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purplesauris · 5 years ago

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Hibernation

This is a prompt fill for day 19 of @witcher-and-his-bard winter prompts! Just as a warning, I will say there is implied character death, but NO actual death.

Read it on AO3 here!

They were thoroughly snowed in. This was Jaskier’s third winter with the other witchers, and a storm had raged so fiercely the night before that none of them dared to venture outside. Instead, the witchers had cleared the main hall as best they could, pushing bookshelves against walls and using the small area to train. Jaskier had perched himself atop one of the rickety bookshelves, half watching, half writing as his witchers had spun and lunged around each other, sweating in the warmth of the room. This was a rare treat for Jaskier, who wasn’t one for sitting in the cold while the others trained. Vesemir, for all his years, moved as quickly as any of the others did, spinning between them and constantly changing who he targeted. It kept the others on their toes, and they flowed together like water, laughing when someone got knocked down and snarling when the edge of a dull blade slammed into them particularly hard.

When the sun comes out two days later, the witchers scatter like leaves in the wind, working to clear the courtyards and walkways again so that they didn’t have to dodge books that Lambert threw just to fuck with them in training. Jaskier gets the main room back into its regular messy disarray while they toil outside, heading out with steaming cups of tea when he can see even stubborn Lambert shiver. They all smile at him, taking a cup and clutching it with red fingers, huddling together and stomping their feet.

They’re all talking, even Vesemir when Jaskier perks his head up, glancing at something in the distance. None of them seem phased, used to Jaskier’s wandering gaze and whimsical wonder about the snow covered trees.

“Umm, I don’t mean to interrupt, terribly sorry, but- what in the devil’s name is that?” Jaskier’s tone is still polite, but Geralt glances up when he hears the scared warble and sour spike in his scent. He follows Jaskier’s gaze, raising an eyebrow, but he catches sight of what Jaskier is asking about at the same time his medallion gives a faint hum. Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir’s hands go up at the same time, clutching the medallion and eyes raising to the sky in unison.

“DOWN.” Vesemir booms, leaping away from the group at the same time Lambert lunges for Geralt. Eskel is the closest to Jaskier and grabs him in a tight hold, crushing him against his chest and crouching low as a wall of orange blazes bright around them. Jaskier stares in abstract horror as enormous, wickedly sharp claws rake over the shield that Eskel has thrown up around them. He feels Eskel shudder with the effort of keeping his shield intact for another blow, and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut in fear. He hears the faint tinkle of glass cracking, feels a breeze and listens as Eskel’s shield shatters around them.

Whatever the beast is, it flies straight toward them, and Jaskier opens his eyes wide to take in what might be his last memory. Its skin is leathery, with a horn that juts proudly from the point of its beak and sweeps back toward its neck. Jaskier faintly recognizes it as a forktail, something Geralt has fought hundreds of times. What is it doing here?

Faint orange shimmers around them, Eskel slowly rebuilding his shield, and just as the forktail dives, claws outstretched, Lambert and Geralt dive into the way, Geralt throwing a blistering wave of fire and Lambert throwing his hands up as Eskel’s weaker attempt solidifies rapidly into a full shield once again. Together the two of them combine their strength, holding the shield as Geralt uses another molten blast of Igni to send the forktail screeching away. Vesemir joins Geralt in watching the beasts retreat, and only when Vesemir turns to nod at them do Lambert and Eskel drop the shield. Eskel groans, letting go of Jaskier and stumbling back a couple of steps. Jaskier isn’t sure whether his hands are shaking because of the near death experience or the cold, but he doesn’t want to spend the time figuring it out.

Instead, he turns and throws his arms around Eskel, squeezing him tight and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Lambert grouses behind them, rolling his eyes. “Oh sure, give him attention.”

Jaskier releases Eskel only once the scarred man gives him a quick squeeze, then he moves to Lambert and does the same thing. Lambert, for all his bravado, squeezes Jaskier just as tight and blushes when Jaskier plants a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Jaskier grins at the sigh of a witcher blushing, but then Geralt catches him gently by the waist and steals the last of his breath with a very sweet, very thorough kiss. Jaskier is sure that Lambert will say something, but they all seem relieved that Jaskier is safe, and Lambert has already gotten his hug. Jaskier doesn’t move away from Geralt when they finally pull apart, knowing he won’t get very far anyway. Jaskier stays pressed against Geralt’s side as they all turn to Vesemir, who’s still watching the skyline with a hand rubbing along his jaw in contemplation.

“The snowfall must have taken its source of food. Geralt, Lambert, follow the scent and track it down. We don’t need it snatching up any livestock, or one of us.” Vesemir doesn’t say anyone in particular, but they all know that the draconid was after one person this time.

“Fuckin finally, something to do around here. Let’s go before it gets dark.” Geralt nods, arm tightening around Jaskier for a moment before Eskel comes to guide him back inside. Both Lambert and Geralt work quickly to don their armor and collect what potions they'll need for the fight, and Jaskier stands by the door, waving them off when they finally head out.

Once the doors to the keep closes Jaskier bites his lip, whispering to himself. “They’ll be okay, right?”

It feels silly to worry about them, especially when it’s a single forktail and there’s two of them, but Jaskier’s stomach is in knots and he has a horrible sinking feeling in his chest.

-*-

They’re gone for 6 and a half days. Jaskier counts every minute that goes by, working as best he can to keep up with the excess chores while they’re gone. Every night he falls into bed exhausted and wakes up crying, Eskel sitting on the edge of his bed and petting his hair. By the third day Eskel makes himself a bed on the floor, holding Jaskier’s hand so that he’ll sleep through the night. Jaskier tries to get him up into the bed, but Eskel refuses and makes himself comfortable on the carpet.

Jaskier is in the main hall, sweeping and trying not to mope when the door creaks, pushed by a heavy gust of icy wind. Jaskier feels magic shiver over his skin, and he runs to pull the door open, catching the witcher that sags into his arms immediately. Jaskier hoists him up, arms trembling only for a moment as he lugs the freezing, heavy witcher over to the fire and deposits him in a chair. He calls for Eskel then Vesemir, yelling as loud as he can and knowing they’ll come running. Lambert’s ankle is twisted savagely to the right, the angle all wrong, and Jaskier’s heart thunders in his ears. He’s covered in blood, but it’s frozen and Jaskier can see that the skin underneath has begun to turn blue. Jaskier strains to pull the chair closer to the fire, needing to get him thawing as quickly as he can.

“Jaskier, what is-” He doesn’t look up from where he’s coasting shaking hands over Lambert’s face, checking for breathing and using the warmth of his fingers to melt the snow sticking to his face. Lambert stares glassily, eyes half wild and none of his awareness fully on any of them. “Go get water, not the hot, the cold. Towels too.”

“But-”

“Jask. Go.” Eskel’s voice is firm, and he does as he’s told, hurrying to go find a bucket of water that hasn’t been too close to the fire. While he’s searching for clean towels he hears a snap and Lambert howling in pain. That has him scurrying back with whatever towels are cleanest and the water, hurrying back to Lambert’s side. Lambert’s ankle is back in the right orientation, he can see that much, and Eskel is beginning to strip away layers of his armor as the blood melts and releases. Once he’s got Lambert naked in the chair Eskel has Jaskier wipe him down, getting any remaining chunks of ice off of him with the cold water while he pokes and prods, searching for any more broken bones. Thankfully, his ankle seems to have gotten the brunt of it, and Eskel forces a dose of Swallow down along with a shot of mahakam spirits.

Lambert coughs as the alcohol burns down his throat, but Eskel gives him another, and soon Lambert begins to shiver. Jaskier lays a towel over Lambert’s lap when Vesemir finally comes in, shrewd eyes assessing the situation before he moves to add a few more logs to the fire. It roars hotter than before and Jaskier is beginning to sweat, beads dripping down his face. At least he thinks he is until Lambert weakly reaches up, using an icy finger to wipe away a tear that’s escaped. “Crying over me, little lark?”

“Who would cry over you?” Jaskier says weakly, sniffling and wiping at the tears that have been steadily falling down his cheeks. Lambert huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes for a moment as he shifts, hissing at the pain that shoots up his leg from his ankle.

“You did good, Jaskier.” Vesemir’s voice is soft, and the bard sniffles, leaning into the hand the old witcher lays on his shoulder. “He didn’t make it, did he?”

Lambert shakes his head, jaw clenching, and Jaskier looks up between the two of them. It takes a few moments for Jaskier to understand, and he shakes his head, slowly at first, and then faster until he’s dizzy and can’t think right and he has to take a seat next to Lambert on the floor.

“We cornered the forktail, but the damn thing screamed and brought an avalanche down on our asses.” Lambert glances over at Jaskier, hesitating before he reaches to take Jaskier’s hand and hold it tight in his. “Geralt was closer than I was, and he blasted me away from the worst of it with Aard. My ankle got crushed by falling rocks, and it took me a while to make my way back here.”

“You left him there?” Jaskier looks up at Lambert, fury and sorrow and heartbreak etched across his face. “H-he must be so scared. What if he’s still out there?”

“His body is.” Lambert squeezes his hand tight, and Jaskier looks up to see tears glimmering in his eyes too. Eskel comes over, crouching by the two of them, and places a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and Lambert’s knee. Vesemir moves to stand behind Lambert’s chair, not touching anyone but sharing in the moment as Jaskier begins to weep. His shoulders shake with the effort of his sobs and he curls up, pressing his forehead against Lambert’s hand and feeling his heart break in his chest. It splinters and stabs at every part of him, and Jaskier isn’t sure how he’s going to piece it back together. No one says anything else to him, letting him cry and scream and deny that Geralt is gone.

The fire has burned low and Lambert is sufficiently warm by the time that Jaskier speaks again. Eskel is meditating beside them and Vesemir has retreated to deal with his grief alone, but the two still with him perk up to listen. “We have to go get his- body.”

Jaskier’s voice breaks again and he chokes back more sobs, looking up to find Lambert staring back, eyes fierce with grief. “We will.”

Lambert has Jaskier and Eskel help him hobble up to bed and get a fire going, never objecting when Jaskier crawls in beside him and Eskel makes himself comfortable on the floor. Jaskier shivers despite still being fully clothed, and Lambert wraps an arm around him, closing his eyes and holding the bard until he falls asleep, spent.

-*-

Jaskier is already awake, cloak draped around him and boots on when Lambert wakes up that morning. Lambert takes one look at him and begins to get dressed as well, regardless of the way his ankle twinges. Another dose of Swallow has his pain melting away and his ankle as strong as before, and they wake Eskel to get ready as well. Jaskier bounces from foot to foot as they head down the stairs, frowning when Lambert stops to gather jerky, water and some other emergency supplies. He isn’t sure what it’s going to be like outside getting back, but Jaskier isn’t going to be able to push nearly as hard as they can and Lambert knows this.

Despite the fragility of Jaskier’s humanity, he ends up being the one to urge the others on, fists clenched in his gloves and cheeks flaming red in the cold winter air. Lambert remembers his way easily, and there hasn’t been that much snowfall that their footprints have disappeared, so Jaskier can follow along even without supernatural senses. The trek only takes them a day to get out to where the avalanche has dumped snow and rocks into the countryside, and Jaskier sleeps fitfully under the trees for an hour or two at the max.

They pick their way through the snow around rocks after Lambert insists they eat something when Jaskier cries out. He takes off running, throwing snow up around him with two witchers on his heels. They nearly bowl him over when he skids to a stop, staring at the carnage around him. Off to the left, pinned between two rocks is the carcass of the forktail, blood frozen in sheets across the snow. Somehow it didn’t get buried in the avalanche, but Lambert and Eskel are looking around with wide, astonished eyes as if Jaskier is missing something important. All the trees around them are missing branches on the side facing the clearing, and if there were any trees in the middle of the clearing they’ve found, there aren’t anymore, just jagged stumps poking up through the snow.

“What?” Jaskier demands, breathless and heart pounding in his chest.

“It’s a Quen circle.” Eskel whispers, sharing a pained look with his brother.

“A what?” Jaskier is lost, and he looks around at all the destruction and the body of the forktail.

“When our shields break, they don’t just go away. If we concentrate hard enough, we can use the momentum of whatever hit us and feed it into the shield. It causes an explosion matching the energy of whatever hit the shield last.” Eskel’s voice is cowed by awe, and Jaskier thinks he’s beginning to understand.

“So this-”

“He somehow held out long enough for the whole damn avalanche to crash down on him before blowing his shield.” Lambert confirms, pride shining in his voice.

“Could he have survived?”

“The blast? Maybe, but I don’t know how long he held out before letting go, and if he was weak enough…” Eskel is still looking over the clearing, trying to gauge the power of the blast fully.

“It was long enough for me to crawl away. I never heard his shield break..” Lambert takes another glance around before stalking for the middle of the clearing. “C’mon assholes, lets sweep the area and see if we can find him.”

“Right.” Jaskier’s voice is thick in his throat, and though he’s shivering and can hardly feel his toes he gets to work. They work their way out slowly, each taking a third of the area and walking along their set path. Lambert and Eskel have both gone over their chunks twice by the time that Jaskier has gone through once, but Jaskier doesn’t have witcher eyes or their sense of smell, so he takes his time. He gets to the edge of the clearing where the trees have survived the blast relatively unscathed and is about to turn back when he’s blinded by sun reflecting off the worn silver of a pommel. “Guys! I- I found him.”

His voice drops to a whisper and he walks a few steps into the deeper snow. By the time that Lambert and Eskel join him he’s elbow deep, tossing handfuls as fast as he can. The snow is light, thank Melitele, but there’s a lot, and it takes the three of them to uncover him. He’s surrounded in a shell of ice that Lambert has to use the handle of his dagger to break through to finally get to him. Geralt is curled up in a tight ball, chin tucked against his chest and swords still in their sheaths on his back. Snow sticks to his armor and clumps in his hair, and he’s paler than Jaskier has ever seen him. His lips are blue, snow sticking delicately to his lashes, and Jaskier lets out a shaky sob at the sight of him. He reaches to brush snow from Geralt’s hair and cries out as the scent of singed leather and skin fills the air.

Eskel takes Jaskier’s hand, yanking his glove off to look at the damage. Two of the fingers on his left hand are red and blistered, and the fingers on his gloves have disintegrated in the spots that Jaskier came into contact with Geralt’s body. Eskel grabs some bandages from the pack, glad that Lambert thought to bring them. They don’t have any salve with them, but Eskel wraps Jaskier’s fingers anyway and gives him one of his gloves.

Jaskier doesn’t know what’s going on anymore, but Lambert and Eskel share a glance and Lambert sighs heavily. “I’ll take the first round.”

“First round of what?” Jaskier doesn’t know what they’re going to do since no one can touch him, but Jaskier watches as a pale orange sleeve envelopes Lambert, encasing him in a shimmering full body shield. The younger witcher hoists Geralt’s curled form up into his arms, grunting at the weight and the constant hissing of Geralt coming in contact with his shield.

“Get the fuck going.” Lambert hisses, and Jaskier stumbles up and away, back toward the keep in the distance. They make it back in half the time it took them to get out to the site, Jaskier refusing to stop. He insists that if Eskel and Lambert have to exhaust themselves maintaining a constant shield and passing Geralt between them the least he can do is keep up. They’re almost there when Lambert stumbles, shield flickering and arms shaking. He sets Geralt in the snow, panting, and Jaskier touches his shoulder. “I can’t keep it up anymore.”

“Let me.” Jaskier says, stepping up and crouching beside Geralt’s prone form.

“You can’t use signs, and you don’t have a witcher’s strength.”

“No, but you two can. Do you have enough strength between you to keep me covered?”

“I don’t know for how long.” Eskel chimes in, looking just as ragged as Lambert.

“Then we’d better hurry. Ready?” The brothers share a look before nodding, and Jaskier feels the intimate press of magic as their shield falls into place. Jaskier lifts Geralt in his arms, adjusting his grip and then setting off up the hill toward the keep. Jaskier can feel Geralt in his arms, a raging inferno that constantly pings at the shield around him. Jaskier pushes on regardless of his thighs burning and his knees going weak. Lambert and Eskel bolster their shield when they finally get into the courtyard, waving Vesemir off when he moves to help. Jaskier’s gaze is set singularly on the doors of the keep, and he hardly notices when Vesemir’s magic adds a layer to the thinning shield that Lambert and Eskel had been holding for the past hour.

“Put him by the fire.” Jaskier can’t feel his arms anymore, hasn’t been able to for the past half hour, and he’s clumsy as he sets Geralt down, nudging him a bit closer to the fire. Vesemir kneels down beside the two of them, and Jaskier hears the tinkling of glass as the shield around him falls away and Jaskier sags, collapsing onto the floor. Lambert and Eskel jerk forward, trying to catch him, but Vesemir holds a hand out for them to stop. “He’s just exhausted.”

“What about Geralt?” Vesemir looks him over, hands protected as he assesses the damage. After a while Vesemir sits back on his heels, sighing and standing up.

“He’s alive.” Jaskier stirs at those words, arms quaking as he tries to lift himself off the floor. Vesemir hoists him up into a sitting position, and Jaskier tries weakly to grip his hand. “I don’t know that he’ll wake, though.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know what he’s done to himself.” The admission is startling; Vesemir has been alive longer than any of them, has trained countless scores of witchers, but what he sees here has him baffled. “It seems to be a form of meditation, but this here,” Vesemir gestures to the shield that flares up whenever his hand strays too close. “I don’t know how he’s managed to do this, let alone maintain it.”

“But he could wake up?”

“If he can find his way back to us.” Vesemir nods, not wanting to give hope where there is none but trusting in Geralt to do the impossible, as he’s done many times before. Lambert and Eskel are able to wrestle Geralt’s armor and equipment off him, leaving him just in his regular clothes. The armor is near ruined from the cold press of all that snow anyhow, and they won’t be able to properly repair it until they go down the mountain in the spring.

-*-

They take turns peeking to see if he’s moved as they go about their chores for the next month, and every night Jaskier sets up a bedroll and tucks himself as close as he can get without being burnt. They operate without him truly here during the worst month of the winter, struggling to keep up with the work that needs to be done with a pair of hands missing. Jaskier spends most of his time when he isn’t working sitting next to Geralt, talking or singing or just sitting nearby, staring into the fire and sniffling softly as he cries. They keep it roaring constantly, hoping that the heat will help. Geralt’s color comes back slowly over the course of the month, until all the snow is melted off of him and his lips are the same dusky pink that Jaskier remembers.

Jaskier is tucked away for the night, staring at Geralt’s face and wishing he could trace the straight line of his nose or even kiss his forehead and not get hurt. A couple of tears splash onto his cheeks, and he’s so tired of crying, but every time he looks at Geralt prone on the floor he feels his sorrow choking him, tearing and clawing at his chest in an effort to get free.

“Come back. Please.” Jaskier whispers, scooting a bit closer and reaching out a wavering hand. He feels the heat of the shield and stops just shy, fingers poised to touch his cheek. He waits a second, then drops his hand, resting it on the floor between them and laying his head down to sleep. He smiles when fingers interlock with his, squeezing gently. Jaskier’s sleepy mind doesn’t comprehend the touch for a moment, but when he does his eyes fly open. “Geralt?”

Geralt is still curled up, but he’s reached a hand out and clutches Jaskier’s own hand like a lifeline. The red hot barrier around him melts away slowly, starting at his fingertips, and Jaskier watches in mute shock as Geralt blinks sleepily and yawns, stretching out and sitting up. “You’re on the floor.”

“You’re on the floor.” Jaskier replies wetly, using the heel of his free hand to press at one eye. He gives a broken sob and crawls into Geralt’s waiting arms, tucking his face into the crook of Geralt’s neck as sobs wrack his body. Geralt rocks him, petting his hair and murmuring sweet nothings as Jaskier’s fingers curl in his shirt. Eskel and a very sleepy Lambert find them that way, Jaskier curled up asleep in Geralt’s arms and Geralt staring into the fire. His eyes are haunted when he looks to his brothers, and he presses a finger to his lips to keep them quiet.

“How did I get back here?” He keeps his voice low, not wanting to wake Jaskier. “All I remember is the snow, and then the blast.”

Lambert plops down on Jaskier’s bedroll, dragging Eskel with him and grumbling at being awake for questions. “We carried your fatass back. Wasn’t easy either, we couldn’t touch you without using Quen, and by the time we got back Jaskier had to carry you the rest of the way inside.”

“He can’t use Quen.” Geralt points out, Lambert rolling his eyes.

“Yeah no shit. Eskel and I had to hold together a shitty ass shield around the lark to keep him from getting burnt to a crisp. Mind telling us what that whole ‘burning anyone who touches’ shit was?”

Geralt is silent for a while, as if still shaking off the cold, before he answers. “A safety net.”

“But how?” Eskel chimes in, glancing at Lambert to tell him to be patient.

“It’s- Quen. Just hotter.” Geralt seems uncomfortable trying to explain, as if he isn’t quite sure how it works himself. Geralt sighs, shushing them when Jaskier stirs and nuzzles into his neck, seeking warmth. “How long was I out?”

“Almost a month, give or take a couple days. Really scared the shit out of us, you know.” It’s the closest Lambert will get to saying he was worried, but Geralt hears the meaning all the same. Eskel waves a hand, as if wiping away the past month of worry.

“Just glad to have you back, wolf. Took a while." It sounds like a statement, but Geralt can tell they want to know more and he feels it's only right to share what he can.

"The strain of holding all the energy in the shield was… It's- I'm not sure how to explain. Imagine holding a shield against a bomb, and then multiplying it by a hundred."

"That's… near impossible, even for me." Eskel frowns, trying to imagine holding that much energy for as long as Geralt did.

"I didn't think it would work." Geralt admits, glancing back toward the fire. "Channeling all the energy back out through the shield to release it put me into an immediate meditative state. Most of my major organs shut down and my heart nearly stopped. I used the- safety net to draw energy into my body again. Just enough to keep my heart going and kickstart my major organs until the snow melted or you guys came back."

"I think that's the most you've ever said." Lambert jumps when Jaskier speaks, but Geralt doesn't seem surprised and Eskel hides his reaction much better.

"You weren't awake to say it for me." Geralt replies, and Jaskier chuckles quietly.

"Could you show me the shield again? On just your hand?"

Geralt grimaces, reaching out and concentrating. The same barrier as before spreads across his hand, but it's weak, and Geralt lets it drop quickly. "It's usually for emergencies only."

"Think I could try?" Eskel seems almost excited about doing something different with his signs, and Geralt lifts a shoulder to say why not?

"If anyone can figure out how I've done it, it would be you."

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #eskel #lambert #vesemir #winter prompts #hibernation #implied character death #can geralt do any of what i have made up?#probably not #leave me be

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finewineb · 8 years ago

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THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT: a *super* unoriginal ‘best films of 2017′ list

In life, we’re constantly asked what we learnt from things. It’s one way of measuring a completely immeasurable experience. Most films are built on this- ’character arcs’- how do they change and grow? What do they learn? (That’s not a negative thing, just the mechanics of this stick out when it’s done badly). With that in mind, I asked myself, from everything I watched this year, what did I learn?

THE BEST 12 ‘FILMS’ of 2017:

The first thing I learnt- films and TV series have become indistinguishable. It didn’t happen solely this year, but 2017 is definitely the ‘flag in the road’ point. Films are increasingly designed so they can be watched on a small screen with headphones, and most TV should really be watched on a big screen with proper speakers. And TV is sort of the wrong word. Netflix isn’t TV. I don’t know what it is. Just Long Form Storytelling perhaps? It’s certainly becoming less and less episodic. More and more feel like 10 hour films split into 10 parts so you can digest it better. So, this list is really the best 12 *things* of 2017.

The second thing I learnt- how you watch something is almost as important as what you’re watching. What headspace you were in, what time of day it was, if the room was totally dark, if someone a few rows in front of you was talking through the movie, if you’d seen the previous instalments in the series, hell- even if you’d seen the trailer. It all adds to how you think about the film. So, on the list, I’ve included where I saw it.

12. THE DISASTER ARTIST (directed by James Franco)

True story about the making of Tommy Wiseau’s The Room, the best worst film ever made.

I cried like I haven’t cried in years watching this. I don’t know what it was. Just something about the last act hit me so hard I couldn’t contain myself. And when you’re trying to contain yourself BECAUSE THIS IS NOT A SAD FILM AND YOU SHOULD NOT BE CRYING EVERYONE ELSE AROUND YOU IS LAUGHING PLEASE STOP CRYING it’s really hard to stop. It’s a story of ambition, heart and following your dreams no matter what.

Green screen! Lovely green screeeeen! Purely on an aesthetic level, whenever they’re shooting against that unmistakable, vibrant colour I just loved it.

You know when films do that thing and show pictures of the real people the film’s about before the credits so you can go ‘wow this film’s so accurate and got that detail right’?? This does a version of that, and it’s the only one that’s ever mattered/will ever matter.

The real Tommy Wiseau also has my favourite film related tweet of 2017:

Seen at BFI Southbank.

11. ORANGE IS THE NEW BLACK SEASON 5 (created by Jenji Kohan)

The lives of the women at Litchfield Penitentiary, a minimum-security prison in upstate New York. (the annimalllsss the animalllls, TRAP TRAP TRAP till the cage is fulllll...)

This show is about everything the opening titles suggest- women, decisions and time. What’s striking about OITNB is the characters never serve the plot. Plot *is* character. It’s there to serve them. It gives us a framework to waste time with these characters, because ‘all they’ve got is time’.

Season 5 is brave in terms of content and form. There are thousands of people more qualified to speak about the content, so I’ll leave it to them. Form wise: Orange is the New Black is Netflix’s most watched show, and probably it’s major tentpole along with Stranger Things. It has a well-oiled structure. Each season takes place over a few weeks, each episode focusses us in on one character, complete with flashbacks that inform us how they ended up in prison. Season 5 tears that to shreds, setting it basically in real time over 3 days. When it works, it *really* works. There’s no looking away. You feel the grind of what they’re going through. It sometimes leaves them too much time to pad out and we get some boring side plots- but on ambition alone I loved it.

It’s the perfect continuation and accumulation of previous seasons in many ways. The characters you know and love are in extraordinary circumstances. It brings out sides to their personalities that you never knew were there, but fit perfectly. Where all the characters are situated within the prison after the inciting incident is the best use of character geography *as* character I’ve ever seen. Tonally the series has gradually been getting nastier and nastier for a while, but there’s a scene towards the end of this season which is so nasty and so long and REFUSES to cut away even though you desperately, desperately want them too. It’s raw. It hurts. It’s a scene the show has always been heading for tonally and building towards dramatically.

Season 5 slots in just under 4 for me in terms of ranking them all- but it’s still damn good. One things for certain, 5 changed everything for OITNB. The game is different.

Oh, and Nicky’s the MVP.

Netflix.

10. BAD GENIUS (directed by Nattawut Poonpiriya)

Thai Heist-Thriller. A genius high school student makes money after developing elaborate methods to help other students cheat.

WHAT A FUCKING RIDE!! The most fun I’ve had in a cinema all year. More stakes in this than most ‘end of the world’ superhero movies. Genuinely unpredictable.

The filmmaking is so good it makes you forget plausibility is sometimes being pushed. Amazing set-pieces. Expertly choreographed. Form and content perfectly married. This is the best way to tell this story, like a Michael Mann thriller, a Steven Soderbergh Oceans-style heist.

Every character is so rich and textured in their own way. So fully realised. You’ve met them all at some point in your life. It’s whimsical, but painful and genuinely emotional when it needs to be. Never pulls it’s punches.

2 years time, there will almost certainly be an American remake… and it’ll suck so hard. It’s rooted in Thailand, the socio-economic situation of people, the time zones, the pressure to succeed, and honestly- just hearing it in Thai.

SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. If you take anything from reading any of this, SEE THIS FILM.

Seen at Vue Leicester Square.

9. NATHAN FOR YOU: FINDING FRANCES (directed by Nathan Fielder)

The feature-length finale of Nathan For You’s 4th season. It’s a show that’s difficult to describe without saying ‘trust me’.... but honestly, *trust me*. Nathan Fielder graduated from business school with ‘really good grades’. He offers outlandish solutions to solve problems for struggling small businesses. In Finding Frances, Fielder uses all the resources of his successful show to help an old Bill Gates impressionist track down his high school sweetheart. Trust me.

Nathan Fielder has accidentally and totally on purpose made one of the best documentaries of the last 10 years.

It’s funny how we remember things. Reality and fiction are blurred. Truth is irrelevant. What does real mean? Does it even matter if we remember it how we want to?

Laptop.

8. THREE BILLBOARDS OUTSIDE EBBING, MISSOURI (directed by Martin McDonagh)

A mother takes desperate steps to pressure local law enforcement to find her daughter’s killer.

Perfectly woven and layered characters. I fucking hate the phrase ‘the character arc’, but if I were teaching a class in it- I’d show this film.

A film about relationships, and every relationship between every character or creature or inanimate object is perfect.

McDonagh loves theatrical sensibilities. Nobody does grand, rich set-pieces quite like him… makes highly stylised situations feel real in the world he sets up.

I could have watched hours more of these characters interacting.

Seen at Embankment Garden Cinema.

7. BLADE RUNNER 2049 (directed by Denis Villeneuve)

Neo-noir, sci-fi sequel to Ridley Scott’s 1981 classic.

I’m not a fan of the original Blade Runner. I appreciate it! It’s beautiful! and groundbreaking! but I just find it so heartless and cold. I just can’t connect to it. The best sci-fis are amazing stories with really fun furniture (the gadgets, tech etc.) The original is too much furniture for me. In other words, I had no reason to like this one IP wise. 2049 takes everything that could have been interesting from the original and expands on that. The furniture is just that- furniture. An amazing setting that enriches and serves the story. Everything is there to tell the story. I left the cinema feeling I’d experienced something the way that everyone talks about experiencing the first one.

The most expensive art film ever made. I literally cannot believe this exists. I cannot believe they gave Villeneuve £185MILLION to make a 3-hour long, philosophical film that has no blockbuster tropes: no loveable rogue hero; no ‘off-beat’ quippy humour to keep you interested; no CGI extravaganza 3rd act; NO.FUCKING.SKYBEAM with floating garbage spinning around it that threatens to destroy the world and the heroes have to stop it before everyone in the world dies; no setting up 5 other already planned sequels in the franchise so nothing important happens in this one. It’s a rare type of blockbuster in 2017- one that trusts it’s audience is intelligent.

Denis Villeneuve really is the most exciting director working today. This is just further proof. Arrival (2016) still my favourite of his, but I’m almost more in awe of him for this. Taking such a well-loved franchise and doing something new with it in a way that still feels respectful of what’s come before. It’s his film.

The only use of Hollywood’s new trend of digitally recreating actors (ala Peter Cushing in Rogue One: A Star Wars Story) that will ever matter. THIS is how you do it well.

Gender politics (we’re gunna’ go there, SPOILERS AHEAD and I know my opinion doesn’t really matter or count for anything on this just thought it’d be silly not to bring it up, feel free to disagree, v. interested to hear what everyone thinks about this!!) Lots has been written about the treatment of female characters in 2049. Most apt example I can think of to explain how I feel- Taxi Driver (1976), there’s a cafe scene in which the camera lingers on some black characters for uncomfortably long in a kind of parading manner, a ‘look at how terrible these guys are’ manner... it’s very understandable why one could interpret the film itself as racist. I’d argue the film is completely aware of what it’s doing- it’s putting us in Travis Bickle’s eyes, who is a racist character. I mean, we’re literally in his head the whole thing, hearing what he’s thinking and seeing what he’s seeing... I guess what I’m saying is- ‘it’s a decision.’ It’s not an offhand random shot where the filmmaker’s own gaze comes through, it’s a skilfully planned decision to make us question and think about something, in Taxi Driver’s case- what kind of man Bickle is. The treatment of women in 2049 *IS* a decision. It’s not Villeneuve lazily commodifying women, it’s him saying a world where women are only a commodity is a fucking bleak one. It’s a world where real women have been rendered obsolete because the height of success in our society (the CEO of a large corporation), an egoistical white guy with a god-complex manufactures life so women aren’t necessary for continuing the human race, and creates holographic partners for everyday men so they’re emotionally fulfilled without having to engage with actual women. And it’s so horrible. I mean, is anybody happy in this film? Is the picture of the future this film paints bright? It’s a film about how the arrogance of men will destroy everything. And on a base story level, it’s literally about guy who thinks everything is about him... but it turns out to be about a woman. Perhaps it’s lazy for the film to make the decision ‘it’s a patriarchal world so all the women are prostitutes and are treated badly so we’re just gunna’ do that’, but I dunno’... I think there’s more going on. I think Villeneuve is too good for that. I mean his last film was literally about a genius female linguist being the saviour of the world and how a mother’s love is the most precious thing. Would he really do such a U-turn and make a film where the female characters are just objects to be gazed at? I mean- maybe?? If any other aspect of the film felt like it was the studio meddling with Villenueve’s vision I’d buy that... but it’s just SO his film. And I think he’s clever enough to know who the primary audience of this film is- geeky 20 year-old guys. He draws them in with the surface (and all too familiar) images of the female characters, and then turns all of that on it’s head. Just my opinion. Obviously I can never be completely impartial- very happy to be converted the other way.

Seen at Picturehouse Central.

6. CALL ME BY YOUR NAME (directed by Luca Guadagnino)

Somewhere in Northern Italy, Summer 1983, Elio’s life changes.

Sun-drenched Europe, the smell of warmth and twirling cigarette smoke, deep blue sky- pure, breakfast with a glass of apricot juice and an espresso, the sound of bike spokes spinning lazily.

I wish I could live with these people.

‘Later.’

The rawest and best final shot in the last 10 years.

Seen at Odeon Leicester Square.

5. THE BIG SICK (directed by Michael Showalter)

A Pakistani-born standup comedian/Uber driver and a grad student strike up an unlikely relationship.

MAGIC. The perfect retort to use when someone says ‘all rom-coms suck’. A genuine slab of gold that’s as funny as it is heartfelt. And it’s just SO the kind of thing I like.

I’m unbelievably bored of films and just art in general that’s terrified of being sincere in fear of being labelled sappy or over-sentimental. The Big Sick says ‘fuck you’ to that school of thought and goes for it.

Comedy, romance and drama are effortlessly blended- sometimes all in the same scene. And it never feels off-kilter, mainly due to the amazing performances. Kumail Nanjiani, Zoe Kazan, Ray Romano, Holly Hunter and the rest of the cast always play the truth of the scene- not the humour, the romance or the drama, just the TRUTH of the moment.

The perfect antidote to the year 2017 in general.

Seen at Aldeburgh Cinema.

4. YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE (directed by Lynne Ramsay)

Gulf War veteran Joe rescues children from trafficking rings.

This is a horror. And more terrifying than any jump scare, this whole film is populated by ghosts.

Deeply troubled, deeply disturbed. Beautiful. Precise. Scatter-brained. Focused. A violin strung too tightly, then played by a madman. How can something so stripped down and raw feel so symphonic and wholesome?

There are things in this that will play on loop in my head for the rest of my life. Images and sounds so seared into my brain they find me at the strangest of moments in a day, and I’m always left thinking about them for the rest of that day. It’s clever like that. Joe can never escape what he’s seen.

Francis Ford Coppola famously told press at the 1979 Cannes premiere of Apocalypse Now - ‘My film is not about Vietnam. It is Vietnam.’

You Were Never Really Here is not about PTSD... it is PTSD.

Seen at Odeon Leicester Square.

3. LOGAN (directed by James Mangold)

Wolverine’s last outing.

I’m not a huge fan of superhero films. Most are fun. Most are also lazy. Few will survive the test of time. Those that will use all the tricks in their genre box and do something interesting with them, transcend- Rami’s Spiderman 2 (2004), Bird’s The Incredibles (2004), Nolan’s The Dark Knight (2008)... and Mangold’s Logan.

So aged. So weary. Everyone is tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of living. Like three sharp metal claws jaggedly tearing through flesh, nothing is polished about this. Bloodshot eyes, skin like leather. He feels so much regret. Like most real heroes, he mourns those he couldn’t save rather than celebrates those he did. And it’s eaten him up inside for the hundreds of years he’s lived.

Here I go talking about furniture again... but every piece of furniture (superpowers etc.) is there to serve the story (and here the characters are story). Like so many blockbusters and superhero movies fail to do, this film is about something other than the furniture... e.g. how do you tell a story about dementia that gives someone who hasn’t experienced a family member suffering from it *that* feeling of sadness, loss, embarrassment, empathy and frustration? You give it to Charles Xavier (played by Patrick Stewart), a character you’re use to seeing as the leader, who always has a clever plan up his sleeve and has the ability to control other’s minds. You give it to him, and you force everyone watch the person they respected the most have to be lifted into bed while screaming about fast-food. It’s heartbreaking. Complex. It’s actually about something other than how in superhero world teamwork saves the day. Every ‘plot point’ and moment tells us something about these characters, even to a fault sometimes. SUBTLE: Logan pulling them jammed claws the way an old boy down the pub with arthritis feels his fingers. UNSUBTLE BUT STILL INTERESTING: making Logan fight the only thing he’s truly scared of- literally the version of himself that blindly obeys orders.

Everyone is SO fucking real. Just *watch* the way Daphne Keen eats that bowl of cereal.

Would highly recommend watching the ‘Noir’ Black & White version.

mild spoilers: It also features the best single edit of the year, from Laura stabbing the shit out of some dude to a flurry of scattered drum beats in the score... then that piercing animalistic roar rips through and all is silent... she spins.... from this:

CUT to this:

An empty forest, the roar echoes out... a low bass note tolls like a funeral. Something is coming. Help is on the way, but it’s an untamed, ruthless, violent help. He’s near...

No one single cut has ever given me chills like that before.

Seen at Odeon Leicester Square & Picturehouse Central (Noir version)

2. TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN (directed by David Lynch)

Agent Cooper’s odyssey back to the small town of Twin Peaks. The original series of Twin Peaks that aired in the early 90s is often cited as creating ‘prestige’ television as we know it today- your Game of Thrones’, HBO high-quality, Netflix and so on... 25 years later, David Lynch and Mark Frost have returned to kill it.

Earth-shattering. Groundbreaking. An 18-hour film (split into 16 parts) so layered, so complex i’m not even sure where to begin... and most of what I have to say has probably been written by someone else much more eloquently.

For the first 9 hours, I found The Return mostly frustrating. I love the original series so, so much (and the prequel film Fire Walk With Me is one of my favourite films of all time). When I hit hour 10, it was like all the clouds in my head suddenly cleared. I ‘got’ it. What I thought I wanted was all my favourite characters back again talking about cherry pie and coffee with that soft romantic filter. Lynch and Frost (the creators) knew I wanted that. They also knew I didn’t *really* want that... because, the original series will always exist. They knew nothing would disappoint more than a soft reboot. The Return is it’s own thing- within the universe of Twin Peaks, and... within the actual universe. Seriously, how can you categorise this? It jumps from screwball slapstick comedy to silent black and white existentialist horror to 10 minute live band performances... what is the point of even trying to categorise it?

On some of the individual parts: Part 3 is a low-fi, surrealist, near silent masterpiece. Part 8 is... ‘Pure Heroin Lynch’ and has already changed TV forever. Part 11 is the most satisfying instalment, fulfilling storylines from the original series in a measured and poignant way. Part 17 is the conclusion we wanted, sort of... Part 18 is the start of a new mystery, and one of the most haunting things I’ve ever seen.

Twin Peaks will change you life.

Seen on Laptop.

1. THE FLORIDA PROJECT (directed by Sean Baker)

In the shadow of Disney World, 6 year-old Moonee and her friends spend the summer playing around the Motels they live in, while her mother Halley struggles to find a new job.

Pastel bright colours. Every person has survived a storm. Explore the wasteland of failed corporate America. Become a child again. The endless spinning of helicopter blades, a constant reminder of what they can’t do- escape.

Doesn’t ask you to like the characters. Doesn’t need to. Moonee has seen too much. Halley’s anger at herself and her life bubbles underneath every word and action, but she just doesn’t know how to fix it.

It is *SO* achingly beautiful it hurts. I find it hard to even watch the trailer without crying.

For the problems that face Moonee, honorary queen of The Magic Castle Motel, and the impending darkness that’s sure to come, she has the most powerful gift of all- finding hope where there is none.

‘See, I took you on a safari.’

Seen at Odeon Leicester Square & ICA.

DISCLAIMER- things that are not out yet in the UK/I shamefully haven’t yet seen and would likely be on my list too: Lady Bird (further DISCLAIMER i would actually kill somebody to see this) A Ghost Story Raw Phantom Thread War for the Planet of The Apes Coco American Vandal Mindhunter

BEST SCENES:

The third thing I learnt this year- it’s impossible to talk about a specific scene in a film without spoiling it. So... SPOILERS.

The Stairway Fight - ATOMIC BLONDE (directed by David Leitch)

If someone could tell me what the fuck was going on in Atomic Blonde that’d be great but until then I’ll just marvel at how amazing the fight sequences are. Charlize Theron again puts herself at the centre of the progression of American action cinema following her iconic performance in Mad Max: Fury Road (2015). From the first time we see her, lying in an expensive bath healing her wounds and soothing her bruises, we know at some point we’re going to see how she got them. CUE: The 15 minute stairway fight sequence, made to look like a single continuous shot. Leitch and Chad Stahelski (his frequent collaborator and director of the also brilliant John Wick: Chapter 2) are determined to show general audiences what good action scenes look like. This 15-min beauty harkens back to the almost dance like hospital shootout in Hard Boiled (1992), with the rawness and determination of a Children of Men (2006) tracking shot. Charlize Theron (as MI6 agent Lorraine Broughton) fights her way through swarms of henchmen over several floors of an abandoned block of flats, all the while trying to protect Eddie Marsan (who wouldn’t want to protect Eddie Marsan??) Every punch, kick and throw HURTS. By the end, she and the final henchman are so exhausted there’s a sense they might just call the whole thing off- but something pushes them on. Oh, and there’s a 5 minute car chase all part of the same shot to end. Also features the BEST LINE OF 2017. In retort to the final henchman strangling her desperately whispering ‘Take this, bitch!’, she turns the tables, stabs him up hard, then before delivering the final knockdown, pushes her nose to his and asks- ‘Am I your bitch now?’ She doesn’t wait for a reply.

The Eyeless Woman - TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN (directed by David Lynch)

youtube

Lynch’s best nightmare.

Train Hysterics - LAST FLAG FLYING (directed by Richard Linklater)

2003. A Vietnam veteran recruits his two oldest buddies, who he served with, to accompany him on a journey no one should ever have to take.

I liked this movie a lot- just missed out on the top 12 list. The standout scene happens little over half way through, the characters sitting in a storage carriage of a train talking about losing their virginities. It’s the best ‘characters uncontrollably laughing’ scene since The Intouchables (2011).

The Snowball epilogue - STRANGER THINGS 2 (directed by The Duffer Brothers)

Stranger Things season 2 was super mixed for me. I enjoyed it a lot. Kind of.

The first series is a perfect little story, with a perfect beginning, middle and end. I god damn *love* it’s characters so, so much. The plot was simple remixed 80s nostalgia beats, but really just a vehicle for you to get to know Mike and Eleven and Nancy etc. Think about how much each and every scene was practically designed to reveal more about who they were. It was so beautiful. Season 2 however had wayyyyy too much plot which was obsessed with itself and how cool it was and as a result left characters with nothing to do. In other words, in Season 1 all the characters had something to do because the plot came from them, in season 2 characters were given plot roles... like, explain to me what Mike did all season before he saw Eleven again at the v end of episode 8?? What did Jonathan’s storyline tell us about him we didn’t already know? Sure, they don’t have to set up who they are all over again, but the best sequels never take for granted we love the characters- they give us new reasons to love them.

It’s clear to see whose storylines had natural progressions from season 1 and they knew where they were going, and those they had to think of something because Netflix desperately wanted another season quickly. The only original characters season 2 really worked for were Steve and Will. ‘Steve The Babysitter’ was the perfect progression for his character- him voluntarily discarding his Alpha-Jock status, seeing it was all bullshit, now his caring side comes out. Fuck, think how much you disliked Steve all of Season 1 compared to how much you love and deeply want him to be ok at the end of season 2. THAT’s good writing. His storyline was perfect for his character, it kept giving us new reasons to love him. And Will. Holy shit. His descent into Reagan-level possession was the most engaging part of season 2. Basically all of the story came from him. And Noah Schnapp is so damn good. I think simplicity is the key. His story was unpredictable till the last moments, when you realise it was inevitable. It has a clear premise, unlike most of season 2.

In the first, there were very clear overarching premises from the start- Will Byers is missing, Eleven has escaped from the Lab, the Demogorgon is on the loose. Simple premises that allow our characters to manoeuvre around... Season 2 doesn’t really have one other than Will is clearly still connected to the Upside Down... the Mind Flayer doesn’t really start as a concept till the penultimate episode... Hopper and Eleven living together maybbe?? but we’re not really given enough time with them. Everyone else is left with nothing to do, or something that doesn’t really serve their character... UNTIL THE LAST 15 MINUTES.

The Snowball epilogue was like coming to the surface after swimming laps underwater- I sort of enjoyed the laps but I’d rather just be able to breath. All the self-indulgent 80s nostalgia *plot* is done, and all the characters have interesting things to do!! Steve giving Dustin tips dropping him off, and then that longing look he gives towards the hall. Dustin realising ‘I don’t look like Steve Harrington’ after being rejected by every girl at the ball and dejectedly crying... and in comes Nancy to save the day!! Genuinely one of the most beautiful moments in anything all year (notice how we learn more about Nancy’s true nature in this one moment that anything else she really did all season??) Jonathan nearby keeping an eye on Will and being his helpful self taking the Ball pictures. Lucas ignoring what the rest of the group think about Max and asking her to dance. Will actually going to the ball, acting as normal as he can and dancing with someone!! Joyce and Hopper nervously wait outside and reminiscently share a smoke as they did in their highschool days- contemplating on how they probably won’t ever feel like they aren’t worried about their kids... and finally Mike and Eleven just having a bit of happiness for once- actually going to the Snowball together, a beautiful conclusion after speaking about it at the end of Season 1.

As each moment passed in this glorious sequence, I loved the characters more and more. They aren’t doing anything supernatural or life threatening, but the stakes feel SO much higher than they had all season. It’s real. They aren’t shackled with ‘advancing the plot’, they can just be themselves. And I loved it.

BEST CINEMATOGRAPHY:

Time’s Arrow, Episode 11, BoJack Horseman Season 4 (created by Raphael Bob-Waksberg)

BoJack Horseman has been the most visually beautiful cartoon for a while now, it’s breathtaking season 3 silent underwater adventure Fish out of Water helped to gain it much appreciated wide applause. Time’s Arrow is a different beast. Genuinely horrifying. A mind cracked into a thousand pieces and glued back together into something resembling crazy paving. The animation is disturbing. Really disturbing. The nightmarish images running through the failing mind of an old woman with dementia. Images of her regrets, the neglect and abuse at the hands of her parents. Memories burn and melt away like plastic in a fire. The faceless humans and constant scribble over Henrietta’s face haunts me. Beyond the obvious sinister imagery, it means something. A puzzle with too many missing pieces to really make out what the picture actually is. And we’ll never really know.

It’s not the first thing that pops into mind when you think of ‘cinematography’, but Time’s Arrow is the best visual storytelling since... the previous season of BoJack Horseman.

BEST PERFORMANCES:

Cate Blanchett as various in MANIFESTO (directed by Julian Rosefeldt)

Originally a critically acclaimed multi-screen video installation in which Cate Blanchett plays 13 different characters, ranging from a school teacher to a homeless man, performing artist’s manifestos in 13 different scenarios. Part of the financing deal was Rosefeldt had to cut a 90 minute, linear version of the piece for a cinematic setting.

NO one could have pulled this off like she did. She’s running on adrenaline and pure bravery. She makes interesting choices at every twist and turn. How does looking at her never get tiresome? Every jump from character to character feels genuine. She blew my mind- I knew I was looking at the same person over and over again, but I also *knew* I was looking at 13 different people.

A masterclass.

Kyle MacLachlan as various in TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN (directed by David Lynch)

2017 is the year of staggering ‘multi-character’ performances. Kyle MacLachlan’s involvement in the new season of Twin Peaks was basically the only thing anyone knew about it going in. And he is the heart of this season in so many ways. Returning to a character 25 years later must be a daunting prospect, but MacLachlan shows no fear. Not only does he play the pragmatic, joyful Agent Cooper we all know and love, he plays his steely, pure evil doppelganger Mr C, child-like amnesiac Dougie Jones and in the final episode... someone quite special. And he makes it look so damn easy. He is the fabric that holds together The Return.

THE ‘KIDS’ in EVERYTHING

2017 has been a bad year for Hollywood. Ultimately though, it will be looked back on as the turning point. THINGS CHANGE NOW. The old guard is running from their past scared. And they should be scared. Uma Thurman is coming to murder them all. There is no room left for the Harvey Weinstein’s, the rotting core of top-down abuse has been exposed. Brett Ratner can fuck off with his swaggering playboy image and terrible movies.

What is truly uplifting is who is going to replace them. A new generation of pure, true artists that this year has shone a spotlight on.

The future is Brooklynn Prince and Bria Vinaite, stars of The Florida Project. The future is Timothée Chalamet, whose central performance in Call Me By Your Name is the realist, rawest thing ever. The future is Saoirse Ronan, the next Meryl Streep. The future is Daniel Kaluuya, who has finally gained world-wide recognition for his stunning leading performance in Get Out. The future is Finn Wolfhard, Millie Bobby Brown and all of the kids from Stranger Things, who masterfully manage the horrific pressures of being thrust into the tabloid spotlight at the same age most of us just want to cry in our rooms. The future is Sophia Lillis and the rest of the Loser’s Club from IT (a film with the most oppressively terrible sound design ever yet they still manage to make it fun and watchable.) The future is Daphne Keen, the best on-screen cereal-eater who almost steals the film from Hugh Jackman in Logan. The future is Lucas Hedges, someone with rare human fingerprint over every word he speaks in Three Billboards and last year in Manchester By The Sea. The future is Donald Glover, the most creative, multi-talented young artist alive. The future is Caleb Landry Jones, who’s had maybe the most impressive year, with standout supporting roles in The Florida Project, Twin Peaks: The Return, Get Out and Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. The future is Tessa Thompson, the best thing about Thor: Ragnarok. The future is Michael B. Jordan, Chadwick Boseman, Lupita Nyong'o, all the team behind the upcoming Black Panther film, helmed by Ryan Coogler. The future is Barry Jenkins, director of best picture winner Moonlight. The future is Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, Oscar Isaac, Adam Driver and Kelly Marie Tran, the new faces of the most popular franchise ever. The future is Alice Lowe, a force to be reckoned with. Writing, directing and starring in a feature film is difficult enough. She did all of that while heavily pregnant. Oh, and it was her debut feature. It’s called Prevenge and it rocks. The future is Ava Duvernay, a beacon of hope- cannot wait for A Wrinkle in Time, which drops early next year. The future is Sean Baker, the most empathetic filmmaker working today. The future is Patty Jenkins and Gal Godot who have revolutionised the superhero film and inspired a generation of little girls with Wonder Woman. The future is Kumail Nanjiani and Zoe Kazan, who I’ll follow in whatever they do after The Big Sick. The Future is Jordan Peele, the most exciting new director. The future is GRETA GERWIG, mumblecore queen turned saviour of cinema.

So, what did I learn this year? Well, Agent Dale Cooper is certainly one of the best characters of all time. But most of all: amongst the darkness of everything that’s happened within the film industry in 2017... there’s hope.

The future is bright.

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creatopotato · 8 years ago

Text

these walls

committment is underway, i have research projects due - let the gratuitous fic indulgence begin!

This is: an Irene Baker character study, inspired by this post by fuocogo Words: 3930

(or read it at ao3 here )

When Irene Baker is born, there’s a storm brewing overhead.

The dark clouds roll in with torrential rain, beating heavily at the windows in steady monotony. The thick glass dulls out the rumbling thunder, which grumbles ominously as the newborn girl takes her first breath, face wet and eyes screwed tightly shut. Her first cries are met with a ragged tattoo of lightening, arcing across the sky in forks of brilliant white against the inky shadows.

But, as she is wrapped neatly into a warm blue blanket, and brought close to her mothers skin, her temperament softens. Her tiny hands stretch forwards, grasping earnestly, and her wide, dark eyes dart open. There’s a matted scruff of black hair on the crown of her head, two plump legs squirming haplessly for purchase, and she is beautiful. She blinks, sleepily, too young to recognise much more than warmth and safety, but for now, it is enough.

The thunder eases, settling into something of a steady rhythm over the house; ponderous rain continuing on, but softer now, calmer.

Peace falls over their house, and her mother holds the tiny baby in her arms, fragile and impossibly perfect, and names her Irene.

When Irene Baker is four years old, her mother sends her to kindergarten, in part because she needs to pick up the extra shifts, in part because Irene craves more company than she can give. There’s a local centre run by two older women with kindly eyes, and although they are both unwilling to let go, they do, and her mother turns and heads to work.

She’s smaller than the other children, her thick hair tied in two plaits, sticking out from her round face, and a fringe that flutters over her eyes when it’s been a little too long since a trim. At home, Irene had negotiated tea parties with her dolls and bears, but here, she finds her peers a little more difficult to coordinate.

But, of course, she gets there in the end.

She works out why Yoni is afraid of Jess, and makes sure that there are no big sticks in sight when they sit down to play charades. She notices the way that Pasquale tugs at the ends of his sleeves and watches the others eat from a safe distance - then makes sure to ask her mother to pack her two lunches, sitting down beside him each day and sliding the second bag beneath his hands without a word, too quickly for anyone else to notice. She learns how to count to ten in Japanese from Tomi and in turn, teaches him how to paint with fingers in the place of brushes.

They gather around her, in a way. Not that she is a leader, she doesn't sit at the head of the table, or choose the next game. She doesn’t even speak up, not that much. She just, in her own, chubby-fingered, simpleminded way, nudges things back into place when they fall, and keeps an eye on those who tend to slip beneath view.

She may not be recognised, or even loved, by those around her. But they are there, and they are happy, and she is content, for now.

When Irene Baker is ten years old, she comes home from school crying.

She’s never been called fat before, not to her face. She knows that she does not look like many of the other girls, and nothing like the ones on TV, and she is not naive to the world and all its cruelty, but she is horribly unprepared for the harshness of such malice, directed at something so personal.

Her mother finds her in the bath, the water running steadily, slowly, just loudly enough that the splashes should drown out her gentle sobs. They’re only meant to use the bath once a week, but she isn’t mad with Irene. Instead, in an inexplicable gesture, she steps into the bath next to her, jeans and all, and pulls her close, pulls her into a loving and unquestionable embrace.

Now, with this permission, Irene can cry as loud as she needs to.

And when she’s done, her mother pulls off her own shirt, and pants, and runs her fingers along her arms and her legs, across her round, soft stomach. She shows Irene the scars stretching around her sides, around her thighs. They match, she explains. And she tells Irene that she is beautiful, so beautiful, and it helps to hear it out loud and definite, like that.

As they are drying off, her mother shows her how, really, when you look at them, those jagged lines over her shoulders and below her hips look much more like lightning than anything else. Like a storm, she explains. Lightning is dangerous, but it’s also beautiful.

By now, Irene isn’t crying. Her fingers follow behind her mothers, tracing over her skin, trailing the lighter skin as it tracks over her curves. They really do look like lightning, now that it’s been said out loud, and definite.

She likes that.

When Irene Baker is sixteen years old, Dan Lancet kisses her behind the basketball shed at the Bloomsfield High Winter Ball. He’s wearing his fathers old tuxedo, which doesn’t quite fit, and she’s wearing a fluttering teal dress she’d put together over the last two weekends, with some help from online tutorial videos, her mother’s old sewing machine and the kindly assistant at the local fabric store.

Well, more accurately, Dan Lancet tries to kiss her, behind the basketball shed at the Bloomsfield High Winter Ball. Tries being the operative word.

She’s had something of a wonderful night, up to that point. Sure, she doesn’t quite look like some of the other girls, with flowing hair and whimsical gowns, but she’d taken silly photos on her front porch at the request of her mother, with borrowed mascara carefully curled along her eyelashes, painstakingly painted points of black framing the corners of her eyes. She insists on some photos cuddled with her cat, Bernard, of course, but then there are the others (at her mother’s request) where she is posed like a movie star - and tonight, she’d almost felt like one, too.

And, sure, no one had specifically asked her to come to the ball with them, like as a date, but then again, she wasn’t really the type to be brought along, posed on someone else’s arm. Not that she doesn’t watch the other couples dances with a tiny pang of longing, surveying the way their bodies lean against each other, fingers tightly entwined. But, really, that isn’t for her, and she has a wonderful time dancing with her many friends throughout the night. Her feet are aching but her heart is full, and so when Dan suggests they step outside to get a little fresh air, she honestly thinks very little of it, other than that she could probably use a short break.

It is only once they are outside that it occurs to her, for half a second, that this, this, might have been the scenario her mother had warned her about, all those years ago.

But, that’s silly, she knows Dan, he’s a nice sort, better than the friends he hangs out with after science club, before football training. She knows him and this is nothing sinister, nothing dangerous. They are just walking behind the basketball shed, the music still tinnily echoing out beyond its thin roof, accompanying hoots of joy dissipating into the cold night air above them. And they walk in parallels, neither approaching or creating distance, until they reach the edge of the shed. The glistening sea of green field before them, devoid of its usual inhabitants, seems as vast as the dark sky above, and Irene wonders if anyone has ever thought of putting on an open-air play here, illuminated by the stadium lights and amplified by the curved shape of the seating, and thinks aloud that maybe she should talk to the school’s improv group, because it really is a beautiful spot for it, particularly in late September, when its still warm enough to coax an audience outside - but then Dan Lancet is leaning in to kiss her, and her mind goes blank.

In hindsight, she wonders if the problem was that she didn’t see it coming, not even one bit. Maybe the problem was the way that Dan’s hand wrapped around her shoulder, over the stretch marks carefully hidden by capped sleeves. Maybe the problem was that she didn't want this. Either way.

There’s a moment, a pulse, where she turns to ask the question, but then his lips are about to press against hers, his hand has found a way onto her shoulder - and there’s a moment of pause. Time doesn’t freeze, so much as it just slows down, impossibly slow, and Irene is not okay with what’s about to happen. And then he’s flying backwards, her hand outstretched where it had collided with his chest; but he flies too far, arcing through the air before colliding with the wall opposite, making an awful crunching sound and then sliding to the ground.

The sky darkens with a rumble overhead.

And Irene steps back with a cold shudder, until her back is flush against the basketball shed, her fingers numbs and her palms clammy as they press against the hard wall for support. Then she turns and vomits onto the ground beside her, her stomach heaving, her mouth acidic and burning.

Then she goes and gets help.

When Irene Baker is twenty two years old, her mother dies.

It doesn’t come as a shock, not really. She’s been sick, too sick to properly get better. They’ve both been easing into the idea, with every test result, every failed treatment, every smiling, solemn doctor. It doesn’t come as a shock, but it’s still a surprise.

It comes softly, on a Tuesday afternoon. She’s sitting in the navy armchair that the nurses let her drag in beside the hospital bed. Her legs is aching from sitting in it overnight, but that’s okay. It’s a Tuesday afternoon in May and the rain is beating down like a blues baseline, steady and sure.

And then, like everyone does, eventually, her mother just stops breathing.

She is watching as it happens, which means that at first, she blinks several times, and she thinks that it must be an illusion, a trick of her anxious mind and her tired eyes. But her gaze is steady and her mind is true, and her mother is no longer breathing.

They are still holding hands. So she does not call in the nurses, not right away. They are still holding hands and, as long as they are, her mother’s hand stays warm, and real. As long as she is holding on, those long-familiar fingers stay soft and warm, and she can almost believe that they are holding her back. So she does not let go.

Not yet.

When Irene Baker is twenty three years old, she falls in love.

Liz works in the local bakery, and as if that wasn’t cliche enough, as romance goes, she's from out of town. In fact, she’s come all the way from Yorkshire and comes with all the best and worst that Northern England can bring (according to Liz). She has a coarse accent, wiry brown hair and cheeks that always seem flushed red against her pale skin. She swears in great swathes of colourful terms at lazy delivery men when they drop their parcels and sneaks treats to small children when their parents won’t buy them and aren't looking. She smokes like an old chimney, sitting on the back doorstep between customers, cursing at the cold wind that whips around her, sucking on the dying embers of her cigarette with a knowledgable smirk at Irene as she passes, before flicking the end into an empty garden pot and stomping back inside.

Most people agree that Liz is a human disaster, who balances it out by making sinfully good cookies, but then again, most people are wrong. She’s much better than that, or at least, she is in Irene’s eyes, anyway. It’s improbable, and all together inconvenient, but that’s love.

And Irene is madly in love with Liz.

It’s unexpected, and catches her off guard. To be fair, she hasn’t been in love before, not really, not properly, so she almost doesn’t recognise it when they first meet.

When the bakery opens, Irene drops by to pick up a loaf of bread on her way to work. She’s always been a big advocate for supporting local businesses, and she does love a slice of fresh sourdough with lunch, so it seems like the perfect morning detour. The store is about halfway between her house and the train station, and Irene always leaves for work with time to spare. What she doesn’t anticipate that morning is, well, Liz.

She greets her with a hearty wink and a tray of samples, hair already escaping from the confines of its messy bun, shirt already covered in a mess of flour and chocolate stains. Irene’s not entirely sure where the time goes, but she leaves forty minutes later with two loaves, a white-chocolate chip cookie, tingling toes and a racing heart. It’s the one and only time she’s ever been late to work, and she’s not even upset. She can’t stop grinning.

The bakery becomes a steady fixture in her life and her routine, and so does Liz.

Later, when she’s comfortable enough to tut softly at Liz’s choice of words, at times, close enough to lend her an old, thick, woollen scarf as the colder days roll in; Irene finds out that Liz’s birthday is coming up. “Finds out” is a soft term to describe some carefully executed detective work, but Irene wants to come off more friendly that stalker, so ensures that she has the information from a reputable source (Riya from the flower store next door), then makes sure that the topic comes up in conversation at the grocery store check-out, so that she’s not the only one aware of the fast-approaching date, and so that she won’t be the only one to get Liz a present. Irene is definitely not the only one who has taken notice, not the only one to appreciate her fiery wit and her delicious baking.

The more difficult task is working out what to give her as a gift. For a while, she tosses up between a hard-back book on the history of baked goods across the world and a ticket to the upcoming Patti Smith concert, neither seeming quite right, but for some time, she can’t think of any other options that would be better. But then she notices a sticker in the corner of the bakery window, which matches the flag hanging over the back door, and with some assistance from an online store from the UK, Irene hatches a plot.

Turns out she was the only one to get Liz a present, after all.

Irene isn’t entirely sure what she was expecting to happen, but what does happen is that Liz opens up the parcel carefully, even if Irene had always thought of her as the paper-ripping type, and unfolds the Liverpool Football Club jumper with cautious fingers, as if it is more a precious archeological finding than an object of clothing. Her expression is unreadable, even for Irene, but then she places the jumper back onto the bench, her face splitting into a wide grin, and walks around the counter to pull Irene into a ferocious hug. She smells like tobacco, in that persistent, pervasive way, where its scent is woven into the threads of her clothing, which Irene wouldn't usually enjoy, but finds that she doesn’t really mind so much, not when their bodies are pressed together, and she feels warm and solid, firm. Real.

She doesn’t sleep easy, that night.

And after that, it changes. Irene doesn’t stop visiting the bakery, or Liz. But she never does more than just that, visiting, and after that night, something is different. Not with Liz, who swears and smokes and smiles softly at Irene, but with Irene. She steps back, she makes room. It just seems like the right thing to do.

When Irene Baker is twenty seven years old, she gets her first tattoo.

She has to get some help with the design, because even if her mother didn’t deny her heritage, she didn’t celebrate it. Irene knows, now, that this is more to do with the fact that she had other things to worry about, like food, and bills, and her danger-prone daughter, but as soon as Irene gets the idea in mind, she can’t think of anything else she’d want more, and if she’s going to commit to this, she wants to do it right.

Kalli is more than enthusiastic about her mission, and together they peruse over the books at the cultural centre, copying out some of the designs found in old photographs and drawings by anthropologists. Kalli has several tattoos of his own, ancient characters and animals, woven together in swirling patterns across his arms and back, making their way down his spine. Irene isn’t ready for that, but she does want something, even if it's something small. She tends to wear long sleeved shirts anyway, so it won’t cause any issues at work, or with any uniform policies she may encounter.

They make it down to a final three designs, and then Irene takes them to an artist, who helps her choose the third, with a pattern undulating, geometric waves held safely between two thick bars. It feels right to her, even if it hurts as the needle dips beneath her skin with endless, sharp jabs; but Kalli lets her squeeze his hand until it’s white, and once it's done, the black ink wraps around her forearm, just below her elbow, as if it's always been there, like it belongs.

She likes that.

When Irene Baker is twenty nine years old, she leaves her hometown.

In some ways, it feels like the most difficult thing she’s ever done. She’s leaving behind every connection she’s made, every friend she smiles at on her way to the local cafe, every name in her phone book, every face smiling back at her from photos on the fridge. She’s leaving behind her mothers grave, her school and her childhood house. She’s leaving behind everything she’s ever known and cherished.

In another way, it’s the easiest thing in the world.

All she has to do is leave.

She packs her belongings into six cardboard boxes. She gives the majority of her books to the school library, saving only her very favourites and the photo albums, and gives her bed to Mr Perry across the road, who’s always complaining of an aching back and cites the springs of his old mattress as the major culprit. She shares her tea collection, which is ridiculously large and not convenient for interstate shipping prices, with her co-workers, who respect her more than she feels is deserved. It’s good tea, too. She gives her grumpy old cat to Anita and Andrew, and their twin girls. Bernard is too old for new beginnings, and the twins have been begging for a pet since they'd learnt to talk. Irene already has all the bits and pieces, and a years supply of food ready to go, so Andrew doesn’t have to furrow his brow and weigh it up against school fees, like he’s always done when their birthday came around. Bernard won’t mind so much, he’s lazy these days, and will accept affection from anyone.

She gives her mother’s sewing machine to Liz, with a few patterns for warm winter coats and a cool kiss pressed quickly to her cheek.

Then, all she has to do, is leave.

The flight across the country is longer than she’d expected, but then again, its the first time Irene has taken an airplane, so it’s all a rather new experience for her. There’s a mediocre romantic comedy on the entertainment system that she’s never seen, and it does its job of making her smile, blush, and nearly cry within an hour and a half. There’s an aluminium box with partitioned food, including blueberries (her favourite). When they finally land, she’s aching for a walk, and fresh air.

Her new apartment is smaller, cosier than her old one. She pulls her boxes into the front room, unpacks her diary and her mother's old ceramic vase, and puts them on the bedside table, then leaves the rest for tomorrow. The apartments on the third floor, and it has a gorgeous little balcony that faces over a communal garden, and even though it's already dark when she arrives, she can't wait to sit out there the next morning, experience the sounds and smells of what her mornings are going to be like, from now on, and get to know her new neighbourhood. There’s a few bakeries in the area, and she’ll find some time to establish a new routine, new patterns amongst the streets. She'll make new friends, she's sure of it, with time.

It's new, and it's different, but that's alright. She's ready for it.

When Irene Baker is thirty one years old, she receives an odd invitation. It comes to her in the form of an email - a job offer.

When it comes to her, Irene is sitting at the bench in her kitchen, combing her fringe into some form of submission against her forehead, sipping from a mug of steaming tea, updating the weekend roster to make sure that everyone’s requests for time off have been attended to. It's tricky, but as long as she's careful, she's pretty sure that no one has to miss out on their requested dates, which would be fantastic.

It’s late already, and she has half a mind to close down her laptop and curl up in bed. She needs to be in early tomorrow morning; she’s organised to meet for coffee with one of the new interns who’s struggling a little, and she doesn’t want to be too tired to properly gauge the situation. But there’s something about the notification, when it pops up in the corner of her screen, that piques her interest. And, once interested, Irene has never been good at ignoring her curiosity, not for long, for better or for worse.

She already has a job, and a good one at that, but she opens it, nonetheless.

Irene Baker was born in a thunderstorm. She grew up in a sun-shower, and blossomed in a hurricane. There are those who judge her by her calm exterior, her shy countenance, and her soft heart. There are those who believe that she is gentle sunbeam, that she is warm radiance, but they are more the fool.

She has seen the world and she knows how it fits together, she sees the pieces where others see a puzzle, and knows that there's always some way to fit it together. She knows the benefit of a raised voice, even if not her own, knows the comfort of a soft confirmation, of the truth. She's been a coward and she's been brave, but at the end of the day, she only has herself, to blame and to hold.

She is a wild wind brewing, and she is on the verge of deluge.

And Irene Baker may not know what kind of tempest the future may bring, but this time, she is ready.

#taz #taz committment #irene baker #taz fanfiction #taz fic #gotta start somewhere #i'll definitely go back and do some balance stuff #but first my main gal #with lightning stretch marks #fuocogo #all credit to you for the inspiration

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danschkade · 8 years ago

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PAGE x PAGE ANALYSIS-- BATMAN: GOTHAM ADVENTURES #1

PUBLISHED: DC Comics, June 1998

SCRIPT: TY Templeton

PENCILS: Rick Burchett

INKS: Terry Beatty

COLORS: Lee Loughridge

LETTERS: Tim Harkins

EDITORIAL: Darren Vincenzo

For the last couple weeks, the time I might have otherwise spent writing more Page x Page Analyses was instead spent writing, revising, and thumbnailing the first issue of a new series. If the winds stay southernly, I’ll have more to say about that soon -- but in the meantime, it’s got me thinking about what goes into making a successful first issue. Charged with introducing the cast and premises as well as telling an engaging money’s-worth story, they're tricky beasts, even when you’re dealing with established characters. Maybe even especially when you’re dealing with established characters. For kids.

Such is the case with 1998′s BATMAN: GOTHAM ADVENTURES #1!

I looked at issue 17 of this series in the debut installment of this feature. Aside from writer Ty Templeton and penciler Rick Burchett, the same creative team was here at the beginning, and all of the same good qualities are in play: strong meat-and-potatoes storytelling, muscular use of color to set location and mood, clear, clean inking, and solid lettering that invisibly guides the reading flow. With its intelligent use of simple character-driven plotlines and dynamic visual direction, BATMAN: GOTHAM ADVENTURES #1 is a prime example of how to introduce new readers to a full, lived-in world -- even if that world has been on your TV since 1992, and in continuous publication since 1939.

BATMAN: GOTHAM ADVENTURES #1 and all characters contained therein are property of DC Comics, reproduced here solely for educational purposes.

***

PAGE ONE

We kick off our new Batman comic by having The Joker leaping straight at the reader as the entire Batfamily gives chase.

Why mess around if you don’t have to, y’know?

This is not, strictly speaking, a splash page. The inclusion of that little “With a price on his head!” panel to go along with the title is blatantly non-verisimilitudinous (meaning it explicitly breaks any illusion we have that what we’re seeing is real, immersive). I think this was a canny move; this issue is going to do some really tricky tone-juggling where the Joker is concerned, so starting out with these two very different deceptions of him right on the first page immediately lets us know what to expect. Lee Loughridge’s colors are on the job to keep this from being confusing, clearly placing the first panel in a different spacial and temporal plane than the main image.

PAGE TWO

The first panel follows immediately from the opening page, establishing a nice fast pace of action. I love how the Batfam looks sort of like a flock of birds -- it’s a cool way to add a dynamic, distinctive element to what is essentially just a footchase.

This whole sequence has particularly clear lines of motion, beginning with this page:

Having Batman point directly at the reader in the last panel is an effective way to snap off the action flow of the page, making it feel more three-dimensional than the simple zig-gag it would be otherwise. Side note: how great are those sharp silhouettes in panel three? Funky and distinctive, selling the force of the explosion while still letting us know who’s who.

PAGE THREE

Lots of good stuff going on with this page. Again, the action continues directly from the previous page as Robin follows through on Batman’s order and saves a civilian from the falling debris. We get a nice little bit of characterization-through-action -- Robin is a good soldier, a capable superhero, and a wisecracker -- as well as demonstrating how the Batfamily is concerned with protecting the people of Gotham City just as much as they’re concerned with catching criminals. Seems pretty basic, but it’s surprising how often that simple mission statement gets lost in the shuffle of telling a new superhero story.

See also how the space where the flaming debris land in panel two is along the same latitude as where the civilian was standing in panel one. The arc of Robin’s swing also passes through that same point. This is a helpful touch, showing us how narrowly she just avoided a fiery demise.

We do lose track of Batgirl for the rest of this scene, which could be considered a structural error in the script.

Burchett makes sure we don't lose track of Batman and the Joker by turning them into there sharp, easily identifiable silhouettes, backlit by Loughridge’s distinctive colors in the explosion and the screen. You really can’t miss them. Tim Harkins continues to help us out on the lettering front, drawing a line between Batman, the Joker, and Summer Glisan’s news report. The citizens below add to the general danger by making the city feel full of vulnerable citizens, as well as helping us get a sense for how high off the ground the action is.

PAGE FOUR

This is such a great way to get exposition across. Where an infodump like this can often kill a story’s momentum, the ongoing Batman/Joker fight keeps up the intensity of the scene in a way that really doesn’t take up all that much real estate on the page. This device also connects our main characters to the exposition by allowing the Joker to directly react to it. He really is a loathsome villain; Templeton’s script does a deft job of balancing out the goofy, whimsical elements of the Joker with the lethal. Too far one way and he’s just a clown who makes Batman look silly for having to contend with him -- too far the other and he’s a shrill, boring serial killer.

More clean movement on this page:

Note how this layout draws our attention to the horrible rectus smile in panel three from two different directions; the action line from the previous panel as well as the Joker’s shaking fist, with Batman’s head in the bottom left corner pointing up to it for good measure. All conflicts in the issue derive from the fact that the Joker murdered this young man, so it’s very important that we absorb this image before we move on to the next page.

PAGE FIVE

See, again, the great balancing act. The anti-bat spray and the giant inflatable glove are patently ridiculous, but when laid over the face of a father driven mad by grief, the clownish gadgets become salt in the wound. The reader really identifies with the father here; imagine if you lost the person you loved more than anyone in the world, and this prancing asshole is the one responsible. Even when you put a price on his head, he just laughs at you. Look how sinister he is in panel three. He’s the most killable man in the Gotham City, this guy.

PAGE SIX

Man, how do you not read that first line in Mark Hamill’s voice?

There’s a really interesting use of space here. The action takes place all around the edges of the page, giving the whole sequence this great sense of verticality -- even if there is a slight gaff in that Burchett and/or Beatty forgot to draw the Batline in panel four. That said, I do love the inclusion of the reporter and cameraman in that panel, giving the environment a nice sense of depth that emphasizes the splattery fate from which Batman just saved the Joker.

The action, and with it the scene, ends in the left of the last panel. This leaves the city shot in the right on that panel to act as a sort of ‘pan away’ moment, creating a quiet beat without cluttering the page with another panel. It’s super effective.

Something I forgot to address elsewhere: Burchett is always contrasting the rigid, unflappable Batman with the constant mugging of the Joker. This is largely down to Bruce Timm’s terrific character models, but Burchett is a sharp enough cartoonist to know how to stage them so those contrasts really land.

See also: this great juxtaposition at the top of this page.

PAGE SEVEN

I’ve always loved this lady in the bottom corner. No analysis, just crushin’.

PAGE EIGHT

Weirdly enough, The Joker is our POV character for this page. Despite being a comic book tie-in to a very popular tv show, this is still technically the first time we’re seeing the Batcave in this comic book series, so Templeton and Burchett give us this nice spacious look at the pace. The Joker’s reaction helps sell it as an impressive space, even if he’s mostly just talking nonsense. Loughridge uses this scene to establish the cool teals and greens that will indicate Batman’s private environments from here on out, such as the cave or the inside of the Batmobile.

Cutting from the huge shot of the cave to the narrow horizontal final panel adds to the suddenness of Batman cuffing the Joker to the railing.

“Awp!”

PAGE NINE

This is our introduction to Nightwing, so of course the wayward bad boy Batchild has to come screeching into the panel on his badass black motorcycle instead of just walking in like a normal person. Templeton and Burchett give Robin something to do by having him goof around on the railing, which avoids having the scene become just a bunch of people standing around in capes. See also: wringing a moment of tension out of Alfred’s introduction. I dig Batman’s snarl in the last panel -- the most emotion we’ve seen from him so far. Alfred being in danger will do that.

PAGE TEN

Burchett adds dynamism to panel one by tossing a dutch angle into the mix. It’s a smart move -- having a diving action like a tackle go directly towards or away from the reader can sometimes come across as static or just unclear. The dutch angle gives this panel enough energy to sell the action.

Also, a rare continuity gaff: the stairway entrance has a doorjamb here, where on the previous page it’s just a rough opening in the cave wall. The Joker looks a little bit off to me as well -- could this have been one of the first pages Burchett drew in the new B:TAS style? It’s a pretty common practice for an artist on a new book to initially draw some pages from the middle of the issue, just to get a feel for the new project on some pages of lesser relative importance. When it comes to this specific page, of course, I’m purely speculating.

Regardless, Robin looks excellent in panel four.

PAGE ELEVEN

What a great page. This is the point at which the main plot splinters into its various subplots, emphasized by seeing all our players head off in their own directions in panel one. Batman hands the scene off to Batgirl in panel two, and in panel three we fully establish her as the new POV character for the Batcave scenes going forward. In the next panel, we see the rest of the Batfamily drive away on their various conveyances, the looming silhouette of the Joker’s handcuffed arm, and Batgirl herself in the midground between them, really selling how suddenly isolated she is. The last panel says it all -- even if he’s handcuffed and weaponless, no one wants to be alone in a room with the Joker.

Here, we end the first act with all our plotlines well in play:

Batman and Robin try to crack the case Gordon has for them (which, if you were paying attention on page seven, you know involves The Riddler)

Nightwing on patrol, which will almost certainly involve...

All the Gothamites who’re scouring the streets looking for the big payday

Douglas Reid using all his wealth to get his revenge on the Joker

And Batgirl, guarding the man himself in the Batcave.

All of which will unfold over the remaining twenty seven (!) pages, each of which is as dense and active as what we’ve seen so far.

There’s a lot to love about this comic, and I’ll be coming back to it in the weeks to come. But today, I just wanted to look at the opening pages of a comic that does an exceptional job of using a clever, character-driven premise to set up its world.

***

You can get this entire issue -- for free! -- on Comixology, along with every other issue of GOTHAM ADVENTURES for, like, a buck or two apiece.

For a couple of my own comic creator bona fides, check out WILL EISNER’S THE SPIRIT RETURNS and SAN HANNIBAL, and pre-order the trade collection for BATTLESTAR GALACTICA: GODS AND MONSTERS.

Additional content can be found on my website, danschkade.com, as well as my twitter!

Be well, talk soon, etc

PREVIOUS PAGE x PAGE ANALYSES:

GANGBUSTER: SWING ANNA MISS

MINI-ANALYSIS — FIRST SIGHTING: SUPERBOY

ULTIMATE SPIDER-MAN #69 (with Aud Koch)

THE SHADOW STRIKES! #13

PETER PARKER: SPIDER-MAN #13

BATMAN: GOTHAM ADVENTURES #17

#Batman #educational purposes #page x page analysis #The Joker #comics #Ty Templeton #rick burchett #terry beatty #lee loughridge #Dan Schkade

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