furbee

[letterboxd-loggd]

Death of an Angel (1952) Charles Saunders

October 26th 2024

[mariocki]

Twisted Nerve (1968)

"Martin's dead. He's been bad. N- not Georgie. Bad, bad Martin. And now... I lay me down to sleep, pray the Lord my soul to keep... if I die before I wake... if I die before I... wake..."

[essentialmoviegifs]

The Black Windmill (1974, dir. Don Siegel)

[abs0luteb4stard]

W A T C H I N G

[ozu-teapot]

Little Red Monkey | Ken Hughes | 1955

Leonard Franks, Arnold Marlé, John Horsley, Richard Conte, Russell Napier, Jane Welsh

[missanthropicprinciple]

When I was doing research for my MA thesis in 2020, I discovered that there was a production of The Time Machine in 1949 starring Russell Napier. As is was broadcast live and not recorded it is now lost. This spring (2022), new images related to this lost BBC production surfaced. The above is one of several photos from a copy of J.B. Priestley’s Man and Time, originally published in 1964. The model maker was Barry Learoyd, and the photographer, Ken Coton. When asked, Coton said he “took the pictures for Priestley’s Man And Time when I was a caption writer at Aldus Books in Fitzroy Square in London. I had started taking pictures around the offices and eventually the art boys asked me to help out with pictures they wanted.” Although he has “no knowledge of the model, where it came from, or where it is. I just took it home, photographed it and took it back!” he added, “the hand in the picture is my Dad’s!”

[whatamigonnawatchtoday]

Cat People

1942. Supernatural Horror

By Jacques Tourneur

Starring: Simone Simon, Kent Smith, Tom Conway, Jane Randolph, Jack Holt, Alan Napier, Elizabeth Dunne, Elizabeth Russell, Alec Craig, Dot Farley, Theresa Harris, Mary Halsey

Country: United States

Language: English

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

The Uninvited

Lewis Allen’s surprisingly intelligent ghost film THE UNINVITED (1944, TCM) is haunted by Victor Young’s score and Gail Russell’s tragic presence. Allen claimed he manufactured her performance in the editing room (his statement that he couldn’t get more than six lines at a time out of her are belied by what’s on screen), but whoever’s responsible, she manages the seemingly impossible task of being both ethereal and impressively natural in a way that shows up some of the film’s more experienced actors. When leading man Ray Milland kisses her, it seems a desecration. Milland and sister Ruth Hussey (he should be so lucky) buy an abandoned house on the Cornwall coast and discover that it’s haunted. The haunting is handled subtly — their dog runs off, the cat refuses to go upstairs, flowers wilt in the former owner’s studio. Russell, whose late parents owned the home, is obsessed with it, but her visits often end with her close to death. The mystery involves a hidden affair and a coded lesbian (Cornelia Otis Skinner) who had worked there as a nurse and now runs an asylum. The script, by Charles Brackett and others, is highly literate, and it’s a joy to hear what Hussey does with the lines. Cinematographer Charles Lang, Jr. does a great job generating mood with the help of Young’s score and the sets by Hans Dreier and Ernest Fegte. Russell is a key part of that mood, and she contributes greatly to the film’s success. She was tremendously insecure making this, her third film, which contributes to the character’s effectiveness (it also ruined her life when a make-up man suggested a few drinks might relax her; she died of liver failure at 36). She’s so good her wildly inconsistent accent doesn’t matter (but then, Hussey and Milland hardly sound as if they’d grown up together). Only Hussey and Alan Napier, as a sympathetic doctor, come up to her level. This was also Skinner’s third film, and she goes a bit over the top. As coded lesbians go, she’s no Judith Anderson. Milland isn’t terrible. He has the proficiency to pull off the comic scenes, and his dramatic moments don’t require the heavy lifting Russell’s do. But he looks lumpen next to her, and he seems to be performing by the numbers. All that is swept away by the sight of Russell gazing radiantly at him as he plays the piece he’s written for her, “Stella by Starlight.”

Much as I love this film, I have to acknowledge it’s very much a product of the 1940s. The only strong, independent woman in the film, Skinner’s Miss Halloway, is treated as an aberration and has to be punished. Hussey seems to be devoting her life to caring for her brother. When she finds a life of her own, Russell, now cured of whatever was haunting her, is ready to move in and take her place. After being dominated by her grandfather (Donald Crisp), who was controlling her to protect her (sound familiar?), she’s ready to be dominated by another man who sees her primarily as a porcelain doll who needs to be hidden away from reality.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part One

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, mentions of parental death, mentions of infidelity. Word count: ~4.5k

Chapter summary: Her relationship strains under the pressure of long distance, though she has her classmate, Michael, to help distract from the worst of it. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is sweaty and exasperated as she drags her suitcase over the cobbles of Holywell Street. One of the already precariously wonky wheels had finally given up the ghost and broken off as she’d dragged it up the stairs of Oxford train station, making the fifteen minute walk to her accommodation more tiring than it needed to be.

But she was here, finally. Oxford University.

Her dad had sold the car to make sure she had money to live on until her student loan and maintenance grant had been paid to her. He didn’t want her taking a part time job to make ends meet, she’d worked hard to earn her place here, her focus should be on her studies. Coming from a low income family meant she had qualified for the maximum amount for both maintenance loan and grant, but her first set of application forms had been misplaced by Student Finance, so she’d had to send in a second set, meaning there would be a delay with her first payment.

An unfortunate consequence of her dad not having a car is that she’d had to get the train to London Victoria, a tube to Paddington, then another train to Oxford. But it is not the fact that she is seemingly the only student whose parents aren’t obstructing the pavements with their cars in order to drop them off that makes her feel like an outcast, there is something deeper, more sinister feeling.

She sees it as she struggles to get her bag across the lawn of the Halls, people grouped in little clusters, as though they’ve been friends forever. They dress in Juicy Couture velour tracksuit bottoms and brand name Ugg Boots, while she wears her mum’s old Dr. Martens and a tartan skirt she’d bought in a charity shop for one pound fifty. She doesn’t fit in. She feels she may as well wear the word “poor” across her forehead like a scarlet letter.

Having checked in at the Porters’ Lodge and been given directions to the accommodation, it’s lonely as she unpacks her things, her room feeling empty and quiet. The only sounds are muffled talking and laughter coming through the closed window from outside. She feels lonelier still when she pulls out the framed photo of her and Rich. They’re both smiling, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leans her head against his. It had felt like their relationship would last forever when that picture was taken. That seemed like much less of a possibility over the last couple of weeks.

She had met Rich at the beginning of sixth form. Having attended Chatham Grammar School for Girls, she had decided to stay on there to do her A levels. The mathematics department was decent, and she had heard Russell Group universities were more likely to consider applications that came from grammar schools. Rich had transferred over from Robert Napier School. Where she was shy, quiet and reserved, he was lively, outgoing and sociable. His zest for life had shone a bright light on an existence that was, for her, otherwise dull and grey.

They were an unlikely pairing. She was logical, analytical and studied maths and physics. Rich was creative, free spirited and guided by emotion. He studied art and music. They had been together for two years and she had thought he was the one. But then it came time for UCAS applications, and where she had applied to Oxford, Cambridge and York, Rich had applied to Leeds, Brighton and Glasgow. It seemed that no matter where they were accepted, they were destined to be apart.

When she had received an unconditional offer from Oxford she had been elated, however, the crushing devastation upon hearing Rich had been accepted into The Glasgow School of Art with a conditional offer had quickly dulled her excitement.

She had never felt like an outsider or a loner when she was with Rich. Basking in his sunny disposition had felt effortless, she never felt alone. He was going to take all of that away, and she was unsure of how to cope with it.

“We’ll make it work long distance, don’t worry,” he’d told her, and she’d believed him.

But then he had actually gone to Glasgow. Fresher’s week in Glasgow started a week earlier than it did in Oxford, so Rich had moved away first. It didn’t take long for the texts and phone calls to dry up into nothing. She had heard from him once in the last few days.

She sighs as she slides up the screen of her beaten up Nokia. Still nothing. She had text to let him know she was leaving for Oxford today and he couldn’t even be bothered to reply. She knows it’s his first week at university and he’s likely busy and having fun, but how was long distance going to work if they never actually spoke to each other?

Despite the loftiness of the dining hall, it feels stuffy as she moves through it later that evening, taking a seat at a long table crowded with other students. She had hoped that the Fresher’s welcome dinner would be an opportunity to make friends, but everyone seems to be deep in conversation already. The chatter hums loudly like white noise, until it comes to a sudden stop.

“FUCKIN’ ASK ME A SUM THEN!”

She turns, mouth agape, to look at the pair of boys sitting a few places up from her. One is darked haired and seems nervous and uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly in his seat. The other is blonde, an angry, intense expression on his face, shadows cast across it from the lamplight on the table, as he stares in wide eyed anticipation. It was him who had shouted, clearly.

“Four hundred and twenty three times seventy eight,” the dark haired boy asks quietly.

Instantly his friend replies, without missing a beat, “thirty two thousand, nine hundred and ninety four.”

Involuntarily her eyes widen in surprise. She sits there and does the calculation in her head, though much more slowly than he had. 

Carry the two, eight times two is sixteen, plus two is eighteen, carry the one…he’s right. How is it possible that he came to that answer so quickly?

When her gaze lifts he is looking at her, observing her doing the working out in her head. He holds her stare, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth. He knows she knows he is right, and it’s clear he feels smug about it.

Quickly looking away, she reaches for her water glass, wanting something, anything, to distract her. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her feel uneasy.

God, I hope I don’t have any classes with him.

She holds her timetable for the week in her hands as she moves her way through the corridors towards the lecture hall the following morning. The first week looks to be fairly light touch, with an introductory lecture for each of the courses; algebra, analysis, probability and statistics, geometry, dynamics and multivariable calculus. Today is the introduction to analysis, and she is excited to study under the tutelage of Professor Helen Byrne. Her research focuses on the development and analysis of mathematical and computational models that describe biomedical systems, with particular application to the growth and treatment of solid tumours, wound healing and tissue engineering. Professor Byrne is someone she has admired within the field for as long as she can remember, and she is very much looking forward to her tutorials with her.

Her excitement fades when she enters the lecture hall and immediately sees the angry guy from the previous evening.

Just my luck.

The only available seat is next to him, so she sits down, dropping her bag to the floor by her feet.

A hand extends out towards her in her peripheral vision, taking her by surprise and she turns in her seat towards it, shrinking back slightly. 

He seems utterly unperturbed by her reaction, keeping his arm extended. “I’m Michael Gavey.”

She blinks, regaining her composure as she leans forward, shaking his hand and introducing herself in return. His palm is clammy against her own, and she can still feel it there even after having let go and wiped her hand on her jeans.

“I saw you last night,” he says matter of factly, pulling his arm back and resting his elbow on the desk in front of him.

“Oh, yeah,” she says with a tight smile, nodding, “so you and your mate…is that like a party trick or something?”

“No, no party trick,” he says with a demure smile. “I’m a genius.”

She forces herself to laugh politely, assuming he’s making a joke, but she stops, her brow furrowing slightly when she sees he doesn’t share in the humour. He’s being serious.

Opening her mouth to ask a follow up question, she’s interrupted as Professor Byrne sweeps into the room. Her and Michael both face forward in their seats as she introduces herself to the class.

Over the next hour they are given an introduction to the course and what to expect in their first year, including an overview of the papers they will need to write and examinations that will be sat. She pays rapt attention, scribbling furious notes, until the lecture begins to wrap up.

“As it’s the first week, I will go easy on assignment setting,” Professor Byrne tells them all, “but there will be an assignment nonetheless.”

A loud, collective groan echoes around the lecture hall. Her and Michael are the only two not to join in.

“Now, now, settle down,” she chastises, “it’ll be fun. I’m sure you’re all aware of the Fibonacci Sequence, a series of numbers where each number is the sum of the two preceding numbers. Mathematically we can describe this as–”

She turns and scrawls xn= xn-1 + xn-2 on the chalkboard, before facing the students again.

“--I’d like you all to find an example of the Fibonacci Sequence in real life and present it back to the class during next week’s lecture. You’re to work in pairs, so buddy up, and see you all next week.”

Professor Byrne places the chalk back on the desk before striding back out of the lecture hall. The room is instantly a buzz with chatter, as people move between seats to find a partner.

She stays rooted in place, suddenly wishing Rich was here. It’s in moments like these that he flourishes, allowing her to take a backseat as he effortlessly navigates them through social interactions. Instead, she is alone and the space around her feels bigger and scarier with every moment that passes.

It’s only when she turns her head that she notices Michael has yet to move too. Gathering all the courage she can muster, she clears her throat and speaks to him.

“So…er…did you wanna partner up for this thing then?”

“I don’t like to work with others,” he says matter of factly, keeping his gaze fixed ahead.

“I’m not exactly thrilled about it either,” she says with a sigh, “but for this assignment we have to.”

“You’ve picked me because I’m a genius. You’ll expect me to do all the work while you get pissed with your mates.”

He fixes her with an accusatory stare, and she feels the heat of anger prickle her skin.

“Haven’t got any mates,” she mutters darkly.

He observes her for a few moments, elbow propped on the desk, jaw resting against his fist, and she fidgets self consciously in her seat. No wonder the other boy from last night had looked so uncomfortable. It feels like he’s studying her.

“Let’s go to the library,” he says simply, standing and picking up his bag.

“So, you’re a genius?” She asks, opening her notebook once they’re seated opposite each other at a table in the library, nervously tapping her pencil against the page.

“Hmm,” Michael nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, “I don’t even like maths, really. I can just…do it. Anything. In my head.”

She’s struck by how blunt he is, sucking in a breath as she considers what to say next. There is something so disarming about him, she gets the sense he’s analysing her every word and action.

“Right,” she begins, “so, er, for this assignment I was thinking about how Leonardo Fibonacci used rabbits to prove his theory. One hundred and forty four pairs of rabbits can be produced from a single pair of rabbits in a year, based on the sequence.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Michael replies with a sigh.

“What?” She asks irritably, annoyed by his dismissal.

“What are you expecting us to do, go to a pet shop and buy rabbits? We’ve only got a week to do the assignment, we need to be more practical.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was using that as an example, not saying we do that exactly! Come on then, genius, what’s your suggestion?”

“Spirals,” he says with a slight shrug. He leans across, placing the tips of his fingers on her notebook and sliding it towards himself, before picking up her pencil. “There is a special relationship between the Fibonacci numbers and the Golden Ratio, a ration that describes when a line is divided into two parts and the longer part - A - divided by the smaller part - B - is equal to the sum of A + B divided by A, which both equal one point six one eight. This is represented by the Greek letter,” he stops to scribble a φ on the pad. “The ratio of any two successive Fibonacci Numbers approximates the Golden Ratio value.” He stops again, scrawling 1.6180339887 on the page. The bigger the pair of Fibonacci numbers, the closer the approximation. From there, we can calculate what's called the golden spiral, or a logarithmic spiral whose growth factor equals the golden ratio.”

She is stunned into a silence for a moment, a combination of his audacity to simply take her belongings, and awe at the rapidity with which his mind works. Collecting herself, she blinks a few times, looking up into his eyes.

They’re so blue.

“So…er…how do you propose we present this data back to the class?”

“A simple table is sufficient, look–”

His hand moves rapidly over the page, a complete table there on the paper when he drops the pencil into the gutter of the notebook and sits back in his chair.

“We present that,” he tells her, his eyes fixed on the page. “Using the values of the sequence as the edge length of squares arranged in the table, a spiral is generated.”

She leans over, sliding the notebook back to her side of the table, marvelling silently at his work. He is fascinating to watch. He’s right, he can just do maths.

“It’s good,” she says, eye flitting up to meet his, “solid. But it’s fucking boring.”

This time it’s his turn to be annoyed. “What?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Everyone is going to present something like this, because it’s easy,” she explains, “Don’t you want to stand out to Professor Byrne? We should do something outside of the box.”

“Hmm. Go on then, what are you thinking?” He rests his cheek against his fist, leaning against the table as he stares at her.

She feels herself grow warm under his scrutiny.

Does he always have to be so bloody intense?

“There are loads of examples of Fibonacci numbers appearing in nature. We could look for some? Flowers, perhaps.”

“I’ve got hayfever,” Michael states simply.

She sighs.

Of course you do.

“Then we’ll get you some Piriton! Come on, there are studies that show seed heads, pinecones, fruits and vegetables all displaying spiral patterns that when counted express Fibonacci numbers. This fits perfectly with the brief of the assignment and will leave a lasting impression.”

He moves his hand away from his face, resting his arm flat on the table and quietly drumming his fingers against it for a few moments. “Alright then,” he finally concedes.

“Great,” she grins excitedly, tearing out a page from her notebook and writing on it hurriedly. “Here’s my number, so we can meet up to work on it, and also my Hotmail address, in case MSN works better for you.”

He huffs through his nose as he takes the paper from her, a soft laugh escaping him. “The countess at hotmail dot co dot uk,” he reads with amusement, “very droll.”

“Shut up,” she grins back, “I made that in secondary school. Thought it was funny.”

Back in her room that evening, she’s excited to see she has a text from Rich, finally.

Hope ur enjoying it. Having so much fun here!

She sighs, throwing her phone down on the bed side table. No kisses, not even an “I love you”. 

Watching out of the window, she sees the giggling groups of students making their way out into town, readying themselves to spend the night drinking, making friends and having fun. Just like Rich is doing, not giving her a second thought, while she stays cooped up in her room without a friend in the world.

Suspicion nags at her, so she turns on her laptop, loading up MySpace. Rich takes number one place on her top eight friends, and she clicks on his profile. It looks much the same as it always does, but she decides to snoop further, clicking into his friends list. She can see he has recently friended a girl named Sophie.

Sophie is pretty, bright pink streaks in her hair, and a nose ring. Exactly Rich’s type. Her most recently uploaded photos are of groups of people, clearly all taken during Fresher’s week. A pit forms in her stomach as she sees that in almost all of them Sophie and Rich have their arms around each other. Worse still, Rich occupies space eight in Sophie’s top friends.

She closes the browser, blinking back tears. Surely, she is just being paranoid. They’re just friends. Friends have photos together, and it was normal that he would make new ones when he went away to uni.

Opening MSN Messenger, she hovers over Rich’s username. Unsurprisingly, he’s offline, he always is these days. She smiles when an add request from mgavey628318@hotmail.co.uk pops up. Of course he’d have Tau, the mathematical constant, in his Hotmail address. She clicks accept and he immediately appears in her online contacts. Looks like he isn’t out tonight either.

Double clicking his username, she chuckles to herself upon seeing his display picture is of Pythagoras. Such a dweeb.

“Want to work on our assignment tomorrow?” She types to him.

Barely a few seconds pass before she sees him typing back. “Yes. When?”

“We could meet at the Water Meadow at lunch time?”

“See you then.”

Straight to the point, no idle chit chat. She shakes her head and closes the messenger window, though finds herself strangely excited by the thought of seeing him tomorrow. She reasons that it’s because Michael is the closest thing she has had to a friend since arriving at Oxford.

She visits the nearby Tesco Express the following day, buying a meal deal for each of them and a packet of hayfever tablets for Michael. She has no idea of what Michael even likes, so plays it safe by buying a bottle of Oasis, a Crunchie bar and a ham and cheese sandwich for them both.

At precisely noon, Michael stands at the entrance to the Water Meadow waiting for her. She smiles as she looks at his t-shirt; maroon with a diagram of a circle on a gradient with a downwards acceleration of 9.81 meters per second, with the slogan “that’s how I roll”. A mechanics pun.

“Like your shirt,” she says as she approaches him.

He grins. “Thought you might, considering your email address.”

She averts her gaze. There is something about the fact that he’d thought of her when he’d chosen what to wear today that makes her tummy flutter.

Stop it. You’ve got Rich. Michael’s weird!

“I got you some hayfever tablets,” she tells him as they start to walk along the pathway that’s flanked by green space on either side. “Do you wanna have lunch first and then start looking for flowers?”

They settle, cross legged on the grass, Michael already having taken one of the tablets, chased with half a bottle of Oasis, and she spreads out the food between them.

She watches in fascination as his eyes widen at the sight of the Crunchie bars, snatching one up and tearing off the wrapper. Her mouth falls open slightly as she sees him hold it sideways, biting into it from the side, before devouring each of the pieces it inevitably breaks into.

“You like Crunchie bars then?” She asks, a little grossed out, but curious nonetheless.

He swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mother didn’t allow me to have sweets growing up, bad for your teeth, she said.”

She nods, a feeling over pity replacing the disgust that had roiled her stomach just seconds ago.

“So, is it your mum that pushed you into studying maths?” She asks, fiddling with the lid of her drink bottle.

“Sort of,” he says. “Mother never married, but she wanted a child. She used a sperm donor - a physicist, apparently - and was artificially inseminated to have me. She was thrilled when I showed a natural aptitude for maths, and has always encouraged me. It’s why I do it, why I accepted the scholarship, to make her proud. She’s been through so much to have me, it’s the least I owe her.”

Her face falls, a feeling of sadness overwhelming her, making her heart ache for Michael. There is something so tragic about the fact that he has lived his entire life adhering to the expectations of the person who had created him for their own selfish want of a child.

“What about you then?” He asks. “The bank of mummy and daddy paying for you to be here?”

She shakes her head. “I earned my place, just like you did, with straight As, though I don’t have a scholarship. Have had to take out loans to cover the cost. It’s just me and dad since mum passed away.”

“Oh,” Michael says, blinking rapidly, obviously surprised. “Apologies, I’d assumed a pretty girl like you would be the same as the rest of the vapid cunts studying here, if you can call it studying.”

She hums in acknowledgement, considering his words, turning her own Crunchie bar around in her fingers, focusing on the way the foil wrapper slides against her skin. His compliment makes her heart beat more rapidly, even if it is backhanded. “Like I said yesterday, I’ve got no mates. It was always Rich that was better at that sort of thing.”

“Rich?” Michael asks curiously, cocking his head.

“My boyfriend. He’s at uni in Glasgow.”

“Three hundred and sixty two point nine miles,” Michael states simply.

“Pardon?”

“That’s the distance between Oxford and Glasgow,” he explains, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “How are you planning to make a relationship work with that sort of distance?”

“We’re doing long distance,” she argues, feeling herself growing defensive, scowling at him.

“Yeah, I bet that’s gonna work out great,” he scoffs, eyes widening, clearly mocking her.

“The Glasgow School of Art was the best choice for Rich to study what he wants to,” she retorts.

A grin spreads across his face. “Art?! I suppose you should be grateful he’s hundreds of miles away then, he sounds like a moron.”

She huffs, hurriedly shoving her things back into her bag. “Let’s just look for these fucking flowers and get this over with.”

The pair work for the rest of the afternoon in silence, the atmosphere is tense and angry, but they are productive nevertheless, settling on a patch of sunflowers to use for the assignment.

They look at the spirals of seeds in the center of the sunflowers and observe patterns curving left and right. Counting these spirals, their total is a Fibonacci number. They then divide the spirals into those pointed left and right to get two consecutive Fibonacci numbers.

Cutting down a couple of sunflower heads to use as examples, Michael also makes a diagram in his notes for them to present with their findings.

She feels satisfied by the time they part ways, but an uneasy feeling has settled over her that has dread gnawing into her gut as she thinks about Michael’s criticism of her and Rich’s long distance relationship.

Unsurprised to see she has no missed calls or texts from him when she goes back to her room, she opens up her laptop and logs back onto MySpace. This time when she looks at Rich’s profile her blood runs cold as she sees that Sophie now occupies space number three in his top friends. He’d had time to log on and change the position of a girl he’d met a couple of weeks ago, but couldn’t be bothered to send her a single message?

Before she can stop herself, she’s pulling out her phone and calling his number. She doesn’t care if this wastes all of her credit, she needs answers.

It rings for ages, and she anticipates being sent to voicemail, until he eventually answers, sounding breathless and distracted.

“H-hello?”

“Rich, it’s me,” she says quietly.

There’s a pause before he answers. “Oh…how’s my little nerd? Everything okay?”

She ignores the familiarity, keeping her tone neutral. “I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

Not giving him an opportunity to respond, she pushes on. “Has something happened between you and this Sophie girl I’ve seen you on Myspace with?”

Another pause, except this time she hears him inhale a deep breath. “I was going to tell you when we came home for Christmas break. It felt wrong to break up with you over the phone.”

It feels as though the bottom of her world has been ripped away, her heart twisting painfully as her vision blurs with tears. She swallows thickly, anger bubbling alongside her devastation, so that her tone is venomous when she replies “So, you were just gonna keep stringing me along for two months, so you could look like a good guy?!”

“Babe, no, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just–”

“You’re a piece of shit,” she cuts him off, “fuck you!”

She hangs up, chucking her phone down onto the bed, and immediately bursts into tears, holding her head in her hands as hot tears stream down her face, her shoulders shaking as her nose grows snotty.

Two years. Two fucking years and he’d chucked it all away for someone he’d known for two weeks.

She walks towards the sink in her room, looking into the mirror and sighing at her reflection. Her eyes are red and puffy, she looks a mess. Splashing cold water onto her face to rid herself of the worst of it, she then flops down onto her bed, opening her laptop.

Immediately she is met with her MSN chat window with Michael from the previous evening. He’s online.

Without thinking, she types out a message to him.

“Do you have any alcohol?”

Within seconds he’s typing a response.

“Would you like me to have alcohol?”

[thewarmestplacetohide]

Dread by the Decade: The Uninvited

👻 You can support me on Ko-fi! ❤️

★★★★

Plot: After buying an abandoned manor, a brother and sister find themselves embroiled in another family's tragedy.

Review: A strong entry into the genre, this haunted house horror boasts genuine chills, charming characters, and an intriguing mystery.

Source Material: Uneasy Freehold by Dorothy Macardle Year: 1944 Genre: Ghosts Country: United States Language: English Runtime: 1 hour 38 minutes

Director: Lewis Allen Writers: Dodie Smith, Frank Partos Cinematographer: Charles Lang, Jr. Editor: Doane Harrison Composer: Victor Young Cast: Ray Milland, Ruth Hussey, Gail Russell, Alan Napier, Donald Crisp, Cornelia Otis Skinner, Barbara Everest

-----

Story: 4/5 - With fleshed-out characters and an evocative twist, it opts for subtle horror to great success. Only its end struggles slightly with pacing.

Performances: 4.5/5 - Excellent. Milland and Hussey are notably funny and chemistry abounds.

Cinematography: 4.5/5 - Beautiful framing, lighting, and camera movement.

Editing: 4/5 - Fluid and purposeful.

Music: 4/5

Effects & Props: 4/5 - The ghosts and time lapse footage look very good.

Sets: 4.5/5 - Lovely. Windward House and its spiral staircase are especially gorgeous.

Costumes, Hair, & Make-Up: 4/5

Trigger Warnings:

Anti-Roma racism (criticized by film)

Forced institutionalization and medical abuse

Stereotypical discussion of mentally ill people

Use of a anti-indigenous slur

[letterboxd-loggd]

The Uninvited (1944) Lewis Allen

October 22nd 2024

[mariocki]

New Scotland Yard: A Gathering of Dust (2.3, LWT, 1972)

"Judging from the wound, the gun was fired from very close range; almost point-blank, I should think. Indicates the possibility of suicide."

"That's right, governor: he blows his brains out, crawls in here, walls himself up, throws the gun away, and dies laughing. That's cos he's got a sense of humour, he knows that a quarter of a bloody century later two stupid coppers are gonna go out of their mind wondering how the hell he did it!"

[izunias-meme-hole]

"JACK NAPIER"/THE JOKER

"Want to know how I keep smiling?"

HERE'S THE FUNNY BASTARD MAN!!

Despite being a VERY well known gangster before his transformation, "Jack Napier" was a very secretive man, keeping his own history under wraps, and has no actual documentation of a true name, or birth date. However what was known about Napier was that he was the right hand man of Carmine Falcone's rival, Rupert Thorne, and he was often called to either "clean up a mess", or eliminate anyone who went against Thorne. However all of that changed after he got set up at Ace Chemicals, and met The Batman. Napier walked out of that encounter with raw blood red lips, chalk white skin, green hair, and a damaged face, and when he went to get surgery for his face as quick as possible, Napier ended up with a permanent grin. Finding all of recent circumstances absurd, Jack goes completely mad, convinced that life was just some big joke, and if that were the case he'd be the one sharing the punchline. So after killing Thorne and taking over his enterprise, The Joker was not only born, but fully prepared to cause chaos, ruin lives, and share his twisted works of art with Gotham City for his own amusement.

My Joker here is pretty much just a marriage between B:TAS, Batman 89, The Dark Knight, and The Arkham Games. A psychotic gangster who fell into a vat of chemicals, got some facial disfigurement, and began to see life as one bad joke, becoming a literal mad clown as a result.

After meeting Batman again, bro just got worse. Granted he was never truly fine to begin with, but not only did he become more unhinged and destructive after getting his chemical bath, but he became obsessed with The Bat after his second encounter with him. Now what sparked this obsession? Batman deciding not to kill him. Joker was confused at first, but he slowly began to piece it all together, and now had a long "game"... one that he planned on winning.

Harley Quinn is still brought to his side, and he's still a genuine piece of garbage to her, but he ditches her and almost kills her for real the MOMENT she successfully captures Batman all by herself, right under his nose. And they were around each other for 19 years.

This man is responsible for almost poisoning Gotham via a parade, turning Christmas Eve into Batman's most stressful night, a riot at Blackgate, the creation for Two-Face, the creation of Harley Quinn, the near-death of Barbra Gordon (who doesn't get crippled here and isn't Batgirl at that point yet), the traumatization of James Gordon, the death of Jason Todd, the endorsement of Project TITAN, a takeover of Arkham Asylum, the mutation of Killer Croc via TITAN, the traumatization of billions, the deaths of billions, and his final atrocity; turning Tim Drake into a mini-him through torment. This isn't his entire rap-sheet, but it's literally just half of the horrendous shit across the entire franchise along with some new shit that seems like it came from the old school comics. Like this man is likely to fill Gotham PD with actual pigs in cop costumes once as a more harmless prank just a day before doing something actually horrid.

The only limit to his cruelty is that whatever he does has to be peak comedy in his eyes, and if it doesn't reach that he'll actually be annoyed. Like bro didn't even plan on killing Jason Todd, he just wanted to send him back to Batman all broken down and beaten, but he was enjoying it too much and ruined his own work.

He still has some of his connections with the mob, and uses them for some of his schemes, however he's also willing to manipulate some mentally ill fellows from Arkham into helping him.

Enjoys a lil' internet trolling and memeing.

If he had a voice actor (That isn't Mark Hamill because he has retired from voicing the man due to the passing of the GOAT Conroy), it would be either Troy Baker, Michael McKean, Chris Hackney, Joe Zeija, Daemon Clarke, Mick Wingert, Keith Silverstien, Andrew Russel, or Haley Joel Osment.

So yeah. This is My Joker.

[byneddiedingo]

Orson Welles and Jeanette Nolan in Macbeth (Orson Welles, 1948)

Cast: Orson Welles, Jeanette Nolan, Dan O’Herlihy, Roddy McDowall, Edgar Barrier, Alan Napier, Erskine Sanford, John Dierkes, Keene Curtis, Peggy Webber, Lionel Braham. Screenplay: Orson Welles, based on a play by William Shakespeare. Cinematography: John L. Russell. Art direction: Fred A. Ritter. Film editing: Louis Lindsay. Music: Jacques Ibert. 

Orson Welles may have taken the old theatrical superstition of referring to the play not by its title but as "the Scottish play" a little too seriously. The decision to have actors deliver Shakespeare's lines with a Scottish accent was met with derision by critics, and Republic Pictures, the poverty-row studio that released the film, eventually had it redubbed without the accents after the initial release flopped. The original soundtrack has been restored, however, and it's hard to see what set the critics' teeth on edge: For the most part, the occasional flavoring of the dialogue with Scottish vowel sounds and diphthongs is unobtrusive. The one exception, to my ear, is Roddy McDowall as Malcolm, who carries the accent a bit too far -- though that may be because McDowall's conception of the character is something of a callow noodge, especially in the scene in which he's trying to persuade Macduff (Dan O'Herlihy) to cease grieving for his murdered family and take action. I must have seen the old redubbed and cut version at one point, because I remembered the film as rather glum and murky, when in fact, although it's not wholly successful, it's filled with Wellesian visual touches and some very solid performances. Welles makes remarkable use of the Celtic cross as a visual motif, for example, having the troops advancing on Dunsinane carry impossibly long staffs surmounted with the cross, a touch that dazzles the eye. His own performance is somewhat uneven -- Welles was seldom the strongest actor in his productions -- and he fails to provide Macbeth with the character arc that makes the character a tragic figure, moving from mere ambition to blind bloodthirstiness. Jeanette Nolan is a good Lady Macbeth and O'Herlihy a suitably strong adversary for Macbeth. As usual, Welles drew many performers from his Mercury Theater company, including Erskine Sanford as a dignified Duncan, something of an about-face from his broadly comic performance as the flustered newspaper editor Herbert Carter, huffing and puffing when he's ousted by the paper's new owner, Charles Foster Kane, in Citizen Kane (Welles, 1941). The low budget for the film shows, especially in the sets -- Dunsinane seems to be more cave than castle, its walls made out of Plasticine -- cobbled together on the Republic soundstage by art director Fred A. Ritter. And although Welles's keen eye served John L. Russell well, as Alfred Hitchcock's would later when he shot Psycho (1960), Russell was never a distinguished cinematographer. Still, this is a fairly distinguished effort at putting Shakespeare on film.

[goalhofer]

2024 olympics New Zealand roster

Athletics

James Preston (Wellington)

Sam Tanner (Papamoa)

Georgie Beamish (Hastings)

Hamish Kerr (Dunedin)

Ethan Olivier (Vereeniging, South Africa)

Jack Gill (Auckland)

Tom Walsh (Timaru)

Connor Bell (Auckland)

Zoe Hobbs (New Plymouth)

Maia Ramsden (Addis Ababa, Ethiopia)

Camille French (Hamilton)

Imogen Ayris (Auckland)

Eliza McCartney (Auckland)

Olivia McTaggart (Auckland)

Maddison-Lee Wesche (Auckland)

Tori Peeters (Cambridge)

Laura Bruce (Christchurch)

Canoeing

Finn Butcher (Auckland)

Hamish Legarth (Hastings)

Max Brown (Cambridge)

Grant Clancy (Auckland)

Kurtis Imrie (Wellington)

Luuka Jones (Tauranga)

Lucy Matehaere (Dunedin)

Lisa Buck (Ōhope)

Aimee Fisher (Rotorua)

Alicia Hoskin (Gisborne)

Olivia Brett (Auckland)

Tara Vaughan (Auckland)

Climbing

Julian David (Tauranga)

Sarah Tetzlaff (Tauranga)

Cycling

Laurence Pithie (Christchurch)

Corbin Strong (Invercargill)

Sam Dakin (Auckland)

Aaron Gate (Auckland)

Keegan Hornblow (Nelson)

Tom Sexton (Invercargill)

Campbell Stewart (Palmerston North)

Sam Gaze (Tokoroa)

Rico Bearman (North Harbour)

Niamh Fisher-Black (Nelson)

Kim Cadzow (Tauranga)

Ellesse Andrews (Christchurch)

Shaane Fulton (Hamilton)

Rebecca Petch (Te Awamutu)

Ally Wollaston (Waikato)

Bryony Botha (Auckland)

Emily Shearman (Palmerston North)

Nicole Shields (Clyde)

Samara Maxwell (Taupō)

Leila Walker (Cambridge)

Diving

Elizabeth Roussel (Auckland)

Equestrian

Clarke Johnstone (Matangi)

Tim Price (Rangiora)

Melissa Galloway (Tuamarina)

Jonelle Price (Rangiora)

Field hockey

Dom Dixon (Hawke's Bay)

Brad Read (Auckland)

Malachi Buschl (Dunedin)

Scott Boyde (Brisbane, Australia)

Dane Lett (Carterton)

Simon Child (Auckland)

Charlie Morrison (Christchurch)

Joe Morrison (Christchurch)

Jacob Smith (Wellington)

Sam Lane (Temuka)

Simon Yorston (Christchurch)

Nic Woods (Hamilton)

Kane Russell (Dunedin)

Blair Tarrant (Timaru)

Sean Findlay (Taradale)

Hugo Inglis (Dunedin)

Hayden Phillips (Levin)

Isaac Houlbrooke (Auckland)

Leon Hayward (Darwin, Australia)

Golf

Ryan Fox (Auckland)

Daniel Hillier (Wellington)

Ko Bo-Gyung (Orlando, Florida)

Gymnastics

Dylan Schmidt (Auckland)

Georgia-Rose Brown (Melbourne, Australia)

Maddie Davidson (Christchurch)

Judo

Moira Koster (Christchurch)

Sydnee Andrews (Camberley, U.K.)

Rowing

Tom Mackintosh (Hastings)

Dan Williamson (Beachlands)

Phillip Wilson (Wellington)

Robbie Manson (Hamilton)

Jordan Parry (Tauranga)

Matt Macdonald (Auckland)

Ollie Maclean (Auckland)

Tom Murray (Blenheim)

Logan Ullrich (Brisbane, Australia)

Emma Twigg (Napier)

Kate Haines (Hamilton)

Alana Sherman (Auckland)

Brooke Francis (Te Kauwhata)

Lucy Spoors (Christchurch)

Phoebe Spoors (Christchurch)

Jackie Kiddle (Wellington)

Shannon Cox (Whangārei)

Jackie Gowler (Raetihi)

Kerri Williams (Raetihi)

Davina Waddy (Christchurch)

Rugby

Scott Curry (Rotorua)

Brady Rush (Kerikeri)

Tone Shiu (Napier)

Akuila Rokolisoa (Lautoka, Fiji)

Dylan Collier (Ōpōtiki)

Ngarohi McGarvey-Black (Rotorua)

Fehi Fineanganofo (Auckland)

Andrew Knewstubb (Wellington)

Regan Ware (Tokoroa)

Tepaea Cook-Savage (Kaitaia)

Moses Leo (Auckland)

Leroy Carter (Tauranga)

Tevarn Webber (Hamilton)

Sione Molia (Pukekohe)

Michaela Blyde (New Plymouth)

Jazmin Hotham (Hamilton)

Sarah Hirini (Feilding)

Tyla King (Auckland)

Jorja Miller (Timaru)

Manaia Nuku (Hamilton)

Mahina Paul (Whakatāne)

Risealeaana Pouri-Lane (Auburn, Australia)

Alena Saili (Porirua)

Theresa Stefano (Auckland)

Stacey Fluhler (Papakura)

Portia Woodman (Kawakawa)

Sailing

Josh Armit (Auckland)

Lukas Walton-Keim (Auckland)

Tom Saunders (Auckland)

Isaac McHardie (Hamilton)

William McKenzie (Auckland)

Micah Williamson (Hamilton)

Greta Pilkington (Auckland)

Justina Kitchen (Auckland)

Joanna Aleh (Auckland)

Molly Meech (Auckland)

Erica Dawson (Auckland)

Shooting

Owen Robinson (Morrinsville)

Chloe Tipple (Christchurch)

Soccer

Alex Paulsen (Auckland)

Michael Boxall (Auckland)

Sam Sutton (Auckland)

Tyler Bindon (Los Angeles, California)

Finn Surman (Christchurch)

Joe Bell (Christchurch)

Matthew Garbett (Porirua)

Ben Old (Wellington)

Ben Waine (Wellington)

Sarpreet Singh (Auckland)

Jesse Randall (Wellington)

Kees Sims (Bracknell, U.K.)

Lukas Kelly-Heald (Wellington)

Jay Herdman (Invercargill)

Matthew Sheridan (Wellington)

Fin Conchie (Hamilton)

Lachlan Bayliss (Darwin, Australia)

Oskar Van Hattum (New Plymouth)

William Gillion (Auckland)

Isaac Hughes (Wellington)

Anna Leat (Auckland)

Kate Taylor (Christchurch)

Mackenzie Barry (New Plymouth)

Catherine Bott (Wellington)

Meikayla Moore (Christchurch)

Malia Steinmetz (Auckland)

Michaela Foster (Hamilton)

Macey Fraser (Rangiora)

Gabi Rennie (Rangiora)

Indiah-Paige Riley (Albany Creek, Australia)

Katie Kitching (Well, U.K.)

Victoria Esson (Christchurch)

Rebekah Stott (Papamoa)

Katie Bowen (Auckland)

Ally Green (Sydney, Australia)

Jacqueline Hand (Auckland)

Milly Clegg (Auckland)

Grace Jale (Auckland)

Annalie Longo (Auckland)

Surfing

Billy Stairmand (Raglan)

Saffi Vette (Gisborne)

Swimming

Kane Follows (Auckland)

Taiko Torepe-Ormsby (Christchurch)

Cameron Gray (Auckland)

Lewis Clareburt (Wellington)

Nina Brown (Auckland)

Eva Morris (Tauranga)

Laticia-Leigh Transom (Brisbane, Australia)

Erika Fairweather (Dunedin)

Eve Thomas (Auckland)

Vanessa Ouwehand (Auckland)

Caitlin Deans (Dunedin)

Tennis

Lulu Sun (Geneva, Switzerland)

Erin Routliffe (Caledon, Ontario)

Triathlon

Dylan McCullough (Auckland)

Hayden Wilde (Whakatāne)

Ainsley Thorpe (Auckland)

Nicole Van Der Kaay (Rotorua)

Weightlifting

David Liti (Auckland)

Wrestling

Tayla Ford (Christchurch)