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blkgirl-writing · 4 years

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To Leave A Broken Soul

Laurie Laurence x F!Reader Smut

Summary: Laurie can't help falling fast for you, a woman who can only stay for a month or two. How will the last day together end?

Warnings: SMUT! ANGST! oral (male receiving), Fingering, some fluff, basically fulfilling all the requests I got in one fic.

1.5k words

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The way Laurie looked at you was something you had seen by many of men. A deep, internal longing.

You sat on the floor, leaning against the end of Laurie's wooden bed. Admittedly, the you had been sitting there in silence for what seemed like hours. Fiddling with each others fingers, him shamelessly lifting your shirt off so he could touch his "favorite part of your body"

Laurie had been staring at the blank wall for quite some time now, sighing dramatically every few moments. Eventually, he reached into his pant pocket, coming up with a hand rolled cigarette of some sorts, and a lighter. His loose poet's shirt, with a few buttons undone, fell ever so slightly off his shoulder, exposing the pale, glowing skin.

"I heard it makes time slow" he suggested, turning the item in his fingers a few times, before taking it in his lips, and lighting the end. His head leaned back against the wooden board. And lord, his profile was one of the gods. Hair messy and eyes low, effortlessly beautiful.

After a minute or two, he handed it to you, lazily looking over to your face, then eyes drawing to your bare chest. The way he licked his lips didnt go unnoticed by you.

You willingly pushed the joint into your lips, a somewhat familiar smoke flooding into your mouth, and flowing out just as soon as it entered. Laurie watched as your lips parted for another puff, intent on how your eyes fluttered shut. The way the sunlight caught on your lashes, dancing around you skin, the illusion of a greek goddess appearing right in front of him. Aphrodite. The sight of you being of pure sex, pure beauty. Love.

"Take a photograph, love. It will last longer," you tilted your head to the boy, offering the joint back to him, lips pressed into a sly smirk as his cheeks grew a rosey pink. Ah, how you loved to tease the witty, charming man.

"Why do you call me love when you insist on leaving me," laurie muttered, like a outing child denied of candy. He took a long drag, letting the smoke rest in his lungs for a few long moments. "It doesnt make any sense."

"There's worlds out there I have yet to see, love. People I have yet to fuck. Theatres I have yet to perform in." You smiled weakly. He could never understand. You knew this from the day you get him. To him, you were an unsolved mystery he dedicated endless works to unravel. "I'm a natural nomad as much as a lover, as much as a performer. I love a man or woman with each place, and call it by their name from that point on. Memories can mean so much more than reality."

"I don't think I can see any womans breast without thinking of you," Laurie stated.

"Surely you'll sleep with enough women to forget my body,"

"A man never forgets perfection." You hummed at that, lips pressing into a smile.

"Why don't we create a memory right now?" Your movements were slow, calculated, sensual. A leg draping over his hips, your crotch pressed against his, as you slowly pressed kisses from his jaw, down to his neck.

Laurie's breath was heavy in his chest, hands frozen like the first time he had been with you. But he said your name like a prayer, to keep going, to never stop.

Your fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, carefully running the tips of your nails down his chest, lips trailing not far behind.

His hands finally went to touch you, as you undid the buckle of his belt, and pushed aside the fabric covering his cock. He was already painfully hard for you, precum leaking hopelessly down. You couldn't help but laugh.

"Quite needy, hm?"

"Always," he muttered, impatiently. But fast cut off by the intense pleasure that wrapped his whole body as you took his cock into your wet mouth, bottoming out and gagging ever so slightly. So wet and warm, and tight. Fuck.

Your head bobbed at an agonizing pace, hands rubbing his thighs. Eyes fixed on his, though, admittedly wandering to his lips occasionally, seeing the way he bit into them, fighting the urge to tell the whole world how fucking good you were at this.

It didnt take him long until he grabbed you chin, lifting your lips away from him in a desperate plea to stop before he came down your throat. Oh, you had taught him well. Always pleasure the woman with the same about that she gives you, if not more.

He lead you lips to his, tasting himself on you, bucking his length into your covered heat. Slyly inching his hand down into your underwear, slipping a finger gently into you. Pumping slowly into your pussy with a blessed "come here" motion.

Shamelessly, you moaned into the ever lasting kiss as he added another finger. Rocking your hips into his touch, grinding down into his palm.

"Fuck, f-faster. Laurie, you have to go faster" you buried your face into the crook of his neck, biting down on the pale skin.

"Hmm, quite needy." He repeated your words, teasing with a fox like grin on his face. Knowing you'd be annoyed at his cockiness. But you were far too turned on to care at this point.

The lust was thick in the air. His barely covered chest pressed against your cold, exposed one. His lips biting and nipping at your collar bone, that sweet, delicious spot that sent you over the edge, moaning in pure bliss as he pumped his nimble fingers through you high, purring sweet nothings as your body shook.

His eyes were blown when you looked down at him,

"I dont want this to end," he said, kissing your shoulder as you kicked off the remaining garment hanging from your hips. "I want to fuck you forever. I want to sip your sweet wine."

You didnt answer him. You didnt have an answer. The air hung dry with his wants, his needs. They wouldnt come true, both of you knew that. It had been obvious from the start of your friendship, relationship, thing. You were here for two months, then off to the next country. And yet Laurie still felt somewhat slighted. Like he wasnt good enough. And maybe he wasn't. He was childish and needy. But he was enough.

His lips caught yours again, devouring your essence like he had been starving for years. Hands digging into your hips like you would float away if he let go.

Laurie groaned as you grinded down on his cock, kissing you harder, bringing along with you, a plea to be able to be inside you.

Something you could easily comply with.

You snaked a hand in between you, grabbing his cock and leading it to your entrance, pausing for a moment, just to tease, before sinking down on him.

Laurie whimpered, a truly sinful sound. his teeth sunk into your bottom lip as he made short thrusts in you, craving your warmth, the movement.

Slowly, you grinded up and down on his dick, taking a fistful of his thick hair as you bottomed out. His hips shortly meeting yours, bucking further into you. A gasp fell from your lips as his tip pushed against your cervix, an uncomfortable yet so fucking good sensation.

"La..laurie. keep, keep doing that," you muttered, voice breathy and weak. He hummed, obviously pleased by the power shift. His short, unbelievably deep thrusts had tou both moaning each others names, lost in the moment of sharing each other, climaxes seconds away, before breaking in a harmonic beauty. Laurie spilled inside you for what felt like ages. If you didnt know better, you would've thought he hadn't had sex for years, and finally we was able to cum. The air was thick with sex, weary breaths and hot skin. His head now nuzzled in your neck, hands gently resting on your waist, your own fingers playing with his hair.

He didnt pull out of you until you both were able to look each other in the eyes.

"I'll miss this," you whispered, suddenly feeling empty without him inside you. "You're...really something, Laurie."

"If you don't leave right now, I won't be able to let go," Laurie's eyes pleased with you. The look of helplessness, saddness...it was too much. Tears trickled down his cheeks. You let out a forced laugh, kissing the trail of tears.

"If that's what you wish." Just like that, you threw back on or clothes lazily, and slipped out the door. Looking back for a split second, seeing his slumped body, eyes boaring into your form with fire and ice. A true Passion unknown to most.

"Goodbye, love."

#laurie laurence x reader #laurie laurence #little women #little women x reader #timothée chalamet #timothee fanfic #timothée chamalet #timothée chalamet imagine #laurie x reader smut #smut #laurie angst #jo march x reader #amy march #amy march x reader #jo march

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houser-of-stories · 4 years

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FFF - Hollow Walls

I didn’t get a chance to post this until now but here’s my piece for @flashfictionfridayofficial Flash Fiction Friday!

[23:12, Outside the Abandoned Hospital. You know, the one next to the derelict ballet studio. No, the other derelict studio. That’s the one.]

“Hey people, today marks the anniversary of...nothing. I don’t know why I started off the livestream that way, let me try again. Buckle up, we’re going ghost hunting. Oh look, the live chats booting up- wow Ethan there's no need to be rude - this is 100% haunted; there have been sightings! Oh shush, I can and will kick you off of this livestream. Yes, that’s possible! Yes, I know how to do it! Have a little faith, why don’t you? Anyway, we’re at...at...I cannot read that sign because of all the graffiti and the fact that half of it’s you know, decimated. But we’re at this abandoned hospital, where it has been rumoured that the ghosts of long-dead patients walk the halls. For god’s sake Ethan, let me be a little dramatic. I’ve got all my equipment and I’m going in.”

[23:24, Reception]

“So as you all may have noticed, I didn’t expect the entrances to actually be boarded up. My nail polish is chipped now. Shush Ethan, no one asked for your opinion. This took me ages and the fact that I’m not as prepared as I thought I was has nothing to do with it! But I’m inside now. As you can see, a large majority of the furniture was scrapped, but I think I can see something that looks like a computer over there. Let’s go check it out. Huh. That’s weird. This shouldn’t be working if it’s not even plugged into the wall…”

[23:30, Reception]

“Cleaning rota…repairs...patient log! This has probably slipped into extremely illegal now, but who cares? What can we find here...James Morin, dead. Aeroplane crash? Ouch. I don’t know if the camera’s picking this up but extensive surgery failed to make a difference and the time of death was 16:21. Maybe we’ll hear his ghost floating around. Who’s next? Well let’s see what we got. Harley Andrews, dead. Cause? Tuberculosis. Time of death, 7:58. Laurie Eason, discharged. Well, that’s a first.”

[23:34, Corridor]

“Did...did any of you hear that? There it is again. No Ethan, I’m not going crazy. It’s like a tapping noise...I think it’s coming from the walls.”

[23:40, Zone B3]

“I heard it as I went up the stairs, but I don’t think I can hear it now- wait. There it is again! Perhaps it’s the ghosts from the patient log. Morse code? Wow, that was the first helpful thing you’ve said Ethan. I’ve got a notepad here, as well as a pencil. Let’s see…”

[23:43, Zone B3]

“Dot, dash, dot, dot, pause. Dot, pause. Dot, dash, pause. Dot, dot, dot, dash, pause. Dot, pause. Long pause. Dash, dot, pause. Dash, dash, dash, pause. Dot, dash, dash, pause. What does that mean? Live chat, what do you all think? Leave...leave now. I can hear it again! It’s the same as before. Leave. Now.”

[23:50, Zone B5]

“That crash made me start running and now we’re by the operating theatre. I think I’m going to try one of your suggestions. Hollow walls. The ghosts are trapped in the walls. Which now that I say it out loud, sounds ridiculous. But I came here to break the law and so let’s break it some more. Ah. Might have put a bit too much force into that...never mind. That is weird. Is the light decent enough for you guys to see this? Aside from the gaping hole caused by me, it’s just black. Definitely hollow though, you can see where the wall connects at the top. Could a person fit in there? What do you guys think- tapping. Forget it, I want to know what caused this.”

[23:56, Zone B5]

EthanTheGhost: uhhh y has the camera turned off

BlueCookiesRedCookies: No idea. Should we be concerned?

AmyPond3673: Nah it’s just part of the livestream right?

EthanTheGhost: idk do u think its bc of the ghost tapping

[00:01, Zone B5...presumably]

BlueCookiesRedCookies: Was it strange that we couldn’t hear the tapping?

AmyPond3673: Yh like the sounds always been rlly good on the livestreams.

EthanTheGhost: im gonna call her

[00:06, Who Knows Where?]

“You have 6 missed calls from: Ethan.”

“You have 7 missed calls from: Ethan.”

“You have 8 missed calls from: Ethan?”

“Playing missed calls. Call 1:”

“Rachel? What happened, are you-”

“All missed calls deleted.”

#my writing #flashfictionfriday #rachel #ethan #really sorry that it’s late #mine

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broadwaybaggins · 4 years

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Laurie & Jo, Trader Joe's trip (or you can substitute any grocery store of your choosing...)

(Full disclosure, I’ve never been to Trader Joe’s, but I never say no to a challenge. Going to try to keep to the 3-sentence rule but we all know I’ll go over)

Jo was in a decidedly sour mood when Laurie came home from rehearsal--late, he readily admitted to himself, but it wasn’t really his fault, not when there was a bit in the bridge of Act 2′s opening number that he wasn’t quite satisfied with yet. She was sitting in the window seat, wrapped up in that old cardigan of hers that she always wore when she was in the writing zone and had been washed so many times that Laurie supposed the only thing holding it together at this point was spite and hope and maybe a few loose, rust-colored threads, and she was muttering to herself angrily as she scrolled through her phone. He didn’t catch it all--something about her manuscript and something called “Pitch Wars” on twitter, interspersed with ranting about the Oscar nominations, which had apparently come out that morning and Jo found fault with. Laurie listened as best as he could, nodding or making a “Mmmm” noise of agreement whenever Jo stopped for breath and trying not to focus on how incredibly attractive she became when she was on a roll about something she had passion for.

“And it’s all complete and utter bullshit, and I’ve wanted to talk to you about it all day but I knew you were in rehearsals, and then I thought about calling Marmee--”

“And what did she have to say?”

“I couldn’t get a hold of her, I forgot she has that town hall meeting tonight, and the twins both have double ear infections, what are the odds of that, so I couldn’t bother poor Meg and John, and I always forget how many hours Paris is ahead of us so while I could have tried to call Amy, I figured it was best if I didn’t bother.”

“And Beth?”

“She sympathized and said the Academy is nothing but a bunch of horrid old men with no taste, and I’ll get more likes during the next Pitch War on twitter and maybe an agent next time.”

“She’s right,” Laurie tried to soothe, but Jo’s eyes were still wild, and as she took in a breath to begin another tirade, Laurie stepped in. “You need to get out of this apartment. I think this calls for a trip to our favorite trading post.”

“Our Disney trip is next month, Teddy. Oh, you don’t mean Black Spire Outpost,” Jo quipped, referring to their upcoming vacation, marked on the calendar with the words GALAXY’S EDGE in Jo’s careful handwriting and some of Amy’s borrowed glitter markers. “Trader Joe’s? Really? I’m already this riled up and you want to give me more sugar?”

Still, she didn’t protest as they bundled up and made the short trek to their favorite grocery store. Jo didn’t bother with any pretense as she made a beeline for the table of free sample cookies near the entrance.

“Beth’s right, you know,” Laurie repeated as he watched his girlfriend--partner, really, he hated the word girlfriend for so many reasons-- look over the selections. “The right agent, editor, whatever, they’ll come along. Your book will be a smashing success, Josephine March, even if I have to start my own publishing imprint to do it.” She was still staring at the cookies, and he reached for her dramatically. “Do you hear me, citizens of Trader Joe’s? Jo March will be a published author if it’s the last thing I--”

His words were cut off by Jo shoving a dark chocolate shortbread cookie into his mouth, but she was grinning from ear to ear all the while.

#drabble prompt #jomiddlemarch #modern AU

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k-knightt-blog · 5 years

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I barely knew I had skin before I met you

Title: I barely knew I had skin before I met you

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Chapters: 3/?

Wordcount: 1,493

Summary: You are Susanne Bier’s, the director of Night Manager, on-set assistant who falls in love with her boss’ leading man. Now, why would you do something so stupid?

A/N: Hugh Laurie is no way a bad person, he just needed to be for this story. He’s probably a really nice chap. Forgive me.

Part 1 Part 2

Everything around you slowly speeds up, but your own movements get slower. Tom's hand is now guiding you forward, his touch making you a little dizzy. The two of you were heading to the table furthest away from the entrance. It was the only table that was full and wasn’t looking boisterous, but still, you felt anxious. You knew that everyone had heard what happens yesterday. You also knew that a few people would be compelled to ask you how you were. You didn’t like being the centre of attention, and you felt embarrassment creep down your spine. Tom knew this about you, and you were thankful to have him by your side.

Elizabeth and Tom Hollander sees the two of you first and smile. As you come closer and sit down beside Tom, Elizabeth looks at you worryingly, “Are you feeling better?” Tom Hollander's eyebrows knit in a worried frown, he hasn’t heard. “Why would she be feeling anything but okay? Did I miss something?” His hand reaching for yours over the table. Bless this man, you were lucky to call him your friend. You giggle a little at his rather dramatic reaction, Tom chuckles too. When you realise that you actually have to tell the entire cast and the other people sitting at the table you go red. “I-ehm, had a minor breakdown. I haven’t been sleeping that well the past months.” You say trying to sound nonchalant. Tom probably spotted your awkward tone of voice and snaked his arm around your waist. He’s never touched you this much, well he has hugged you in the past, a goodbye kind of hug. This felt different, you didn’t know what to think.

All of the people who partook and listened to your conversation looked at you with sad eyes. “It’s really nothing. I feel better already. I guess I’m not used to life on set, early mornings and late nights, and then the night shoots. It got to me I suppose.” You say rather quietly earning a rather harsh huff from Hugh Laurie. The two Toms, Elizabeth and myself shoot our eyes over to him. You had a feeling that he had taken a dislike to you early on, but you didn’t have the faintest clue why. On the first day of the principal shoot, Hugh had nearly not let you in the studio. You remember him pressuring you to show him your pass and ID because you quote-unquote looked 18. Susanne had come just in time to reassure the acclaimed actor that you were, in fact, her assistant. A few moments after that you met Tom for the first time. You remember everything about that first encounter.

Hugh didn’t elaborate after that inaugural snort, actually he hasn’t even looked up from the paper he was reading. You looked up at Tom, the muscles in his face tight, he almost looked angry. Before either of us speak Elizabeth comes and saves the day, “Something to add Hugh?” She asks him sweetly, leaning forward, to defuse the tension. He looked up and almost looked confused like he hasn’t just dismissed your misery. Hugh folded his paper in half and leaned back in his chair, “I have been in this business for nearly forty years and I’ve never complained. Let alone had a nervous break down because of it.” His tone was cold and you were sure everybody was as shocked as you were.

You didn’t dare to say anything because Hugh obviously didn’t value anything you had to say. You looked up at Tom and he looked furious. “This isn’t about you though, is it?” He tried to not sound angry but you could tell that he was. Hugh just shrugged and ate some of the food that sat in front of him. Maybe he didn’t realise that he hurt your feelings just now, maybe he’s having a bad day. Tom’s fingers tightened around your waist and you leaned closer to him, ”Just leave it, maybe he’s had a bad day. People snap, it’s alright.” You whisper to tom who leaned his head towards your voice, but his glare still on Hugh. “Tom?” You say again, wanting him to stop staring daggers at his co-star. “He can’t talk to you like that,” Tom says, his eyes have finally found yours. You sigh, “Like my mother always said - you have to choose your battles, and if you do fight fire with fire.” Tom’s whole facade softens and you can almost detect a flash of embarrassment when he loosens his grip on your side. “Wise Woman.” He says giving you a sweet smile.

Suddenly you feel how hungry you are so you stand up, and begin walking towards the buffet. Tom shuffles to his feet and loudly tells you to wait for him. He can’t see it but your face breaks out in a wide smile. His hand ghosts your waist as he peeks over your shoulder, “Always the vegetables huh?” He chuckles earning a playful scuff from you. ”You are what you eat.” You shoot back, he’s now beside you filling his plate with Vietnamese spring rolls. ”Like those aren’t just all vegetable, hypocrite.” He laughs and brings one up to your face wiggling it. “Stop that! Sometimes I wonder about your age.” You say which only makes him laugh more and you follow suit.

You had to fetch a couple of files and your laptop in your office before you retired back to bed. Of course, Tom offered to come with you, although you insisted you’d be fine walking on your own. As you are walking you look up at him, his eyes found yours and they had a gleam of deviltry to them. ”Why do you look so cunning? I love it!” You say grabbing his left shoulder, consciously weighing him down. Tom quickly pokes your side which always makes you explode in laughter. He does it again and yet again. Now he’s the one having to hold you up because of the manic fits of laughter you were having. “Stop it! I can’t breathe!” You say as wheeze like mad. “I did, you’re simply being overdramatic now!” He laughs lovingly.

Your arms are now entangled; it feels like you’re the only people around. That is definitely not true, there are people all around you but you just didn’t care. Also, you’re still half on the floor and half in Tom’s arms. “On your feet soldier.” He said as he brings you up to your normal stance. The two of you now standing close, “What I was going to say before was that we’re all going to a bar tomorrow since it’s Friday. I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go, with me-“ His eyes grew wide at the realisation that he has said "with me" and quickly added, “with us.” You knew what he meant, and it was quite surprising that he had invited you since you're not part of the cast. You're only an assistant, sure the assistant to the director but still.

"I'd love to, but are you sure Mr I have monopoly on misery wants me to come?" You said and Tom looked a bit guilty like it was somehow his fault that Hugh had taken a jab towards you. "He won't be joining. It's you, me, Elizabeth, Tom, Alistair, David and of course, Olivia. And you know that they all think you are a perfect darling, and a hell of a good sport." You laugh and a smile dangled on the corner of your lips, "David Avery is going to challenge me in a tequila battle, and under no circumstances can you allow me to say yes. I've won over him once, a couple of years ago now, but the consequences were terrible." Tom's pupils dilated, "I cannot believe this. I want details, whe-" You shushed him, "No further questions." You say sternly as he laughs and follows you into the office.

"I'll just ask David." He said as he looked around your little workroom. "You'll get nothing out of him, we have a pact." You wink at him and leave Tom standing alone, nearly dumbfounded. "Come on!" He yelled after you, when he realized you weren't coming back he jogged after you. You snickered as Tom caught up to you, both of you now waiting for the lift. He wasn't even staying in this wing of the hotel, but he waited with you. The ding was loud as you step into the lift, "I'll see you tomorrow." You smile at him and he grins, "Sleep tight and I'll see you tomorrow. No more breakdowns, it's awful seeing you cry." Your face flush in crimson, a quiet "I can't promise anything" leaves your mouth. The doors close and you hear him saying, "Good night darling." Your heart and your cheeks are throbbing, maybe he did actually feel the same way you did.

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googlenewson · 4 years

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Whether you’re standing in the theater lobby or curled up in bed, deciding what to watch next is often the most difficult part of any pop-culture junkie’s day. And with dozens of films in theaters on any given weekend, plus virtually endless layers of streaming purgatory to sort through in search of your next binge-watch, there’s more out there—and tougher decisions to make—than ever.

Fortune’s here to help you navigate the week’s latest offerings, boiling all the entertainment out there down into three distinct recommendations: should you see it, stream it, or skip it? Find out below.

SEE IT: ‘Cats’ (In theaters)

What you have to understand about Cats is that it’s certifiably insane, from its Jellicle whiskers to the tip of its Jellice tail. I’m referring here to the beloved Andrew Lloyd Webber stage musical, one of Broadway’s longest-running, as much as Tom Hooper’s gleefully demented movie adaptation. From day one, Cats has been one of the strangest megahits in any storytelling medium; it’s necessary to know this, and accept this, before reading any further.

Describing the plot of Cats makes you feel like you’re on bath salts (though not as much as does seeing it play out on screen), but the broad strokes are essentially this. Over the course of one night in an unnamed, eerily empty neighborhood, a group of cats take turns introducing one another—with names like Rum Tum Tugger and Mr. Mistoffeelees—as they debate which one of them will get to die, ascending to another plane of existence known as the Heaviside Layer, where they’ll be reborn into a new life. As a story, it’s pure fever dream, the kind of thing even Roald Dahl’s editor wouldn’t have let him get away with; but the strange non-plot of Cats functions, in a theatrical setting, as an ideal delivery system for visual splendor and powerhouse vocals.

Hooper’s tackled musicals before, notably in 2012’s Les Miserables, where he spent 158 minutes on extreme close-ups of France’s most impoverished, and he fully throws himself into the task of translating Cats, a much more experimental piece of work, to the screen. There’s a newly created audience surrogate, Victoria (newcomer Francesca Hayward), who’s tossed via burlap sack into the neighborhood of the Jellicles, a tribe of cats on the eve of making their “Jellicle choice.” Across the sung-through story, she meets a mewling menagerie of contenders for said choice, including bumbling Jennyanydots (Rebel Wilson), stately Gus the Theatre Cat (Ian McKellen), and portly Bustopher Jones (James Corden), plus the aforementioned Mistoffeelees (a gawky Laurie Davidson), and Rum Tum Tugger (Jason Derulo, who sings and simpers gamely but seems to be missing a little something). Presiding over all is Old Deuteronomy (Judi Dench and, no, I don’t know who named these cats), who’ll enjoy the festivities then select the lucky (?) feline in question.

The real draw of Cats involves seeing the all-star cast, which also includes pop sovereign Taylor Swift and vocal legend Jennifer Hudson (who gets to belt out “Memory,” the production’s lone showstopper), made over with the help of CG effects, called “digital fur technology” (though it’s basically just expensive deepfakery), into cat-human hybrids. The effect is deeply upsetting; though the actors are covered in fur and sporting twitchy tails, their proportions are still human, so the actors appear discomfitingly sensual while dancing and serenading one another. They have cat ears, but also human teeth; whiskers, but also fingernails. Some wear jumpsuits, while others go for a more paw-naturel look; the movie directs attention to the strange sense of faux-nudity that results by having Idris Elba’s villainous Macavity wear a hat and fur coat (which begs questions we shouldn’t dare to ask) but later make a surprise scene entrance after disrobing, to which the other cats react with a fairly hypocritical degree of horror.

In watching this digital fur extravaganza at work, entranced by the sheer scale of its visual chaos, I found myself wondering what else Hooper and his team could have done. The tactic most employed by Disney, the imperial overlord Universal’s bravely going up against with this freaky little musical (note this week’s skip it), has been to pursue photorealism in its animated productions. Earlier this year, it turned The Lion King into an uncanny-valley catastrophe, sapping the story of all emotional and dramatic resonance in the process. People simply did not want to hear human voices coming out of the mouths of Planet Earth lions, which is very understandable. Hooper’s techniques with Cats, through which his furry creations sing and dance maniacally into their versions of heaven or hell, bring the whole affair closer to Gaspar Noe’s Climax by way of The Aristocats. While Cats is by no means going to be a guaranteed hit with the little ones, who may be terrified by it or confused by its sexuality, it’s an absolutely unhinged piece of blockbuster filmmaking, worth beholding in all its tawdry, queer, bombastic glory.

It’s the kind of risk studios just don’t take any more, perhaps much more of one than executives ever intended it to be. The film cost some $100 million to pull off, and the amount of uncertainty Cats brings with it into the multiplex—did those oh-my-god-they-actually-did-it trailers turn people off, or the opposite?—makes it the most exciting box-office curiosity left in the calendar year. Will it break records or bomb? The experience of watching Cats—howls of stunned laughter from many, with a few Swifties cheering her grand entrance and the majority of us struggling to even once pick our jaws up off the floor—is one of the most strange and mind-melting you’re likely to have in a theater when it comes to studio content of this size and scope. I’d recommend going for much for the same reason the play’s stuck around so long—whether it’s a masterpiece or one of the worst things you’ve ever seen, it’s resolutely its own thing, a deranged freak-fantasia worth falling into for a couple of hours, if just to say you did. That is to say, it’s Cats.

STREAM IT: ‘The Witcher’ (Netflix)

Netflix’s latest original-series gamble is aiming for Game of Thrones-level complexity in its sketching of a dark-fantasy realm where mythical creatures lie in wait but monarchal power struggles loom just as large.

And based on its first season, The Witcher (adapted from the beloved book series by Polish writer Andrzej Sapkowski) is well on its way. Comprising eight episodes, a smaller number which clearly allowed showrunner Lauren Schmidt Hissrich to focus on thoughtfully tracing an ambitious array of story arcs, the series hangs around the impossibly broad shoulders of Geralt of Rivia (Henry Cavill, great at veining these strong-and-silent types with a gallows humor).

A stone-faced loner who roams the dangerous Continent in search of monsters to slay, Geralt is no hero, and he’s often perilously close to going over the edge in his bloodletting. The character’s most distinguished by his unwillingness to diverge from his own moral compass by getting involved in court politics. In this, he’s reminiscent of Clint Eastwood’s tumbleweed-drifting Man with No Name or Raymond Chandler’s private eye Philip Marlowe, a sword in hand rather than a revolver. But Geralt’s on a path toward destiny, as protagonists in high-fantasy fare such as this often are, and he’s soon to become entwined in the fates of two distinctly powerful women. There’s Yennefer (Anya Chalotra), in training to become a powerful sorceress at a mysterious academy, and Ciri (Freya Allen), a young princess in hiding after her kingdom was ransacked and her parents slain. All three characters are afforded their own storylines, weaving their way across the Continent and finding themselves transformed in a myriad of ways by its darkest, magical elements.

Further detailing the epic, sweeping nature of The Witcher‘s story would be to deprive audiences of unexpected, rather graceful reveals that the scripts tease out in due time. What there is to say about The Witcher is that it represents one of Netflix’s most fully formed forays into genre territory yet. The fights, especially in a cinematic and sprawling pilot, are of a kinetic and impressively top-shelf variety, Cavill’s Geralt moving like a man possessed as he rends flesh from bone and engages in some surprisingly balletic bouts of swordplay. And the production design is similarly well-executed, quickly establishing the Continent as a grungy, bloody landscape for these characters to navigate. But it’s the strength of the storytelling that bodes most well for The Witcher as a new destination for those done licking their wounds after that fateful final run in Westeros.

SKIP IT: ‘Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker’ (In theaters)

… even though you’ll see it

“If this mission fails, it was all for nothing,” characters tell one another throughout Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. That’s popcorn-prose concentrate, the kind of dramatic hyperbole that Star Wars has been coasting on since the very beginning. And while it’s traditionally been a fake-out—there’s always another mission, another battle to be won, even after ones that end with your hero encased in carbonite—such sentiment has never felt as profoundly hollowed out as it does by the end of Rise of Skywalker, a graceless franchise finale about nothing more than missions succeeding that itself feels like a staggering failure of vision, conceptually as well as on basic storytelling fronts.

Director J.J. Abrams’ anxiety in making Rise of Skywalker surely fell along those same all-or-nothing lines. By his own admission, he’s bad at endings, and there was tremendous pressure riding on Abrams to bring home the story of the Skywalker clan, a nine-movie saga that’s never loomed larger in the pop cultural imagination. The Rise of Skywalker may well be the last Star Wars movie to feature the heroes Abrams helped forge in his nostalgic The Force Awakens—Rey (Daisy Ridley), Finn (John Boyega), and Poe (Oscar Isaac)—and it’s almost certain to be the final outing for original cast members the series is now starting to outlive. Carrie Fisher died after shooting her scenes for The Last Jedi, and this entry (once intended to be Leia’s movie in the sense that The Force Awakens was Han’s and The Last Jedi was Luke’s) is to be her last screen credit. This just makes the magnitude of Abrams’s failure all the more devastating. One last adventure? Hardly. In a pivotal entry for the franchise, he chooses not to tell a story, instead drowning the developments this trilogy’s second film put forward in a soupy mess of fan service and stilted, unoriginal plotting.

When The Last Jedi hit theaters two years ago, it offered a thematic depth hitherto unseen in Star Wars movies; in the hands of writer-director Rian Johnson, it tangled head-on with questions of hero worship and inheritance that have always been intrinsic to the galaxy far, far away. But the answers it provided—that one must relinquish the past to chart a future, that our heroes will disappoint us, that the Force is not the lineage of a select but a spiritual energy belonging to all of us—were bold and unexpected. In this, it was a shocking follow-up to The Force Awakens, Abrams’ play-the-hits remake of A New Hope, and ruffled feathers with a small but loud contingent of fans, who disliked the film’s treatment of Luke and focus on supporting characters (the most hated of whom, perhaps not coincidentally given the way these Internet mobs tend to go, were women and minorities).

This is worth mentioning because The Rise of Skywalker feels, more than a film, like a feature-length capitulation to those who disliked what The Last Jedi did with the Star Wars mythos (which was, at the end of the day, to make a real movie with it). Where The Last Jedi zagged, Rise of Skywalker zigs, choppily, back inside the pre-existing template to which Disney and Lucasfilm clearly now believes these movies must adhere. It is in fact comical how frantically it rushes to undo Johnson’s progression of these characters, crowding them unnaturally into the same space to combat criticisms everyone spent too much time apart in the last film and entirely sidelining Rose Tico (Kelly Marie Tran, the series’ first Asian-American lead who was brutally harassed online after The Last Jedi) with so little explanation it feels just as racist and sexist as the chatroom vitriol she was subjected to. The Rise of Skywalker also works overtime to retcon The Last Jedi‘s biggest twists. One deformed bad guy with Force powers is down for the count? Let’s introduce another. The question of Rey’s parentage got answered, unexpectedly, with the revelation her family name didn’t have to matter so much? Well, let’s revisit that actually.

From the first words in its opening crawl (“The dead speak!”) to its final frame, The Rise of Skywalker spends its whole runtime chasing ghosts. As teased by the trailers, Emperor Palpatine (Ian McDiarmid) is back, for reasons the script scarcely attempts to rationalize, and he brings with him a fleet of Star Destroyers capable of wiping out entire planets in one blast. You thought the First Order was bad? Get ready for the “Final Order.”

That’s truly the order of business in The Rise of Skywalker. It’s a movie slavishly devoted to hitting beats from previous films without basic narrative sense, to the point where it feels less like a natural ending to this franchise and more like bad fanfiction. The only way the characters progress is through ill-advised romantic pairings. One interminable (and ultimately pointless) lightsaber battle takes place amid in the wreckage of a destroyed Death Star. The finale involves outgunned resistance fighters making one last stand to blow up a massive bad-guy space base. Beloved characters are imperiled constantly, but there are no real stakes when even the already-dead ones are back for sizable roles. Familiar desert planets pop up, along with Lando Calrissian (Billy Dee Williams), for maximum fan pandering.

There’s a real difference between a director and an artist, and nothing demonstrates this better than the massive step down The Rise of Skywalker takes both thematically and visually after The Last Jedi. There’s little by way of distinctive or striking visuals; the entire film is hued a murky blue, with an ill-advised focus on strobe lighting. Furthermore, it’s a Star Wars movie with absolutely nothing under its surface, which is a damning trait for a movie in this franchise. Abrams is a great producer, but his weaknesses as a filmmaker have never been this exposed. In attempting to give a noxious portion of the Star Wars fanbase what they asked for, his finale feels like a cheap and derivative product, the ultimate end-result of Disney’s written-by-committee modus operandi, so craven about resurrecting Star Wars that it comes off like grave-robbing. This is Star Wars broken under the weight of its own importance, eating its own tail for lack of any original voices to better nourish it. It’s nothing short of a tragedy.

More must-read stories from Fortune:

—Why these high-profile book adaptations bombed at the box office in 2019 —’Tis the season for holiday movies—and Hallmark and Lifetime aren’t afraid of Netflix —Whistleblower cinema is back in a big way —How some artists are building their careers through Spotify playlists —As 2019 draws to a close, does the movie star still have a pulse? Follow Fortune on Flipboard to stay up-to-date on the latest news and analysis.

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2700fstreet · 8 years

Photo

CLASSICAL / 2017-2018

SPHINX VIRTUOSI

PERFORMANCE / DEMONSTRATION

So, What’s Going On?

What happens when 18 powerful string musicians come together as one? Well…you get a powerhouse chamber orchestra thanks to Sphinx Virtuosi.

At the annual Sphinx Competition, Black and Latino middle school, high school, and college-aged string musicians compete among the best young soloist musicians in the country. The chosen soloists will perform in this small orchestra which typically consists of less than 25 players. Often chamber orchestras perform Baroque (pronounced buh-ROHK) and early Classical-era music—the smaller number of instruments is often more authentic for these styles than a full orchestra—or modern music written for a smaller orchestra. And Sphinx Virtuosi does it all!

One of the most unique things about Sphinx Virtuosi is that they play without a conductor. Working together, the group uses eye contact, a deep understanding of the music, and being “in tune” with one another to combine their sounds into a master work. Oh, and practice (and practice, and more practice!) plays an important role, too.

During the performance, the group will play masterpieces (famous classical pieces you may recognize by composers like Bach, Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi, and Mozart). It will also branch out to represent masterworks from other languages and styles, including modern-day compositions.

Sphinx also offers an overview of the concerto grosso. Historically, the concerto grosso is a type of Baroque musical composition. The Baroque era was a time period of artistic and musical development from 1600–1750 that included complex forms, bold ornamentation and embellishments (in terms of modern pop music, think Mariah Carey trills), and an overall dramatic feel. Johann Sebastian Bach is probably the most well-known composer of this period. In the concerto grosso, the melody and musical themes are passed between solo instruments and the full orchestra or chamber group. The Sphinx performance looks at the concerto grosso from the Baroque to modern times, performing a composition in that form composed just for this group.

Learn more about The Sphinx Story:

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Learn more about the concerto grosso:

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Who’s Who

Sphinx Virtuosi is made up of 18 Black and Latino string musicians. After winning the Sphinx Competition, they train with the Sphinx Organization to prepare for professional careers as solo musicians. The musicians also come together each fall to perform for the public. They consider themselves cultural ambassadors, bringing music across the country, and performing at Carnegie Hall every year.

Watch Sphinx Virtuosi participate in a “Random Act of Culture” at the Detroit Renaissance Center:

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The group was founded in 1996 to build diversity in classical music, and provide opportunities for music education and instruction to underserved communities. You might think of them as a bridge, connecting minority communities and the classical music establishment. The organization raises money to provide instruments to schools across the country. And since the organization was founded, the number of Black and Latino musicians in professional orchestras has more than doubled.

This year, the Sphinx Organization is celebrating its 20th anniversary with a program titled Concerti per Venti (Concert for Twenty).

Search the hashtag #SphinxStories to read stories from artists, alumni, friends, and family connected to the Sphinx Organization.

PHOTO by Kevin Kennedy

Check This Out…

The performance and demonstration will feature a collection of music through the ages. As the chamber orchestra performs, listen for differences between historic and modern pieces. What is the same in the way the music sounds and is played? What is different?

Sphinx is made up of instruments from just one of the orchestra families—the string family. String instruments are made of wood and held together with glue. They come in many sizes, from small to huge, but all include four strings, a bridge that supports the strings, and a hollow “box” through which sound is amplified. Strings are played by dragging a bow across the strings (arco) or plucking (pizzicato)—the strings vibrate to produce a musical tone.

The violin is the smallest and highest pitched string instrument. It is held between the musician’s chin and left shoulder, with the bow held in the right hand. As the highest instrument in the family, it frequently plays solo parts and the melody of a piece.

The viola is a little bigger than the violin, with a deeper, mid-range sound—kind of like an alto singer in a choir. It is held in the same way as a violin and its music is written on an alto clef, denoting the range between a soprano (high) and bass (low). It often plays a supporting, harmonic role in orchestral music.

The cello is lower than the viola and has a deep, rich sound. It is held upright against its musician, who sits with it between his or her legs. The cello rests on an endpin, which can be adjusted to the height of the musician playing it.

The lowest string instrument is called the double bass, or bass for short. Held upright like the cello, the bass is played by a standing musician. Its sound is so low that its notation, or notes written on the staff, is actually written an octave higher than it sounds. Otherwise, an entire bass piece might be written below the bass staff. A full double bass is about 6 feet tall.

Want a quick listen to the whole string family? Do it here:

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Watch and listen how…

During the concert, listen for how each member of the string family sounds, and how it is played. Are there more of one type of instrument than another?

This 20th anniversary tour had a special piece of music commissioned—a fancy word for custom-made—for it. Award-winning Latino composer Jimmy Lopez wrote Guardian of the Horizon: Concerto Grosso for Violin, Cello, and Strings. Guardian of the Horizon is a metaphor for the strength, wisdom, and resilience of Sphinx. Jimmy wrote about his inspiration in the program notes: “I began to think of Greek Mythology and Oedipus (hence the title of the first movement) but then I started to think of it the way ancient Egyptians did, as a manifestation of Hathor, Goddess of birth and death, or as “Horus in the Horizon,” guarding the rising and setting sun, and finally, as holding the keys to the gates of wisdom. In my work, the Sphinx guards the passage to the afterlife, but the aspiring soul must first answer a Riddle, and only then can it be allowed into Crossing the Threshold.”

Guardian of the Horizon pays homage to the concerto grosso. Listen for the violin and the cello solos—at times they dramatically come together, and at others, they act as “rivals.” What is happening in the music when this occurs? Do you feel like you can “hear” the story?

PHOTO by Nan Melville

Think About This…

Sphinx Virtuosi believes in changing lives though the power of diversity in the arts. The group also hopes to engage young and new audiences with lots of different types of music. What new sounds do you hear from Sphinx? How are you inspired by the music?

One of the ways Sphinx hopes to advance diversity is by performing seldom presented compositions by composers of color, like Coleridge-Taylor Perkinson, George Walker, Michael Abels, Astor Piazzolla, and Jimmy Lopez. Why do you think it’s important to hear modern works by composers of color along with traditional classical masterpieces? What stories do you think these modern masterpieces might tell?

The Sphinx of Giza, the inspiration behind the name of Sphinx Virtuosi, is an ancient Greek mythical creature with the head of a human and the body of a lion, sometimes with bird-like wings. In the Egyptian tradition, the sphinx is a living creature with a ferocious strength. In both traditions, the sphinx is a guardian to the entrance to the temple. Learn more about the Sphinx of Giza. How do you think the Sphinx represents what you know about Sphinx Virtuosi?

Take Action: The Power of Diversity

Sphinx Virtuosi’s mission is transforming lives through the power of diversity in the arts. Sphinx focuses on diversity in race, culture, and musical representation. What does the power of diversity mean to you? It might be similar to Sphinx’s expression or totally different.

Snap a picture or take a video showing how you represent or encourage the power of diversity and post it to Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, Snapchat, or any other platform. Then, tag five friends and ask them to share what it means to them. Use #powerofdiversity as your hashtag.

Explore More

Go even deeper with the Sphinx Virtuosi Extras.

Bonus!

Now for something really cool, check out this string section rendition of Bruno Mars’s “Uptown Funk” by Eclectic Colour Orchestra:

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PHOTO (top) by Nan Melville.

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The Fortas Chamber Music Concerts are supported by generous contributors to the Abe Fortas Memorial Fund, and by a major gift to the fund from the late Carolyn E. Agger, widow of Abe Fortas.

Support for JFKC: A Centennial Celebration of John F. Kennedy is provided by Ambassador Elizabeth Frawley Bagley, Chevron, the Blanche and Irving Laurie Foundation, and Target.

#classical #sphinxvirtuosiat2700F

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londontheatre · 7 years

Link

Thank goodness for the Lady in Red. Amy Burke, playing the part of Mary Celeste, one of the faded film stars in City of Champions, adds an immediate boost to this dully prosaic production with her unexpected entrance, her enchanting presence and her ability to perform at a level that the rest of the cast, presumably, can only dream of. Burke is a class act: the rest range from the not-quite-average to the just-about-managing schools of dramatic art.

It’s probably not all their fault as they have to struggle with the most intensely verbose script I have ever come across. Writer Steve Brown is on his 21st (yes 21st) draft of this elongated exposure of Hollywood shenanigans and it’s been six years in development – with new “incidents” popping into his tortured thought process every few months. The incorporation of the impact of these new episodes (e.g., apparently, the death of Jimmy Saville) merely serves to diminish the initial concept so the original point is lost in a tide of complete over-exposition.

There are many ways to skin a cat. Here we have a writer who has just one way to skin a cat but insists on doing it many times over. Laurie Munro (film star Munro – really?) is a 38-year-old ex-child star who’s bankrupt, recovering from years of substance abuse, living on a couch in the shed of his confidant/Bro/partner-in-crime/soul-mate/maybe-lover? who has always looked out for him since they were fourteen. Bless. The presentation of Lonnie Drake, this extraordinary character-composite, is undertaken by Joe Southall sporting an expression-neutralising long, bushy, ginger beard which makes him look like an escapee from a Hipster convention. In the (very) long opening sequence between these two, amongst the touchy-pokey, playful-punchy, huggy-cuddly camaraderie of the uber-chummy kind, we piece together Laurie’s past with extra added unspeakable dark bits. So, that established we can now get on with the narrative, yes? No. Next up is Laurie’s agent/bully/mother-figure/actual Mum (oh yes, it’s Oedipus on speed) and we have a long re-hash of Laurie’s past (with, yes, those extra added unmentionable dark bits). Maggie Robson as Barbara Munro takes on here what must be the most superfluous character since the Bear in A Winter’s Tale.

Amy Burke (Mary-Celeste) with Joel Arnold (Laurie Munro) – Rosalind White Photography

Lonnie’s wife Amie (or Boo as Lonnie insists on calling her in his best Hipster vernacular) also has a go: same result: re-hash of Laurie’s past (plus extra added self-censored dark bits). Then classy Mary-Celeste sails into Laurie’s self-constructed Bermuda Triangle and we go over the same stuff again – albeit with much classier responses – and instead of being kept on the edge of our seats by the unmentionable, unspeakable, self-censored dark bits we’ve all long since worked out what they are and would really like to cut to the chase.

But no. Enter James Hudson Phillips (Ian McCurrach) Laurie’s first director and prime perpetrator of the dark bits. And guess what…? I don’t need to tell you.

The show, starting at 7.30 and finishing at 10.20 (with 15 minute break), is thus far too long – particularly in the stifling heat of London Theatre Workshop (perhaps try just using your many – underused – LEDs rather than the old-style heat-generating theatre lights. They would easily cope with the demands of this simple (uncredited) lighting design). Shave an hour off this and nothing would be lost. In fact, I have a couple of suggestions for writer/director Steve Brown: get someone else to direct it. And let’s have draft #22: in which you re-write the script as a one-acter, an hour long, and see if anything relevant is missing. You may be surprised. Start by cutting the totally irrelevant three-minute ’phone call that Barbara Munro makes to her unseen brother Murray about nothing in particular at the denouement of the play: a telling sequence in which we discover that even overwriting can be overwritten.

City Of Champions is about the very serious subject of paedophilia. Unfortunately, that theme is demoted, diminished and displaced in the swirl and clutter of hackneyed and apocryphal Hollywood slush that characterises Brown’s long-winded narrative. A case, I think, of returning to London Theatre Workshop’s Theatre Lab for further experiment and, perhaps, trialling the tight scripting and self-disciplined approach that an EdFringe slot would require.

Review by Peter Yates

Set in 2010, in the city of Inglewood, Los Angeles, CITY OF CHAMPIONS focuses on two former nineteen-eighties child superstars, Lonnie Drake and Laurie Monro, who are living with the after effects of early stardom and abuse as teen stars.

Lonnie, a recovering alcoholic is married and still working in the industry. Laurie, although clean after numerous trips to rehab, is broke and unemployable. He is living in the ‘guest lodge’ in Lonnie’s backyard. Desperate for work and money, a job opportunity presents itself but it means working once again with the director who abused him during his teen career.

A reunion with someone from the past and an unwelcome visit from an old colleague act as the catalyst for Laurie to make a decision to take control of his situation and change everybody’s lives.

CITY OF CHAMPIONS A new play by Steve Brown Presented by London Theatre Workshop 17th July – 5th August 2017 Written and Directed by: Steve Brown Cast: Joel Arnold, Amy Burke, Ian McCurrach, Maggie Robson, Joe Southall, Ellie Ward Leadenhall Market, 88 Gracechurch Street, London ECV3 0DN (above the New Moon Pub).

http://ift.tt/2uHJyfd LondonTheatre1.com

#IFTTT #LondonTheatre1.com

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