cool as shit. I guess it's inspirational or something. There's still just one woman on the team though. Justice League International #7 Rating: B. Seven issues in and the Justice League has defeated two villains who weren't actual threats to anybody. They were just scams to get the Justice League some press. They also beat up and killed an old guy who was just frustrated with the boredom that came with the immortality the Lords of Order forced on him. So all in all, they're nearly as terrible as the New Titans who practically only ever battled relatives while putting the residents of New York City in danger every time.

#Justice League International #Justice League #DC Comics #DC #Kevin Maguire #J.M. DeMatteis #Keith Giffen

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chiseler · 4 years

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Mitchell Leisen: How’s About It?

Mitchell Leisen was a major American film director. He belongs in the first rank, not the second tier, where he has often been placed by those who value the scripts he was given by Preston Sturges and Billy Wilder and Charles Brackett more than what he actually did with those scripts. Leisen’s name was usually written in sloping cursive in his opening credits, and that set the mood for what he had to offer. His was a gentle style, a deliberately unobtrusive style, smooth and gliding, attentive to nuances, visual and emotional.

Leisen made a point of nearly always moving the camera only when it is following a character who is moving right along with it, and the edits in his movies are as invisible as possible. He made three films that are undisputed classics: Easy Living (1937), written by Sturges, Midnight (1939), written by Wilder and Brackett, and Remember the Night (1939), written by Sturges. All three of these classic Leisen movies are partly about pretending to be something you’re not in order to move up or over into another social atmosphere or class and take on a new identity, and this theme is something that always interested Leisen particularly.

He got his start making costumes and dressing sets for Cecil B. DeMille, and he also made costumes for Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks. That training shows through in his later work, that sense of fantasy and beauty for its own sake. Leisen had a fetish for absolute authenticity when he did period pictures, and he took this fetish to nearly Erich Von Stroheim lengths if he had the money to spend. Remember the peacock headdress that he designed for Gloria Swanson in DeMille’s Male and Female (1919), or the sexy harem pants he put on Fairbanks for The Thief of Bagdad (1924), or the barely-there garments he designed for Claudette Colbert in The Sign of the Cross (1932) and you can get a first sense of Leisen’s aesthetic: hopeful, fantastical, erotic. And he was a pretender himself on some of these early movies because he was very skillful at making sets and crowd scenes look more opulent than they actually were given some of the budgets he had to work with.

He took the reins from nominal director Stuart Walker for two films that proved his range: Tonight Is Ours (1933), a high comedy that begins with a sexy masked ball, and The Eagle and the Hawk (1933), as grim and concentrated an anti-war film as you will find from this era. Leisen next graduated to prestige pictures like Cradle Song (1933) and Death Takes a Holiday (1934), with its high-flown Maxwell Anderson script. Leisen was fond of Death Takes a Holiday all his life, and he even wanted to re-make it in the late 1940s, but it has not held up as well as some of his lesser-known pictures from the 1930s.

After Murder at the Vanities (1934), a backstage movie with some odd musical numbers, Leisen took flight with three pictures that demonstrated the full scope of his talent. What makes a really great director, a major director? The ability to take a poor script, like the one Leisen was given for Behold My Wife! (1934), and make it into something that moves like a dream and seems inevitable. While you watch Behold My Wife!, there is a double consciousness of how outlandish and slapdash the plot and dialogue are and how Leisen transcends this through pacing, framing, and staging, so that there is always something to delight the eye. Leisen movies generally have a difficult-to-describe kind of creamy look, as if every person and table and chair were covered in the same sort of protective satin sheen.

He used a similarly fast, super-controlled pace for Four Hours to Kill! (1935), another backstage movie where Leisen himself plays the orchestra leader but you never see the numbers on stage. A kind of musical proto-noir, this movie depends on Richard Barthelmess, who is playing a criminal waiting to be taken to jail, and Leisen is alert to Barthelmess’s needs and sensitive to his big scene, where his character talks about his unhappy past. And then Leisen was given a script (by Norman Krasna) and two stars, Carole Lombard and Fred MacMurray, that were particularly congenial to his style, and the result was his first classic, Hands Across the Table (1935), a rather anguished comedy about love and the urge for security. Leisen had mastered form, and now he mastered the content that interested him, good-bad people navigating their own wants and desires and what they will do for them. For Leisen, mixed emotions are really the only emotions possible.

In all of his most characteristic films, Leisen’s characters are at a crisis point and need to decide to take a chance and see what they can get away with to become another version of themselves. There is lots of comedy in a situation like this, of course, but Leisen always hints at the dark underside of pretending. There is an American urge in these pictures that says, “What I say I am is what I am,” and that urge is usually naïve (think of early Joan Crawford heroines). Leisen looks at this urge from a height of sophistication, almost always warmly and tenderly, but sometimes he lets a really grim insight slip through. Think of Carole Lombard’s anti-social asides in Hands Across the Table, or that harrowing scene where Barbara Stanwyck goes home to her grudge-holding and cruelly puritanical mother in Remember the Night and you will feel the hurt that animates Leisen’s search for a created world of his own.

In many ways, the 1930s were Leisen’s best creative period, where he turned out beautifully balanced and finished entertainments like 13 Hours by Air (1936). He was a romantic who had a special way of visually enfolding the lovers in his movies that is almost Frank Borzage-like, and he glorifies very different women in what must be the best close-ups of their careers: look at some of the close-ups of the melancholy Sylvia Sidney in Behold My Wife! and then look at the close-ups of the wised-up Joan Bennett in 13 Hours by Air and see how Leisen gives them the same glamorizing treatment without ever losing what makes them so individual. Even pure assignments like Artists and Models Abroad (1938) glow with a kind of dreamlike assurance, as if to say, “Why shouldn’t a comedy look beautiful?”

And when Leisen had a meatier script, like Swing High, Swing Low (1937), which also starred Lombard and MacMurray, he was capable of virtuoso work that blended comedy and drama so seamlessly that it’s difficult to tell where one leaves off and the other begins. He did some Sturges-like slapstick for Easy Living, including the famous automat scene where the windows fly open and everybody grabs at the food, which was his idea. But for Remember the Night, Leisen pared down the Sturges script, cutting unnecessary scenes and verbose dialogue until he had what he wanted, a portrait of a hard-boiled woman who starts to long for the warmth of a “why not?” idealized mid-West home. Remember the Night is probably Leisen’s finest film, and a peak in his career, a comedy-drama or a dramatic comedy all whipped together until the consistency is exquisite and just right.

After the very sensitive Hold Back the Dawn (1941), a Wilder-Brackett script about a hard-boiled male gigolo (Charles Boyer) pretending to love a sheltered, repressed girl (Olivia de Havilland) until his feelings actually become genuine, Leisen’s career settled in for a few years to minor comedies, as if wartime austerity had affected his budgets, his scripts, and his imagination. In 1944, he did two movies in color, Lady in the Dark and Frenchman’s Creek, one anti-feminist and one feminist, and both rather nightmarishly disconnected and self-indulgent.

Leisen was going through a crisis in his personal life by the mid-1940s, and it showed in his work. He was mainly gay, but he didn’t want to be, and so he had married a fledgling opera singer (“a horror” according to the sharp-tongued Ray Milland) and he was carrying on a tortured affair with costumer Natalie Visart while also pursuing men. Leisen’s loyal secretary Eleanor Broder told David Chierichetti, the author of the definitive Leisen book, Mitchell Leisen: Hollywood Director, that her boss tried taking hormone shots at one point because he thought they might eradicate his homosexuality, but of course that didn’t work. Leisen lived with the pilot Eddie Anderson in the late 1930s, and Anderson left him for Shirley Ross, the actress who talk-sings “Thanks for the Memory” with Bob Hope in The Big Broadcast of 1938, an unusually sentimental scene within his work that Leisen insisted on. When that picture finished, he had a heart attack, and his health was never quite the same afterwards.

In the 1940s, after Visart had gotten pregnant with his child and lost it, Leisen took up with the dancer Billy Daniels, and his unhappiness grew. Daniels dances in what has to be Leisen’s worst feature, Masquerade in Mexico (1945), a semi-remake of Midnight that is so distracted and poorly timed that it would seem to give credence to Billy Wilder’s many complaints about Leisen over the years in interviews; if you were to watch Masquerade in Mexico right after Midnight, it would seem like a mark against Leisen as an artist in his own right rather than a servant of superior scripts where he could get them. Daniels is actually the only thing this movie has going for it: he’s an exciting dancer, and an intriguing screen presence, sexy, petulant, a little dangerous. Many in Leisen’s inner circle disliked Daniels, but maybe Masquerade in Mexico might work if it could just be Daniels dancing as Leisen watches.

The blandness of the décor in something like Suddenly It’s Spring (1947) is a real comedown from his Art Deco 1930s pictures, but Leisen rallied in this period with some of his best and most personal films, starting with Kitty (1945), a sumptuous Gainsborough period piece with all the trimmings and a Pygmalion subject that activates all of Leisen’s interest in pretending and “passing” as something you are not. Best of all from this time is Song of Surrender (1949), an uncommonly severe movie about a New England girl named Abigail (Wanda Hendrix) who finds a way out of her repressive environment by listening to music. What Abigail feels in Song of Surrender is surely what Leisen himself must have often felt as a young man growing up in the mid-West at the turn of the last century, and so this picture, which he said he didn’t much like, is his secret movie, his confession movie. It’s a great film, daringly stark and stripped-down, and it is as unerringly paced and controlled as all of his best 1930s work; there are moments when it feels like a precursor to Jane Campion’s The Piano (1993) in its insistence on the will power needed for a woman to find aesthetic and sexual fulfillment.

Leisen did an intriguing noir with Stanwyck called No Man of Her Own (1950) and an overlooked, charming adaptation of J. M. Barrie called Darling, How Could You! (1951), which is filled with longing for family life that Leisen certainly knows is a fantasy like any of his others. (How poignant it is when Joan Fontaine says in that movie that if her children are going to love her they mustn’t “think me over first.”) He spent twenty years working at Paramount Studios, and he was a creature of the studio system; when the studio system went, so did he, but not before one more diverting small musical, The Girl Most Likely (1958), which was the last feature made at RKO. “When the studio decided we no longer needed a certain department, it was shut down and if we needed something after that, we had to make do ourselves,” Leisen said. “It was really eerie.”

Ill-health and an unwarranted reputation for spending too much money kept Leisen mainly working for TV in his last years, so that he was back to low budgets and bringing in his own furniture to dress his sets. He had been fired from Bedevilled (1955) for hitting on one of the straight actors he was working with (the actor complained to MGM), and this put another shadow over his reputation. He had made Fred MacMurray’s career, but when he tried to get work as a director on MacMurray’s hit TV show My Three Sons, it was no go. “He sent me a telegram asking for the job,” MacMurray said. “He was, well, you know, a homosexual and he had gotten into some trouble on a picture he was making in Europe. With the three young boys we had working on the show, I just didn’t think it was right. So I never answered the telegram.”

It was his women who stayed loyal to Leisen in his final years, both his secretary Broder (who was a lesbian), and his old lover Natalie Visart, who had never really gotten over her love for him and came to stay with him toward the end (Visart’s son Peter was killed in a gay-bashing in the 1970s). Leisen’s responses to David Chierichetti’s questions in their interview book are unfailingly candid, insightful, and juicy, but his standing has never ascended to the level of that of Preston Sturges or Billy Wilder, even though his visual style was far more developed than theirs, and his point of view arguably more sophisticated and certainly more kind-hearted. He was a romantic with an edge of disquiet, and this made for matchlessly rich pictures, pulsing with hope and with pain.

Leisen knew about all aspects of picture making, and he has the requisite number of classics for entrance to the pantheon, plus a whole slew of other pictures of interest. He made Remember the Night and Song of Surrender. He made Midnight and Kitty. And he made Easy Living and Darling, How Could You! Those are all heights, and from different periods, and they prove the consistency of his inventiveness and the distinctiveness of his talent. His creativity came out of personal unhappiness on the one hand and unprecedented creative license and support under the old Hollywood studio system on the other. We will not see that particular combination again.

by Dan Callahan

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steves-on-a-plane · 4 years

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Cordonians On Set: Brothers, Actors & Allies.

Words: 3426 Pairing: Maxwell Beaumont x MC/Riley Brooks Timeline: The Royal Heir Book 2 Chapter 12 Summary: You and your friends are on the set of your husband’s big movie when you start to realize Maxwell’s made more than a few “minor” tweaks to the events. Mostly notably he’s made himself the star of nearly every scene. Your father-in-law Barthelemy isn't helping matters much either. Can you help smooth things out between the brother’s Beaumont and bring Maxwell’s head down from the clouds? Author’s Note: Basically I read Chapter 12 this weekend and was less that thrilled about it. (My MC is married to Maxwell.) So I tried to fix it. I know it’s a bit on the longer side for a one shot, but hopefully it’s worth the read.

“Wow!” You gasped as you stepped out into the soundstage with the rest of your friends. It was the first day of shooting the movie based on Maxwell’s memoir and you’d all been granted access to watch the filming. The first set you’d been taken to was an impressively accurate recreation of the Cordonian Castle’s ballroom. You, Hanna, Drake and even Liam were stunned by the craftsmanship and detail that had gone into creating the set. Maxwell and Bertrand would have also been impressed if their attention hadn’t been captured by a familiar figure standing in the center of the faux ballroom. It was their father, Barthelemy Beaumont.

“Ah, King Liam, Duchess [Y/N]! My two sons!” Barthelemy greeted everyone with a practiced smile.

You adjusted your grip of the princess in your arms. It had become a bit of a nervous habit at this point to make sure that your daughter was snuggled close to you around people you didn’t trust. Sure, technically Barthelemy was family, but he didn’t quite feel it. You hadn’t mentioned this aloud to anyone but there was just something about your father-in-law that felt off to you. Maybe it was the fact that all of Cordonia had acted like he was dead until a few months ago. It might have been the way he always seemed treated Bertrand as if he were still a child.

“Father? What are you doing here?” Bertrand asked the question you really wanted an answer to yourself.

“I know I arrived a bit early,” Barthelemy sighed dramatically. “But the crew was very accommodating of Maxwell Beaumont’s father!” There it was again, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach. Barthelemy had name dropped Maxwell and didn’t seem the least bit apologetic. You wanted to call him out on it, but you looked at Maxwell who was positively elated that his father was there. You decided to take a page from Bertrand’s book and offered your father-in-law a stoic but slightly critical remark instead.

“I think he means what are you doing in LA.” You commented.

“I wanted to show my support to my sons!” You fought back the urge to scoff as he continued on. “To see the set of Maxwell’s movie firsthand and to offer my assistance to Bertrand once again. Whether that be with House Beaumont duties or lending a hand with Bartie. I still regret that you had to shoulder so much in my absence. This is a chance to make amends.”

“I assure you, I have everything well under control.” Bertrand replied coldly. It was the sort of calm displeased tone you were used to Bertrand using with you back when you were vying for King Liam’s hand. The tone that implied Bertrand was upset but willing to forge ahead.

“Are you certain?” His father frowned. “I would…” But Bertrand wasn’t hearing another word on the matter.

“I said I don’t need your help!” The Duke of Ramsford hissed indignantly. For anyone else it would have been upsetting enough to see them snap at their parent like that, but for Bertrand? It was practically shouting. It was worse than the time you almost used a dessert fork during the salad course.

“Well I…” Barthelemy took a beat to compose himself. Much like the rest of you, he wasn’t used to Bertrand lose his temper.

“Come on Dad, let me help you find a good seat!” Maxwell suggested. He guided his father away to a collection of chairs slightly offstage. You weren’t sure if Maxwell finally decided to intervene for his father’s benefit or his brothers. The others moved off to find their seats too. You reached out and touched Bertrand’s arm causing him to stop and look back at you.

“Bertrand, are you okay?” You questioned.

“Just as I told my father, I’m fine.” He grumbled. He was still irritated, but clearly not with you.

“Actually, what you told him was that you didn’t need his help. And honestly, you seem pretty not fine, to me.”

“Pardon me if I’m offended by my father following me to the far side of the earth to tell me that I can’t handle my affairs.” Bertrand cast a forlorn look in his father’s direction. You sympathized with Bertrand because you knew how import family and the legacy of House Beaumont were to him. All Bertrand had ever wanted was to build something that would make his father proud. And all Barthelemy did was criticize him. “Maxwell and I got along perfectly fine without him all this time.” He added still seething with anger.

“Maxwell seems pretty happy to have him here.” You said, not able to think of anything else to comfort him. You both watched as Maxwell sat next to his father and animatedly told the story about how he convinced you to come to Cordonia in the first place.

“He was rather young when our father got sick.” Bertrand recalled.

“Let’s let Maxwell and Barthelemy have their moment, they can sit up front together and we’ll sit in the back. We’ll blame it on Maxine. We can say that she should sit in the back so she doesn’t make too much noise. I’ll even let you hold your favorite niece slash Heir to the Cordonian Throne.”

“Very well.” Bertrand agreed. He held out his arms expectantly. You passed your daughter off to him the two of you claimed two open seats in the back row.

With everyone seated and the set cleared, the actors arrived and took their places. The first scene filmed was your debut at the masquerade ball. You watched as quietly as possible from behind the cameras. Truth be told you weren’t entirely interested in watching the filming. You all knew from the book reading awhile back that Maxwell had stretched the truth in some instances when it came to his novel and you certainly weren’t expecting the Hollywood adaptation to get much more factual. It also didn’t help that the actress cast to play you appeared to be a weirdly dedicated method actress with little regard for personal space. You’d mostly come to LA to support your husband and to meet the mysterious former Queen of Rivala.

While everyone else was focused on the actors in front of them, you were still thinking about Bertrand, Maxwell and Barthelemy. Things couldn’t go on much longer the way they’d been since Bertrand’s wedding. You wondered if Maxwell could sense the tension that Barthelemy had brought into the family by behaving the way he did; he must have. Maxwell was carefree and optimistic, but he wasn’t stupid. He had to know that on some level Barthelemy was toxic. After all wasn’t he part of the reason House Beaumont had needed Bertrand’s saving in the first place?

“That’s it?” You heard Bertrand remark suddenly. “Aren’t I in this scene?” He asked, looking directly at the back of Maxwell’s head. Maxwell turned and looked back at his brother.

“Well, you weren’t actually there when [Y/N] was introduced at court.” He reminded his brother.

“No.” Bertrand frowned. “That can’t be true. I wouldn’t have missed such an occasion.”

“I’m afraid it is.” You told Bertrand regrettably. “I didn’t even meet you until after the Masquerade was almost over and then you, Max and I all went to bed early. Our first real conversation was the next morning in the car ride to the Derby.”

“I remember now.” Bertrand sighed. “I was working on House finances that evening.”

“Don’t worry.” Maxwell smiled. “I’m sure you’re in some scenes coming up later.” Maxwell turned back around while the director ordered everyone to reset and shoot the scene again. As if she could sense her Uncle’s discomfort, little Maxine reached out and wrapped her had around one of Bertrand’s fingers. For a minute at least, this managed to crack through his mask and Bertrand smirked. He wrapped the rest of his fingers around her tiny hand.

As the day went on the filming moved to shoot the night of Anton Severus’s attack. The same night you were officially recognized as the Duchess of Valtoria. The scene started out much the same as everyone remembered. The actors were placed around the ballroom set all listening to the actor who portrayed King Liam give a rousing speech and welcome you as Cordonia’s newest Duchess. The creative liberties started when the Maxwell character stepped forward to thank Liam instead of you. It felt out of place because, well why on earth would Maxwell be giving a thank you speech in that moment?

Then the lights on the set flicked off before turning back on. There was a loud pop. The Drake character had a line about there being “More fancy fireworks for the fancy party.” And then the Maxwell character was ordering the guards to usher King Liam to safety. He had a corny line about it being “time to unleash the kraken!” before confronting an extra who pointed a gun in his direction. The Drake character then sprinted in out of nowhere and knocked Maxwell to the ground. You didn’t pay attention to what happened next. You looked away from the train wreck of a scene until the director called out for everyone to take a break.

“That was just how I envisioned it when I was writing this scene!” The real Maxwell announced proudly.

“Maxwell, that’s not at all what happened.” You told him. “I knew you made a few minor tweaks here and there in the story but you kind of made everything about you.” Maxwell seemed to take what you said to heart. He looked at the set and back at you. Maybe he had changed things too much.

“I thought it was very heroic!” Barthelemy announced. You wanted to comment that no one had asked what he thought, but you remembered Bertrand seated next to you. You imagined what advice he might give you and, in your head, you recalled Bertrand’s best lecturing voice.

“You’re not just a scrappy waitress from New York, Lady [Y/N]! You’re a Duchess. The Duchess of Valtoria, and a Duchess can’t be seen shouting and ranting to her Father-In-Law on some backlot in the middle of Los Angeles.”

So, you let the subject drop for the moment. There would be plenty of time for you to speak to Maxwell later when the two of you were alone in your hotel room. The director motioned for everyone to follow him to the next set so that production could continue. As Maxwell and Barthelemy lead the charge to the new set, you and Bertrand wandered slightly behind everyone else. Hana hung back too. She had been reading the troubled expressions on your face since the last scene.

“I heard the director say that the next scene is the Beaumont Bash.” She told you. “I’m sure there’s not much Maxwell could have changed there. I remember it being a pretty crazy party.”

“Ah yes, that’s when I was first introduced to the Champagne Sword Trick.” You recalled fondly. “Or as it’s better known now, the champagne and the closest weapon to Maxwell trick. I guess it will be fun to see the actors attempt that.”

“Yeah.” Hana nodded with a smile. “Plus, Bertrand I remember you being there that night, so you’ll finally see your character in action!”

“Thank you for reminding me, Lady Hana.” Bertrand smirked. “I do seem to remember having a lot of fun that night.”

“How about you let me hold Maxine for this one?” She offered. “Then the two of you can sit upfront next to Maxwell.”

Bertrand was less enthusiastic about being in close proximity to Barthelemy again, but he did want a good view of the Beaumont Bash. You were also not happy about being near him again, your urge to call him out on his behavior was still strong. However, you let Hana take Maxine and float off to the back row of chairs. You sat next to Maxwell who was taking to his father about what a fantastic success the Beaumont Bash had been that year. Bertrand sat on your other side and quietly commented what a good job the set designers had done.

“It almost feels like home.” He whispered to you.

You agreed that the set was yet another remarkable recreation, this time of the Ramsford Estate. As the filming begins the actors playing you and Maxwell were positioned at the top of the staircase. When the director called “Action!” Your character welcomed everyone to the Beaumont Bash. While the Maxwell character leapt up onto the banister. He shouted his own line of welcome before effortlessly sliding down the bannister and uncorking a bottle of champagne with a sword. It seemed more dramatic and coordinated than anything the real Maxwell could do, but that was the magic of the movies.

As champagne spilled from the bottle in the Maxwell character’s hands, horses were led onto the set with acrobats riding atop them. Some background music began to play and extras dressed as waiters and servants walked the set with trays of drinks and Hors d'oeuvres. The cameras gather footage of all the actors mingling and partying before a door onset opens. A new actor you haven’t met yet steps into frame with a scowl on his face.

“Did I miss the sabering of the champagne?” The actor sighed. “Not for the third year in a row.” The actor looked dramatically into a nearby camera as it wheeled in for a close-up. “If only my dukely duties didn’t keep me so indisposed. I hardly have time for anyone or anything of late.”

It didn’t register with you at first, but this actor was meant to be portraying Bertrand. He wasn’t by any means a bad actor, but they way he’d been written was awful. This version of Bertrand almost felt like he’d been written as a parody, a joke. You wanted answers from Maxwell and you wanted to comfort Bertrand, but you couldn’t take your eyes off the set when the Bertrand character uttered his next line.

“I wish I could be as fun and carefree as my wonderful younger brother, Maxwell.” The camera held on the Bertrand character moping for a few more seconds before the director ended the scene. He ordered everyone to take their lunch, promising they would return to the scene again after the break. While the actors and crew dispersed around you, it seemed the real Bertrand couldn’t hold his tongue any longer.

“Maxwell is that really how you see me?” He asked his brother looking genuinely hurt. “As some sort of fun deprived sad sack?”

“What?” Maxwell looked shocked, as if he hadn’t predicted this reaction from him at all. “It’s just…you weren’t there for some things. Liam’s bachelor party, a lot of [Y/N]’s debut, a lot of Bartie’s first…”

“Is this meant to be comforting?” Bertrand huffed.

“Yeah.” Maxwell struggled. “I mean you had House Beaumont stuff to do. I get it. And I’m sure Bartie and Savanah get it.” That was when you decided to step in.

“Maxwell, I don’t think you’re being fair to Bertrand.” You told him. “He didn’t willingly miss any part of Bartie’s life. In fact you and Savanah decided on your own to keep Bartie a secret for so long so it’s hardly fair to throw that back in his face now.”

“I wasn’t trying too…” Maxwell started to say but he could tell that you weren’t finished.

“I’ve been trying to keep quiet today because I wanted to make sure that today was about you, but you made sure of that on your own.” You said. “Not including your brother in events that he wasn’t there is fine. What’s not fine is rewriting everyone else’s lives to make yourself out to be the hero in every single situation. Drake didn’t run across a ballroom to take a bullet for you so that you looked like some big action star. He jumped in front of gun for me because he happened to be the closest person and I was in real danger. Bertrand didn’t mope around and complain through the entire Beaumont Bash either! I remember him laughing and having fun with us.”

“Now, [Y/N] I think…” Barthelemy tried to jump in.

“I think I wasn’t talking to you.” You huffed, not looking away from Maxwell. “Maxwell, your brother has always supported you. Think of all the times he thought you’d wasted family money on things like Jet skis. Lesser people might had kicked you out or cut you off, but Bertrand never did that. Instead he worked harder to manage the house. He sacrificed so many things for himself to keep you happy and to keep House Beaumont in good standing. He has stood by every questionable decision you’ve made since I’ve known you. He stood by you when you told him you brough back a New York waitress as the hopeful future queen. He stood by you when you then told him that you fell in love with said waitress and she was no longer going to marry the King.” You breathed out and sucked in another deep breath. You hadn’t expected so many words to come flowing out of your mouth.

“And lastly, I love you Maxwell. I love that you’re a carefree, optimistic, lovable guy. You don’t need to invent some other version of you where you’re a suave action hero just to impress people. The people closest to you already love you just the way that you are. So I don’t care what you have to do, I’ll pay for the re-writes myself if I have to, but you fix this script so that we all get to see the Maxwell and Bertrand Beaumont that we know and love. Because the rest of the world deserves to see who you really are too.”

“Well, that was certainly some speech, [Y/N]. I had no idea my daughter in law was such a peacemaker.” Barthelemy said. You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Maxwell and Bertrand are my family.” You told him, your tone just a hint icy.

“I’m going to check on Hana and Maxine.” Maxwell decided. He placed a gently kiss on your forehead before adding, after that I’m going to talk to the writers and see what we can do about the script. With Maxwell gone Barthelemy mumbled something about joining the others for lunch. You were about to do the same when Bertrand called out to you.

“[Y/N] wait,” You turned back to him. Bertrand’s expression was blank and unreadable. “Thank you, for speaking with Maxwell.”

“Bertrand, I know you don’t need me to defend you.” You added. “But I also know from your courtship with Savanah that sometimes you’re not the best at articulating your feelings. I’ve been boiling about Maxwell’s behavior all day and I was going to wait until we were back in our hotel room to say something but that last scene…it sent me over the edge for some reason. You worked hard and took care of Maxwell most of his life. He should give you more credit.”

“Be that as it may, perhaps it’s time to admit that I have taken on too much between Duchy Ramsford, my family and my duties to the crown.” Bertrand explained.

“Bertrand, I know I didn’t grow up in Cordonia and I don’t know every apple related historical moment,” You smirked. “But I’ve seen quite a bit of recent history and I know that you single handedly pulled House Beaumont and your Duchy from the brink of financial ruin. No other Cordonian is as dedicated to their Kingdom and if anyone can juggle a family and a Duchy it’s you. But it is okay to ask for help sometimes too. Asking for help isn’t admitting defeat. It’s adding in allies to the battle.”

“How could I ever be defeated with the great Duchess [Y/N] Beaumont of Valtoria, formerly New York, as my ally?” Bertrand questioned.

“Exactly.” You smiled.

“For the record, [Y/N], I am eternally pleased that you chose to marry Maxwell.” Bertrand confessed. “While I am glad to have you as an ally on the battlefield, I’m much happier to call you my sister.”

“Right back at you. I meant what I said Bertrand, you’re family and I’m happy to help you in any way I can.” You assured him. “Now I have an important question for you, what is the royal protocol for eating with plastic utensils?”

#TRH #The Royal Heir #The Royal Heir Fan Fic #The Royal Heir Fan Fiction #The Royal Heir FF #Bertrand Beaumont #Maxwell Beamont #TRH Book 2 Chapter 12 #TRH Book 2 #I Fixed It #Fixed It #They did my boys dirty #Bertrand did nothing wrong

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years

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Two Men and a Baby Part 9A-The Final Part.

This chapter took on a life of itself and is quite long, so I divided it up in two parts again. I will release the second part later today.

I put everything into this chapter, so, I hope it meets your expectations, because it is WILD 😂

The Royal Romance/The Royal Heir

Warning: YOU WILL LAUGH A LOT!! Also, there's profanity.

@emceesynonymroll

@gardeningourmet @dcbbw @crookedslimecreatorpasta @moonlightgem7 @katedrakeohd @sirbeepsalot @romanticatheart-posts @carabeth @ladyangel70

I do not own any of these characters...borrowing from Pixleberry.

[[Read more]]

Post 9A-Finale

He looked at her and uttered, "I'm sorry".

She replied with a soft smile, "I'm not".

Drake closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "but, what about Liam?"

"Drake, my husband never took the time to touch me like you did last night; trust me, I'm not worried about what Liam thinks."

"Yeah, last night sure was crazy."

10 hours earlier....

The press had gotten news of Bertrand's debacle and descended onto the gravel road that led through the Stormholt Vineyards.

Bertrand was still inside and the crews that weren't working the Beaumont Estate standoff were assigned to the Beaumont Zipper-gate send off. Firemen were busy working the jaws-of-life on the roof of the carriage; meanwhile a helicopter life squad was waiting in the air.

Bertrand was unable to close his legs and crewman concluded this would make it difficult to get him through the door. Once the roof had been lifted off, the helicopter got into position over the carriage.

Penelope had exclusive access to all the action. Being friends with Savannah paid off in this situation. Penelope offered Savannah a ride to the hospital in exchange for moment by moment, upclose coverage.

"Yes folks, Penelope here with all the action. Right now, the medical helicopter is lowering a harness down into the carriage with the assumption, the Duke will be raised out and transported to the emergency room immediately.....this is so awesome, lets watch".

Two fire rescuers climbed inside the carriage and carefully cut the legs of Bertrands pants; they wanted to make access to his "area" a little easier for the flight medics.

"Alright Your Grace, we have to place this harness through your arms and strap it around your chest. We assure you this is very sturdy and you will not fall okay?"

Bertrand nodded, but, didn't speak. He wanted to, but, what was there to say. In just mere moments, he would be lifted out of this carriage and would ascend into the sky, practically naked. He was aware the press was waiting outside. He was also aware that he would be front page news, right next to a damn boar. He closed his eyes and the image of Maxwell was so vivid in his mind. He knew he bought a "pig" yesterday, but, was he really that stupid to mistake it for what it really was, a wild boar. Bertrand concluded, he is.

When Maxwell was 10, he traded Pokemon at school with Neville Vancouer. Neville told Maxwell he had a hamster that he would give Maxwell for his rare holographic shadowless first edition Mewtew, Pokemon card. Neville got the card and Maxwell unknowingly got a rat. The rat had babies and the infestation was horrific. The vineyards behind the estate were nearly wiped out. Bertrand found one in his bed, just before climbing in, mating with another. When Bertrand brought his first girlfriend home, she left the estate in tears after one jumped on her just before he was getting ready to clear second base. The town was affected, as crops after crops were destroyed. Barthelemy Beaumont paid a heavy price in lawsuits and clean up that year; his families financial troubles began in that moment. It took Maxwell's tell-all book to bring them out of their woes. Bertrand would be appreciative of that fact, if it weren't for him telling people in his book that Bertrand gets bi-monthly Brazilian waxes from a shady massage parlor owned by Duke Godfrey in Krona. That parlor has since been been raided and shut down.

Once the harness was securely in place, life squad gave the signal and Bertrand was slowly liifted upward.

"Hey fellow Cordonians, Penelope here again. I have just gotten word, they are about to lift the Duke out of the carriage. Yes, there he goes...up, up and wow, is his asshole as smooth as a babys bottom. His brother was telling the truth....good job Duke Godfrey and all the former employees of Adelaide's Massage and Dance Parlor. Oh, hold up guys, there seems to be some kind of mechanical trouble. The lift has stopped working....whats that? There's a malfunction?.....okay, so the lift has malfuctioned and they are going to go ahead and proceed on to the hospital with the Duke hanging below. Good luck up there sir, you're little naked butt is flying with the birds now! Okay, I am heading to the hospital now and will update you all as soon as I can. Penelope out!"

Bertrand was such a trooper, because, of course the lift malfunctioned; it would be wrong if it didn't at this point. He was sure that at any moment, the harness would break too and he would simply fall from the sky. With his luck today, he probably would survive though.

Riley, Drake, Olivia and Maxwell were watching the events unfold on TV from the waiting room of the hospital. Maxwell had been released earlier and Drake finally caught up with them. Drake told Riley that Liam was meeting with someone to explain his absence. Savannah had replied to Riley's earlier text, letting her know that Bertrand would be going to the hospital soon. She didn't say why, but, the news in the waiting room was riveting. The press had already gathered outside, awaiting the arrival of Duke Ramsford.

"This is absolutely, the most insane thing I've ever seen." Riley watched in awe.

"Wow, that camera is really not letting up off his asshole." Olivia replied in complete astonishment.

"Well Maxwell, I owe you a hundred smackaroos, I thought you made it up, but, that camera angle doesn't lie. He really does get Brazilian waxes" Drake says as he leans back in his chair with his hands laced behind his head.

"Why would I lie Drake? Beside, you wanna know who else was getting one there?" Maxwell asked. Riley, Olivia and Drake all leaned forward in anticipation. "Who?" Olivia inquired eagerly.

"The Queen Mother", Maxwell said with a slight grin.

"Pfft...no fucking way!" Riley slapped both of her knees in shock.

"Maxwell, how do you know that? Did you see her there?" Olivia asked sceptically.

"Hell yeah I saw her there, who do you think gave them to her?

All three dropped their jaws simultaneously.

Drake finally rolled his eyes, "you're making this all up Maxwell."

"Did I lie about Bertrand?"

"Well...no...but, this sounds a lot like something Duchess Adelaide would tell."

"I swear Drake, I can prove it."

"How?"

"She has a tattoo of an apple pie on her left butt cheek with "Connie" written on top of it,"

Riley and Olivia lost it, laughing way too hard and trying to catch their breaths. Olivia even tipped her chair over and fell out of her seat onto the floor

"Well, Maxwell, I don't think any of us are going to look at Regina's butt cheek for proof." Drake scoffed.

"Wait Maxwell, why were you giving the Queen Mother a wax job?" Riley stopped laughing long enough to ask.

"You see, I got tired of Adelaide always hitting on me at these balls and such, so I talked to Madeleine about it. She said if I would help out with her fathers business, she would keep her mother away from me. So, I gave waxes once a week. Saw a lot of girls naked....it was a good gig, until it wasn't", he said with a frown, "but, yeah, Reggie, thats what we called her at the shop, would come in every now and again. She tipped well too"

Olivia scrunched up her nose, "I have no words right now for what you just told us, none."

"What did he tell you?" Liam asked. The group all turned around to see Liam and Bastien walking into the waiting room.

"Liam, why do you have claw marks all over your face?" Riley asked as she stood up to stand by her husband.

He looked over at Drake with a sneer, "I don't know, ask him."

Drake shrugged his shoulders and faked innocence, "I don't believe I know what you're referring to."

"You know damn well what I'm referring to doctor!" He shouted.

Drake started to giggle, while Riley told him to lower his voice, Bartie was sleeping.

"I will not....do you have any idea what I've been through tonight Drake?" he asked.

"No, but, I've a feeling I'm about to find out"

Liam walked dramatically to the middle of the waiting room and began to pace, moving his hands to express himself. "Let me set the scene for you. I had to deliver a baby....."

Riley sighed and interrupted him, "Liam, I told you we will have our own baby, you can't just keeping asking other people for theirs."

Liam looked at her and said, "Zip it" as he did the zipping motion with his hand and mouth.

"Aha, ha, just don't get your dick caught in it, am I right" Maxwell joked.

Olivia grabbed his arm, "not now Maxwell".

Riley crossed her arms in anger and thought to herself, Liam is going to pay for that little comment later.

"Now, where was I, Oh yes, I was forced into delivering a baby.....

Begin Flashback sequence....

"Doctor! Doctor! Wake up" the nurse yelled while slapping his face.

Liam slowly opened his eyes and started to focus on his surroundings."

The nurse told him he passed out and he reached behind his head to rub the bump that was starting to form. He asked where he was and she told him in the delivery room of the hospital. He questioned why he was there and slid his surgical mask down under his chin.

"You're not Dr. House, who are you?" She asked pointedly.

"I'm...I'm King Liam."

"Yeah right, and I'm a Kardashian".

He looked up at her confused, "what's a Kardashian?"

"Nancy, call security, we have a mental patient that must have gotten away."

"No No No, I really am the King, I swear."

"Okay, your majesty, what are you doing in the maternity ward" she asked sarcastically.

"Getting breastmilk from room 20" he stated with a raspy voice.

"GUARDS!!!!!!"

Liam tried to get up off the floor and run, but, the nurse started to attack him. She sat on top of him clawing at his face while an assistant held his arms down.

Security came in soon after and placed Liam's arms behind his back. As they dragged him out, he kept kicking, thrashing, knocking stuff over and screaming, "TREASON..... TREASON.... TREASON!!!!! I'LL GET ALL OF YOU FOR TREASON!!! Wait, where are you taking me, no, stop, I said stop....in the name of the mother fucking crown, STTTTOOOOPPPPP!!!!!"

He was taken to to the mental health ward. They didn't recognize him or have any missing people on the list, but, at that moment he qualified for admittance.

He was placed in a locked room alone with no furniture or adornments. He stood there with an angry scowl on his face and his arms crossed. Soon after, two men came in. One had a white pair of pants and a shirt in his hand, the other had a billy club and rubber gloves. The guy with the billy club told him they could either do this the easy way or the hard way. Liam didn't know what "this" was, but, he knew he didn't want to find out. He was instructed to remove his clothes.

"I most certainly will not" he protested.

The guy with the clothes in his hands spoke up, "listen dude, let's just get this over with and we can get you to your room and you'll be able to get a good nights rest, what"dya say?"

"What are you going to do?" Liam asked.

"We need to get you out of those clothes, then do a strip search".

Liam tried to make a run for it, but, both instantly grabbed him.

After this little show of defiance, he was clubbed on the back and fell to the floor, where he began to cry. Bastien quickly came in and explained everything to the orderly's before he was released, with many apologies.

To be continued.....9B will be out later today.

#choices trr #the royal romance #trr fanfic #trr drake #trr liam #liam x riley #king liam #liam x mc #maxwell beaumont #bertrand beaumont #the royal heir #choices trh

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gavinhalm · 14 years

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“WARNING: Click_Here”-- Classic Horror Film as Interactive Screen.

"You were tricked by your own imagination, Mrs. Rand" - Dr. Maxwell in I Walked with a Zombie

"The brain is the screen. I don't believe that linguistics and psychoanalysis offer a great deal to the cinema. On the contrary, the biology of the brain–molecular biology–does." - Gilles Deleuze, "From Philosophy to Cinema" in Cahiers du cinema 320

"If a film, which is already both the dream of its maker and the dream of its audience, can present itself as the dream of one of its characters, can it, finally, appear to dream itself?" - Bruce Kawin, Mindscreen: Bergman, Goddard, and First-Person Film.

"Something bizarre about the cinema struck me: its unexpected ability to show not only behavior, but spiritual life...Spiritual life isn't dream or fantasy–which were always the cinema's dead ends...Spiritual life is the movement of the mind." - Gilles Deleuze, "From Philosophy to Cinema" in Cahiers du cinema 320

In Bruce Kawin's influential 1978 book, Mindscreen: Bergman, Goddard, and First- Person Film, the author makes the argument that first-person narrative film can be thought of as reflecting (or, standing in as a kind of synecdoche for) the mind of both the viewer and the filmmaker, something he terms the "Mindscreen".

This idea is driven precisely home in his quote above, which is clamped, if you will, between the twin pincers of another great thinker of the cinema, Gilles Deleuze. Here, we find a shocking thesis: Can a film possess that most human of qualities (thought)? Can a film, in fact, be a sleeping being of sorts?

What is so intriguing about Kawin's quote is not so much its fantastical, psychological metaphysics, but that it could reflect another possible thesis (when coupled with the material-spiritual thinking of Deleuze): that of film becoming an interactive screen. What is meant here is that, if we squeeze out the idea of the dream (and, by default, the whole clinical-psychological apparatus of the dreaming subject) between the two clamps of 1) molecular biology of the brain, and 2) the (Bergsonian) "movement" of the mind executing the procedures of “thinking”, we can start to view the screen as a site not of dreaming, or of "being", but as a space of interaction where the viewer's perception and consciousness moves in-and-out to interface with the formal systems given in a film.

Perhaps the easiest way to go about describing this "interactivity" of the cinematic screen (1) is to talk about "fantasy" in film, or the "fantastic"; that genre of film which, in the third quote above, Deleuze seems to say is a cinematic "dead end". Though the philosopher has a point in the sense that film can not actually materialize the fantastic, films can present formal constructs that hint at things of a fantastical nature, and therefore it is these "things" (the formal constructs) that become the interactive elements within a film.

And, this is precisely why most, if not all, of the "fantastical" or "fantasy" movies of the last decade (ones utilizing the technologies of 3D modeling, animation and 3D theatre projection) simply fall flat in just about every intellectual regard. They are just not interactive enough; everything is provided to the viewer with regards to his/her imagination through the wild, video game-like whirl of 3D animation. So much so, that there is nothing left to imagine. The viewer is, in effect, left in an intellectual/experiential desert akin, perhaps, to the space Robert Duvall's THX-1138 character is trapped in: a seemingly infinite "Ganz Field" of empty white light (2).

One of the best ways to go about finding these formal interactive points that allow for a true movement of the mind (and spirit), is to go back to the classics of horror and/or fantasy from the days long before the onslaught of computer generated "fantasy" took over the cineplex. For our present purposes, two excellent, WWII-era (3) films by the director Jacques Tourneur will do splendidly: Cat People of 1942, and I Walked with a Zombie, 1943.

Cat People

There are numerous liminal moments and clever points in Cat People that allow (indeed, insist upon) interaction by the audience. These points of interaction are not just "clever" in a facile sense either, but act as perfectly set positionings that allow the viewer to interact with the screen at moments where "fantasy" couples with the real.

Perhaps the most significant interactive trope Tourneur uses in Cat People is the play between light and shadow. This takes place throughout the film in moments where a plant will obscure part of the image with its darkness; where sectors of space and character are illuminated by a street lamp; where shadows are moving across walls in enclosed spaces; when reflected light off of water in an indoor pool creates a kinematic field of brightness and equal threads of darker; and, in this same scene, when we think that the female lead has transformed into a panther, there appear cat-like shadows along a wall (only to have her appear quite like a normal woman when she flicks on the light). †

All of these luminous/spatial moments are points of filmic interaction that allow the viewer to penetrate the given-real, and enter into (indeed, create) the imaginative-mythological space of fear and horror. That is, each of these moments where light and shadow jostle against themselves in the perceptual field is a moment where the viewer's mind must construct the fantasy of the film. There is no need to show obvious transformation through "clever" special effects. And this is, not so incidentally, why such interactive media as comic books seem arguably superior in artistic effect to the omnipresent, present-day “effects” films, which try to replicate the comic book’s level of authentic fantasy.

There are also more subtle points of interaction in this film as well (hidden interfaces within the interface), such as the very early scene inside the female lead's apartment when the two main characters are sitting together in the darkness, the woman humming as she looks out a window, and to the right of her outline is the dark shape of a statute. It is the figure of a rider on a horse holding up an impaled cat on his sword. This interactive point will open up for the viewer the whole mytho-fantastic architecture that this film hangs upon; everything else in the film referring back to this root_menu of light, shadow and suggestiveness.

It should also be mentioned that sound plays an enormous role in interfacing with the viewer in this movie as well. Instances such as when the main female lead is following her female nemesis down a dark and intermittently lit street, about to (we think) transform into a black cougar and attack. It is in the very moment when we expect the cat to pounce that a bus screeches before fully entering the frame, therefore allowing the sound to rewrite itself in the viewer’s mind as a cat’s scream. This invisible cougar takes auditory shape elsewhere in various other instances in the movie, such as the previously mentioned pool scene and other interstitial moments where we expect a given, visual transformation, but are left to construct the fantasy ourselves.

I Walked with a Zombie

Tourneur's I Walked with a Zombie also creates, but in a radically different way and not to the same numerical degree, a set of interactive sites for the viewer to interface with the fantastic.

The director's second movie, hot on the heels of Cat People, is an instance where the horror is, instead, "given" to the viewer in the body of the (un)dead wife (a somewhat similar situation to that more well-known master of horror, Hitchcock, in his film Psycho, which was created nearly two decades later), and, not surprisingly, her body acts in a similar fashion to the statue of the horse and impaled cat in the previous film--Both these "objects", or ritual-like bodies, are conduits to the mythical worlds that lay outside the visual-given. In this case, the wife's body acts as an interactive node in which to engage the fear of the Voodoo religion.

And, though we see a vast array of quasi-empirical movements within the ritualistic displays put on by the island's locals, these movements (the use of dolls, the (un)dead Voodoo highwayman/guard) always reflect back to the (un)dead wife's body, creating a self-referential network of cause-and-effect that is negatively reflective of the "rationality" of the characters that are living.

The systemic network between the (un)dead wife's body, the Voodoo mechanisms of ritual, and the rationality of the character's existence (especially in the figure of the nurse) is an infinite feed-back loop whose elements counteract and play with one another: is this whole situation a creation of the nurse's imagination? Or, is it, indeed, a mystical, fantastical space of religious and spiritual events?

This is quite different to the situation in Cat People, where the viewer is decoding a number of interactive points of reference within light, shadow and sound, always moving towards some sort of conclusiveness. Here, we just don't know what's going to happen. And, though Tourneur gives us the towering physical body of the (un)dead wife in which to interface with the film, we never do.

That is not to say that I Walked with a Zombie is without sets of horror film tropes similarly used in his earlier film. There are a number of occasions when, for instance, light and shadow work in a like fashion to Cat People, such as the early scene when the nurse first "meets" the (un)dead wife in the stairwell. Here, the different volumes of light and shadow work to create a similar set of references between the shadowed "irrational" and the lit "rational" spheres of existence (not the least of which is the change in appearance on the (un)dead wife's face from one of hallowed decay to normalcy as perceived by the nurse). But, these effects fall away (become dead "links", if you will) when the overriding network established in the (ritual) body of the (un)dead wife comes online in the viewer's mind. And, this feedback loop, as I previously labeled it, de-centers the narrative thrust of the whole movie, makes it fall back into itself, and ends up crashing the whole system of the plot (4), the viewer never making his/her way out of the vortex and back into linearity.

Perhaps this is the most "horrific" act in the film...Take away the story from reality/life and what is left? Nothing but the nihilism that the first brother displayed on the boat, towards the nurse, early on in the film. That is, there is no "beauty". What could be more horrific or fantastic?

These two classics of fantasy/horror are, in each of their own very unique ways, a veritable interactive web (site) of symbols and tropes, both visual and auditory, geared to make the user/viewer interact with the screen's interfaciality and create, within the space of their own mind, all the fantasy a viewer could want. All without the use of a single key-fame, composited image, computational algorithm, or animatronic beast. These two films are, in the end, a testament to the imaginations of both the filmmaker and the audience itself.

NOTES:

1. By using the phrase, "cinematic screen", I mean to keep it particular from the interactive screen of the computer, which is a more literal kind of interactive space. But, some of the descriptive figures of speech utilized to describe computer interaction will be useful in elucidating my general thesis.

2. In all fairness, it should be noted that I am being playfully ironic with the reader here, for what happens in a Ganz Field (a space of complete visual isolation, uniformity, or emptiness) is that the mind tries to construct that which it cannot see. In short, the mind starts to hallucinate. A kind of empty grey Ganz Field is also the "home" screen a user first sees when s/he boots up or initializes a 3D-modeling computer program.

3. What is so interesting to ponder is the extent to which this kind of horror that was so popular in the U.S. at this time in world history (if not the origins, then, at the very least, the paradigmatic example of which would be Hitchcock's 1940 classic, Rebecca). That is, the success of this film (and it was very successful) was certainly due to the unseen, un-seeable nature of the horror. Which is not at all that different from the "invisible" horror that was infecting Europe and existing as a distant, "non-material" abstraction to U.S. citizens.

4. A meta-mise-en-scène, descriptive of this whole situation, and more evidence for the utter collapse of narrative structure in this film, is the point near the end of the movie when the "drunk" brother grabs an arrow out of the body of the St. Sebastian figurehead/fountain and hunts down his brother's (un)dead wife and "kills" her. Aside from the obvious logical twist of whether there was anybody/anything to kill, what complicates, extends, collapses and ironically twists this scene (and the whole narrative) is that, according to legend, the arrows shot at the Saint did not kill him (he was, instead, found alive)...and, if one wants to proceed in the opposite direction, one could admit that the figurehead is not the body of St. Sebastian and therefore could not be killed anyway. Which brings us back to the materiality of the (un)dead wife's body; is it "alive" or is it "dead", and will (or did) that arrow in his hand actually kill her?...ad infinitum, back and forth, round and round we go...

† Or, at a much later point in the film, where the main male character is working with a female co-worker/friend late at night, and she gets up to answer the office phone on an architectural light-table. The light from this table flushes her face and upper body, while much of the rest of the office is enclosed in darkness, enveloping her, a foreshadowing of the horror to come...

#film #horror #horrorfilm #filmhistory

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