nothingunrealistic

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nothing will ever top this song

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Elena Oxman’s deeply affecting new movie, “Outerlands,” arrives at just the right moment, when conventional multiplex fare doesn’t seem to capture the way we are feeling in our complex world. The film, which closed the San Francisco International Film Festival last month, screens again Friday at the Smith Rafael Film Center and on June 22 and 27 at Oakland’s New Parkway Theater and The City’s Vogue Theatre, respectively, during the Frameline Festival. It addresses not only the feeling of being edged out of our own souls emotionally, but also being edged out in our own city. “I think it’s a film that has quite a bit of pain in it,” said Oxman, who recently spoke with The Examiner via a video call. “Personally, I’m very interested in pain, very interested in exploring it,” she continues. “But there was a question of what’s too much.”

“Outerlands” follows Cass (Asia Kate Dillon, known for “Orange Is the New Black” and “Billions”), a gig worker who uses they/them pronouns and lives in San Francisco’s gray Richmond district. Cass juggles jobs as a nanny, a restaurant server (at North Beach’s Tosca Cafe) and a drug dealer, insisting that they be paid in cash, to be able to afford their humble apartment. One evening, in a local laundromat, they spy a cute co-worker, Kalli (Louisa Krause), flirt a little, and wind up spending a night together. Later, Kalli asks Cass if they can watch her 11-year-old daughter Ari (Ridley Asha Bateman) while she goes out of town. Days pass with no sign of Kalli’s return, forcing Cass to reconsider their own childhood traumas, and to find ways to connect and communicate with Ari. Comedian and singer Lea DeLaria, a one-time staple of the 1980s and ’90s San Francisco queer scene, plays Denise, a bank worker who notices Cass’ pain and responds with empathy. “I knew it needed that kind of relief — the friendly, open-hearted person who’s just there for them,” Oxman said of DeLaria’s role. “It’s the family that you make, rather than the family you’re born with. You just find the right people along the way.” Getting to this feature-directing debut was a long and not necessarily direct road. Oxman said she had been making “little films” since she was 11. She made short documentaries for a while before earning a graduate degree and going into teaching both film studies and film production at the College of San Mateo and Stanford University, among other schools. Oxman shot the 2014 short film “Lit,” which led to a residency at SFFilm FilmHouse, where she began developing “Outerlands.” “You’re able to develop specific projects, but it’s also a great networking opportunity where you connect with producers,” Oxman said. “I ended up finding my producer, Marc Smolowitz, in that network. That was a key moment. We sent the script to Asia Kate Dillon, who I’d been watching on ’Billions.’”

At first Oxman wasn’t sure about Dillon, since the actor in real life was so very different from the character of Cass. “I knew that this film needed a kind of actor who could be able to communicate a lot with a little, and have kind of a searing quality,” she said. “Asia’s just got these eyes and just this way about them. Attaching them was a big step.”

With only 23 shooting days and little room for error, Oxman and Dillon prepared intensively. They met in person for a five-day prep session — as well as many video meetings — to flesh out the character. “We really got on a very granular level, just practicing how Cass walks, finding their center of gravity — You know, what’s their voice like?” Oxman said. “And it just kind of all clicked. Asia is just so intuitive and empathic.” “They’re in every single scene,” she said. “They just really carry it. Both Chris [Brown, the film’s editor] and I were stunned when we were in the edit. They just radiate something.” San Francisco’s Richmond district, where Oxman used to live, is another star of the movie. Denizens of that foggy outlying neighborhood will recognize many local bars, restaurants, corners and other landmarks. “There’s a certain quality to it, places that are hanging on and represent an older way of doing things,” she said of her former home. “It’s like the antithesis of the tech stuff. There’s a real analog, gritty quality. It tracks the way that The City has changed — and as we know, San Franciscans are sensitive to those changes.” Oxman paid special attention to the color and tone of the movie. “We suppressed a lot of the reds; Cass has more greens and yellows and beiges. There was definitely the sense that they shopped at thrift stores,” she said. “And then Ari brings this new shock of color, this red, which is also kind of a heart center color.” The use of San Francisco locations and many mood-setting “pillow shots,” such as one of the Geary-Masonic Tunnel, conveys a kind of sadness and loss that perfectly complements the mood of the film. “I love the Geary-Masonic Tunnel,” she said. “I find it a very underrated piece of architecture. Even if you don’t know what it is, the way the light snakes down the center gives you a certain feeling, a glimpse into a stage of The City’s history. It’s not the shiny new stuff. It’s this in-between that’s kind of fading.”

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📝 smoke

There are no falling stars or seven-headed beasts in Taylor’s visions of the end times, either. Nor lately any smoke-hazed skies, flooded streets, or incoming ICBMs, though all have been featured players in the past.

(send me a 📝 + a word, and i’ll post an excerpt from a fic i’m currently writing that contains that word.)

[nothingunrealistic]

📝 steam

When the Wobble fades into that Camila Cabello song that was all over the radio back in January, Jared feels for everyone who was dancing from the start and losing steam by the end, but he figures that, totally objectively, the DJ owes him at least ten more minutes.

(send me a 📝 + a word, and i’ll post an excerpt from a fic i’m currently writing that contains that word.)

[nothingunrealistic]

A lifetime ago, before leaving Axe Capital for what they’d hoped was the last time, Taylor had calculated that their assets under management would exceed Axe’s in three years if the chips fell in their favor, and in eight years if not. They’d imagined the satisfaction it would bring them, to know that they’d won the game Axe taught them to play, and to know how he would seethe at his loss.

A strange thought, then, that after the vicissitudes of the past two years have reduced their company to a husk of what it could have been, a shadow of a shadow, Taylor will beat their three-year deadline any day now, at whatever moment Axe’s assets are stripped from him permanently. Victory via loophole: hollow and joyless. As is having bested Axe at the other game he taught them — all-out warfare.

“You never did react well to competition,” Axe says. He’s remarkably calm for someone with a sword through his chest.

“No. But I have come to realize I’ll do anything for my own autonomy.” Survival, though still necessary, is no longer sufficient. Maybe it never was.

“So you figured you’d let the government freeze everything that’s mine, and then go to your pal Chuck Rhoades and break off your piece and go off on your own?”

“Something along those lines,” Taylor says, refraining from tossing Axe’s old words back at him: He’s no friend of mine, believe me. Just a useful tool. “But now, all I really feel is…” It’s difficult to admit in front of him. “Sadness. And that I want to thank you, as ridiculous as that is.”

Taylor extends a hand to him to shake. A fitting gesture for equals parting ways. Axe glances down and scoffs.

“You’re not that special,” he says. “I didn’t see off the rest of them like that.”

And he takes two steps closer and throws his arms around Taylor.

Axe’s embrace is not gentle. He doesn’t slap Taylor’s back as they’ve seen him do with his loyal foot soldiers, but his grip is tight enough to pin Taylor’s lowered arm to their side. They set their free hand tentatively to his back and feel the knobs of his spine through his shirt. This is, Taylor imagines, how he would hug his children.

Axe lets go. Steps back. Taylor can’t read his expression. The room feels cold.

“I’m sorry,” Taylor says, and they mean it. “Sorry that it came to this.” They’re not sure yet what will haunt them more: the thought that none of this had to happen, or the thought that none of this could have happened any other way, that neither of them could be anyone other than who they are.

“You’re sorry? Shit. You’ll get over it.” Axe smiles, as if consoling them over a broken plate or a failed pop quiz, something of no consequence. “The amount of time you spend feeling bad over slitting your enemies’ throats will get shorter and shorter in the future until it’s barely a fucking blip.”

And Taylor thinks: No. Never. I refuse to become so callous.

“And if you don’t get over it, well, you can bring me some cookies to Wallkill Correctional on visiting day.” Axe’s voice drops to a whisper. “But I don’t think it’s gonna go that way. And I think you know that.”

Taylor turns and leaves. They don’t cry on their way out of that house, or during the long drive back to the city. Nor the next day, at the heliport, in the shock of witnessing Axe’s final vanishing act, or in the few moments of sympathy they feel for Wendy before they realize she’s putting on an act of her own. Not even that afternoon when Prince and Scooter arrive at the soon-to-be-former Axe Capital office, and the realization dawns that the price of freedom from Axe is indentured servitude to Prince.

No, tears don’t fall until weeks later, on an otherwise unremarkable day, twenty minutes after an otherwise unremarkable conversation with Prince, in which he happens to say, almost thoughtlessly:

“You know, when I made Axe the deal for this place, he wanted me to let you go. Insisted I break off your company. I couldn’t do that, of course, even if I hadn’t already seen your value. I wasn’t going to let him spite me one last time.”

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Axe (Damian Lewis) confronts Taylor (Asia Kate Dillon) after discovering they backstabbed him with the cannabis company.

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out of touch taylor mason thursday

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#15. The Beach Boys - Wouldn’t It Be Nice (1966)

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unethical nonmonogamy, not because someone's cheating or whatever, but because everybody involved is really dedicated to psychosexually fucking up one member of the polycule

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📝 branch

Though he tries to walk faster, his shoes really aren’t up to the task, meaning he winces every time he treads on a rock or snaps a fallen branch underfoot, and he has no clue where he is or where he should go, every randomly chosen turn failing to bring him closer to Evan.

(send me a 📝 + a word, and i’ll post an excerpt from a fic i’m currently writing that contains that word.)

[nothingunrealistic]

📝 root

A new integral and a fresh timer appear. Definite, square root and absolute value.

(send me a 📝 + a word, and i’ll post an excerpt from a fic i’m currently writing that contains that word.)

[nothingunrealistic]

out of touch taylor mason thursday

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jack loxton, deh west end’s jared kleinman, answering the question “what do you think happens to jared after the show?” // “size too small,” sufjan stevens

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I humbly request kleinsen and 10 (sprain) bonus points if the sprain is from something very dumb 😌

10. sprain

Jared appearing at Evan’s table in the library is no surprise, given his where are you text from ten minutes ago, but it’s jarring when he falls into the spare chair with his backpack still on, his left hand wrapped around his right wrist. “Got any ice?”

Evan unzips his lunch bag (the meal plan is expensive and the campus food courts are harrowing on the best of days) and unearths the half-thawed ice pack that had been keeping his turkey sandwich cold. “Does this work?”

“Like a charm.” Jared grabs it from him left-handed, leaving his swollen wrist briefly visible before cradling it in the ice pack.

“What happened to your arm?”

Asking makes Evan’s skin prickle with déjà vu. Jared doesn’t seem to notice. “Nothing important.”

Speaking of conversations from senior year… “Is it weird to be the first person in history —”

“Don’t.”

“— to sprain their wrist from jerking off too much, or —”

“This is plagiarism.”

“— do you consider that an honor?”

“I’ll report you for academic misconduct,” Jared says, smacking the table for emphasis and sucking an immediate pained breath through his teeth. “Shit.”

“Just tell me.”

Jared sighs as he reapplies the ice pack. “We were playing beach ball volleyball at the honors picnic and I fell.”

Evan smothers the laugh trying to bubble out of him. “You should probably go to, um, the student health center or something.”

“Not gonna happen. I have a lab report due in an hour.”

(Put a number and two characters in my ask box and get a hurt/comfort drabble)

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Kleinsen + death of loved one?

15. death of loved one

The bell rings. Jared squeezes through the rows of desks, fighting against everybody rushing for the door, to reach Evan. He’d better make this quick so he doesn’t miss the bus home. “Hey.”

Evan looks up from the binder he’s still trying to cram into his backpack. “Hey.”

“I won’t be here tomorrow, so I’m gonna have to borrow your notes when I come back. Make sure they don’t suck.”

“Why?”

“Because if they suck I’ll fail the unit test.”

“No, I mean…” Evan finally manages to zip his backpack shut around the binder. “Why won’t you be here?”

Jared looks around. Everyone’s gone except Mrs. Miller, who he already had to tell so he could get tomorrow’s homework ahead of time. “My grandpa died and I have to go to his funeral.”

“Oh,” Evan says. People keep saying that. “Your mom’s dad? Or —”

“Dad’s dad.” He can’t miss the bus for this. Jared heads for the door and turns into the hallway, but Evan’s still a step behind, struggling to pull his backpack straps over his shoulders while dodging people coming the other way.

“He was at your bar mitzvah, right? I think I met him.”

“Maybe.” Not like Jared knows who Evan has and hasn’t met, but Grandpa Kleinman was there. And it’s weird, because that was only two months ago, and he seemed fine, not like someone close to dying. He wasn’t even that old. It’s not really fair — and maybe this is what he’s supposed to say to the guidance counselor his teachers keep telling him he can talk to, but why would he go sit in an office and tell some random adult how he feels when he doesn’t even tell his parents that stuff? — that anyone can just die, at any time, without any warning, and not come back.

“I’m really sorry,” Evan says, just as they get outside. “Um. Is there anything I can do?”

He definitely got that from a TV show. A bad one. “I don’t know. Don’t die anytime soon. Your funeral would probably be lame.”

“I’ll try, I guess.”

(Put a number and two characters in my ask box and get a hurt/comfort drabble)

[nothingunrealistic]

13. too much, jared and evan

13. too much

Jared’s mom answers the doorbell and tells Evan that Jared’s in his room, which is his first clue that something is up. The summer before high school, the Kalwanis turned half their basement into a study room, and Jared lugged all his video games downstairs, covered the walls in posters, and informed Evan that if he wanted to come over, they’d hang out in the basement, even if he was staying the night. Evan can’t recall the last time he climbed the stairs to Jared’s bedroom, but the second floor looks just like he remembers.

Second clue: he knocks on Jared’s door, and Jared calls “What?” through the door in an oddly scratchy voice.

“It’s Evan.”

“What do you want?”

Evan takes that as permission to enter and finds Jared — third clue — lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. Actually on his bed, not even under the covers, a pillow under his legs instead of his head.

Whenever Evan’s uncomfortable, he tends to say the first thing that pops into his head. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you Florence Nightingale?” Jared turns his head to glare at Evan, winces, and rubs his shoulder. "I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

Jared sighs and resumes staring at the ceiling. “Yesterday was Twelfth Night closing.” Now Evan winces. Jared had asked him to go see the drama club’s production of Twelfth Night so many times, and he really had meant to, but he was sure it closed next weekend, and he hadn’t managed to ask his mom which nights she could drive him there, and the poster in the hall outside his math class listed a different ticket price than the poster in the cafeteria, and — “So we had two shows and then the cast party. It got a little crazy. I’m recuperating.”

“Are you…” Evan lowers his voice. Jared’s parents could come upstairs at any moment. “Drunk?”

“Not that kind of party,” Jared says, like Evan’s stupid for even asking. “I’m just tired. And my back hates me.”

“And your voice is weird.”

“Have you ever had to shout over a dozen Idina Menzel wannabes all scream-singing ‘Take Me or Leave Me’ because they’re convinced we’re doing Rent next year? It’s worse than homecoming.” Saying that must send Jared down the same mental rabbit hole as Evan, remembering just how bad the bad parts of homecoming were, because he abruptly says, “Why are you even here?”

“We have that Spanish project due on Tuesday? And we agreed we were going to work on it today?” Jared groans and mumbles something like fuck my life to himself. “I mean, I can go home, we can do it tomorrow…”

“Let’s get it over with. You’ll just have to do most of the writing. And the thinking.”

“Okay. Right, yeah.” Evan sits down in Jared’s bean bag chair, takes off his backpack, and searches through it for his Spanish folder. “Oh, hey — I have a water bottle in here, it’s not open or anything, and I don’t know if you’re thirsty, but —”

“I’ll take it,” Jared says, sticking out his hand. Evan leans forward to put the bottle in his hand; his fingers close around it and brush Evan’s. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

(Put a number and two characters in my ask box and get a hurt/comfort drabble)

[nothingunrealistic]

“In fact some would say it’s something quite beautiful…”

2 weeks ago Andrew Barth Feldman said on Alex Boniello’s twitch that he heard there was a “funny choreography change” in sincerely me that Gaten came up with, and after watching that one recording I am going to assume it’s when Jared puts his hand on Evan’s cheek. Which I agree is very funny.