#The Epic Bloody Final Battle is intentional and in line with what it wants to say

[cacaitos]

i need those two posts to brawl it out with metal chairs, because despite them both "preferring" the manga it does reveal why people prefer the movie over the manga and viceversa. the manga is usually liked for characters arcs, while the movie for thematic clearness (at the end).

[a-student-out-of-time]

Twisted Sister Arc Review Part 1

Hi guys I’m the Anon who does the reviews around here…guess you could call me the Review Anon? Wonder what the lore behind me would be…anyway that doesn’t matter! Point is, I have an Arc to review and Jesus is this a big one. So big that A) I’m doing submissions (with permission from the Mod of course) and B) I’m splitting the review into 3 parts. Heavy Arcs are Heavy and a LOT of stuff happens here so let’s get right into it!

So, the parts of the Twisted Sister Arc are first the Massacre, second is the Mindwipe and third is the Prison Break. Last one doesn’t start with M but I’m not doing rhyming here, but that’s enough time wasting let’s get right into it~

Massacre

Easily the darkest part of the Arc but given the Arc is basically Kanade being a Slasher Killer here, what do you expect? While Danganronpa is a franchise about murder, and we had serial killers in it both canon and fanon the nature of the Killing Game means that a full-blooded mass killing akin to many slasher films hasn’t really occurred in the franchise before. This makes Kanade’s bloody rampage here even more disturbing, as while we have had mass killings before, see Mukuro’s rampage through Giboua Middle School in Killer Killer, those are established as backstory drops for the characters, we never actually see one being carried out in action. And going back to that massacre, Mukuro only did it because Junko thought her sister’s killer intent might have slipped and it’s to prove to her she is still a killer, but here Kanade is killing for cold blooded revenge. And she doesn’t just kill a bunch of randoms as she brutally murders Iroha, Peko, Akane, Nekomaru, Sonia and Kokoro very brutally and very effectively. I knew something was up given that the entire school went into lockdown and all the fighters from Class 77-B were geared to fight Kanade to the death, and Kanade is such a pansy of a fighter that Sonia beat the living shit out of here, and Syo was taken down by the QC, and we all know how terrifying Syo is. But once the bodies started to drop, I knew that the first time that Hajime would reset on purpose was coming up and there were so many questions. Who set Kanade up for this? Someone had to be helping her…. but who and why? Juu could have let her out but he couldn’t have supplied Kanade with her tools and intel (more on that later) so it has to be someone else.

Within the darkness of this timeline there is of course your heroes. There are those like Peko who got a lucky shot on Kanade which set a chain line of events leading to Kanade’s death, Mikako who made Kanade’s injuries worse and Kokoro who stabbed Kanade in the eye. But those small victories led to total loses as even if Peko didn’t die, she would be crippled for life and moreover she failed to protect her classmates from Kanade’s wrath, and Mikako lost her mother, just as she started to finally connect with her. You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned two names yet, and that’s because they deserve their own paragraphs, I am of course referring to Nikei and Hibiki.

I’m gonna start with the next person who attacks Kanade and that is of course our Journalist boy here. To say this day has been terrible to him would be a massive understatement as one minute he is suffering an energy crash from downing one too many Red Bulls and having lewd thoughts, to running faster than if he happened to be in Mexico (Seriously, if you happen to be a journalist just don’t go to Mexico) to Hope’s Peak and thanks to Ankle Effects, arriving alongside Hajime to a bloodbath. There’s his constant refusal to accept that Iroha is killed, even though we as the audience knew that given Iroha tried to stop Kanade as soon as she arrived at Hope’s Peak and that Kanade was seen by Sonia and co chopping up security guards, the likelihood of her survival was next to none. This carries on from the conversation Nikei had with Yoruko in the previous Arc where he still believes he is dangerous and that he doesn’t see the other Voids as friends or equals, but rather he took the role as leader because he wanted to have power for once in his life, something he alluded to in the Void Theatre during Chapter 5. However, his reaction to Iroha’s unknown safety, and eventually the truth that Kanade really did butcher the poor painter, proves otherwise. While Nikei’s relationship with his fellow Voids canonically won’t get revealed until LINIQ decides to get around to doing the Onmake mode, in which one of the stories in that is going to be about Void pre Mikado- with someone, most likely Nikei, being the POV character, here the fact his first thoughts upon finding out his ‘little sister’ is dead is to disregard the no-killing rule and just beat Kanade to death, proves that he does care about his fellow Voids, but is in several layers of denial. Out of all the Voids, Nikei is easily the most guarded and paranoid of the lot, and while the others have loosened up around Hajime and co, Nikei still has a lot of inner demons he has to deal with before he could truly open up to the rest of the QC. And Kanade chopping his right hand off, doesn’t help matters though I do give Nikei credit that unlike in the OG timeline, where upon his right hand been blown up by his exploding gun, he just broke down crying, here, he tries to carry on the fight regardless, or he would have had the other person I need to talk about didn’t show up. This is pretty important to establish that while most of the Voids now are pretty far removed from their canon selves and are unlikely to regress back in that, Nikei is still closely tied with his bastard canon self and more work needs to be done for him to detach from that.

But moving on from someone who needs to get some work done, let’s move onto someone who has seen the natural conclusion of their character development, Hibiki! Ever since Hajime and Chiaki rescued Hibiki from her twisted sister (*rim shot*) back in July, she has been making a ton of progress, firstly coming to terms with what Kanade did and her true nature, developing friendly healthy relationships with Class 77-B, the QC and of course a romantic relationship with Hajime. It seemed kind of cliché for Hibiki to fall for Hajime but then again a) Danganronpa can be cliché at times and B) As a Danganronpa Protagonist Hajime cannot turn off his swag. Then there is her officially joining the QC, learning how to fight and being a complete and utter badarse and a caring lover when needed as she confronted Hajime back when he died the second time. We all knew it was only a matter of time when Hibiki had to confront her sister and when Kanade broke into the school, we saw fully, how much Hibiki has grown in the past 3 months. The old Hibiki would have curled up in a corner terrified, crying and probably going into the Puppet State. Here though, Hibiki’s FIRST THOUGHTS upon finding out that Kanade is more dangerous now is to done some armour and get some weapons, and face her sister head on with no hesitation. All without going into the Puppet State at least once, which probably means that its more or less gone now. Kanade tried to talk her sister out of fighting her, but Hikibi isn’t buying Kanade’s insurance anymore and a fight breaks out. If this ever gets animated or becomes a visual novel, I would love to see the Hibiki vs Kanade fight animated as its brilliant, its epic and it’s just so satisfying to see Kanade getting the living snot beaten out of her. You could argue that Nikei’s mauling of Kanade was like that but there, Nikei was more or less in grief due to Iroha’s death and the whole thing was as painful to watch as the final fight in Captain America: Civil War, not saying what because spoilers ahoy. Here though is a glorious battle, as Hibiki gets to deliver justice onto her demonic sister and it is SO SO satisfying, given that a reset happens shortly afterwards.

And sadly, with that, we come to easily the weakest part of not only this part of the arc, but the arc overall, Yasuke’s multiverse theory. It could be written better, and even the Mod agrees that the way it was presented shouldn’t have been the way it worse, that having Umeko throw some ideas at Hajime and him coming to the conclusion that they might have been living in a multiverse be better narrative then Yasuke be like ‘Oh hey I am suddenly an expert on Time Travel now’. It would make Hajime breaking his no kill rule that much more impactful as he doesn’t have the excuses of not only Nikei’s who was currently going through a mental breakdown, and in the current plot where Yasuke more or less planted the seed of doubt in Hajime’s mind. Yasuke still has a role to play in this arc but during the Massacre timeline, I feel like he could have been removed entirely from the plot and not only would it have made no difference, but then most readers wouldn’t be complaining about it as much as Yasuke being a general A-hole wouldn’t tick them off. I’m not saying ‘THIS IS AS BAD AS ONCOMING STORM’ as that Arc was just a giant clusterfuck of a mess, and aside from this one part, the arc is very strong overall, but I will give criticism when due. I’m not mentioning my thoughts on Yasuke as a whole here because he’s more relevant in other parts of the Arc. However, Hajime killing Kanade and himself at the same time is brilliant and seeing Kanade begging for her life as Hajime throws her out of the window is so satisfying given not only all the crap she has been dealing up until that point, but also because in SDAR2, she was 100% fulfilled with the events at that point and given it was HIBIKI who was begging for her life then, let’s just say karma is a bigger bitch then Kanade is.

And that concludes the Massacre part of the Arc as Hajime kills himself and Kanade at the same time and he goes back to just before Nikei started to have indecent thoughts. No time to look at the 3rd page of the national newspapers’ boy, we got a serial killer to stop! And with that I’m stopping here as the Massacre part is finished. But this review is far from over, this is just here because otherwise my, the Mod’s and everyone else’s brains won’t be able to process all of this. Stay tuned for part 2 when we cover Kanade’s capture, a scrum debate among the QC and a bold move by the Mod which I do wish will come up more! Until then, Adios! - Review Anon

//Part 1 of 3

//Finally get to submit these

[nobaettadr]

INTERVIEW. — ★

i thought i put this up last time i had leif here, but i didn’ttt, so ahoy

          a whole continent away. a continent away from everything he’s known — the grasslands and mountains of the manster district, the faces of his friends and those who’ve brought him this far, those he owes his life to. a continent away from leonster castle, from the liberation wars, from the enduring threat of the loptyr cult. no one knew about any of that here. that’s… hard to imagine. a whole land of people who haven’t been held in the empire’s choking grip, who haven’t spent their lives since birth wading through blood and fire, estranged refugees from their own heritage. a whole land of people who grew up knowing their parents, who were right where they were supposed to be.

          he’d say he’s envious. part of him still is. he knows that three years, or even just maybe a year or two ago, he would have been even more. maybe that’s all he would have felt.

          these austere stone walls are so old… older than anything he thinks he’s ever seen. a thousand years, they said. is it right to almost feel like he wants to drag down a thousand years, syphon it into the small time he’s known? to say ‘ why didn’t you know my pain ’? is it even possible?

          fingers tapping on the solid oaken table stop — he hadn’t realized he’d been doing that — when the door opens and  the interviewer steps in, dressed in the academy’s colors, a roll of parchment under one arm. leif sits up a little straighter and puts on the best face lady selfina had taught him.

WHAT HAS LED YOU TO WHERE YOU ARE TODAY?

          he nods, answer at the ready, shone new and brandished like a weapon. ❝ i am the rightful prince of leonster, a castle on the continent of jugdral. i have fought all my life to liberate my country from an unimaginable evil, and to ascend the throne of my fatherland as its rightful king. ❞

          like words out of a storybook, or the opening of a play. they sound so strange coming out of his mouth, like he’s recounting the deeds of the holy warriors of old, or of some other savior. he wonders if it might be easier if he were imagining celice’s story instead of his own. it makes it all sound so…

          but this is what he he knows he has to say. he continues without further hesitation. ❝ before i take the crown, i decided to travel and study how to govern as a king. many responsibilities wait for me back home… and i want to be sure that i’m ready. ❞

          none of it sounds fully right. is it really best to leave out so much? but he forces himself to bite back the rest of it — the birthright he’d been snatched from, the hopes of a nation stitched together into a mantle labeled ‘ prince ’, the coldness of a sceptre. what does he know of kingship but to run at the head of the charge?

          what is a king when he puts down his sword? here, he hopes to find the answer.

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE ARE YOUR GREATEST STRENGTHS? YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESSES?

          heaviness falls about his shoulders like a chain weight, pulling his gaze to the floor. he knows it’s only a question to assess the areas where he can improve — that’s what august has always said. yet he can’t shake the sensation of icicles digging their hooks around the bars of his ribcage, insidious and mocking. it’s a chill beyond physical, and he fights back the shiver.

          ❝ my greatest weakness… to tell the truth, there are many. ❞ he can see his advisors’ disapproving looks — it’s unwise for a monarch to bare his flaws, they would say. it opens too many avenues for those with ill intent to take advantage of him. he knows it’s true, but the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, a truth in his heart that slips past propriety. ❝ i know i am rash. i act often without thinking as much as i should. i… ❞

          —have so much hatred. the words come to him so vehemently, as though to prove their mettle, that he almost stumbles over them, and his frown deepens. he doesn’t know how to explain that, and he’s certain they’ll ask.

          ❝ … i need to become a better leader. someone others can look up to. i don’t know much right now, and i don’t have much time to learn. ❞ right now, it feels as though all the debris is laid in his path, and he doesn’t have the first idea how to tackle it. unifying two countries with a historical feud, one of which had killed his parents? is he even qualified to lead, in a situation like this? maybe areone was right, and…

          ❝ my advisors also tell me i’m too stubborn, ❞ he continues. ❝ i must learn to listen, and not give in to ❞ — anger — ❝ my emotions. i promise i will do better. ❞

          there’s so much more he could say, but the interview interjects gently: ❛ and your strengths? ❜

          sudden dryness robs his tongue of words, and he licks his lips, swallows, thinks harder. a tension-lined brow, heavier knit than his years should suggest, furrows as the seconds pass, feeling like minutes.

          ❝ i do not know if it’s much of a strength, ❞ he finally offers, ❝ but i do like to understand others. i often feel that the more i learn about the world… ah, let’s say i feel like it takes me closer to somewhere i want to be. ❞

IF A STORY WERE TO BE WRITTEN ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WHAT ROLE WOULD YOU PLAY?

          ❝ my life? why would there be a story about that? ❞ he blurts out, caught off guard by the question before he can catch himself and remember where he is and his formalities. ears tingle with embarrassment — had that been disrespectful? ❝ s— i apologize. i didn’t expect a question like that… ❞

          a story about his life.

          a story about a boy who failed, a nefarious whisper sneers. his jaw tenses; he won’t listen to it. not right now.

          but what would a story about his life be? a tragedy? a legend of heroism? no, his cousin would be the emblem at the forefront of those. those of minor blood, unable to even lift their holy weapons, were never the centerpieces of great epics. he decides, in the end, that it would be a tale of battles fought and enemies overcome; maybe it would even be a stirring revenge saga: his light brand cutting like butter through king travant’s neck and dyeing the rocky hills a fatalistic red, the dead tyrant’s head at last,

                                                                                at last,

          clutched in a bloody hand.

          for the sake of a good story, he hopes the hero wearing his name is written triumphant and proud, his lifetime’s blinding rage satisfied, the curtain lifted to let catharsis in. he hopes it doesn’t tell the truth, which is never as easy or as inspiring as the stories make them out to be. ❝ i don’t think i would want to play any roles, ❞ he finally replies. his smile is like the receding tide on a shoreline no one walks. ❝ i think i would like to be in the audience. ❞

[yukiwrites]

The Heart of Immortals

Thank you so much for the support and patience as always, @breeachuu! I had a blast writing this, I hope you likey!

Summary: Wolfram had been specifically chosen by Naga to undergo a very special mission -- to travel to another world by the name of Fódlan and help one of the many suffering children that inhabited it. Someone who bore something very special and key to that world’s salvation.

Commission info HERE and HERE!

_______________________________

It took less than a minute for the then-empty kitchen to pack itself with manaketes, all jostling one another with Nidra at the front, facing Wolfram.

The mother felt her mouth twitch in nervousness, the faint holy presence Naga left in her wake making her youngest's words ring even louder in her ears.

"Your... 'destiny's call', my son?" Nidra gulped, taking uncertain steps in Wolfie's direction.

As though leaving a trance, the boy blinked, finally focusing his gaze on his mother, seeing all of his siblings hustling behind her. "Was that as weird as it sounded now that I saw it through in my mind?" Wolfie's shoulders sagged as he chuckled, his hands slightly trembled from having probably (he'd never be sure about that, even years later) touched Naga's very skin once She made her contact.

Both Cynthias exchanged overly excited looks as their big brothers opened their arms in unison. "This is SO EPIC! YOU HAD AN UNPRECEDENTED VISIT FROM NAGA HERSELF-" The older Cynthia leaped from under Nidra's arm, set on pouncing on her little brother.

"No!" Nidra clenched her fists and stomped her foot on the ground, a very timely and most likely intentional tremor shaking the house in response.

Cynthia's pigtails deflated along with her whole body as she fell flat on the floor. "Uh, Mom-"

Cyn reached out for her mother from behind as Meli glanced from Wolfie to Nidra and Meliodas placed a hand on Cyn's shoulder. Henry peeked his head out of the door to Wolfram's left, carrying the bag of herbs he had stepped out to get only a few moments previous.

"I guess I didn't feel this whole holy presence 'cause I'm not a manakete, huh? Nyaha!" He dropped the bag loudly on the floor, clapping the dust out of his hands right after. "Aight, guess it's Mom and Dad time, yeah? Everyone but Wolfie, out!" He clapped cheerfully, walking towards Nidra to steer her towards their youngest son, her body shaking slightly.

As the youngest opened his mouth to continue, Nidra's swaying in front of him made he reflexively reach out for her, though Henry was the one who caught his faint wife. "Ohh..." Nidra took one hand to cover her forehead, her eyes spinning. "Not my little baby..." Her voice got weaker and weaker until it turned to incomprehensible mumbling as consciousness slowly left her.

The children all turned pale in the face as Henry never lost his smile. "Whoopsie, guess that was too much for good ol' Ni-Ni, huh?" He teased, adjusting her in his arms. "This has been funsies and all, kids, but now we really gotta talk just with Wolfie, alright? C'mon, kid." He gestured with his chin for the boy to follow him towards the stairs. "We'll be at the nest and don't worry about your Mother, 'kay? She's gonna be fine after we talk a bit. I'll call you guys over when it's time."

Cynthia hugged both Meliodas and Cyn, her eyes so wide they almost bulged out of her skull. Meliodas himself shook slightly, not wanting the memories of a future past to shadow the excitement they were just experiencing.

Noticing his older brother's lack of color, Meli immediately caught on the reason Nidra's fainting shook his eldest siblings so much, taking it upon himself to take their minds out of it. "Hey, Brother? Big Sister?" He softly took their hands in his, feeling them tremble. "While we wait, I wanted to show you two something."

Following Henry through the corridor, Wolfram didn't have time to wonder why only his eldest siblings turned silent so quickly, his mind much too focused on the vision he had seen.

A field bathed with blood. A battle so fierce the red never left its soil -- a massacre so brutal the ruins still remained to ever remind the people of what had transpired.

Memories of a distant past mingling with the present, though its bloody history remained unchanged.

A single survivor of a tragedy, the dead haunting their every step.

A lonely soul, the last of its line, tortured to the mind-breaking point.

An outcast, forced to survive inside a den of enemies.

A life that wasn't supposed to survive, yet by joining with Immortals it was given a second chance.

The setting sun bathes the full winter coat of every wolf in a foreboding scarlet glow. Hunters spread the word that the red wolves are back on the prowl.

A voice, one that felt so familiar, so intimate -- as though a mix of a Mother's and his own inner voice --  a sound one could only stop to listen and appreciate. The voice rang, not actually speaking, but simply delivering the message, as though the words were always in his mind to begin with.

"Help the one with the Heart of Immortals. The fate of a long lost child is finally within our grasp. Go, my champion, and aid the one that's forgotten their purpose, but who has never been forgotten by those they left behind."

"Heart of Immortals, huh?" Henry mused, one hand over his chin in thought as he petted Nidra's hair with the other. Nidra, on her part, rested on her husband's lap, all wrapped around the blankets of their nest as Wolfram sat in front of them.

Pouting, the matriarch fought back the tears she had finally managed to quell. "Hasn't our family suffered enough? Our firstborns fight an impossible war, turn back time to save their parents, fight yet another war and now- now the only one who knew nothing of fighting-!"

"There, there, Ni-Ni." Henry pinched Nidra's cheek, making the pout deflate. "Well, this might be an inevitable prophecy? Is that what is it? Welp, anyway; this might be an inevitable prophecy and all, but what I wanna know the most is: how're you feeling about all 'a this, Wolfie? You're the one who has to choose and I actually mean 'choose' it, you know? I don't mind it at all to fight even your god if it means to protect you from it." His usual smile faded for a split second, a dark shadow covering the mage's face. It soon shifted, however, "nyaha! We already overthrew one ancient overgrown lizard, after all!"

In the face of her husband's blatant blasphemy, Nidra did one thing and one thing only: she nodded in accordance, slowly getting herself to sit up. Manakete as she might be, she was now a Mother; and would topple her own Mother to save her children.

Overcome with emotion, Wolfram could only clutch his chest lest he burst into tears right there and then. Nidra had always followed Naga's words down to the T and yet, there she was -- ready to throw hands at their god just to protect him.

Oh, gods, how he was going to miss them!

"I... I wanna go." He said finally, a lump forming in his throat just by thinking about leaving. "There're people who need help, Mother, Father. And Naga said that only I could save them! But honestly, even if I were only part of the rescue party or something, I'd still be raring to go! I don't wanna see someone in need and turn my back to them."

Nidra sniffled, her eyes once again full of tears. "Oh, my boy... Come here," she opened her arms, welcoming her small (who towered over her by at least 15cm, but he'd always be her little baby) bundle of joy into her chest. She kissed his white hair, so alike to his Father's. "You truly are your sister's sibling, aren't you?"

"Nyahah, and your mother's son, no?" Henry patted his wife's back, making her chuckle as the tears rolled down her cheeks. She simply squeezed the boy in her embrace further, digging her face into his hair.

"I'll have a long talk with Naga about all of this and come to a compromise." She declared after a few moments of silence. "I am warning that I will not allow you to stay away for too long! We are to stay together as a family for all eternity!" She tugged on his shoulder, making him chuckle.

"I wouldn't want to stay away for too long, Mother! Our family means everything to me!" He grinned, pulling away to look Nidra in the eyes. "Though I'm really really nervous, I can't wait to see how this is all going to turn out!

To give Nidra the space to talk to Naga, Henry and Wolfie went downstairs first instead of calling the horde to their nest. Once they reunited, Wolfie disclosed everything about the vision and the message to his siblings, receiving equally high amounts of excitement and joyful yells.

"Do they have dragons there?!? Will you be able to transform? Or hide yourself? Ohhhhh, being an undercover manakete in the works would be so cool!" Cyn struck a pose, though quickly hopped where she stood.

"You'll obviously take Aquilo with you, yeah? OOooh I wonder if they have more wyverns on the other side? What are their pegasi like? You gotta tell us everything when you come back!"

"Oh!" Meliodas gasped loudly, making all eyes turn to him. "We were going to teach you how to make your friendship jewel before your 16th birthday, right? Maybe we should just teach you right away..."

"Oh, yes, I learned when I was 16 as well..." Meli pondered as Cyn nodded beside him.

"That will not be necessary. Well, the teaching part will be, of course. But no need to make haste in your teachings." Nidra's voice surprised all present, all of them too focused on their little brother to notice their mother's presence approaching.

"Mother!" They said in unison, expectant.

"Hah," Nidra sighed, still not used to the idea. "Come here, my boy," she reached out to Wolfram, who promptly got up from his seat to hug his mother. "My little boy, my baby..." she kissed his cheeks, getting on her toes to do so.

"Um, Mother? How was the talk?" Unbothered by his mother's smothering, Wolfram tried to look down at her under her kisses and hugs.

"I've spoken with Naga," she sighed once again. "And we have come to an agreement: you will depart on your 16th birthday to this foreign land."

"One year to prepare!" Cyn mused, "whoa, one whole year!"

"We'll be able to get you ready for anything!" Meli puffed his chest, exchanging winks with his eldest brother.

Nidra bobbed her head to the sides. "This is a truly foreign land, not unlike the one our three friends delved into for five years."

Cynthia opened her mouth to ask if Rammy was going to Valla, but Nidra kept talking.

"There are no manaketes there, or at least they do not want to make their existence known -- so you will have to hide your dragon half to the most of your abilities. Perhaps the reason you were chosen was because you resemble a human the most..." She whispered the last part, being heard only by Wolfram himself, who smiled brightly.

"Thank you for giving birth to me just the way I am, Mother! I wouldn't be who I turned out to be otherwise." He bended down to engulf his short Mother in a big hug.

"Oh, you silly boy, what are you doing -- making me cry at a time like this? I haven't finished!" She sniffled, patting his back so he would let go. Once he did, she dried her eyes before speaking. "I have also given a deadline... You must be back no matter what after seven years pass. So do your utmost to save everything that needs to be saved within that time, you hear?"

Henry burst into laughter beside his wife. "Wahaha! What? And the Almighty Naga just said 'yeah, okay, don't worry, he'll come home before 10pm in seven years, stat!'?"

Nidra stepped on her husband's foot, "she did say that whatever was afflicting that world wouldn't last the decade -- if it wasn't resolved within six or seven years, then it would be too late."

"This keeps getting better and better..." Cyn said under her breath, her eyes gleaming. Cynthia nodded beside her sister, almost drooling.

"Yeah..."

Wolfram giggled, the excitement his family felt somehow melting away any nervousness he felt. "I just need to stick to the one with the Heart of Immortals for seven years? Easy!" He laughed.

"Say that again, short stuff!" Henry arm locked his son, pulling him away from Nidra. "One year seems like a lot, but it passes by so quick you barely notice! We're gonna work you to the bone, so get ready!"

Meliodas made some sort of math in his head, lifting one finger for each point he remembered. "Yes, there are quite a few things we need to get ahead of schedule to teach you."

"Also flying tricks!" Cyn hopped as Cynthia nodded.

"And we'll have to procure a headband for your ears... Maybe get in a sewing crash course or two just in case, as well."

His heart full, Wolfram couldn't hold back a loud laugh. "I can't wait to learn everything! Don't go easy on me!" He said, his face red with anticipation.

Watching her children and husband get along made Nidra shed a tear before shaking her head in acceptance.

True to Henry's words, the year went by so quickly it made Wolfram's head spin. His siblings and parents truly didn't go easy on him -- they crammed so many survival tips, battle techniques, flying tricks and even some melding and crafting into him he felt ready for quite literally anything!

The time and place for the crossing would be once the clock ticked midnight of the 30th of October -- Wolfram's birthday -- at the Mila Tree.

"To think we will not be able to spend this precious day together," became Nidra's signature complaint during that short year.

The entire family made the trip to the Mila Tree in a never seen before event: five manaketes flying mixed with a wyvern in their midst. Henry rode on his wife's back, though he and Wolfram laughed the whole time, finding the scene too amusing not to.

Once at the Mila Tree, Nidra refused to let go of Wolfram, even as the hour approached. Tiki, Nah and Nidra herself would serve as bridges for Naga to channel her power through them and open the portal at the roots of the Tree -- so it was of essence that Nidra took her spot by one of the roots instead of staying with her son the whole time.

"It's gonna be okay, Mother. I have the locket you gave me right here," he pulled out said locket from his chest, a proud smile etched on his face.

"Oh yeah, kid," Henry rummaged through his pockets. "And this here is from Dad here," he placed a pocket watch with a badly designed crow inside his son's hand. "The hour's prooobably not gonna be the same when you cross over, so maybe change it up when you arrive? Nyaha!"

"Father... It's the crow I've always asked you to draw when I was young..." Wolfram choked with emotion, finally feeling that the separation was real. "Thank you so much... I'll never change the hour so I'll always know what time it is here, back home, where I belong."

The moment Nidra was about to be even more emotional, she felt it. A strong current of power, almost sweeping her away. "Oh... Oh, it's here. Get ready, my Son." She squeezed his hand before stepping away to go to her spot.

The wind blew, the leaves sounding as though they whispered. The voices of the elements conjoined as the space in front of Wolfram seemingly distorted itself inside-out. A faint light glowed from the three manaketes standing side by side as they channeled the power of a god through them towards the spot their hands reached out to: Wolfram.

The light ebbed away from the women to the boy, enveloping him in the warmth of a Mother's embrace. He felt his fingertips grow numb as the spot in front of him grew larger and larger -- a door of some sort, engulfed in light, called to him.

Instinctively did the boy reach out to it, his entire body being attracted to what lay behind it. Hypnotized, he walked towards it, barely hearing anything around him, his hand grasping Aquilo's reins simply because they were already inside his fingers.

"Bye-bye, Rammy!!" Cyn and Cynthia yelled atop their lungs, waving as though their lives depended on it. Their screams echoed with Meli, Meliodas and Henry, all wishing him safe travels and health.

Blinking, still out of it, Wolfram simply smiled to his family. "See you later!" He said and in the very next moment, as though he were never there to begin with, he disappeared.

He felt the not-quite touch once again, guiding him through the countless pathways he saw flickering all around him -- from above, below and beside him, paths leading to Naga-knows-where stretched out as far as the eye could see.

Yet, in the next moment, he opened his eyes, startled. "Wah!" He huffed, his lungs so tight he felt as though he had been drowning on dry land. "Where- is this that other world? It's just a normal forest for now..." His mind raced.

Aquilo was nowhere to be found, but through their bond Wolfram could feel that the wyvern had also made the crossing. "Calm down, Wolfie, you might be on your own, but your family's with you." He forced himself to breathe until he could do so normally. "It seems to be nighttime here also, though this cold- it's... a lot more than I expected." He quickly turned to his oversized backpack, taking out the warmest coat he could find and bundling himself up with it. "It's also winter here, it seems, though it's a LOT colder than Ylisse's..."

Looking around and finding nothing but leaves, Wolfram looked up in search of the sky. "Should I give the forest a sweep from above?" He reached for the locket whence he kept his dragonstone, but stopped himself before even giving the idea much thought. "No... it's better to avoid transforming until I know for sure no one's gonna see me. For now let's look for Aquilo, then the both of us can look for shel- oh!"

The moment Wolfram tapped into his dragon half to assert Aquilo's location, he felt the presence of not only one, but two Ancient Blood, much like the manaketes from back home, yet bearing a fundamental difference he couldn't quite pinpoint at the moment. There were another two presences of the Blood, but they were weaker... Perhaps halflings just as himself? Either way, Wolfram knew which way he had to go after fetching Aquilo.

But for now, he had to deal with the human presence he felt approaching rapidly from behind. Assuming attack stance, Wolfie reached for the tome in his waist, ready to throw around some magic if need be.

"Show yourself!" A dignified voice shouted from someplace at Wolfie's right. "I will not hurt you if you simply come out peacefully!"

"Oh, is that right? Then okay." Wolfram's shoulders sagged. "I'm a bit lost, actually, maybe you could help?"

"H-huh? Oh, um, that is... not what I was expecting a stranger in the woods to say in the middle of the night, but..." The voice approached, as did the rustling of leaves towards Wolfie's direction. From the spot emerged a tall, blonde young man dressed in some kind of uniform. "I shall do anything in my power to help." He bowed politely. "Who are you, stranger? And how does one get lost so late into the night in Garreg Mach?"

Oh, he looks friendly, thank Naga, Wolfie thought as he sighed in relief. "Um, I'm actually not sure myself... I was about to go thaaaaat?" He pointed towards the presence of the Blood, remembering the fake setting he and his siblings came up with, "that, yes, that way? And then I got lost and that's... basically all I remember, honestly."

The young man gasped, quickly approaching, his face painted with worry. "Poor thing; to get lost in this dense forest while having no memories! Were you perhaps about to enroll at the Officer's Academy?" He pointed to the general direction Wolfram had mentioned.

"I... was? I suppose I was, yes. If the Academy's that way, then I probably was going to enroll, but... yeah." He kicked some dust, feeling rather guilty from managing to convince the youth so readily, but not about to let his disguise fail out of pity.

The young man sighed with empathy. "Do you remember your name? Or what you were doing around here at all? The school year already started quite a while ago -- were you lost around these woods all this time?"

"School year? So it's a literal Academy? Whoa," Wolfram mumbled to himself, squinting. To the blonde young man, it looked as though the strange boy was simply searching his memories for something. "I don't think I was wandering around for that long, no? I know for sure that I'm not from here, otherwise my muscle memory would activate, right?"

"An outlander? It is a wonder you managed to come so deep into Fódlan territory relatively unscathed; though judging by your attire, there is no mistaking that you are not from here... Maybe you were supposed to be the other exchange student we never got once the year started? I, myself, only saw Petra, but I did hear we were supposed to get more students from outside Fódlan..."

Wolfram clapped, as though he remembered something. "That's it! Maybe that's what I am? But I can't recall this Academy at all... Ugh, this is so frustrating!"

"You poor thing." The young man shook his head, his expression full of pity. "Please, allow me to help -- I will guide you to the monastery so you can speak with the headmaster and archbishop, Lady Rhea, and sort it all out."

"That would be a delight, um-"

"Oh, how boorish of me! I'm Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd and I am a student at the Officer's Academy. A pleasure to meet you, stranger-"

"Wolfram- ah, um, I'm pretty sure that's my name, anyway. Nice to meet you, Dimitri! Thank you so much for all you're doing... to someone you've only just met, too!"

Dimitri shook his head, changing the weight of his body to another leg, "please, think nothing of it. If I see someone in need, it is my duty to help them, whether they are in Kingdom territory or not."

"Duty...?" Wolfram tilted his head to the side. "Oh, well, duty or not, you're trusting me while I have nothing to give in return! And yet, I still must ask something of you..."

The blonde young man had begun to lead the way, "if it is within my power, I will be glad to help, Wolfram."

"Could you tell me more about this place as we walk? Maybe that'll trigger some memories..."

"Oh, is that all? Gladly! Perhaps starting from the date and year would be more appropriate..."

As they talked, Dimitri led Wolfram out of the woods that surrounded a place called Garreg Mach Monastery -- and the more they approached it, the stronger the presences of the Blood became, so Wolfram was glad he was on the right path.

"Normally I wouldn't have the authority to meet with the Archbishop without an appointment, but perhaps if Professor Byleth is with us, we can get you to talking to her in no time."

"It's the middle of the night, though? Won't it be a problem?"

Dimitri chuckled, "I would not say 'middle' of the night so much as 'a bit past sunset', but I do understand that the sun setting so early might look strange in outlander's eyes."

"Oh, so it's not midnight or something..."

"Quite the contrary," Dimitri said, the laughter still in his voice. As they passed the gates for the monastery, they turned left after the little bustling market. "This way; let us meet my- ahem, our professor first before heading to the audience hall."

Wolfram looked all around, finding everything as amusing as it was mysterious -- the way the monastery was built somewhat resembled the castle in Ylisse, though the very stones felt as though they were imbued with some sort of power he couldn't quite pinpoint.

Distracted with the scenery, Wolfram didn't realize they were walking straight towards one of the strongest presences of the Blood, only realizing it once Dimitri came to a full stop. "Wolfram, this is our professor, Byleth. Professor, I would like to ask something of you..."

Wolfram felt as though a sudden gust of wind blasted him away so sudden was the surge of power he felt emanating from this Byleth person. He felt a magnanimous presence lurching around her, as though protecting her from any and all influence, good or bad.

The Heart of Immortals!

Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, Wolfram used every ounce of power inside of him not to leap around and laugh like a mad man, yelling "I found her! I found the Heart!" at the full capacity of his lungs.

I found her, everyone! His mind blared, a smile escaping through his lips. Now I just need to stick to her!

[shirtlesssammy]

5x22: Swan Song

In light of recent news, we thought we’d finally tackle what might have been the end (until someone went and made a demon deal, giving us 10 more years of our beloved show!) It’s weird watching this and seeing what a bummer this all would have been if it had ended like this. Sure, it was epic, but I guess I’m a sucker for a happy ending when it’s about characters I’ve come to love more than my own family. I’m also going to point to this Twitter thread about good and bad show endings. Swan Song wouldn’t have been bad had we only had TFW for five years, but we’ve watched them grow over 15 years now, and I want to see them get some peace. (Thanks to all the meta writers for throwing out the much needed hope!)

The Road So Far:

Carry on my wayward son...

Now:

We open with Chuck Shurley narrating the origin story of the most important object in pretty much the entire universe. And I’m literally two minutes into rewatching this episode and already crying. He’s tells us about it’s original owner, Sal Moriarty. (Oh, Eric Kripke, of course it was.)

And how, after he died, it ended up in the hands of John Winchester, after some persuasion by his time traveling son.

Fade to Sam and Dean in Bobby’s salvage yard, drinking beer from the little green cooler. Dean tells Sam that he’s “in” on having Sam say yes to the devil.

Dean acknowledges that Sam can make his own choices. “Watching out for you? That’s kinda been my job, you know? More than that, it’s kinda who I am.” Seeing this image Dean has of himself shift to NOT be this is really great. Dean asks if this is really what Sam wants. Sam is more resigned than enthusiastic to the plan, obv.

Cut to Team Free Will collecting demon blood like they’re stocking up for the apocalypse (err..). Dean confers with Bobby about Lucifer’s location and they determine it is Detroit.

Once on the road, Dean can’t help but notice what a cute, slumbering angel he has in the backseat. Sam logically points out that angels don’t sleep. They talk about their plan, the odds of it working, and the reality that Sam won’t be coming back from the cage. Sam makes Dean promise that he won’t try and get him back. Dean balks at the idea. Sam makes him promise that he’ll find Lisa and live “some normal, apple pie life.”

Once in Detroit, the group finds many demons out and about. Sam and Bobby have a moment. Then Sam asks Cas to “take care of these guys” for him. Cas tells Sam that it isn’t possible. Sam asks him to humor him. Cas catches on just a little too late that he’s supposed to lie. Oh Cas, you beautiful, literal goob.

Sam then gets to the business of downing four gallons of demon blood. With that done, Sam and Dean turn themselves in to the demons, who bring them to Lucifer.

Chuck continues his monologue on the Impala. He mentions the unimportant features, and then mentions the important features: Sam’s green army man, Dean’s legos, Sam and Dean’s initials. The devil doesn’t know or care about their car.

The devil wants to know what Sam and Dean are up to.

Sam says he’s ready to say “yes.” The devil reveals that he knows they have the rings that will reopen the Cage. Fuuuuuck. Sam tries bluffing, but the jig is up. Dean’s look of anguish is devastating. Lucifer likes his odds on the battle that will happen in Sam’s head. He agrees. Before Dean can do anything more than say “No”, Sam says “Yes.”

A bright light flashes and Dean finds Sam knocked out on the floor. He throws the rings on the wall and gets to opening the door to Hell. Sammy awakens and Dean helps him towards the portal. Only, PSYCH! It’s actually Lucifer. Sam didn’t stand a chance against him. He closes the portal and takes the rings.  

Once away from Dean, Lucifer has a moment with Sam, where Sam makes it very clear that he’s not done fighting.

Lucifer appeals to Sam’s worst feelings about himself, but says he wants Sam to be happy. Sam doesn’t want anything from Lucifer. Lucifer then points out the group of demons behind him. They’re all people Sam knew in his life --they were all watching Sam for Azazel.

Dean, Bobby, and Cas are watching the fallout to Sam saying yes.

Shallow Sidenote:

(Those curls!)

Cas suggests they “imbibe copious quantities of alcohol and just wait for the inevitable blast wave.” GRIM, DUDE --but he ain’t wrong. Cas doesn’t think there’s any way they can stop Lucifer and Michael meeting. Dean is not giving up (and he’s desperate guys -his insult at Cas was way harsh). Bobby’s even resigned to the reality of the situation.

We cut back to the room full of demons, but they’re all dead this time. Lucifer smugly looks at Sam in the mirror. “We having fun yet?” Ugh, Lucifer, you’re the worst.

Chuck’s narration cuts in like a road narrative, all misty colored and gentle. “They could go anywhere and do anything. They drove one thousand miles for an Ozzy show, two days for a Jayhawks game. And when it was clear, they'd park her in the middle of nowhere, sit on the hood, and watch the stars for hours without saying a word.” This beautiful interlude dissipates with a phone call and Chuck picks up, expecting Mistress Magda. (Eyebrow waggle.) LOL, nope! It’s Dean.

“You got a real virgin / hooker thing going on, don’t you?” Dean observes. Excuse me while I laugh forever over this line, with the confirmed Chuck-is-God context. Dean wants to know where the fight will happen. It’ll be at Stull Cemetery at high noon, just outside of Lawrence. Chuck doesn’t have any more useful information than that…but it’s a place to start.

Bobby and Cas try to prevent Dean from heading to Lawrence to intervene in the upcoming archangel showdown but their arguments are weak sauce compared to Dean’s need to save Sam. He heads off alone to Stull.

The cemetery is wispy with mist and bedraggled with age. Michael (wearing Adam) flaps in to greet Lucifer. (Side note: Saying that Michael is “wearing Adam” sounds like Adam is a fashion designer. In this epic showdown, Michael has been dressed by the FABULOUS Adam!) 

Both brothers seem regretful, but ultimately resolved. Lucifer questions why they’re fighting if neither of them wants to do it. Michael trots out the old “duty” argument. Lucifer offers an alternative: “We’re going to kill each other. And for what? One of Dad's tests. And we don't even know the answer. We're brothers. Let's just walk off the chessboard.” Hey, guys. It’s a really good point. It’s also an intentional mirror of Dean, Sam, and John that I refuse to stop getting emotional about.

Michael’s tempted for a moment. Damn serpent!! “I’m a good son,” Michael decides. “You haven't changed a bit, little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself.” This is also an excellent fucking point, man. The rumble’s still on.

Speaking of rumbling, Dean approaches in Baby with Def Leppard cranked up loud. FUCK YEAH. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?” To quote Tess McGreer’s Twitter feed: MY SON!

Michael’s not into the whole threesome battle, and heads threateningly towards Dean when the camera cuts suddenly to Castiel and Bobby who have just flapped in. “Hey, assbutt!” Castiel shouts before lobbing a holy oil molotov cocktail at Michael. Bless.

Michael poofs away. “You got your five minutes,” Cas says to Dean just before Lucifer explodes him. NOOOOOOO

Lucifer’s pretty crabby by this point, so when Dean tries to verbally reach Sam again, he hurls Dean into Baby. Bobby shoots futilely at Lucifer before Lucifer snaps his neck. NOOOOOOO

“Sammy, are you in there?” Dean asks desperately. PROTECT.

“He’s gonna feel the snap of your bones,” Lucifer promises Dean. He’s gonna kill Dean slow. I’d chortle over the classic villain “kill you slow” trope except that Lucifer is beating Dean bloody and it’s really, really not funny.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” a very battered Dean tells Sam, leaving me to stare into space thinking about how he must have said this on quiet nights, comforting young Sam over nightmares or monster-under-the-bed scares.

Lucifer draws his fist back to deliver a killing blow as Dean slumps in his hold. His eye catches on a little army man stuck in the ashtray and we get a montage of Dean and Sam moments set to the soundtrack of howling wind. Sam’s fist uncurls.

And that’s it. Sam takes control. “I’ve got him,” Sam tells Dean. He hauls the rings out of his pocket and tosses them to the ground, chanting the incantation to open the cage. Dean sprawls on the ground, leaning against the car, bloodied and broken. Sam panics at the threshold to the cage when Michael!Adam appears. 

Sam takes one more look at Dean before he opens his arms wide, ready to plunge into the cage. As Michael tries to haul him back, Sam pulls him in as well.

With a blast, the cage closes and Dean is left alone in the quiet, wind-swept cemetery.

He looks up a while later to find Castiel standing behind him, whole and unblemished. “You’re alive?” Dean asks.

“I’m better than that,” Cas says and…okay. He heals Dean with a touch, then brings Bobby back to life. Good job, Cas bby!

“Endings are hard,” Chuck says, and the scene switches to his office once again. “Endings are impossible. You try to tie up every loose end, but you never can. The fans are always gonna bitch. There's always gonna be holes. And since it's the ending, it's all supposed to add up to something. I'm telling you, they're a raging pain in the ass.”

We switch back to Dean and Cas in the Impala. Cas is headed back to Heaven to try to bring order upstairs. He’s ready to continue his heavenly mission, but Dean’s pissed off. “Where’s my grand prize? All I got is my brother in a hole.”

“You got what you asked for, Dean. No paradise. No hell. Just more of the same. I mean it, Dean. What would you rather have? Peace or freedom?”

Cas flaps out. “You really suck at goodbyes, you know that?” Always, Dean. Always.

Dean says a temporary farewell to Bobby, then shows up at Lisa’s house, CLEARLY TRAUMATIZED. What a non-booty booty call. Lisa reads the room and pulls him in for a comforting hug. (Stay tuned for my 8,000 word essay on why Lisa is the best.) 

“Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kinda the whole point? No doubt endings are hard. But then again nothing ever really ends, does it?” Chuck vanishes, which is apparently his equivalent of dropping the mic.

Then, the show proceeds to not end, in the best way. Dean is still lost at Lisa’s, putting on a “normal” front. And outside, Sam appears under a flickering street light. To be continued…for ten more seasons. <3

Quoting is Hard:

This 1967 Chevrolet Impala would turn out to be the most important car – no, the most important object – in pretty much the whole universe.

As far as foreboding goes, it's a little light in the loafers.

Ain’t he a little angel?

I told you. This would always happen in Detroit.

MFEO. Literally.

I suggest we imbibe copious quantities of alcohol and just wait for the inevitable blast wave.

Cas, are you God?

Every fiber he's got, wants to die, or find a way to bring Sam back. But he isn't gonna do either. Because he made a promise.

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[penniesforthestorm]

Heaven’s Gate (1980)

***Disclosure: I watched the 154-minute theatrical cut, on a laptop, which feels like a disservice, but it was on Hulu and my curiosity got the better of me.

If, like me, you read a lot of film criticism, eventually, you’ll run into a discussion or a mention of Heaven’s Gate. What you glean from this context is something along these lines: this film ruined Michael Cimino’s career, bankrupted United Artists, marked the end of New Hollywood, and it’s way too long. (I’ve ranked these items in order of their relative objectivity.) For some, all of this would be a turn-off. For me, though, it only made me more curious, especially once I saw one or two mentions of it being a ‘flawed masterpiece’. I’m always intrigued by a big, wild artistic swing, even or perhaps especially if it’s close to a disaster. Lynch’s Dune, Apocalypse Now, High Plains Drifter-- I could go on. So when I decided to watch Heaven’s Gate, my main intent was to try and meet it on its own terms, using the same central questions I bring to any movie: What do I think the director is trying to do, do I think they succeed, and why or why not?

From the opening notes of the overture, I was immediately intrigued. The film’s score, composed by David Mansfield, is not the kind of triumphant, vaguely Teutonic classical theme we might associate with a John Ford Western. Nor is it a twangy fiddle-and-banjo affair. Instead, it has a distinctly Eastern European flavor, with plucked strings and minor tonalities. As it turns out, this is kind of the key to the whole film-- it’s not really a Western at all. It’s more like an epic Russian novel that just happens to take place on the American frontier. Through this lens, the massive scope of the project suddenly makes a lot more sense.

The score has a less abstract significance, as well-- Heaven’s Gate is set in 1890, when immigration to the U.S. from Eastern Europe was reaching its peak. Most of the film’s ‘population’, as it were, are Czech, Bulgarian, and Polish immigrants, who are targets of the nastiest kinds of nativist suspicion-- routinely named as ‘anarchists’ and accused of (among other things) having too many children. A private stockman’s association in Wyoming, headed by the oily Mr. Frank Canton (Sam Waterston, putting his talent for WASP-y, patrician disdain to excellent use), has effectively declared war on a particularly fractious county, alleging that its inhabitants routinely traffic in stolen cattle.

Before we get there, though, we’re treated to a dream. The film opens on an imposing stone edifice, shrouded in summer-morning mist, and pans down to reveal a young man in a fine suit, running pell-mell across the dewy courtyard. He soon meets up with a crowd of his fellows, a roistering band of black-clad youths (following behind an actual band playing the chorus of “Battle Hymn of the Republic”). It’s commencement, Harvard, 1870. Pretty girls wave from windows and giggle behind their lace gloves. The class speaker, named as W.C. Irvine (John Hurt) makes a show of astonishment on his way to the podium. Later, in the soft evening light, the graduates and their sweethearts twirl on the lawn to “The Blue Danube Waltz”. The camera twirls, too, bowing in and out from the circle of voluminous skirts. Our latecomer from the morning, who has been addressed as James (Kris Kristofferson), takes the arm of a lovely blonde, and they laugh in mutual delight. Quite suddenly, the dancing turns into a spirited brawl, with a few gallant punches thrown. Our young heroes are shown finally gathered together, noses bloody but eyes bright, facing toward a future in which they will help to civilize their vast nation. Or some such thing.

The film then flashes forward to a muddy yard outside a log cabin, where a cow has been butchered, its innards being excavated by the butcher and his family. Then the shadow of a hat creeps up along the bottom of the white sheet serving as an improvised wall. The butcher calls out, and takes a bullet to the head in response. Framed through the rip in the sheet is an elegant young man in dandyish grey (Christopher Walken). Later, we find out his name-- Nicholas Champion. He is an enforcer for the Association, referred to as a traitor by one of the men he apprehends. Meanwhile James, now Sheriff Averill, disembarks the train at the local station, and right away, we sense something is amiss. As he walks into the general store, a roughnecked man studiously avoids his eyes. Another man is examining a knife for sale, and the camera lingers on the bright flash of the blade.

This is the essence of Heaven’s Gate-- its focus is, overwhelmingly, on the visual details. The cinematographer is Vilmos Zsigmond (McCabe and Mrs. Miller, The Deer Hunter, Close Encounters of the Third Kind), and the color palette reminded me of the autochrome process used in some early photography-- lots of deep brown, grey, green, and purple. Smoke and mist and haze frequently drift over the scenery. Most of the film was shot on location in Glacier National Park in northern Montana, which made it deeply moving for me-- the bright turquoise hue of the lakes, the abundant wildflowers, the craggy mountain peaks. There’s another dance, introduced by a debonair young fiddler on roller skates (the film’s composer, David Mansfield)-- and then when the assembled citizens join in, we see that everyone’s on roller skates! It is kind of absurd, but in a thrilling way, at least for the majority of the runtime.

Unfortunately, however, this focus on setting the scene does lead to some neglect of the characters. It’s no fault of the actors. Kristofferson’s ramblin’-man grace is perfectly suited to the role of James Averill, Southern scion trying genuinely to be a figure of decency in the world. Walken’s striking, nervy energy animates the ambitious Nicholas Champion, who is increasingly unsure which side he wants to be on. John Hurt makes an entire three-course meal out of too little screentime-- going from W.C. Irvine, Harvard class clown, to being addressed contemptuously by Waterston as “Billy”, a sozzled, tragic cynic. Isabelle Huppert brings a fascinating steeliness to Ella Watson, the local madame who knows her business and knows it well. But (at least in this cut) those one-sentence summaries are about all the character development we get, and it’s a shame, because there are a lot of intriguing threads here.

Still, I came away from Heaven’s Gate feeling like I’d seen something important. It’s passionately made and often magnificent-- the first half is just one brilliant sequence after another. Sure, it staggers under its own weight a little bit, but it’s attempting the type of load one rarely sees. Someday I’ll have to hunt down a Director’s Cut (I know there are a few versions out there) and see it on a big screen. I know it’ll be worth it.

[goodjobweldon]

The Fast and the SPQRious

I have never seen 1959′s “Ben-Hur”, which is not the type of thing one ought to declare on any sort of public forum. Ben-Hur is one of those epochal classics, a film that really ought to be universally administered. It’s like a BCG jag, except (presumably) less painful. Mind you, if you were to be given that injection as the opening credits of the film began rolling, by the time the house lights came up, you would have gained and subsequently re-lost your immunity to tuberculosis, so long is it. It’s so long, you could fly to Jerusalem and shoot your own version of the movie in less time than it took to actually watch the bloody thing.

This is presumably the reason some very silly people in a very boring boardroom, wearing very plain suits and sporting very conservative haircuts, decided to remake the classic, condensing it down into just two short hours as they did so. This is a curious move, because as far as I’m able to gather, there was absolutely no demand for a Ben-Hur remake from any corner of the globe prior to the film releasing, and if box office figures are anything to go by, then there remains no demand for a Ben-Hur remake now that it’s out in the wild.

This vast disinterest is merited. I was given a Cineworld Unlimited card for my christmas last year, and as such I feel duty bound to see every film released in my local multiplex, whether I actually want to or not. This is why I watched “Suicide Squad” twice, and why I found myself contemplating my absurd life choices as the BBFC classification for “Independence Day: Resurgence” faded onto screen. So, as a dutiful (and fabulously ignorant) cinephile, I sat on my own in screen 11- row G,  and watched “Ben-Hur” for the first time this evening.

2016′s “Ben-Hur” is not terrible. I don’t hate it, and I’ve hated several films this year. Worse, I feel totally indifferent towards it. I feel about Ben-Hur the same way I feel about the Nissan Qashqai. Every time I see a Nissan Qashqai, I think “Why? That was ill advised.” And then I carry on with my day. For like the Nissan Qashqai, “Ben-Hur” is so inoffensive as to be totally devoid of any character. To borrow a line from a television show I have never watched, if “Ben-Hur” was a spice, it would be flour. And it doesn’t even have the common decency to be self-raising.

To dissect “Ben-Hur” is pointless. But then I suppose so is writing a film review on a blog with 20 followers, most of whom are robots who have discovered pornography and are now intent on disseminating it to the masses. So I’ll do it anyway.

If I were to go to IKEA and buy an absurdly hideous desk (as that’s all they seem interested in stocking these days), I would spend days alone in my room with that deconstructed desk, one hammer, and 19 nails of varying sizes. The resultant bureau would be better put together than the film is. It’s wanting in almost every single department.

The acting is mostly serviceable, with the two leads (the one what is Ben-Hur and the one what is his brother) sort of delivering their lines in an occasionally believable, occasionally emotionless fashion. Other performances are staccato and joyless. I’m fairly certain that Morgan Freeman was unaware he was being filmed for the majority of the scenes he’s in. Jesus sort of wanders through a few scenes (I had no idea Jesus was in Ben-Hur, actually) and does that kind of Jesus thing that anyone who ever plays Jesus does- the soft lilt, the monotone melody of the voice, the abstention from any plosive sounds at all, the pianissimo delivery. There’s no performance that stands out- in fact, there isn’t even one that sits out. The actors are just all sort of in the film. They’re there.

An odd thing to pick up on, but I think it deserves to be mentioned- the make-up and costuming in “Ben-Hur” is truly bizarre. Morgan Freeman sports a wig that they haven’t even attempted to make look like his real hair, and I kid you not, at one point Ben-Hur and his partner ride atop a horse, both dressed in skinny jeans (grey and white ones respectively). If they panned the camera down a touch, it’s conceivable they’d both be wearing Vans on their feet. At another point, Ben-Hur skulks about Jerusalem in the near-dark, dressed in a flowing hooded cloak that seriously might have been bought from New Look. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see a department store win the BAFTA for Best Costumes?

The CGI is stunningly poor, really fantastically ugly, and it’s omnipresent. Almost nothing in Ben-Hur looks real. Pontius Pilate’s conversation with Messala about the ratio of Jewish life to Roman life is shot with what should be a stunning Jerusalem vista in the background. However, a green screen has quite clearly been the on-set substitute for such a view, and so the entire thing looks like it’s been shot using the Xbox Live camera and the bundled 2009 Xbox 360 game “You’re In The Movies!” Every single minute of the battle at sea (featured so heavily in the trailers) is ghastly. Not one bit of it, from the waves crashing against the hull of the ship, to the fire eating at the arm of the drummer, to the ships being torn apart by cannon balls, looks in any way real. I would say that it will age poorly, but it didn’t even begin well, it’s awful now. That it’s so ubiquitous is baffling.

Everyone knows the stories about Ben-Hur, about horses dying, about people dying, and on screen it (apparently *adjusts tie, loosens collar*) feels real. Mostly because it is real. I’m not suggesting that the missing ingredient from the reboot is death (actually, I might be suggesting that…- no, no, I’m definitely not suggesting that), I’m simply saying that there is definitely a missing ingredient. The only time you could conceivably believe anyone had died during the making of “Ben-Hur” is when Morgan Freeman’s on screen. Then you realise that no, that is how he’s actually choosing to play this character.

The biggest problem with the film is just how emotionless the whole thing is. When Ben-Hur is flung from his slave ship into the sea and is drowning, we feel nothing. There is no tension, there is no suspense, there is nothing but apathy. The same is true of the climactic chariot race, it’s just CGI things hitting CGI things and then close-ups of faces going “argh!” or “ooft!” or “kapow!”. It’s totally bland, totally beige, totally uninteresting. It’s rubbish.

It’s not just a re-telling of an old story (probably), there are some attempts to modernise it. There are a few Go-Pro shots, and at times, the whole thing looks like a PS2 game. It feels like it’s made for the Need for Speed crowds, it’s as though Michael Bay wanted to make a biblical epic. It honestly would not have been terribly surprising had Ben-Hur’s chariot in the final moments of the film transformed into an Apache helicopter, filled Messala with hot lead, and then become Megan Fox. But it’s not enough. Reboots have to be bold and creative to be worth it. When Christopher Nolan rebooted Batman, he made him grounded and brooding and complex. Then, when Batman was rebooted again, even Zack Snyder was brave enough to mix things up. Yes, he did this by making Batman just fucking terrible, but at least it was a distinct take on the character. All that can be said for “Ben-Hur” is that it exists, and it is not worth seeing. And yet I would appear to have said so much more.

Note: I resisted the temptation to add in “Ben-Hur, done that” into this review. I deserve credit for that. If nothing else.

[themartinsguide]

Istanbul, Turkey

18 - 22 April 2017

Did we mention how ready we were to hit Europe? This was particularly the case after an epic 24 hour journey from Galle, which was not without its hiccups…

At 2pm on 18 April we were dropped at Galle train station by the hotel owner (who seemed to think Western tourist cleanliness standards were hilarious). At 2.45pm we manhandled ourselves into a second class carriage bound for Colombo. Filled to the brim is an understatement. For the 2.5 hours train ride we puzzled ourselves and our packs into a standing position near the open door, holding onto our possessions, while taking turns for some exposure to the natural air conditioning. After we had pushed our way onto the platform in Colombo we hightailed it to the bus station by foot. Once there we went through usual rigmarole of trying to find the airport “express” bus stop. Thankfully a kind, local woman took pity on Hannah and explained that the bus was late and it would arrive soon. When 5 other female tourists arrived in the same spot looking equally distressed and confused, the local woman refused to open her mouth again and discretely winked at Hannah, who must have had her friendly face on that day - a rare occasion indeed. James then wandered off in search for a Fanta, leaving Hannah in charge of the four bags. The express bus arrived. (FYI, “express bus” loosely translates to larger than usual minibus). Local woman looked back at Hannah with another pitiful look as she hoofs it towards the bus, along with 30 other people. Only then did we understand the subtle wink. But it was too late. Hannah, sans James, channels the hulk and swiftly piles the four bags onto her arms, loudly cursing James in the process (crazy woman on the loose), and proceeds to sprint (probably a slight hyperbole) towards the bus which by now had a line double the size of the vehicle. In what Hannah translated as an attempt to further enrage her, James, seeing Hannah’s struggle as he strolls back with Fanta in hand, let’s out one of his high pitches giggles. He is rewarded with a death stare. He then begins to appreciate what is actually occurring.

We were the last to be squeezed into the bus, and forced to hold unnatural body positions until we reached a town just short of the airport, where the majority of our fellow passengers disembarked (including, thankfully, the woman next to Hannah who had been throwing up into a plastic bag for the entire journey). James then attempted to pay the conductor, along with the rest of the passengers. The driver aggressively refused and insisted we could pay when we got to the airport. James was slightly confused by this. That was until he saw the conductor force one of the western female tourists we had befriend on the train, to pay an exorbitant amount as a “baggage fee”. James, a fair-minded chap, starts yelling “No! NO!” and pointing his finger forcefully at the conductor. Our friends fee is halved, but she was still charged double the price that the local passengers paid.

Unsurprisingly, when the conductor boarded the bus bound for the airport, he insisted we pay and the amount included this newly established baggage fee. Things were getting heated. The other terrified western female passenger handed over her cash and sat quietly for the next 20mins. Hannah, who does not like to see her shopping money spent on scams, insisted that we would be paying on arrival at the airport as we could not be certain that that is actually where we were being taken. After being informed that there were police at the airport, Hannah confirmed that we understood that and that we had every intention of paying. James, who had read about the possibility of such scams was sitting silently, red faced, and raging; you could almost see the smoke billowing from his ears. The driver and the conductor conversed in a language unknown while we sat in silence, in anticipation of the battle to come.

When we arrived at the airport, our fellow tourist bolted from the bus and we handed over what we considered to be a fair price. The conductor demanded four times the local price and promptly jumped off the bus and returned with a police officer… who looked decidedly uninterested. Quickly understanding the parties’ positions, the officer pathetically feigned an attempt at giving a shit and told us we could make a complaint at the station if we were unhappy with the price. Hannah told him we would be happy to (we had a lot of time to kill after all) and asked to be pointed in the direction of said station. Sensing this would mean work for him, and the logistics of the situation just weren’t stacking up (would we pay after laying a complaint or before?), he told us to pay what we thought was a fair price. We handed over our cash, smugly collected our bags, and calmly walking away while being subject to a barrage of abuse in a language we didn’t understand. A win for Team Jannah.

And then it was 7pm. At 12.30am check in for our flight finally opened. Three security screening stations later, and the slowest check in and immigration queues we have born witness to, we were waiting to board our 3.25am flight to Doha. Once on board, Hannah was quick to fall asleep and missed out on the breakfast meal, which is unheard of, but, upon waking, James assured her it was delicious. The flight was a swift 4.5 hours and we were in Doha for breakfast.

Our transit was a swift 2 hours, and there was a lot to see in the swanky airport, just make sure you take your cash. Two coffees and a water cost us a cool $25NZ. Our 4.5 hour flight bound for Istanbul boarded on time and we were feeling very impressed by Qatar Airways, and not just because of the breakfast wines and Bloody Mary’s that were enjoyed with our omelet (as per the free drink rule).

We landed in Istanbul around midday on 18 April. We were excited, slightly drunk, and freezing! 16 weeks of consistently hot temperatures meant that 12 degrees felt arctic. Thankfully the metro system was efficient and heated, and we arrived at our hotel in the Old City around mid-afternoon. In an attempt to stay awake until an acceptable hour we went for a quick scout of the area before BRIEFLY utilising the hotel gym. Due to the number of nearby cafes selling delicious Turkish treats (this country loves its sweet treats and we were excited by the prospect of sampling them ALL) we decided on a dinner of melt in your mouth baclava, Turkish delight sent from heaven, and Turkish tea (FYI, tea drunk from small flute shaped tumblers really heightens ones tea drinking experience). Having never experienced the authentic version of either of these, we were, quite simply, blown away. It was hard to select from the numerous cabinets packed to the brim with freshly made treats. Orgasmic.

Anyway, that’s probably a bit much info. To avoid any more food related rants we will just say this - The food is incredible in Turkey. All of it is delicious. All. Of. It. There is not enough time in one lifetime to try it all. If you visit, plan your eating. Select your itinerary based on what you want to eat. Quite seriously. The rice based pudding is a particularly nice surprise, it is 100,000,000,000 times better than you could imagine. The 2kg weight gain in one week has undoubtedly been worth it.

Anyway, we woke on the 20th of April overly excited for a day of sight seeing. We started off with a very brisk run which includes a few loops around Gulhane Park, a short still from our hotel. The Park, which surrounds one of the outer walls of Topkapi Palace, was spectacularly well manicured (which was refreshing in itself) and covered in tulips of amazing colours. Many photo ops were taken. As the sun started to show its face, so did the food vendors selling Turkish pretzels lathered in cream cheese (that was the LAST food shout out, we promise).

Our next stop was the famous Hargia Sofia, the beautiful ex-Cathedral, ex-Mosque, turned museum. The lack of other visitors made this site a particularly surreal experience. We had rooms all to ourselves. The building and its surrounds (such as the various tombs of Sultans past) is huge and undergoing constant upkeep. The history is equally as impressive as the architecture. We could have spent all morning here but we had many other places to be.

Other places included the impressive Top Kapi Palace, via the worlds largest tulip carpet (not really a must see but it was in the way), this place does a great tulip. The Palace, filled with ancient treasures and weapons, could take up a day in itself. The buildings are beautiful, inside and out, decorated with tiled, mosaic walls, and coloured, cut glass lampshades. The views across the Bosporus to Asia on the sunny day were also incredible.

After some reenergizing Turkish coffee and a baclava fix we headed in the direction of the famous Blue Mosque (as it is colloquially known). Hannah has mixed feelings about this experience. As we had to wait until the afternoon prayer session was finished before we were able to enter, we had plenty of time to read the copious amounts of very interesting information regarding the Islam faith including an explanation for the female dress code. The word “empowerment” was used more than once. Upon entry into the Mosque, Hannah, who had come prepared with a scarf to cover her head, was required to put on one of the corn blue rented skirts (rolls of fabric sewn together) to cover her jeans. Carrying her shoes in a plastic bag and holding the ill-fitting skirt up, she had no hands left to prevent her head scarf falling in front of her face and inhibiting her vision, all of which left Hannah feeling less than empowered. Particularly upon entry when she saw the segregation of praying areas inside the Mosque…

Moving quickly on. After a spot of lunch we headed for the Grand Bazaar. While this is quite a spectacle it is quite the rip off, especially for a couple of backpackers. Being two of the few tourists in the city made us particularly vulnerable to the direct pleading and touting but we stood firm. Not even an uninvited kiss on the hand was enough for Hannah to open her purse. We left shortly after using the loo. But on a more serious note, we have actually found it quite sad how few tourists we have seen wandering the streets of Istanbul, and we hope the tourism industry in Turkey gets the attention it deserves sometime soon.

It was an amazing day and we clocked up 30,000 steps without even blinking. To celebrate our arrival in Europe, and finding our new favorite city (an early but well deserved decision), we went out for a fantastic meal and drank red wine for the first time in 3.5 months. We even welcomed the gentle rain that began to fell as it meant we could huddle in blankets under the restaurant’s outdoor heaters and shelter, and watch it fall onto the cobbles of the narrow street lined with architecturally beautiful European buildings.

21 April started off with a slight headache but not enough to stop us heading out for an early morning run along the waterfront promenade which was lined with remnants of the Theodosian Wall and overlooked by one side of Topkapi Palace. The 6 degree temperature actually assisted in curing our headaches (which we are convinced were fatigue related and had nothing to do with our level of red wine consumption). Any residual fatigue related issues James was experiencing became the least of his worries when he was invited, mid-run, to join a group of elderly, crazy, Turkish men doing their daily morning jump/swim into the Bosporus Strait. Not one to miss out on such an “opportunity” (Hannah politely declined), nor one to seize the opportunity to lose his clothes, James quite literally dove right in. From the noises James was making on his emergence from the water Hannah could determine that her decision to pass had been a good one. But due to the fast flowing nature of the Strait, there was no time for contemplation, or he would have ended up in Asia. Actually. Wet and in a hypothermic state James vowed to return the next day, which he did, to much excitement and applause. It’s funny how people who don’t speak a word of the same language can have a conversation with body language and facial expressions. James now has a head cold. Hannah is less than sympathetic.

The rest of the day was spent sightseeing and included a visit to the Military Museum. There is so much to see in Istanbul and we have barely seen much of the outlying areas (we will definitely be back). However, we did experience some of the less romantic parts of the City at the start of our walk of the Theodosian Wall (this does not seem to be a typical tourist activity; it was a James special). For those who are interested, the Theodosian Walls of Constantinople (as Istanbul was once known), a UNESCO World Heritage site, are a series of defensive stone walls that have surrounded and protected the city of since its founding as the new capital of the Roman Empire by Constantine the Great. With numerous additions and modifications during their history, they were the last great fortification system of antiquity, and one of the most complex and elaborate systems ever built. Initially built by Constantine the Great, the walls surrounded the new city on all sides, protecting it against attack from both sea and land. James regaled Hannah with such information, and other useful tidbits, for the entire 3.5 hour stroll.

Another big day on our feet meant we could enjoy a guilt-free pide and kebab feast. However, a post-dinner scam left us with a sour taste in our mouths. Happily strolling back to the hotel, feeling full and lethargic, averting our eyes from the Syrian families begging on the roadside with placards, we were obviously prime targets. Being western with NZ dispositions was the nail in the coffin. When we saw a brush fall from its handle onto the pavement, the owner unawares, we instinctively picked it up and handed it back to its owner. The “owner” was so very appreciative and strongly insisted on giving James’ shoes a shine as a token of his appreciation. James, who has actually being rabbiting on about getting his shoes shined since we were in Vietnam, placed his feet on the stool, Syrian families watching on. Then the sob story started and the penny dropped. But it was too late for Hannah by this stage. While James had been chatting, the owner’s accomplice had acted quickly, insisting that he give Hannah’s shoes a quick shine on the premise that he was a gentlemen. Hannah, seeing the situation for what it was, politely but firmly declined the offer over and over again. Until he grabbed her foot and placed it on his stool. And that is the story of how we were scammed out of $15NZD. Looking back on it we are actually quite impressed and have actually commented on how clean our shoes look several times since. James hasn’t mentioned how the incident has effected the shopping budget.

For our final full day in Istanbul we visited the Basilica Cistern and took a computer ferry from European Turkey across to the Asian side… perhaps we were starting to miss Asia. This was quite a novel experience in itself. For the short 15minute ride we sat sipping warm tea in the brisk cool spring air, wishing we were wearing an extra layer or two. Once in the other side we found a local cafe and sat down for a Saturday morning coffee and hookah hit. As this part of Turkey is much less touristy, with locals going about their usual Saturday morning tasks, we stuck out like sore thumbs. Still, we had a great time strolling the bustling, delectable markets that lined the cobbled streets with the taste of Turkish coffee and melon shisha lingering in our mouths. That evening we found ourselves in Taksim Square for sunset which was heaving with a fun, Saturday evening vibe. After stumbling across a restaurant and bar district we thought it would be very rude of us not to stop in for a quick wine. That one “quick wine” turned into a few more quick wines and before we knew it, it was 12am and we were having shots with the bartenders and the owner. The next day was not pretty, but that’s a story for another day…

As a final remark, we would like to warn any future visitors to Turkey about the stray dog situation. Whereas the pack of stray dogs in Asia were small and yappy, they were, with a few exceptions, not particularly terrifying. That is not the case with the stray “dogs” (“wolves” may be a better description) here. Not only do these huge breeds (German Shepherd-Husky cross breeds) roam in packs in populated areas, they bark ferociously and chase after cars, causing amuck on busy roads. Avoid them. Rabies will be the least of your worries if you’re bitten and make it out alive.