#AHS: Cult is rubbish

[monsterclowngirl]

Clown Horror Movie Recs

CLOWN HORROR RECS:

This list is purely personal preference, and in no particular order.

The Art the Clown films. Deeply depraved, brutal films. Hilarious in places, but gut-churningly violent. Art is a contender for Most Frightening Clown In Cinema History.

Gags the Clown. An indie mockumentary horror film, similar to Rise of Leslie Vernon albeit lacking the postmodern flair, it’s a slow-paced film showcasing the growing clown panic suffered by a small town after multiple eerie sightings of a clown carrying black balloons. Shades of social commentary on witch hunt mentalities egged on by right-wing media are interwoven with brief sightings of Gags himself, growing an atmosphere of dread until an unhinged and surreal climax.

Haunt: Six new friends visit a haunt attraction on Halloween, and are butchered. Plain, blue-collar workmanship,

Killer Klowns From Outer Space. The one, the only, THE killer clown film. What more is there to say? (Now also in computer game form!)

Blood Fest. The clowns aren’t the focus, but they ARE there, and the film’s a fun little thing.

Circus Kane. A selection of online and offline horror influencers are invited to attend the latest scare attraction of the infamous Circus Kane, years after he retired following tragic deaths at his last attraction. He promises it will be his magnum opus, and he ain’t lying. Delightfully hammy acting and the occasional off-the-shelf FX only add charm to the surprisingly-cunning plotting. Hardly going to win awards, but definitely an unpolished b-movie gem.

Stiches: Irish clown is resurrected by a clown cult. No, really.

The Funhouse Massacre. Again, is it quality? Ahahaha. No. But is it ENJOYABLE? Yeah.

Scare Campaign. Aussie horror movie about a Scare Tactics knockoff that goes amazingly off-script. No actual clowns per se, but a few villains in wonderfully creepy clown masks. Too good not to include.

The Jack In The Box and The Jack In The Box: Awakening. Are these films good? Ah, hell no. But the clown is cool.

Drive-Thru: Undead wisecracking fast food joint mascot murders obnoxious preps. What more can you ask from a horror comedy?

Deep Web- Murdershow. Again, objectively this is a cheap, overacted flick that can’t decide if it’s serious horror or horror comedy. It’s UNAPOLOGETIC garbage, total B-movie rubbish, and I LOVE IT.

[secret-diary-of-an-fa]

AHS: Cult Revisited (Spoiler Warning: It Sucked Then and It Sucks Now)

SOME CONTEXT: Since I discuss the politics of AHS: Cult in the following article, new readers should probably know that my own politics are leftist and generally liberal. As such, it’s worth bearing in mind that part of my annoyance with the series does stem from the fact that most of its liberal, left-leaning characters are inadvertently written as total bell-ends. Most of my annoyance, however, comes from the issues I’m about to discuss.

SPOILER WARNING: Lots of spoilers ahead.

I’ve been re-watching American Horror Story: Cult, despite the fact that it’s the absolutely worst season of the anthology series, because some family members wanted to see it and I wanted to sit in and crow about where it all went wrong. And you know what? I’d forgotten how deceptively good the first half of the series actually is. It’s funny, unsettling and camp in that way that only AHS can be, and it contains lots of satisfying moments where absolute bell-ends get punched in the fact or killed with gym equipment. When I reviewed it about a year ago, I kind of forgot that there was the root-system of a decent TV show buried under all the crap. Y’see, the thing about AHS: Cult is that it’s only a shitshow in retrospect. After you’ve chewed your way through the increasingly dumb and unsatisfying second half of the series, you reach a conclusion that renders 99% of what you’ve just seen completely pointless: a whole lot of sound and fury signifying fuck-all.

The core of the problem is Kai, the blue-haired cult-leader supervillain and psychotic clown enthusiast who serves as the series’ antagonist. The motivations that he pretends to have in the first half of the series are way more interesting than the real motives that he’s revealed to have in later episodes. You see, early-episodes Kai is deliciously complicated an apolitical. He doesn’t celebrate Trump’s election to president because he thinks a Cheetos-hued former gameshow host will actually make a good president, but because his presence in the White House will spread fear and chaos that Kai can use to his own ends. He’s like a less slapstick-y version of the Joker, revelling in chaos and collective national misery and only allying himself to one side or the other so far as it promotes those things. In some places, his ideology seems downright and actively non-partisan. There’s a bit where he talks to a downtrodden and much shat-upon news reporter about her anger as a black woman in Trump’s America and legitimates her rage- which feels like “wanting to be the last person alive on Earth- because then you got to watch every other motherfucker die first”. He recruits a buff gay guy by killing his homophobic boss. On the other hand, he also gets a disenfranchised prospective Trump-voter on side by reminding him how he’s been told he’s obsolete and irrelevant because he’s a working class white male. In the early series, Kai’s ideology doesn’t seem to have much to do with left and right: his message is more along the lines of ‘modern America is a worthless shithole that fucks everybody over, regardless of politics or demographic, so let’s burn the whole thing to the ground and put me in charge’. It’s genuinely compelling to watch... and then the second half of the series happens and it turns out Kai was basically lying about all this complex motivation. He’s actually just a misogynist who wants to hurt women. Well, fuck. And there was me thinking we were getting an interesting and nuanced character who walked the line between villain and sympathetic protagonist. Nope- apparently he’s just a jerk. That’s a pretty accurate portrayal of the way sociopathic cult leaders work in real life, but it’s not very narratively compelling. 

Here’s the trouble. I know plenty of jerks in real life. I don’t find them fascinating. I don’t think they make interesting viewing. They’re not good TV: they’re just fucking morons in need of a good, hard slap. I get what AHS: Cult is doing- it’s making the point that cult leaders and far-right, regressive politicians can seem more complex and compelling than they really are in order to get what they want before they reveal their true colours. It’s an allegorical warning against charismatic, evil, morally-bankrupt politicians like Trump. And that’s a fine point to make, in an online article or a short story or... well, basically any media that doesn’t have to keep me entertained for 10-12 hour-long episodes. AHS: Cult chose to make a point instead of making a consistently good, watchable TV show. And that’s a problem.

Of course, Kai’s increasingly tedious and stupid character isn’t the only problem. AHS: Cult wants to be all feminist and get you to root for its oppressed, trod-up women. Which would be great, if its female characters weren’t mostly loathsome dipshits. There’s Ivy, who deliberately gaslights her lesbian wife and drives her mad. There’s Meadow, who more or less embodies the concept of vapid self-absorption, seems to start improving as a character, and then commits suicide before she can become genuinely sympathetic. There’s the reporter who starts off sympathetic but who ends up egging Kai on to greater feats of cruelty and chaos (when she finally turns against him, it’s not because she has a moral epiphany, it’s because he decides to consolidate power rather than go with her plan of causing as much random destruction as possible). Oh, and then Valerie Solanis and her ‘SCUM’ cult turns up and starts butchering men (and any woman who doesn’t hate them to a sufficient degree) while spouting grandiose horseshit. In fairness, the grandiose horseshit comes from her book, ‘The SCUM manifesto’, which is a real thing that actually exists... but bringing it up just serves to make Kai’s eventual adversaries seem as crazy as he is, just when the narrative needs them to seem like a heroic alternative. How so? Well, it was written by a literal schizophrenic just before she tried and failed to assassinate Andy Warhol.

After episode seven, AHS: Cult is increasingly framed as a struggle between Kai’s far-right misogynist cult and his former supporters’ self-justifying revenge-oriented cult-within-a-cult of revenge. Who are apparently preferable because... reasons maybe? Well, at least they’re not out for world domination and don’t give their recruits names like ‘Speed Ball’, which is something.

The final issue is Ally. Poor Ally. She starts off as a slightly pathetic, slightly pampered but basically decent person. She’s a left-wing liberal and broadly on the side of good, even if her many phobias do prevent her from getting her shit together. After wife Ivy steals their son from her using Kai’s cult, Ally goes through a pretty good character arc and learns to conquer her fears in order to save her son from Ivy’s increasingly unhinged grip. She’s basically the show’s happy ending waiting to happen... and then, in the very last fucking scene, she dons a green hooded robe and takes up the mantle of the leader of the deranged SCUM cult. Because of course she does. Because we couldn’t just have one likeable, uncorrupted character, could we? She reacts to the traumas she has survived by recreating a secret organisation that already demonstrated its impotence in changing the world and will definitely cause more trauma for other people down the line. For some reason, the show seems to think this is some kind of victory.

AHS: Cult has a lot of good ideas and interesting characters, which is why the first half of the series is so compelling. Unfortunately, it squanders them one by one, until we’re left with a left with a bunch of petty, simple-minded jerkoffs playing tug-of-war for the nebulous, symbolic prize of cultural dominance. Maybe that’s an accurate portrayal of our echo-chamber-fuelled, divisive, crude political landscape. Tragically, I fear that it is. But it isn’t good TV.

[snezfics-n-shit]

Whumptober Day 29: Allergy

Fandom: Ace Attorney 

Characters: Godot, Simon Blackquill

Notes: Adjusting to life out of prison isn’t easy, but that’s what Simon is here for. If all goes well, Godot might just be interested in taking better care of himself after experiencing a distressingly long period of loneliness. Let’s be real, though, it’s Whumptober, why would anything go well? Also this is hella self-indulgent but that’s why I started doing this whole thing anyway :p 

“Today’s the day.” Godot held the largest of his three painted rocks with one hand. “They’re making me talk to a ‘real person’.” He said as if talking to someone living and breathing wasn’t exactly what he needed right now. The first month after his release, it was like everyone wanted to see him. Soon after, however, people returned to their uninterrupted busy schedules, hardly any of which included even a call. After a few months, the invitations dwindled until they came to a halt. 

The closest thing he had to socialization these days were his three therapy rocks and the cartoon owl spamming his phone after he gave up trying to learn Polish. If anyone asked him, though, he would insist it was adequate. Who needs to leave the house when there are three googly-eyed rocks to talk to? That owl could go soak its head, though. Godot was never that fond of birds anyway.

Godot was certain he could live with being alone so often. There were ways to pass the time without going out with others. He ordered a recorder and followed online tutorials on how to play it until he realized no one would be there to hear him perform besides his neighbors who had been kind enough not to complain. He even tried an exercise routine, but he was always left feeling winded to a point that just wasn’t worth it. For a while, he considered signing up for social media, and maybe he should have, but why would he want to log in everyday just to see people enjoying life without him? After all his methods of killing time grew boring, Godot found himself sleeping simply to get the day over with.

He could sit in solitude all day if it weren’t for that pounding on his apartment door interrupting his perfectly satisfactory quiet. He would say the buzzer existed for a reason, but he didn’t exactly want to answer that either. There was no choice, though. If he didn’t answer the door, he would surely be breaking some kind of fine print that required him to do so.

When he opened the door, Godot was convinced this had to be some sort of joke. In front of him was a man clad in black and white, looking more like a member of some kind of lousy rock band than someone sent by the criminal justice department. 

“Armando-dono, I’m-”

“No one under that name lives at this address.” Godot attempted to close the door in this stranger’s face. ‘Armando’ was bad enough, but whatever this ‘dono’ part was took the cake in making him want nothing to do with this man. 

“Sorry,” the stranger didn’t even struggle keeping the door open with the strength of his arm, “I briefly forgot your files say you want to be called Godot.”

‘Want to be called?’ What was that supposed to mean? Godot wasn’t some middle schooler wanting to be an anime character. This guy looked pretty close to that description, though.

“Go away.”

“I cannot do that.” The stranger let himself inside and slid off his shoes. “You would be in violation of the contract you signed when you were released.” Yup, there was that fine print. “My name is Simon Blackquill and I’ve been assigned as your, ah,” he looked down at a scrap of paper, “wellness companion.”

Wellness companion. What a joke. If he was really concerned about Godot’s wellness, he would leave him alone.

“I don’t want any wellness companions.” Godot tried shoving Blackquill out the door, but the man was too sturdy to even budge; not to mention Godot felt his nose start to run as he was pushing, and the last thing he was about to do was provoke this ‘wellness companion’ to wipe his nose for him. “You can go next door and offer whatever you’re selling there. Maybe recruit them for your cult or something, I don’t care.”

“The residents next door were not recently released from prison.” Blackquill slammed the door behind him, brushing off Godot’s pushing as he invited himself to one of the couches. He scribbled something on a notepad. “How often are you in this room?”

“All the time?” Why was that even a question? It’s called the living room for a reason. This whole ‘wellness companion’ bull was a joke. “Are you gonna ask if I sleep in the bedroom?”

“Actually, your amount of sleep is on the list, yes.” Blackquill flipped through the pages of his notes to pinpoint where that question was. “Can you tell me how much you sleep a night?”

“I’m good at that.” Godot sniffed. “Twelve hours a night, six hours a day. That enough for you to say I’m well enough to not need a ‘companion?’”

“That’s not healthy.” Blackquill frowned, even less convinced that Godot could be left alone even a day longer. He looked around the room, pleasantly surprised at how tidy the apartment was kept. That was a good sign, at least. “You’ve been taking out your rubbish regularly, I see.”

Rubbish? Was this guy British now?

“Well, yeah. I’m not some kind of slob. What do you take me for?” Godot pivoted to the side, nostrils flaring. “Ei’shCHH!” He rarely covered a sneeze adequately, but if this so-called companion was going to imply he had some kind of cleanliness problem, he wasn’t about to prove him right. 

“Bless you.” The ‘wellness companion,’ whatever that even meant, scribbled down some more notes. What was he even writing this time?

“You don’t have to do that. E’esshCHH!”

“Bless you again.”

“You some kind of priest?” Godot pressed his knuckles under his nose. “I knew this was a conversion thing.”

“No.” Blackquill offered a handkerchief from his pocket. “Are you catching cold?”

“It’s called ‘a cold,’ and no.” Godot was about to say his home was already abundant with tissues, only to realize that, no, the apartment was barren in that aspect. He begrudgingly plucked the offered piece of cloth, if only out of desperation. His sinuses only burned as he pressed it against his face. “Ii’ssSSH! I’sSHCHIH! What is this thing made of? Eh’ssHHIH!”

“Cloth?” Blackquill blinked as he watched the spectacle before him. “It’s washed with products specifically made for people with sensitivities.”

Sensitivities. Godot couldn’t think of a word that provoked such an image of weakness as ‘sensitivities.’  This man was making fun of him and he couldn’t even call him out for it because he was too busy sneezing. Godot didn’t have any proof but he would bet big money on Blackquill making this happen on purpose.

“You did something to- E’issSHHH! You did something to this.” Godot tossed the wet handkerchief at Blackquill, smirking when it hit him smack dab in his face. “For some weird, sick kicks.”

“Bloody--” Blackquill grimaced after the handkerchief fell off his face. Why did he offer his services for this again? He wasn’t being paid near enough. “I can assure you nothing like that happened.”

“Bull.” Godot scratched at his neck, already breaking out in hives. “Can you prove that?”

“No, I can’t.”  If Blackquill had his way, he might have just up and left, but he couldn’t bring himself to quit yet. “How about you clean yourself up and we start over? The sooner I finish this assessment, the sooner I can leave.”

“Why can’t you just write down that I’m doing great and you never need to come back? Here, I’ll do it for you.” Godot tried to grab for the notepad, foiled by Blackquill pulling it away. 

“I can’t let you do that.” Blackquill sighed through his nose. “Just go and take a shower. I’ll wait out here.”

There he went again, implying Godot’s cleanliness was- Oh. Godot felt the raised welts on his neck as he scratched at it again. A shower was actually a good idea.

. . .

    Blackquill appeared to have made himself too comfortable by the time Godot left the bathroom. He had already gone through at least five pages of notes and his jacket was dangling off the corner of the couch. It was likely psychosomatic, but just as Godot saw him in the living room again, he felt that burning sensation in the back of his nose he thought he would be rid of by now.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.” Godot made a light grunt as he sat himself on the couch perpendicular to where Blackquill sat. “We already went over how I’m not a slob and I sleep ‘too much.’”

“I’d like to ask about your caffeine consumption.” Blackquill clicked his pen. “Are you cutting back as recommended?”

“I guess.” Godot wasn’t lying, but his reduced coffee intake had more to do with being awake an average of only six hours a day than cooperating with health experts. He cleared his throat, making a noise similar to a growl. “What does that say about me?”

“This isn’t some kind of psychoanalysis, so it just says you’ve been making the recommended changes to your diet. Which reminds me, are you eating regularly? That is, when you’re awake?”

“Usually.”

Blackquill shook his head and scribbled some more notes.

“As for your overall health, would you-”

“E’essSHHH!”

“Bless you. Would you say you feel generally healthy?”

“I was, until whatever is going on right now.” Godot sniffled thickly. If it didn’t likely mean another unwanted visit happening in the future, he figured he could have easily played this up to have the apartment to himself again. “I don’t think I’ve felt this bad since that weeaboo came to prison with his stupid bird.” He muttered. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“The guy thought he was something special because they let him prosecute during his sentence. Probably also thought he was cooler than any other weeaboo because he watched samurai movies instead of anime like a normal person.”

Godot was so caught up in his rant that he didn’t notice Blackquill growing more uncomfortable by the second. He didn’t even see Blackquill’s look of sudden clarity just before starting to remove his coat from the sofa to put it somewhere out of the room.

“Hey!” Godot wiped his nose aggressively. He ran faster than he had in a long time just to stop Blackquill from proceeding any further. “If I have to keep you around, I guess I should take your coat.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Just let me do this!” He tugged the coat off Blackquill’s shoulders, unwittingly shaking off more irritants into the air. “Ei’ssCHIH! E’ssSHH! Eh’ssSHH!”

“That-” Blackquill was interrupted by a set of three more sneezes from Godot, who continued on his way hanging the coat. “Are you done?”

“Probably dot.” Godot settled on a paper towel from the kitchen to clean himself up with. It hurt like hell but he wasn’t about to use that handkerchief again. “But you were saying?” He coughed roughly into the uncomfortable, sandpaper-like material, followed by a long wheeze. 

“Nothing.” Blackquill looked down at his feet. “I think it’s best I go.”

“But you just got here!” As much as Godot would hate to admit it, there was satisfaction in having someone to just listen to him talk, particularly not another rock. “I took your coat and everything.”

“You don’t have to start pretending you want me around.” Blackquill stood upright and went to grab his coat without another word.

“What about your ‘assessment’ thing?”

“Consider it postponed and transferred to someone else.” 

“Someone else? Another complete stranger?” 

“Whoever it is would be a far better fit for you than I.”  

Godot watched Blackquill leave. He felt that damn dirty tugging in his stomach and chest once the door closed. He was surely desperate, wasn’t he? He had to be at potentially literal rock bottom if he already missed answering questions for a stranger he didn’t even like. 

He made a run for the cup where he kept some sharpies. Even though the paper towel he had used earlier was a little damp, there was still enough room to write something on it. Half his brain told him he would regret this, and maybe that was the right half, but he pressed the paper towel against the window Blackquill was sure to pass before leaving the area.

“Coffee sometime?”

[skeptiquewrites]

Beauty

For reader G, who asked how Draco got all of his art in his Muggle flat in Iustitia & Prudentia. It’s fairly standalone so you don’t have to read I&P but I think it is lovely and complementary. 

☆☆☆ The first time Draco took his rubbish to the bin in the back of the building, he had noticed there was a careful pile of things left outside, free to take. He had never seen such a thing in Wiltshire and in any case, it’s not like the family would have stopped on the roadside to look on a carriage ride. Malfoys picked up their second hand crap in expensive stores in Knockturn Alley by appointment as was proper. And yet, here it was. A nightstand that looked to be made out of particle board and a wish, an absolutely filthy mattress, a muggle device he was sure was called a whirler that had metal teeth, several glass jars, a tatty grey lampshade without its lamp, a children’s painting on canvas and a single book. The book looked clean enough, so once he had thrown in his refuse, he wiped his hands on a patch of grass and reached for it. Agatha Christie. He knew that one! They were mysteries and very popular with middle-aged people who came into the store. He liked the idea of having something on his walls, but the painting was sinister. He took the book. In the beginning, Draco listened to Eustace intently. He would ask questions about people’s likes and dislikes, then sometimes whether they liked a particular genre and then would pop out with a book like Ollivander. People didn’t always love the book, but they found it interesting or challenging. Sometimes they would come back to talk to Eustace about it. “Do you do the thing he does?” A customer asked. She was around his age, but he thought he could detect an accent. She had come in on a slow afternoon, after Eustace had gone to pick up his grandchildren from...something. Draco hadn’t been listening then. There was only so much his brain could process. “You mean, recommend books? I can try,” Draco said. “What are you looking for?” “Poetry. But modern, you know,” she said. He was suddenly sure she spoke French, but he was probably too rusty to communicate well. He wasn’t sure he really liked poetry, but some had stuck out to him. “Have you ever read Auden?” Draco asked. She said no and followed him to the poetry section. “Looks like we have one copy.” He handed it to her, and she flicked through. She also accepted the Langston Hughes book.   She came back at the same time of day about a month later with two friends.“I liked your recommendations,” she told him. “What about fiction?” Draco loaded her up with three books and each of her friends with three books after asking a few questions. It wasn’t an exact science, and he was now familiar with books even if he hadn’t had the time to read them all. “It’s getting to be quite busy here,” Eustace remarked. “Maybe you were right about the shelves.” Draco was getting out of the habit of gloating. He didn’t have time for it anyway, and Eustace hired Chike to help on weekdays. “How do you do?” Draco said, shaking her hand. “Posh cult you were in?” Chike said. She laughed a little at his expression. Eustace didn’t really ask for details. Chike was one of those people who just was endlessly curious. Draco had to work daily to remember what he actually couldn’t say around her, which was more than he was used to. “You’re an artist,” Draco said abruptly one slow afternoon. Chike would sketch things all the time on napkins, the back of receipts, and on the signs for the store. A little cartoon girl waved from the children’s section. “Yeah, kind of,” Chike said. “Not kind of. You are an artist,” Draco said insistently. The evidence was all around them. Why was she being stubborn about it? Draco couldn’t do much beyond a botanical sketch and nothing he’d ever drawn looked as alive as the abstract patterns she’d drawn on the back of her own forearm in sharpie. “Tell that to my mum.” She snorted. “Can I pay you for something?” Draco said. “My place has nothing on the walls.” Chike gave him a long, considering look. “Absolutely the fuck not. But we can go to Spitalfields on Saturday.” True to her word, Chike showed up in front of his flat at ten am sharp. “You don’t even own a hoodie, do you?” Chike said by way of greeting. They made their way south into Central London. It was even busier than the places he had been in his neighbourhood and Draco found his attention darting all over the place. The Market wasn’t much better but by then, Draco had learned to focus more. “I like this,” Chike said, looking at a sculpture of a woman lying down and weeping that could have fit in her palm. It was so exquisitely detailed. Draco checked the price and frowned. He couldn’t buy it for her. He wasn’t yet used to that feeling. He hoped it wasn’t all like that. “What else do you like?” Draco asked. Chike pointed things out. It turned out she liked everything from abstract paintings to mixed media modern sculptures (“That is not fucking art,” Draco whispered furiously. “It makes me angry to look at.”  “Good! That reaction means it’s art!” said Chike.) They left with three prints for Draco’s walls. Draco took her to his local, because it was the only place he ever ate out. “The Prince has arrived!” One bartender shouted as he came through the door. Draco blushed. “Will you fuck off?” He said, in his crispest accent. They smiled, and he smiled back. When they finished their meals, Draco carefully counted out at least double the cost of the bill. “Are you serious?” Chike said. “You know that’s twice what it cost.” Draco got up and left the pub and she followed. “When I was a child, my father never tipped at restaurants. He said that if people — ” Draco cleared his throat. “If people wanted more money, they should make better choices.” “Ah,” Chike said. “Fucking Tories.” “Tories,” Draco agreed. Draco decided to try to use the National Art Pass that had come in his welcome package. It took a month to get up the courage to brave transit again, but he made his way down to the Tate and he walked around. It wasn’t any different from Wizarding Museums except most things didn’t move but he...liked it. He took his time, spending the entire day wandering in and out of exhibitions. Draco even thought a few things might be Wizarding. Draco bought five postcards to show Gabriel. Gabe had smiled and cast an engorgement charm with his wand until they were big enough to put up on the walls. “I was just checking if the magic monitoring still worked,” Gabe said. But he left them gallery-sized. Draco put them up alongside the prints he had bought with Chike. He even moved his favourite to his bedroom. Draco still went to other museums in search of more art, but now he was conscious of the fact his walls weren’t bare. He looked at graffiti murals and small galleries and even tried one drawing class at the community centre. It was at a small community exhibition Draco found himself staring at a photograph of a man cradling a ball of bright white light in his arms. The artist had probably made it with some muggle trickery. It reminded him of...well, he wasn’t sure, but he stared at it. “The queer art exhibit is quite something, isn’t it?” A museum worker said. Their pin said Holly (they/them!) with a little rainbow beside it. “The artists are from all over the world. Make sure you pop into the room on the end.” Draco did. Someone had created a whole garden there, lush and green indoors. Instead of carved hippogriffs and nymphs like the Manor, the sculptures were all lovers. He stopped in front of two men entangled in a passionate embrace. Draco almost couldn’t believe it was marble, he could see the indents of the first lovers grip on the second’s hip. He was so overwhelmed with emotion he almost turned around and walked straight out of the building but he forced himself to take in every expression, every statue. He had learned he couldn’t buy things like that. Muggle museums evidently did not work like the ones in the Wizarding World where anything could be bought for a high enough price. And his Galleons to pounds conversion skills were strong enough that he knew he was of significantly reduced means. But Draco wanted, wanted so badly to have some piece of them. He went to the gift shop and bought two big coffee tables from artists in the exhibit, even though it would wipe out his takeaway coffee fund for a month and he definitely would not be getting any ready-made meals either. His flat started to feel like a home, though.

[pratchettpatricianpages]

“Young William here says you’re a ruthless despot who doesn’t like printing. But I say you’re a fair-minded man who won’t stand in the way of an honest dwarf making a bit of a living, am I right?”

Once again, Lord Vetinari’s smile remained in place.

“Mr. de Worde, a moment, please…”

The Patrician put his arm companionably around his shoulders and walked William gently away from the watching dwarfs.

“I only said that some people call you-” William began.

“Now, sir,” said the Patrician, waving this away, “I think I might just be persuaded, against all experience, that we have here a little endeavor that might just be pursued without filling my streets with inconvenient occult rubbish. It is hard to imagine such a thing in Ankh-Morpork, but I could just about accept it as a possibility. And it so happens that I feel the question of ‘printing’ is one that might, with care, be reopened.”

“You do?”

“Yes. So I am minded to allow your friends to proceed with their folly.”

“Er, they’re not exactly-” William began.

“Of course, I should add that, in the event of there being any problems of a tentacular nature, you would be held personally responsible.”

“Me? But I-”

“Ah. You feel that I am being unfair? Ruthlessly despotic, perhaps?”

“Well, I, er-”

“Apart from anything else, the dwarfs are a very hardworking and valuable ethnic grouping in the city,” said the Patrician. “On the whole, I wish to avoid any low-level difficulties at this time, what with the unsettled situation in Uberwald and the whole Muntab question.”

“Where’s Muntab?” said William.

“Exactly. How is Lord de Worde, by the way? You should write to him more often, you know.”

William said nothing.

“I always think it is a very sad thing when families fall out,” said Lord Vetinari. “There is far too much mutton-headed ill feeling in the world.” He gave William a companionable pat. “I’m sure you will see to it that the printing enterprise stays firmly in the realms of the cult, the canny, and the scrutable. Do I make myself clear?”

“But I don’t have any control ov-”

“Hmm?”

“Yes, Lord Vetinari,” said William.

“Good. Good!” The Patrician straightened up, turned, and beamed at the dwarfs.

-The Truth, Terry Pratchett

[arbeaone]

OPEN Magazine The Serial Kidders Issue Published on October 09, 2014

[ View larger version here ] Text from the article can be read below. (There may be some errors.)

SERIAL KIDDERS

NOEL FIELDING

By Zoe Yvonne Delaney

Noel Fielding the man Phil Jupitus magnificently described as 'a Gothic George Best', is 41 years old! Forty freaking one. This is like when I learned that Gwen Stefani was actually my mum's age, all over again. It’s not that he's especially baby faced; it’s just that he looks like he'd be more at home smoking outside Bold St Coffee with graduates, rather than down the local pub, playing darts (I have no idea what men in their forties actually do; I'm just lazily stereotyping). Either way, he's looking good for his age - he could probably still blag a student ticket on an Arriva bus.

Perhaps ‘The Fountain of Youth' from Fielding's most notable work The Mighty Boosh, actually does exist? In the hit TV show, Fielding played the ultimate confuser ("Is it a man? Is it a woman? I'm not sure if I mind!"), Vince Noir. Alongside his highly wound sidekick Howard Moon (Julian Barratt), The Boosh amassed a cult like following and took viewers on a surreal journey through time and space with their unique brand of comedy. Androgynous Vince; with his childlike outlook on life, narcissism and impressive hair hubris ("A basic back-comb structure, slightly root-boosted framing with a cheeky fringe") quickly became one of the most popular characters in British comedy. The multi-award winning comedy troupe went on to produce three BBC series; two live UK tours and see Fielding and Barratt dubbed the funniest double-act in Britain' by NME.

Since we last saw him in Zooniverse and Nabootique, Noel has been busy going solo. There has been two series of the inescapably whimsical Luxury Comedy, an inspired stint as a team captain on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, the infamous appearances on Big Fat Quiz and now he's about to embark on a nationwide tour - his first in five years. An Evening with Noel Fielding promises to be a magical mix of his eccentric brand of stand-up comedy, live animation and music. There will even be some special guests too as he's taking his brother, Mike Fielding (Naboo) and Luxury’s Tom Meetan along with him on the 34 date stint. It certainly sounds like it’s going to be value for money. I caught up with Noel to discuss the upcoming Liverpool date but to be honest, we mainly ended up chatting about beards, Cliff Richard and Russell Brand's move into politics.

OPEN: So, your live show is called An Evening with Noel Fielding - it sounds more like an ITV special with the likes of Michael Buble rather than a comedy show?

NOEL: Haha, that is the angle I'm going for, there are going to be a lot of Frank Sinatra covers [...] When I booked it, I didn't really know what kind of show it was going to be - I hadn't written it. I was thinking it may be an amalgam of things; I knew I wanted to do some stand-up, I have some characters and have people with me - quite a mixture. But yeah, I was aware of what I did with the title. I did do it slightly tongue in cheek because it’s really not the sort of show I would ever do and it really made me laugh - it’s the sort of thing Barry Humphries would do.

They'll definitely be a mention to Michael Buble now you've said that though. The thing is with 'An Evening With...’ is that it sounds like you're 70 and ITV are giving you a pat on the back for being amazing but Buble has got to be incorporated into it too, now.

A lot of the Operation Yewtree suspects loved a good old fashioned 'An Evening With...' but I reckon were safe with Buble. We hope.

Yeah well this doesn't go to print for a few weeks so you never know....

What’s happening with Cliff at the moment, is he alright? I hope to God he didn't do anything. If Cliff goes then the whole fabric of society will disintegrate.

The whole of the 70's are going to be in prison, that's what’s happening. Oh it’s horrible.

It's looking that way. Now your last solo show was scheduled in 2010 but, according to the fountain of knowledge that is Wikipedia, it got postponed due to you working on The Boosh movie. Where the hell is that film?

We didn't really know what to do. Oh God, I don't know what we were doing. We were supposed to be going to America to do a show... then we decided no to that. Then we started writing a film but we didn't know which one to write so we wrote half of a film, it was a musical like Rocky Horror, and then a different half of another film. They didn't go together, obviously, which wasn't useful to anyone. We ended up doing neither of those things and I started working on an animated thing while Julian worked on something else - it was a bit of a shambles at that point. Also, that last big Boosh tour, it was like 100 dates - I was wasn't really in shape to tour.

But I'm back! Has it really been that long? 2010? I like doing that keeps people on their toes. It looks like its took me four years to pluck up the courage to come back on tour but I've done three series of the Buzzcocks, two of Luxury and I've done little bits of stand-up, but not a tour. I have been busy.

I’m not judging. Are you looking forward to this long awaited tour then?  

Yeah, it’s going to be nice to see some faces. Comedy is best with an audience otherwise it all feels a bit weird; making it in secret and putting it on telly. You don't really know how its gone; you get ratings and a few reviews but its not the same as going out into a room full of people.

When I was texting all my friends showing off that I was interviewing you, I noticed that the iPhone decides to autocorrect your name to Noël. What do you think about Apple giving you a Christmassy edge - too hipster?

I was born on Christmas Day, just like Jesus. Haha, no I wasn't...

I knew, I have read your Wikipedia after all. Speaking of hipsters - the man who created Vince Noir must be a tiny bit hipster?

You know what, no - I'm not like that. I’ve got loads of friends from Shoreditch who've got massive beards, short hair, tattoos - that seems to be the new hipster look doesn't it? When I went to Brooklyn, the Williamsburg crew all had massive beards - it’s quite funny, it’s like sitting in a convention of lumberjacks. Everyone looks like their dad, it’s all quite weird.

I can't really grow a great beard. And also, I’ve never wanted a massive beard. Do I really want something that covers up my face? That seems like a waste!! Haha, no, I'm joking.

Too late, that's going to be the headline of the interview.

The truth is I'm just not very good at growing a beard. It all goes a bit rubbish. Russell can grow a good one, Russell Brand.

Ahhh, speaking of Russell, he tweeted you the other day - are you guys really going to reunite as the Goth Detectives for The Big Fat Quiz of the Year?

Yeah we might be...(intriguing voice)

Really?

Maybbbbbeeeeee

I want an exclusive, come on.

Ahhh ok. I don't know if I'm allowed to say.

I'm taking this as a yes, Noel.

Ah, are you? We might be, we might not... hahaha. I haven't got black hair anymore - I can’t do it!

You can! Come on, hair dye is like a fiver from Boots.

Alright then. Five quid from Boots, yeah? I'll speak to Russell and see what he says. He’ll find the Big Fat Quiz too flippant now he's a politician.

He has gone political of late, hasn't he? Are you planning to join him on the revolution?

Well, the thing is, I'd like to... no, basically. Hahaha. I've heard that he's currently writing a political manifesto.

Really?

I know! Its insane isn't it? He's gone serious. And I think Eddie Izzard is running for Mayor at some point - all the comedians are going for it. I better get involved somehow. I don't really know how; it’s not my vibe, that. Maybe I could remake The Monster Raving Looney Party?

You could form The Goth Detectives Party with Russell?

The Goth Detective Party! Everyone has to wear black! We can spray all the Boris Bikes black, it will be amazing. I'm up for that lets do it!

When you discuss this with Russell I want full credit.

Haha, okay. I’ll wear a badge saying "It was Zoe's idea" and if it all goes wrong we’ll definitely, definitely say it was your idea.

Yeah but if it goes right then I'm laughing, I've started a political revolution.

If it goes really wrong then we’ll all have to grow beards.

Deal. I'll probably grow a better one than you by the sounds of things.

Haha. Basically we’ll grow massive beards and stand in Shoreditch then all my mates will get arrested instead of us. My mate Baccy has such a good beard, its huge. I was like, "how long did that take?" and he claims two months. I was like, "get lost it would take me about ten years to grow that". What do you think about them, you like them?

Not for me. I'm not sure why girls are pretending we really fancy men with them - grow a personality, not a beard. My dad had a beard growing up, so I sort of have a fondness for them, though.

My dad in the 90's had a beard, sleeve tattoos and smoked rolls up - he'd be so on trend now.

He was the pioneer of the look.

Either that or just a bit lazy. Now we've gone a bit off topic with talk of beards and politics - any plans for the return of The Boosh?

Maybe. The thing is, never say never. It’s difficult because when you get involved in something you have to see it through and it takes a while. I don't know when we’ll both be free but we still do fantasise about writing the film.

Well you should get cracking, Wikipedia has blown your cover with that one-you've got people excited!

I know! We need a year where we can sit down and write. People have such a fondness of The Mighty Boosh and it lives on in their memories so we don’t want to come back and do something not as good.

True. A lot of the great series bow out after two or three series.

Ah yeah, that's true. If we came back and do something not very good then we’ll have undone all the good work that's been done. It’s tricky. You never know what to do.

You can give me a ring once you've wrote it and I'll let you know...

Yeah we'll try that I'll send it to you and you let me know.

That would be great. I promise I won't leak it - I won't even save it to iCloud or anything!

I'll send it to you in a beard!

I best start befriending those who enjoy the lumberjack look, then.

[inappropriatefangirlneeds]

Gotham s5ep3 “Penguin, Our Hero” Personal Review

 “His methods will be our salvation.”    Warning spoilers below   

“Mr. Penn´s head” So MR. PENN shielded Oswald from the state of things? “I simply couldn't stand seeing you upset while you were recovering.” Which really makes me wonder, either he did it before too, just not wanting to deal with Penguins outbursts which would partly explain Oswald´s distorted view of what´s going on but with the way he was pressing on the issues of food, starvation, failing bullets in 5x01 that seems highly unlikely, which either means the outbursts got to a critical point where it was unbearable or he actually cared about Oswald´s well being? Which kind of fits that he apologized to Oswald after being shot but that means that it must have been terrible difficult for him to work for Oswald, Sofia and Carmine at the same time also why? How did Oswald win him over? I wannt to know everything, and as far as I´m concerned he is still there.  Also Penn still directing the (former Gertrud Kapelput Memorial Choir) choir might suggest he had a leading role in getting the people to Haven? I´d really like to have seen him in a position of reason that gets people out of a precarious situation but the episode made it look like he only did it because now it was specifically his head on the line. (Unless, that was something that Oswald said every 27 minutes, which .. is also likely) OSWALD COBBLEPOT okay so looks like Oswald wasn´t at all meant to be cruel, merely delusional? It seems Oswald really cared about Penn, thinking it would have been good for him to stay with him. He really believed his people were in a better situation than the slaves of other gangs.  He genuinely doesn´t seem to get why people would prefer Haven instead of his territory.  //  “I'm sorry, Mr. Cobblepot.” “You fool! This never would have happened if you stayed with me. Why did you leave?” “Everyone hated you.”  // “They probably go back to being slaves, I guess. My people, on the other hand, will go back to their regular lives, with their bellies full of gruel and their heads full of wonderful thoughts about their grand protector, me.”  //  “I kept people safe. I protected them from chaos. They should have loved me. Instead, they came here, to this pigsty, to be covered in fleas and filth. Why? What makes this place so special?” Oswald does´t think he´s a dictator or authoritarian he thinks he is living the “Great man theory” I´m glad that history moved past this and recognized that there is so much more to reality than a “great man” after another. Sadly that notion is one that´s hard to kill. You still have people thinking they benefit from a “strong” leader ruling with a firm hand. A strong man that´s guiding the nation is the only way to be protected and thrive. Someone that does act, someone that does do something! Not that It really matters much what that something is, as long as it isn´t weak. That way you get people praising Putin instead of being worried about the devaluation of democracy, that way you get orange fools that scream for a great wall instead of caring about facts, that way you get people saying Duterte doing good for his nation while soaking it´s soil with blood.  At leas the show didn´t portray his underlings buying into this, they just showed Oswald believing it. Which is still .. ?? Oswald was living the “Strong man politics” (okay with the cult of personality tuned up on the higher setting) and I´m kind of glad they showed how there´s nothing behind it but I can´t believe that Oswald wouldn´t know that, that people need more than someone to praise and the general assurance that yes they are a strong nation, be proud and quit complaining!  I like that Oswald not understanding why his approach didn´t work could maybe be meant to be a faint warning for people who call for men that lead like that? Okay I´m reading too much into this but can´t you see Trump being like why U no love me when I want the wall to protect you, when I kept your bellies full with the best fast food  .. ?  Just that it´s not a good fit for the Character previous Oswald was perceptive, seeing what people need and want and love. It wasn´t just about what he needs “the love of the people”, even when it was about his selfish gains he still had a strong grip on understanding the needs of others (and better than a bland abstract “they want safety and protection”) and used them.  Like I could get that he´s just done, paranoid and afraid and just not able to deal with the issues, brushing the needs of others aside, everyone can get to a point where it´s too much, but this way it just looks like he really did care and believed he was doing good .. which  means he was just being stupid.  On the other hand when Oswald went into politics he had to be convinced that people want him there and genuinely like him. Granted there was plenty of reason for Oswald to not quite believe this. Now we have him not believing that people hate him. Which is a nice circle but the second half doesn´t make any sense.   “Hope can only go so far.” And sometimes it runs circles. They really had JIM GORDON give another unreasonable promise to a CHILD but now he had BRUCE WAYNE sitting on his side, not only going along with it but with asking Jim to talk to the boy kind of being the reason for that to happen. I´m sure there´s more to say about this .. * “That's a good point. We didn't really think this through.” Street Demonz guys really got a talent to get to the heart of things with stating the obvious. “Well, whoever did just started one hell of a war.” (Tank 5x02) * Same with the “But, uh, they have guns.” comment “So do I and mine is most certainly loaded.” And I really thought, uh Oswald do you really want to point a gun on all the people round you? But wow he got a point with that. * I know it was short lived but for a moment I was like awwwww not both Oswald and Edward have their own personal STREET DEMON(Z) * What I liked is that they still have OSWALD COBBLEPOT be damn good at reframing and changing narratives. He´s out of people and needs others? Ah, nope wrong they are actually lucky to help him, let me tell you why “You're in luck, my friend. .as our interests are now aligned, I have decided that you may live.” * “You return our people and Edward”  I´m kind of ehh with the dog thing but that distinction made me giggle. *  “Rumors say pup went willingly.” Oh Olga  “I'm not yours to lose. You can't stop me from going after Jeremiah. But I am asking you for help.”   I saw that SELINA KYLE line somewhere online and thought oh no but turns out she teamed up with BRUCE WAYNE and it was actually nice. For a while. Sure that Selina getting murderous business is going to be a problem but I´m gonna ignore it as long as possible. Also yes! Jeremiah shot her because of Bruce .. rubbish .. I live for Selina rejecting the whole premise of that. I´m not overly fond of revenge but I like that they made it hers and not about Bruce in any way. (well, for now. Selina wasn´t too keen on Bridgit Firefly Pike roasting that kidnapper ring alive I guess that kind of reservation is over now) I feared that the line might be in the context of them going different paths but that it was followed by them agreeing to work together just made it more impactful. There is a possible relationship there but it´s not on these icky anyone belongs to anyone terms! I also liked that Selina didn´t just go out into the chaos but investigated. “These people come from all over Gotham, Bruce. Someone has to know something.” For all her reclusive attitude she obviously networked back in the early seasons, so she got to have a talent to talk/connect to people, I´d like to have seen more of this in that episode.

* “You didn't have to hurt him like that.” “He was trying to kill me, Bruce, just like Jeremiah tried to kill me. So as far as I'm concerned he got off easy.”  Bruce subscribed to the JIM GORDONs way of things Selina to HARVEY BULLOCKs [“Three months ago, I would’ve lost my badge for that.” ..  “You want rules for this game? I’ll tell you. I’ll make it simple, okay? You win or you die. Next time, shoot to kill.”  5x01]  * Selina´s fight choreography against the Mutant Leader was awesome! A catoreography! * Selina sweeping a curtsey and playing along with the The Church of Jeremiah Valeska theatrics was equally awesome.  * Oddly I didn´t like ECCO/HARLEY, her eyebrow is cool but for once I thought he acting was not stellar .. but that´s probably just me? The Ping didn´t impress me .. * One of the church boys is wearing a skirt, least their dresscode is better * Whoever blew up Haven: Fuck You! * CRACK THEORY:  It might be Jeremiah acting through the Mutants. The Mutant leader said “Kill you. Kill Jeremiah.” but elaborated  “Old Town North, okay? We don't mess with him.” so a contradictory statement. I guess the first was just posing, trying to keep the threatful appearance and the second statement the truth. They might still work for him, refusing it might count as messing with him?  Oddly they guy talking to Selina about the rumours said that: “If you go to the Dark Zone, Jeremiah is the least of your worries. Everyone there is insane. Look at what they did to my friend.” which would suggest Jeremiah is less of a threat but that might just be perspective, Jeremiah might cultivate his church/cult image, laying low on the chaos and mayhem front for a while, while still having others creating it for him in that area.  What I want to say I don´t think the Mutants have a motive for the destruction of Haven but I need them to be connected to it because I found it odd that they chased a person with an explosive device and watched that guy blow up in the same episode. They, if Selina is right are also responsible for the carved up person in Haven “Now we know who carved "kill" into that guy's chest.” So I´m naturally suspicious. What if the “kill” carvings were just meant to conceal the cuts where someone put explosives into that person? People bombs! (With Pyg we already had a grenade in a belly) Problem1: This needed more people like that. Which someone might have noticed, also why would they have been spread out in the buildings, I guess the medic area was just in one place. Problem2: I think Jeremiah has a motive, he put Gotham into this state and Haven is trying to remedy this aka. undoing/undermining his work, to it would naturally be a target but why would he not just do it himself? Problem3: The “Edward” and Street Demonz thing got Oswald to got there, it would be odd if an explosion right after that issue would be an unconnected coincidence * BARBARA KEAN remembers Season 1 and undermines the (repeated) Jim the Hero narrative, although there would be better arguments even talking to Harvey Bullock. “He, the idealistic rookie. You, the cynical veteran.” “You were sane.” “Now you carry his laundry. Do you ever wonder what your life might've been like if you'd never met Jim Gordon? I'd be dead, or wishing I was.” “You're delusional, Harvey. Just like all the sad saps who think the government is just gonna sail in and save them.” “Maybe.”

[aikainkauna]

Movie meeeehm

Thanks to @nitrateglow for these!

1: A movie you enjoyed as a kid that you don't now

-Probs some comedy I'd find awfully sexist/racist/homophobic etc. now. But of course, I can't recall a specific one, probs because the experience is so deeply squicky and traumatic. Oh, wait, I know. I adored The Great Mouse Detective as a kid, but have heard so many "bleh" comments about it later that I don't want to ruin it by rewatching it as an adult. Why take a happy, cherished, pure and joyous memory away, especially as there are so few of those in my life anyway in proportion to the bad memories?

2: A movie you disliked as a kid that you like/love now

-Not a movie, but I was literally too fucking terrified to watch Doctor Who as a kid on cable, because the Tom Baker repeats they were showing terrified me with the title sequence alone. That empty stare and howling, diddly-duming music were enough to give me nightmares. So I only got into Who in my late teens!

3: Your favorite movie as a kid

-Define "kid." I went through several. I loved the Disney Robin Hood, of course, and at puberty, Wayne's World (yes) and The Princess Bride were my own cult movies, before I had anyone to fangirl them with. Ah, the pre-Internet era.

4: An actor/actress it took you time to warm up to

I remember being weirdly terrified and disturbed by Jeremy Brett as a kid, but then I felt the same about Bowie, and... well. Clearly it was my baby self not knowing WTF to do with all this stirring, restless energy that later turned out to be my skinnyandrogynousbisexualguy orientation thingy. And while I'd first seen Caligari and Casablanca as a teen in the early 90s, I wasn't ready for Connie until he pounced me in 2012. I would not have "got" him the same way and as hard until I was a grown-up, with a wide variety of experiences from many areas of life and a boatload of books/learning behind me. Just... no way.

5: A director it took you time to warm up to

-If anything, I've cooled off various directors I was impressed by when younger. So much of the auteur stuff gets wanky and self-imposing, in this Arrogant Artist Guy "look at my GENIUS big VISION and also insecurity about my penis size" kind of way. I like directors who can be warm and have fun and who show some real humanity (not wanky anvilly/kitchen sink-y sort of "humanity" either). Maybe Branagh? I found him a bit annoying as a kid, but now fap all over his stuff because now I'm old enough to Get It. He is the best kind of fanboy director; his geekiness is catching. Listening to his Thor commentary was a real eye-opener into my realising just how massive a nerd he is, and in a good, "one of us" kind of way.

6: Top five favorite soundtracks of your favorite movie composer

-There isn't just one! But Clint Mansell and Debbie Wiseman turn to gold everything they touch. Debbie especially is hugely unknown still, but she has this most amazing, swellingly Romantic music full of sweeping emotion that I just can't rec her enough. Do check her out; she'll give you goosebumps.

7: Three movies that defined your teen/childhood years

-I think I mentioned those already! But as a teenager, Bram Stoker's Dracula, La Reine Margot and Heavenly Creatures were formative. There were others I obsessed about way more than those, but they weren't as influential--it's more like they were massaging buttons I already had.

8: Sci-fi or westerns?

-Blake's 7! AKA "The Dirty Dozen in Space."

9: Are there any movies you own more than one copy of?

-Ahhahaha. AAAHHAHAHAHA! Of The Thief of Bagdad, I own: The Criterion clusterfuck with the awful clumsy cover someone had their 5-year-old draw, the Nordic DVD, the German Blu-Ray because I live on the edge (what with those Veidt Eye Closeups in HD being a hazard to any uterus) and at least three different digital copies. Because I'm me. I also own two digital copies and one DVD of Casablanca, three digital and one DVD of A Woman's Face and don't get me started on the British telefantasy I have on both DVD and VHS. I have spare copies of both the Caligari Masters of Cinema release and the ITV DVD of The Spy In Black, so I guess I should throw them at somebody.

10: Physical media or streaming?

-Neither. Video files firmly saved onto and run from my hard drive. Fuck streaming with its choppiness (ruins the viewing experience for me) and physical media are usually beyond my budget (unless I save up for a Connie DVD). Besides, I rip my favourite movie discs onto my HD anyway. I want to be able to gif that shit, dammit!

11: Are there any movies you watch on special occasions every year (Christmas, Halloween, birthdays, your mother's aunt's wedding anniversary, etc.)

-Used to do Nightmare Before Christmas on Halloween, but not any more. I still attempt ToB every Christmas. And I used to do All Through The Night with wine on my birthday, but as I can't tolerate alcohol anymore, the experience of Watching ATTN Drunk is no more. Someone start a Halloween tradition with me where we watch either The Student of Prague or Eerie Tales (or both) every year?

12: What movie do you most associate with your best friend(s)?

-Gosh, so few have stayed, so it's more like "movie that reminds you of a broken friendship," yay...?! I've learned to try and not associate movies with people that way any more, because it's more painful than it's worth. Connie is my best friend. He's like Krishna that way.

13: Name a movie adaptation you thought was better than or equal to its source material.

-LOTR put in more facial features and characterisation than Tolkien ever did, and did the tales far less fucking tediously. Imagine if you'd had to sit and watch hobbits walking through the countryside for 6 hours with barely anything happening?! Yeah...

14: What genres do your favorite movies tend to be?

-Historical, fantasy, Gothic Romantic, just Romantic stuff on the whole. More old than new movies these days. Why watch shitty modern chick flicks when I have far better characterisation and far less narrowly defined female lives in old-timey "women's pictures?" And guys who actually fucking shaved, dressed in clothes that were tailored for them instead of rented and saggy, whose bodily expressions weren't frozen for fear of "fagginess," and who weren't pumped full of 'roids.

15: Are you a fan of period dramas and if so, what era do you enjoy best?

-Yes. I love me some costume dramas, but I am seriously picky about them--most post-90s ones have been fucking awful and tend to feature shitty costumes and unkempt hair that would've sent real historical people to Bedlam, wobblycam from hell, vomit-inducingly excessive modernisation to be "edgy", and that one painfully skeletal bint they shove into every period drama ever these days, so it's... slim pickings for a history nerd, these days. There aren't many good ones set in the 17th century/Baroque era, which I love the most: the two Baroque dramas I wholeheartedly love are both series. (The Devil's Whore and By The Sword Divided.) The Angeliques and Musketeer adaptations are riddled with flaws, but there are some glowing bits within. As for The Golden Age of Islam... bloody hell, there really aren't that many good ones out there, are there?! ToB and Jodhaa Akbar and Disney's Aladdin, obviously. La Reine Margot isn't "my" period but it's great, as is Dangerous Liaisons (also not my period)--those are so fucking perfect. And the Connie period dramas, well... I think of them as primarily "silent movies" or "old movies," actually. Of those, The Student of Prague, ToB and The Wandering Jew are the best "costume" ones, IMHO. (I'd probs enjoy Lucrezia Borgia and Carlos and Elisabeth way more, were the copies we have not so smudgy.)

16: Name a movie you love that you would recommend to just about everyone.

-Ah, but we know there are always cynical cunts out there who'd give even Casablanca two stars, so what's the point? I'd still recommend it, though. And The Lion King, I guess.

17: Name a movie you love that you consider an acquired taste.

-Honestly, I'm thinking of telly rather than movies again. You will pry my cherished copy of The Time Monster from my cold, dead hands. Does The Devil of Winterborne count as a movie or TV? That's how far back my love for Mark Gatiss goes. Um... Don't Be A Menace To South Central While Drinking Your Juice In The Hood makes me fucking cry with laughter (the comedic timing is what does it. *beat* "Ain't dat some shit!"). Of Connie's oeuvre, yes, I know Bella Donna is rubbish, but Connie and Mary are SIZZLING and horny and juicy and it's Valid as a BDSM porn movie. And the novel is actually good.

18: Name a film you like directed by/starring a filmmaker/actor you normally don't care for.

-Not so much actor/director, but I did *not* expect to love Thor as much as I did, because I expected a dumb popcorn movie but got great adventure cinema with a touch of Shakespeare instead. I really am not the right audience for regular Marvel features at all, before or after. Fuck Marvel up its dumb macho Republican ass. But Thor is fucking beautiful and operatic and poetic and majestic and Pagan and shit. Branagh knows what I like.

19: Name a movie that blew your mind.

-A Woman's Face (1941). Because. Holy. Fuck. How can I keep on finding yet more details in it six years after first watching it, having watched it countless times by now?! And obvs all the other stuff, like the shockingly good female POV, amazing and complex woman protagonist, amazing writing, amazing ensemble cast, amazing direction, amazing lighting, amazing evil Torsten Slinkypussy Barring and The. Goddamn. Attic. Scene.

20: What genre mash-up would you most love to see that either hasn't been done yet or hasn't been done enough?

-Feminist-savvy historical romance with fantasy elements and hot explicit sex that's not shit. Basically, like the stuff you see in my fics, but better paced and woven into coherent adventure movies.

21: The coolest movie you've ever seen

-Too, too many. But Bogie was the coolest. And Claude Rains had the best acting skills. And Conrad Veidt was Conrad motherfucking Veidt. So what with those three mountains of coolness all converging under the Moroccan sky, I'm sure it's safe to say "Casablanca."

[sunken-standard]

For The Halloween sentence thingy: “Costumes and candy are for babies. You and me? We’re going to raise the dead.” :D sherlolly of course.

(I had a couple false starts with this one, but here’s… something.)

“Costumes and candy are for babies. You and me? We’re going to raise the dead.”

*

Need your help for a thing.  Lab,23:30, don’t be late.

Sherlock glanced at the text one moretime as he walked towards the morgue.  Molly wasn’t usually thiscryptic, typically writing a dissertation spanning four texts ofnegations and apologies and explanations if she ever had to ask afavour.  He wasn’t worried.  Much.

He stopped dead once inside the morgue;the overhead lights were out and the room was lit by what had to be ahundred candles ringing a sheet-covered body on the slab.  His gutclenched until he noticed Molly in the corner, making notes in a filelike it was any other post-mortem.

She turned and smiled.  "Ah, good,right on time, let’s get started.“

“What’s this about?  Is this somekind of— Halloween—” he wiggled his fingers “—thing?”he asked, remembering the date.  She quiteliked Halloween or, at least, always seemed a bit cheerier rightaround that time, much like some people perked up around Christmas.

“‘Halloween thing’ makes it soundso amateur.  Fancy dress and sweets are for babies.  You and me? We’re going to raise the dead.”

You and I, hecorrected on reflex, then absorbed what she’d said.  "Raise thedead.“

“Yes.”

“Have you been inhaling some fumesyou shouldn’t have been?  Maybe ate too much and fell asleep in frontof the telly while a horror film was playing?”

She looked to be taking a moment tosteel herself before saying, “There’s something you don’t knowabout me.  It’s, ah, probably just easier to show you rather thantell you.”

He waited, wondering what he may havemissed.  She picked up an old leather-bound book from next to thefile she’d been working on and flipped through it before recitingsomething in what sounded like Scots; he felt the oddest sort oftingling in his limbs and a bit disoriented as his field of visionoriented itself a foot higher than it normally was.  He looked downand yes, his feet had left the floor.

He ran through all possiblescenarios—accidentally drugged, actually asleep, head injury,sudden neurological event causing hallucinations, some kind of freaklocalized gravitational anomaly, actually levitating as a result ofwhat Molly was reading from the book.  Considering he couldn’t proveor disprove any of his other hypotheses, he chose to temporarily workwith ‘magic is real and Molly Hooper is some kind of witch.’

“So why do you need my help?  Andif you could see fit to put my feet back on the floor?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said,flicking her finger and letting him drop to the floor.  Good thing hehad excellent reflexes, she didn’t let him down gently.  "Bloodof a virgin,“ she added brightly.

"I’m sorry?”

“If I were only trying to contactthe other side, I could just use any old blood, but to reanimate someone, I need the bloodof a virgin.  You’re the only virgin I know and I didn’t have time totroll university mixers for spotty gamers in fedoras.  I’mon a bit of schedule here, so if you could just—?”

“Wh—uh—I’m not a virgin. Can’t you just use Rosie’s blood?”

“The spell doesn’t call for bloodof an infant, who knows what I’d get?  It’s like chemistry, you don’tjust substitute sulfuric acid for hydrochloric willy-nilly.  And youdon’t have to be embarrassed about it, some people are just latebloomers.”

“I’m not a late bloomer and I’mnot a virgin.  I’ve done things.”  Not that he needed toelaborate or defend himself, but he had plenty of sexual experience. He went to public school and he’d had a girlfriend once (even if itwas fake; and sure, maybe they hadn’t had penetrative sex, butgenitals still featured rather heavily in their encounters) and,well, sexting didn’t count per se, but he’d done that, too.  Plentyof sexual experience.  

“This book was written in 1631. The things you’ve done—which I don’t need to know the detailsof—were not the things they had in mind.”

He scowled at her.  Did she read minds,too?  "How do you know?“ he accused. 

"Call it women’s intuition.  And Idosed your coffee when you were here earlier.  If you weren’t avirgin, it would have made you violently ill.  Or killed you, butthat hardly ever happens.”

“You tried to poison me?”

“You’ve poisoned John like sixtimes.”

“Yeah, but it’s me.  Andyou,” he sputtered, “you don't— poison people.”

“Sherlock, focus.  I need fiftymillilitres of blood, give or take, and I can get it out of you theeasy way or the hard way because this needs to happen at midnight andI’m not waiting another year.  So if you please?”

He tried to stare her down, his eyesnarrowed, but she just gave him her very bland, polite, somewhatvacant ‘I’m waiting’ face.  He huffed a sigh and gave in, rolled uphis sleeve. “So how long have you been…?”  

He had no idea how he was supposed tofinish that sentence.

“Born into it.  Last of my line,actually—it’s matrilineal—which is a pity, but, well, you knowabout my luck with men,” she said conversationally as sheprepped his arm for the blood draw.  

“How—how did I miss somethinglike this?  Me?” he ask himself aloud.  He still wasn’truling out some form of altered state on his part, but for now, theimprobable was looking like the truth.

“It’s not something we can reallybe open about, for obvious reasons, Y'know, with the burnings and thedrownings.  And the stonings.  And the pressings, and the hangings,and the beheadings.”    

“But Wicca is mostly accepted andconsidered a 'legitimate religion'—as far as that goes—thesedays.”

“Pfft, Wicca.  'Oh, I can summonthe wind!’  The only wind they can summon is from the lentils theyhad for supper the night before.  This is real magic, not thecartoon Order of Thelema toff 'magick’ with a 'k’ or the sociopathicsex cult that popped up in the States sixty years ago.  Which is whywe’re not supposed to tell men about any of it and especially not letthem see the book—”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, glancing upfrom where he’d idly been flipping through the pages; surely she’dnoticed and she hadn’t stopped him.

“—because they read one littlesection and think they understand the answer to life, the universe,and everything, and then they go off spouting gibberish and making itall about them.  Crowley did it, LaVey did it, tons of others too,going all the way back.”

“But you’re telling me.”

Molly looked away for a second,colouring faintly.  "Because I trust you to keep my secrets,just like you trust me to keep yours,“ she said softly,sincerely.  Then she shifted back to her usual sunny self.  "AndI’m probably the only person in all of England who can murder you andget away with it.”

He steadfastlyignored the tingle that thought gave him.

“So how does this work?  Raisingthe dead,” he asked, changing the subject before he saidsomething stupid like I could help you with that 'last of yourline’ problem.

“I combine some reagents, anointthe body, say some words, and hey presto, 'it’s alive!’”  Sheended with a dramatic pantomime a la Frankenstein.

Which would make him Igor, he supposed. Wonderful.

“But the physiology, the sciencebehind it, how—”

“No idea.  They don’t usually stayundead long enough to run tests, and it’s not like I canshuffle a reanimated corpse up to Imaging for a CAT scan.”

“So you’ve done this before.”

“A few times…” she hedged.

“Ah,” he said.  Hewatched as she set the second vial aside and withdrew the needle; hepressed the cotton wool over the puncture while she fiddled with apiece of tape.  It was obvious she didn’t do this very often.  "Whatfor?“

"Hm?”

“Whydo you do it?”

“Practice,mostly.  Only get to do it once a year, when the veil is thinnest. And I’ve been testing the limits of the spell against state ofdecomp.  I raised a skeleton last year, but it fell apart after fiveminutes.  Without any soft tissues, it couldn’t really do much ofanything, though, so there isn’t much practical application for that. Remind me later, I’ll send you the video,” she said, pouringthe blood into a latte mug, then adding some kind of (obviouslypre-measured) powder from an envelope.

Abit like instant soup,he thought giddily.  "You take video?“

"Isend it out to the rest of the coven.  Kind of a humblebrag, but youcan only see 'hashtag: love potion success!’ so many times before itgets old.”

“Soyou’re rubbish at potions,” he said flatly.

“They’remostly useless, with modern medicine,” she defended.  He mighthave touched a nerve.  "Sleeping draught?  Sedatives.  Cure fordropsy?  Diuretics and diagnostic testing.  Rickets, scurvy, allkinds of pox—all gone, thanks to medicine.  And love potions arejust… cheating.  What’s the point of someone loving you if it isn’treal?  And it’s a bit dodgy besides with, y'know, consent issues.“

Hetipped his head, agreeing; she probably hadn’t tried one on him,then, and he found himself a bit disappointed at that.  Best to stuffthat down the laundry chute in his Mind Palace with the rest of hisfeelings.

"Justgoing to pop off to microwave this,” Molly said, holding up themug.  "Don’t touch anything until I get back.“

"Youuse a microwave?”

“Can’texactly build a fire in the middle of the floor and hang a cauldronover it, can I?  It only needs to boil, doesn’t matter how it getsthere,” she said before disappearing through the doors.

Becausehe was an adult and he could follow directions, he didn’t touchanything.  Except the book—grimoire, he supposed—which was justtoo much to resist.  Upon closer inspection, he decided that no, thebinding wasn’t cow or sheep or any other ruminant; it was more likepigskin.

Longpig, his brainsupplied.  Human. He was delighted.  Inside was a jumble of pages in different handsand different languages, some runes, some Old and Middle English,some he didn’t recognize at all; aside from the content, a book likethis was a museum piece.  He wondered if she used magic to keep itfrom degrading, then laughed at himself for even having a thoughtlike that.  Utterly ridiculous.

Mollyreturned with the steaming mug, two mismatched oven mitts on herhands.

“Ifyou could just pull back the sheet for me?  And then hold open thebook on page, um…  I don’t know, the one right after the full pageillustration of the orgy with Satan.”

“Isthat a thing you actually do?  I suppose that explains why you sleptwith Moriarty.”  

“Islept with Jim because he was nice and he had a cock like a baby’sarm holding an app—” she cleared her throat.  "He wasnice.  And the woodcut is contemporary political satire.  The Devilis actually James the First.  Huh, James, Jim… whatever.  Hold thebook open please.“

Foronce, he shut up and did as he was told.

*

"Arethey always that chatty?” he asked, hovering as Molly closed thedrawer on the doubly-deceased Mrs. Moon.

“Notusually, no,” Molly said.  "Thank God her tongue finallyfell out.  I think she had a grudge against every single person andautonomous body in all of England.“

"Howmany cats did you say they found with her?”

“Seventeen,I think?  But four were mummified.”

“Mm. Pity I hadn’t known you could do this years ago.  Probably couldhave saved myself a bit of time dismantling Moriarty’s network if Icould’ve just asked him who they were.”

“Well, ah, actually, I did. Wasn’t really able to get much out of him, though, with the braindamage.  He just kept repeating strings of numbers and letters.  I,um, took them to your brother—don’t worry, I lied about where I gotthem—and, long story short, they were offshore account numbers,mostly in the Caymans.  Redid my kitchen and went on holidaywith the finder’s fee.”

“I suppose that explains whyMycroft stopped complaining about my expense account.  I knew it wastoo good to be true to think he’d finally come around to seeingthings my way.”  Then, a thought struck him.  "So what elsecan you do?“

"Lame a horse, blight yourneighbour’s field, inflict pin-vomiting and hallucinations, um…snakes for hair, impotence, warts, turning people into rats, frogs,bats… all the traditional stuff.”

“Will you show me sometime?”

She smiled at him, bright and genuine. “This is going to be fun,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he said,grinning back.  

[je-suis-clarisse]

REFLECTIONS If you stand atop the Bell-tower of Notre Dame Cathedral, you can see most of the city. Paris has been built, after all, around this wonder. Have you ever thought about it? Think of the time that it was being constructed. The 13th and 14th centuries. Such a creation made when things were so...basic. Simple. And yet, it's been made to last. Isn't it stunning how things last when there is care and thought put into it? Such as these windows...these big, stunning windows. You've never seen true beauty until you've seen the sun glimmering through the varying hues. I am a romantic though; an admirer of art. Those who work so hard to create things to last. From those who sweep the floors, to those who lay upon scaffolding for hours upon hours...it is a process. No task is insignificant. I've always loved Notre Dame, with its Gothic Architecture. It frustrates me, however, that this revolution has essentially dechristianised the country. Whether you believe or not; it seems horrifying to me that the culte de la raison is the way of things. They mean to make us an atheistic nation and I suspect that will turn many against these 'leaders' of the revolution. They say Catholicism is one of the many causes for this damned affair, and they mean of this new fangled rubbish--for that is what it is--to be accepted by all. Its tenets including Liberty, Nature, and the victory of the Revolution. Allow me to stop laughing before I cry. They defile this grand place; fools have plundered some of the treasures kept within. There were more than twenty statues beheaded on the west façade--biblical Kings, no less. But uneducated idiots mistook them for statues of the long line of our kings. Still though. There is much beauty here...which is why I am sitting atop this tower. It's peaceful here; I blocked the sounds of the city below out. I do so loathe that the thoughts of others pry into my head. It's a dangerous thing; for I do not even know if there are other vampires in this new government--even thoughts can be dangerous. A breeze goes by and for a moment, I am back to the 21st of January, when the death of His Majesty, Louis XVI, took place. Later this year they mean to kill Her Majesty. I have privately donated funds to assist in her escape, if possible. If not hers, then at least for Madame Royale, Marie Therese. Still...it seems like yesterday when they marched that hapless and harmless man out from his prison cell and brought him to his death in the place de la révolution. The crowds were like wolves...baying for his death, thinking that his death would bring about the change they wanted. I see no change. Just corrupt men losing their grip on things. As I am seen as Robespierre's mistress, most assume ours is a sexual relationship, but it is not. His dedication is to the revolution and his ideals. (I also think his taste runs to young foppish men.) I see first hand his frustration at how things are going. I see he is losing his grip. I simply do my part, however. I funnel information out, I pay the bail of as many as I can, I am living a double life, essentially. I could snuff him out with a mere bite. But for every action, there is a consequence. How many would I damn should I satiate my hunger? Madame Guillotine stands proudly, likely dripping with some poor bastard's blood upon her famed blade. I closed my eyes and I could hear the sound of it dropping and severing the head from the body. It's a metallic sound with a loud 'thump' at the end. Another thump follows--the sound of the head landing in the basket. Then, of course, the head is lifted up for all to see. People of all backgrounds rush forward, dipping handkerchiefs in the blood. Some sell them, some keep them as some sick reminder. It's hard to say why they all do what they do. But for me, it's a stab in my heart. It's not what I expect from humans. They call me and those like me monsters. But they bay for blood and beg for the deaths of others; others who simply were born into a higher class than themselves. Some of those rich souls had done their best to assist the poor. Others had flaunted their wealth. Others were figures who were cruel and some might say that their fate was deserved. Standing up, I know no one notices me. Me in my peculiar ensemble, that blends me in with those who march for the restoration of order. Blades at the ready, fangs extended. Pistols at my hips as well as my sword; I am ready for all that may befall me. Even death, should she finally take me. I am a Monarchist, but I am a Revolutionary. I ache for peace, but I am amongst the rabble who fights and kills. I am a conundrum. And yet, I play the roles on the theatre stage that I have been cast in, I play the role of a spy, I am an assassin of sorts, I am the 'lover' of the most controversial figure in all of France. And yet, I am myself. Trying to figure out my place in this mad world. And figuring out what this mad world is going to become. I miss my home. I miss the easier days of my youth. I ache for days where the Guillotine was simply a thought or a memory; not the tool for death, or a fashion statement. Ah, yes--earbobs made in the shape of Guillotines. Very chic. And red ribbons about the throat to mock those who have lost their heads. And let us not forget the bals des victimes held at Hôtel Thellusson. Actually, death is a fashion statement now. Let us not forget the women who wear their hair in a style called, "coiffure à la victime." This is simply hair worn up to expose the neck--or they've cropped their hair. It's crass regardless. And as night fully approaches, it is time for me to take my leave. Raising my hood up and covering my face with a neckerchief, I begin to run along the roof, this beautiful 12th-century creation, hopping from there to flying buttress to buttress. My gloved hands acting as a protector to the delicacy of the cathedral. I would not harm it; this is something that should go down through the ages. I am always in awe of the great copper bells, their massive size and yet, what beautiful sounds they create. The parapets for stone are a great way for me to move about without being noticed. And then I reach where I want to go. It's a high tower...but all one has to do is have faith. FAITH. Something that is lacking here as of late. Well, nothing will dimiinish mine.  France will rise again. Reason shall prevail and that monstrosity of a machine shall vanish into the footnotes of history. And so I JUMP.

[optimisticprincepainter]

Singer Sona Mohapatra who has been one of the popular Odia singers of the present generation in the country, of late, has been in news, albeit for wrong reasons. This time the singer has drawn criticism for pronouncing a couple of words wrong from the epical Odia bhajan ‘Ahe Nila Saila’ by renowned Odia poet Salabega.After a tweeple pointed to the pronunciation errors in the song the singer had posted, there was a long thread of conversations on the social media platform. However, the singer rubbished it to be any kind of controversy. In a message to OTV, she clarified that, “There is no controversy actually. A conversation maybe and one that helps us all grow and evolve as artists, humans and as a society. Let’s not make everything into a controversy.”According to reports, the singer drew sharp reaction on various social media platforms on her latest rendition of the popular Odia bhajan.According to the video posted by the singer, she is heard pronouncing Salabega as Salebega, Charana as Charane and Matta as Maatra instead of Matta in her rendition.Earlier, the singer who experiments with various Odia songs and also includes those in her packed-audience performances, had landed in soup over remix of cult Sambalpuri song ‘Rangabati’.  The Odisha Tv : 18th. June,18

AGAIN SINGER SONA MOHAPATRA’s ‘AHE NILA SAILA’ DREW CRITICISM : Singer Sona Mohapatra who has been one of the popular Odia singers of the present generation in the country, of late, has been in news, albeit for wrong reasons.