#and despite the fact I was a stage manager and not a playwright | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unparalleledfocus · 2 years ago

Text

As a Shadow of a Distant Storm Turns Into Petrichor – A Neuvillette Character Analysis

As a Fontainian playwright would tell you, if a member of the audience could somehow participate in the action on stage, perhaps they'd have a deeper understanding of what was actually going on.

Only when he emerged from the water and stepped onto the stage would he truly begin to understand the plot, the characters... even himself.

Neuvillette is many things. He’s the Chief Justice of Fontaine, considered the embodiment of justice by the people. He is also the reincarnated Dragon Sovereign of Water, a reborn primordial being, the very manifestation of water and life. And yet, at the same time, he’s simply a man searching for answers, someone on the long journey called ‘life’, just like the world around him – and perhaps like you and I, too.

What does this entail? What truly lies in the heart of someone both human and dragon?

This shall be an analysis on Chief Justice Neuvillette, the dragon who reflects humanity.

(Contains spoilers for Fontaine's Archon Quests, Neuvillette's Story Quest and a few of his Character Profile details)

As Streams Converge, So Does Every Memory of Rain

Each course of flowing water carries with it an array of complex emotions.

When they reach their final resting place, who would then dare disturb them?

Neuvillette is kind, compassionate and deeply emotional. As the Hydro Dragon, he is immensely sensitive to the emotions contained in the waters, and deeply resonates with the emotions of other living beings as well. He could even feel the sorrow and anger of a narwhal from another dimension.

“This regret has filled me with a sadness that has haunted me for days.”

“I mourn this turn of events…”

I find it so beautiful how the story never in any way chastises Neuvillette for causing the rain, in fact quite the opposite – it encourages him to embrace his emotions, despite what he may think about himself. Rain, much like human tears, is a symbol of not just sadness, but also calming down, contemplation and, in a way, hope. It’s a wonderful example of how emotions aren’t something to simply be brushed aside, but are what make you – you.

If Neuvillette is considered to be the original God of Life, then to him living on and even just existence itself are, in a way, justice itself, likely something he shares with Focalors. It’s no wonder he was so distraught about Callas and Focalors' actions – they too were living beings deserving of existence, yet they gave up their own lives to ensure many others don't loose their chances at existing.

The wish for coexistence and life is fundamentally ingrained in his being, and becomes the compassion he has for others – humans and Melusines... and even the gods.

Though at first he was indifferent to humans, it took him less than 100 years to not only become attached to Fontaine and its residents, but even befriend a human, to the point that he was deeply hurt over declaring his friend guilty and being chastised by said friend. The loss of Vautrin, along with Carole, someone who was practically a daughter to Neuvillette, hurt him so deeply that this ended up haunting him for over 400 years. And after said 400 years, he finds out the truth about Vautrin’s actions, as well as realizes how both he and Fontaine have changed since then. And then, as he walks under the rain, contemplating the past and himself...

“Good morning, Monsieur Neuvillette! The rainy season’s almost over. The skies are supposed to clear in a few days!”

“I hope you have time to enjoy the sunny days ahead.”

Despite the fact that memories contained in water are chaotic, the world itself managed to find a way to tell Neuvillette that he deserves happiness and hope for the future, and that Fontaine has always been his home.

Though someone might be gone for a long time now, the results of their deeds and memories will remain. In a way this is reminiscent of Aranyaka – not only will the forest remember, but so too will the earth, the waters and the skies. It might not seem like much at first, however – every action you and everyone else take leaves a mark on the world in some way, be it on a yourself, a friend, a stranger or a group of people, all of this eventually converges into something more. At times it can cause something harmful, yet in other times it can create something quite beautiful, something to strive for.

Everchanging as the Tides

“To me, humanity is like a pool of water, in which I see my reflection.”

“As I said, I find it difficult to express my emotions... because I cannot fully understand myself.”

“But there's one thing I've discovered along the way: My emotions easily resonate with those of others... even I don't have the slightest idea what they mean. My guess would be that there are at least some similarities between humans and myself. By observing their behavior, perhaps I could one day understand the meaning of my existence.”

Due to being a dragon in human form, Neuvillette struggles to understand himself. He watches on as people seemingly naturally go through their lives, while he tries to glean new knowledge about both them and himself. And as time marches on, we all transform into new forms, take on new roles in our lives and the lives of others, however – sometimes we may not even notice it.

I saw some people say that the reason Neuvillette was so worried about history repeating itself is because he experiences time differently due to being the Hydro Dragon. While I feel like this does have some truth to it, I personally believe that the main driving factor of his worry was first and foremost because of his trauma. Trauma can cause you to experience time differently – though an event seems to have happened long ago, the shadow it left behind never truly went away, nor do you know if it ever truly will. However, time marches on, some wounds heal by themselves, while others await gentle care.

“You might be overthinking this. Time can change a lot of things. Everything's different now.”

“Monsieur Neuvillette, the Melusines are a species you introduced to Fontaine. How the public treats them is also reflective of their attitude towards you. When people refused to place their trust in Melusines, it was because they were still on the fence about you — their unfamiliar Chief Justice. For almost five hundred years, you've conducted every trial with impartiality. You made the right judgment each time regardless of whatever nonsense went on. People no longer have any reservations about you and even consider you a symbol of the law. Right now, your every decision will impact all of Fontaine. In other words, you've gradually transformed the whole nation.”

Feeling like an outsider is something many people have felt or will feel at some point in their lives. And yet, the longer this feeling lasts for someone, the lonelier the world begins to become for them. Despite the attempts to observe others and learn from them, hoping to connect to them, the memories and experiences of being an outsider remain, and will likely haunt you for years to come, unfortunately in spite of who you and those around you are now.

Prior to the end of his Story Quest, Neuvillette hadn’t gotten over the early years of his position as Iudex of Fontaine. Though he loved the people of Fontaine, he refused to acknowledge himself as one of them, a mix of not only being the reincarnated Hydro Dragon, but also wanting to remain a truly impartial judge despite his yearning for connection, and because of how Fontainians had treated him and the Melusines centuries ago.

His feelings of being an outsider had caused him to develop a deep insecurity of himself as a person. He thought that the very sight of him would either cause a commotion or he would be completely ignored – after all, he’s a dragon out of water, how could he hope that others would accept him as he is? How could they accept someone seemingly distant from them? How could they accept someone who hasn’t even figured out who they truly are, and where their true home lies?

“Outsider? But aren't you the Chief Justice of Fontaine? Why would you be an outsider?”

“I understand where you're coming from, but there is not necessarily a connection between my responsibilities and how I perceive myself.”

“Even though I was born with a human form, there's a fundamental difference between dragons and humans. Taking on the role of Chief Justice does not make me a part of this community. In fact, the status I was granted has prevented me from forming deeper bonds with others. I have lived in Fontaine for a long time, but I do not belong here. That is why I call myself an outsider — a fish out of water.”

“Perhaps, but I find such progress difficult to describe. As an outsider, chances to engage in meaningful interactions with others are few and far between.”

“Emotions carried by water are always chaotic and disconnected. As an outsider, having my mind occupied with irrelevant memories isn't exactly a pleasant experience.”

“No, I should stay where I am. My appearance could give rise to unnecessary commotion.”

“While some are here to redeem themselves, there will inevitably be those who harbor resentment towards me. The less time I spend here, the better. My presence could very well result in an unwanted disturbance.”

And yet time flows on – old memories make space for new ones and together they create the present. And perhaps it can reveal answers to long-held questions. Maybe you won’t find your home at one point in time, but perhaps it is waiting for you in the future? Or perhaps it is right in front of you, and you simply needed to open your eyes to finally witness it?

“While I was investigating the Fountain, I discovered something strange. I did not sense too much hatred towards me within its accumulated emotions.”

Neuvillette, despite trying to distance himself from others and assuming that others tried to distance themselves from him, kept on trying to not only be a truly fair and honest judge, but a kind and compassionate man as well.

The years went on, and in the eyes of the people of Fontaine he is now one of the very symbols of the entire land. Even if they don’t know him personally, Fontainians deeply respect and care about him. This extends to his identity as the Hydro Dragon as well – though he assumes the rain he causes, and in turn himself, are an inconvenience to others, though the people of Fontaine might not know who or where the Hydro Dragon is, whenever it rains, they truly hope their words of comfort reach the dragon and calm his sorrowful heart.

Conclusion – Reflection of the Overcast Skies

“What I really think is… Every trial you've ever judged has left its impression on you. And that's what makes you who you are today.”

As the Hydro Dragon Sovereign, Neuvillette still thinks of himself as an outsider due to his identity… But so much time has passed since then... Perhaps the lines between him and humans have long since blurred.

“Since some time ago, I've begun to notice the changes that have occurred upon my person. These changes were not due to any specific occurrence, but emerged as a result of time itself.”

In conclusion, though Neuvillette may believe one thing or another about himself, both his and the people of Fontaine’s actions speak volumes of their hopes, dreams, compassion and wish for belonging and coexistence. Though we may feel like outsiders, perhaps there is someone out there, maybe even someone you might even consider a stranger, who deeply hopes you live a long and wonderful life. Times change as well, and we all grow and learn. Even if we are still searching for where we belong, it’s possible it isn’t that far away, or perhaps you’ve found it long ago and simply haven’t realized it yet. „Where you belong” could simply be a friend or two, or a small community.

We all reflect one another like pools of water and mirrors – as we try to do our best for both ourselves and others, this can create a domino effect that causes others to do so as well. From seemingly small things like finding a love for water-tasting or simply an encouraging pat on the shoulder, to large things like finding a metaphorical guidepost for where your life should take you and trying to protect another, we all can make great impacts on one another and carry those sentiments onward.

“I am undeserving of such high compliments. From my perspective, I have simply been fulfilling my duties. It isn't anything special or worthy of praise. I'm simply fulfilling the promises I've made and searching for answers through my judgments. It's unnecessary to hold me in such high regard... The complexity of human emotions and willpower far exceed those of mine. As a matter of fact, I believe that you are the ones who deserve my respect.”

“Ah, there's no need to be so modest. The current state of affairs says it all."

"You're no longer that outsider you were before.”

The skies will clear someday and I hope that you, too, find time to enjoy the sunny days ahead.

#Happy Birthday Monsieur Neuvillette!#genshin impact #neuvillette #character analysis #hope I did him justice!#no pun intended

26 notes · View notes

denimbex1986 · 9 months ago

Text

'You know, reader, I am not sure there is a better actor working today than Andrew Scott. Perhaps Joaquin Phoenix; but there is just something about Scott — his expressiveness, his power of sliding up and down the emotional scale, his mellifluous Irish brogue — that makes him a delight to watch. He also works hard. This year, I have seen him in All of Us Strangers (gorgeous), Vanya (brilliant) and — now — Present Laughter. And I was sceptical about Vanya, sceptical about the trend among actors towards playing all the parts themselves.

To Present Laughter, then. Written by the great Noël Coward and first performed in 1942, the play concerns the professional and personal trials faced by an accomplished and self-obsessed actor called Gary Essendine. The whole thing takes place in his London flat over a period of a few days. Gary, who is at the height of his powers and fame, is preparing for a theatrical tour of Africa, and in the opening scene is dealing with the fallout of a one-night stand with a young fan called Daphne Stillington. Daphne is besotted with Gary and refusing to leave his London flat.

Unhappily for Gary, who is somewhat weary of the attention he receives, his personal and professional life are mixed up with one another. His ex-wife, Liz, manages his affairs; his efficient, long-suffering secretary Monica Reed manages his household. The fun of the play arises from Garry’s desperate attempts to maintain his composure and keep his life in order, despite the growing absurdity of the situations around him, many of them involving extramarital affairs and misunderstandings. A young playwright, Roland Maule, who worships Garry but disrupts the peace with his odd behaviour, adds to the chaos.

Coward explores vanity, the burdens of fame, and the intrinsically farcical nature of human relationships. Garry is outwardly self-confident and witty, but is shown in fact to be deeply vulnerable, dependent on others, and increasingly aware of the emptiness of his glamorous life. He is hopelessly lost without Liz and Monica, and at once madly in need and bored of the adulation and validation he gets. The play, as you may have guessed, is thought to be semi-biographical: Garry is an actor of ambiguous sexuality who sports a silk dressing gown very like that which Coward wore and was often pictured wearing in his carefully staged public pictures. He lives a life that is hectic and glamorous. He is undeniably self-absorbed (‘My worst defect is that I am apt to worry too much about what people think of me when I’m alive’) but charming and frail enough to elicit sympathy. He is also very funny.

The whole play is funny. Much comedy does not stand the test of time, often because it grounds its humour in what is funny only at that time and place. The humour in Present Laughter, in contrast, is enduring because it deals, like tragedy, with lasting human flaws and foibles and complicated relationships. Mundane exchanges become hilariously funny due to Coward’s wit, verbal flexibility, and sense of rhythm and timing. It is full of quips, barbs, banter and double-entendres delivered a rapid pace that conveys urgency and throws light on the chaps of Garry’s life.

All of this is rendered brilliantly by the cast, though the play undoubtedly belongs to its central character, and Scott. He is the swirling vortex who at once draws others in to his chaos and finds himself swept up in theirs. Scott can communicate a kind of wild emotional volatility (‘I am SOOOOOO changeable,’ Scott’s Moriarty says to his counterpart in Sherlock) which stands in stark contrast to the flat pragmatic speech of the women — Liz and Monica — who stop him from falling apart at the seams, and Daphne’s tone of starstruck adulation, which frankly bores him.

Everyone knows someone who is a bit like Garry Essendine: histrionic, overwrought, hysterical — simply put, a drama queen. If such people are apt to be dismissed as narcissistic, then Coward, in Present Laughter, seems to be redeeming them, showing them to be, in the end—and with some reservations—sympathetic. At the very least, insofar as Coward based Garry on himself, he redeems himself, as well as those who make their living on the stage or screen, by making himself—and them by extension—the butt of a very elaborate, very funny joke. In fact, Coward seems to delight in human diversity, evinced in the range of personalities, quirks and idiosyncrasies on display in Present Laughter. His gift is capturing and celebrating the nuances of our behaviour, bringing us to life in a way that is exaggerated for effect and yet, at the same time, feels brilliantly authentic.'

#Andrew Scott #Present Laughter #National Theatre Live #Garry Essendine #Noel Coward #All of Us Strangers #Vanya

5 notes · View notes

earnestly-endlessly · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Do you have any Cherik Army AUs? I've managed to find just 3.

Hi Anon, thanks for the ask. I found some good Army AUs, though some might not quite fall into the category of 'Army AU'. There are, surprisingly, few Army AUs that I have found, whereas there are several military and war AUs, but those don't necessarily involve an army. I did include a variety that involve an army in one way or another, though some fit the bill better than others. I hope you find some that you enjoy!!

Cherik Army AU

I Want to Guard Your Dreams And Visions – luninosity

Summary: I was reading Barbara Hambly’s Abigail Adams mystery novels, and then Erik/Charles American Revolutionary War AU happened. Little snippet in which they share a tent, drink coffee, and provide support to each other.

The Eggnog Riot – Sophia_Bee

Summary: 1826. The American Military Academy in West Point. The day after Christmas. Cadet Erik Lehnsherr wakes up naked with a certain cadet Xavier sprawled across his chest. He can only blame the eggnog.

No Man’s Land – ikeracity

Summary: It's 1914 in Ypres, Belgium. British soldier Charles Xavier has been in the trenches for four months of endless artillery fire, bone-deep cold, and constant fear of the enemy. But on Christmas Eve, the gunfire falls silent, and they climb out of their trenches for a Christmas truce. Charles, of course, meets Erik, the German soldier across the way.

My Land’s Only Borders Lie Around My Heart – pseudoneems

Summary: WW1 Christmas truce of 1914. Opposing soldiers Erik and Charles meet.

Le soldat – Iggyassou

Summary: Erik is in the trenches, trying to survive the war so that he can go back to Charles, his young lover waiting for him back at home.

Names – Squeegee

Summary: In the summer of 1917, British soldier Charles Xavier finds himself taking cover in a shell crater.

Not sure if the 'graphic' tag applies or not, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Quell a storm with pen and ink – patroclux

Summary: Charles had spared his life. That was not something he could easily repay.

They wrote letters to each other for two years, until Charles was pulled out of the war from a sudden illness and Erik remained to fight for a cause he didn't believe in. One that ultimately had no effect; one that stole away four years of his life.

Traumatized and persecuted, Erik applied for a post at Janus, a lighthouse in the middle of the Irish Sea. He thought being alone would do him good.

Despite the letters and despite the love, Erik didn't expect Charles to find him.

Hier steh ich an den Marken meiner Tage – MonstrousRegiment

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a spy in the SS, and his British liaison is strategist Charles Xavier. Their relationship from the moment they meet to a year after the end of the war.

Theme and Variations: War – ninemoons42

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a musical prodigy and a man destined for great things and great stages. But his life is shattered by a terrible accident that leaves him blind and trying to find his way back to his life, his music, and his place in the world.

Then he meets Charles Xavier, an agent of Section 8 of the Military Intelligence Directorate of Providence, and he finds himself listening in to clandestine radio transmissions and clicking Morse code, and these sounds are part and parcel of a war that can only take place in the shadows and the hidden places of history.

Strib nicht von Mir – ravenoftheninerealms

Summary: A squad of Allied Forces, led by Charles Xavier, liberates the Nazi concentration camp where Erik was being held prisoner.

Cold foxholes, warm hearts – oddegg

Summary: Basically, this is Band of Mutants. A little slice of life in Bastogne.

Photographs and Memories – tirsynni

Summary: When war-battered Erik Lehnsherr met Charles Xavier, the man kneeling in the dirt and whispering to a lost refugee child, Erik feared his days of running from his deviance was done.

Marching Home – Quietbang

Summary: For a prompt on the meme asking for fic dealing with the fact that, in comics canon, Charles served in the Korean war.

War meant something different to this generation, Charles knew.

Crash on the Levy (Down in the Flood) – Quietbang

Summary: “This is much bigger than you think. You're in the middle of a war, and you don't even realize, do you?”

He pauses, and answers his own question.“No, of course you don't. How silly of me."

The Knight and the Dagger – Dow

Summary: A Lieutenant in the Soviet Army, Erik Lensherr had no other goals than to find the man that killed his parents. But when a discovery yields a little boy with wings like an angel, Erik is shocked to realize that he isn’t alone. There are other people like him, both dangerous and alluring.

Lifelong Service – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik thinks he should be the one to teach their recruits hand-to-hand combat; Charles makes a persuasive argument to the contrary.

Footsteps of uprooted lovers – ninemoons42

Summary: Against a turbulent backdrop of artistic, social, and political upheaval, the playwright Charles Xavier and the photographer Erik Lehnsherr find themselves meeting under less-than-polite circumstances, but part rather more amicably than they'd met.

When they find each other again in a Barcelona that is falling inexorably toward war, they find themselves taking up arms, each in his own way, and together they join a struggle for freedom, for love, and for their very lives.

Dear Soldier – Lindstrom, ToriTC198

Summary: "Dear Soldier,

I pray that this package finds you well. The organization gave us a list of odds and ends that you might need, but I thought that a person so far from home might appreciate something more than soap and tube socks."

When Charles' school decides to send care packages to the soldiers fighting in Vietnam, he chooses to also include a letter and a few personal touches. When Staff Sergeant Erik is the recipient of that particular care package it will spur a relationship that will change them both.

Fortunate Son – blueink13

Summary: he days leading up to and during Alex's deployment in Vietnam. Everyone handles it in their own way. Some handle better than others.

You’re Here – Deshonana

Summary: Everyone decides its a good idea not to tell Erik when his boyfriend comes home from the military.

Welcome Home – loveydoveyecstasy

Summary: It's been two years since Charles was deployed to Afghanistan, and Erik can't wait to pick him up at the airport.

When Secrets have Secrets – ximeria

Summary: The arguments that take place in General Xavier's office when General Lehnsherr has a bad day are legendary. Quite frankly, no one really knows what's going on and if the two men have it their way, no one ever will.

Quiet Company – Sophia_Bee

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is always on the move. He's spent the last many years going from war torn country to war torn country telling the stories of the people there through photographs. Then one of his pictures is selected as a winner for the Pulitzer Prize and Erik finds himself stuck in London for longer than he wants. He ends up with an assignment to photograph Charles Xavier, a wealthy philanthropist who is intrigued to find himself working with a Pulitzer-winning war photographer. Erik is far less intrigued by someone he considers privileged and out of touch. Both of their lives are about to change in ways they couldn't imagine.

The City is Ours – RedStockings

Summary: Erik felt his heart racing with excitement, lightened, and for once felt joyful. Charles had looked at him, really looked at him, and there had been something there, a knowing of a kind. As the soldiers laughed amongst each other, and joked each other about who would succeed in marrying the boy, Erik made himself a silent vow. Charles was going to be his, and nothing would keep him from having him. He’d marry him, and he’d save him, and Charles would love him for it.

Not even the war could keep them apart... right?

Sign of the Times – dsrobertson

Summary: Casablanca-ish AU.

Charles Xavier meets Erik Lehnsherr in Paris, 1937. They spend the next two years with one another, stupid in-love, until war comes heavy in September 1939. Erik leaves for Poland and the Resistance movement there, promising to return. Charles is left in Paris, where Nazi jackboots march in, Summer of 1940. He becomes a member of the underground French Resistance, publishing illegal newsletters, leaflets, until news comes through in February 1942: Erik is dead. Charles throws himself into more dangerous work, meeting with Communists, helping derail a German train, and he does too much, goes too far. His friends find him safe passage out of France, out across the Mediterranean, to Morocco, Casablanca. It is here he finds Erik, alive.

The Waste Land – nekosmuse

Summary: The White Queen and her Shadow King sit on their throne, safe behind the psionic shields of the Walled City. The armies of Genosha batter uselessly at the gates, a war locked in stalemate. Magneto, camped in the frozen mud, receives word the Citadel intends to send a telepath to the front lines. The same telepath he met two years ago, who sat across a carved wooden chess set and offered Magneto the first friendly smile in a lifetime. The same telepath who still haunts his dreams.

Winter Comes With a Knife – RedStockings

Summary: It apparently came to no one’s surprise that the war-mage Erik Lehnsherr took up residence in the Dark Keep. I knew he was going to choose my sister, Raven, to be his apprentice so why wouldn’t he let me go? What did he want from me?

My name is Charles Xavier, I can read minds and use magic. I’ve met Kings and Queens, mages and magic users. I’ve travelled through lay-lines and jumped through the Dark Void… but none of that really matters.

I am leading an army into war, I am scared and I never wanted this. I’ve come to realise that what I want, rode into my life when I was still a child. Now he’s out there, ready to charge into battle. Ready to die for me.

Polaris – LastAmericanMermaid

Summary: Charles Xavier is 19 years old, doe-eyed and soft; Erik Lehnsherr is 24 years old, steely-hard and bitter. One is a soldier, the other a refugee. Both are mutants. There will be pain, oh yes.

(An AU in which Charles is a wounded British soldier, Erik is the German hiding in France who nurses him back to health, and the contents of this fic are best read to the soundtrack of Atonement.)

Note: Unfinished

MEDIC! – paladin_danse

Summary: A British airborne medic finds himself alone and afraid behind enemy lines. When he decides to save the life of an S.S. German officer he finds wounded in the snow, he has no idea the choice he has made will alter the course of the war—and their lives—forever.

Note: Sadly unfinished

Suicide is Painlesss – weethreequarter

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr did not become a doctor to pick bullets out of children. Unfortunately the US Army had other ideas.

Stuck in the middle of the Korean War, Erik and his fellow civilian surgeons have to battle not only the war, but also weather, mud, and boredom. And that's without mentioning Major Sebastian Shaw who thinks war is the best thing that's ever happened to him and never should've been allowed to pick up a scalpel, or Colonel William Stryker who may or may not work for the CIA and probably doesn't even know himself.

Throw in new arrival Captain Charles Xavier, and Erik is in for a very interesting war.

Note: Unfinished

A Light That Never Goes Out – R_Cookie

Summary: It was meant to be the war to end all wars; these two men were never supposed to meet. One a German Jew, the other a British surgeon. The odds that their paths should cross were next to none - but War defies the expected. It always has, and always will.

From the beaches of Dunkirk to the treacherous slopes of Monte Cassino - this is their story.

WWII AU.

Note: Unfinished

#cherik #cherik fic recs #fic recs #asks #earnestly answers #army au #military au #war au #long post

82 notes · View notes

tomwambsmilk · 3 years ago

Note

moulin rouge au?

Ahhh, the moulin rouge au. This is one I developed with the help of @tomwambsgoose <3 It's pretty well what it says on the tin - it's an AU where the Moulin Rouge is owned by Logan Roy. Tom is a moderately successful yet utterly miserable lawyer, in his 40s and single, who becomes obsessed with the idea of the "bohemian revolution" after seeing the opera "La vie boheme". He abandons his law practice and moves to Montmartre to write about love, despite, by his own admission, never having been in love. He encounters the Roy siblings, who are attempting to persuade Logan to let them convert the Moulin Rouge into a proper theatre by staging a play; he agrees to write for them when their playwright quits which is how he ends up meeting Satine, the star courtesan of the Moulin Rouge - who is, in fact, Greg. "Satine" is a character that Greg puts on as part of his performance at the Moulin Rouge; as the story unfolds Tom falls in love first with "Satine", but then with Greg.

Honestly, this one started just as "I love moulin rouge and the main guy is a little bit tomcore" and very quickly went in some interesting directions. The story goes back and forth between Tom narrating the story in hindsight, after Greg has died (not really a spoiler bc that's revealed on the first page), and the events themselves as Tom is writing about them (and being subtly haunted by Greg). There's a lot going on around Tom processing his grief, and Willa (who manages the courtesans at the Moulin Rouge) and Ewan are both involved in that part of the story in some interesting ways. And the whole "Greg as Satine" thing has taken on a life of its own - Greg is so deeply insecure and anxious, and playing with the idea of the character of "Satine" allowing him to be bolder and freer, but at the cost of feeling somewhat removed from himself and his own identity, is intriguing. There's a security in it, but it's also a persona designed to be sexually appealing for the purposes of making money (and a persona that was only in part designed by Greg himself, and in part designed by Logan and Willa) so there's some real internal conflict around that.

A little snippet below the cut:

He gets up from the table and walks back out onto the balcony. Instead of letting his gaze list off to the side, like he usually does, he stares hard at the decrepit shell of the Moulin Rouge, less than a mile away, directly in front of him. He feels a bitter wind pick up and folds his arms to try and guard against it.

At that moment, his resolve crumbles. What is he doing here? He should have left long ago - before the Moulin Rouge turned off its lights and fell into disrepair, before everyone he thought was his friend left without a word of farewell, disappearing under the cover of night to avoid debt collectors and the police. It’s nothing but foolish sentimentality that brought him here, and that’s the same thing holding him here now, keeping him from going back to London and making a proper life there, rebuilding his firm, re-establishing himself in the community, marrying a nice girl and giving his parents grandchildren to dote on.

It’s not love or truth or beauty, simply foolishness, and with that in mind, he turns to go back inside, to burn the paper he was writing on and begin packing his things.

Before he can go back inside, the balcony doors slam shut in front of him.

It must be the wind. It has to be the wind, and he shivers as it picks up. It can be nothing else - but even as he reminds himself of this, he feels a twinge of uncertainty. He shoves it down quickly. Since he came here, Tom has believed in many foolish things - but never in spirits.

He reaches out to pull the doors open, and they don’t move.

That’s not right. The doors are flimsy at best, keeping out nothing - not noise, not cold air, and on one memorable occasion, not even his determined landlady looking for the rent. The idea that they would now somehow turn themselves into stubborn obstacles is absurd.

He pulls again, and the doors still stand firmer than before.

He looks up, hoping this will somehow grant him clarity. All he sees is the winter sky, grey and cloudy. He tries the doors a third time, and they still don’t budge.

He sets his jaw in annoyance and then speaks to the thin air.

“You should try writing it yourself if it’s really that important.”

There is no answer from either the wind or the sky. He tugs on the door handle in irritation.

“You’ve shut my doors - if it is you and I’m not, you know, going fucking crazy from being alone in this apartment - so clearly you can manipulate material objects. Why don’t you go to my typewriter and bang it out yourself.”

For a moment, Tom feels like the wind may have gotten colder. He crosses to the balcony's other side, gripping the railing.

“It’s not easy, you know,” he says quietly to no one in particular. “It’s not easy to- I-” He can’t quite get the words out, can’t form the sentences he wants to.

He stares at the Moulin Rouge again, and for a brief moment, he can see it in all its bygone glory, lights and music carrying across the city. He feels the rush and thrill of a Friday night spent there, revelling in the music and debauchery, and a deep ache sets in his bones.

He has to write this, and he knows it. He turns back towards the doors, and as he does, they creak slowly open. He pauses for a minute at the threshold before crossing to the table and sitting back down at the typewriter.

“I hope,” he says to the empty room after a long moment, “You appreciate just what it is I’m doing for you here.”

There is no response - although, of course, he didn’t expect one. But he suddenly feels slightly less alone and turns back to the keys of his typewriter.

#ask games #this one is actually getting to the point where I might start posting chapters soon. maybe. no promises though

2 notes · View notes

uwua3 · 5 years ago

Text

family.

🌸🌷 sakuma sakuya

summary: sakuya remembers when the dorms were silent, but he never wants to go back to that time ever again

dedication: written for my friends in the golden gays discord server. i love you all ♡

warnings: anxiety, family trauma, the future

author’s note: hi!!! this is the first writing piece i’ve published~ sorry for the delay; school kept me busy for so long! i hope you love it as much as i love my great friends!

i wanted to reflect on sakuya’s deep fear of being alone again that stemmed from an absent household. i believe there is power in reclaiming yourself from people who took advantage of you and doing your best for the people who love you ♡ this is a tribute to everyone who decided they wouldn’t be held back anymore at the expense of their families and found happiness in friends!

word count: 1,702

music: to die for – sam smith

Celebrations were being held inside the Mankai Company dorms as the four troupes partied, laughing about the Winter Troupe’s latest success against the God Troupe and effectively paying off the theatre’s debt. Stepping out into the courtyard, Sakuma Sakuya escaped the loud and irresponsible shenanigans that could only ensue between 20 boys with a quiet sigh of relief. The glass door closed behind him as the noise faded into the background. Unfortunately, the sound of something breaking and frantic screaming became a normal occurrence in the dorms. Leaning against the building’s brick exterior, Sakuya pushed his hands in his hoodie pockets before realizing he wore the same clothes at his Mankai auditions almost a year ago. The printed “SPRING” words across his chest was closest to his heart, making him subconsciously smile at the thought of his troupe members.

His Spring Troupe members... Sakuya could vividly recall meeting each and every single of them for the first time. Each one of them, at completely different parts of life, and they all found each other to be the start of something absolutely life–changing. Sakuya basked in the warmth of his fondness for his boys despite the cold frost solidifying his breath in the thin air. Yet, it didn’t feel like it was a winter dusk underneath the full moon. Sakuya swore he opened his eyes and was embraced by the spring warmth of blooming cherry blossoms above his head as he practiced by Hana High’s river with the Romeo & Julius script gripped in his hand. Sakuma Sakuya felt the same as he did right before his first performance as leader of the Spring Troupe: completely, and utterly, happy.

Masumi was Sakuya’s right hand man no matter what, where his harsh criticism and natural talent influenced all of them to become a troupe worthy of a sold out show. Tsuzuru’s persistence and unrelenting drive to be the best playwright possible inspired Sakuya to work even harder to expand his range of abilities. Citron’s perseverance and unwavering spirit that defined his charisma made Sakuya laugh into the night, reminiscing on Citron’s faulty Japanese that somehow got pulled all together to recite his otherworldly stories way past bedtime. Even Itaru’s rocky transition into acting was monumental, where it’s like the spark that died in the adult’s eyes was ignited back to life, like a firecracker in a summer festival. At the thought of summer, which led to Summer Troupe, then Autumn and Winter, Sakuya became overwhelmed with the thought of his friends, the boys he would do anything for just right behind him. Never in his life, did Sakuya ever fathom he could feel this happy. But, did he deserve them?

It was enough to make Sakuya suddenly cry alone, outside in the freezing cold as the rambunctious bunch continued celebrating into the hours of the next day. At first, a single drop fell from his eye and before he knew it, it was an onslaught of a repressed emotion he had to hide as the first Mankai company leader: fear. Dropping to a crouching position, Sakuya attempted to muffle his cries as he hid his face in his arms, pretending like it was the comfort of a beloved family member. Yet, no particular face came to mind. It was a blurry, distorted mixture of everyone who has ever abandoned him.

Nothing was permanent, if Sakuya learned anything from his family. He almost pushed out the feeling of that cold house but it came back in the form of his turbulent childhood, living to please and seeking to serve in any way possible as he was taken advantage of senselessly. You’d think after all that, he would know to disguise his true feelings and thoughts with his quick acting impulse, but Sakuya was just as naive as before. Sakuya was so honest in his face, his expressions betraying his intentions. Like right now, where his theatre company members were having the time of their lives together, without him.

How awful of him to be so sad on a night of fun and new beginnings! Sakuya sniffled as he roughly rubbed his eyes, muttering comforting lies to no avail. He was being selfish... maybe, he was really crying because Sakuya knew deep down he didn’t deserve any of this. The spring glow faded away as Sakuya opened his eyes again only to face the snowy scape of the courtyard. The gray stone was slippery with ice as the salt was scattered under his feet. At the center of it all, the building’s massive tree was rustling with the wind. Sakuya’s tears froze in their tracks as he exhaled, his body shaking as his thoughts ran a mile a minute. It didn’t feel like time existed in that moment, like the world stopped as he endured years of suffering and guilt in that very moment.

But, the world didn’t stop for anybody. In fact, for a moment, it sounded like the bubbly and catchy J-Pop blasting from Kazunari’s modern smartphone sounded even louder. It’s as if his ears became heightened to notice the amplified sound of the expensive alcohol Azuma swindled out of his eager customers spilling into multiple glasses. Sakuya heard the sizzling of the frying pan as Omi was feeding the peanut gallery, even Banri’s exaggerated mockery of Juza’s excitement for the desserts Tenma received as a gift from his newest movie set. Sakuya could envision it now: Taichi impressing Misumi with making triangular origami and enjoying the amazed grin on the latter’s innocent face, Muku & Yuki doing their schoolwork at the sofa before Yuki started cursing out the puppy pair for screaming, even the Winter troupe’s quiet disbelief but immense pride amongst themselves. Sakuya knew, for once, Hisoka wasn’t taking a nap. That’s how electric the energy was throughout the room. The party was in full swing, Sakuya even caught out of the corner of his eye Director and Sakyo sharing an intimate moment before it was ruined by the Director’s spices rant. Thank god Kamekichi and the manager didn’t hear it, or else a very sad Matsukawa would be paying a hefty sum to the scheming parrot.

Maybe he would vocally never admit it, but Sakuya felt himself turn as pink as the sakura petals that led him to a flyer for the Mankai tryouts. Sakuya felt the same as that moment: like he was staring into the face of his destiny. Sakuya pushed himself off the ground, catching his own mind off guard before it morphed into a phase of curiousity, like even his own brain couldn’t have any idea what could come next. Sakuya faced the moonlight shining upon him, like the stage spotlight he couldn’t wait to be underneath again. Sakuya could almost see the future in the clear surface.

Sakuya could see the next Spring Troupe play. The fantasy elements, the strong message of friendship, and the bond between him and his boys growing like the cherry blossoms. They would take a bow together in front of a standing ovation, where they’d celebrate by having a hanami picnic beneath the petals as they sat in the crowded park. They’d share their favorite parts and sleep that night on stage, just like the old times. He could imagine the spring nostalgia shifting into an exhilarating summer heat, even hearing the sound of traditional drums and booth workers advertising their games cutting the night air as chatters of his friends enveloped him in the best place possible to see the fireworks. The hot, humid summer would become a chilly and spooky autumn where they’d all have cool costumes and a competition to see who could trick & treat the most candy that night. It would move into the frigid but festive winter, as Secret Santa became too complex in a group of 20 as they would decorate the dorms to look like a Christmas bomb exploded. No matter what season it was, Sakuya knew they’d pull off whatever they put their heads to. The cycle would repeat another year. That was enough for now.

Sakuya stopped crying. There was nothing to be sad about; how could he when his true family was inside? Turning on his heel, Sakuya felt the warmth against his face as he opened the glass door to the cheers of his fellow Mankai members. He was right; Kazunari was DJ-ing with glowing cat ear headphones at the kitchen counter as he pushed the mic to his mouth with a wide, infectious grin.

“Just in time! Sakuma Sakuya, everybody! Everyone give it up for Mankai’s first member and leader ever!”

The room cheered even louder, pushing Sakuya into the group celebration as Yuki jokingly got on his case for letting the cold air in. But even then, Yuki’s smile reached his eyes as Sakuya took in everyone finally went quiet, waiting for his speech. They all looked towards him for guidance, for words of wisdom, something to remember for the rest of their lives. Then, it clicked. Sakuya hugged himself, the distorted face in his mind suddenly becoming 20. This was his family.

This home was warm. It was filled with endless, unconditional love & support. No hurtful judgement or prejudices, not even serious scorn for one another despite Juza and Banri & Sakyo and Yuki’s petty arguments. This was what family is: love, no matter what. Sakuya loved his brothers, his Mankai boys and his favorite Director. That was enough. They’re family.

Whether it was due to the sudden embarrassing attention or the quick beating of his resurrected heart, Sakuya smiled as he stood up on the coffee table, ignoring Sakyo’s comment about how they didn’t have the budget to fund a hospital visit if he fell. Picking up an opened soda can besides his feet, Sakuya lifted the discarded drink in the air as everyone mimicked his actions like it was a professional banquet. With absolute pure joy in his voice, Sakuya felt the tears threatening to pour from his eyes but for a completely different reason. They are happy, he is happy.

“To Mankai!”

“To Mankai!” The room chorused back with just as much love, and would do so for many, many more years.

#sakuma sakuya #sakuya sakuma #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! one shots #act! addict! actors! one shots #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! sakuya #a3 sakuya

83 notes · View notes

lethesomething · 5 years ago

Text

An otome lover’s guide to A3

So. A3.

Not an actual otome, but the actor management game and anime from Cybird (of Ikemen All the Things fame) has a bunch of boys. Ok, so a Lot of Boys. All the Boys, in fact. And men. Some of them are like thirty. Which is refreshing.

Where do you even begin telling them apart? Here is an Attempt, based on the first season of the game.

Spring troupe: The Vanilla boys

Bright, youthful, mostly kinda normal. This troupe stands out for its overall lack of experience and its anime protag willingness to overcome hurdles. Most resembles the main team in a sports anime.

Sakuya Is baby. This boy is a golden retriever puppy that has yet to realize he's ended up in human form. Orphan street urchin with a heart of gold. He's kinda useless as an actor but he will ganba all the way until he makes it. Protect him. Mostly from himself.

Masumi A Giant Friggin Red Flag. Weirdly obsessed with MC. His personality apart from stalker syndrome is what I like to call 'the Kageyama Tobio': genius at one thing and uninterested or terrible at everything else. He is seemingly incapable of social interactions and at best uninterested in any of them apart from MC. Also really harsh on people who don't perform to his standards, which is almost everyone.

Tzuzuru The Self Sacrificing One. Look, this dude gave up most of his dreams to look after his siblings, and he literally joined you because otherwise he'd be sleeping in a cardboard box (Why are all these dudes street urchins?) Wants to be a playwright so he foregoes any semblance of sleep to finish scripts. Has the spinal cord of a jellyfish unless in Very Specific Cases. Cute when he pouts. Pouts a lot. Someone save him.

Itaru Jekyll and XxHydexX. Super cordial professional by day, game addict that will murder you for messing up his kill streak by night. He's So Friggin Pretty why is he a dick?? Doesn't really know if he's even into this theatre thing. You know he is. Of course he is. Calms down tremendously over the course of the arc, just don't, you know, get between him and his gamer score I guess.

Citron What the Foreigner. Mysterious foreign prince possibly on the run from his parents/the cops. Your theatre is a convenient hiding place for him, because obviously getting into showbiz is what you do when you want to remain anonymous. Speaks Japanese in a weird way. In fact, he sounds Exactly Like Utapri's Cecil despite having a different VA. Quirky to a fault. Has potentially been trained as some kind of covert operative but is surprisingly cheerful about everything.

Summer Troupe: The Diva's

A group of highly talented dudes with varying degrees of social issues. Most resembles the cast of a smaller indie otome game.

Tenma The Arrogant One. A child actor from tv wanting to learn stage work. Has zero social skills. He's brash, completely full of himself and extremely critical of everyone else. Needs to learn the Power of Friendship which, spoiler, he obviously does, albeit in a very tsun kindof way. Can't let them know you care, ever.

Yuki Salt Personified. This kid is friggin 14 years old and wears dresses but he will rip you to shreds with his words. Winner of the most deadpan delivery of burns. He's in middle school ffs. Really into fashion. Resident costume designer. Potentially serves as a representation on gender roles in theatre, but the whole thing is fairly lowkey. The team, bless them, just accept him for who he is, sharp tongue and all.

Muku The Soft One. Another middle schooler, this one is way less sharp with his words. Into shoujou manga. Has severe insecurities and a propensity to start sentences with 'um'. Shaking leaf, what is he doing on a friggin stage. He actually has pink hair, could he BE any more squishy. Protecc.

Misumi The Weird One. I realize several characters fit that description, but Misumi is obsessed with triangles and lives in a liminal space between realities so I don't know what to tell you. Also he's like… spiderman. Inhuman amount of acrobatics. Another homeless street urchin (Tokyo - is it Tokyo??? - appears to have an issue, guys). Sweet dude though. Chill and positive about everything, as long as it is triangular.

Kazunari The Influencer. Resident designer and bigshot on social media. He's down with Literally Everything. Likes everyone, is cool about every instance. Unerringly positive to an unhealthy degree. Really, Really conflict averse, even. You could call him painfully insecure, but that's like most of the cast. Wearer of hats in a non-ironic way.

Autumn Troupe: The Delinquents

This troupe consists almost entirely out of (ex) violent delinquents and (ex) criminals. The tough guys, no one here is totally innocent. Most resembles the cast of a beat-em-up.

Banri The Number One. Hotshot teenager who's never tasted defeat in his life. Good at anything without trying, so he never tries. Obsessed with outperforming Juza because he's like the one dude Banri can't beat at fisticuffs. Honestly kinda insufferable for most of their arc.

Juza The Lone Wolf. Cursed with a resting bitch face and an inability to perform in social settings. Considered a delinquent and constantly challenged to fights. Is actually sweet lamb, just with lots of muscles. Cripplingly low self esteem. Wants to act to be someone else. Protect at all costs.

Omi The Responsible one. Wait, that was an option?? Big brother type. Perfect son in law. A keeper. This guy is mature and he cooks and it makes me wonder what's wrong with him. There's probably a dark secret (narrator voice: there was a dark secret).

Taichi The Sunshine Child. Really into yoyo's. Like the toy, not the male subspecies. Has the hair colour and the vocal volume of a shonen jump protag. Bouncy and very loud. Feels way younger than the middle schoolers, though he's in high school.

Sakyo The Debt Collector. Actual yakuza agent. The one the theatre owes a lot of money too. Secretly really loves the performing arts, because of course he does. Massive tsun. I wasn't looking at you, baka. Should have been an accounting professor in another life. Wordy.

Winter troupe:The Drama Team.

No really, most of them have drama and angst written all over them. Only team that consists entirely out of actual adults. Angsty adults, but still. Most resemble the cast of a daytime soap opera.

Tasuku The Defector. The top actor from the rival gang troupe that joined Mankai instead. Fitness buff. Pretty clear about his boundaries for right and wrong. Sweet bean, really. Has a lot of emotions about his childhood friend Tsumugi. Seems to have a lot of feelings in general. Red oni type.

Tsumugi The Subdued one. Talks like a wallflower, looks like he got his fashion choices out of a high end french magazine from the eighties. One of the boring ones. Cinnamon roll. Blue oni. Massive self esteem issues due to past trauma. Weird relationship with his childhood friend Tasuku. They'll work it out, you know they will.

Hisoka The Narcoleptic. Literally washed up and adopted by the theatre group that found him. Weirdly good at acting. Sleeps about 80 percent of the day. Needs to be poked and cajoled with treats. Might actually be a cat. Has no recollection of his life before he was picked off the street by a desperate director.

Homare The 'Extra AF'. A poet who dresses in loud costumes and has really stupid hair. Loud, overtly confident in his bad poetry and just generally confusing to watch. A Gentleman. Flamboyant. Kinda gay coded. Hisoka's crutch and the only reason that man is able to perform like a human being.

Azuma The Flirty One. A Cuddling Professional, because this is a teen rated game and we can't put in an actual prostitute or host. Unnaturally pretty. Indeterminate age. Sensitive. At least one of these dudes has empathetic abilities, may as well be the cute one. Extremely flirty and Experienced (tm) at life.

#a3!#a3 #mobage

112 notes · View notes

sciencespies · 4 years ago

Text

Looking Back at the Legacy of 'The Great White Hope' and Boxer Jack Johnson

https://sciencespies.com/history/looking-back-at-the-legacy-of-the-great-white-hope-and-boxer-jack-johnson/

Looking Back at the Legacy of 'The Great White Hope' and Boxer Jack Johnson

SMITHSONIANMAG.COM | Feb. 25, 2021, 8 a.m.

“There’s nothing you need to make up about Jack Johnson.”

Documentarian Ken Burns would know. His 2005 series “Unforgivable Blackness,” based on the book of the same name by historian Geoffrey C. Ward, brought the true story of the life and career of Jack Johnson, the black boxer who fought his way up through the pugilism ranks to become the world heavyweight champion, to television.

But before Burns, those who weren’t around for the so-called “Fight of the Century” that saw Johnson outslug James J. Jeffries in 1910, would have known Jackson’s story through the play and movie The Great White Hope. That work of historical fiction, by playwright Howard Sackler, perhaps reveals more about the time in which it was written than the time in which it is set.

The play’s message about the nature of racism and racial conflict succeeded in providing audiences with an opportunity to better understand different perspectives through the prism of its characters, but the film adaptation failed to deliver the same powerhouse impact. That said, both served to launch the careers of two actors on the rise and brought to the public a poignant story of interracial romance and the struggle for interracial couples to find acceptance in America.

Alexander and Jones in a publicity still from the 1970 film

(Photo by Afro American Newspapers / Gado / Getty Images)

Sackler’s much-lauded play arrived in 1967, as the civil rights movement’s struggles were at last bearing fruit. In The Great White Hope, black boxer Jack Jefferson—a name change borne out of legal concerns—becomes so successful that a fight is set up between Jefferson and the reigning heavyweight champion of the world, a white man. In addition to developing a story which focused on an equivalent of the Johnson-Jeffries fight, Sackler constructed a storyline based on the relationship between Johnson and his first wife, a white woman named, Etta Terry Duryea, represented in the play by the character of Eleanor Bachman. In addition to mirroring the tensions Johnson and Duryea endured in pursuing an interracial relationship during the early 20th century, Eleanor’s ultimate fate mirrors that of Duryea, who died by suicide in 1912.

The play’s title came from the descriptor assigned decades earlier to any white boxer who stepped into the ring to challenge Johnson, although it was most famously used to describe Jeffries, who had retired from the ring more than five years before the landmark fight. Upon being wooed into returning to the ring, Jeffries made his reasons perfectly clear, publicly announcing, “I am going into this fight for the sole purpose of proving that a white man is better than a Negro.”

As history reveals, Jeffries proved no such thing: not only did Johnson win the fight by a technical knockout in round 15, but as fellow boxer John L. Sullivan told the New York Times, “Scarcely has there ever been a championship contest that was so one-sided.”

youtube

Sackler drew inspiration from these events, seeing in Johnson an opportunity to tell a story about a man who becomes a hero but is nonetheless destined for a downfall, someone who many—including the play’s director, Ed Sherin—likened to the titular character in William Shakespeare’s Coriolanus. “It’s about a man who essentially moves out of his tribe and gets clobbered,” Sherin told The American Theatre in 2000. “And in [Sackler’s] mind, it wasn’t about black-white. The historical circumstances made that the paramount issue in the play. But it’s not. And it taps off white guilt about the way the black man was dealt with, but that was not [Sackkler’s] position at all. He wrote a play about a tragic hero, somebody who oversteps himself—as Coriolanus did.”

***********

The Great White Hope began with a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts to Arena Stage, a Washington, D.C. theater, which at the time was best known for being the first integrated theater in the city. To find the right man for Jefferson, Sackler reached out to actor James Earl Jones, an established performer was working in Europe.

“Howard suggested that I start getting into shape, which was really important—the man was a boxer—but which I was not and am not and will never be!” says Jones, laughing. “In fact, the young man who was my understudy onstage, Yaphet Kotto, resembled Jack much more than I did.”

James Earl Jones looks at his reflection in a Broadway dressing room mirror on December 10, 1968.

(Photo by Harry Benson / Daily Express / Getty Images)

For the role of Bachman, Sherin went with an existing member of the Arena Stage company: actress Jane Alexander, who would later become Sherin’s wife. Despite the racially charged subject matter, Alexander had no hesitation about diving headlong into the material.

“I really looked forward to doing things like that,” says Alexander. “Of course, civil rights were very high at that time in the ’60s, and we did not shy away from controversy at Arena Stage. We did quite a lot of things, tackling the Vietnam War and racism and so on, so I didn’t have any problem with the subject matter.”

Alexander also politely disagrees with her co-star’s self-assessment. “[James] is a big man—he certainly looks like a heavyweight champion!—and he got in such great shape,” she says. “He was just gorgeous-looking at the time. But he was formidable…and when he gets that look in his eyes, he’s scary!“

The Great White Hope only played for a few weeks at Arena before its success catapulted it to Broadway. Although the audiences were initially almost entirely white, Alexander says that the number of black theatergoers began to increase steadily as the play received more acclaim, hitting the 50/50 mark by the end of the first year. As a result, she also began to notice that black audiences reacted differently to the play than white audiences.

“They didn’t like my character at all…and who could blame them?” concedes Alexander. “I was causing him all these problems! So they would sometimes cheer or laugh at my death…and that was not easy for James Earl, because [he] looked at it as a love story. He had a very difficult scene to perform over my dead body, and they were sometimes not happy with him being emotional about me.”

Even worse, Alexander also began receiving hate mail. “Sometimes they were just disgusting letters from white bigots, male and female. Really awful letters. But I got a couple of death threats. That’s when I said to my stage manager, ‘I can’t open my mail.’”

Jones, for the record, didn’t receive any such threats, but the fact that his co-star did receive them, he says, “sort of measured the height of the bull****.”

Both Alexander and Jones received Tony Awards for their work in The Great White Hope.

(Photo by NBCU Photo Bank / NBC Universal via Getty Images)

Muhammad Ali at a November 12, 1968, performance of The Great White Hope on Broadway

(Photo by Tom Wargacki / WireImage)

Fortunately, those who appreciated The Great White Hope far outweighed those who didn’t, and one of the play’s biggest fans was one of the most famous men in the world: Muhammad Ali, who understandably saw some parallels between himself and Jones’s character. (“What Ali actually said was, ‘This is my play, except for the white chick,’” recalls Alexander, laughing.)

“Muhammad Ali had just done a Broadway play himself—or, rather, a musical—called Buck White, where he played kind of an activist,” recalls Jones. “He considered himself a stage actor, I think, so he’d come back and wanted to talk actor to actor about my work. When the audience left the theater, he used to love going up on the stage and say, ‘Watch this!’ And he’d take a crack at a scene, and then he’d say, ‘And that’s the way that ought to be done!’ I loved it. And the way he’d interpret it? He wasn’t always wrong!”

Ali was also responsible for one of Alexander’s most cherished memories from the Broadway run of The Great White Hope, during the third of his backstage visits.

While the film version of The Great White Hope received its fair share of critical acclaim, with both Jones and Alexander—in her film debut—earning Oscar nominations for their work, few would disagree that it’s a lesser work than the play. The first sign that Hollywood had done some major streamlining: the play originally ran for three-and-a-half hours, whereas the film version clocks in at a streamlined 103 minutes.

“I missed some of the lyricism in the beautiful long monologues—or soliloquies, if you will—that some of the actors had, specifically [James],” says Alexander. “They were cut, a lot of them. “

Jones pulls no punches when offering his take on the play’s cinematic adaptation. “I apologize for the film, because it wasn’t right,” he says. “The big mistake happened when the decision was made not to have Ed Sherin direct the film. It was a big investment on the part of 20th Century Fox, and they made an attempt to work around the cost of filmmaking. They decided to make it… I wouldn’t say ‘cheap,’ but they thought they couldn’t afford to take a gamble on [a first-time film director].”

“They made a decision to shorten it by using a formula which… Well, I won’t try to define it, but they wanted to make it a romance,” says Jones. “Which it was in real life, but it was a mistake to try and ignore all the dynamic stuff going on in that man’s life in favor of trying to make it a love story of this poor black guy and this poor white girl who wanted to be together in life. But America just didn’t let them do it.”

Jones’s description of the film’s romantic plotline is dripping with sardonic wit, something which becomes evident when he abruptly begins chuckling.

“The truth is, I think Ken Burns’ documentary is more important than the film or the play we did,” says Jones. “I thought there was no way you could capture all the dynamics of that man’s life, all the gorgeousness and physical beauty, the human beauty of the man called Jack Johnson. But Burns captured it. Whether you’re a boxing fan or not, whether you have any corner of the race issue you want to explore, it’s something everybody should see.”

Jack Johnson (right) defeated Jim Jeffries in a 1910 boxing showdown.

(Photo by PA Images via Getty Images)

“He stuck around late enough that the stage manager had already put the ghost light onstage. Only the doorman was left, and I was in the wings. And Muhammad Ali walked out in that dark theater and turned to a naked, empty house, and he reprised the last line of the second act: ‘I is here! I is here! I is here!’ It was amazing. And nobody ever witnessed that but me. “

**********

The success of The Great White Hope soon led to conversations about adapting the play into a film, but those conversations didn’t include Alexander until after the show swept the Tony Awards, winning Best Play and earning Jones and Alexander trophies for their roles, too. The acclaim even extended beyond the traditional theater community, with the play winning the Pulitzer Prize for Drama as well.

“I was told that [film director] Martin Ritt offered it first to Joanne Woodward,” says Alexander. “She turned it down, saying, ‘You should get that girl who did it on Broadway.’ And then he went to Faye Dunaway, and Faye turned it down! And then what happened after Faye turned it down? The Tony Awards happened. And the next day, I got the offer.”

youtube

Burns, who interviewed Jones for “Unforgivable Blackness,” believes the problem with the film adaptation extends well beyond trying to force it into being a love story.

“The much more important thing is something that you find throughout well-intentioned history and art about African-Americans, which is that somehow they always need to have a white person around to justify them,” says Burns. “In The Great White Hope, here’s this incredibly talented physical specimen who plays in all these incredibly dangerous tropes about black people, and yet somehow you need well-intentioned white handlers in whatever form—romantically or fight-wise—to sort of nudge you to the right direction, as if they’re unaccompanied minors who need to be accompanied.

Adds Burns about the real story he found while making the documentary, “What’s so important about Jack Johnson is that he defies all conventions we want a heroic black man to be in. He doesn’t want the job of hero. Somehow we want our African Americans to conform to some version of our idea of an acceptable black person. Jack Johnson just takes dynamite and pushes the plunger on that.”

“I admire the play, and I admire the movie, and it’s heart is in the right place, and it’s intentions are good, but it’s in a narrow bandwidth that doesn’t permit the full scope of Jack Johnson, good, bad, and otherwise,” concludes Burns. “It constrains him with narrative devices that aren’t needed.”

Boxer Jack Johnson

(Photo by Sean Sexton / Getty Images)

Jones in boxing attire

(Bettman via Getty Images)

Even with its flaws, there’s no question that The Great White Hope made an impact on those who saw it, on stage or screen.

“I remember walking down the streets of New York for the next decade, and black men would just come up and say, ‘Hey, Jane, how are ya?’ or something like that,” says Alexander. “I remember once I was in an airport, and Snoop Dogg yells across the terminal, ‘Jane!’ I recognized that he was a big music star, but I didn’t know who it was, so I just sort of inched over a little bit…and he just said, ‘Hey!’ That’s all! But I felt very warm inside that black men recognized me, seemed understanding and supportive, and… I think they were saying that they knew that it was a difficult role.

“It was surprising to me the number of white people who wondered why I had done the film. There were a lot of firsts there. The racism was not as overt as it is today, but it was there, and I was surprised it was there in my parents’ friends, who would just question me and say, ‘Why did you have to do that for your first film?’ I was thrilled! Race relations were different at that time. We didn’t march in the same way. If you look at the marches in Selma, Alabama, you won’t see a lot of white people. But I was part of the Poor People’s March in Washington (in 1968), and I went and listened to Martin Luther King speak. But now we have Black Lives Matter, and there are a lot of white people and black people walking side by side. That’s progress.”

#History

2 notes · View notes

insanityclause · 6 years ago

Link

Towards the end of 2017, Zawe Ashton quit acting. She was 33 years old, with a CV that included roles in the cult TV comedy Fresh Meat, films such as Dreams of a Life and Nocturnal Animals and a solid 12 years on the stage, with appearances at the Royal Court and the Old Vic. But something no longer felt right. “There was an artistic chasm opening up between the work I felt I was meant for,” she says, “and the work that was coming my way.”

Less than two years later, Ashton is on Broadway, receiving rave reviews for her performance as Emma in Harold Pinter’s Betrayal. Tom Hiddleston plays her husband, Robert, and Charlie Cox her lover. “At the moment,” she acknowledges with a wry smile, “quitting acting is going very badly for me.”

It’s Friday morning in Manhattan and Ashton and I are talking over almond croissants in a French café around the corner from her digs. Being superstitious, she claims not to have read Betrayal’s reviews. But when I tell her that The New York Times called her the show’s “breakout star”, she grins. “Oh, that bit I have seen. It’s written above my massive head on a poster outside the theatre.”

Jamie Lloyd’s pared-back production had already been a hit in London before transferring to New York last month, and the three primary cast members are making their Broadway debuts together. “Thank God,” she says. “It’s like losing your virginity with another virgin.”

The last time Betrayal was staged on Broadway, in 2013, it starred Rachel Weisz, Daniel Craig and Rafe Spall, and broke box office records in its opening week. “I’m obsessed with Rachel Weisz and Daniel Craig,” says Ashton. The couple live nearby: I ask if she has she hung out with them while in town. “Absolutely not!” she cries, pulling a face as if I’ve just suggested we sprint naked up Ninth Avenue.

Despite barely being out of work since signing up, aged six, for weekend acting classes at the Anna Scher school in north London – and landing her first paid job, on Jackanory, that same year – Ashton says: “I don’t consider myself in the public eye at all. I still sit in the window of the threading place I’ve been going to since I was 15, and have a woman thread my moustache.”

How much longer that anonymity will last is open to question; news stories linking her romantically with Hiddleston – The Night Manager star catapulted to Hollywood heart-throb status by his role in the Avengers films – are already flooding the internet.

“We’re in a play called Betrayal – of course people are going to speculate,” she laughs, when I broach the subject, but refuses to be drawn on it. “Being in dialogue with that is just so weird to me. It’s surreal.

“Is [the speculation] selling tickets?” she asks, rhetorically. “I bloody hope so – it’s got to be good for something, hasn’t it?”

If the castmates are dating, Ashton must be a master of time management. Betrayal may be getting all the attention, but as of Monday, she will have a hand in three theatrical productions running simultaneously. for all the women who thought they were Mad, Ashton’s play about mental health in the black community and the overmedication of black women, is opening on the same night in the Hackney Showroom in London and the SoHo Rep Theatre, off-Broadway in New York.

Ashton wrote the play in 24 hours in a “fever dream,” at the end of a 2008 Young Writers program at the Royal Court Theatre – where her fellow students included playwrights Nick Payne (Constellations) and James Graham (This House, Ink) – and with the help of a group called the Black Women’s Mental Health Project (“Now defunct, of course, because: austerity measures”).

“A woman there gave me facts and figures that seemed to unlock parts of the play that I’d started to write,” says Ashton, “and it confirmed something I knew on a very deep instinctual level, about the cultural biases that happen on a daily basis.” Ashton has first-hand experience of those biases, not least since, as she notes, “this play has taken 11 years to produce. I can’t help think that if I were a 24-year-old white male, it would have been on in every theatre in the land.”

Ashton grew up in north London, the eldest child of an English father and a Ugandan mother, who met while teaching; her father went on to become a commissioning editor at Channel 4. Home was “an environment where I was very much allowed to be the creative soul that I was,” says Ashton – her younger brother is now an artist and musician and her sister, a producer.

At school (state, single sex) things were less rosy. "I was so badly bullied,” she says. “I was this tall, skinny misfit who was unapologetic about the things that I was passionate about. I had a sense of who I was and what I was into, and you’re not supposed to have that. You’re just supposed to blend in.”

Even in the face of “a huge physical threat, a lot of the time,” she refused to conform and instead developed a resilience that would serve her well at drama school in Manchester. “By the end, they couldn’t wait for me to leave,” she says. “I’d turned against the institution in such a major way; you can’t grow creativity in a vacuum like that.”

Creativity is not something Ashton lacks. In the past couple of years alone she has directed a short film for Tate Modern about the artist Lorraine O’Grady, presented the Channel 4 arts programme Random Acts, guest-edited BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour, and in April, had her first book published.

Character Breakdown is a comic novel based “absolutely, one hundred per cent” on Ashton’s own experiences as a woman in the entertainment industry. It features a catalogue of bullying, body image issues, insecurity, objectification and misogyny.

She began writing it, “pre- pre- pre-” the inception of the #MeToo movement two years ago. “When I started writing it, I was nervous that no one would give a s--- – who’s going to want to hear about an actress’s problems? Then, suddenly, all anyone’s talking about are actresses’ problems – I was, like, I’ve got to finish this book!”

Although she describes herself as “not someone who’s always asking: what’s next?” she admits that directing something substantial is high on her to-do list. “I love putting all the components together,” she says. “I want to draw the map rather than follow the map.”

for all the women who thought they were Mad is  at Hackney Showroom, London N16 (020 3095 9747) from Mon

29 notes · View notes

theladyactress · 6 years ago

Photo

Anna Cora Mowatt and the Rumor Mill

It is more usual to think of historians as searching for verifiable facts about historical figures and events. Because this research project is focused on scandal and reputation, I am in the unusual position of being engaged in a search for verifiable rumors and documented innuendo.

I have seen traces many Ogden, Ritchie, and Mowatt descendants in my travels on the internet. If you make a stop here, be assured that I am not casting aspersions on your illustrious ancestor. Anna Cora was ruined financially and devastated emotionally by Walter Watts’ crime. Her effort to rebound from this scandal – further complicated by the timing of James Mowatt’s death -- was nothing short of astounding. I am merely plumbing the depths of the pit into which she suddenly found herself plunged without friend or comfort.

To anyone joining us for the first time, here’s a brief rundown of the Watts scandal: After Mowatt’s very successful Broadway debut in 1847 as first a playwright then as an actress, she was encouraged by friends, critics, and colleagues to try her luck on the London stage as many American performers had before her to varying degrees of success. Arriving there, she immediately drew the attention of Walter Watts, the manager of the Olympic and Marylebone theaters. Despite the fact that she was a mere novice, he signed her to a lucrative long-term contract (Even stars players were usually hired only for one show at a time). Watts publicly presented her with expensive gifts and had a deluxe dressing room outfitted for her where he hosted champagne dinners attended by London’s literary and social elite. This jealousy-inspiring treatment came to an abrupt and shocking end in March of 1850 when Watts was arrested for fraud. Watts’ arrest brought to light the fact that he was a clerk for the Globe Insurance Company who had been financing a millionaire lifestyle for over a decade by systematically embezzling from his company. Four months later, Watts hung himself in Newgate prison.

(If you’d like to read more about the scandal and Mowatt’s entanglement in it, this webpage goes into more depth: Touch of Scandal)

The double difficulty in my research into this scandal is that I’m trying to sort out not only what really happened, but what people thought happened. Because of her personal rhetorical approach and the general standards of the times, Mowatt did not directly address the rumors connecting her to Watts. After a certain point in her autobiography, she even ceases to refer to him by name. Her biographers use phrases like, “everyone in London thought” when talking about the scandal, but it now seems like few of those people documented their beliefs. Therefore more than a century later, I am trying to pick up the echoes of a very damaging whisper campaign.

A tidbit I discovered in one of my recent research “finds” is a perfect illustration of the sort of damaging innuendo that may have been being spread tying Mowatt to Watts at the time of his arrest in a manner that did harm to her reputation in England.

The article, entitled “The Forgeries of Walter Watts” appears at the bottom of page 3 in a New Zealand newspaper on November 5, 1892. Walter Watts and James Mowatt had been dead for forty-two years when the article was published. Anna Cora herself had passed away twenty-two years before. Still, this “true crime�� story from half the globe away was deemed by the publishers of the paper entertaining enough to devote two columns to -- wedged in between a chapter from a Robert Lewis Stevenson story and a testimonial for the Society for the Cruelty to Animals. This account followed along the general lines of the narrative that I first saw recorded by David Morier Evans in Facts, Failures, and Frauds: Revelations, Financial, Mercantile, Criminal in 1859. The narrative mentions all of what I have come to consider the “major” rumors tying Mowatt to Watts; such as the silver urn, the dressing room, the locket, and the silk scarf. We will devote much time in future blogs dissecting each of these elements at length as they appear in this and other accounts. However among the colorful details this story adds that I have not seen in other accounts, I want to focus here on the following: “(Watts) sent the lady’s husband on a voyage to Trinidad…”

Nothing in my research indicates that Watts funded James Mowatt’s trip to Trinidad or that it was the manager’s idea in any way. According to Mowatt’s autobiography, her husband set sail for the West Indies in October of 1849 on the advice of more than one doctor after a re-occurrence of an unnamed neurological disorder or perhaps a growing tumor that rendered him blind in one eye and would kill him before the end of 1850. She says that the doctors thought the warmer climate and the long sea voyage would be good for him.

I have to enter into the record here that this is the point in Mowatt’s autobiography where she has stopped referring to Watts by name. She wrote her account of the decision for James Mowatt to set sail for the West Indies using a lot of passive voice and vague constructions like “doctors were consulted” and “it was decided.” In the spring and summer of 1849, Watts was presumably still the Mowatts’ friend and great benefactor. She was giving speeches in public talking about how wonderful Watts was and writing glowing dedications to him in the published versions of her plays. Watts was Anna Cora’s employer and had access to much more money than the Mowatts did. If he generously offered help fund a medically-ordered trip to Trinidad for the critically ill James and insisted that Anna Cora stay in London to fulfill her contractual obligations, then how could they refuse?

Also, to look at the scenario from the other side, if I was Walter Watts – embezzler and con man, leading a double life, -- who had convinced James Mowatt, -- ailing, middle-aged, controlling, ex-lawyer husband of my little American princess star actress -- to invest his wife’s life savings in the Olympic theater that I probably had burned down in the spring so I could rebuild with money I was stealing four and five hundred dollars at a time from the insurance company I was secretly working for... You know, I think I could think of a thousand good reasons why I might want him in Trinidad soaking in the sun and slowly dying instead of at a hospital in Germany or Switzerland that specialized in neurological disorders or cancer treatments while I had champagne dinners with his young beautiful wife in her fancy dressing room in London.

Thus you can see that the “(Watts) sent the lady’s husband on a voyage to Trinidad…” statement starts with the firmest foundation of a good rumor. It is plausible. All the characters are behaving in the manner that we imagine that they might—even when we imagine them to be behaving very, very badly.

[In a future blog, I plan to discuss the the aspect of rumor in which the spread of scandal is aided by prior negative perceptions of certain classes of individuals and how being an American actress in London fueled the harm caused to Mowatt by the Watts incident. However, we’ll leave that for now.]

In addition to being plausible, another aspect giving additional power to the Trinidad rumor is the truth of this information is knowable. Unfortunately, I’m not saying that I think that I will ever know the truth of the matter, but it is plausible that there were individuals at that time who knew the truth of about whether or not Walter Watts paid to send James Mowatt to Trinidad. When James left, Anna Cora moved in with her acting partner, E.L. Davenport and his pregnant wife, Fanny. They probably knew. Their children could have known. Members of the theatrical company may have known. Friends of Watts could have known. This anonymous account is written from the perspective of a young man of who Watts befriended.

Thus the “Trinidad” tidbit is succinctly is capable of confirming a willing listener’s most negative suspicions about Watts’ predatory behavior in the Mowatt marriage and Anna Cora’s either passive or active participation in that interference – depending on how negative one’s pre-existing view of her is. Although anonymous and even only ambiguously non- fictional, the narrator gives himself just barely enough credibility to serve as a plausible source for this information.

And so, my friends, forty-two years after the principals are dead, a strong rumor takes a deep, nourishing breath of fresh air.

The presentation chosen for this account leaves me with several questions that I’d like to share with you, dear readers. How seriously am I meant to take this “Page 3” story? It shares many characteristics with Sydney Horler’s “true crime” version of Watts’ story in his 1931 book Black Souls (A million thanks to Christi Saindon for helping me track down this hard to find volume!). Unlike Horler, though, the anonymous narrator claims to have first-hand insight to Watts’ actions and does not identify their version of the manager’s thoughts or words as fictionalizations. Do any of you know anything about New Zealand newspaper publishing conventions circa 1890? Was this section of the paper reserved for light entertainment? Reprints from English papers? Excerpts from books or magazines?

Also, my knowledge of Victorian medical science is thin. Do any of you have more expertise? How valid was the West Indies as a destination for the dying James Mowatt in 1849? I know that neurology was in its infancy and that “the rest cure” was being proscribed for a wide range of psychological and physical disorders of the brain that would be treated with medicine or surgery only twenty or thirty years later, but wouldn’t there be better places in England or Europe to treat someone with something that was exerting so much pressure it was making them lose sight in one eye?

I look forward to your input! Next week – more scandal!

#theater history #victoriantheater #victorian times #annacoramowatt

3 notes · View notes

shireness-says · 7 years ago

Text

Playing the Part ch. 8: Before the Parade Passes By

Summary: As a stage manager who’s clawed her way up from bottom, Emma Swan can handle just about anything thrown her way. But does that include handsome lead actor Killian Jones? A CS Broadway AU. Rated T. Also on AO3. Prologue Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7

A/N: Thanksgiving has come early! For the readers, at least. I definitely don’t know anything about parade set-up, so take this with many grains of salt, please.

Chapter title taken from “Hello, Dolly!”

Just to reiterate, this is a Slow Burn. I know we’re all anxious for Emma and Killian to get together, but Emma’s still hesitant since they work together - and especially since she holds a position of some power over him. Plus, her ex keeps reminding her how men are dicks. Hang in there, guys - there is a plan, and the plan is for 20 chapters (unless I accidentally add more again) with a happy ending. We will get there.

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan, always the best beta ever, as well as to @distant-rose for telling me all about New York bowling alleys so I could add in a tiny reference. You guys are my favorites, don’t tell anyone.

Tags: @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @thejollyroger-writer, @mythologicalmango, @onceuponaprincessworld, @idristardis, @teamhook, @courtorderedcake, @aerica13, @revanmeetra87, @snowbellewells, @searchingwardrobes. If you want to be tagged going forward (or taken off this list - I won’t be insulted!), shoot me a message, and I’ll make it happen.

Enjoy! Let me know what you think. :)

Henry’s birthday this year falls conveniently three days before Thanksgiving, on a dark Monday when there’s no show to pull Emma away from her kid. Well, that’s not strictly true; she has to go in for a few hours so everyone can rehearse their parade performance, but that should start after he goes to school and wrap up before he gets out. It’s not like they’re doing new choreography or anything, just making sure everything is as polished as possible. Regardless, work won’t be keeping her from her kid on his birthday, and she’s grateful for that.

Henry’s birthday party was yesterday, Sunday - 6 boys and 2 girls at the Lucky Strike for bowling, a perennial hit - but Granny’s hosting a family birthday dinner at the diner with Ruby, Mary Margaret and Elsa. It’s a long-standing tradition, and every year Granny makes all of Henry’s favorite foods and a big, gooey chocolate cake as everyone showers the birthday boy with more love than he can handle. Honestly, Neal can stick his bullshit about “real family dinners” up his ass - Henry’s got the best aunts imaginable and Granny’s been there since he was born. If you ask Emma, that’s all the family the two of them need.

It’s so hard to believe that it’s been eleven years since Henry was born. She still remembers his tiny, wrinkly red face like it was yesterday - this little, precious baby, the first thing that was truly hers. Now he’s half grown, his own person, smart as hell and sweet to boot. He’s growing so fast, she can’t help but think as she watches him practically inhale a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, his requested birthday breakfast, and talking a mile a minute in a recap of his party yesterday. Where has the time gone?

Emma remains in an introspective mood much of the day, thinking back on when her little boy was younger. God, he was so cute - not that he isn’t now, but there’s something about that gap-toothed look that was especially endearing. It keeps her distracted at work, but thankfully, there’s not much that requires her undivided attention. Her cast is just running their choreography for Thursday - the opening number, “In Want of a Wife”, should be a hit, Emma thinks - so she takes the opportunity to re-pencil some of the cues in her script that have gotten smudged over weeks of opening and closing the pages. If she has trouble focusing on that, it’s not such a big deal.

The hours fly by, much to Emma’s surprise, and before she knows it, they’re packing up to leave. Emma just needs to send out a detailed itinerary for Thursday, probably print out a stack for good measure, but then she’s free for the rest of the day and can actually pick her kid up from school for once. That’ll be a nice change of pace. Just as she’s making the final edits to her email, she’s startled by Killian’s sudden appearance.

“Fuck, you scared me,” she mutters, eliciting an embarrassed chuckle from Killian to match his suddenly pink-tinged cheeks and the signature scratching behind his ear.

“My apologies, love,” he smiles. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just hoping you might give this to Henry,” he explains further, thrusting a carefully gift-wrapped package in Emma’s direction.

Emma raises an eyebrow in question. It’s sweet of him, and certainly generous, but also a little weird that one of her coworkers is sending gifts home for her kid - even if he and said kid are, admittedly, friends-ish. “Should I be concerned about this?”

“Oh no! I don’t think so, at least. It’s just a notebook. For him to write in? I’ve heard so much about how he likes writing and wants to be a playwright, I just thought this would be a nice place to write all those thoughts down,” he babbles. Emma thinks she can detect a thread of nerves in his voice. “Of course, if you think I’m overstepping, that’s completely fine, it was just an idea, the lad had mentioned that it was his birthday and I just thought — ”

“No, that’s fine,” Emma replies, suddenly resolute despite her earlier confusion. Killian means well, and honestly, that is kind of the perfect gift for Henry. “I’m sure he’ll love it. Thanks.”

“Ah, well, it wasn’t a bother in the least,” he deflects, the pink cheeks making a reappearance in a sudden attack of bashfulness.

“Killian. You got a gift for my son. Let me say thank you. Now, what do you say when someone thanks you?”

“You’re welcome,” he parrots back.

“Well done.” While her words could have been taken in a patronizing manner, Jones still grins at her, seemingly pleased with their banter (despite the fact that it isn’t the first time they’ve had this kind of back and forth - or at least Emma doesn’t think so). “Ok, well, I’ve got to meet the birthday boy at school,” she concludes, jerking a thumb towards the general not-here, “but I’ll make sure he gets your gift and knows it’s from you.”

“Thank you, Swan. And a happy birthday to Henry!”

———

Henry loves the notebook, of course, telling Emma all about all the stories he intends to write in it. She suspects that Killian will receive the same treatment the next time Henry sees him as well.

The days between Monday and Thursday pass faster than Emma ever thought possible, so fast she wonders in passing whether they ever happened at all - though if her notepads are any indication, they certainly did. Thanksgiving dawns bright and clear but cold, pulling Emma out of her bed earlier than she wants. That’s fine, though; she didn’t really sleep much the night before, too busy running through lists in her head of everything that could go right and especially everything that could go wrong. It doesn’t help that she’d had a late night before she climbed into bed either, having trekked from the theater to Macy’s with the stuff they’ll need for the parade. There’s just a chair and a couple of hedges - not to mention the racks of costumes and boxes of wigs carefully supervised by the costume department - but this gives her a chance as well to check out the space set aside for the cast to get ready. Not to mention, Emma would much rather deal with transport the night before than fighting through the madness Thanksgiving morning. It’s going to be enough of a pain getting to Macy’s this morning with all the crowds milling about; there’s no way in hell she would willingly add bulky equipment to that mix.

The good news is that Henry’s so excited about the whole affair that he all but flies out of bed without needing to be nagged like she’d have to on a regular school day. It’s probably a mistake to give him a pack of pop-tarts for breakfast - lord knows he doesn’t need the extra sugar rush on top of his already excessive energy level. But they’re in a rush today, and she doesn’t have time for much else, not even a bowl of cereal. Robin doesn’t have to work today - performing outdoors for tv crews doesn’t leave much need for a lighting technician and designer - but he’s there with Roland anyways in the section set aside for production members if they want it, and he agreed previously to keep an eye on Henry while Emma works. Hopefully he doesn’t come to regret that.

Emma figures she’ll get to Macy’s before anyone else, but Belle’s already inside, practically vibrating with nervous excitement, and Emma spots Ruby helping a few of the chorus members with their wigs. Though Belle’s still in her street clothes, her hair and makeup are already done, leaving Emma to wonder exactly how long the brunette has been here.

“You alright?” she asks, more in amusement than genuine concern. Belle’s a trooper; Emma has full confidence that whatever nerves are playing through Belle’s head right now, she’ll power through like the pro she is. Still, it feels like the thing to ask when you find a key player in your production bouncing on the balls of her feet like an Easter rabbit who showed up for the wrong holiday.

Belle whips around, eyes blown wide with surprise at Emma’s little interruption. Too late, Emma realizes that their Elizabeth must have been lost in her own little world, and was likely given quite a shock. As Emma pulls a contrite face, Belle’s own visage softens into a slightly embarrassed smile.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” Belle assures. “This is mostly excitement, I promise.”

Emma throws her hands up in the universal sign for backing off. “I can understand that. Just wanted to make sure. Walking in you looked at little…”

“On edge?” Belle offers. “There’s a hint of that as well.”

Emma laughs. “Well that’s fine too.”

“It really struck me last night what an institution this is,” Belle elaborates, hastily adding “And I’m thrilled to be a part of it! But it was a little… daunting, remembering that legacy. And we’re going to be part of that, after today,” she concludes, voice echoing with traces of awe.

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Emma replies, before making an attempt to lighten the conversation. “You should see Henry outside, he’s ecstatic. It’s been helping my nerves a bit, honestly,” she admits, “seeing how excited he is, his conviction that we’re going to be the stars of the whole thing.”

“He’s a good kid,” Belle smiles back. “You’ve raised him well.”

Even if it’s true, even if it fills her with a glowing pride that’s reserved especially for Henry, Emma never knows how to respond to such a compliment, so she deflects. “Yeah, well, he’s right outside with Robin and Roland and a disgusting amount of bagels if you want to borrow him. Steal a little bit of that confidence for yourself, if you need it.”

Belle laughs, seemingly accepting the words as they were intended - an emotional de-escalator. “I just might have to. At the very least, I should go say hi. Right outside, you said?”

“Yep, to the left near the heaters. He’ll be the one talking a million miles a minute.”

“Should be easy enough to find,” Belle twinkles back, offering a final wave as she heads to presumedly find her coat before setting foot beyond the doors.

From there, it’s a blur of preparations and quieting mini-crises that turn out not to be the end of the world. Honestly, her file box is filled with so many random odds and ends at this point, but it’s days like today, where everyone’s common sense and operational memory is clouded by nerves, that those things pay off. Even if it’s her first time at the parade, this isn’t her first rodeo; she’s learned a few things over the years, and how to prepare for so-called disasters is one of them.

Truthfully, she had expected to be talking Jones down from another breakdown the whole while, but he’s surprisingly cool as a cucumber, acting like none of it affects him in the least. Someone ought to be, at least, because Emma is internally freaking out a little bit - not over the actual mechanics of the performance, but over the knowledge of what a cultural institution they’re about to be a part of. It adds a certain amount of pressure, and even if Emma is confident that they can shoulder it with ease, she still feels the weight on all their shoulders.

Miraculously, the performance actually goes well. In fact, if Emma were to borrow a few of Killian’s fancy words, she might say that they pulled it off with aplomb. “In Want of a Wife” isn’t Emma’s favorite number - she prefers the ballroom scenes with their intricate whirling that shows off the costuming so well - but it’s a great introductory bit, and gives a great peek of the characters the audience will come to love, hate, and everything in between. The cast is in particularly fine form this morning; Emma can see Killian shift into Darcy’s uptight persona the moment the makeshift stage is in sight, and Belle exudes the perfect believable combination of curiosity and exasperation at the scheming of Mrs. Bennet and the Meryton neighborhood as a whole. Yes, there’s a few pitch issues - nothing major or particularly egregious, just the normal effects you’d find in temperatures barely above freezing - but overall, she’s quite pleased with their efforts.

Without cues to call or crew members to direct, Emma’s left without much to do during the performance itself. She’s already seen the show countless times, and will likely do so countless times more, so she instead takes the opportunity to find Henry in the crowd to watch his reactions to the action in front of him. In short, Henry looks enthralled, pointing out things to Roland as the four-year-old bounces with an energy only preschoolers can maintain. Emma longingly thinks in passing that she’d love to hear what Henry is saying, but reassures herself with the knowledge that she’ll likely get the full replay when she meets up with him afterwards.

In the meantime, she’ll turn her mind to the work still to come.

———

Well done, little brother! his phone reads when Killian retrieves his street clothes, accompanied by an array of celebratory emojis. Killian’s heart swells with pride at his brother's words, even if he does slightly regret introducing the old man to emojis. Lord knows he’ll never get a plain normal text message again.

There had been a general awareness, in the middle of the singing and choreography and concentrating on being as impressive as possible while also frowning ferociously, of the spectacle of the whole thing. Killian had been aware that the roaring sound was the crowd, not just the blood rushing through his ears, though he hadn’t focused on it at the time, too concerned with hitting his marks to allow himself to process much else.

Now though, as he goes to exit the department store and is faced with the full force of the crowd, it’s astounding. It seems the citizens of New York - and likely half the country to boot - have turned out in force, forming a mass of people exuding an almost palpable energy of excitement. It stops him in his tracks for a moment, right outside the revolving door with little awareness of the chill biting his ears.

He’s no idea how long he stands there, really, before he’s suddenly startled out of his shocked trance by a shockingly close voice, jaw snapping shut with a clack.

“Hey, Earth to Killian,” Emma grins. “Did you get lost in there?”

“Aye, maybe a little,” Killian admits with a chuckle. “I didn’t hear you come up.”

“Sorry if I scared you, I’ve been doing that today without meaning it.”

“It’s fine, Swan,” he waves her off. “Did you need something?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” she says, shaking her head in a hasty denial. “You just looked stuck there. Stuck and struck, if you want to play with words.”

“Oh, I think we both know how I feel about playing with words,” he winks.

Emma rolls her eyes, but also bumps into his side companionably, so the expression is rather negated. “Anyway,” she continues pointedly, “I thought I’d come see if you wanted to come watch the rest of the parade with me and Henry. I’m sure he’s got plenty of commentary about the performance.” The last bit is hastily added, as if in justification, but Killian doesn’t need any further convincing.

“I’d love to,” he smiles, attempting to muster every ounce of sincerity he possesses. “Lead on, Swan.”

As promised, Henry is ready with a full recap, stretching longer than the actual performance lasted. Killian catches Robin’s eye over Henry’s wild gesticulating, the lighting designer clearly struggling to hold back laughter as his shoulders shake with the effort.

“If you couldn’t tell, Henry very much enjoyed your performance,” Robin relates in as serious a tone as he can muster, causing Killian to suppress his own snort.

“We’ve got the best spot, you’re going to love it,” Henry assures, completely ignoring Robin’s comment as he grabs Killian’s hand to forcibly force him into a seat. “Have you seen the parade before? I mean, probably not in person - even Mom and I have only done it once when I was, like, five or six, and we missed half of it because we couldn’t get close enough. But we watch it on TV every year! Do you?”

It’s a lot to keep up with, but Killian does his best. “I’ve only seen a little, so this will be like my first time watching it. They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving in England, so Liam and I usually just enjoy the day off and don’t do much.” Honestly, he thinks Liam might sleep through the parade most years, but Henry doesn’t need to know that. Such blatant lack of festivity might break the lad’s heart, he suspects, if the current level of enthusiasm is anything to go on.

“We’ll just have to show you then,” Henry replies decisively, nodding to seal his declaration.

Indeed.

Henry proves to be quite the narrator, providing commentary on seemingly every float or balloon that passes by. Killian is particularly impressed by the balloons, floating far above the street in an almost otherworldly spectacle.

“Spiderman’s my favorite,” Henry offers, “but Mom likes Snoopy best.”

Killian turns just in time to see the woman in question shrug. “What can I say, I like the classics,” she explains. “Except the pilgrims. Those inflated heads are friggin’ creepy, and always look like they’re about to tip over.”

(She’s got a point.)

In the meantime, Henry’s mind finally catches up with some of Killian’s earlier words. “Wait,” he says, “you and your brother don’t celebrate Thanksgiving?”

“No?”

“So you’re not having a Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Not everyone does, Henry,” Emma reminds her son.

“Yeah, but he’s alone on Thanksgiving. That just seems wrong.”

“I don’t know, lad, I wouldn’t call this big crowd alone,” Killian reasons.

“Yeah, but what are you doing after this?”

The lad’s got him there. “Ah… well, I was planning on going home and heating up a bit to eat. Maybe order some Chinese takeout, if I can find a place that’s open.”

Henry stares at him at those words, wearing an expression Killian can only describe as being one of pure horror. “You can’t!”

“I’ll see if I have the makings for a deli turkey sandwich, if that makes you feel any better,” Killian offers to a stunned silence.

“Or you could just come to dinner with us,” Emma offers.

Killian’s head snaps around to meet her eyes. “Oh no, Swan, I couldn’t possibly intrude,” he protests, but Emma’s already waving off his attempts.

“Really, it wouldn’t be a hassle. Granny usually makes enough to feed 20,” she explains. “I mean, let me give her a call to make sure, but I don’t think she’d have a problem with it. If you want to come, that is, I don’t want to pressure you into anything,” she hastens to add, but there’s no need for that.

“I’d be honored,” he smiles.

———

God, what was she thinking, inviting Killian to Thanksgiving dinner?

Well, she knows what she was thinking, totally focused on making her kid happy and wiping that horrified look off his face. Plus, you know, it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship, inviting Jones to dinner. He’s pleasant company, and chatty enough to fit in with all the rest of the maniacs crammed into Granny’s. Plus, he’d already know everyone, Ruby and Mary Margaret from the show and Granny from Emma’s birthday party. It certainly wouldn’t be the fiasco she’s currently inflating it into.

Granny had been more than agreeable to Killian joining them. “Of course he can come,” she said. “He’s a sweet boy. Hell, invite some of the other Thanksgiving orphans in the show if you want, Lord knows we’ve got enough to feed them all. As long as they bring booze to share.”

With Granny’s blessing, Belle had graciously accepted the extended invitation along with Killian, and Emma suspects that if Scarlet ever checks his phone and sees that his little crush is coming, he’ll join in too. Robin already has plans, taking Roland to Thanksgiving with his maternal family - “It’s the least I can do, now that his mother’s gone” - but there’s tentative plans to swing by later for pie, if timing permits.

The plan is to serve the meal at three, so all attending have been sternly instructed by the lady of the kitchen to arrive between two and two-thirty, drinks in hand. Of course, all attending just means their unexpected guests - Ruby and Emma are both expected earlier to help with the meal as needed, though in Emma’s case that mostly means putting stuff other people made into the oven and setting the table. When Granny runs out of things for Emma to stir - seriously, even Henry is trusted to do more in the kitchen - she’s banished to the dining room to act as a welcome committee for whenever their guests arrive.

Honestly, it’s a little too much time spent with her own thoughts. Emma invited Killian for the same reason she invited everyone else - she didn’t want him to have to be alone on for the holiday. That’s it. She doesn’t need to be worried for this, like it’s some date; it’s just a bunch of friends having dinner together. As friends.

That doesn’t keep her heart from jumping into her throat for a moment when Killian shows up at precisely 2:04 in the afternoon with a full bottle of red wine under one arm and an already opened bottle of rum under the other.

“I hope that’s alright,” he says. “The wine was a gift, so I’m not sure how good it is, but the rum is my own so I knew that would be palatable.”

“Yeah, that’s great. We can put those behind the counter if you want. Or back in the fridge, though I don’t really think either needs it, but hey, what do I know? Though they’re probably pretty cold already from the trip here — ”

“I promise, the counter is fine, Swan,” Killian laughs. As he moves to leave them on the laminate top, he leans in to whisper in her ear. “Relax, love. Don’t overthink it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Emma mutters, but Killian doesn’t hear her, already moving to greet Granny where she’s poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Thank you for permitting me to join your undoubtedly spectacular Thanksgiving feast, Mrs. Lucas,” he says with seemingly every ounce of formality he possesses. It’s funny to watch, Emma has to admit, especially knowing Granny and Ruby will disabuse him of that notion shortly.

“Enough of that,” she tells him briskly. “Now set down those bottles and come help, we need an extra set of hands.”

Emma can breathe easier with Killian in the kitchen as she turns back to setting the table. It doesn’t hurt, either, that the rest of the afternoon’s guests start trickling in not long after. Belle manages to arrive not ten minutes after Killian, cheeks pink from the chill, and Scarlet shortly after 2:30 with a case of cheap beer in hand.

Shockingly, it’s Mary Margaret who leaves them waiting the longest, everything but the bird itself already having been set on the table before she finally shows up. Her delay is easily excused, though, as she arrives hand-in-hand with David Nolan and red, chapped lips.

“I knew it!” Ruby crows from the table before smacking Henry in the arm. “Pay up.”

“Are you teaching my kid to bet, Ruby?” Emma calls, trying to infuse her voice with disappointed incredulity.

“Please, it’s five bucks,” she dismisses. “And it was his idea, for the record.”

“Hey Mom, do you have five bucks?” Henry grins across the table, causing a loud guffaw from Scarlet and what Emma thinks was a muffled snort from Killian. Figures.

“Hey, you got yourself into this mess, kid, you can get yourself out of it. This is what you get for betting that Co-Captains Obvious weren’t dating.”

“Oh, I still thought they were dating,” Henry clarifies. “I just thought that they’d hide it until New Year’s.”

That gets the whole table laughing, even Emma, as Mary Margaret tries to sit down with as much dignity as she can muster and a barely suppressed smile on her face. “If you all are quite done,” she says primly, “then yes, David and I have been seeing each other for the last couple of weeks. And I’m very happy about it.” She takes the moment to smile at her paramour, the picture of lovesick serenity. “And he is too. Now, can we start dinner before everything gets cold?”

“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy, girlie,” Granny warns, the affection clear in her voice. “But we’ll put it aside for the moment. Serve yourself, everyone, I’m the cook not the waiter.”

As the room dissolves into laughter and conversation, everyone attempting to grab for their favorites, Emma leans over to whisper in Mary Margaret’s ear. “I am happy for you, you know, all bets aside.”

“Thanks, Emma,” the pixie-haired brunette beams back. “I’m happy too.”

Emma probably shouldn’t be surprised, but despite all the last minute additions, it still feels like a proper family dinner, not the hodge-podge of people it technically is. Of course, Killian is right in the middle of it all, trading innuendos with Ruby, patiently listening to Henry tell about seemingly every past Thanksgiving he’s ever celebrated, and gently ribbing David and Mary Margaret - but mostly David - about their budding relationship. Honestly, she could picture another holiday spent in his company, would welcome it in fact.

(With everyone else too, of course. Purely as friends. Because when you stumble across a good thing, why mess with it?)

———

Killian misses Liam’s first call that night, too busy trying to wrestle the mountain of Thanksgiving leftovers Granny sent him home with into the fridge, and almost misses the second, the device buzzing precariously close to the edge before he executes an impressive dive to snatch the phone off the counter in time.

“Hello?” he manages to gasp out, slightly out of breath from his dramatic grab.

“Am I interrupting something?” Liam asks, amusement coloring his voice. “I just wanted to call and congratulate you on the parade again, but do I need to call back later? Or tomorrow perhaps?”

“No, no, not really. It’s fine. What’s up?”

“‘Not really’? Not to pry, but I thought you were set up for a quiet day in after the parade. Did you have plans I didn’t know about?”

“Not that you knew about, no,” Killian hedges, “but I ended up having a late lunch with some people from the show.”

“Oh? Anyone I know?” Liam asks, a little too genuinely. The bastard probably already knows exactly what happened without even being told. Some days, Killian wonders if there’s some kind of psychic power associated with being a big brother.

“Oh, you know. Belle. David and Mary Margaret - they’re dating now, as it turns out. No one is particularly shocked. Will Scarlet put in an appearance - he’s the one who’s got his sights set on Belle. A few others. Anyhow, did you have an eventful day?” Killian attempts to breeze right over the fact that he spent his holiday with Emma’s family, essentially, but doubts it was very effective an effort.

“Oh no no no, little brother,” Liam redirects, laughing right over Killian’s muttered protest of younger, Liam, younger. “I see what you’re doing. A few others? One of those ‘few others’ wouldn’t happen to be your lady and her boy, would they?”

“Still not my lady,” Killian reminds Liam. Honestly, it’s getting a little old - especially since Liam was one of the voices telling him that maybe it wouldn’t be such a brilliant idea to ask Emma out in the first place. “But yes, they might have been there.”

“Might have been?”

“Ok, they were there. In fact, Emma was the one that invited me. They always spend Thanksgiving, and most holidays I think, with one of the costume assistants and her grandmother. Happy?”

“Quite.” It’s impossible to miss the smug note in Liam’s voice. “So, tell me,” he continues, “how was Thanksgiving dinner?” It’s so easy in Killian’s mind’s eye to picture Liam leaning forward with his chin propped in his hands, the universal sign for sarcastic attention. Wanker.

“No. I’m not telling you if you’re going to be a horse’s arse about it.”

“Oh c’mon, Killy,” Liam wheedles, but Killian’s having none of it.

“No, I’m serious. I appreciate your advice when I need it, but not when I have to deal with your relentless teasing the rest of the time! It makes me not want to tell you things, honestly.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry,” Liam concedes. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m sorry, younger brother,” he emphasizes, as if to underline just how genuine he’s being. “Would you like to talk about your day - or at least the dinner part of it? I’m a willing ear if you want it. Otherwise, I’d love to hear about the parade.”

Killian considers telling Liam no, flat-out, but the truth is he kind of does want to rehash the day, share his excitement and enthusiasm over his first real Thanksgiving (not the vaguely British facsimile he and his brother half-assed, to borrow a phrase, their first few years on this side of the pond). That doesn’t mean he’s going to make it easy on his brother; no, after the teasing he’s been subjected to, he deserves a little taunting of his own - at least by way of leaving Liam in suspense for a while.

“The parade was amazing, Liam, every minute of it. Watching it on TV doesn’t give you any idea of the sheer spectacle of it all,” Killian says, gushing a little bit despite any intentions he might have had about acting like an adult on the phone. It’s far too late for that; the grin stretching his face at the mere memory of the day’s festivities is proof positive of that. “I must have looked like a fool in the crowd afterwards, just grinning like a madman, but Gods, Liam, I’ve never seen anything like it. Even for New York standards, the crowds were huge, and everyone was just buzzing with excitement. I swear, I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

“Well you were amazing, Killian,” Liam replies warmly. “I’m so proud of you. I’m tempted to go find a YouTube video of the performance and email it to everyone I know, like some kind of obnoxious parent.”

“Well, that seems a bit excessive,” he comments dryly, “but I take your point. It really felt like we were one organism today, you know? All moving as once to execute the best performance we could.”

“Trust me, Killian, it showed. I’ll be shocked if that appearance doesn’t exponentially increase the buzz around the show.”

Killian could drag this out, describe each balloon in detail, exactly where and how they prepared inside of Macy’s, precisely how cold it was to the tenth of a degree with excruciating attention to which specific fingers and toes felt the chill, but he takes pity on Liam instead. He’s behaved, even though Killian knows he’s dying to hear about dinner. “Somehow, the Swans found out that I was planning to go back and microwave a meal in my apartment - Henry insisted we watch the parade together - so they invited me along to their own plans. Which kind of spiraled out into inviting several of the other Brits without plans. It was truly lovely, Liam,” he exudes, really getting into the recounting. “I swear, Mrs. Lucas cooked enough food to feed half of Manhattan. Henry swears she does this every year, and likely didn’t even have to cook any extra when Swan called about extra seats at the table. Though I doubt that last part.”

“Sounds like a regular feast,” Liam comments, chuckling.

“Oh, you have no idea. I missed your first call, and nearly the second, because I was trying to stack all the tupperware I was sent home with into the fridge. What do they call it? Fridge tetris?”

Liam barks out a laugh at that. “Aye, I think that’s the technical term. That much food?”

“That much. And Mrs. Lucas was sending it home with everyone, I wasn’t a special charity case. The whole affair was so lovely, really, I’ve never seen — ” Killian stops abruptly. “No teasing, you promise? Even if you think me some kind of ridiculous lovestruck fool?”

“No teasing,” Liam swears. “Even if you’re carrying on like a lovestruck fool. I’ll sit here and listen attentively and supportively, I promise.”

If they were having this conversation in person, Killian would toss his brother a skeptical look, but since that’s not an option, he plows on ahead. “I really understood the whole thing first-hand for the first time, you know? I mean, you can hear about how this is a holiday for families as much as you want, or see it on television or in the movies, but it doesn’t really sink in until you’re sitting in the middle of it. There was so much sheer affection at that table, Liam. And I’ve never seen Emma so at ease.” He pauses for breath, taking the opportunity to collect his thoughts. “I’m aware that that doesn’t really mean much, considering our relatively short acquaintance, but still. She was comfortable, in a casual way I haven’t previously associated with her. Like that was her place, in some kind of deep and emotional and cliche way. Does that make sense?”

“She looked at home,” Liam supplies, putting the words right in Killian’s mouth.

“Yes! Exactly. I know I must sound silly - this is where the lovestruck fool bit comes in, so please, contain yourself - but it’s nice, being able to discover these new sides to Swan that I don’t see every day. Charming. Wonderful. Some other word more expressive than nice.” Killian stops himself before he gets too far. “I’m babbling.”

“A little bit.”

“Kind of you to downplay it.”

“Anytime.”

They both laugh at that. Technically, the comments break Liam’s vow not to tease him, but their spirit certainly doesn’t, so Killian lets it pass.

“So you had a great day?” Liam asks.

“The best. Enough about me, though, what about you, how was your Thanksgiving? Sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it, brother. My day was much more low-key than yours. Dropped by to have a few beers with a couple other ex-pats from the film, but that’s about it. Honestly, watching you in the parade was the highlight.”

Killian blushes at the words. “You don’t have to say that,” he mumbles, but Liam can probably hear the smile in his voice anyway.

“I only say it because it’s true,” his elder brother promises.

“Thanks, Liam.”

Conversation turns towards more general topics eventually, not that Killian minds. He loves these calls with his brother, even if he was a bit late to this particular one.

“Christ, it must be getting late for you,” Liam finally says. He’s not wrong - they’ve been on the phone for almost an hour, and in that time it’s gotten quite dark outside. “I’ll let you go - I’ll have to be up early tomorrow anyways.” It’s a half-assed excuse and they both know it, especially since Killian is pretty sure he’s the only one who has to work tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” he asks, even though he’s sure of the answer. Big Brother Liam, still trying to make sure little Killy goes to bed on time and brushes his teeth.

“Go on. We’ll talk later,” Liam replies, absolutely certain. Who is Killian to argue with that?

“Alright, well, Happy Thanksgiving, Liam.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, little - younger brother.”

#my writing #cs ff #cs au #Playing the Part #Before the Parade Passes By #Broadway AU #stage manager!Emma #actor!Killian #happy thanksgiving #a month early

16 notes · View notes

writemarcus · 5 years ago

Text

NEW Black Mutual Aid Carves a Path for What Support Can Be in a Revolution

By Marcus Scott

Do not be deceived into thinking otherwise: The summer of 2020 will go down in history as a once-in-a-generation uprising against the police brutalization of people of Black descent in the United States. Fueled by the video-capture of the nonchalant murder of 46-year-old George Floyd after Minneapolis Police Department officer Derek Chauvin knelt on the victim’s neck for eight minutes as three other officers sporting a thousand-yard stare looked on, a siege of ongoing protests and civil unrest sparked and raged—and continues to rage—across the nation.

Following Floyd’s death, the identities of several martyrs began trending on social media: Breonna Taylor, a 26-year-old African-American emergency medical technician in Louisville, and Ahmaud Arbery, a 25-year-old African-American man in Georgia’s Glynn County, among them. Both cases prompted dialogues around racial inequality and racial profiling, as well as anti-Blackness and the value of Black life in the US and abroad, with Black Lives Matter leading the charge. Ultimately, the demands for justice by Black Lives Matter began to trickle into conversations surrounding workplace discrimination as well as a lack of representation and equal opportunity in myriad industries.

Theatre is one of those industries.

For better or worse, longstanding American theatrical institutions with problematic histories began virtue-signaling and woke-washing, re-branding their websites and social media accounts with resources to fight against systemic racism. The reaction incited a political storm, provoking artists who identify as Black, Indigenous, and people of color (BIPOC) to share their own experiences. The despair birthed platforms such as the We See You White American Theater movement, which produced a 31-page document of demands written on behalf of BIPOC theatre-makers taking issues with companies and individuals seeking to profit from the culture war. That document addresses “the necessary redistribution of power and funding.”

Enter NEW Black Mutual Aid.

The brainchild of activist Nzinga Williams, NEW Black Mutual Aid Fund (NBMA) strives “to create the safety net and financial support for Black Theater Professionals through a time of revolution and pandemic,” per the Google doc Williams created where Black theatre folx can privately request funds.1 Those funds support everything from protest supplies, bail, and lawyer fees (for protesters) to dinner, rent support, plant care, and more.

Williams, who earns a living as Company Manager at Atlantic Theater Company, says the project was birthed between March and May—the beginning of quarantine, when she also tested positive for COVID-19.

“I started getting better right around the time that George Floyd was murdered,” Williams said, noting that many of her friends and loved ones took to the street, risking their health at the price of justice.

“I wanted to create a support system for us. For the Black people on and off stage that give themselves tirelessly to tell stories. We needed a safety net. They needed to feel like they could go out and protest and someone was going to have their backs. These often incredibly empathic and creative folx who have been mined for their talents (on and off stage) over and over again deserved that support system. Wealth, access, and resources are so often influenced by race and gender. I spent a lot of time thinking about how to affect change on a microlevel in our community.”

Joining the anti-racist groundswell in the American theatre, Williams said the times felt especially fraught being both an Aquarius (the humanitarian of the Zodiac chart) and a Black woman, expressing that it is difficult to ask for help when you need it, as Black women are taught from an early age to persevere and take care of others at the expense of themselves.

“NBMA is about redistributing wealth in order to put it into Black theater folx,” Williams shared. “Funds aren’t allocated for anything specific; people are allowed to request multiple weeks in a row. It is a first-come, first-serve model. We are here to help create just a little extra help, no matter what that looks like, for our community.”

Money comes into the NBMA, and then money goes out—usually via CashApp or Venmo. Those who are able to give, and then those who are in need request. From there, Williams gets to work in fielding the Google docs and their requests.

She noted NBMA is for all Black theater professionals, regardless of gender expression and outright need, illuminating the fact that most theater professions, including Williams, are out of work until at least January 2021, when theaters can reopen.

“This is true for people from all walks of life in theater, but unfortunately due to the systemic racism that is prevalent in both our industry and government, this is adversely impacting Black theatre-makers more,” Williams said. “There are people like me who do not have the option to move ‘home’ but also cannot afford to pay rent without a job. If NBMA can help with groceries one week or transportation to and from protests, maybe even a bit towards rent, we can keep Black theater artists alive. And truly in this climate, staying alive is an act of radical resistance.”

Williams stated none of the work would be possible were it not for her particular administrative and stage managerial experience built up over time from working in nonprofits, which has single-handedly produced the fruits of her labor. She elucidated that her knowledge of surveys and spreadsheets have kept things organized, while her ability to manage people has helped her be transparent and manage expectations. She also noted that her networking skills and inventory of close friends helped, especially in enlisting financial advisors for the fund, creating an LLC, and crafting a logo.

The hard work paid off. Not only has the fund seen strong online traffic (check out the buzzing Instagram account @newblackmutualaid), but Williams has also been tapped by industry leaders to participate in events like the inaugural Antonyo Awards, created by Andrew Shade of Broadway Black.

Presenting lighting and scenic design prizes with friend and stage manager Cody Renard Richard, Williams said she had an amazing time participating, despite her nerves—Williams usually prefers to work behind the scenes.

“I do not have a ring light so my cellphone was balancing on my windowsill in order to get the best light, and we had to hold multiple times when my downstairs neighbor decided to blast the newest Bad Bunny album, which is fire by the way,” she laughed. “Watching all my amazing friends and family was an added bonus. There was so much Black theatre joy on Juneteenth this year and it really filled my soul.”

Although a lot of positivity has come out of her efforts, Williams is highly aware that she is only at the tip of the iceberg with regards to fighting police brutality and creating pathways toward justice. With the recent loss of civil rights icons John Lewis and C. T. Vivian, Black liberation has become imperative for emerging BIPOC activists like Williams who believe the nation is in the midst of a revolution.

“In a revolution, it is necessary to have several lanes. No revolution was ever won by one means of protest,” Williams said. “Being in the streets is necessary to get people’s attention. It is necessary for creating community. It is necessary for keeping pressure on systems and individual people. That is the power of protest.”

“We need people talking about political reform and driving that as much as we need the people physically sitting in in Louisville and taking to the streets in Portland, New York, Seattle, et cetera,” she added. “Anti-Blackness and racism are pervasive. It has subtly stained so many factions of our life. I believe we need to fight it everywhere we can.”

If you are interested and want to know more or get involved, Nzinga Williams would like you to follow these accounts, to name a few: @Justiceforgeorgenyc, @Warriorsinthegarden, and @Untilfreedom.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdoAXMV36wsPowFbughMsZsRigrCO-8Csv4CI4vy0l7wneyag/viewform

Contributor: Marcus Scott

Marcus Scott is a New York City-based playwright, musical writer, opera librettist, and journalist. He has contributed to Time Out New York, American Theatre, Elle, Essence, Out, Uptown, Trace, Hello Beautiful, Madame Noire, and Playbill, among other publications.

#The Brooklyn Rail #TheBrooklynRail #New Black Mutual Aid #New Black Mutual Aid Fund #Theater #Theatre #Black Artists #Black Theatre #Black Theater #Black Theater Artists #Black Theatre Artists #Marcus Scott #MarcusScott #WriteMarcus #Write Marcus

0 notes

frustratedcastingdirector · 8 years ago

Photo

They’re Counting On the Unpredictable

Actors who look nothing alike playing siblings who defy movie traditions? Yep, that was the plan.

November 05, 2000 LA Times

|JOHN CLARK | John Clark is a regular contributor to Calendar

Among the many things to marvel at in Kenneth Lonergan’s “You Can Count on Me” is the fact that the two principals, a brother and sister played by Mark Ruffalo and Laura Linney, look nothing alike. And nobody who has seen this movie, which premiered at the Sundance Film Festival in January and shared the grand jury prize and won the Waldo Salt Screenwriting Award, has noticed. Nobody.

“We don’t have the same vocal mannerisms, we don’t have the same skin tone, we don’t walk alike, we got nothing going,” says Linney (blond hair, blue eyes). “It reaffirms to me to get the best people you can and the rest of it will be OK.”

“You Can Count on Me,” despite its awkwardly earnest title, is more than OK, primarily because the characters learn something about themselves, but not too much–certainly not enough to change in any profound way. The Sony Classics film, which opens Friday, is a welcome respite from the gooey uplift and market-tested psychology of most Hollywood fare.

“People have a revelation in their life, and then it takes them five years to implement, to change,” says Ruffalo (dark hair, olive skin). “We might see the glimpses of the beginnings of a change in them, but it doesn’t work like that, where people are like, ‘I see the light.’ ”

The movie starts with a jolt: Ruffalo and Linney’s characters (Terry and Sam) lose their parents in a car accident when they are young children. Years pass. Terry has grown up to be a drifter and returns to his hometown to borrow money from Sam, the responsible one, who works in a bank and is raising a son by herself. He ends up staying with her for a while, and they undergo a kind of role reversal: She loosens up, he takes a paternal interest in her kid. Then they revert back to type.

But an appealing aspect of the movie is that the role reversals are not out of character–and there is no type. It’s funny and maybe even exhilarating when Sam has a fling with the new bank manager (Matthew Broderick) and smokes a joint, but somehow it’s not surprising. Likewise, we see Terry seem to get a handle on his life, only to lose it again–repeatedly. Audiences expecting a typical character arc are in for a surprise.

“I just don’t know anyone who’s that predictable,” says Lonergan, who wrote and directed the film. “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t shift around, depending on the circumstances. One thing that really interests me is how people are struggling with their own horrible characteristics and with the horrible characteristics of the people who are close in their lives.

"Mark said a nice thing about the characters in the movie. He said they work so hard to make such a marginal improvement, but that’s what makes it lifelike.”

“You Can Count on Me” is Lonergan’s first film as a director (he’s directed theater). He has been a highly praised playwright (“This Is Our Youth,” “The Waverly Gallery”) and a screenwriter with mixed success (the hit “Analyze This” and the flop “The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle”), and exudes a dry, nebbishy air–in the film, he plays a befuddled priest–but this is a bit misleading. His opinions are confident and acute, and he had the savvy to enlist Martin Scorsese as executive producer to protect the film from meddlesome studio suits.

Not surprisingly, these suits wanted a name actress for the female lead. Although Lonergan wanted Linney, he dutifully had other actresses read and then cast her anyway. They also had a problem with Ruffalo and Linney’s obvious physical differences, but a table reading of the script revealed a chemistry between them that would surmount that.

The shoot itself was no picnic (or it was the sort of picnic plagued by sand and red ants). They shot in upstate New York for 28 days, often working 16- and 18-hour days. There was no place for the actors to go between shots, so they were housed in a former chicken coop. It was unbearably hot. The script, which Lonergan had been honing for two years, had 250 scenes, which is more like “Ben-Hur” than an independent movie. (This film, though, is less than two hours long.)

And then there was the issue of Lonergan’s inexperience. It wasn’t a problem for Ruffalo because they’d worked together before onstage–Ruffalo starred in Lonergan’s “This Is Our Youth”–and had developed a kind of shorthand. It was a different story for Linney and Broderick (despite the fact that Broderick is a childhood friend of Lonergan’s). Lonergan says he wasn’t used to the time constraints on a film set and found it difficult to communicate what he wanted without being excessively specific.

“They didn’t mistrust me, but I think they felt I was a little too micro-managerial,” he says. “They were totally nice about it, and we didn’t have any fights, but they were a little bit tenser in the early stages. I think they ended up very happy with their performances. At least I hope they are. They should be.”

They are. Linney says, “I didn’t understand that he understood his own material as well as he did. The things that he was really right about dealt with the inner rhythms of the movie. Use of language and things like that. Every word, every single 'um,’ 'like,’ 'I mean,’ 'you know,’ is in that script.

"There were times when a scene would be stopped because I would say 'um’ instead of 'that’s.’ So I would get frustrated by that, and then I got used to it. There were other things that I think he wasn’t right about, but it doesn’t matter.”

Whatever they were, they’re not apparent on-screen, nor are they enough to prevent Lonergan from directing again, though you’d never know it from talking to him. Like a lot of people who are funny, he has a somewhat dark outlook. Reached minutes after he won those awards at Sundance, he seemed gloomy, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he’s got a script in development for Scorsese (though not for Lonergan to direct), called “The Lost Army,” and he admits, with characteristic honesty, the seldom-mentioned pleasures of directing (aside from protecting your script).

“I don’t know what pejorative to use, but it’s such a head trip, with everyone running around saying, 'Kenny’s on his way to the bathroom,’ 'Kenny’s on his way to the set,’ 'Kenny, what do you think, what do you think?’ ” he says, grinning. “So I definitely see how people get into it, whether they have anything to say or not.”

For Ruffalo, “You Can Count on Me” seems like another rung–OK, maybe two or three–up the ladder. In addition to this film, which allows him to display his Brando-esque, offhand volatile quality, he was seen last year in Barry Levinson’s canceled cop show, “The Beat,” and he’s currently shooting a John Woo movie, “'Windtalkers,” in Hawaii.

Certainly another beneficiary of “You Can Count on Me” will be Linney, who’s hovered on the margins of Hollywood for years. Many will remember her as Jim Carrey’s phony wife in “The Truman Show.” (She also gives an amusingly nasty performance as an adulterous wife in the upcoming “House of Mirth.”) Here she’s front and center, a single mom who is by turns maternal, spiritual, sexual, confused, clear. She’s taking the long view of what the film means, however.

“A lot of people have said to me, 'This is it, this is the one,’ ” she says. “I’ve heard that so many times before, and you sort of learn that ultimately the thing that’s great about it is there are a few things that I am really proud of. Now I have one more.

"I know that when I’m 82 and I’m in the Actors Home in New Jersey, I’m going to be damn proud. There will be a few things that will make me feel proud, and this is definitely one of them.”

#mark ruffalo #kenneth lonergan #laura linney #you can count on me #the avengers #age of ultron #thor ragnarok #infinity war #bruce banner #the hulk

6 notes · View notes