rowan damisch truly makes like 1 decision and falls into *checks notes* 120+ years of suffering

“now say aaah.” tripp instructed as he held the cup in his hand. the female that sat next to him opens her mouth wide with her head slightly tilted back. rogue hovered the cup right above her mouth and cocked it down some, pouring some sprite into her mouth. “good girl.” he stated with a burst of laughter while coco was covering her mouth in a try to swallow the drink and not to giggle at the same time. “shit, i hate ya! i almost chocked!” her palm hit tripp’s shoulder and now both of them were sharing a good laughter together. 

they were at mc’donalds, higher than jesus, and instead of eating, they were messing with food, and with each other as well. “but did you die?” he smirked and threw a frie at the female. it hit coco right in her chin and fell down into her decollete. “shit, my bad.” tripp fake-sincerely apologizes and leans his face down to her chest, his lips brushing against her smooth skin before his teeth could capture a damn frie. coco’s manicured fingers kept covering her mouth to hold in the loud giggles, but she was failing at doing so. tripp’s mouth fished out a frie and ate it before licking over her bare skin. “you’re such a fool!” coco cupped his face so she could shower his face with kisses which trippie accepted with a mellow grin. rogue took a moment to capture the moment of getting smooches on his ig stories while his other hand snaked right underneath her skirt, finding it’s way to the female’s privacy. she exclaimed out a loud moan and hid her face in rogue’s neck. “can you shut the fuck up, dumb bitch? i’m trying to eat!” an annoyed yell flew at the two from the other side of the room. it was a guy in his twenty something, who was also with a girl. tripp’s face lost all the shades of fun and excitement; instead, it became cold and emotionless. “who the fuck ya just called a dumb bitch, pussy ass?” trippie’s tone was still yet loud enough for the male to hear. “ya hoe, and you too, motherfucker!” the male had something else to say, he kept going on but rogue couldn’t hear him no more. nor did he care. almost pushing coco off himself, he rapidly rose from his seat and headed towards the guy who kept running his mouth. with each new step rogue was getting closer to a lot of trouble for himself. he knew damn well he’s on parole, but at the same time, he didn’t care at all. just like that, just a few wrong words can start the fire of rage, those moments when trippie is not himself anymore. all he could see is his aim, the victim, and here he was, throwing a punch in the male’s  face before he could even get up from his seat.

the scene has changed once trippie dragged the male outside. coco was screaming and crying somewhere behind, but rogue was deaf to her begging. his fists gleamed with the mix of the man’s blood, and his own that was pouring through his knuckles. it’s not like the other one haven’t tried to fight back; he did, until the moment when he figured out that this red headed devil is just crazy. the way his fists flew right into the male’s face and under his ribs, it was clear as a day tripp went for a kill. like a pitbull, he wasn’t going to let go until he’s done. 

the sound of the sirens. someone screaming. a steal kissing his wrists before clenching onto them tightly. the backseat, where it smells like shit, dirty hoes and vomit. trippie shook his head and finally got back to reality. the wave of rage has disappeared and left trippie all by his lonesome with realization of him being caught by the fucking cops. “fuck!” he growled out and kicked the front seat with his foot. busted. and there’s no one else to blame for that. “fuuuuck...” he murmurs lowly to himself as he throws his head back and closes his eyes. a slow exhale and sequacity with the situation. what’s done is done, he just violated his parole, and he’s going back to jail.

he did it to himself. but, to tripp’s surprise, the car has stopped but not by the police station. it was the secluded area with the old, abandoned warehouses. the place where no one is going to bother you when you need some business done. rogue squinted his eyes some. what in the hell is going on? but he barely had time to think about it, instead, the door opened and his body got pulled out the car and pushed right over it’s hood. “well, well, well, rogue redd. long time no see.” one of the officers walked back and forth in front of him. trippie knew that motherfucker damn well, it wasn’t his first time meeting officer bellic. “yea, i missed ya’ll.” tripp hissed while trying to re-adjust his posture. “fuck ya’ll need?” he questioned and got a hit with a baton in a reply. “language.” bellic smirked while his colleague prepared to deliver another hit in case if trippie might have some more questions. instead, rogue scrunched the side of his face while his wolf like, animal stare focused on bellic. “i don’t care about the son of a bitch you just beat up out there, kid. and guess what, i’ll let you go but we need to have a little chat before that. is that clear?” bellic stopped from his slow pacing and looked down at trippie, who was leaning back against the hood. rogue refused to reply, so bellic continued. “okay. dan hernandez. taykashi. i bet this name is familiar, isn’t it?” bellic chuckled as he kept his eagle, piercing glare on trippie’s face. rogue did his best to show zero emotions, but, he knew that name damn well. his ex-best friend. “me and my friends got so sad after finding out taykashi is no longer with us. such unfortunate. you were probably sad as well, right?” bellic questioned trying to force emotions out of trippie. still, silence. “oh come on, i know you have a lot to say. he was your best friend who ended up snitching on you. you were probably dancing on his grave.” bellic lifts his eyebrow in already annoyed manner, awaiting for trippie to finally speak up. “may his rainbow hair rest in peace.” rogue mumbled through his teeth, something that tickled bellic’s nerves. “you’re being funny again, son? okay, looks like your best friend’s death didn’t bother you that much, but it did bother us. i think you know he was very helpful.” bellic chuckled and then smiled like a damn villain from the cheap, poorly executed cartoon. he saw how tripp’s top lip jerked some. “wait, what’s that? oh, right! he sung like a bird and dropped a few names. your’s included. so here’s my question, kid, and i better get my answers.” in the next moment bellic’s hand grippied around tripp’s throat. “who the hell killed taykashi? i need names, now. was it you?” trippie could feel bellic’s sour breath, he wanted to close his eyes and stop breathing so he won’t smell nor see this pig, but he wasn’t going to do that to please bellic’s ego. “i don’t know. i don’t fucking know!” trippie rasped trying to free himself from bellic’s grip. and, it wasn’t really welcomed by bellic. “stop lying, little motherfucker.” bellic grunted and tossed trippie onto the ground. bellic wasted no time throwing the same question over and over again. trippie wasn’t replying, instead, he tried to cover his head with his arms while bellic and the other officer tried to beat the names or confession out of him. but, they got nothing.

trippie coughed some and spit out the blood. he carefully peeked up. the car was gone. his hands weren’t handcuffed anymore. his body on fire, his busted lip swollen and his clothes all fucked up in the dust. rogue slowly got up and looked around. it will be a long way home, but taykashi was dead and trippie’s laughter boomed through the empty area.

“Moon Knight #1″- Review

Writer Jed MacKay and artist Alessandro Cappuccio kick off a new era for the Fist of Khonshu in a strong first issue that returns the character to his roots while satisfying long term fans.

Following the world shaking events of “The Age of Khonshu,” Marc Spector returns to his original mission of protecting nighttime travelers. However, with the god for whom he’s served years of his life now rotting in an Asgardian jail, Marc must come to terms with how he can function as the priest and avatar of a deity he no longer serves. Who is the Moon Knight without Khonshu?

With his MCU debut just a few months around the corner, it seems only natural that Marvel would launch a new iteration of their midnight crusader. After an abysmal run by Max Bemis and a promising but poorly executed turn in Jason Aaron’s Avengers series, fans of Moon Knight were eager for a return to form of one of the Marvel universe’s most intriguing and atypical heroes. Luckily, the new status quo and character direction crafted by writer Jed MacKay and artist Alessandro Cappuccio seems poised to live up to some of Marc Spector’s most beloved stories.

On its surface, Jed MacKay’s restructuring of Marc Spector’s world seems like a back to basics approach. Moon Knight is once again a protector of those who travel at night and has returned to busting the heads of the monsters and ghouls who look to torture hapless New Yorkers. It’s hardly the most radical reinvention of the character in his long, complicated history, but MacKay brings his script to life in the details.

While many of the core aspects of Marc Spector’s personal life such as his former supporting cast, his DID, and, of course, Khonshu, remain absent, MacKay, arguably more so than any Moon Knight writer in recent memory, seems firmly grounded in the character’s history. While the large swathes of exposition are likely meant to endear the series and its protagonist to new readers, it also demonstrates that MacKay understands this character. For a superhero franchise that’s almost been defined by its ability to radically reinvent itself, having an understanding of the many contradicting faces that Moon Knight has worn in the last several decades goes a long way to assuring long term readers that they are in good hands.

It also works from a storytelling standpoint. Much of the frame of this first issue is a conversation between Marc and his new therapist. Marc’s mental illness is a core part of his person and the handling of his mental health often makes or breaks a run. While we aren’t diving into the inner lives of Marc and his alters here, they are still a part of the ongoing conversation. More importantly, we see Moon Knight tackling his overall mental state given the massive fallout of the events of previous stories. Marc is a man who has suffered great trauma and upheaval and who he is at this new juncture in his life is a question that needs to be answered. He’s working to continue the work he did while in service to Khonshu but what does that mean in a Khonshu-less life?

MacKay also puts into motion two villains that seem set to wreak havoc on Moon Knight’s new world. The first is another member of Khonshu’s church that seems poised to challenge Marc for his religious failures. The second is someone more mysterious and perhaps one with an existing history in the Marvel universe.

Visually, this issue is a standout. Alessandro Cappuccio draws dynamic action sequences that carry a clear sense of motion and weight. It starts out early with Moon Knight crashing through a car window to stake some pyramid scheme pedaling vampires and continues on through brief glimpses of him providing beat downs of ravenous rat people and chainsawing zombies to death. Cappuccio also draws a distinction between Marc’s Moon Knight perspective and the more down to earth, gentile persona created through Mr. Knight. Moon Knight fills each panel often covered in shadowy colors by Rachelle Rosenberg. He feels monstrous and intimidating. Alternatively, Mr. Knight acts as Marc’s more personal side often saved for dialogue and moments of relative calm. It’s a fun distinction and gives the appearances of Marc’s a scary, intimidating aura.

While it may not be breaking new ground, this is one of the most exciting first issues that Moon Knight has had in quite some time and it feels safe to be confident in the direction of our Moon Man.

Score: A-

The Best Films of 2019, Part VI

Yes, I know that it’s almost March. Thanks for taking the ride. GREAT MOVIES

22. Apollo 11 (Todd Douglas Miller)- To disrespect this movie is to disrespect the moon landing itself so... I do like listening to the Walter Cronkite snippets about "the burdens and dreams of all mankind" and smirking at the idiots who talk about "back when people just read the news without editorializing." 21. Waves (Trey Edward Shults)- I could have done with five fewer shots of people holding each other, and the foreshadowing could be more subtle, but, man, Shults takes some huge swings here, for a more powerful effect than either of his previous films had. It isn't often that a colorist gets a single card in the opening credits, but it makes sense for a film that stands out as much as this loud, woozy piece does. I don't think there's anything as present-tense this year as a character drunk-driving to Kanye West's "I Am a God." 20. Jojo Rabbit (Taika Waititi)- The dissenters of Jojo Rabbit have been pretty uniform in their negativity, and I think their stance has to do with not wanting to be told what to think or feel. (Putting "an anti-hate satire" on the poster has to fire up those haters.) This movie is not subtle or ambiguous, but you know what? Casablanca is a pretty didactic movie too. Let me back up from the C-word. For me, the film's emotional scenes are better than its comedic scenes, but in either form, Waititi directly engages with a ten-year-old in a way that neither romanticizes him nor condescends to him. That's such an imperfect, transformative age in a boy, and not enough movies are willing to wrestle with how ugly it can be. Roman Griffin Davis is pretty good, but he's spotted by sincere, compassionate performances by Thomasin McKenzie and Scarlett Johansson. It's possible that Johansson has never been better. I totally understand why someone with her sex symbol baggage would resist playing mothers; if I've done my homework, this is the first time she has done it, even though she's a parent in real life. But her maternal scenes here are heartbreaking in their patience, particularly in a scene for which her character "plays" herself and her absent husband. Besides uncorking a more vulnerable part of herself, Johansson nails the performative aspect of being a parent, resisting the urge to make everything a lesson but wanting so desperately to be a positive example for a kid who needs one. 19. Honeyland (Ljubomir Stefanov and Tamara Kotevska)- I greatly prefer the term "non-professional actor" or "first-time actor" to "non-actor" because it's only human nature to act differently when being filmed. The second even a camera filming a birthday party captures you, you start to perform. But in handmade stone houses in rural Macedonia, the subjects are true non-actors. They have no affect because, in all likelihood, they have not seen a movie before. So the way that Hatidze lived over the course of the three years of this project--with purpose, focus, and wisdom--seemed new to me. Honeyland is the gift that I always hope for from documentary and (especially) foreign documentary: a slice of life that I never knew I needed. 18. Under the Silver Lake (David Robert Mitchell)- Andrew Garfield's Sam spends a lot of time on his balcony surveying his apartment complex, staring at a topless woman in a way that recalls Marlowe in The Long Goodbye, one reference point among hundreds. Sometimes he watches through binoculars, sometimes he watches through blinds--blind imagery that shows up over and over again in a movie about voyeurism. Anyway, this neighbor keeps parrots, who we're told as kids can "talk." Not that the animals have any conscious intention with their mimicking, but they replicate what they hear or are taught. The words are signified without any signifiers, so it's hard to even classify the noises as speech. Maybe those noises are everything--a tie to our species that reveals impressive intelligence--but maybe they're nothing--a silly hope of a world that seems less alone. And that subjective interpretation of code is the clearest metaphor in an otherwise elliptical, bizarre, sprawling, sui generis film. It's messy alright. Some of the threads lead nowhere, but in a movie about order and chaos, that's obviously the point. The scene with The Songwriter--barely any of the characters have names--is over ten minutes and might not have any narrative consequence. But in the moment it's earth-shattering and urgent. And maybe I'm the obvious audience, but I'm not going to complain about anyone taking a dance break for "What's the Frequency, Kenneth?" 17. 1917 (Sam Mendes)- Weirdly enough, a Lauryn Hill line kept bouncing around in my head as I was nervously tapping my foot: "It could all be so simple, / But you had to make it hard." This is a direct story told with impossible technical aptitude. 1917 isn't saying anything new, but have you ever seen a plane crash ten feet away from the camera forty-five minutes into an unbroken take? No offense, but do you remember when we were all impressed that Creed had a five-minute fight in one take? Blimey. 16. American Factory (Steven Bognar and Julia Reichert)- It's a rare documentary that makes its case so gracefully and so forcefully at the same time. The film ends so conclusively that it could be considered labor activism, but it's so fair that the union-busting schmucks are willing to joke around with the filmmakers without obfuscating at all. The obvious forebearer for this sort of boots-on-the-ground snapshot of American labor is Harlan County U.S.A., but American Factory is more staid and less concerned with setting because, you know, this could be anywhere.The Chairman is the best villain since Thanos, and as he looked back on his life while walking around his empty cabana, I had to squint a bit to make sure he wasn't purple.

15. Ad Astra (James Gray)- Ad Astra declares so that it can suggest. The opening crawl says that the near future is a "time of hope and conflict," but all we see is the conflict: the pirates on a borderless moon that we've ruined with Applebee'ses, the neglected wife leaving her ring on a table, the voiceover that declares, "I always wanted to be an astronaut...for all mankind and all." This film will take place in four parts--Earth, Moon, Mars, Neptune--and each part will offer unique obstacles to challenge our phlegmatic but confused hero. But all of that table-setting allows James Gray to explore. There's a scene in which the Roy character uses a belt to pull himself, one tug at a time, deeper into the unknown, and we see the action through the reflection in his helmet as we're watching his face. We're seeing through his eyes but at a remove, and in this moment we're watching him heave himself into emptiness, thinking that the more distant and lonely and absent he gets, the more of a man he becomes. We know that's not true, but we kind of think it is from the movies, and Ad Astra has a happy ending if only because it wants to disprove that notion. Lots of artistes talk about how they could, without compromise, make grand, big-budget entertainments if they only wanted to. James Gray did. 14. Ash Is Purest White (Jia Zhangke)- In a train on the way to her hometown, the protagonist Xiao casually tells a fellow passenger that she has seen a UFO. Although it comes up later in a sort of magic realism flourish, her statement seemed like a character moment for me. People who see UFOs are either guileless rubes or attention-seeking hucksters, and that's the dance of Tao Zhao's performance. Even after seeing the movie, I can't tell which one Xiao is. Often it changes in the course of a scene. The time when she shows the most agency, firing off her boyfriend's illegal gun to ward off his attackers, results in the time when she is the most helpless, being ordered around in jail. She might confess her ex-con status in a moment of vulnerability, then flake out at the next train stop in an attempt to seize her power back. (It's worth mentioning that there are lots of movies about flaky drifters who don't pay the tab, but few of them are about women.) Even the way that she holds her backpack--frontways--is street-smart and child-like at the same time. This is the second film that Jia has made with a triptych setting, (Mountains May Depart is slightly superior.) and he doesn't make the flash forwards obvious. He invites the performance's same sort of healthy confusion upon the viewer with the formal elements. I, for one, am willing to get probed by these foreign objects. 13. Toy Story 4 (Josh Cooley)- I questioned a late moment in the film, one of the plottier ones in which Woody goes back to save another toy one more laborious time. When I sighed, my wife reminded me, "He never leaves a toy behind." Toy Story 4 is a dazzling upgrade in the series from a visual standpoint, (I gasped again at Woody lying in a damp, sunny patch of concrete.) but it's more of a reminder of the consistent character development and weight that have been blanketing us for twenty-three years. Pixar isn't reinventing the wheel because it is the wheel. Sure, the characters are too numerous and separate now. I miss the OG's Rex and Hamm. But for one thing, that rogue's gallery makes it funnier when, say, Buttercup pops up with a joke out of nowhere. And the new characters, particularly Forky the Nihilist, are so lovable that I wouldn't know who to trade. Toy Story 4 is probably the worst of the franchise, but that franchise--especially when its subtext seems to be questioning people who want to stop intellectual property from evolving--might be the best we have. 12. Clemency (Chinonye Chukwu)- In discussing the aftermath of an execution, Alfre Woodard's warden character Bernadine mentions the mother who will claim a prisoner's body, who will follow through with plans for burial. And I realized, to be honest, that I had never thought about how executed bodies are claimed and laid to rest, though obviously those sad practicalities persist. This whole film is a reminder of the numerous costs that arise from a system that is out of time and out of reason. To that end, every character is fully drawn with empathy. For example, the assistant warden, which could have been a nothing part, has ambitions and fears that give him an arc that shades the protagonist. The Richard Schiff and Wendell Pierce characters make the film about the compromised promises of retirement, but the assistant warden is there to tug us back into law enforcement. Neon ended up putting this movie on the awards circuit back burner, but Aldis Hodge deserves the world. Although the film piles on one indignity too many for my taste, drifting into miserableism, Hodge's performance has a rare possessive quality. Catatonic in his most crestfallen moments and antic when he clings to hope, Hodge drags the audience along with him. The character is quiet, but every word counts. 11. The Farewell (Lulu Wang)- I was not been more thoroughly charmed all year, especially by Awkwafina, who is a revelation in a tricky role. There are a few scenes that get comedic effect through repetition, and it's telling that the subtitles stop by the third or fourth run-through of a line. The movie assumes you're smart, which goes even further than its piercing emotion. Shout-out to Mr. Li, who made me crack up every time I saw him. The elderly sort-of-boyfriend is such a common figure in real life, but I'm not sure I've ever seen that character type on screen. I'm not sure I've seen any of this on-screen, and that's the reason the film exists.

10. Avengers: End Game (Joe Russo and Anthony Russo)- For a guy who grew up in the '30s, Captain America is pretty cool with gay people. 9. Gloria (Sebastian Lelio)- I saw Lelio's original Gloria, the one that he's remaking here, and it didn't do much for me, even though it hit some of the same beats as this one. I wonder what the difference could be...do you think the total commitment of one of the greatest actresses in the world matters? Lelio documents who this woman is to her children, to her mother, to her ex-husband, to her lover, to her co-workers, and it's by tracking the tiny compromises of those relationships that the viewer gets to see the fully realized her. The cyclical editing of those pieces--sing a disco song to herself in the car, rinse, repeat--ends up lulling the viewer into his role of seeing the complete Gloria. It ends up being a fun, absorbing process. I yelled out loud at Turturro for disrespecting my girl. Moore, who is in every scene, sells us on these different versions of the character through complete control of her instrument. She lets headphones slump along her body at work. She kneels down toward a street performer in a more maternal way than she ever presents with her actual daughter. She sits cross-legged with her best friend, as if they're little girls. I won't spoil what she does at the end, when she is at her most empowered. 8. Midsommar (Ari Aster)- I love this movie, but, boy, is it a friendship killer if you recommend it to the wrong person. Whether you liked Hereditary or not is a good predictor for your taste, but I think Ari Aster's follow-up is much better: Whereas the unpredictability of Hereditary makes the mysticism of its final fourth seem like a leap that you either accept or don't, Midsommar is driving so hard in one direction that its dread is even more pronounced. (The prologue is so masterfully deliberate and gloomy that it takes a long time for the film to get back to those depths.) For comparison's sake again, Aster was painting in the colors of hysteria and fractured relationships before, but the new film seems much more biting and vital in the way it depicts modern men and women. I'm thinking of the way Dani excuses herself at the risk of compromising her safety or rationalizes her boyfriend's forgetting her birthday with "Well, I didn't remind him." All of the characters become victims of a misinformed, selfish brand of multicultural tolerance that makes them rationalize evil instead of speaking up, and that acceptance serves the plot way better than the average horror movie's running up the stairs instead of out the door. For his part, Christian, who seems sympathetic at first, takes ideas, drugs, and even women for himself with impunity. (It's important that he's an anthropology student, and it's more important that his name is Christian.) When he colonizes his Black friend's thesis topic, it might seem like a tipping point, but he was one step ahead in using rules and approval for his purposes. None of the Americans bother to stop him, but that doesn't mean that no one stops him. 7. A Hidden Life (Terrence Malick)- "The sun shines on good and evil the same." In the baggy second hour of what might be Terrence Malick's most direct and linear film, martyr Franz Jagerstatter tosses off that line with grace and aplomb, at a time when most of us would have neither to spare. His captors are confused when he denies that his conscientious objection will make any difference in the war or when he doubts that he is more morally evolved than his countrymen. His refusal to pledge an oath to Hitler is a state with no outcome in mind, which the results-obsessed Nazis cannot understand. In that way he is the perfect Malickian hero, which means he is the perfect Heideggerian hero: a man who sees all planes of existence as equal--or at least equally unknowable to him. As a farmer, Franz observes and acts upon cycles, but he is smaller than Nature and the communion he finds with God there. So when he's torn from his family and daily life to be stuck in a prison, he is separated from that concord further and further. The key, however, is that he is no more or less powerful than before, and that knowledge is what gives him transcendental perspective. He is indifferent in the way that only a saint can be. Of course, what I'm describing also makes for a passive protagonist, which is why the cross-cutting to his wife Fani is so effective. She is the one who has to shoulder the burden of his ideals, and Valerie Pachner's stolid performance sells that sacrifice. The overall balance comes from the jagged but precise editing, and the production is all the more impressive for retaining the Malick style despite the absence of most of his regular collaborators. (This is the first time since The Thin Red Line that he hasn't worked with Jack Fisk, but there the production design is, crafting a 1940 Austrian town out of nothing and building a network of water symbolism that I don't understand yet.) In fact, the whirling steadicam and the avoidance of artificial light have more of a thematic purpose than ever if "the sun shines on good and evil all the same." Perhaps the greatest achievement of this film about unjust war is that it made me pray for Donald Trump today. Because if I want to be like Franz Jagerstatter, then I have to believe the light of God shines on him too. 6. Knives Out (Rian Johnson)- A third of the way into this imaginative, absorbing whodunit, I started to talk myself into the surface pleasures of cinema. "So what if it doesn't have much to say; look at these stars going for it with this spicy dialogue and these gleeful twists." Then the subtext asserts itself through a radiant Ana de Armas, and the subtext becomes the text in the final shot. Knives Out is the best of all worlds. Rian Johnson might be the first filmmaker for whom a Star Wars movie ends up being a footnote. 5. Everybody Knows (Asghar Farhadi)- There's a photograph hanging in the library (yes, the stately library) of the patrician family of my childhood best friend, and I'm in that picture. There I am, dressed a bit sloppier than everyone else, near the edge of the frame. Because I was there, as usual, and because they are kind. Everybody Knows is about one of those family friend outsiders, perhaps in a way that no other movie has been. When it's at its best, it's about what those marginal figures can and can't say, can and can't do. The film dips into soap opera territory, but only to sell its message of how secrets beget other secrets. For me, it's another Farhadi hit of approachable, modest conflict that bakes itself into an experience. 4. Marriage Story (Noah Baumbach)- The best divorce movie ever made--by the guy who wrote and directed the former belt holder of the best divorce movie ever made. These luminous lead performances aren't just about saying cutting, hurtful things or reacting to their child's preference for the other parent (or at least the other parent's toys). They're about the internal devastation of realizing you can never take back something you've said. Driver and Johansson each get a chance to sink into one of those moments, and they're joined by a head-tilting, blustery Laura Dern, who gets a Virgin Mary speech that won her an Oscar. And there are jokes! Underrated aspect of the movie: The son is kind of a dipshit. I like that he just hates math and wants to eat candy, as opposed to the cute prodigies we've seen before in this type of movie. They're fighting over a kid only a parent could love. INSTANT CLASSICS

3. Uncut Gems (Josh Safdie and Benny Safdie)- Howard the jeweler lives somewhere in upstate New York, but he has an apartment in the city. It's an apartment that is close enough for him to cab over to his mistress who lives there, but it's far enough away that his family wouldn't bother popping in for a visit. That sort of gap is present throughout Uncut Gems: Family members act differently in the Diamond District than they do at seder, and we first see Howard from the literally vulnerable inside of a colonoscopy, not the animated brio of his tightrope-walking exterior. Of course, the gem of the title is the ultimate division: something pure that the characters are searching for, untouched by the process that Howard, by definition, does. And the film is about how little he can abide by purity. Until now, The Gambler (1974) was probably the best film of this type, a snapshot of a cursed man who seems to be gambling with forces way beyond the game in question. But Uncut Gems is more pathological, more authentic, more intense, and more decisively realized. By focusing more on character than the Safdie Brothers' other work, it offers a unique depiction of compulsive behavior and implicates the audience in rooting for Howard's (technically unrealistic) parlay. By doubling down on his bets or re-uniting with his girlfriend, Howard thinks that he can reinvent himself and start anew. But like the legacy of the Chosen People the film depicts, like the lines on all of these great New York faces, some things are permanent.

2. The Irishman (Martin Scorsese)- "It's what it is." You wouldn't blame someone if he saw the logline and lineup of The Irishman and expected GoodFellas. In fact, this one quotes Scorsese's signature film continually. Instead of slicing onions with a razorblade, old convicts pitch bocce balls. Instead of tracking sumptuously through the Copa, Scorsese's camera wanders through a nursing home. Instead of pistol-whipping Karen's neighbor for getting handsy, our protagonist curb-stomps a grocery owner for shoving his daughter. But there's a GoodFellas staple that is missing. The first fourth of that crime saga closes as Young Henry, played by Christopher Serrone, gets rewarded for staying mum in court. All of his partners in crime cheer him, and he is told that he learned a valuable lesson (in protecting the family and subverting the law). Then we cut to Adult Henry, played by Ray Liotta now, because Young Henry has learned everything he has to know. The Irishman has no such moment of elevation or revelation. Frank is, crucially, played by Robert De Niro over the course of decades because his fall from grace--if there ever was grace--is too imperceptible for any before-and-after divide. The lessons that he learns are just as corrupting as what Henry discovers: Power comes from insularity. Having power means you don't have to prove it. Organized crime, organized labor, and the political process are all the same thing. A code is all a man has, but all codes have limits. However, Frank's corruption, the selling of his soul, doesn't even bring an Asian-inspired chiffonier or a Janice Rossi sidepiece. Frank doesn't get rich; he jams his hands into a plastic ice bucket at the bar next to his couch. He doesn't get powerful; he has to kill because Russell is too prominent to be in the same town as a hit. He doesn't get glory; even a celebration held in his honor is just an excuse for more influential men to do business. Frank is a tool, and he is trapped in a fruitless silence, at best an accessory at meetings. (De Niro is doing quoting of his own. There's a lot of Jackie Brown's Louis in his shrugs and smirks.) As boisterous as Scorsese's films can be, he also knows how to use silence. Robbie Robertson's score is weak, but luckily the film goes without for long stretches, including a suspenseful car ride that begins with a treacherous hug and ends with a malignant secret. The best performance comes from Joe Pesci, probably because his stolid stillness matches the overall atmosphere. Of course, the quietest moments correlate to the loneliest moments: Frank touring a cemetery or sitting with a door half-cracked to a complicit viewer. It's the silence of deliberate toil. Like the mobster ripping up carpet in the lake house, Scorsese is on his hands and knees destroying his own myths.

1. Parasite (Bong Joon-ho)- Parasite is Bong Joon-Ho's masterpiece because it distills the worldview and passions that he previously flirted with into a condensed but elaborate statement. In the same way that Mean Streets is perfectly good but feels like a rehearsal for the slow boil of encircling gangster life in GoodFellas. In the same way that Hitchcock played with the impotent everyman voyeur in a confined setting but didn't perfect it until Rear Window. Like the examples above, Parasite, a true ensemble, is a case of the subtext becoming text. Back in his native country and language, working more or less with realism, Bong is free to take aim at class in a more direct but still wacky way. In all of its crowd provocation--there's so much pleasure in just a suspenseful winding down stairs--the film is destined to be a foreign film gateway drug. But really it just makes we want to take a half-star off my Snowpiercer review since I know Bong can do better now.

Psycho Analysis: Justin Hammer

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

So many villains in the early days of the MCU were just evil counterparts to the heroes. This is where that age-old complaint of “The hero always fights a villain with the same powers as them!” comes from. Justin Hammer is an interesting take on this; rather than being an evil counterpart to Iron Man, he is one to Tony Stark, a corrupt businessman who so desperately wishes to be Tony Stark levels of successful. It’s such a cool concept, but there’s one tiny little issue that hampers Hammer:

He is an awful character. And no, I don’t mean that he’s a terrible person (though he is), I mean that his character is an obnoxious failure of a villain for an obnoxious failure of a movie like Iron Man 2.

Actor: Sam Rockwell is to blame for this obnoxious twerp. Apparently Rockwell was once described by no less an authority than Roger Ebert as “the go-to guy for weird characters;” well, Hammer is certainly weird, so I’m putting as much blame on Rockwell for the character’s shortcomings as anyone else. He did absolutely nothing to redeem this chump in my eyes.

Motivation/Goals: Hammer is motivated solely by greed and envy. He wants to be like Tony, he wants the power Tony has, he wants the fame Tony has. To this end, he allies himself with Vanko, but he unfortunately greatly underestimates… everyone and everything. Hammer is an absolute idiot who is incapable of making an intelligent decision, which is his greatest setback in his attempts to dethrone Tony.

Personality: This is perhaps the fatal flaw of Hammer: he is nothing more than Diet Tony. And yes, it is clear this is by design, Hammer is supposed to be the dark mirror to Tony, with all the snarking and quipping and jokes but with none of the wit and intelligence and charisma… but that’s just it. We’re watching a guy who thinks he’s cool enough to be Tony Stark try and be Tony Stark while having all of his flaws and none of his positives, and it’s just sad. It’s certainly not enjoyable watching this doofus prance out onto a stage (okay, I lied, that might be his saving grace to be perfectly honest).

And honestly, this sort of thing would still be interesting and compelling if he wasn’t such a condescending, unrepentant dick. Hammer is just wholly unpleasant, to the point where you just can’t feel bad for his failed attempts at catching Tony’s lightning in a bottle. He exists in this weird spot between a rock and a hard place in terms of writing and storytelling, where everything about him screams at being an ineffectual sympathetic villain that we should pity and laugh at, while the writing and acting proceeds to make him into a wholly unlikable jerkwad that you would frankly feel dirty for rooting for in any capacity. It’s really a shame too, because the idea is there, it’s interesting, but the execution is just so baffling and botched.

Final Fate: He gets sent to jail, and as All Hail the King shows, he’s thriving and having plenty of gay sex if the man clinging to him is any indication.

Best Scene: His little dance onto the stage, which may be the one moment where everything about him comes together in a good way.

Best Quote: Perhaps Hammer’s only other good moment, when he describes his absolute failure of a weapon:

“These are the Cubans, baby. This is the Cohibas, the Montecristos. This is a kinetic-kill, side-winder vehicle with a secondary cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine RDX burst. It's capable of busting a bunker under the bunker you just busted. If it were any smarter, it'd write a book, a book that would make Ulysses look like it was written in crayon. It would read it to you. This is my Eiffel Tower. This is my Rachmaninoff's Third. My Pieta. It's completely elegant, it's bafflingly beautiful, and it's capable of reducing the population of any standing structure to zero. I call it ‘The Ex-Wife.’”

The sheer amount of subtle references to the fact that Hammer is a moron (he actually repeats himself and Ulysses was actually, legitimately written in crayon) kind of does make the payoff that the “Ex-Wife” is an abject failure produced by a moron almost funny. Almost.

Final Thoughts & Score: TVTropes, a mostly neutral website when it comes to describing characters, calls him “An all-around obnoxious loser.” This may seem extreme, but one need only look at the films themselves to see this is the case. He pitifully tries to copy Tony his whole film, he repeatedly demonstrates he’s full of it and knows very little, and he ends up in jail where he is soon overshadowed by a guy who faked playing a terrorist on TV for an even lamer villain. And then there’s the fact that his entire company is so much better off without him that once he’s gone they started producing weapons that could harm Luke Cage. Oh, and his infamous “Ex-Wife?” In a comic prelude to Iron Man 3, one that Tony made actually manages to be effective. Hammer is so utterly incompetent on so many levels he’d be funny if he wasn’t so sad.

Hammer has always been a 1/10 villain in my mind. I have hated him since the moment I first saw Iron Man 2, and I can’t stand him even today. Of course, I don’t think he’s the worst villain in the MCU; he’s not nearly as bad as Malekith, obviously, and there’s room for him to improve if he ever comes back as some have rumored he will. But as he stands right now, he is just an unlikable, unpleasant, pompous moron who was portrayed by a guy who tried to hard at portraying a guy who was trying too hard.

UPDATE: I’m just gonna be blunt: I let my own biases get in the way of objectivity. This man deserves a 3/10, because he may be one of the best “so bad it’s good” villains ever for... exactly the things stated above. He’s just such an epic failure at trying to be Tony that he succeeds at being an utterly incompetent boob. I will admit, it’s easier to laugh with him than at him at some points, so I do hope they bring him back in some manner.

Stranger Than Known Chapter 3

TITLE: Stranger Than Known

AUTHOR: Mikimoo

RECIPIENT:  biirdiie

PAIRING: JayDick

RATING:  Explicit

WARNINGS: sex pollen, dubcon, puns

SUMMARY: Slade’s easy job as a bodyguard is about to get complicated when his employer finally achieves his goal of capturing a Bat (or two).

Warnings this chapter: Some non-consensual situations and nasty talk from nasty people. Also murder, lots of murder.

Thank you to my awesome beta Chianti Rioja!

Chapter 1, 2

Slade could admit that watching the boys get lost in sensation and each other was arousing, far more than if they had been mindlessly rutting on Ivy's straight up spores. The crowd clearly agreed and bids were hotting up. Slade reluctantly tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him; Grayson was still moving in that sinuous, sensual way and Todd was almost whimpering – the top button of his pants had come undone and his top was riding up to show a strip of pale skin.

It was time Slade paid attention to who was going to win the night with them, which would be the deciding factor on how his own job went today. It was annoyingly hard to tear his eyes away, but he was nothing if not a professional.

The bidding was down to the last six; a collection of villains and perverts, about evenly mixed. Most of the people after the Red Hood were those he had personally wronged – something that would no doubt be very unpleasant for him when they finally laid hands on him. Grayson's lot were more of a mixed bunch; a few straight up perverts and body collectors, mixed in with a handful of people whose operations he had busted. There was one stand out, who Slade had tipped to win on the basis that his pockets were almost as deep as Wayne’s. He was both a sexual sadist and had been arrested due to Nightwing’s investigation. He was of course out on a million dollar bail, and primed to take his revenge.

“And now!” McVitie squealed to the crowd, “Now for the winners to claim their prizes!”

Slade couldn’t help turning back to the boys, to see their response. Both had stopped moving, flushed and tense. Alert to the point of fear.  

“The winners of the Red Hood, with a shared bid – numbers 55 and 91!”

55 was a small, angry looking woman called Este Bankoff. She had recently escaped from jail where she had been serving 155 years for human trafficking, murder and tax evasion. There was pure hell in her eyes as she stared up at Todd's image on the screen. No doubt he had been the one to put her behind bars, he seemed to really enjoy taking down traffickers.  Number 91 was Hector Jones, drug runner and a big player in both the US and South America. He was a large man with an ugly scar bisecting his nose – from the Red Hood’s knife. The night was going to be a painful one for Todd it seemed.

Slade had been correct about the winner for Dick’s bid. Stefan Sokolov, an illegitimate, American born son of a Russian billionaire. As his father’s only child he had inherited his fortune young, after Mr. Sokolov the elder had fallen to his death from a faulty ski lift while holidaying with his fifteen year old son. There were whispers of course, but nothing could be proved. Young Stefan took to his new found wealth with ease and spent large portions of it buying off the various prostitutes he tortured in his penthouse. Nightwing had made a case against him with enough evidence to stick, despite all the money he had thrown at it.

Now it looked like Stefan was going to double up on the things he loved most – revenge and torture. He looked hungry as he stared up at the projected image. Slade couldn’t blame him, but he didn’t like it.

“And now the prizes will be prepared for the winners, so relax and enjoy the party!” McVitie said, as the screen flicked off. Champagne was served along with delicious looking canapés , and cocaine in long lines on silver trays.It was all served by scantily clad waitstaff, something for every taste apparently.

McVitie was so excited, scampering from guest to guest, talking and nodding in that unbearably annoying way he had. Slade turned away in distaste. He watched the boys have a quiet but frantic conversation in the box, and saw the moment of panic as knock out gas was pumped into the glass cage to incapacitate them for transportation.

Slade felt he was doing a lot of irritated sighing during the course of this mission. That in itself was annoying. It was closing in on the time he would have to make some decisions but he didn’t want to play his hand too soon, there might still be a way to work things out.

“Deathstroke!” McVitie said happily, “Come with me, we can watch the proceedings from my private chambers.”

They walked to McVitie’s rooms in blessed silence, which gave Slade a little more time to ponder his choices. Inside there was a set up of giant screens, showing various rooms and people. The two main sets were off – no doubt to be used for dramatic effect.

McVitie sat on his fancy, tasteless chair with satisfaction oozing out of every pore. “Not long now until the fun stuff!” he said.

“Do you have a further itinerary for your guests of honour? Or will these first bidders also be the last?”

“No, no, there will be another day or so for Nightwing – I have a kill request on the second day that is frankly too good to pass up. Although, now I know who he is, I might have to, and see how best to use that.” He pondered for a moment, rubbing at his chin with a bony finger. “The Red Hood is solidly booked. I have a request from Black Mask for the final day.”

Presumably that would also be the final day of the Red Hood. “Will these bidders honour that do you think?” he asked.

“Yes, or I will have them killed. They know that.” McVitie said dismissively. “Shall we see how they’re doing?” He flicked on one of the big screens.

The first showed Todd, still bound as before, except now with his legs rather inefficiently roped together. He was situated on the rug of the couple’s suite with the woman straddling his thighs as he squirmed beneath her. They had removed the blindfold, and even over the cameras the look in his eyes was pure murder. It was unclear if she was attempting to hurt him, sexually assault him or hold him down for her partner.

It was a lot less fun to watch than when he was bickering with Grayson earlier. Slade was unsurprised to see that he seemed to be loosening his bindings, and was only a few kicks short of dislodging Bankhoff and freeing himself from the necktie  wrapped around his ankles. The kid had some strong legs on him. Slade had been kicked in the face more than once by the Red Hood, (and indeed, by a gangly foul mouthed Robin who hadn’t quite grown into his limbs yet) and a necktie was not going to cut it.

Slade felt a horrifying trickle of nostalgia remembering Todd calling him a ‘dumbfuck Cyclops with more wrinkles than brains,’ just before launching a poorly executed, but wonderfully powerful, flying kick. Slade had almost toppled off the building he was on after he allowed it to land, but it was worth it as he caught the offending foot and tossed Robin off the roof instead. It was amusing to see how many times the kid tumbled ass over elbow before remembering he had a zip line and firing it. And he never stopped cussing the whole way down either – a remarkably inventive kid when it came to language. Despite his smarts and his growing physical skills, Slade had dismissed him as Not As Good As Grayson, and therefore of little interest other than as a passing amusement. But puberty, a brain injury and assorted trauma seemed to have done wonders for the kid. He was almost sorry he hadn’t pursued him in the same way he had Grayson, especially as Dick suffered from an almost terminal case of suffocating morality. Todd had turned out much more flexible on that score, although probably not flexible enough. Slade bit back yet another a sigh.

On the screen the man was more or less sitting on Todd's head in an effort to keep him still, as he cut off the fake uniform top with a small razor blade. He wasn’t being particularly careful and there were bloody cuts across his exposed skin. Todd’s thrashing and cussing were not helping matters either.

Slade turned away to fine McVitie looking at him with a calculating expression on his face. Slade's instincts kicked into gear, there was something happening here, a test of some sort? Despite his moment of reminiscing, Slade had kept his face black and professional. Whatever reaction McVitie was aiming for, he hadn’t got it.

McVitie gave him an insincere smile. “Shall we see what the other one is up to?” He switched on the other screen to reveal Grayson, face down on the bed of an ornate guest suite. He was still bound and blindfolded, but clearly working on that despite the pain he was in. Stefan was straddling his hips, rubbing against him threateningly. Beside him on the bedside table there were an array of objects laid out  that ranged from oversized sex toys to implements better suited to a medieval torture chamber.

It wasn’t those that got under Slade's skin though, it was the words Stefan was whispering into Dick’s ear as he dry humped him. “I’m going to fuck you wide open, Nightwing, scar you from the inside out. Every time you wake you’ll have to think of me , every time you take a shit, you’ll think of me , every damn moment of your short life will be about me and what I’ve done to you. I don’t get to kill you, but you’ll wish I had, even as your last thoughts are of me.”

Slade hated that. Someone else claiming a part of Grayson. It wasn’t that he believed that Dick belonged to him in any real way, it was just he definitely did not belong to this upstart pervert. There was also little doubt that Stefan spoke a level of truth, if he was allowed to go all out on his victim, he was capable of breaking him. Very capable. Grayson was just a man, after all, no matter his training.

He just couldn’t let it happen.

Stefan leaned back and smacked at Grayson’s behind with the flat of his palm. “First, maybe I’ll break your legs,” he mused. “Break them so even if you're rescued, you’ll never walk again. Not without pain, not without help. You’ll never fight again, never fly.”

Beneath him, Dick shivered. As though the threat of that was somehow worse than death. Stefan grinned, catching the involuntary shudder.

“How do you feel about that?” Stefan asked, like he was genuinely curious to hear the answer.

“Go fuck yourself.” Dick grunted.

“I’d rather fuck you, Nightwing.” Stefan gloated. He had yet to take off the blindfold, but no doubt he would soon, to make Grayson watch.

On the screen Dick didn’t dignify that with an answer, twisting his limbs in his bonds, looking for a tiny bit of give he could exploit.

“So,” McVitie said, interrupting his thoughts in a very casual tone. “It’s Grayson you have a history with. I did wonder.”

Slade realised he must have given something away with his expression or body language. Very bad form on his part, just another sour note to add to this clusterfuck of a mission.

“And?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“Will you betray me for him?” McVitie asked, without the fear such a question should be spoken with.

“That depends. Are you going to betray me ?” Slade asked, mildly. He was, that much was now a given. But McVitie had to make a drama out of it, even his face looked dramatic, theatrical in its over excited expression. The little creep really did love the melodrama of a good betrayal.

As if on cue, the door opened and a tall muscular woman stepped in. Slade recognised her, although they had never met. Shard, an assassin, mercenary and bodyguard. She had a good rep and possibly some meta ability, or the sort of enhancements Slade himself had. He could take her in a fight, but it wouldn’t be easy, and he wasn’t sure Grayson had the time for him to indulge in a long, drawn out battle.

“This all feels very familiar,” Slade drawled. “Except last time I was the man hired to kill my predecessor. It seems this is a short term job, Cecil.”

“Lucrative though,” Shard said, amiably.

“Indeed. Although McVitie seems to have forgotten one thing.”

“Your prowess? “ McVite sneered, apparently thrilled to be able to talk some more instead of running away like a smart man would. “Shard’s better. I always get the best of everything.”

Slade slowly drew his blade, Shard did the same with a wicked looking katana and they sized one another up for a moment. “No, not my prowess. It is considerable, but I concede that Shard is good enough to make the fight an interesting one. But no, the thing you have forgotten is that mercs like Shard and myself don’t need to fight to prove ourselves and we don’t fight for honour. We fight for money.” Before he had even fully finished speaking, Slade reversed the blade, struck out to the side and slammed it home into McVitie’s gut, McVitie made a noise like a startled pig and Slade twisted the blade as he withdrew it. “If there’s no employer there’s no money, and if there’s no money, there’s no fight.”

“Aw, shit,” Shard said, a sad downturn to her mouth. “He was good for almost two mil.”

“He was selling you short, my first job for him was double that.”

“Still, easy money.”

“Well, it will take him a little while to bleed out, but not enough time to get him any sort of help. Money’s gone.”

Shard looked at her blade, a little petulantly, but then sighed. “You’re a bastard, Deathstroke, but it was fair play I guess.”

Slade inclined his head.

Shard clicked her tongue and glanced at the ornate nonsense in the room. “What about the goods? They got any resale value? Only seems fair I get to make back a bit of my loss.”

Slade rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Sure. But they’re mine. He has plenty of other shit around, take whatever else you want, then leave to fight another day.”

She gave him a shrewd and speculative look. “Must be worth a hell of a lot if you would only take them, and just give the rest to me.”

“They’re getting less valuable by the second. I don’t have time to fight. But yes, they are worth a lot, to the right people. But besides me, there is also a high price to dealing with them. They will bring down a crap of trouble on any buyer or broker. Bat trouble.”

“Shit, Gotham type Bats? I fucking hate Gotham.”

“Bleghhhh,” McVitie said from the floor, snivelling and choking on his own blood.

Slade ignored him. “Gotham and Bat trouble are both acquired tastes, but one of these boys and I have history. Having him indebted to me is worth the aggravation from the Big Bad Bat.”

“Ha, well rather you than me. Take them, I’ll be raiding the old pig’s files and cellar, I’m sure there’s enough crap in here to pay double what he offered me.” She picked up a gaudy, gold and diamond encrusted paper weight in the shape of a fat dog and examined it critically. “Shame money can’t buy taste.”

“Urrrgle!” McVitie objected. His eyes were beginning to roll. It wouldn’t be long now until he took his poor sense of aesthetics with him to the afterlife. Couldn’t come soon enough really.

Shard pocketed the paper weight with a philosophical shrug. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Same.” Slade watched her leave then shoved McVitie over with the toe of his boot and wiped his sword clean on the back of his pants. Only then did he turn his attention back to the main screens.

Stefan was still talking and although Dick was bleeding from the nose and had a fat lip, he was still clothed and appeared unhurt. Stefan seemed to be making a performance of it, or perhaps he just loved the sound of his own voice. He might well spend all night listening to himself talk at this rate.  

On the other screen, Todd had his legs free and seemed to have kicked Bankoff in the face, she was on her knees, dazed and bleeding. The man was shouting and waving a hammer.

Although he could more or less take or leave Todd, years of exposure to Grayson suggested that they would be going nowhere without him as well. And if Todd's legs were broken or he was unconscious with a claw-hammer to the skull, getting the three of them clear of McVitie’s mansion would be far more difficult and more importantly, far more aggravating.  

So he decided to go get Todd first.

  Slade didn’t bother knocking, just kicked the door down with enough force to knock it clear off its hinges. This also had the beneficial effect of taking out Bankhoff, who seemed to have propped herself against it in order to get over being kicked in the skull.

Jones was gaping stupidly at him, hammer raised, while Todd scooted across the floor on his butt, hands still bound behind him. Slade took two smooth steps forward and smashed his sword hilt into Jones’ face, knocking him down. Then he cut the bindings on Todd's arms.

“Deathstroke? The fuck you doing here?” Todd panted. The pain from the drugs was probably reduced from the amount of adrenaline in his system, but he was clearly still feeling it. Or maybe that was the few blows from the hammer that had landed, at least it seemed to have missed anything vital.

“You’re welcome,” Slade said.

“Nightwing?” Todd asked, getting to his feet, a little shakily.

“We’ll pick him up next.”

“Okay, lemme just get a shirt,” Todd said, eyeing up Jones who was blubbering and crawling, blinded by the blow or the blood running into his eyes. Todd grabbed him, yanking his black button-up out of his pants and over his head while Jones whimpered and begged. Todd said nothing as he placed the slightly blooded shirt on the side table and picked the razor blade that had cut lines into his chest. “I’ve been a pretty good boy recently, sticking to the rules when I’m in Gotham.” he said.

“Please!” Jones said, plaintively. “I’m sorry, Please!”

Todd ignored him. “But we aren’t in Gotham, and sometimes folks just piss me off enough for me to make an exception.”

Jones tried to scrabble away, but Todd grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back and slitting his throat with a practised motion, clean and with no hesitation. Slade watched as the arterial spray hit the far wall, he really had missed an opportunity with this one. Blinded by Grayson’s natural brilliance he had missed the potential in his replacement. Still, too late now.

Unruffled by the arch of blood, Todd had put on the shirt and was looking at Bankoff, he seemed more reluctant to deal her a final blow, possibly because it was unsportsmanlike to kill an unconscious opponent. Slade had no such limiting compunctions and he stabbed her in the chest as he passed, the crunch of her ribs was satisfying. This job was a shit show, but at least he was getting to take his frustrations out on something.

“Come along, Todd,” he called over his shoulder.

Todd paused long enough to pick up the hammer he had been threatened with, and then a long thin bladed knife, before following him out of the door. Slade had to admit to being a little impressed with how steady Todd's hand was on the blade, seeing as he was shuddering and sweating with pain. Despite that, he kept pace, clearly as itchy to reach Grayson as Slade was.  

  They burst into the room in much the same way Slade had burst into Todd's. The room appeared empty and quiet at first glance, but it was that kind of quiet that seemed to follow frenzied activity that had been quickly cut off.

“Dickie?” Todd called, completely breaking every protocol the Bat had ever beat into his thick skull.

Grayson's head popped up from the other side of the bed. His hair was sticking up like he had been tugged through a bush backwards and he was slightly wild eyed.

His gaze fell on Todd first, relief clear on his face, then his eyes flicked back further. “Slade?” He blinked at them for moment, then a stupid grin spread across his face. “Are you rescuing me? I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t, but this would have been an embarrassing way for you to die, and my employer would have betrayed me anyway. Not to mention the fact now you are both in my debt.”

“I didn’t need your help, I’m nearly out, see?” he pushed himself up on the bed, in the same position he had been on the vid screen. Both his shoulders were dislocated and although his arms were still bound, he was working his way free of the bindings.

“Oh, gross,” Todd said. “Stop fucking wiggling like that.” He strode over and used his sharp little knife to cut the ropes the rest of the way off. Then he did a double take, looking down at Dick’s body. “Did he do anything?” He asked, voice suddenly very dangerous as he helped Dick to his feet and eyed up what Slade assumed was Stefan, unconscious and hidden down the side of the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” Dick said, going a little pink at the ears. “He just got a little enthusiastic with his knife.”

“If you say so. Wilson, can you help him get all his limbs back in order while I find some pants?”

While Slade objected very strongly to being ordered about by a Batling, he did want to give Grayson a once over just in case. Dick also looked like he was about to object, but Slade stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, making him gasp and stagger slightly. His skin was fever hot even though the intact top half of the fake uniform. Before he had a chance to protest, Slade jerked the right shoulder back in place with a sharp movement.

“Oi!” Dick said when Slade manhandled him around to do the other, and it was quite obvious what had upset Todd when he got a look at Dick’s backside, literally. Stefan had cut the back of his tights open and he wasn’t wearing briefs. Slade jerked the other shoulder in place and then fended off a smack from Dick’s right arm, as he scowled and turned himself around again.

“Trying out a new look?” Slade asked mildly. Dick, as predicted, latched on to making a joke out of what was obviously an uncomfortable and perhaps upsetting situation.

“It’s a bit draughty for my tastes, actually,” he grinned, but his eyes were tight. As with Todd it was clear he was still in pain.

Behind him Todd was surreptitiously wiping blood off his knife, Stefan’s stolen pants draped over one arm. He gave Slade a little nod, confirming Stefan’s quiet demise tucked behind the bed.

“Put the pants on, Grayson, then lets hit the road before you two have to start humping again,” Slade said.

Todd flushed even redder than he already was and Dick grimaced. “Well we should probably tie Stefan up and...”

“No, we can track him down when you’re not on drugs and we aren’t in danger of being caught.” Although it would probably be mildly amusing to watch the two of them fight over killing people, they were on an increasingly tight schedule, because of the drugs and the possibility someone might notice the mess they had made.

“Fine,” Grayson agreed with surprisingly little fight. Perhaps due to the pain intensifying again now the adrenaline had worn off.

“Follow,” Slade said, and took off down the corridor. Behind him, both of them were muttering about following orders from a merc. But they were both doing what he asked, so he let them bitch and moan about it.

“Where are we going?” Grayson panted. He was sweating again and his steps were stumbling.

“One of McVitie’s other buildings. It has the tech I need to sort out this mess and rooms set up for you two to use however you decide.”

“How'd you mean?” Todd asked, suspiciously.

Slade sighed “Well, you have somewhere between three and eight hours left for the drug to work out of your systems. There is no antidote. So you have a choice, ride it out or continue where you left off earlier. Of course, I can also offer myself to help you out, if you prefer.

Grayson opened his mouth to speak, but Todd cut him off. “Oh hell no, no fucking way.”

Grayson's grinned, pained but still somewhat rueful. “Guess that’s a no.”

“Lets just get to this safe house,” Todd muttered.  

Slade smirked to himself. This was going to be very entertaining, he could just tell.

How Fans Helped Hasbro Build Its Biggest Star Wars Ship Ever

Toys and Star Wars are inextricably linked forever and ever. Star Wars creator George Lucas famously waived part of his directing fee and retained the insanely lucrative rights to Star Wars merchandise in a deal that has gone down in history as a catastrophic blunder on the part of 20th Century Fox. The studio was skeptical this oddball space movie would resonate with audiences, even if its critters, spaceships, and memorable villains seem like obvious toys in hindsight.

After the first film hit, everything changed. Famously, licensees had to scramble to meet demand for Star Wars goods after the movie became a surprise sensation. Christmas 1977 saw Kenner hawking empty boxes full of promises instead of action figures. Since then, Kenner's 3-3/4-inch scale toys, and yes, the vehicles, have become highly collectible icons of pop culture for nostalgic, well-heeled adults.

Hasbro, which acquired Kenner in the early 1990s, is now turning to the same nostalgic fanbase to fund its future Star Wars ambitions. Using a crowdfunding campaign back in March, Hasbro raised $4.5 million to build what might be the most impressive Star Wars toy ever—a molded plastic recreation of Jabba the Hutt's sail barge from Return of the Jedi.

3-D Printed Childhood Dreams

Tackling Jabba's barge (known as "The Khetanna" in the Star Wars universe) is a move few would have expected. In February, Hasbro debuted a rough, early version of the craft at the New York Toy Fair. All unpainted white plastic with 3D-printed components, the barge was nowhere near what the finished product would look like. That didn't matter—fans were flabbergasted.

"When we announced it at Toy Fair there was this audible gasp in the room … they just couldn't believe it," says Hasbro senior marketing director Kristin Hamilton. Sized to fit the traditional 3-3/4-inch tall action figures, the barge is not quite correctly scaled, but at 80 percent of the correct scale, it's still a whopper.

This 49-inch-long toy is by far the biggest Star Wars ship Hasbro has ever made. And it has a pedigree too—it's designed by veteran Kenner and Hasbro employee Mark Boudreaux.

If you ever zoomed a Star Wars ship around your house as a kid, you probably have Mark Boudreaux to thank. "Mark is one of a kind. He is the 40-year history of Star Wars toys at Kenner and Hasbro," says Steve Sansweet, chief executive at Rancho Obi-Wan, the Guinness Book-ranked museum with the largest Star Wars collection in the world.

The campaign rules were laid out: 45 days, $500 each, 5,000 backers or bust.

The attention to detail on the ship is superb. Under the removable side panels, it hides details not even seen on screen, like a cockpit with two captains' chairs, a kitchen, and a jail cell (complete with the corpse of an Ithorian). Jabba sits tall on his dais, surrounded by alien trophies. Up top, cloth sails fly in a brilliant orange-red just like in the movie.

The Kickstarter-style campaign rules were laid out: 45 days, $500 each, 5,000 backers or bust, with the countdown starting on February 17th. If the Khetanna wasn't funded within the six-week window? "We would have had a very rare single prototype," says Steve Evans, Hasbro's Star Wars development director. Hasbro branded the initiative HasLab, making it clear the company hopes to fund other, non-Star Wars toys in the future.

Unlike the crowd-designed, democratized Lego Ideas project, HasLab has one mission: to create the wildest, craziest toys fans would die for.

"[Crowdfunding] was a natural way for us to bring those dream products to life that our fans have been clamoring for," says Hasbro's Hamilton.

Sansweet, who has penned books about Hasbro's past action figure efforts, was impressed by the the ambitious first HasLab project. "I'd never conceived of anything like that. It was a way for them to do something that they ordinarily would not have dared to do because of the risks involved," he says.

The expectation for any crowdfunded product is that backers aren't just buyers—they're encouraged to participate in the process and give feedback. Despite its long reputation for secrecy, Hasbro gave backers a peek behind the curtain, and the opportunity to watch a prototype sail barge inch closer to production. "This was a partnership between us and our community. We needed them, they needed us. It was a symbiotic initiative," Hasbro's Evans told me.

Stay on Target

Even the most compelling Indiegogo or Kickstarter campaign has a lull at some point. In the case of The Khetanna, the 45-day run had one hell of a fallow period, petering out after a solid initial burst. Many, myself included, felt like this campaign might share the fate of the barge's movie counterpart—blowing up in spectacular fashion.

"If it didn't succeed, I don't know that we would have heard anything more about HasLab."

Steve Sansweet of Rancho Obi-Wan

"I kept looking every couple of days and frankly, I was sure this was not going to work," Sansweet says. "I was very pessimistic about it. It's a fairly high price, limited to North America. It looked to me like it wasn't going to make it."

That's when Hasbro upped the ante, showing off more images of The Khetanna, this time fully decked out in screen-accurate paint. The company also announced that each toy would get a limited-edition action figure, and one with significance to collectors.

"Yak Face was a background character in Jabba's Palace and on the sail barge," Sansweet says. "The figure was released in Europe, Australia, New Zealand, and even in Canada on a card with a coin. Yak Face was never released in the United States."

Hasbro's Evans waxed nostalgic about the pick. The team could have picked from dozens of other creatures, he says, "but there was something so pure and magical about Yak Face that we couldn't not do it. Yak Face was impossible to get as a kid and we carried that with us through our lives as collectors. Because we were delivering the impossible vehicle, it was a no-brainer."

With the campaign's window closing, Hasbro was still falling far short of the 5,000 backers required—and much more than just a gigantic, expensive Star Wars toy was hanging in the balance.

"About a week before, they were still, gee, 1,500 short," Sansweet says. "Frankly, this was a very important one. If it didn't succeed, I don't know that we would have heard anything more about HasLab." Fans and toy blogs helped spread the word via social media using the hashtag #BacktheBarge, but the needle barely budged.

Hasbro's Hamilton confessed the sail barge was "a nail-biter" of a project. "I think we would have all cried if it didn't make it," she says. "There was a lot of passion for this product internally."

LEARN MORE

The WIRED Guide to Star Wars

A New Hope

Like in any Star Wars story, the middle chapter is when the heroes are at their lowest point and a triumphant ending is almost inevitable. In late March, barge watchers noticed a sharp uptick in backers. "All of a sudden, the numbers started climbing dramatically. Adding hundreds in half a day." Steve Sansweet was ecstatic—it meant the two Barges he bought for the Rancho Obi-Wan collection might actually materialize. By March 30, Hasbro welcomed its 5,000th backer.

Once HasLab crossed the threshold required to make the product, thousands of additional backers quickly jumped in. "It shot past 5,000 and past 8,000. It warmed my heart and really shocked me," says Sansweet. He and 8,809 other fans were guaranteed to get toys once HasLab reached its end date of April 3.

Steve Evans expressed his relief that, like Luke Skywalker's one-in-a-million torpedo shot, backers won the day. "There was a sense of elation certainly within Hasbro and on the fan sites. It was like a perfect 45-day roller coaster ride. It was emotional!"

Hasbro plans to ship the finished product to backers in 2019, and has taken fan feedback into consideration when finalizing the design. "We introduced it to the fans earlier than we ever would normally," Evans says. "The discussion at conventions, online, and in forums informed how we're finishing off the product, purely because we were able to show it early. That's something new for us."

With one success under its belt, Hasbro is free to tap into its other beloved franchises to give fans products they otherwise couldn't. Whether it's Transformers, My Little Pony, or GI Joe, there are plenty of opportunities to come up with even crazier products. It has yet to be seen whether or not we'll get a banquet table-sized recreation of the USS Flagg or an epic die-cast Optimus Prime.

Sansweet has one dream Star Wars product he'd like to see in a future HasLab: a giant Death Star toy he once saw in prototype form.

"Hasbro asked me to bring a bunch of fellow collectors to chat about the future of Star Wars and how to move forward," he says. "This was 1995 or so. They had this modular Death Star. And of course, [when I picture it] in my mind's eye it was just an incredible piece. I can't even give you the diameter—maybe three or four feet in radius. It had different levels, and each level had scenes from a movie … we were all going, 'Oh my God! That's amazing! When are you gonna make that!?' Those of us who were there talked about that for years afterwards. If they can do the sail barge, they can do something like that too."

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Read more: https://www.wired.com/story/how-fans-helped-hasbro-build-its-biggest-star-wars-ship-ever/

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