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whatstruthgottodowithit · 1 year

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Does He Love You?

Fandom: Elvis, Elvis Presley, Elvis 2022, RPF

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Female Reader, Elvis Presley x Ann-Margaret

Characters: Elvis Presley, Female Reader, Ann-Margaret, Jerry Schilling, Joe Esposito, Red West, Sonny West, Colonel Tom Parker

Word Count: 3225

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Does he love you, like he loves me?

Tags/Warnings: Request, Requested Fic, Vaginal Sex, Kissing, Arguing, Cheating, Infidelity, Drunk Arguments, Betrayal, Angst, Hurt, Affairs, Established Relationship, Reba Song

Notes: This kinda reminded me of a Reba song at the end. It was giving me Jolene vibes but Ann Margaret knew they weren’t meant to be im sure.

Elvis Tags: @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley

Request by @elvispresleyxoxo - yes that’s completely fine! I was wondering if you could do one where reader knows elvis is cheating with ann margaret and confront him in front of all of the memphis mafia maybe even ann margaret if your comfortable with that! she tells elvis that she loves him ,shares like smutty details about there sex life ( if ann margaret is there could reader be like does he do that to you to, but again if your uncomfortable with that you don’t have to write that) , just overall a messy argument in front of everyone. but in the end elvis lashes out and takes her into another room and makes love to her and everyone can hear them she comes back like embarrassed but yk forgives him , you can choose the ending around the ann margaret situation if your comfortable writing that part x

One would think that being in a relationship with Elvis Presley would be fun. And for the most part, it is but not always. Sometimes the glitz and the glamour of Hollywood isn't parties and shows, it's dreadfully boring meetings with studio executives that come disguised as evening dinner parties. Whilst Elvis allowed the Colonel to negotiate most of the deals he was required to be present, something that no doubt allowed the Colonel to do what he wanted whilst having the excuse that Elvis never protested even though he was ten people down the table. As long as Elvis showed up the Colonel was happy but to keep Elvis happy he needed distractions. Which was why he brought friends. Members of the Mafia or me, someone he could talk to whilst they hashed out details of contracts that didn't interest him. The upside of these meetings was that they were largely comped by the networks meaning they were almost exclusively held in fancy hotels or restaurants rather than the dreary offices of Paramount. That was why tonight we would be dining at Perino's.

As we walked into the room my eyes roved over the table that was already jam-packed full of people, as ever we were the last to arrive. The majority of it was made up of men in stiff suits, business types, and members of Elvis' entourage who always tried so desperately to fit in at these things but somehow always seemed to look like boys play acting as Hollywood bigwigs. And then my eyes landed on the end of the table. On the only other woman in the room. Ann-Margaret.

Whilst Elvis' schmoozed his way through the crowd of people that had jumped up to greet him my eyes remained locked on her. Her red-golden hair was pushed back from her face, her natural makeup accentuating her large eyes and full lips in the dim ambient lighting. She looked beautiful. She was chatting to a man I didn't know seemingly unbothered by our entrance, a fact that made my heart sink. After all, why would she? She knew Elvis well. Too well. The novelty of his presence had no doubt rubbed off for her.

A million thoughts circled in my mind. What was she doing here? Had Elvis invited her? Had the network? I didn't know which of those options was worse. Either way, it signalled that she wasn't going anywhere much to my sadness. They had just debuted their first film together, Viva Las Vegas, and it was a hit. Elvis had even seemed to enjoy himself on this production which I was ecstatic for. He seemed more lenient with the scripts, happier to sing the same old songs he'd been given and altogether more enthusiastic whenever he'd called home. It was only when I flew out to Vegas for the last few days of filming I saw why.

I couldn't blame him I supposed. After all she was a beautiful, charming and magnetic woman. The press liked her. The Mafia liked her. Elvis liked her. But I couldn't bring myself to. He'd been like this before of course. No matter what I did he couldn't seem to stay true yet none of the others ever bothered me...but she did. Because I could feel the way he felt about her. The others never bothered me because I knew he didn't love them but with her? The potential was there. Another two or three films, who knew what could happen?

Tears stung at my eyes but I forced them back, going through the motions of greeting people until I could finally drop down into my seat beside Elvis. Ann-Margaret was sitting on his other side. I didn't listen to either of them as they started to talk. Instead, I grabbed the bottle of wine that had been left on the table and poured myself a large glassful, immediately sipping it down as much as I could. Neither of them even noticed.

✵✵✵

I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to even be here. As everyone laughed and joked around me I sat in silence nursing whatever number glass of wine I was up to and watching Elvis and Ann-Margaret talk. It was like slow torture. Every laugh, every coy smile, every touch of the hand was like another rock being placed on my chest until I couldn't breathe. I had to get out of there. I stood up from the table, gripping onto it for balance as the alcohol in my system hit me full on making me woozy.

'You alright honey?' Elvis said, finally noticing me. His hand gently touched the back of mine but I pulled mine out from under his.

'Fine, I just need the restroom,' I said. Elvis looked at me curiously but I didn't stay there long enough for him to ask any questions. I wanted to cry. Or scream. Or throw up. I fled to the bathroom and locked myself in the stall, trying to calm myself down. I knew there was no point getting upset. I couldn’t make a scene and I couldn’t go home not without Elvis wondering what was wrong so I put on my most composed expression and returned to the table trying to ignore the tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. I hurried my way back to my seat, noticing how the waiters had started arriving at the table placing our orders down in front of us. As a bowl full of pasta dropped into place in front of me a young waiter appeared at Elvis' side.

'Steak?' the waiter asked.

'Here,' Elvis said, allowing him to place the plate down in front of him. My eyes scanned his plate though where I expected to see a block of charcoal in place of steak I found a normal-looking piece of meat looking back at me.

'You should send that back,' I blurted out. Elvis looked at me for a second, suddenly realising I was back in the room, and shook his head.

'It's fine,' Elvis said as he picked up his napkin and dropped it on his lap.

'It's rare,' I said.

'Like I said it's fine,' Elvis said.

'You hate your food rare,' I said, utterly perplexed. It was true. Any who knew him knew that unless it was absolutely cremated Elvis wouldn't eat it. Before now he'd sent food back in restaurants up to three times until it was completely obliterated.

'It's not a big deal,' Elvis gritted out looking up the table. My voice had been louder than intended thanks to the alcohol meaning I was no longer the only one looking at him. He was now the spectacle of the show with almost everyone peering down the table at what was going on. He didn't flounder though and instead he cut a neat piece of meat off the end and though he couldn't stop himself from grimacing as blood oozed out onto his plate he hoyed it into his mouth and choked it down all the same.

'How is it?' I asked after it was gone.

'Fine,' he said, taking a sip of his iced water.

'See!' Ann said placing a dainty hand on his bicep, 'I told you it wouldn't be that bad.'

'What?' I said, confused. She looked at me with a smile though Elvis kept his head down sheepishly.

'Last time we had dinner he ordered this thing, it looked more like a tire than a piece of meat, and I told him all that burnt stuff was bad for his health,' she said, 'too many carcinogens. It's much healthier to have your meat medium or rare.'

'Yeah, I think I've heard that before,' Joe said from the side of me.

'The question is what isn't bad for you these days,' Sonny chimed in, 'though good on you for makin' EP change his mind about the bits of rubber he calls meat.'

'Yeah that's a feat in itself,' Joe said. Their conversation continued but I couldn't join in. My blood was boiling, the alcohol well and truly taking hold as I watched him. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. After years of moaning at him to eat someone that resembled an edible meal and him refusing he’d elected to make a change after one meal with her. It was like a punch to the gut. My jealousy took a hold consuming every fibre of my being. Elvis wasn't paying much attention and was instead scarfing down his pink steak punctuating it with sips of water to no doubt dilute the taste. My focus didn't land on him however, it landed across the table. I wanted to make her feel as bad as I did. To ruin her night like she had ruined mine. I could feel my words coming on fast and there was no way to stop them.

'Oh, I don't know. I wouldn’t say it’s that hard to change his mind,' I said taking a sip of wine as I rested back in my chair. I could feel several pairs of eyes land on me, including Elvis and Ann's.

'Remind me of that when I'm trying to pry him out of bed to go to the lot,' Joe chuckled.

'You just need to know how to handle him,' I said, 'ain’t that right sweetie?'

'You think you can handle me?' Elvis said quirking an eyebrow. He was playing along in front of the boys but I could see him hesitate, not knowing where I was going with it.

'Of course, though it seems like I'm not the only one. Right, Ann?' I asked with a fake smile. Ann glanced at Elvis and then back at me.

'Oh I wouldn't say I can handle him like you,' she said an embarrassed blush on her pretty face.

'But he listens to you,’ I said, ‘I mean you got him to eat something other than black steak. That’s some feat.’

‘Like I said it’s nothing,’ she said shifting awkwardly in her seat. I didn’t care though. I could feel more and more people staring curiously at me, wondering what the hell I was going on about, Elvis too but I didn’t pay them any attention.

‘How did you do it?’ I said.

‘What?’ she asked glancing at Elvis for help.

‘It’s a simple question,’ I said leaning forward and running my finger around the rim of my wine glass, ‘I mean I know how I’d do it. You know one time Elvis took me shopping and I found this beautiful Chanel number, you remember that right honey? The one with all the buttons? Anyway, he’s moaning about it telling me it looks like something a sailor would wear but me? I love it, so you know I did?’

‘What?’ Ann said quietly unable to ignore me as I watched her intently my gaze never wandering from her green eyes.

‘I got down on my knees and blew him right there in the dressing room,’ I said.

‘Y/N!’ Elvis snapped.

‘Soon got him to change his mind-’

‘That’s enough,’ Elvis said.

‘You know he can’t even see anything naval without sporting wood,’ I giggled.

‘Stop it,’ Elvis said standing up and yanking me out of my seat by my bicep. Though his grip was tight on my arm it was a good job he was holding me as I was unsteady enough that I would’ve toppled over if it hadn’t been for him.

‘What? We’re just swapping girly stories, right Annie? I bet she could tell me just how she gets you to do stuff don’t you think? I bet it’s not all that dissimilar, huh baby?’ I sneered.

‘You’re drunk,’ he said.

‘And you’re screwing your co-star,’ I said. Joe pushed my other side keeping me on balance as I yanked my arm out of Elvis’ grasp. Ann’s face paled before going deep crimson as she dropped her gaze to her lap. Elvis said nothing his face thunderous as everyone watched the pair of us just looking at each other.

‘Can’t even deny it can you?’ I said looking at him. I shook my head, grabbed the bottle of wine off the table and walked off out into the foyer. I didn’t know where I was going. The car wouldn’t be waiting and I didn’t feel like heading outside. I didn’t need to worry though as I felt a hand grasp my elbow, pushing me towards a door until I was roughly thrust through it into a storeroom of sorts. I fell inside, looking up to find Elvis standing by the door blocking my only exit.

‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?!’ he snapped.

‘Me?! You’re fucking someone else and you’re angry at me!?’ I baulked.

‘It’s not like that,’ he said.

‘Yeah sure,’ I snorted.

‘Nothing’s going on,’ he said.

‘Nothing’s going on now? Or nothing’s ever happened,’ I said coming towards him. His jaw was tight as he looked down at me but my expression never changed. I was challenging him to tell me I was wrong.

‘It’s over,’ he said making me pull back shaking my head, ‘it has been for a while.’

‘Since I came to town and spoiled your fun?’ I said taking a swig from my bottle before setting it down on a shelf.

‘Since I remembered how much I love you,’ he said making me roll my eyes, ‘what you don’t believe me?’

‘Until I’m not around right,’ I said.

‘It’s not like that,’ he said coming towards me. I folded my arms across my chest to stop him from touching me, ‘you don’t think I know how pathetic I am? That I don’t know I’m weak? I know I’m not worth the ground you walk on and yet you still keep me around. I know I don’t deserve you Y/N…but I love you and I’m sorry.’

‘You always are,’ I said an errant tear trickling down my cheek. He moved to wrap his arms around me but I stayed still, letting his strong hold engulf me.

‘Do you love her?’ I said in almost a whisper. He was so close to me that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face, the heat of his body matching that of my own.

‘Not as much as I love you,’ he said pressing his forehead to mine before he placed a kiss on my cheek. His lips kissed my tears away until finally, they landed on my lips. He kissed me, waiting for my permission to take it further. I tried to stop. I knew I should. But I loved him. I always would, so I moved my lips against his. He took this as a positive sign and deepened the kiss pushing me backwards until my back hit the wall. I didn’t do much of the work. His lips were everywhere all at once, touching every piece of skin they could find and leaving fire in their wake. His kisses were interspersed by murmurs of adoration as if his words could wipe away his actions for good.

‘I love you,’ he said as his hand slipped under my dress, teasing through my folds before he moved my panties to the side and slipped inside me, hoisting me up until my legs were wrapped around his waist. The wall was uncomfortable against my back but I couldn’t focus on that as Elvis’ fingers made their way to my sensitive bud, stroking it in time with his movements in and out of me. His name was all I could manage to whimper against his neck as the feeling of ecstasy started mounting in my core.

‘Baby,’ he grunted as his hips started faltering in rhythm.

‘Oh god,’ I said trembling around him with a whimper. He moved his hips in haphazard snaps against me until he groaned loudly, his breath hot and wet against my neck as he buried his face against my skin. After a moment he came round, pressing his forehead against mine. I could feel him softening inside me yet neither of us moved, my fingers tracing small circles on the nape of his neck as our breaths intermingled.

‘I love you,’ he said after a moment.

‘Enough to stop seeing her?’ I said.

‘Like I said. It’s over,’ he said pulling away from me so he could gently place me on my feet. His hand was tender against my cheek, his thumb stroking against my skin gently. I watched his face for a moment as if I would be able to tell the future from his expression alone. I knew it was pointless. I knew that whatever was going to happen in the future would happen regardless. But I loved him. With everything I had. So, I pulled away and nodded ever so slightly. He kissed the top of my head and then led me out of the storage cupboard. There weren’t many people in the foyer but those that were there were sure to know what had just transpired. Joe, Sonny, Red and Jerry congregated by the door of the dining room probably unsure of what they were supposed to be doing in Elvis' absence. That or they were forming a human barrier in case I wanted to head back inside for round two.

‘Give me a minute,’ he said squeezing my hand before he dropped it and headed over to the boys where they began talking in hushed whispers. I could feel the eyes of the waitstaff watching me as I stood in the foyer and so I quickly ducked into the restroom to freshen up. I looked a little messy. My tears had given me black smudges under my eyes and my lipstick was smudged from Elvis kissing me. I grabbed a paper towel and started to retouch the damage but I slowed my actions down as I noticed the toilet door opening.

Ann stepped out.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘um sorry I didn't know-’

‘It’s fine,’ I said straightening up and tossing the paper towel in the trash.

‘Y/N,’ she said coming towards me offering to put a tender hand on my shoulder but I moved out of her way.

‘Don’t,’ I said. We stood there watching each other for a moment. I didn’t know what I was feeling. Anger. Sadness. Who knew? Whatever it was it felt awful and it was made even worse by the fact she looked genuinely remorseful.

‘I really am sorry,’ she said.

‘Just,’ I said my words disappearing. I didn’t know what to say. After all, how could I blame her? The charm, looks and appeal she had been lured in by was the one that kept me hooked. I couldn’t resist it any more than she could. How could I blame her for giving in to temptation?

‘I can’t lose him,’ I said. My hand was on the door handle now, my gaze locked on it as I refused to look up at her.

‘You were never going to,’ she said capturing my attention, ‘I’m not what he wants.’

‘Yeah, who’d want a gorgeous movie star, right?’ I said.

‘It's what he wants for a night. You get his mornings. His afternoons. You’re the one he calls when he’s had a bad day,’ she said, her eyes were sad though she was wearing a sympathetic smile, ‘you’re the one who’ll get his last name.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ I said and with that, I slipped out of the bathroom. Elvis looked around as I came out. He was standing with Jerry, waiting for me by the main entrance, the others sent to handle whatever needed fixing on my behalf.

‘Everything okay honey?’ he murmured as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me outside.

‘Fine,’ I said with a small sigh, ‘just fine.’

#my writing #elvis #elvis presley #ann margaret #elvis presley fic #elvis fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis x reader fic #does he love you #request #requests #requested fic

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polijakefim · 4 months

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F L A U N T

TRAVIS FIMMEL

Girl's Gotta Eat

There are paths seen and unseen. There are paths taken. There are the Midwestern housewives who sit at home, who formerly popped bennies and ran topless through every jam band show at the local amphitheater. There are the vagrant, longhaired transients who receive stares as they push their cart of nothings around sweaty Southern towns, that formerly received stares only because they were professing at the front of a philosophy class. There are the attention-deficit young men, oft chastised for their inability to focus, but given open creativity, become playwrights and screenwriters. There are the balladeers. There are the celebrities. There is the you. There is the me. And there is Travis Fimmel, sitting in a hotel room in Vancouver, freezing his balls off. His is a story of barefooted farm boy turned bare-bodied model turned actor.

“It’s bloody cold,” he says in a relaxed Australian drawl. Of course it is. Fimmel grew up helping out on the family farm in a small town on the fork of two rivers in the middle of sunburnt Australia. He’s currently in the benumbed west Canadian port city filming Duncan Jones’ Warcraft: a film of epic proportion and expectation. But despite the video game-based spin-off, one gets the feeling Fimmel is the kind of lad who would much rather be chopping wood than mashing plastic buttons on a gaming controller. “I’d never heard of it,” he freely admits.

The path begins. When I ask about his early foray into Australian-rules football, he concedes what stymied the course, “Yeah but I sucked at it, man, I was very bad.” And thus he skipped the sporting life and tried college, “I didn’t pass any classes becauseI didn’t end up showing up—I was doing project managing for construction, like a foreman. Architecture and commerce [was the] main part of the course, I didn’t really want to go to college, I was just trying to fill in time…but then I ended up going overseas.” Fimmel wasn’t meant to be a paper-pushing desk jockey; just as Paul fucking Newman wasn’t meant to sling charred chicory at nine-to-fivers. With those baby blues and gilded locks it wasn’t long before Fimmel was modeling, most notably for Calvin Klein and most times wearing not a stitch. Previously Fimmel has played down his years of modeling, crediting favorable lighting, advanced cameras, and Photoshop for his looks and success. In fact, it’s speculated—and blatantly obvious upon viewing—that Fimmel was the inspiration behind Samantha’s washed-out brick-bod lover—“Jerry” Smith Jerrod—on Sex and the City.

The path winds. “Wound up in L.A., got into an acting class and then that’s where I started acting. I had no idea, never wanted to do this stuff, still don’t really want to do it, mate,” he admits. Fimmel is even-keeled, he exudes a thoughtless vibe, and as much as Fimmel plays it all down, one even has to question how hard he worked to get to his current status. Sometimes his nonchalant nature can come off as arrogant, and it’s easy to imagine he’s often misunderstood, but couldn’t care less; he’s just riding the wave. At first, Fimmel took jobs everyone in Hollywood thought would pay dividends but floundered [see: WB’s Tarzan] until he grew a beard and started swinging an axe. Ah, the farm boy swinging the axe again. It’s in History Channel’s Vikings that Fimmel found his niche, receiving acclaim for his portrayal of the contemplative but merciless, Ragnar Lothbrok, a deep-thinking maniac from Viking Age Europe. There is a swagger to his character that is maintained somewhere within Fimmel. When I ask about his association with Ragnar, he states, “Every guy that I know that fights is always the quietest guy in the room; I just try to think more than talk. You’ll always learn more by listening rather than being the loudest guy in the room. And whatever you do, you do because you enjoy it, so I try to make my character enjoy fighting.”

The path straightens. And so we find ourselves back in that Vancouver hotel room, freezing our balls off with Fimmel, as he’s in the midst of shooting the biggest film of his career. With all the aloofness Fimmel radiates, it piques one’s interest to know what he really is passionate about: “Farming, mate. That’s whatI want to do. I love the country. It’s hard to explain. When you grow up in the country you just enjoy it so much. I love animals and I love trees and anything country.”

And, lastly, that beard that’s quickly becoming his trademark: “It just grew I guess, I couldn’t for ages. I would have loved to grow one when I was a kid, I would have loved to have gone to prom and school and shit with a beard.”

Nothing to do with shedding the barefaced image of your Calvin Klein days? “[Audibly scoffs] Shit. I couldn’t grow one then. Otherwise I would have had one.”

That would have been a different path.

#travis fimmel #vikings #polijake_fim #ragnar lothbrok #travisfimmel

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mediumstrength · 5 months

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SXF MANGA REREAD: CHAPTER 1

The conclusion of the second season has left me alone and bereft please join me as I fill the void.

We start with some bitchin spy action

oh shit

Truly the first few chapters are why I think you see so many people upset about the series settling into a slow burn family comedy. You start off with some juicy Hollywood movie shit here. Assassination! Straight off the bat! Cars careening off bridges! Great stuff.

Now, it’s time for a little quick exposition. We got two countries, they don’t like each other, they are using spies, blah blah.

SHODDY WORLDBUILDING:

In Japanese they are straight up written Eastern Country and Western Country (with “Ostania” and “Westalis”) in furigana. Tatsuya Endo, please.

There is one spy who’s the best tho

Here he is!! It’s our boy!!

He’s bamboozled that bad guy out of those silly pictures!! Time to also be mean to the dude’s daughter.

lol what a dick

A NOTE ON FASHION:

“Robert” is not as fashionable as “Loid,” the double breasted suit was already on the way out in the early 60s (The SXF vibe seems to be early 60s? Except when it isn’t?) being replaced by the single breasted suits we generally see him wearing. Edgar also is wearing a double breasted suit, but he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about fashion trends.

Loid however does seem to really care about looking sharp, and I’m proud of him for that. It’s basically his only non spy-related interest. Maybe someday he will have two interests!

Loid gives Karen a new complex, and then waltzes out of her life. Onto the next mission!

SHODDY WORDBUILDING:

Berlint 😂

On the train to Berlint, Loid learns that he has to become a fake dad for silly bullshit reasons that are vital to world peace. This silly bullshit is called Operation Strix, and it is so, so important. The most important mission ever.

I wonder if there’s some significance to the name Strix? It’s a mythological creature, but also a genus of owl. In Japanese it’s written 梟, which literally means owl, so maybe the mythological part is not intended?? I want to know more.

The early art is weird at times

ON THE SPELLING “LOID”:

I hate it.

The real estate guy asks him if he has a girl or a boy, and he says he doesn’t know yet. I feel like I should hate these jokes where Loid says something mind-blowingly suspicious, but I actually love it every time.

Anyhow! On to step two: secure a child.

Tatsuya Endo has a real talents for making just the most detestable jerks. I love to hate you, drunk shitty orphanage guy!

It’s her!! It’s Anya!! The early art is, again, a little weird here.

The absurdly hard crossword puzzle is such a good gag.

Daughter acquired!

ON THE TRANSLATION “PAPA”:

I love it. There’s no real equivalent to “chichi” in English, so they went with something that means dad, but is also a little weird and a little baby talk-y. Perfect. I watched a couple episodes of a fan sub of the anime, and they translated it as “Daddy” which is cute but is simply not weird enough. Anya is a Weird Little Girl.

Anya immediately begins helping, by acting deeply weird and suspicious. We love it.

I love that Spy Wars is just always on somehow.

Onwards! They go out and do some shopping! Anya is a lot! Loid doesn’t understand her! He goes to his local library about it, which is kind of adorable? And gives an early glimpse into a fundamental aspect of his character. With enough information, Loid can accomplish anything. He is certain of this. He has built his whole life around this concept.

LOID HAS NEVER HAD FUN IN HIS LIFE:

You are accidentally playing hide and seek with your daughter somehow, with no idea that it is even happening. Amazing.

Anyhow he finally barricades her in the fucking house lol

It’s Franky!! I love you, Franky.

He tells Loid that his new kid legally does not exist, and has been returned to the orphanage 4 times, and Loid decides not to look further into any of that. Greatest spy in the west.

Meanwhile Anya is causing problems. I love her.

Edgar is back, which doesn’t make sense because the Edgar stuff was happening in another city, but I guess Edgar is just also in Berlint now for some reason.

We get a brief flashback to Anya’s time as an Eleven-style lab rat, which is sad. What does “studying” entail? I think we will all be sad when we find out ☹️

Loid returns and we are treated to a sick. ass. fight. Loid takes a guy out with a can of tuna. He breaks a chair over a dude’s head. I think there was some commentary from Endo (maybe in Eyes Only?) about how using improvised weapons just hits harder. We know more about cans of tuna than guns or whatever. We can imagine what taking a tuna can to the face would feel like.

What a dick.

Anyhow, Loid bamboozles the same guy with the same trick a second time, bravely rescuing Anya, and now it is time for a sad flashback

Don’t cry, little german boy.

Anyhow, the world where kids don’t cry thing should be so corny, but they really pull it off somehow.

For some reason he decides to walk back into danger and beat those guys up?

When did he have time to set these traps??

Sick

Loid kicks everyone’s asses, and then, there’s Anya waiting for him, and she wants to stay with him. This is the moment. This is the moment where he realized, subconsciously, that he loves her. Consciously is still a work in progress. But like, he already cares about her so much. It’s been been like 2 days, and he’s gone from “I hate kids” to “I can’t abandon this little girl who I callously adopted to use for my own purposes”

(…This is the plot of the Despicable Me, isn’t it?)

This little scene on the streetcar warms my heart. Papa is a cool liar.

Ok, jesus christ this chapter is long. I didn’t realize that we also have getting into Eden happening the first chapter??

Anya takes the entrance exam, her cheating plan, as usual, does not really work out, but she does her best and she passes.

Loid experiences a single moment of relief and collapses 😂 The man is so powered by sheer anxiety that his body doesn’t know how to react.

Anya gets the mail, there is a little cute cuddling, and then, the kicker! We need a mama!!

Chapter rating 4/5

A little too much stuff happens in this first chapter, on reread. The streetcar scene is such a logical ending! The Eden test, and then the subsequent complication of needing 2 parents felt tacked on, almost like that should have been padded out a little and made its own chapter, but also I am eager to get to my girl Yor so 🤷‍♀️

Looking back on some of their earlier interactions, Loid has not been thinking through Strix logically from the start. This kid has no birth certificate, and she has been repeatedly returned to the orphanage like a naughty puppy for no obvious reason. She is (allegedly) 6 and she solved a crossword where one of the words was “symplectomorphism” with no adult assistance?? There are some questions he should be asking here, but instead he’s buying her posters and snacks.

He hasn’t had anything to love in so long, you guys. He’s going to love this kid with everything he has, it’s just going to be a long, long time before he understands that it’s love.

#sxf manga reread #spy x family

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jasonrae117 · 6 months

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Just Another Hollywood Scene

Just in time for the new year! Please enjoy the next installment!

Also on Ao3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/49727071/chapters/133334152

Chapter 3: New News

Damian was heading to Dick’s house to have what he called a celebration, but what seemed to really be a ‘I hope the media takes the news well’ support group. Most of the people that worked in the offices were going to be there so Damian really had no choice but to come.

The costume consult went pretty much as expected and like many of his other ones he’s done in the past. The superhero costume itself was slightly uncomfortable yet manageable and defined his physique. His only complaint was that it was the colors of a traffic light, a little more red and black heavy but yellow and green definitely made their appearances. The costumer, Rita Parr, who had a 1950s vibe told him it’s to reflect his background of being from a circus. Damian snorted, the fact that Dick used his own backstory to fuel this character was still very funny to him, especially when others don’t know it and think it's so absurdly original.

The craziest thing about this movie was that Dick was not only directing it, but he is the primary writer too. He didn’t want to come across as too bold and open his sure to be box office smash to criticism because an actor turned director could also write a script well. So he put it under a pseudonym. Damian was quite surprised when he found out, the script was well written, the characters all seemed grounded, and it was more than just an action movie. Dick had found a way to work a compelling romance amongst his characters too. That is why Damian would have begged his brother to be in the movie, of course he didn’t have to, Dick was all too eager to have Damian be a part of it, but Damian would have begged if it came to that.

When Damian’s town car pulled up to Dick’s small mansion, he could already see the cars of about seven others, and by some of the specific vehicles he knew that the majority of the production team leaders were here. And sure enough when Alfred, his family’s butler that Bruce requested help host Dick’s gathering, opened the door, he could already hear some of their voices.

“Welcome Master Damian. Wonderful that you could make it this evening.” The gentle older man stepped to the side, gesturing for Damian to enter.

“Good evening Alfred. I’m afraid I wasn’t allowed to RSVP no to this event.’

“Well, nevertheless, I have brought your favorite bourbon to help you settle in better. Master Grayson is in the theatre room with some of the others. He requested I direct you there upon your arrival.” Alfred walked along beside him.

“Great, already jumping into work talk. I’ll take a double of that bourbon when you get the chance.” Damian shrugged off his coat and put it in the coat closet, politely denying Alfred’s assistance.

Approaching the theatre room, he could already hear the familiar voices of a good chunk of the production team:

Wally West ( Director's Assistant)

Barbara Gordon (Secretary/PA)

Zatanna Zatara (Producer)

Clark Kent (Cinematographer)

Garth Bernstein (Casting Director)

Victor Stone (Sound Designer)

Rex Mason (Production Designer)

Along with Jason Todd, Slade Wilson was also present. Slade Wilson was cast to play the villain and arch nemesis to Robin, Deathstroke. Damian wasn’t a huge fan of the older man, throughout his long tenure of acting he was known to be vindictive, manipulative, and only watch out for himself. He ran his own talent agency poaching other managers of their clients to fill his arsenal. It worked, however, his name and his wealth always convinced the young and naive actors and actresses to buck over to his team. So before him, he had an army of good talent that made him richer and made membership under his agency ridiculously pricey. As for the actors and actresses, Slade saved the best roles for himself and his favorites, so every audition season was cutthroat and everyone sucked up to Slade to gain his favor and potentially better roles. Damian was disgusted by it and was appalled that Dick would include him in his project, but Dick argued that the new movie needed a genius villain and Slade was the best to play the evil man.

He had to agree with his brother, while Slade was unquestionably a terrible man in real life, he elegantly portrayed one even better on the big screen. Once he aged out of the roguish antihero type leading man, he began getting typecast as the man pulling the strings or the mob boss. Slade loved it because people loved his bad guys and he won a multitude of awards for them. It killed Damian to say it, but he was a perfect choice for the role.

Damian took a deep breath and opened the double doors to the large projector screen with luxurious plush red velvet reclining chairs creating three rows facing the front. The various men and women standing or sitting around the room, each with a drink in their hand. They turned their heads to see who the newcomer was. Dick came bouncing toward him while the others raised their glass in acknowledgement, waved, or called out a greeting.

“Hey Dami! I’m so glad you could make it!” Dick embraced him, but really just hugged around Damian’s hanging arms.

“I had no choice in the matter and you know it, now get off.” Damian resisted.

“Well I’m still glad you listened to my threats.” Dick laughed and guided him inside. “We were just going through the final candidates audition tapes, I’ve decided we’re going to decide tonight as a team!”

“We’re casting everyone tonight?” He looked at the screen to find it paused on someone’s audition. An average height, lanky male with blonde hair and green eyes, no doubt someone auditioning for Changeling.

“No, not everyone, but the main team. Well those we haven’t cast yet! We already signed Kori as Starfire, and yesterday we finalized Connor Kent as Super Boy!” Dick practically cheered.

Damian rolled his eyes at the last casting announcement. “Clark’s brother? And I’m the one that gets called out for nepotism.” He crossed his arms.

Clark snorted, “You know I really thought you guys would have been the best of friends back then. Bruce was right though.” He chuckled again, few of the others joining in as well.

“He really does play cocky and arrogant well though, and you can’t play both roles!” Zatanna called out, making the rest burst into laughter.

“Ha ha. You all know he is a diva. Not everyone that fits the description of the character everyday of their real life should be the actual character. We’re actors because we can be things we’re not, not because we can portray ourselves on screen too, that's why we have reality TV trash.”

“Yeah that’s why we cast you as Robin, a leader, noble, maybe a little romantic, hero. You sure aren’t any of that in real life.” Garth hollered, Jason cackled with him. Damian’s eyes narrowed at the pair.

“Oh, but that’s why he’s an actor, because he can sure as hell act like a badass but isn’t one!” Jason added, their laughing continued. Damian dared a glance around the room, seeing Clark trying to hide his enjoyment, Rex’s smile and the way he nudged Zatanna as if they all agreed. Slade was sitting a glass of whiskey in one hand and a smirk on his face. Once his eyes landed on Barbara and Dick who also got caught giggling, he felt his anger start to rise.

“Your own words are biting you in the ass, Wayne.” Barbara snorted, emphasizing the use of his last name and punctuating the snarky comment with a sip from her glass of wine.

“Laugh all you want, you know I’m right. Now can we please just get on with it so I can go home?” He snapped.

Dick, still chuckling, clapped him on the back. “Sure thing. We actually started a bit early and just voted on our Mark Beast A.K.A Changeling! His name in Garfield Logan-”

“The guy from Space Trek?” Damian scoffed.

“The very one! He has a great following and a pretty solid comedic timing. His fans adore him and he’s already got green eyes! The rest will be easy! Plus he is already trained in gymnastics and does parkour, so stunts should be a little easier and perhaps more practical!” Garth chimed in.

“See, watch!” Dick pressed play and the screen brightened to life, displaying Garfield’s audition, followed by some footage of him at a training facility doing parkour and gymnastic routines. In Damian’s opinion, he wasn’t a poor choice, but he was still skeptical.

The group resettled into their chairs and watched clip after clip of auditions, until they narrowed it down and finally selected someone for the remaining roles. After Garfield Logan, they agreed upon Jaime Reyes to play Dan Garret A.K.A Blue Beetle and Donna Troy to portray Wondergirl, or Cassie Sandsmark. Alfred had arranged some catering to come in and supply them with a delicious meal as they were already a few hours deep into deliberation.

It was finally time to face the choice Damian dreaded the most. Who will play the Sorceress? He hadn’t stopped thinking about how important it was that she get along with him and be a good actress herself. The role was the second largest in the movie and could cost them dearly if they choose incorrectly. That and the fact that the office didn’t stop discussing this one girl’s audition for two full days, luckily it died down after that but Damian didn’t want Jason’s new plaything to be involved at all and certainly didn’t want her too close to himself.

Garth, the casting director, had narrowed their choices down to three different women that had been the best of the bunch. The first audition wasn’t memorable, the girl had played it safe, and while it was still very well done, it was missing that certain something.

Damian recognized the second woman instantly, and all he could think of was how horribly wrong the choice would be. Terra Markov, or better known as Slade Wilson’s lapdog. She was his pet, and she also got any audition she could dream of. No doubt Garth was bribed or in some way coerced to give her a shot, because her look did not scream sorceress at all. To give credit where credit is due, she was a decent actress, she just had a temper and her questionable ties with Slade didn’t sit right with him. They still watched her performance and the crowd seemed rather pleased.

“I really like how she delivered that line!”

“Her blue eyes are so pretty!”

“Imagine if we just dyed her hair or used a wig, I think we have a winner!”

Damian looked to Slade who was sitting there with a smug grin on his face. “She is quite talented isn’t she.”

“She’s great, but we’ve got one more. So let’s not make any decisions quite yet.” Dick answered.

“What? You don’t think she is fit for the role?” Slade pushed back.

“No, no. She did very well, I’m just saying we have one left and we should watch it first. Terra is a strong actress, no question why you signed her under your agency.”

“Mr. Grayson, it’d be most efficient to just call it here, everyone approves of her.” A general nodding of heads and agreements filled the room following Slade’s words.

“True, or we can suck up watching five more goddamn minutes like the fucking director wants, and see all the possibilities. Or is it past your bedtime grandpa?” Jason barked.

“You listen here-” Slade was cut off.

Damian had marched over to Dick’s spot in the theatre and snatched the remote out of his hand, he walked back to his place towards the back of the room and away from everyone else and pressed play on the last audition tape.

The slam of the door and the energy that filled the screen silenced everyone. However, no one was more stunned than Damian, who had just realized that the very woman auditioning was the same from the lobby. It was made evident by the large brown coffee stain he caused on her blouse.

Damian watched the audition speechless. This couldn’t possibly be the one everyone was talking about. To his dismay, he had to admit that he was captivated. He knew that she had been late which explained the sudden start to the tape and lack of a slate, but despite what he caused, it seemed to fuel her annoyance of being disturbed by the alarm. She had added some lines and improvised her movements, Damian knew because he practically had the whole damn script memorized.

He almost laughed when she forced a poor assistant to become her scene partner, the shuffle of papers being thrown at the young man caused a few giggles from the small viewing audience. His eyes widened when she pulled her shirt off and he quickly berated himself for appreciating the fullness of her breasts and how prettily they were wrapped in her beige lace bra. While the woman on the screen addressed her apparel, Damian ‘respectfully’ averted his gaze and was curious to see what the others were thinking.

Barbara and Victor were smirking, seemingly appreciating the woman’s strong presence and how she kept going even though the brainless men were stuck on her wardrobe malfunction. Victor and Dick shared a look that confirmed that whatever they were thinking, that they were on the same page. Once the girl appeared back on screen wearing Jason’s signature jacket, the owner proudly grinned and nudged Garth in the chair beside him whose eyes seemed to be glued a little too much on her body. Rex and Clark were happily enjoying the audition and had even put down their food and snacks, fully entranced. What caught Damian’s eye the most was that Slade has shifted his posture, going from neatly relaxed with one ankle resting on the opposite knee, to leaning forward, fingers laced under his chin and elbows planted on his knees merely observing.

Damian’s focus shifted back to the screen, watching her move about so confidently before sitting in a lotus position and chanting lowly.

“Azerath, Metrion, Zinthos.”

Then Dick called cut and jumped in the scene beside her before the tape was stopped seconds later. A few seconds of silence and processing followed before everyone excitedly looked around and began discussing what they had just seen.

“It’s got to be her!”

“Her eyes are so unique!”

“She improvised all that? That’s incredible!”

But all Damian could think about was the war in his head. There was no denying that she was clearly the best, but he knew he already screwed up with her and was certain she hated his guts. He wasn’t sure if they would be able to work together.

“Okay, so that was the fantastic Raven Roth! She is a phenomenal actress whom you might have seen on Skulls as the forensic scientist.”

“I think it has to be her. Even her look is spot on, she is mysterious and cool.” Barbara said.

“I don’t know…didn’t it seem kind of amateurish to just storm in there. That would not fly on set!” Zatana chirped.

“She wouldn’t do that on set, some jerk spilled coffee on her which made her late! I completely sympathize for the poor girl, and to give us a performance this strong? Incredible! Trust me, I’ve seen a lot of auditions over the years.” Damian’s cheeks started to burn at Garth’s words, unknowingly calling him out.

“I for one agree with Mr. Bernstein, here.” The mumbles around the room silenced at Slade’s approval, he never sided with anyone that wasn’t his own talent.

“You do? But isn’t Terra your client?” Dick asked outright, sparing any tiptoeing around the subject.

“Yes, I am not blind and I know when to fold if my hand is not strong enough. Terra cannot out-perform this girl, at least in a role like this. This girl doesn’t seek attention, she demands it with her screen presence, it’s powerful, impactful. Terra’s performance was surface level, good, but inadequate. I’ll coach her about this later. But nevermind that. Miss Roth would be an excellent addition to the cast, as well as my agency. Does anyone know if she’s being represented?” Slade asked the room, Damian noticing a certain look in his eye that he couldn’t quite name.

“Alrighty then.” Dick looked around the room, everyone nodding in agreement to the unspoken question.

Damian felt a weight in his stomach. No way they all almost unanimously chose the vile woman from the coffee shop. Sure she had done well, but they couldn’t see past that? They’d soon find out her temper and Damian would enjoy watching them regret their decision. But still… he’d have to go to work everyday and look at her stupidly, definitely not in any way attractive, face and convince her to like him. It wasn’t fair. Maybe he should speak up? But to speak up would be to reveal himself as the ‘asshole’ and he couldn’t have that. They’d just side with Raven, and he wouldn’t even be able to explain himself. He had to get out of there, he couldn’t risk anyone realizing that he hadn’t given his usually very vocal opinion. Quietly, he snuck out the door just as Dick was finishing his statement.

“It looks like Raven Roth is our Sorceress!”

He could hear the applause from the hallway but he didn’t look back, he proceeded to the kitchen to grab some water and hide. Feeling the cold water slide down his throat, cooling the anger and frustration within him slightly, Damian took a very needed deep breath. Just then, the last person he wanted to see found him.

“Damian, why’d you leave? We just broke out the champagne to celebrate the completed casting!” Dick held his flute of champagne out, swirling the contents as if to entice him.

“I don’t care for champagne.”

“Suit yourself.” he shrugged and took a large sip. After pulling the glace down from his lips, he leaned his hip against the kitchen island and stared directly into Damian’s eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t speak up in there.”

“I had nothing to say.” Damian tried to sound nonchalant.

“If there’s one thing I know about you Damian, it’s that you always have something to say, especially when it directly affects you.”

Dick was good, he always knew when something was up, and usually Damian reluctantly found it endearing but right now it was definitely not the time. “It’s not like I have a choice in the matter. You all seemed very pleased with her so there is no point in voicing my opinion for it to be met with criticism.” He shrugged.

“Criticism huh? So you didn’t like her?”

Damian opened his mouth to protest but once again, Dick had caught him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he figured he might as well get the interrogation over with. “I had the displeasure of meeting Miss Roth sometime before her audition. She was inconsiderate and rude and I don’t think we need that kind of behavior on set. Oh and she’s Todd’s new plaything which also poses a problem.”

“Oh, I had no idea. She certainly seemed nice and courteous enough when we talked to her. But I suppose she could be putting on an act for her benefit and given that she wouldn’t know that you were already cast she'd have no reason to give you better treatment. I was also under the impression that Jason and Raven had never met prior to her audition.” He rubbed his chin in thought, “I will take this into consideration as we onboard her. I don’t want to react harshly without further investigation. As it stands, she will continue to be our Sorceress with Terra Markov as a potential backup if Raven falls through.”

Damian crossed his arms, frowning slightly. “I don’t think this will end well for me…I mean us.”

“Everything will be fine. I’ll look into it and adjust whatever needs adjusting. I’ll tell Jay to back off and we’ll make sure she’s not a diva. I appreciate you telling me and not brooding to yourself about this like Bruce.

“Yeah, whatever.” He relaxed slightly, dropping his arms in surrender. “I’m going to go back to my place.”

“You don’t want to stay for the rest of the party? We were gonna watch some of the segments announcing your casting!”

Just then the sound of shattering glass echoed in from the entryway. Dick winced and looked back to Damian who barely reacted..

“Absolutely not. I can watch them on my own time”

“Fair enough, thanks for coming anyway! I’ll see you soon!”

“I still had no choice.” Damian called over his shoulder as he headed out the kitchen and toward the entrance. He bid Alfred farewell and departed back to his condo.

Finally settled into the peace and quiet his own space brought him, he started searching for the articles about himself. Most of the articles had received and reported the news positively, stating that the casting choice was a no-brainer and how excited they were to see the cast built around him. A few wireless welcoming but they came from more unpopular sites, and some outlets hadn’t reported anything yet. But the information was still new so it will keep trickling down through the circuit until everyone has given their mostly unsolicited insight.

The one thing that still popped up everytime his name hit the headlines though started popping up right in front of his eyes. It never failed to make him feel less than and unworthy.

Nepotism

#raven #teen titans #raven roth #robrae #damian wayne #damirae #jayrae #dc fanfic #demonbirds #fanfic #just another hollywood scene

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 3 months

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Muddy Waters & his Habitual Band - The Ash Grove, West Hollywood, California, July 30, 1971

A nice little trip back to the Ash Grove, a legendary southern California club. Your host? None other than the mighty Muddy Waters. This hour-long doc is a treat from start-to-finish, featuring Muddy in live performance, hanging out backstage, answering a few interview questions, generally being cool as hell.

At this point, Waters had seen the electric Delta blues sound that he'd helped create hit the big time amongst white kids all over the world — Ten Years After was probably selling out the Great Western Forum across town on the same night. But if Muddy felt even a trace of bitterness, you wouldn't know it here. He knew he was still the king.

The Ash Grove co-stars with Muddy — I've heard many live albums and tapes recorded at the venue (which launched the careers of many a great artist), but I don't know if I've seen much footage of it. The early 1970s vibes are impeccable. Soak it in.

#muddy waters

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hotvintagepoll · 2 months

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Propaganda

Rita Moreno (Singin' in the Rain, West Side Story)—She’s an EGOT, an absolute legend for how she navigated her career as a woman of color in the fifties and sixties. Her performance as Anita in West Side Story is why I go back to that movie so many times. She is an icon and she is the moment.

Angela Lansbury (The Harvey Girls, The Court Jester, The Manchurian Candidate)—The babe, the myth, the legend. In her own words her early hollywood roles were "a series of venal bitches" and they were all glorious. Half of them wanted to kill you and you probably would have thanked them. She even goes toe to toe with Judy Garland in The Harvey Girls! That said, she was chronically underused and misused during this era - she was just 36 when she was cast as Elvis Presley's mother in Blue Hawaii and a few years later commented that she'd played so many 'old hags' that most people thought she was in her 60s. She thought she was "all talent, no looks" but she was the full package! Post-1970 I hope we all know what an incredibly talented and compassionate badass she was, but I feel like not enough people know her early roles as a hot (often villainous) young thing.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Rita Moreno propaganda:

"Amazing showstopping actress in her one big memorable role as Anita in West Side Story. She sings and dances with unmatched joy and energy, and then breaks your heart with her acting. Rita took a role that felt as a stereotype to latina women and made it compelling and multifaceted. Her subsequent career was filled with mostly side roles, but she still managed to excel in whatever Hollywood threw at her."

"It’s Rita!! The EGOT herself! She can act, she can sing, she can dance, a triple threat. Obviously absolutely iconic as Anita in West Side Story (her part of the Tonight Quintet is the sexiest part of the film, fight me). But before that she was the amazing Zelda in Singin’ In the Rain!?! Thanks Zelda, you’re a real pal."

"She continues to be amazing but also she's got legs for days."

"THEE iconic rita moreno, EGOT winner, civil rights activist, theatre legend. watch her documentary "Rita Moreno: Just a Girl Who Decided to Go for It". also her rendition of "fever" on the muppet show"

youtube

Angela Lansbury:

"Angela Lansbury might not be where your mind goes first when you think of hot leading women, because she had a later career revival. But she began acting in the early 1940s after leaving London due to the Blitz. In the first couple decades of her film career she has an openness about her. She said she never really fit in with the Hollywood crowd and to me she gives off a friendly, untarnished vibe."

64.media.tumblr.com

"Most of us know Angela Lansbury as old lady sleuth Jessica Fletcher, but it's important to know that she was smoking hot in her younger days as well as a damned fine actress. Although she didn't get lead roles until her early 40s, at 17 she was a supporting actress in films such as Gaslight (1944), National Velvet (1944), and The Picture of Dorian Grey, for which she won the Golden Globe for best supporting actress and was nominated for the Oscar. Even in her memorable performance as the manipulative mother in The Manchurian Candidate, she is listed as a supporting actress as she does not play the love interest. She was successful both on stage and screen, and won the Tony for her lead role in the musical Mame on Broadway in 1966. TL;DR While Angela Lansbury mostly played supporting roles in films before 1970, she had what it takes to be a leading actress, which we know from her success on stage and tv from the mid 60s onward"

"She looked like a princess but bit like a viper"

"Is there anything this woman couldn't do? Act in comedy and drama, sing, dance, be a wonderful human being - quite simply a true and wonderful lady."

"she is the fairytale princess of my dreams in court jester"

"god she had such an incredible career all throughout her life really but as a young lady she was just as incredible as she was in her later years. enchanting voice, amazing personality, and absolutely GORGEOUS. she lamented not having the looks to play leads in romance but that idea is so batshit because look at her??? she's one of the most terrific women of all time. also she's my grandmother's favorite actress and i truly get it"

#angela lansbury #rita moreno #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

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blackswaneuroparedux · 2 years

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Butch: What happened to the old bank? It was beautiful. Guard: People kept robbing it. Butch: Small price to pay for beauty.

- William Goldman, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid: Screenplay (1970)

In a brilliant William Goldman script peppered with memorable lines, the first exchange sets the tone of this classic Western movie. Butch looks around a bank at closing time, chatting with the security guard as he perhaps sizes up his next job.

“What happened to the old bank? It was beautiful.” “People kept robbing it.” “That’s a small price to pay for beauty.”

Right away, Goldman establishes Butch as a charismatic mouthpiece for the quip-ready screenwriter, contrasting nicely with the Sundance Kid, Robert Redford’s taciturn sharpshooter. But he’s also created two heroes who break the western mold, neither justice-seeking white-hats nor grizzled, sneering black-hats, and not as traditionally masculine as either party. Butch is a man who appreciates beauty and art, but doesn’t have the stomach for violence; it’s not until late in the film that we (and the Kid) discover that he’s never shot a man before and he looks sickened to have to do it. He’s a pleasure-seeker above all else: robbing banks and trains are his way to make an easy living and enjoy whatever sinful freedoms his vocation affords him.

Audiences in 1969 were all too happy to embrace the light, quippy irreverence of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid after a turbulent summer, and Goldman, director George Roy Hill, and the two impossibly handsome stars made them feel cool for doing it. True Grit had performed well earlier in the year as a throwback to the genre’s past, giving John Wayne a proper victory lap, but Butch Cassidy was thoroughly modern, a star-making vehicle for Newman and Redford that reflected a need for the genre to turn the page and that feels as much of its time as it does authentic to Wyoming in the late 1890s. With Katherine Ross at the centre of a love triangle between friends, the film attempted to bring a French Jules and Jim vibe to the American mainstream, taking a lesson from the French new wave on how to revive old Hollywood craft.

It still works spectacularly well. There’s an alchemy up and down the production. Redford possesses easy charm, which parries so well with Newman’s smarts that the two would run it back again with Hill a few years later in The Sting.

The pop doodling of Burt Bacharach’s musical score is about as far from a traditional western score as possible, but it somehow meshes with the sepia sheen of Conrad Hall’s photography, which burnishes the legend of these two men while their story is still being told. And while Goldman’s screenplay dances on the edge of glib, it’s lively and sophisticated, with a strong theme about the capitalist forces that really tamed the Wild West.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is such a rollicking good time that it takes a while to notice it’s about the end of the line for its heroes, whose celebrity is already widespread when the film opens and ultimately hastens their demise. “Your times is over and you’re gonna die bloody,” warns a sheriff, prophetically, in an early scene, and the film is mostly about Butch and Sundance getting chased out of America by hired guns and dying at the hands of the Bolivian army.

They’re mostly guilty of stealing from the wrong guy: EH Harriman, the railroad tycoon, spends more trying to catch them than they rob from his safes, but it’s an opportunity for a powerful man to send a message about who’s really in charge. Guys like Butch and Sundance can handle local lawmen and half-hearted posses, but they can’t fight progress. The EH Harrimans along with the the Rockefellers, JP Morgans, and the Carnegies and of the world - the original robber barons - would make certain of that.

#goldman #william goldman #quote #butch cassidy and the sundance kid #film #movie #cinema #hollywood #paul newman #robert redford #cowboys #western #america #wild west #society #culture #arts #capitalism

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andreablog2 · 1 year

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Timothee brings out the inner child in Kylie probably. I feel like she was forced to grow up so fast and played this really adult role at such a young age and he’s an unserious Peter Pan actor type so it just makes sense also his like east coast sense of humor and her west coast cynicism probably entertain eachother they also probably listen to the same type of music and have similar 2016 hype beastian sensibilities and she probably makes him feel more like a serious person and while she’s technically in the entertainment industry shes in such a different career it not only makes a lot of sense I think they are going to be toxically attached at some point and they’ll both be devastated by a breakup or will always think of eachother. They also are culture vultures in different ways. They give me like Elvis and Priscilla vibes. True Hollywood romance

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denimbex1986 · 24 days

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'It’s one of those odd April days in Los Angeles, the type that locals know well: Hours after noon, the sun still seems ambivalent about whether it wants to make itself known. An outsider wouldn’t think it possible for the gleaming capital of show business to feel so grayed out. But if you grew up on an island where colorless skies are the norm, it might feel familiar.

“It’s like, Will I? Won’t I?” the Irish actor Andrew Scott quips as he settles into his chair on the rooftop of the Edition Hotel in West Hollywood. He’s been in town promoting his Netflix series “Ripley,” which launched a few weeks ago, and the foreboding weather seems apt. On that limited series, the Italian vistas seem as unsettled as its antihero’s soul. The show’s vibe is “almost like L.A., what we’re looking at here now,” Scott says, as I begin to regret not bringing a jacket to our alfresco lunch. “It’s cloudy. I come from a place where the sky is normally like this.”

Scott’s “Ripley,” an adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s novel about a grifter whose 1950s Euro-trip comes with a body count, is morally cloudy, too, and glamorously gloomy besides. Unlike the 1999 film “The Talented Mr. Ripley,” which placed an uptight Tom Ripley (then played by peak-heartthrob-era Matt Damon) amid the rustic charm of Italy and drew its charge from the contrast, this year’s version is a blunter object. Speedo-clad Damon romped through the Italy of your dreams; the baggily attired Scott staggers through a nightmare.

Written and directed by Steven Zaillian and likely to place Scott in contention for a limited-series lead-acting Emmy, it’s mesmerizing but cool to the touch, using Oscar winner Robert Elswit’s stark black-and-white cinematography to depict a landscape as forbidding as its central character. That may account for why the series got off to a slow start on Netflix’s weekly viewership charts. But “Ripley” has also attracted the kind of positive notices that suggest a potential long tail, especially as Emmy season looms.

The series was a crucial test for Scott, who, at 47, has proven himself a shape-shifter. The out gay actor, who in 2019 stole scenes as the “Hot Priest” on the second season of “Fleabag,” and who had an awards-season run for his lovelorn role in last year’s “All of Us Strangers,” knows how to win hearts. Even playing the villainous Moriarty opposite Benedict Cumberbatch’s Holmes on the 2010s BBC “Sherlock,” Scott became known for his loopy, outsized line readings. So what would it feel like to play a tamped-down sociopath?

But Scott didn’t see Ripley that way. “I found an enormous amount to like,” he says. “There’s something about that character that, I think, a lot of people see themselves in. And I think it’s to do with being an outsider.” Tom Ripley, plainly gifted, lacks the social connections of the wealthy American expats he meets (played here by Johnny Flynn and Dakota Fanning as layabouts and occasional boors). His flashes of rage — forcing him, later, to methodically dispose of multiple corpses — exist for Scott as a sort of frustrated creative impulse. “He probably is more of an artistic sort, but he doesn’t feel he’s got the class to call himself that.”

There’s something about Ripley, in other words, that’s tortured — a trait Scott can conjure with ease. On “Fleabag,” his unnamed Catholic clergyman struggled through a crisis of faith-versus-lust that was both funny and painful. In “All of Us Strangers,” his conflicted gay writer goes on a dreamlike journey to re-encounter his late parents, forgiving both them and himself for past miscommunications while falling in love with a character played by Paul Mescal.

“Fleabag” cut against, and “All of Us Strangers” leaned into, Scott’s rare status as a gay leading man. “And not afraid to talk about it and be open about it!” marvels Andrew Haigh, his “All of Us Strangers” director. There’s little Scott isn’t open about: In a wide-ranging conversation, he volleys back his answers with the relentless self-examination — and the fleeting tearfulness — of a person who’s spent time in his feelings.

It can be hard not to conflate the characters he’s played with the sense that Scott is Hollywood’s new prince of heartache. In fact, he has a direct line to the queen of such matters. “Taylor’s new album is sensational! I texted her yesterday to say how amazing it is,” Scott says about “The Tortured Poets Department,” which came out three days before our conversation. Taylor Swift, he says, is a friend, and he beams with vicarious pride about her 31-track magnum opus: “I think she is just a force of nature, just an extraordinary human, and this album is really, really amazing.” His favorite song on it, for the record, is “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived,” a ballad that begins with quiet heartbreak and builds toward a dramatic excoriation.

But Scott is perhaps being modest. Some believe that he is as much to credit for the title of the album as the men Swift sings about. Consider the explosion online after a 2022 Variety Actors on Actors conversation between Mescal and Joe Alwyn (who was dating Swift at the time, and is thought to have inspired a few songs on the album) in which they discussed their membership in a group chat called “Tortured Man Club.” Scott, they said, had initiated the chat.

“Let me tell you what that is!” Scott says. Just before Alwyn was to appear in the TV adaptation of novelist Sally Rooney’s “Conversations With Friends,” Scott — Alwyn’s co-star in the 2022 film “Catherine Called Birdy” — set him up with Mescal, of “Normal People,” another series based on Rooney’s work. “So they were about to play these tortured characters, and I had played a tortured character in ‘Fleabag.’ It wasn’t about our own characteristics!” The chat quickly died on the vine, he says. “I think there were three texts, like, ‘Hey, guys.’ You know those groups that you set up, and they just collapse.”

Short-lived or not, the existence of the chat had taken on a second life ever since the announcement of “The Tortured Poets Department.” And the whole incident speaks to Scott’s easy way of connecting people.

“He’s a great guardian of actors, if you’re lucky enough that he admires you or has respect for you,” Mescal says. “He’s got an overseeing quality, in terms of understanding that good art and good actors are hard to come by.”

Mescal, 28, and Alwyn, 33, feel in a sense like peers of Scott’s. “Fleabag” Season 2, which brought Scott to a new echelon of fame, was just five years ago, and in conversation, he has a Peter Pan energy: raffish, barking laugh and eyes that seem to twinkle with each new disclosure. And yet Scott makes for a notably older Tom Ripley — a character written by Highsmith to be just past college age.

“It was just a beautiful film,” Scott says of Anthony Minghella’s 1999 adaptation. “The idea of approaching that again, one of my first questions was ‘OK, who wants to do a carbon copy?’” Scott gestures at what, in the dim light of the patio, appears to be his delicately lined face: “Jesus, look at my age!”

Scott’s take on the character reads as more experienced, and wearier. More tortured, over a longer timeline. Scott can relate. Our conversation is the final stop on a lengthy press tour, which came on the heels of promoting “All of Us Strangers” during Oscar season; he flies back home tomorrow. Before that was “Ripley”’s long road to the screen: After some 162 days of principal photography from summer 2021 to spring 2022, the series, which had been made by Showtime, bounced to Netflix amid a fire sale at the Paramount-owned cable network.

Following “Ripley,” “All of Us Strangers” and his solo show “Vanya” on London’s West End last fall, Scott is on a career high, and he’s become a red-carpet fixture as a fashionista. (His all-white tux-and-tee combo as a nominee at this year’s Golden Globes deflated the pomposity of the event, while looking dazzlingly fresh.) “It’s a way of having fun, being creative — going, OK, well, this is a bit of a laugh.” Scott stammers, but goes on: “My mother was a very stylish, creative person, and it’s something I’ve always been interested in. Why not just have a bit of fun while we’re here?”

Scott has brought up his mother a few times before I get the chance to offer my condolences. She died unexpectedly on March 7 — less than a month before “Ripley”’s premiere. “It came very suddenly to our family,” he says, “and it’s landed in the middle of all of this stuff. Her spirit is so alive in me in the immediate aftermath of her death.”

There are painfully mixed feelings at play: Scott is proud of the work he’s done (and duty-bound to promote it), while part of him is elsewhere. Talking about his mother is a way of keeping her close. She was an art teacher, “and her way of dealing with people was so kind, but she wasn’t very good at small talk,” Scott says. “She connected with people in a very particular way. What I was taught was the idea of being authentically yourself.”

Which extends to Scott’s self-presentation. In our meeting, he’s neon-bright, wearing a teal crewneck sweatshirt under a fuzzy cardigan the precise shade of cerulean that Miranda Priestly popularized. “People say that they look back at photographs and cringe,” he says. “Who cares? It’s about playfulness. It’s about going, How would I be if I wasn’t scared of criticism?”

“Ripley,” in its ambiguity, is a show unafraid to trigger debate. Among the choices Zaillian (best known for his Oscar-winning screenplay for “Schindler’s List”) made was a greater fealty to Highsmith’s text. Minghella’s film untangled her complications: Tom lusted after Dickie (played by Jude Law), and he had to destroy what he could not obtain. Here, though, Tom seems repulsed by Dickie, even as he admires his lifestyle and easy way of being. Tom doesn’t seem to fit into any identity at all, leaving some viewers to wonder whether he’s even gay in this version.

“Everything that I feel on that subject is in the show,” Zaillian says when asked to clarify Ripley’s sexual orientation. “I don’t like to do anything overtly; I think subtlety is best. It’s not that I’m trying to hide anything, but I think it’s all there.”

Scott is willing to go a bit further. “I didn’t want to diagnose him with anything in particular,” he says. “I don’t think he would be comfortable in a gay bar or a straight bar. I think his sexuality is elusive to him.” What he does to Dickie is an expression of frustrated heartsickness, perhaps. “I think he has a feeling of love for him. Sometimes it could be sexual. Sometimes it could be fraternal. And sometimes it could just be amicable.” What was a quarter century ago rendered as an outright homoerotic story here gets into levels of confusion that feel more challenging, more novelistic. “If she was alive today,” Scott says of Highsmith, “I’d love to ask her a bit more about that.”

Highsmith, whose own relationship with her lesbianism was complicated, likely wouldn’t recognize the world through which Scott strides. Indeed, he has previously expressed his dubiousness about language around sexuality — specifically, the term “openly gay,” which he derides. “It’s wonderful to be able to talk about sexuality in an open way,” Scott says. “But I do feel sometimes, other people — and by other people, I mean straight people — don’t have to explain or talk about their sexuality every time they go to work.”

Scott, thus far quick-witted and voluble, has begun to weigh his words carefully. “The idea that I’m being defiant by just being exactly who I am … Be open about it? Why wouldn’t you be open about it?” The distinction between disclosing one’s sexuality and not isn’t lost on Scott, and he doesn’t mind it — that’s what, to him, the word “out” is for. “But the word ‘openly,’ for me, just seems a little loaded.”

The actor’s newfound prominence as a gay leading man is both a turning point for our culture and a fact that might seem to lend him special access to certain characters. In his first conversation with Haigh about “All of Us Strangers,” “he understood so deeply what that character needed to be,” Haigh says. “You want someone to connect to the character on a personal level. And I don’t think Andrew is afraid of that. In fact, it excites him, and he wants to embrace how he can make it personal.”

And yet Scott resists the idea that the story is solely one for gay viewers: He remarks that just today, he received a note from a friend who watched with his wife, and was moved. “A lot of this stuff has really affected me in my own life growing up — God knows I didn’t have a lot of gay content,” Scott says. “We live in an identity-politics era. We’re separating each other more than we need to. This hysteria about your sexuality and how that is something that is only understandable to people who belong to the same tribe as you — it just doesn’t seem truthful.”

Part of Scott’s response might be a desire to sidestep misreadings of his intentions with “All of Us Strangers” and “Ripley.” In both projects, he plays a character who has experienced some version of same-sex attraction; in both, his character also seems miserable. “Sometimes I find it hard when you’re doing press,” he says, “because I feel so joyful and so emancipated. It seems like I always want to talk about the difficulties that I have with being gay, when actually, it’s the greatest joy of my life.”

His presence on the celebrity circuit, though, suggests that culture is still figuring out how to treat an out star at Scott’s level. At this year’s BAFTAs, a red-carpet reporter for the BBC asked Scott about Barry Keoghan’s genitalia as seen in the film “Saltburn,” implying that Scott and Keoghan (who is dating the pop star Sabrina Carpenter) had been intimate. Scott quickly walked away. “It was awkward,” he says. “It was a little bit weird. But I got an apology from the journalist. I think it was a series of unfortunate events. And I totally accepted his apology.”

Scott doesn’t dwell on the incident, saying, “I wouldn’t want him to suffer any more.” But the story resonates with a general sense that Scott’s work, or his public self, is held to a different standard. The understandable excitement around Scott booking massive jobs — and his experience of being the “first” or “only” in many professional settings — feels strange from the inside. “What is the best thing that we could do?” he asks me. “I don’t have the definite answer. Would it be unusual for us not to mention my sexuality at all?”

Well, yes — but we move on. The moment Scott’s experiencing is the culmination of an incremental build, after an initial leap of faith. He’d dropped out of Trinity College in Dublin (alma mater of Irish artists such as Oscar Wilde and, more recently, “Normal People”’s Rooney and Mescal) after six months to pursue theater. “Sometimes you shouldn’t have a safety net,” he says. “If you have a safety net, you’re going to be really, really safe.” Early screen roles included appearances in “Saving Private Ryan” and “Band of Brothers.” The parts gradually got bigger — his performance in the 2014 drama “Pride,” about the gay-rights crusade in Britain, is a fan favorite, and he was an appropriately sinister opponent for James Bond and MI6 in 2015’s “Spectre” before playing the lead in a 2017 London staging of “Hamlet.”

But it was “Fleabag” that lit his career aflame. Scott calls Phoebe Waller-Bridge “one of my main homies” and, to the extent that the Hot Priest phenomenon has followed him, says it’s all for the good. “It hasn’t prevented me from playing any other characters. And I just feel so proud of the process and the product.” Would he return to a hypothetical “Fleabag” Season 3, if Waller-Bridge asked him to? “Of course I would,” he says before unleashing one of those great Andrew Scott guffaws. “But she’s not going to!”

It’s hard to overstate the impact Hot Priest had, turning what had been in its first season a charming critics’ favorite into a world-devouring, Emmy-sweeping hit on the strength of Scott’s chemistry with Waller-Bridge. (Scott was not himself Emmy-nominated for “Fleabag,” but was the following year for an episode of “Black Mirror.”) Sad-eyed yet smiling, H.P. forges a deep understanding with Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag: They both know that they want to be together, and they both know that they cannot.

Which makes “Fleabag” an intriguing counterpoint to Ripley, a character who pushes his way past every limitation he cannot hack his way through. The monochrome look of the show turns Scott’s eyes into vampiric black pools of need; over eight episodes, we witness Ripley’s lower-class life and high-class ambitions, and his willingness to turn to violence to bridge the two. There’s an unholy gnarliness to Ripley that Scott sells well.

“Ripley” is a double risk, as Scott knew when he took on the role. The series updates — by more closely following Highsmith’s tricky, nasty novel — a film that’s widely beloved, and does so with a leading man whose reputation is for suffering sweetly. “I’m just concerned about how it would be perceived, how it would change things for me,” Scott says. He acknowledged that fear — then let it go.

“When I played James Moriarty, I was younger than people wanted the character to be. And they’d go, ‘I wanted the character to have a beard and wear a top hat, and this little fucker is now playing it like this, and I don’t want that!’ The biggest challenge for you is to put your dukes up and go, Sorry, but this is this.” Risk — in comparison to what Scott calls “cynical and unconfident” compromise — works.

His co-stars have noticed the chances he takes. “Technical brilliance is one thing. And then there’s this other part of Andrew that is incredibly raw in his performance,” Mescal says. “You could sit around and talk to actors about their lives all day — they love nothing more than talking about themselves. But Andrew lets an audience into the corners of themselves that we don’t talk about.”

Sam Yates, the director of Scott’s 2023 “Vanya” — which won an Olivier Award for best revival in April — describes the places Scott would go onstage as “trancelike.”

“How do you go through that without a level of someone else taking over?” Yates says, adding that Scott “is being led by a certain degree of technique, but by a huge degree by his aliveness to his own emotions. He would surprise himself constantly onstage.”

He seems to surprise himself in conversation, too, returning with frequency to a subject that’s evidently joyful to recall and painful to discuss. Previously this season, while being interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR’s “Fresh Air,” his voice got tight when she asked him, seemingly not knowing the answer, if his parents were both still alive. Now, though, his mother feels like the third person at our table under a gray L.A. sky.

“You keep your Irishness alive by telling the story,” he says. “Thinking about my mom recently and talking about her — it was really important to me, in the eulogy, to celebrate her.”

I remark that his mother — her artistic sensibility, her impatience with pleasantries — feels very present to me. He pauses, seems to shudder slightly. Like a sudden storm, tears are rolling down his cheeks, and he takes a moment to speak. When he finally does, his voice is steady.

“It’s a really funny thing, to be honest,” he says. “I can’t disappear the fact that this has happened in the midst of all this. The juxtaposition of these two extremes in my life where all these projects are coming out, and I’ve had to be much more public-facing than I usually am, at a time when I’m going through this extraordinary personal loss.”

He begins talking more rapidly, becoming more animated as he wills himself out of crying. “I’m not even sure if it’s the right thing to do, but you have to tell your own truth. My job is to understand what it’s like to be a human being, and I don’t like perpetuating the myth that we’re all perfect. That you have to be a movie star.”

Scott’s production company, he tells me, is called Both/And — he notes the slash in the middle. “I’ve always believed that things are always both something and something else. It could be the happiest day of your life, and you’re hungry. You’re at a funeral, and you have a laugh. There’s always something else.”

I can relate: I’m pleased to be connecting, but sorry that I upset him. And so I apologize.

“No, no, listen! I’m upset anyway!” he says, then lets loose another hearty laugh, loud and rich enough to crack the tension of the moment. In its gusto and its surprising timing, it does feel like a laugh at a funeral, but sometimes those are the kind one needs.

“Ripley” may represent the greatest challenge this versatile actor has experienced — he’s at the center of each of its eight episodes, and nothing happens without him.

“We would do what we could in our time off, but I know it was really taxing for him,” Fanning, Scott’s co-star, says. “We found a lot of common ground, because we’ve both done this for the majority of our lives. We approach work in a very similar way — there’s a time and place to be serious, and there’s a time you need to tell some stupid joke. And we did that too.”

The presence of co-stars was a balm, but Ripley, necessarily, is alone a great deal. “Spending a lot of time with a character who is solitary when I was feeling solitary myself was quite tough,” Scott says. “I love that about my job — that you can go into a particular world — but it was very different from what gives me joy. It’s the sheer stamina that was needed: It’s a lot of acting.”

The show’s two bravura set-pieces involve the disposal of bodies. “It was important to me that this character was not a professional killer,” Zaillian says. “And so we have to see him think each one through. And Andrew can bring us into his thoughts and feelings.”

Scott, compact of frame, lugged his fellow actors (rather than dummies) as much as was feasible: “I remember doing a long take, seven or eight minutes, me just trying to lift something up, and Steve just let the camera go as I struggled, and didn’t cut.”

He doesn’t linger on this aspect of the shoot. Easily able to access heartache and joy, he tends to stop short when specifics about the work come up. “It goes into a sort of PR-speak,” he says, “where you have to tell people how much suffering you’ve been through.” He draws an analogy of a host throwing a dinner party: “If you spend the whole night saying, ‘Well, I couldn’t find any organic chicken, and the vacuum wasn’t working’ — they’re like, ‘Just give me my fucking dinner!’”

“He’s aware that his work isn’t for him,” Mescal says. “You’re providing a service to an audience. Nobody really gives a fuck about your process, and if they do, they’re boring.”

Elsewhere in our conversation, Scott edges up to describing his method for finding Ripley: “I’m always really interested in the vulnerability of people. What’s the thing they’re unconfident about? What are they hiding? It was hard to access that.” What he found, in the end, was less “a biographical sort of solution,” he says, than an absence — of the ease it takes to get through life. “Not everybody is charming and capable and socially adept and sexy. You have to advocate for people who don’t have it easy. That’s what made me have some degree of affection for him.”

Affection, even on a dark project, is what it’s all about. “He’s a big advocate for play,” Mescal says. “He takes the work very seriously, but he wears it lightly. And that allowed our chemistry to be pretty playful and organic.”

On “All of Us Strangers,” the pair, already acquainted, bonded deeply. “It developed into a genuine love between them, and you can still see that now,” Haigh says. “I felt like I’d been a dating agent, and I brought these two people together.”

The film, shot quickly after “Ripley”’s protracted production, helped Scott emerge and reset after playing Tom. “Sometimes a change can be as good as a rest,” he says. “Although, I have to say, I do need a rest now.”

I have one last question before I let Scott go. He’d said he wondered how “Ripley,” with its grand ambition and with Scott at the center of the story, might change things for him. What kind of change would he want?

It turns out the real question is what kind of change doesn’t he want. “You want to keep your life,” he says. “I like my life. I don’t want people to become the enemy. Because I like people.”

He lets out a sigh. “I’m glad to be wrapping up the promotion aspect of it, because it’s been quite a big journey, and obviously, I need to go and be with the people I love.” He smiles, and his eyes turn down slightly. “So it’s just time for me to exit stage left for a little while.”

I turn my tape recorders off; Scott has given me enough. But he waits a second, his gaze once again as eager as during the formal part of our interview: What had I meant when I used the word “obversely”? (I’d said that the Hot Priest persona seemed like a gift, but — obversely! — potentially limiting as well.) He usually uses the word “conversely” to describe what he thought I meant.

We both look up definitions on our phones, and conclude that the two words mean the same thing: two feelings coursing at once, in seeming opposition to one another. Like the lovability and loathsomeness dueling within Ripley; like happiness and sorrow in a single charged moment. Both/and, or something like that. Words are funny things! And isn’t it amazing, Scott muses, that we can use language to communicate what we’re feeling. What an invention. What a gift. He grins. And if there’s another feeling behind it, both the smile and something else, the sun is suddenly shining too brightly for me to see.'

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variousqueerthings · 2 months

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also did in fact get to watch the west end cabaret, and i did enjoy it (i live in a world where my mum occasionally visits and takes pity on a poor soul and so we go watch a musical) but i think all of what i was concerned about with it was correct. so pros and cons. or cons and pros, hm... pros and cons...

pros:

sally bowles was spot on -- cara delevigne is currently playing her, but not when i was watching, which im kind of relieved about. im sure she does a good job, but a-list hollywood star and model cara delevigne is going to have to work double-time to convince me she's a struggling overwrought undertalented average british woman (while still belting out those higher notes and being the most captivating character on the stage). i liked the actress who played her A Lot, she tapped into all of that perfectly, and i liked that she took the seemingly impossible middle-ground between a liza minelli and a jane horrocks and was both punky and able to convince me that she wasn't that good at performing in the story, while still giving an actually amazing set of performances

the whole kit kat bar Gang so to speak was amazing, i enjoyed every one of them. they were all fantastic and vibrant, while giving a modern-married-with-classic queer feel in their outfits and introductions that updated the visuals in the opening number to a more overt genderfluidity than ive seen before

the pre-show + interval immersive experience was probably my favourite part of the whole thing. entering down a side entrance into a cellar and seeing performers as you wander through various sections, and then during the latter part of the interval the performers bringing some of the more daring audience members onstage and interacting with the various rows. made it feel like not just a musical, but an actual club

frau schneider and herr schultz were great throughout, my other favourite performances of the show. the place where it found its realism most effectively and of course where the politics is most at the forefront, wonderfully depicted by the two actors

cliff bradshaw is the most thankless role in any iteration, so shoutout to making him pretty likeable -- my guy will never be memorable, but that of course is not the point. he's the camera

cons:

the marketing of being "the most exclusive club in town" was giving a whole vibe of elite, difficult-to-gain-access-to, rich, that just... isn't correct. and i mean, the tickets are fuckn expensive so, it really is all of those things, which was my immediate kneejerk reaction to the show long before i ever watched it: is this show for a queer audience, or is it for people to gawk at queers? (but make it musical theatre and polished, no messy realistic queerness). and you can never know if an audience is majority queer or not, but i will hazard a strong... not. and also a strong "very few people under the age of 35 who would have to really save up to watch this show" as well

to add to this point -- i was watching with my mum, her boyfriend, and my godfather (all middle-class and middle-aged straight people in their own right, but youknow. i suggested the show), and during the interval i asked them about how they felt about the tone so far, mentioning that i found it interesting in contrast to the 1993 version, which was quite grimy-looking, and my godfather said that yeah, it was sultry, but it wasn't cabaret clublike -- and i just. if he noticed that. everything was a bit too polished, and too pretty (with, in my opinion, the exception of the portrayal of sally). i just think it's a fundamental misjudgement of who cabaret is about (club performers and sex workers with no money) and also, in my opinion, who it ought to be for

the emcee... ohhhh the emcee. i mean, okay. i took an instant dislike back when it was edd*e r*dmayne, everyone who knows me knows i think that guy has the charisma of a wet sponge and needs to stop poking his fingers in seminal queer narratives, but the fucking... party hat. this show definitely made it clear that it's not just the actor, it's the way it's put together. funny thing was, one of the ensemble performers (played bobby) took charge during the interval (when the actual emcee is presumably off having a big costume change), and i thought, "now that's the emcee," and it wasn't actually any of the performers' fault. i dont think the emcee actor had the look, but that aside, this show had no idea what to do with the character, it's like they didn't give him any kind of grounding at all. a series of nonsensical costume-changes, popping up haphazardly outside the cabaret (but not with any kind of consistency) a sort of... wheedling, un-directedness to the whole thing. he was disconnected from any kind of time (20th century or today), any kind of place (club, stage, in or out of the cabaret), any kind of anything, and it was the costuming, the way he'd been directed, and the lack of consistency for when he appeared. he was almost meaningless to the story

the politics -- speaking of the emcee -- were really weirdly stripped. the big points are there, it's berlin, people want to party and ignore the nazis, and then two big Moments happen (the engagement party, the rock through the window) that indelibly remind people that antisemitism cannot be ignored, and that this is coming, whether you want it to or not (and eventually it's coming for the denizens of the kit kat club too). but other than that, nothing in the way this was put together felt very cognisant of wanting to either get into the idea of nazism of the 1930s or fascism today. there was a kind of vague effigy performance of "tomorrow belongs to me" with figures that looked like they were saying something about conformity, and at the end of the play everyone is dressed in the same, somewhat bland suit, so the message is... idk. conformity makes the world worse, i guess. beyond that single scene with the swastika revealed at the engagement party, we never see one again, which may have been an attempt to point out how people hide behind the idea of "just politics," but with the way the whole thing was staged (this rich, luxurious location) came off to me like it was letting the audience off the hook -- it's still a story, we're telling it to you as gently as possible. it just felt so timid! all the imagery -- like the emcee himself -- is beautiful and un-grounded, only just enough about something to tell the story without being too disquieting

good example is the money makes the world go around song. the emcee comes up in a goth "harem-like" outfit, with a sort of shiny, rib-cage looking harness, clown make-up, black stormtrooper-esque helmet, loooong shining nails -- there's 5 different things going on here, none of which are grounded, they're just... pretty. give a nod to ideas about wealth, and starvation, and nazis, and (hopefully intentionally) appropriation/exotification, and something queer-esque. look, a man with bedazzled nails singing about how money makes the world go around, at a show where the tickets are fuckn expensive, but he's not singing about that, he's not singing about today, or the past, and in fact the number is so overproduced (all the other performers have taken off their homage-costumes to the 1920s/30s and are now in a generic wavy dress outfit, and they're all over the stage, doing the most, distracting from the words) that you can't take in of the words with what's happening onstage

i hated hated hated those conformist suits at the end. what were they on about???? conformity takes the glitter out of things idk?? fascism. talk about modern day fascism. or hell, lean hard into a story about 1930s fascism if you're not comfortable confronting this audience properly, but just... don't be generic

which also, minor gripe time now, but there's this whole plotline in the musical that's deliberately set up at the beginning -- sally has a beautiful coat. the metaphor of trying to polish up her life on the outside, of refusing to acknowledge the deeper issues, not just with the world, but with herself, that she's poor, she's not entirely sure how long she'll last for or what's coming next, so hey, make it a party and look beautiful... that whole setup is important for when she sells the coat to get an abortion! and they have the setup in this version, but then seemingly forget all about it at the end? the coat they reference isn't the beautiful, expensive fur coat she walks in with in the first act, it's this random suit-coat she's been dressed up in for the finale, it misses the whole point. i say minor gripe, but it does feel like a microcosm of so much of this show. it refuses, ironically, to go any deeper. it still fundamentally wants to make sure the audience is comfortable by defanging as much as possible all the little things that add up to one great big picture

gosh it was long. it was -- with interval -- two hours, forty-five minutes. maybe that's why it felt like it lacked purpose, it seemed like it wanted to pack in every version of the story into one, and again, sally at the centre really makes this obvious, because as much as i think the actress was pitch perfect, i definitely saw the ways this particular version repeated sentiments about her over and over so that she became softer, sweeter, like the rest of it palatable. the most uncomfortable she makes you is during her first performance and everything beyond that is just showing how sympathetic she fundamentally is, how hard done by, feel sad for her. like a victorian morality tale, rather than a 20s portrait of complex, flawed people, and it goes on and on and on with that same tangent

think it was a mistake to fire her at the beginning and thereby take her out of the kit kat club -- disconnects the club from the story, so we're just randomly going there sometimes for a song, and then back to the more grounded narrative, then back for another song that loosely comments on the scene we just watched. again, this goes back to the emcee being kind of nothing and sally being taken out of the club, so that there's barely any blend between the plot and the cabaret setting, either through interference of a godlike emcee, or by sally just going to work

this a bit vague, and not quite sure if i mind or not, but cliff was played by a black actor, and the thing is of course that in the story cliff is targeted by a nazi as a guy he can trick into smuggling illegal materials for the nazi party from paris into berlin (until cliff catches wise and tells him to go to hell). and i felt like there's an added ickiness to all of that if cliff is black, that is never really explored in this iteration (nor the fact that he's being hit on by a slew of white men and women). obviously this isn't the original text, so whether or not to bring that forward in this version, to comment (subtly or not) on racial attitudes of the 20s/30s as another form of mirror to today, is very much up to the show. then again, maybe this time isn't original to the text either and they included that as well, so could have been an opportunity if they really wanted to change something up for this specific iteration

In conclusion: really, very beautiful show, with great performers, that ultimately rang pretty hollow and didn't attempt to interact with the material from a modern lens beyond the trappings. save me from generic upscale "queer" imagery made palatable for non-queer audiences. clown emcee can't hurt me, he isn't real

#to taaag to taaaaag #ah fuckit #cabaret #this is for me to find again after all

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