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qwanderer · 3 years

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What makes a Loki a Loki?

Loki is called upon to be a lot of different people. He’s been raised on Asgard, and that’s formed some of the more basic aspects of his personality and values, but at the same time he has attributes that have been consistently discouraged and pushed down by that culture, and we can see them step forward as he moves into situations where they are encouraged.

Throughout the canons, there are a lot of Lokis. Siege Loki, Lady Loki, Kid Loki and his murderer, Ikol, King Loki, and the God/Goddess of Stories. The earlier aspects I know only by secondhand information, but I’m very familiar with Loki from Young Avengers and Agent of Asgard, some of my favorite comics of all time. But I know some basic facts - the way the earliest Loki was a quintessential comic book villain full of pure simple theatrical mischief and ridiculous schemes, the fact that Lady Loki was a somewhat more sinister appropriator of bodies for her own use.

In my view, MCU!Loki has, at the very least, the same capacity to shift personalities depending on the circumstances, and I haven’t yet seen anything in the Loki show that’s thrown my suspension of disbelief with regards to his characterization.

I’ve seen some people rebel at the idea of Loki gleeful over the destruction of Pompeii and the causing of chaos it allowed, but it reminds me of some meta I wrote very early on in my years of meta-writing in the MCU. The values Loki was raised with, Asgardian values, sometimes treat death very lightly, especially death in battle, especially human or otherwise non-Aesir death. In the Aesir context, at least to a certain extent and certainly in terms of what we’ve seen Odin teach his sons onscreen, violence is honorable, fighting is an adventure, lives are cheap and Valhalla is the ultimate goal.

I think a lot of the central conflict of Loki’s character is that he follows some of these principles to their logical conclusions in situations that Aesir values never meant them to cover. If life is unimportant, then it won’t be so bad if I tell Thor that Odin is dead. If the throne of Asgard has dominion over all the Nine Realms, then why shouldn’t I rule Midgard?

But he also shifts the way he acts to suit the situation. He is a shifter, it’s what he does. On Asgard, he is expected to be a warrior, a dignified prince, a companion and support for his brother. The values are bravery and dignity, and so a lot of what he projects there is bravado and elegance, which are close enough for him to get by.

When he is taken by Thanos, the only things Thanos wants and values are power and death. So Loki becomes an avatar of power and death. He carries that with him to Earth, because he is still very much under the jurisdiction of Thanos. But he very quickly learns how to use and manipulate Earth values, like wit and pathos. They seem to fit him better than the others, and he carries them through the other movies and the different frameworks he finds himself in.

He also tends to carry Asgard with him, the knowledge that he’s a prince, destined to be a king, that he needs to carry himself a certain way, with that elegance, dignity and bravado.

When I see Loki in the first episode of the show, I recognize him as some of the deepest, most quintessential parts of Loki that have only been allowed to peek out on occasion before. And that is due to manipulation on Mobius’s part - Mobius makes it very clear what he expects of Loki. To get down to the very basic levels of him and find out his motivations, what makes him fundamentally himself - “What makes Loki tick?” There’s a quiet void there, and the only thing that’s being asked of Loki, for once, is that he sit down and fill that void with words - the truest and most sincere words possible.

There’s a clear and interesting divide between that phase for Loki, and the phase we see in episode two - Mobius has stopped providing that space, and in the interim, he’s made it very clear what he expects Loki to be like, what mold he’d prefer the trickster to fit into.

The hard-working, lovable scamp.

Loki is hiding his deepest self again, which we all do most of the time. Loki can’t feel that deeply and express that freely all the time. Because of the environment he’s in - which may not be any more or less free than any of the other environments he’s experienced - he expresses himself in a particular way. He is the hard-working, mischievous scamp Mobius has been pushing him to be.

I don’t think he’s any more or less himself than he’s ever been - he’s simply responding to different pressures. And the pressures of this episode press him very hard into the Neal Caffrey mold. Which is an interesting mold in itself - when I was writing White Collar fic, I made a point to distinguish who Neal was when he was with Peter and who he was under different circumstances - prison, witness protection, with Mozzie, with Kate. (I wrote an autistic Kate, and had him most freely himself when he was with her.)

Like Neal Caffrey, the Episode 2 Loki is treading a line between behaviors that will get him things because he’s useful and compliant, behaviors that will demonstrate that he’s into minor trickery for fun now and might not be getting up to anything bigger, and those bigger tricks that are definitely still running in the background. It’s the obvious balance for a trickster on a leash with an indulgent bureaucrat.

You can see that it’s a facade in the way that he is near tears when he sees the Ragnarok paperwork, but when he brings it to Mobius’s attention and Mobius expresses his sympathies, Loki says “Yes, very sad,” and then dismisses it in favor of moving on to his mischievous enthusiasm over the resulting theory he’s had.

Like all good lies, it’s built out of truth, so when I see this Loki, I see pieces of the Loki I know, just put together a little differently, which is how Loki seems to do it.

Although he’s not free as he might hope to be, and in fact threading a narrow path between a very constricting set of pressures, I do still think he’s enjoying the dropped expectations of dignity and elegance. I think he’s enjoying being in a culture that encourages him to be a geek. To go on about the things he’s passionate about and his areas of expertise. And I think that’s a lot of what unsettles people about this Loki, because that elegance and dignity have carried everywhere else with him. And I��m not going to argue that the TVA are doing anything nice for him - quite the contrary - but I still do enjoy seeing him able to be the geek he’s always had the inclination to be, in the right circumstances.

It makes me wonder, a little, how much his mother is on his mind right now, after the first episode, because if I had a guess, the last time he’s felt free to be this enthusiastic and expressive about his interests is in magic lessons with her as a child.

So. The other variant.

We know from the Lady Loki comics arc that Loki can possess other people’s bodies over the long term, and we know from kid!Loki and his murderer interacting in YA that the original occupant of a body can sometimes hang around and talk back, if only as a figment of his imagination. We know from most incarnations that Loki can go to a lot of dark places if the circumstances push him to it.

As I’ve said before, I’m intrigued by the question the difference between the two variants poses - how much different can two Lokis be before they are no longer meaningfully the same person?

We’ve got clues on both sides, of course - our scamp on a leash saying “I wouldn’t do this to myself” on the side of them being not the same person, and the vengeful goddess he’s chasing saying “I was afraid they’d found a better version of me” on the side of them being the same person.

The more I think about it, the more I’m willing to predict that this vengeful goddess is, in some way, an incarnation of Loki. But (be warned, I’m going to reference Stephenie Meyer now) it could be in as small a way as something out of The Host - a stolen body’s original personality fighting dirty against the invading spirit.

If this is something based on the character of Sylvie from the comics, it could still be anything from a person - human or Asgardian - chosen and manipulated by Loki to do his bidding, to a full-on possession, or even a body constructed for a specific purpose but developing its own personality traits.

We know this variant is a body hopper, and Mobius’s briefing mentioned that it’s an inherent ability of most Lokis to shapeshift, so there are a lot of potential explanations for this unfamiliar shape.

But the differences between the variants could also stem mostly from different experiences.

The only thing I’m at all sure of is that this variant has also been tortured by Thanos. It’s possible that she branched earlier - that the wild desperation of having freshly escaped Thanos translated into being dragged into the TVA like a cornered wildcat, on the raggedy edge and desperate enough to go all-out to get out of the collar while still in the custody of the minute men. Then, as she became familiar with the TVA in concept and execution, developed opinions and built a personality around taking them down, taking them apart the way she wished she could do to Thanos, the way Thanos did to her.

But she could also have branched later - after the destruction of Asgard, or when Thanos appeared on the refugee ship. After the worst has happened to her people. With some preexisting notion that time could have gone differently, that some things that had happened should not be allowed to happen.

I have a weak spot for interactions between incarnations of Loki in the comics, so I am incredibly eager to see the MCU’s take on this.

#Loki meta #the loki show #loki spoilers #loki laufeyson #loki #meta #marvel #comics #616 #white collar #the host #sylvie #loki s1e2

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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I'm Not Into Sometimes, Chapter 1 (Rosnali) - SnowBun

A/N: After who knows how long, I am finally writing again. A true shocker. This one will be about 5-8 chapters long (again, who knows? I’m just winging it) with much emotion. Hope you guys are all well during this difficult time xx

For me, because self-love is admitting that you’re suffering through the writing process for your own pleasure.

Summary: Denali goes viral on the internet and is hired to choreograph for Rosè.

–

Two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since Denali posted the video of her choreography to 100% Pure Love. Two weeks since she posted a video of her spilling all the passion in her cup on the dance studio floor. Two weeks since the world has watched and decided to give her five minutes of fame.

At first, it was validation. She thought that her existing followers and a few other people would see the video and think, “Denali’s fucking Talented with a capital T.” It was the way every other video she had posted had gone down. She knew the video was above even her standards, but the larger than usual wave of gratification didn’t feel like anything special.

But then Monet X Change jumped into the party, sharing the video and telling her millions of followers that she was one of the best choreographers and dancers she’d ever seen. That’s when she knew this one was different. This was more than validation; this was the world suddenly turning its head to put its eye on her.

Yet, she thinks that two weeks might have been the limit. She’s posted more content to keep people interested, but nothing has quite captured people’s attention like that first video. The stream of DMs, comments and views have been decreasing and she thinks, “Well, I just have to keep trying.”

But here she is, sitting at her desk job, feeling utterly fucking useless. She’s staring at a screen when her heart is all the way on the other side of the city, its thump, thump, thump beating along to the rhythm of music.

She’s aware of the student loans that beg to be paid each month, but every breath is a punch of anxiety to the stomach. Inhales of whispers saying, “Look where your passion has gotten you.” She chokes on the air, leaving her lightheaded and powerless.

Her phone lights up. “There goes another one.” She thinks to herself as she swipes to open Instagram. If she follows the pattern of the last two weeks, it’s either a new fan complimenting her or a dipshit asking for her nudes. Oh, the sad reality of virality.

But she stares at the bright blue check mark beside the username. She thinks it’s staring back, laughing and saying, “Look at your face, priceless!”

“Hi Denali!” It reads. “I’m Tamisha Iman from Iman Entertainment. I’ve been loving your videos and I wanted to reach out with an opportunity to choreograph some projects. Here’s my email so we can discuss details. Hope to hear from you soon!”

Her brain can barely register the words on the screen, but she knows that there’s only one thing left to do. She knows that the last few months of working her ass off as a part-time choreographer have led up to this moment.

She walks away from her desk, the sound of her pumps on the floor echoing in the aisles of the bland beige office. She hears the receptionist say something about him being on a call, but she doesn’t even stop to take a breath before swinging the door open. She’s face-to-face with her boss, a man who probably doesn’t even know her name, with a smile and a look in her eyes that’s almost delirious.

“I quit.”

—

On her way home, she realizes that she’s an idiot.

“You’re so stupid!” She says to herself as she swings open her apartment door. She hasn’t even replied to Tamisha and she’s already indulging spontaneous moments of catharsis over security. What if she found someone else in the span of an hour? The woman was in the business long enough to know someone just as good with far more experience. That last thought threatens to send her into a spiral, so she pulls out her phone and rushes to email a reply.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me, Ms. Iman! Really glad you liked the video. Could I have some details about this opportunity? I would love to work with you on any upcoming projects.”

For a moment, her thumb hovers over the send button. She takes a snapshot of this moment in her head. “This is it,” She thinks to herself. “This is where it all starts, Denali.”

She presses send and lets out a long exhale.

—

Three days.

It’s been three goddamn days since she quit her job and emailed her reply. It’s been three days of complete and utter suffering as the receiver of radio silence. The first evening, she had remained wonderfully calm in the fact that it was too soon. The second evening was more hellish, each notification popping up on her phone looking more and more like mockery. This third evening was the worst of them all, leading her to wallow in the idea that she had prematurely quit her stable job for an opportunity that she had never been promised.

“Denali, you can’t just stay there.” Kahmora says from the kitchen, her tone soft and understanding.

She knows her roommate is right. She knows that she has to get up and face the music. She knows that her only two options right now are to God forbid, crawl back to her old job or call every single one of her contacts to stock up on gigs; but there it goes again, that little voice in her head that won’t quit, that stupid tiny voice that gives her hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight is the night she’ll get a reply.

She clutches the phone in her hand like the rosary from her all-girls Catholic school days. Every time she thinks about letting it go is accompanied by a sense of hope, faded like the old pictures her mother left in the attic at home.

Kahmora sits beside her and she leans on her friend, willing herself not to burst into tears. “You’re not any less amazing, you know.” She reminds her as she strokes her fine, blonde hair. “Maybe this opportunity just wasn’t meant to work out.”

It doesn’t take a philosophical genius to know that Kahmora is right. She’ll lay awake tonight and replay the words in her head like a mantra straight out of one of those self-help tapes they used to use on smokers in the 90s; but damn, did it sting like a bitch.

The phone comes alive in her hand, a notification glaring at her through the screen. She swipes so fast that she thinks she might have just broken some world record. As she rushes to check what it is, she prays to whatever higher power that is out there that this was it, that the snapshot in her head wasn’t for nothing.

Her eyes dart across the screen, expression the very picture of stunned. She turns her head to look at Kahmora, staring at her with anticipation.

“What is it?”

“I’m choreographing Rosé’s new music video.”

—

For a week, Denali lived, ate and breathed making the choreography for Phenomenon. Every waking moment was spent perfecting the moves. She made sure that every jut, pivot and turn was sharp and purposeful. She wanted to make sure that there was no doubt in Rosé’s mind that she wasn’t just a ten-minute internet sensation, but a damn good choreographer.

Part of that job description was to study Rosé’s movements in her past music videos. She had heard the singer’s voice everywhere (who hadn’t, really,) so there was no denying her incredible vocal talent. However, watching her move was just as breathtaking. She was a spectacular performer with a beautiful toned body, so unlike what she was used to seeing for other artists.

After Kahmora had dropped her off and she’d promised to return in three weeks in one piece, she boarded the plane with a ticket Tamisha had bought for her. Even with all the comforts of business class, she could not bring herself to settle. Anxiety-inducing questions popped up in her head and she did her best to swat them away like flies.

“What if she thinks I’m just that girl from the internet?”

“What if she hates the choreo?”

“What if we don’t get along at all and I get blackballed?”

By the time she gets into the car that Tamisha had sent to pick her up from the airport, her thoughts have swirled and mixed, creating a dangerous cocktail of nerves that settles in the pit of her stomach.

As the car stops in front of the Iman Management Agency office, she settles for a nice deep breath. “You’re going for the gold, Denali.” She whispers to herself.

When she swings the door open and quickly lets her eyes roam, she comes to the disappointing realization that Rosé is nowhere in sight. For a week, she’d hyped herself up to make a good first impression.

The disappointment is quelled when Tamisha Iman stands up from her desk. She is nothing short of glamorous, with her gorgeous dark hair and tailored suit. Her smile is warm and inviting, and she almost forgets that the very thought of this moment would have made her throw up a few days ago.

“Denali!” She beams, walking over to shake hands. “So nice to meet you, I’m Tamisha. I gotta say, I thought I had seen everything after 30 years in the business; but I’ve never seen anyone move quite like you do.”

“That’s so nice of you to say, thank you.” Denali replies appreciatively, albeit somewhat shyly. “That video popped off so unexpectedly. I’m really glad you liked it.”

“Oh, who wouldn’t?” Tamisha gestures for her to take a seat in front of her desk. As she moves, Denali notes the utmost grace and poise that she carries herself with. With all her experience, she expected nothing less than this type of professionalism. “I see someone move like that and I know that they have what it takes to work with my talent.”

“Speaking of which,” She starts hesitantly. “I was hoping to meet Rosé. You know, get to know her and be comfortable before we start working.”

For a moment, Denali senses an exasperation when Tamisha sighs; but then, she just smiles apologetically. “I’m really sorry, but you’ll have to wait until your first session tomorrow. She’s really throwing herself into finishing this album, so she couldn’t make much time in her schedule.”

At first, she feels disheartened. It’s a mixture of, “Am I not worth meeting?” and the excitement of finally meeting the woman whose talents she’d been studying for a wholeass week; but then, the disappointment gives way to more anticipation. Meeting her in the studio means meeting her in her wheelhouse. There was no way, shape or form that she could disappoint anyone in her area of expertise.

“No worries, Ms. Iman. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

—

Denali expects that she’s going to wake up with a headache that feels like her brain is in a meat grinder when she gets up the next morning from a restless night; but it’s only 5:30 and she knows that the idea of today, the culmination of a lifelong dream, is far too thrilling for her to have no energy.

She swings her legs out of bed quickly, not giving herself too much time to think. She knows that the studio is barely five minutes away from the hotel and that the call time is 7:00, but if she sits still too long, she knows she’ll concoct another dangerous cocktail of anxiety and insomnia. If possible, she’d like to avoid that.

She steps into the shower and lets herself breathe deeply, relishing in the way the lungs fill with air and her muscles contract. She focuses on her senses and lets it flood her head. Better that than a doom scenario her mind will inevitably come up with.

She puts on her leggings and a sweater over her mesh top to protect herself from the chill of New York air. For the shortest moment, she allows herself to stare at her reflection and hype herself up.

“Move aside world, it’s your girl, Denali.”

When she gets to the studio, it’s predictably empty. It looks little like the studio she went to in Chicago. All the walls are a deep cool grey instead of the white walls with a brick accent that she’s used to. The floor is a much darker shade of brown too; but even then, she is reminded of home. This little box is where her love lies and she feels safe.

She checks her phone and sees that it’s only 6:40. “Huh.” She says to the empty air. She walks towards the mirror at the front of the room, the click of her heels echoing against the four walls.

“Might as well.” She says to herself as she sticks her phone in the dock. She chooses 100% Pure Love and starts swaying along to the music. If she’s honest, she hasn’t fully listened to the song since she recorded that fateful video; but when the music hits, her body remembers the movement. She watches herself in the mirror, the planes of her body shifting in fluid motions. She can see her body come alive, marrying freedom with control and she remembers then why the feeling is unparalleled.

Right as the song finishes, she hears another set of heels tapping against the floorboards. She sees someone come into view through the mirror. She spins as gracefully as she can to greet her, but her brain suddenly stops working.

Rosé is special and she knows it right away. She is somehow exactly the same but completely different from what she had expected. She sees the same face, sternly set jaw and amazing body that she had seen on a screen. The fact that she looks just as good in person leaves her completely dazed.

“Hi.”

Denali shakes her head, laughing lightly to hide that she’d been staring like an idiot. “Sorry, I just got a bit surprised.” She walks over, hand extended. “I’m Denali, the choreographer.”

“Rosé.” Her lips are pressed into a tight-lipped smile as she shakes Denali’s hand. The response is verging on cold, but it’s nothing for her to cry home about. She wasn’t so naïve as to think that this would become a ‘I’ll be your new best friend’ type of situation.

An awkward silence falls over them and Rosé refuses to look away. She feels like she’s being studied and she thinks her skin might start to itch from the discomfort. “So uhm,” She claps her hands together. “Let’s get straight into it?”

“Sure.”

Denali squats down to change the track as Rosé drops her bag in a corner of the room. “I’ll show you the choreography first, then we’ll go off from there. Sound good?” She called over her shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Rosé replied as she sat at the side of the room.

Denali stands to the back of the room, staring at her reflection and willing herself to ignore the head of pale pink hair to the side. She marches forward, all attitude and spice, forever thinking of how to make every single moment an amazing performance, no matter the audience. As she sees herself dance, she realizes just how proud she is. This choreography is one of her best and she knows it.

She ends with her arm straight out and pointing at the mirror. She catches her breath, realizing that she’d been holding it. Her eyes move to Rosé who, apart from slightly raised eyebrows, is expressionless. She tries her best not to feel offended. She’s this proud of her work and she can’t even get a smile?

“So, what do you think?” She asks, hoping for a comment, quip, any response that could validate her work.

“It was good but,” Rosé pushes herself up and stands next to her. In the blink of an eye, there’s a shift. She becomes fully immersed in the work, nothing short of absolutely serious and a picture-perfect professional. “That part right before I enter the second verse. I was hoping for something like…”

She goes to the back of the room and spins to the front, a flurry of cotton candy clouds sweeping through the studio. Denali feels dizzy, but she can’t deny that Rosé looks fantastic doing the move and, to her chagrin, it does suit the music more. Even then, there’s an ache that comes with admitting it.

“Yeah, I think we can make that work.” She looks at Rosé and their eyes meet. It feels like too much, like sinking into a hole in the ground because holy shit, she can see straight through me. She’s never seen eyes quite like that before.

“Okay!” She exclaims quickly, giving herself an excuse to look away. “Let’s start from the top.”

The next two hours pass fairly quickly. By how quickly Rosé catches on and the number of edits that she makes to the choreography, she can tell that she’s had some type of professional training. The idea of that leaves her intrigued, but it’s overshadowed by her dejection. She’s a spectacular student, but the detached responses and almost too professional attitude leave Denali thirsty for some kind of gratification.

By the end of the session, Rosé has learned at least half of the choreography and Denali can’t deny that she’s impressed that she could keep up. She turns to look at her and is surprised to see her smiling for the first time. It lights up her whole face, even those damn eyes that she can’t bear to look at.

“Oh God, that was great!” She exclaims and it reminds Denali of a child after getting off a rollercoaster. “This is going to be my best video yet.”

Denali smiles back, finally relaxing after getting a hit of that delayed validation. “I think so too.” She agrees, looking down at her feet. “I mean, your work is fantastic and it’s honestly such an honor to do this with you.”

Rosé laughs and she decides that she likes the sound. It’s not the tinkling of windchimes on her mother’s porch. It reminds her of the beat of music when it moves through her. It’s deep, genuine and comforting, pulling at the rope bundled up into knots in her stomach.

“Are you kidding, Denali?” She says in disbelief. “Your choreography for this has been so good and I could not have asked for someone better to work with.”

She lets herself look into her eyes, now so full of joy and warmth. It feels like a different person, but she knows that it’s just two sides to the same coin. There’s something about the blurred line between the professional student she had just taught and the sincere woman speaking to her that blows her mind.

“Not gonna lie, that makes me feel really relieved.” She admits, pretending to wipe sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. Rosé laughs again and she has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling too wide.

Rosé’s phone suddenly rings and she runs over her to her bag to check it. She groans and turns to Denali, looking irritated for a reason she can’t quite place. “Shit, I should get going.” She picks up her things and smiles again. “It was nice to meet you, Denali.”

“You too, Rosé.”

The singer is walking away when she stops in the doorway. She turns around and gives her a wink, so private and secret that she thinks it might be hiding from the glare of the sun streaming in through the windows.

“See you tomorrow.”

When she hears the door close, Denali all but collapses onto the ground, folding her legs under her and sighing deeply.

“Well, fuck.”

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #rosnali #lesbian au #snowbun #s13 #im not into sometimes

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mwolf0epsilon · 5 years

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Could I ask for some fallout 4 companion + favorite NPCs headcanons you might have?

I did my top 5 favorite companions in alphabetical order + my top favorite NPC, hope you don't mind! The post would be a bit too long otherwise ^^'

---

[[MORE]]

--Codsworth--

Codsworth is (besides Curie, Edna and Whitechapel Charlie) the most self aware Mr.Handy in the Commonwealth. As a result he tends to be underestimated by people in general (since most Mr.Handies and Mr.Gutsies are stuck in their programming to such a degree that they're not really aware of their surroundings concerning a timeline). This causes Codsworth mild anxiety as he thinks he might be broken or perhaps even dangerous to the Sole Survivor if he "glitches any further". A loose cannon can't be trusted right?

The robot workbench, while useful for repairs and upgrades, gives Codsworth the "willies". He doesn't like the idea of being altered beyond what he was made to be. He has the same sort of dread when asked if he'd ever like to acquire a synth body like Curie. He was "born" a Mr Handy he'll remain one until the day he passes.

Codsworth regularly has tea with Sturges and Mama Murphy. Sometimes he manages to get the Sole Survivor, Preston and Curie to join him, but otherwise not many people give him the time of day to kick back and indulge in old pre-war habits. Unless he bakes some of his famous tarberry cobbler, then everyone flocks around him for a taste.

--Deacon--

Every single lie Deacon tells is based on truths. He has a way of weaving words that is impressive because he only really needs to sell something believable to his audience. What's more believable than a story with a few facts switched around? Deacon lies about lying.

Deacon has a terrible temper. One he couldn't exactly control when he was younger but that he'd learned to get a hold of as he grew older and tried to better himself. Barbara's death was the last time he lost control, and since then no one's really seen the extent of Deacon's fury. That person who let his anger get the better of him was scum and caused nothing but pain and death. He wants to help, not destroy.

Deacon has alluded to having lived a good part of his life underground (being quite fond of caves and feeling safe in them) before moving to University Point. While no one knows where exactly he came from, Maccready has suggested Capital Wastelands since he first met him there and he has helped concoct theories on Deacon's origins that vary from cave settlements, to Little Lamplight and even to a Vault. Whichever one it is, this is the cause for his attachment to his sunglasses. His eyes are incredibly sensitive to bright lights (They're also very convinient for his spy work so it's win win in any case!).

--Nick Valentine--

While he's not interested in pursuing a romantic relationship he does seem to be incredibly fascinated by romance novels. He doesn't admit this to anyone however and won't read anything out in public that isn't part of his mystery novel collection. He has a hidden stash of romance novels in a hidden compartment in his desk.

He watched Hancock growing up with his brother and always thought Guy to be a little too aggressive in his stance about the world around them. He hoped the boy would grow out of it but was quickly proven wrong when Mcdonough became Diamond City's mayor. He considered leaving with John and the ghouls before deciding he needed to stay to keep an eye out for the city. God only knew DC would need all the help it could get from then on out...

He has a missing persons case file for Preston which he keeps a secret. Preston's mother approached him after travelling all the way to DC to ask if he'd find her son who was 17 when he ran away. Ever since the Sole Survivor came along and introduced him to her odd group of misfits he's had to keep himself from telling Preston that his mother is worried sick about him. He hopes that when things settle down a bit and that the Minutemen are back into proper shape that he'll be able to tell the lieutenant and bring him to see his mother.

--Preston Garvey--

He was raised by his biological mother (a brahmin farmer) and the woman she later fell in love with and married (a nurse). He never met his father and his moms insisted he was killed by a raider. He later learned that while his mother was pregnant with him, she and his biological father were kidnapped by a group of raiders and that his father was then tortured mercilessly until his mind broke and he joined them. His mother escaped with her life only by pure luck and chance.

Preston's idolization of the Minutemen was always a consern for Mama Garvey, who was deathly afraid of losing her baby boy. When Preston turned 17 he ran away from home to join the militia against his mom's wishes. He hadn't exactly hit his growth spurt yet so his mothers were pretty scared that he might have died alone in the Wastes. After the Minutemen fell apart Mama Garvey went to Nick Valentine to ask for help searching for any signs that her son might still be alive.

He has a passion for learning new things, new skills, any tidbit of useful knowledge he can get his hands on. He's a bit like a Swiss army knife with all the things he's learned from traveling with the Minutemen and Sole Survivor, be it cook a mean brahmin steak, or mend ripped clothes, or even apply first aid when there aren't any stimpacks available, or even origami (although the latter is just for fun).

--X6-88--

After the Institute is destroyed X6 feels mildly conflicted but chooses to stick by his original instructions to follow the Sole Survivor's orders. This of course was an issue at first because he'd shadow Sole like a lost, albeit mildly terrifying, puppy. He's taken up guard duty after he was asked to stop acting like a bodyguard, since he didn't really know what to do with his time. Some of the braver/nicer companions (Nick, Preston, Curie and Codsworth) have tried to give him pointers, but it's actually some of the settlers who have helped him figure out how to somewhat "enjoy" his freedom (mainly Mama Murphy and Sturges who can tolerate his cynicism and disdain for the Commonwealth and it's people).

He's embarrassed by his Fancy Lads snack cakes cravings. As a synth courser he should be a top of the line model with zero attachment to material possessions and no need for indulging in the disgusting Commonwealth foods, be they pre-war or post-war. However since he's a Gen3 synth this is just a quirk he can't really shake off and he'd probably die of embarrassment if anyone found out his stash in his room.

He has a bit of a synth sense. He's not really aware of it, but he gets a strange feeling sort of like deja vu whenever he meets a runaway synth. The Railroad did a fantastic job with facial reconstructions and new identities, but X6 still has this weird feeling that he's seen them before. This feeling is a lot stronger around Sturges and he can't help feel a little put off by him. Not that anyone notices anyway...

--Sturges--

These two [x] [x] headcanons are pretty much my go to for Sturges's origins, but I'll elaborate further!

The original Sturges was born and raised in the Mojave and briefly moved to the Capital Wasteland with his father (after his mom passed away from an unknown illness). After Sturges Senior retired from the NCR the two moved to the Commonwealth to get away from all the chaos in the Capital Wastes. As a result of moving around a lot, Sturges Junior had a lot of contact with experienced mechanics and scientists. Already a bit of a genius himself, Sturges's knowledge was both a gift and a curse, as the Institute took an interest in him and abducted him as soon as they found a chance to do so. The synth copy that currently resides with Sanctuary's people is a bit of an oddity however... He was a prototype meant to spy on Sturges Senior and the settlement they lived in when they moved to the Commonwealth, but there were a few issues with his programming and Sturges actually forgot he was a synth and that he needed to report to a courser that would be sent to meet with him every month under the guise of trading for scrap. Sturges Senior caught on pretty quickly and dispatched the courser, but realized the synth copy was harmless and that if the Institute took his real son then he was already good as dead, so he feigned ignorance and kept Sturges unaware as well.

Sturges left to make a life of his own a few months after his replacement. He learned how to shoot thanks to his dad, but nothing could really prepare him for how ruthless the Wastes could really be. After he settled he swore off fighting as much as possible since he's not too fond of it. He'd still beat up anyone that threatened his friends, even if he had to do it with his bare fists. Those muscles aren't just for show and Sturges can give a mean punch.

Zeke, the leader of the Atom Cats, is Sturges's cousin from his father's side of the family. The two weren't very close when they were younger because Zeke tended to bully him a bit, but eventually the two grew out of their almost sibling-like rivalry and hung out a lot when Sturges moved to the Commonwealth. When the Atom Cats were formed, Sturges was the main mechanic before he decided to lend his services to Quincy. He liked the town so much that he decided to settle there, much to Zeke's displeasure. The two are in good terms and there's really no bad blood between them.

Sturges is as stubborn as a brahmin. This has proven to be both a great asset to Sanctuary and a terrible burden, as when ever Sturges gets it in his head that he can do something, he won't stop until he does it. Preston has had to drag him away from fruitless projects many times so that Sturges could eat, drink and sleep. Others have been less tactful, like Marcy spilling a bucket of purified water over his head because he had forgotten to bathe in a while, or Jun guilt-tripping him so he'd rest for once in his life, or even one time where the Sole Survivor "hired" Tinker Tom to help around the workshop so Sturges wouldn't have to worry too much about repairs progressing in Sanctuary Hills (Tinker Tom spouted conspiracy theories all day and Sturges now wonders if every mirror he sees isn't a two-way mirror somehow connected to the Institute).

Extra angsty headcanon:

The original Sturges ended up as one of the super mutant behemoths that the Sole Survivor can encounter in the Commonwealth. They wouldn't ever be able to tell considering the beast is nothing like the kind and amicable handyman they know.

#Fallout #Fallout 4 #Codsworth #Deacon #Nick Valentine #Preston Garvey #X6-88 #X6 #Sturges #Headcanons #Anon Friend

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anhed-nia · 5 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/23 & 10/25/2018: HALLOWEEN (2007) & HALLOWEEN II (2009)

By the time Rob Zombie made the bold move of remaking John Carpenter’s name-making classic HALLOWEEN, the horror rock-star’s directorial career had already proved to be incredibly divisive. His 2003 film debut, HOUSE OF 1,000 CORPSES drew a cult from among diehard fans of his music, but was largely panned by critics who identified it as a ramshackle, self-indulgent disaster. The movie was little more than a Frankensteining-together of Zombie’s favorite things, but he managed to follow it up swiftly with 2005′s semi-sequel, THE DEVIL’S REJECTS. With this project, he appropriated three of the principle characters from his cartoony, ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW-like first feature, and reimagined them as the redneck antiheroes of a story that plays like a cross between THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE and THE WILD BUNCH. While DEVIL’S REJECTS showed major improvements in terms of drive and focus, it still felt unsettled. It is an emotionally confused movie that has trouble deciding whether its tale is more tragic for the innocent victims of its psychopathic protagonists, or more triumphant, for the Rejects’ anti-establishment swagger and charisma. Rob Zombie displays a refined aesthetic sense, and seems sincere in his storytelling, but he didn’t have much time to let these things ferment into a more potent cinematic brew before he stepped up to bat again with his controversial remake of the beloved HALLOWEEN in 2007.

Reviled even by the likes of John Carpenter himself, Zombie’s dour, ponderous retelling of the archetypal slasher story was baffling to critics and genre buffs alike. Loaded up with clunky psychoanalysis that flies in the face of Carpenter’s original intention--Michael Myers is PURE NO-REASON EVIL, FULL STOP--this iteration of HALLOWEEN worked for few people besides Zombie’s hardcore stans. In spite of that very large and general problem, the writer-director was back again in 2009 with a sequel to his own remake. With HALLOWEEN II, he took two major creative risks: Bringing the ubiquitous Sheri Moon Zombie back even though her character died early in the first film, and centering the narrative on Laurie Strode’s psychological recovery, or lack thereof, from her original ordeal. It is easy to see how this setup would draw more complex and ambivalent responses. Mrs. Zombie’s appearance as the ghost of Myers’ mother, whose character is plagued by a lot of Jungian nonsense, was identified fairly as ludicrous by many viewers. On the other hand, Scout Taylor-Compton’s return as Laurie Strode takes a character who was little more than a cardboard cutout in the first film, and turns her into a convincing mass of trauma who undergoes a profound transformation over the course of this sequel. As with THE DEVIL’S REJECTS, HALLOWEEN II suggests that even while Rob Zombie can be an incredibly frustrating filmmaker, he still seems to be on to something. Even in my most stuck-up moments, when his smug use of slow motion and arias of unshocking cuss words make me want to forget everything I just watched, his movies nag at me in a way that I have a hard time describing. I’m just now starting to formulate an understanding of why.

Often, I find myself asking: Who is Rob Zombie? First and foremost, he is a professional nerd. His music, art, videos, and feature films are strung together by his scholarship in all things genre, whether he’s invoking Tobe Hooper’s snuff-like realism, or the innocent sitcom pleasures of the Munsters. Zombie is vastly erudite about horror, and really anything remotely culty. This is actually to the detriment of HOUSE OF 1,000 CORPSES, which is so bloated with pop culture references that it almost chokes out the movie’s dubious originality. But while he has that irritating nerdy compulsion to competitively show off what he knows, he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who buys and bags comics without even cracking them open. Rob Zombie is clearly, legitimately passionate; it’s heartwarming, and enough to make you want to root for him even when you don’t totally love what he’s doing. His craftsmanship is on point, too, as a multimedia artist whose talent has been abundantly evident since the early band flyer days. It comes as no surprise that he attended Parsons School of Design, and he occasionally shows his hand as an amateur film historian with a love for golden age Hollywood. So, whatever he wants you to think about his hellbilly stage presence, he’s clearly no hick, and no basement-dwelling dweeb either. He’s an educated artist with a background in New York City’s brainy ‘80s noise rock scene. It’s because of this that I find the worshipful attitude his films take toward their sociopathic murderers to be, well...kind of annoying. Why am I supposed to think it’s so cool, as the movies’ punk rock tone suggests, that the Firefly family tortures random bystanders to death for no apparent reason? Why doesn’t Rob Zombie know how tired the whole “scary clown” thing is, and has been for a long time already, even when it’s someone as magical as Sid Haig under the greasepaint? Why do I feel like Zombie’s interest in pimps and ho’s is deeper than just exploitation pastiche, which makes it potentially worse than if it were just a shallow affectation? The thought of this Massachusetts-born college boy fantasizing obsessively about being so crude and violent and salt-of-the-earth is kind of lame. So, instead of just, you know, being a hater as usual, I looked it up--and discovered that Rob Zombie’s roots are actually in the fairway. As Wikipedia aggregates from various interviews:

While raising their sons, Rob's parents worked in a carnival, but they chose to leave after a riot broke out and tents were set on fire. Zombie recalled the experience in an interview, stating, "Everybody's pulling out guns, and you could hear guns going off. I remember this one guy we knew, he was telling us where to go, and some guy just ran up to him and hit him in the face with a hammer – just busted his face wide open. My parents packed up real quick, and we took off."

Suddenly, it all started to make sense. Sure, the costumed popstar isn’t an undead cross between Jerry Lee Lewis and Charles Starkweather in real life, but he isn’t a complete poseur either. It isn’t immediately clear, from underneath his mountain of collectory movie references, that he is, more or less, writing what he knows. He isn’t just emulating his cultural heroes, he’s mythologizing his own childhood.

In view of this, the key to Rob Zombie’s movies is not an awareness of horror history and semiology; it’s actually all about outlaw culture. So, back to 2007′s deeply flawed HALLOWEEN. It’s a heavily bro-y movie, in its outsidery way, that breaks up the Dr. Loomis-Michael Myers-Laurie Strode love triangle, and focuses almost entirely on building a Myers biography. The fascinatingly sullen Daeg Neergaard Faerch plays young Michael, a fatherless boy on the verge of snapping from the relentless torment coming at him from all directions: his slutty sister, school bullies who fixate on his stripper mom (Sheri Moon Zombie), and his mother’s latest violent, depraved boyfriend. Michael follows the serial killer script perfectly, graduating rapidly from torturing animals to brutalizing other kids to annihilating his sister, her boyfriend, and his mother’s beau one Halloween night when his sibling chooses sex over taking her little brother trick-or-treating. He soon finds himself installed in a mental institution where he moves on to slaughtering the staff. Dr. Loomis (Malcolm McDowell) spends years evaluating the boy, though he is ultimately stymied by Michael’s profound lack of humanity. As Michael increasingly retreats behind the folksy homemade masks he spends all day crafting, the opportunistic Loomis gives up on him, instead committing his energy to a money-making true crime/pop psychology book about Myers. Flashing forward, we find the hulking adult Michael Myers (played by the 6′8″ wrestler Tyler Mane) getting ready to bust out of the asylum and wage war on his home town of Haddonfield. There we finally meet teen dream Laurie Strode, a spunky babysitter with a gaggle of gal pals who are perfect grist for the slasher mill. In the final leg of the film, Myers carves his way through Laurie’s social circle, in an apparent attempt to reunite with his sister: Laurie herself. Sheriff Brackett (Brad Dourif) reveals that when Michael’s despairing mother committed suicide years ago, he took her infant daughter and had her adopted out anonymously to insulate her from her family’s tragic history. Laurie, for her part, is unaware of anything other than her need to survive, which she only barely accomplishes.

Naturally, Laurie’s story is the weakest part of a movie that is otherwise so focused on male experience. That is, the experience of needing a father, the ambivalent and ambiguous craving for maternal intimacy, the trauma of having your masculinity impugned by your (fag-obsessed) peers, and perhaps even the undermining influence of academia and capitalism on a man’s natural-born strength and worth. When the newly-freed Michael Myers storms through a truck stop to begin his pilgrimage to Haddonfield, and Rob Zombie chooses to accompany this scene with Rush’s regal outlaw anthem “Tom Sawyer”, it tells you everything you need to know about this take on HALLOWEEN. Like the rampaging Firefly family in DEVIL’S REJECTS, Michael is certainly evil, but he also represents something essential about the formation of and reinforcement of one’s individuality in the face of castrating societal norms--something the carnies among whom Rob Zombie grew up would have found very relatable.

It’s worth noting here that, while the sexuality of the women in Michael’s life plays a role in his distorted development, he is not reacting to their sexuality in and of itself. Michael Myers is not driven by the kind of covetousness that we associate with the archetypal slasher, who gives sexually frustrated male viewers a vicarious thrill by punishing sluts and teases. Michael’s problem is that his mother and sister’s sexuality contributes to his isolation. His classmates use his mother’s profession against him, and that profession keeps her from being able to tuck him in at night. Similarly, Michael doesn’t get to enjoy Halloween with his family and the other neighborhood kids, because his sister is too busy getting laid. Michael is abandoned, even while he still has a home to return to, an outsider even in his own house.

This leads me to an important point about why the portion of the movie that is devoted to Laurie's struggle is so ineffective. It is a flaw in the film, but a virtue of the director: Normal, attractive teenagers are not Rob Zombie’s people. He doesn’t even participate in traditional slasher movie misogyny, he’s so far away from thinking about them. His movies are full of badass women who are fully possessed of their sexuality, and who wield it like a weapon against hypocrites and assholes, and this is always shone in a heroic light. Moreover, he delights in casting women of all shapes and ages, often assigning them immense personal power, as in LORDS OF SALEM, an enormously satisfying movie about society’s original persecuted outcasts: witches. Rob Zombie is deeply committed to outsiders, and his definition of them isn’t limited to banal lawbreaking--he also rejects conventional beauty and our cultural obsession with youth. His films are populated by all manner of human beings, and the farther away they are from looking like model material, the more likely it is that they’re meant to be the heroes. On that note, whatever you think of his movies, you have to acknowledge that they are almost never dehumanizing. Zombie is an accomplished actor’s director who gets a full spectrum of emotion out of his performers, and who excels at creating a feeling of camaraderie within his ensemble casts. It is this surprising sweetness, and compassion even for the victims of the villains he lionizes, that makes HALLOWEEN II so peculiarly effective.

If 2007′s HALLOWEEN was a remake on which Rob Zombie couldn’t resist draping some of his personal hangups, HALLOWEEN II is almost a completely original and separate entity from what one thinks of as the franchise started by John Carpenter. In it, Michael Myers is presumed dead but his body is missing--and indeed, his character is missing for much of the movie. We find a disturbed, scarred-up Laurie Strode living with her surviving friend Annie, and Annie’s father, Sheriff Bracket. Laurie is dealing, poorly, with a heavy dose of PTSD. Along with nightmares and flashbacks, she also has trouble just being nice to people, or accepting affection. Annie and her father’s attempts to be charitable with their adoptive family member are no match for Laurie’s increasing surliness and mistrust of the world. Once a good-natured and optimistic young woman, her appearance becomes vagrant-like (curiously similar to Rob Zombie’s own casual look), her attitude is more and more nihilistic, and she develops a drinking problem. I’ve always wanted to see a movie with a slasher-like narrative foundation, but that focuses on aftermath and recovery, and recent gimmicky efforts like FINAL GIRL and LAST GIRL STANDING did absolutely nothing for me. HALLOWEEN II--at least, the superbly-acted Strode part of it--is the movie I’ve been asking for.

The other part of the movie is also interesting--or more specifically, it’s as ballsy as it is flawed. The movie gets off on kind of a bad foot when a title card quotes an obscure psychology text book called The Subconscious Psychosis of Dreams:

WHITE HORSE - instinct, purity, and the drive of the physical body to release powerful and emotional forces, like rage with ensuing chaos and destruction.

This is the excuse we have for the fact that the ghost of Deborah Myers arrives with a white horse to compel her son to find his sister Laurie Strode, aka Angel Myers, to reunite their family, presumably in the afterlife. Deborah Myers is kind of a spectral cross between Glenda the Good Witch and the Wicked Witch of the West, at once welcoming and sinister, drifting in and out of Michael’s consciousness in the company of a sort of ghost of his childhood (Chase White Vaneck, who is no Daeg Faerch honestly). It might be easy to dismiss this anomaly as an expression of Michael’s mental illness, and his desire to experience an idealized version of his youth in which his mother still looks after him--except that later in the movie, during the final standoff, Laurie is shown to be physically affected by these spirits. Maybe the implication is that she and Michael suffer the same psychological ailments, but for them to share such specific hallucinations without speaking is borderline supernatural in and of itself. So, while Sheri Moon Zombie does her best with her impressive force of personality and compelling physical presence, it’s hard to say what this part of the movie serves. When I first saw the film, I was completely outraged by this, not only because it made no sense to me, but because it felt like a cheap ripoff of Sarah Palmer’s similar prophetic visions of a white horse in Twin Peaks. That was all I managed to make of it.

Today, I still don’t love it, but I have more trouble faulting Rob Zombie for trying to make HALLOWEEN his own, something more than a remake. He also does this by truly letting go of the Shape. The famous William Shatner mask was blown in half by Laurie at the end of the 2007 HALLOWEEN, and scarcely makes much of an appearance in this movie. Michael Myers is a disheveled drifter, literally haunted by his past, whose only real aim is to find a place to belong. It’s sort of funny, in retrospect: When John Carpenter made the first HALLOWEEN, he-by-way-of-Dr. Loomis declared Michael an empty shell of a person, someone who was simply born evil, as reflected by the empty-eyed mask he wears. For some reason, though, a whole legacy of directors just couldn’t resist trying to explain Myers away. The original HALLOWEEN II then says, “Well...what if Michael Myers is on a rampage because LAURIE STRODE IS HIS SISTER? What’s that you say? Why is that a reason to rampage? Ummmm...” And then HALLOWEEN 4 sees him pursuing other young female relations of his, and then in subsequent movies there’s an accursed rune, and druids, and immortality rites, and by the time you get to HALLOWEEN 6 you have this absurd stone soup of bad ideas. It’s a miracle that this franchise became such a thing. Rob Zombie makes the same fundamental mistake, but at least he tries it in the simplest possible way, asserting plainly that Nurture, not Nature, made Michael into a killer. Now, terminally lonely, he’s like a clown waking up in his trailer to find that the carnival left without him. Exiled from mainstream society, he seeks out what remains of his family, who, due to his own violent actions, has grown up more like him than he may have imagined.

I’m not saying I think this was the best thing to do with HALLOWEEN 2. Personally, what I crave in horror movies is something that is farther beyond explanation than this--something that gesturally resembles my life experience, but that plunges past the veil of mundanity into a deeper, darker world of primordial fears and urges, addressing things that unsettle me because I cannot rationalize them. For me, horror is definitionally incomprehensible, and Rob Zombie’s HALLOWEEN diptych is fundamentally sane. But, I think what I’ve discovered is that these movies are not proper horror movies, in spite of their relentless sadistic violence. They are outlaw fables, with more DNA in common with something like EASY RIDER, than with FRIDAY THE 13TH. It’s funny to watch myself coming to a compassionate understanding of these movies that are themselves about outsiders and rejects who are specifically deprived of understanding. My goal in all this was not so much to convince people of the value of these movies, which one might reject on any number of reasonable counts, but to explain to myself why I keep coming back to them. It isn’t to condescendingly heckle them, and it isn’t just because they’re often handsome-looking, or because they’re so emotionally authentic even when the narrative is less than compelling. It must be because, even when I’ve found him challenging, I can’t help seeing Rob Zombie as a person with vision, someone who heroically eschews common consensus on taste and sense-making--the consensus even among horror fans and his own cinematic heroes--in order to say what makes sense to him personally. Finally, he has begun to make sense to me, too.

#rob zombie #halloween #2007 #halloween ii #2009 #blogtober #remake #John Carpenter #sheri moon zombie #michael myers #laurie strode #scout taylor-compton #brad dourif #malcolm mcdowell #tyler mane #the shape #horror #slasher #outlaw culture

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bbaba-yagaa · 5 years

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Imogen and Everett Rourke

A/N: This is a headcanon of mine that I based on what little information we are given about the Rourke family prior to the events of Endless Summer.

Characters: The family Rourke

Summary: Imogen and Everett Rourke come from humble beginnings but an unfortunate event and a world changing discovery lead them down a path of no return.

Rating: PG-PG13? Some language, not much.

Word Count: 3,672

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they belong to Pixelberry.

When Everett and I first met we were very young. We met during our first year of sixth form and became inseparable thereafter. Both of us came from wealthy, well educated families. It seemed that we were destined for greatness, nothing more and nothing less. Upon our completion of sixth form, Everett was gifted a beautiful sailboat by his parents. He was enthralled and immediately announced that he would sail the Caribbean before attending university in the fall. Of course he invited me to go but I opted to stay behind and spend time with my parents. Several weeks later tragedy struck; my dear Everett was listed as overdue. I could hardly contain my grief. It took all of my strength to maintain hope that he would return to me safely. My optimism was rewarded when 27 days later, against all odds he did indeed return; without so much as a scratch. Physically he was fine. He was still the Everett that I knew and loved, but there seemed to be a newfound intensity that had been awakened within him. He would go on and on about the strange island that he had run aground on. Everett insisted that the island was going to be the foundation of our future and that he intended to build upon it as soon as he could. Him being marooned on that island seemed only to have positive repercussions. Just a few weeks after his miraculous return he asked for my hand in marriage and I happily accepted. A few years after exchanging our vows, we founded Rourke International. A monumental achievement in itself. I, being a leader in the field of genetic replication, would head my own division of R.I. Not only would I continue to lead the charge into a new frontier; I would also co-manage all other divisions that wound up under the corporate umbrella. Everett made good on his promise to secure the island and began to explore and develop it. Almost every day Everett had discovered something new or exciting on his island haven: Or that he had broke ground and begun construction on a new building. The rapid rate of R.I.'s growth and success was astounding; and being at the epicenter of it all emanated the feeling that it all happened over night. We were labeled 'The most powerful couple in the world' by the media. We were truly happy in that moment; and yet something was missing. There was one thing that we had not yet attained.

It's a cool spring night that I awake with start, my body damp with sweat. A few moments pass before I remember where I am. La Huerta; The Celestial. Everett and I come here when the hustle and bustle of our day to day lives becomes a bit much to bear. More accurately, I would join Everett here whenever i got the chance. He was almost always here. I look to his side of the bed. Empty. I calmly get out of bed, wrap my nightgown around myself, and head downstairs to find my love. I find him below the atrium in his hidden chamber. His childlike obsession with hidden rooms and secret passageways always makes me smile; even though it's getting a bit out of hand. He's sitting at his work bench tinkering with a small metallic sphere: no bigger than a golf ball. The sphere itself has a small cable connecting it to his computer. He notices me and flashes a distracted smile as he enters several commands into the terminal.

"Hey love, what are you working on?"

"This beauty right here; this is IRIS. Intelligent reactive imaging system."

I look to the small sphere. "May I?" He smiles warmly at me: I'll never grow tired of that smile.

"Of course you may." He unplugs the cable and tenderly hands the tiny sphere to me. It's extremely lightweight and sleek in design. Turning it over in my hand I take in every detail of the tiny object.

"She looks incredibly advanced Everett. And knowing you, she's probably got boundless capabilities that one would never suspect. Is she fit to give a brief demonstration?"

An ear to ear smile crosses his face at my inquisition. "I'm glad you asked. Hold her out flat in your palm. Go ahead IRIS, show her."

As requested, the tiny sphere hums to life and hovers off of my outstretched hand. From its lense a hologram flickers to life and suddenly I am face to face with the spitting image of myself: albeit blue and transparent. "Everett..."

The smile on his face has grown unnaturally wide. "Are you flattered? My thinking is this; If I'm going build the perfect personal assistant then why not also bestow upon her the image of perfection."

My face begins to grow hot at this bold statement. He is truly a master with words. "Well it is said that imitation is the greatest form of flattery." Of course he knows I love it; but I won't indulge his ego by telling him so.

His smile fades slightly as he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Unfortunately she will never be precisely what I want her to be. My expectations are far too grand for her. The operating system that she would run on doesn't exist. My musings of human emotion and intellect running in tandem with an A.I. that is worthy of a multimillion dollar supercomputer will never come to fruition without, for lack of a better term, uploading a human mind into the system. Never before has that type of procedure been attempted: all we have is pure speculation and theory. Alright IRIS, that will do thank you." The hologram fades away and the tiny drone lands softly back on the workbench.

"I'm positive that you'll eventually come up with a solution Everett; you've got a knack for making the impossible possible."

A fatigued smile crosses his face. "Only time will tell. Now, did you have something you wanted to discuss? You are usually in bed at this hour."

I contemplate my answer briefly before I respond. "Earlier I dreamt of our journey in life together up to this point. Upon waking, I couldn't help but feel a bit... empty. As if there is something we lack."

He raises his eyebrows in an inquisitive manner. "And are you able to identify what is that we are lacking?"

"Children Everett, our own family." He thoughtfully strokes his goatee while his answer is pondered.

"I am rather abashed to admit this but I have entertained this idea before, only to let it slip from my mind while being engrossed in my countless projects. I agree with this sentiment. When would you propose we begin this endeavor?"

For the life of me I cannot contain myself. My excitement is almost unbearable. As I lean in to kiss him I untie my robe and let it drop slowly around my ankles. My petite frame is dressed only in a light blue silk top and matching, lacy panties. I refrain from making eye contact with him while I twirl about, and begin to make my way back toward the staircase while swinging my hips seductively. "I'm free right now if you're not preoccupied." I respond over my shoulder. Still refraining from looking back at him I begin to ascend the staircase. I've almost given up on him taking the bait when suddenly I hear him rapidly ascending the staircase. Before I can turn around, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder and begins to carry me upstairs. An excited giggle bursts out of me at this development. "Ooooh how barbaric! Is this role play? I certainly hope so. You're taking me back to your cave so that you can absolutely ravage me?" I am absolutely euphoric in this moment. Soon we will lack nothing at all. Just over a year has passed since Everett and I began to try and conceive our first child. During the first few months our passion was as intense as it ever had been: possibly even more so. Unfortunately, as the months went by and our efforts went unrewarded Everett became disillusioned. Passion began to fade and he elected to envelop himself in his endeavors on La Huerta. The more time he spends there, the more distant he becomes. I can't help but hold myself accountable for these current circumstances. I must be doing something wrong and I sense that Everett also lays the blame at my feet. I miss the way his eyes used to illuminate when he laid them upon me. I decide that seeing a specialist is the best course of action: dispelling my fears or confirming them is the only way to move forward.

The revelation that I am physically incapable of conceiving a child of my own renders me emotionally devastated. And to add insult to injury, Everett grows even more distant when he learns of my imperfection. My work becomes all I can bring myself to focus on: a self imposed exile for my failure as a wife. Time becomes irrelevant as I stumble through my day to day routine in a catatonic state. Eventually, while engrossed in my work, an idea suddenly presents itself to me. Immediately, I contact Everett to share my thoughts: but I am met with an cold harshness in his voice. "Imogen, I'm rather indisposed at the moment. What could possibly be so important?" Will he even entertain this new proposal after I failed to make good on my last one?

"Everett I have a rather interesting proposition for you. It holds great promise for us but I'll need your approval and assistance to move forward. The fine details are better discussed in person."

His silence is deafening, though I've definitely piqued his interest. "Meet me at my facility at midday and I'll give you all the details." There is silence for a few more moments before he responds. "I hope it's worth my trouble, I am rather short on time these days. I'll see you then Imogen." Everett meets me as promised and he accompanies me to a private wing in my facility. During this short walk he's mostly silent and makes simple and irreverent conversation. My mind is aloof but something small catches my attention, a scent. A woman's perfume; not an aroma that I have ever worn; and it's radiating from my husband. Oh Everett, this is all my fault. I've driven you to seek comfort from my inadequacy in other women. With my mind a haze, I swipe my keycard and open a door allowing Everett to proceed through before me. I flip on the lights before I lead him over to set of monitors arranged around a six foot tall, four foot wide cylinder in the center if the room. The cylinder itself is filled with a light green fluid and suspended in said fluid are countless, small, synthetic cables.

"You know what all of this is so I won't waste your time rehashing it Everett. Since I have failed at bearing you a child, I hope you will allow me to clone you. It's not the same thing I know: I'm painfully aware of this fact. All i need is your approval and a few tissue cultures. I'll handle the rest." Everett lays his hand upon the glass cylinder and stares thoughtfully at the contents within.

"As far as I know no one has ever been successful in that type of endeavor. What guarantee can you give?" He was correct, there are no official records of anyone being able to perfectly replicate a human. However, my development of this procedure was not public knowledge. I had spent countless hours gathering all the necessary resources and knowledge to prevail had I gone forward. It was no longer a question of 'could i do it'. The question that replaced the former was 'should I do it'. At this moment in time however, I needed to do it.

"One hundred percent: Failure is not a possibility. Nine months from now we will have our child if you grant your permission." He smiles widely at my confidence: God I miss him smiling at me like that. "You have my full cooperation and my blessing then. I assume we begin immediately?" I nod in affirmation as I motion for him sit so that we may begin taking tissue cultures. The next few months seem to pass at an extraordinary rate. Our little Everett Aleister Rourke the second is growing at a healthy rate. I have taken to calling him Aleister so there won't be any confusion between junior and senior Rourkes in our household. Every spare moment I have is spent with him, making sure all is well. For the first few months Everett comes and visits him as well the distance between us seems to shrink ever so slightly. As Aleister grows close to his due date, an abnormality presents itself. His skin and what little hair he has at the moment appear to be lighter than what would be considered normal. After several tests I reach the conclusion that he is affected by the congenital disorder albinism. It's as though he refuses to be the spitting image of his father; even before he's left the womb, so to speak. During the final month of Aleister's gestation, Everett notices these attributes and his explosive reaction is something that I did not prepare for.

"You told me there was zero percent chance of failure Imogen; you promised perfection. So how exactly do you explain this!?"

I am beside myself, I had not considered Aleister's condition a problem. It would present few if any complications throughout his life.

"I... It's certainly not a life threatening or debilitating condition. I'm sorry Everett but he is your son and his genetic disorder must have come from a recessive gene that you carry."

"You dare imply that your failure is my fault?! Your failings are yours and yours alone Imogen!" At these words he storms out leaving me speechless and heartbroken. There is nothing at all wrong with Aleister and I hope Everett will come to realize this. Everett is absent for Aleister's birth later that month but I hardly even notice. Never before have I felt such joy; I can only imagine what it would have been like to carry him to term myself. What a joy he is: not a fussy child by any means. My dear Aleister, I simply cannot wait to see what the future holds for us. The very next month, Everett has fallen right back into seeking the company of other women. I even catch him in the act during a gala that we are hosting, with a grant prospect of all people. Personally, I feel I handled the matter rather well considering the fact that I all but walked in on them during the act. He becomes more distant and cold with me as more time passes. These issues will eventually come to a head and I honestly have no idea how things between us will turn out. The only thing that keeps me composed is Aleister: as his mother I need to stay strong and weather the storm. Eventually it will pass. The next couple of years bring on a whirlwind of events and developments. Everett has all but vanished from mine and Aleister's lives: His private haven has become his new home and his endeavors there have become the subject of public speculation and controversy. Sadly, I cannot bring myself to fully dismiss the rumors as he is no longer than man I once knew and loved. The time has come for me to face my demons; no longer will I torture myself for circumstances that are out of my control. Leaving Aleister in the care of his nanny and promising a quick return, I board our private jet bound for La Huerta. After landing at the airstrip not far from the Celestial, I take one of the vehicles parked there and drive to the hotel. After arriving at the hotel, I search all of Everett's usual hiding spots but to no avail. Eventually I find a door to a room that I've never seen before. It leads to a massive library and inside I find Everett, hunched over a table, his face in a book. He looks up when I enter and closes his book with an annoyed sigh.

"What brings you here, unannounced nonetheless? You of all people should know I do not like being disturbed."

The audacity of this man is incredible. "Did you forget about your two year old son that you've hardly even seen since his birth? You rarely ever leave this island Everett; I'm not even sure when I saw you last. When will it be enough?"

He rises from his chair, anger flashing across his face. "You have no idea what we've discovered here in the past few years and even if you did, you couldn't comprehend it. As for my 'son', you didn't make good on your promise of perfection so I have very little interest in the matter. It's one disappointment after another with you Imogen; I only wish you could see this situation from my perspective."

At these words, I come completely undone. "You can take your superiority complex and your 'perspective' and sit on it for all I give a damn! You've always acted as though I rejected the gift of being able to conceive a child through natural means and now you reject your own beautiful son based on petty and unreasonable expectations. For years I agreed with you and tormented myself for it, but now I'm done blaming myself for matters that I have no control over. I am no goddess but you are not a god either, no matter how hard you aspire to be. Back in London, the press has been abuzz with rumors of illegal and unethical undertakings on this island and as I stand here and listen to the ramblings of a madman I find them hard to disregard."

The man is furious, he's never had anyone in his life talk to him in the manner that I just have. "Deciphering the secrets of this island will unlock a power that is beyond mankind's wildest imagination and only a god amongst men will be able to wield it. I don't expect you to understand, but I do expect you to know better than to stand in the way of progress!"

"Progress?! I'll tell you what progress is Everett, when I return to London I am immediately contacting my attorney to draw up divorce papers, yes we are finished. Secondly, I'm going to launch my own investigation into your undertakings on this island. If there is anything unethical going on here the proper authorities will be notified."

I wait for him to issue a response but he's gone completely silent. He simply stands there with a deep, burning hatred in his eyes. Since he seems to have no response I turn and make my way out of the library and back toward the atrium. My head is spinning from countless thoughts racing through my head. If he is involved in anything illegal here would I be able to prove it? And if I could prove it, would he attempt to take drastic action to stop me and preserve his name? Would he try to harm Aleister? He is definitely not the man I once knew and at this moment in time I have no idea what he is truly capable of. I need to leave this horrid place post haste.

Upon my arrival at the stairs leading to the lower level of the atrium I reach out to place my hand on the banister prior to descending. Before my hand touches that sweet, warm wood I am violently pitched forward and I begin to fall face first toward the unforgiving hard wood of the stairs below. I am met with an immense amount of pain when my head hits the first step and my world goes cold and dark as I violently tumble the rest of the way down, coming to a crashing halt at the bottom. I have no idea how long I lie there in a crumpled heap at the bottom of those stairs; the only sensation that I know is coldness. There is no pain and yet I cannot move. Tears begin to well up in my eyes as I hear them; footsteps, descending the same stairs from which I had just tumbled down. Suddenly I am on my back and when my eyes are able to focus I see him; He stands over me, emotionless, with a slight smirk on his face. My eyes filled with tears and rage taking over I scream at the top of my lungs and spit in his face, spurring a genuinely surprised reaction out of him.

"Are you happy now Everett! All these years you've tried to break me and now you've finally succeeded. I hope you're happy with what you've done..."

"What I've done? You have done this to yourself Imogen. It was you who decided to try to impede progress itself. Historically, anyone who has done so has met with a fate far worse than yours. You are lucky, your existence will be restored after a few minor adjustments and you will be on the frontlines of progress alongside me." He bends down and scoops me up over his shoulder just like he did all those years ago.

"Unhand me Everett, let me go! What about Aleister?! I need to get back to my son! He needs me!"

"Aleister will be well cared for, don't you worry about that. I don't expect you to understand now Imogen, but you will… in time.” With these words he carries me down the staircase to his secret room below the atrium.

Tagging the ever faithful Hivemind: @brightpinkpeppercorn @roonarific and @mind-reader1 and tagging @mysteli for ESAPW

#esapw #endless summer #imogen and everett rourke #rourke #everett rourke #aleister rourke #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices #choices you play #choices stories you play #endless summer choices #endless summer appreciation week #rourke family #choices fanfiction #endless summer fanfic #endless summer fanfiction #choices fanfic #choices fandom

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dweemeister · 6 years

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Ready Player One (2018)

On a recent episode of CBS Sunday Morning, author Ernest Cline attributed his debut novel’s success as, “a testament to what happens if you be free about what you love and why you love it.” That novel, filled with 1970s and 1980s pop culture, is Ready Player One, now directed by Steven Spielberg (who, arguably, defined cinema in those decades), co-adapted to the screen by Cline and Zak Penn, and retaining the ideas Cline sought to express. After a run of topical dramas, this is Spielberg’s first legitimately “fun movie” since 2011′s The Adventures of Tintin (as much as I liked 2016′s The BFG, it is tonally scattered). Jaws (1975) and Jurassic Park (1993) scared the pants off of sensitive viewers; E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) and Hook (1991) reached into childhood fears amid the entertainment. But of all of Spielberg’s “fun movies”, Ready Player One is the only one that is pure spectacle. Its nostalgia there for show, almost never in service of whatever themes the film happens to stumble upon. This pure spectacle is a fleeting, flashy thrill and little else – take the jump, because despite its weaknesses, there is no film analogous to Ready Player One.

It is 2045 and humans are addicted to the virtual reality world of OASIS. OASIS was designed by co-creators James Halliday (Mark Rylance; whose eccentric character has been deceased for some time) and Ogden Morrow (Simon Pegg; who left the developing company before OASIS became so widespread), who hid an Easter egg requiring three keys within his game. The Easter egg promises the winner ownership of OASIS. Living in a multi-tiered trailer park in Columbus, Ohio, is the orphaned Wade Watts (Tye Sheridan), whose OASIS username is Parzival. He befriends one of the game’s best players, Art3mis (the avatar of Samantha Cook, played by Olivia Cooke) on his way to acquire Halliday’s three keys and unearth the game’s deepest secrets that millions have tried to solve. Faster than Wade can tell Samantha, “I wanna be your lover”, she rebuffs his requests to meet her in person because she fears that he will not like the real her.

Everybody wants to rule the world. One corporation, Innovative Online Industries (IOI), has essentially dedicated itself thousands of employees to find the Easter egg to gain full control of OASIS. The CEO of IOI is Nolan Sorrento (Ben Mendelsohn), and he finds himself in conflict with Tye’s friends – who name themselves the “High Five”. The High Five will also include (actual name/username): Helen/Aech (Lena Waithe), Zhou/Sho (Philip Zhao), and Toshiro/Daito (Win Morisaki).

One could spend much longer explaining the world inhabited by the characters, but Ready Player One is up to the challenge of excessive exposition as Penn and Cline’s screenplay spend about twenty minutes with Wade explaining what has happened to 2045 Earth (or, at least, Columbus). The screenplay also refuses to grasp any of the implications of the dystopia it presents – having not read the book, my hope is that Cline does examine those social aspects more. How did the widespread disillusionment in real life that, apparently, the whole world (?) is connected to OASIS come to be? Aren’t humans, even those who believe they have no power, more resilient than that? How can an enormous conglomerate be able to have what basically is a paramilitary that engages in domestic terrorism (police forces exist, if the ending is any indication, so do cops work one day a week or something in 2045)? Given trends in gaming today, are there microtransactions or something similar in the OASIS that creates a class structure replicating itself in the real world and allowing for certain in-game or real-life advantages by class?

Maybe it is just my imagination running away with me, but why the hell are all the best players in the world living in Columbus, Ohio?

One way or another, enduring science-fiction asks questions of its characters’ humanity and dares the reader or viewer to understand, question, and improve their own being. In cinema, Metropolis (1927, Germany) comments on class power struggles and how society is impoverished with a permanent working class; Planet of the Apes (1968) is a sharp allegory of religious and scientific tensions; A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) asks if a synthetic being programmed to simulate love can feel love. Ready Player One’s stake in cinema’s science-fiction tradition is not as weighty as those films, but there are pressing thoughts to be gleamed from the film.

The movie presents fandom that is corporatized, excessive, or taken in moderation, as well as providing an environment of pandemic video game addiction (now a disorder recognized by the World Health Organization). On corporatized fandom, Ready Player One presents audiences with IOI – a combination of video gaming as sweatshop work and individuals whose job it is to know everything about twentieth-century cinematic (I might be a decent candidate in this department but turning it into soul-sucking work is too depressing to think about), comic book, and video gaming culture. Something like IOI is laughable now, but the film stands on it, so perhaps we will not be laughing if something resembling it emerges in the decades to come.

Regarding excessive fan culture, one could argue the whole conception of OASIS is a monument to one man’s uninhibited obsession with elements of pop culture. Ready Player One – at least in this adaptation – is unwilling to examine how damaging one’s fandom, when taken to extremes, can be (the throwaway epilogue in the film’s final frames is not enough). Outside of Halliday’s story, how does one’s fixation on video games or movies or other art forms make actual life easier or more difficult? The epilogue’s reveal that Wade and Samantha no longer log into the OASIS every day makes one wonder how prepared they are to go without a virtual reality where they have essentially lived their lives. Perhaps that latter point belongs to a different movie or the fan-fiction writing corners of the Internet, but the fact that Ready Player One only superficially touches upon these points adds little else to this reference-heavy movie.

What non-readers of Ready Player One may have noticed is the presence of so many popular movie and video game characters. One begins to wonder about how much money was spent on licensing. Many detractors of Ready Player One, who aren’t gonna take it, have commented on how some of the references in the film are shallow, disrespectful of the original source materials. These critiques are mostly beside the point. Take the Iron Giant. The Iron Giant appears as Helen’s avatar in the climactic battle as she/it proceeds to punch the stuffing out of IOI’s mechanized tanks and Mechagodzilla. This goes against the character’s essence: that it will only use violence in cases of self-defense. True, but this is an Internet avatar and the OASIS not necessarily a strict role-playing environment.

Nevertheless, one’s personal sense of fandom always has some degree of appropriation. Understanding a person’s passions and the origin of those passions make for incredible emotional connections that can barely be described. Where Cline’s passion for largely 1970s and ‘80s popular culture is apparent, what about his characters? Halliday is a human compendium of knowledge and trivia of that period – its movies, television, video games, anime, comics, and more. But why does he love those things implemented into OASIS? Why is Wade’s ride a DeLorean? Is it because he identifies with Marty McFly from the Back to the Future series? Artemis has the motorcycle from Katsuhiro Otomo’s Akira (1988)? Is she an enormous anime fan, and is Akira a personal favorite anime film? Spielberg, Penn, and Cline need not have crafted indulgent soliloquies for every reference, but the audience is bereft of understanding why these references from these past works appeal so much to Ready Player One’s characters. It does not help that the romantic kindling between Sheridan and Cooke (as Samantha, she is very much ashamed of a sizable birthmark… thankfully, not to Phantom of the Opera levels of shame) is iffy at best.

The BFG was the motion-capture dress rehearsal for Ready Player One. Almost everything that occurs in the OASIS was shot using motion capture – a process that is similar to regular film shooting for actors but is more demanding for visual effects teams. The results produced by these hundreds of visual effects artists for Ready Player One are commendable, but Spielberg regulars cinematographer Janusz Kamiński and editors Michael Kahn and Sarah Broshar (not a Spielberg regular, but co-editor of 2017′s The Post) are more at ease in the non-OASIS scenes in how they use lighting to evoke the decrepit nature of Wade’s neighborhood. Production designer Adam Stockhausen (Wes Anderson’s primary production designer since 2012′s Moonrise Kingdom) makes these towers of trailer homes feel lived in and not soundstage-bound or CGI’d into the film. Contrast that with the sleek, ultramodern headquarters of IOI – which somewhat recalls the aesthetic in the Tron series.

This is only the fourth Spielberg movie not to be scored by John Williams, who withdrew from the project after scheduling conflicts with his work for Dear Basketball (2017), The Post, and Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017). So in comes Alan Silvestri (1994′s Forrest Gump, 2012′s The Avengers), who worked with Spielberg when the latter served as producer on Back to the Future. Outside of the musical quotations Silvestri uses from Back to the Future and other films, his score successfully recalls the orchestral adventurism of 1980s action movies. Several are interspersed throughout, with the most commonly-used motifs – for Wade and Halliday, respectively – incorporated into the main titles. Lushly orchestrated and allowing strings, woodwinds, and brass jumping into the action-packed or romantic frays of the plot, Silvestri’s score is weakest when the cameras are inside IOI’s headquarters and the electronic elements reminiscent of a Marvel movie do little even to increase suspense.

Separate from the score is a ‘70s/’80s soundtrack that many viewers will be familiar with. A dance sequence using the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive” echoes John Travolta’s moves in Saturday Night Fever (1977). Many other songs are included in the soundtrack, but they have already been name-dropped in this review to prove a larger point (ahem).

Having already criticized Ready Player One for its insubstantial callbacks, I may be guilty of shameful hypocrisy because of this paragraph. One musical omission that defined Ready Player One’s marketing campaign should have been implemented into the film. “Pure Imagination”, composed by Leslie Bricusse and Anthony Newley for Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971), played an important part in setting the tone for Ready Player One’s trailers. Whether integrated into the score or soundtrack, “Pure Imagination” is a widely-known song even to audiences who consider older movies not worth their time. I see Willy Wonka and Ready Player One as distant cousins: a young character embarks on an exhilarating, occasionally dangerous, adventure and – through their actions – will become the loving custodian of another person’s fantastical dream. Such a decision would not be unprecedented in a Spielberg movie. In Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), John Williams used “When You Wish Upon a Star” from Pinocchio (1940) in his score to underline the interstellar optimism and childlike wonderment in both films. Ready Player One never has a moment like that – where the film can make sense and explore the emotions behind what pieces of popular culture enabled the creation of the OASIS.

If this review seems like poop in the punch bowl, that is not my intention. As a self-identified nerd who shuns nerd culture, I enjoyed Ready Player One and got a kick out of identifying the movie and video game characters my eyes could catch in time – I had fun, and that is important in watching movies. If Ready Player One is nothing more than a celebration of how our popular culture tastes makes us who we are, then that is fine. Yet it never asks where such love comes from because that is the most exciting thing we can ever learn about another person.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

#Ready Player One #Steven Spielberg #Tye Sheridan #Olivia Cooke #Ben Mendelsohn #Lena Waithe #T.J. Miller #Simon Pegg #Mark Rylance #Philip Zhao #Tin Morisaki #Hannah John Kamen #Zak Penn #Ernest Cline #Janusz Kaminski #Michael Kahn #Sarah Broshar #Alan Silvestri #My Movie Odyssey

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rueur · 7 years

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Morning Pages #30 (09.02.2017)

Thursday 9th February - 10:05 a.m.

I am actually writing in the a.m. now, I know! It has been a while, I know. Yesterday was a very taxing day though, so I fell asleep almost immediately. The only issue was that I got home to Anthony’s parents having dinner with my parents, and whenever they get together, the meal always takes place at a quarter to midnight (give or take a half hour), so I ate a few of their appetizers before the main meal despite the fact that between the hours of 11 a.m. and 10 p.m. yesterday, I had literally nothing to eat at all. I survived off of some warm garlic bread until my parents were ready to serve the dhosa and the eggplant and potato curry, which was just the most warm and sustaining meal I’ve had since Gong De Lin, considering how long I had to wait for it. That and the eggplant curry is always just magical going down your throat. It’s generous tomato texture, and the warm flavour of the spices, and the delicately lingering chilli to top it all off, all carried by the smooth, milky dhosa - simply put, it was the right thing to be eating at that given time.

But enough about my meal! My day was astounding. The meeting with Marcus went very well, with cameo appearances from Mark and Hector. Hector arrived at around 3 p.m., I should say, and immediately went upstairs to have a shower because it was excruciatingly hot yesterday. Then he hung out whilst Marcus and I caught up (after the business of the day was done). I told them both about Ikaros and I, and confided in them that not only had Ikaros called me and asked me to come and see him later that day, but that I was going to use the opportunity to come and see him, to tell him once and for all what I really needed from him right now. Which was plenty of space. I told Marcus and Hector that neither of us were getting what we needed from the relationship and that we had both begun to realise this over the past four months in particular, but that I still wasn’t sure how to make the break-up seem official to either of us, considering that counting yesterday, Ikaros and I have broken up four times over the span of four months. Three of those times were in January-February alone. It’s chaotic. But now it’s over. It was incredibly emotional, and I’m not entirely sure why because I feel like the drama has passed for me. I already went through my heartbreak, and now I’m on the other side. It’s his turn now. He was in denial for this long, otherwise he would’ve gone through this with me. Then again, he has been infamously emotionally immature. I shouldn’t talk about him like this, but these pages are for honesty.

Ikaros also admitted yesterday evening that he knew he’d been treating me badly. Even though he swore he would protect me from my family abuse, because he said he didn’t want anybody shitting on me, he admitted to shitting on me himself. Then he asked me again, if I didn’t want to keep trying with him. I simply said that he had just admitted he had been treating me badly, so what would it say about my self-respect if I were to allow him to be with me after all of this. Thankfully, he understood this. He also began to (for the first time in a LONG TIME) regret the way he had treated me. He was the one who would say no to plans, who would end phone calls and skype calls and days spent together. He was the one who didn’t buy presents and didn’t offer emotional support when it was most needed. He was the one who was keen for an open relationship before it was even appropriate, like three months into our dating! He was the one who made comments about other people, and made deprecating comments about me, and thus, made me end up being very unhappy in my own skin (an insecurity only often softened by him subsequently fucking me and then me being glad that somebody could possibly be attracted to me at all enough to fuck me). He was the one who didn’t say ‘I love you’ back! WHEN HE DID. And even though he failed to do all of these things, it was at least nice to hear that he was aware of this. Even so, I felt really bad for him when he was sitting with his hands on his knees in the Rosanna Parklands, saying ‘I fucked up’ over and over again to himself or to me.

This shouldn’t be important anymore, though. I should start thinking about other things. And I have. For instance, Marcus really loved my script, and so did Mark and Hector. Marcus said it was very ‘non-white-male’ which made me quite happy, and he also said that with a little fine-tuning, he doesn’t doubt that we can get funding from SBS. He just believes that Kali should be given a more concrete goal, to juxtapose her life with her mother’s. Vini’s dream was taken from her, so Kali should be shown making full claims to her passion and achieving everything her mother was forced to let go. I totally agreed with this, and my current task is to rework the script a little to place more emphasis on Kali achieving her dreams. The beach trip scenes between Kali and Adam are growing less and less prevalent with every draft, and I love it. The whole idea of the ‘rock pool’ is supposed to be more symbolic than literal anyway. My only qualm with this is purely that I feel like the beach scenes would be so beautiful to shoot. But after seeing Assassin’s Creed, I guess I am now more than aware of the dangers of prioritising cinematography over the actual plotline when one is tasked with making a storyboard.

I will say this though. I have never felt more of a writer than I have over these last two months, and this is making me increasingly excited for the rest of 2017. I also feel like these pages have had a lot to do with that too, and of course my time in Northcote too. I’ve been thinking about my time in Northcote, and have realised that it has drastically improved my life for the better. Not only did I come across ‘The Artist’s Way’ and begin on my creative rehabilitation, but I was also given time away from everyone and everything and was just allowed to be a human existing alone. Taking care of the cats also kept me anchored, kept me waking up at a sensible hour every morning and returning home at a sensible hour too (except on weekends). Furthermore, living in Northcote and being that close to everything, allowed me to go out on weekends in a way that I’ve never gone before. It allowed me to meet Evan too. Evan asked me, I think on Monday, whether or not I would’ve gone to Laundry if I hadn’t been living in Northcote. I answered very honestly, saying that I actually might not have gone out at all if I had never taken the housesitting job. Because I had gone out alone that night, and the only reason I felt safe enough going out alone that night was because I knew it would be easy enough for me to get back home to the apartment (one tram for like fifteen minutes, it was too easy). I feel like maybe I should tell Emily exactly how much minding the boys has positively impacted me. But she might stop paying me to do the job if she knows how fantastic it’s been for me! No, she wouldn’t, that was a joke.

I really miss Evan right now. My phone plan just ended and I’m switching to something a little cheaper ($5 cheaper a month, yet still way out of my budget), hopefully today. I don’t know what to do if he texts me though! I don’t know if it’ll send. I was tempted (I still am, actually) to send him the photo that was taken of us at Laundry the night that we met. Actually, fuck it. I’m going to do that right now. It’s only 10:36 a.m. and I am probably more than a quarter of the way through this final page. I am making excellent time. I am, however, a little nervous about getting started on the next draft of my script. It’s just been endless, and even Marcus said that it’s SO SO tight as it is right now, like it’s going to take a lot of frustration and editing to get it to where it needs to be. That, and screenwriting is so weird! It’s a very new medium, naturally, and nobody really knows how to do it as Marcus said (but regardless, my uni course was very focused on teaching us the layout and formatting of film scripts over actually writing them), but I feel that it’s infinitely harder for people who are actually traditional writers, or come from a writing background. It’s odd, but I think it’s safe to say that I feel like it’s easier for actors to write screenplays than it would be for writers. Marcus also noted that I had a tendency to indulge in description when I was writing action in my script. He said that sometimes my inclinations to write prose seeped through, and made my script naturally a lot more lovely to read, but a lot less easy to be interpreted by directors and actors, and everyone else who must work off of your script. It is a deceptively simple medium, I’ll just leave it at that. I can’t wait to be finished with this project! And it really hasn’t even started yet!

Okay, I sent the photo. He’s at work right now. Sometimes I worry about him being at work, honestly. Like whenever the weather’s bad. Yesterday, for example, was ridiculously hot, and I was only really only outside in the high sun for about an hour or two. But for him, it would’ve been all day! Even today, it’s supposed to be quite hot and ALSO quite windy too. And I know he finished up early on Monday because some equipment wasn’t available or something, so I can assume that the rest of this week or at least the next few days after Monday, would’ve been a lot longer and a lot more productive. If he’s been working hard both yesterday and today, I can’t help but imagine he’d be feeling rather physically exhausted by the end of today. I know that he really can’t wait till school starts again for him, but honestly neither can I. I’ll be glad to see him taking it easy for a while and studying something he’s passionate about rather than spending all of his time landscaping, waking up at ungodly hours and working in extreme conditions for so long. Goodness, I think I really like this boy.

#morning pages #30 #09.02.2017 #rock pool

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