#Which reminds me of that one line about Horatio remembering Hamlet so well it would as if he hadn't died at all

[jacksintention]

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[lolacouldnotcareless]

28, 29, 45, 49, 55, 57, 61, 62 ? (I know it a lot but I’m a curious person !) 💙

28. Five songs to describe you

Bastille - Warmth (live version at capitole)

Queen - Somebody to Love

Bts - Tomorrow

Epik High - Eternal Sunshine

Bts - Never mind

29. Best way to bond with you

Playing board games if we’re more than two, just having a cup of tea or coffee while talking if only two. Or: doing a project for school together. That’s apparently how i befriend people at uni. Yes there is an embarrassing pattern.

45. Which genre: sci-fi, fantasy, superhero?

If we’re talking about series, sci-fi, but if we’re talking books, fantasy

49. What saying or quote do you go by?

Keep going. Tell myself that everyday, but that’s not really a quote, is it?

55. Favourite fairytale?

When i was little i had this book of fairytales by andersen. I remember a story with a chinese emperor and i have very fond memories of it, even if it’s been a while and i don’t remember it. Remind me to read it again when i’m back home.

57. The three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

Okay so this is a tricky question because as soon as i overcome something i’m like “see dumb bitch it wasn’t that hard keep going” even if, well, i know it is hard.

So letting my mind go in dark places (we’re stopping that idiot now, it’s unavoidable that sometimes —like this week— my brain is a shitty place to be but i can tell it to shut the fuck up, bitch, and suck it up, have you finished yet?), accepting that my family is not as well as i wanted it to be, family dogs death.

61. Favourite line from a book/movie/tv show etc.?

Currently, “a little more than kin, but less than kind,” from Hamlet. Tbh i love many lines from Hamlet, but it’s with this one that i knew i was going to have fun until this idiot got himself killed. It is also coincidentally hamlet’s first line.

62. Seven characters you relate to?

Castiel because he tries to do good (but worsens the situation) and he still has faith in humanity somehow.

Crowley (GO) because why speak with words when you can “ngk” yourself out of a situation. Also “i don’t understand what is so bad in knowing the difference between good and evil” and just questioning everything because why and why not. And more seriously i get the optimism from the book version, and the total lose of hope from the series version. Also fucking up plans

Aziraphale because fucking up plans, no book is leaving his bookshop, he literally eats and reads his way through time and i honestly can’t think of a better way to spend what feels like eternity, is “good” because that’s what he is told he is but is deep down a bastard, and honestly i related so much to his arc with heaven in the series. Break those chains babe. You can do it, i can probably too.

I would love to say that i relate more to horatio than to hamlet because horatio is a) calm b) not a noble and c) not stupid. Unfortunately i relate to him as much as to hamlet because the latter is intelligent but he is also so much of a dramatic depressed bitch that it all cancels out. Oh look representation. The only thing that makes me relate a bit more to horatio though is that i am not a very revengeful person myself but i’ll certainly help my friend in their own revenge.

I would love to throw a female character but the truth is that i haven’t recently opened a book with a female character that i could relate to. Or watched a series or a film. Like, either they exist solely as lover and don’t have adventure of their own, either they’re “hysterical” (ophelia my dear), either they have a story but i can’t relate to them because how different we are. Like, i love wonderwoman, but i’m not as courageous and direct as she is in the movie. I can relate to her wanting peace and wanting war to end, to her compassion. I love the female characters in the good place or in brooklyn 99, but i can’t fully relate to any of them either. (Neither can i relate to the male characters in those)

And for the last character... because it’s my dog’s birthday today i’ll tell you why i decided to call her ginny 11 years ago...

She is named after ginny weasley, because ginny weasley has a lot of temper, doesn’t hesitate to fight, is very brave, is strong, and speaks her mind. All the things that i am not. But i still loved very much this character for those reasons and called my dog ginny. My ginny doesn’t hesitate to fight (gosh i wish she would but nooo this dog is bigger than her ofc she’s gonna try to fight him), is very brave but also very much of a coward (why would you walk outside when it’s dark??), speaks her mind (she can’t bark. She can’t. But she makes sounds and it’s literally impossible to ignore what she wants to tell you. There isn’t any water left? Is it time to go to bed? Does she want to taste what’s in your plate? Does she want attention? She. Will. Tell. You.), is a strong doggo (i call her mon buffle ou mon bulldozer from time to time), and certainly has enough of temper and attitude like that, thank you very much. And i love her like that ❤️ happy birthday ginny ❤️

[class-wom]

Legion Chapter 24 “Morning After”-Thoughts – SPOILERS!!!

   *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

 SPOILER TERRITORY

  *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Okay, as I mentioned in a previous tag from a previous reblog, where Shakespearean tragedy analogies/comparisons are concerned, this is looking less and less like Romeo and Juliet (doomed star-crossed lovers, but hey, at least their folks kissed and made up at their funerals, so to speak!) or Hamlet (huge “pile o’ bods,” including the struggling title character, but hey, at least he finally avenged Daddy’s death and left Horatio behind to tell the tale!) and more like MacBeth.  And frankly, that’s really hard for me to take, because I hate MacBeth!!!  (That being said, yeah, Lenny is now officially a classic Lady MacBeth figure.  Out damned spot indeed!)  And it seems rather ironic to me now that the body count we thought was “a thing” by the end of the Pilot -- dead Lenny, dead Clark -- really is a thing now.  (...or is it?!?  Duh-duh-DUHHHHHHHH!!!)

On the bright side (yes, I’m determined to find one -- LOL!), good and/or bad, there was a lot that happened in this ep that imo needed to happen if we’re going to reach a halfway-decent conclusion for better or worse.  And let’s not make the decision there just yet, though we’re kind of left in a position to anticipate the latter imo.

Clark’s fate? love him or hate him, yeah, he had to go imo, because to me he was a vengeful fly in the ointment who only back-burnered his David-grudge from Chapters 9 to 19 due to lack of sufficient evidence of David being a threat (a terribly useful tool in Farouk’s “bag o’ tricks;” please let us remember how casually Farouk literally flicked him off in the closing scenes of Chapter 18!), and consequently only succeeded in his relentless pursuit and obsession in making a bad situation ten times worse and more complicated in the long run.  I’ve mentioned before that Daniel’s lines in Chapter 20 made the consequences of Clark’s one-track mind perfectly clear, which brings me to Daniel’s fate:  Yeah, this is definitely one to file under “Okay, if you want me to badmouth David, I’ll go with this one; what he did to Daniel was (borrowing from Clueless) way harsh and completely unnecessary and cruel.”  Funny that it happened before he took down Clark, who again did have to be removed if any headway is to be made in any direction imo.  But maybe that’s part of the point being made here:  Okay, fine, go ahead and hate David for savagely taking down Daniel’s mental capacity as collateral damage, if you like.  But in the end, what put him in the line of fire in the first place?  His love for and loyalty to the obsessed (”focused”) Clark.  So could it be possible that, consciously or otherwise, Clark was so focused on taking down David by whatever means necessary that he was willing to put his partner at risk in the process? and doesn’t that make him as bad as David, allowing his obsessions to distract him from and ruin what he holds dear?  Not an excuse, mind, but just a thought.  It’s just that there are so many more of David at this point that it’s easier to spot in his case! LOL!

Which leads me to the next batch of things that happened that needed to imo:  The long-overdue Sydvid talk and Syd’s discovery of David’s alters.  Now regarding the former, this brings me to a tiresome sore point in light of the Chapter 23 gulag scene, namely the “one step forward/two steps back”-type of scenario where David has a much-needed confrontation that reveals his deep-seated pains and struggles beneath his dark persona, but GOTCHA! -- the whole thing turned out to be a trick, and David’s back to his guarded ruthless self as a result.  Still, hopelessly optimistic viewer that I am, I’d like to think some much-needed seeds were planted during the talk:  Even if Syd was deliberately attempting to lull David into letting his guard down (via SK’s Chapter 21 cringe-worthy promise to “teach you to lie so well that he’ll thank you as you stab him in the back”) by saying everything he wanted (and imo needed) to hear.  (Yeah, since David made a point of mentioning how he used to trust her, we’ll see how well he trusts her in future after that stunt!!! 🙄)  I’d like to think that, whatever state she may be in at this point (there’s the possibility that she may not take a literal physical form, but hey, after the whole Lenny S1-S2 Saga, who knows with this show?), she’ll know a lot better than to trust Farouk from now on.  (David was right about that when he said she shouldn’t have trusted him!!!)  I like the fact that she at least admitted that she had been jealous!!!  So at least she came out and stated the obvious; I was pleased about that!

And now that it’s happened, I can go ahead and say it:  Yes, the Sydvid Body Swap, Syd-trick or otherwise, needed to happen, because Syd needed to see what was/is driving David and making him behave the way he has been all this time.  I was shocked as to how quickly it transpired:  I wasn’t expecting it for a few more eps, tbh, and yeah, I was kind of hoping it would end a little more optimistically, with Syd and the Davids eventually talking things over, but depending on wherever Syd is mentally now (in David’s mind? somewhere in the stratosphere? I know that the next ep, which I may miss altogether but follow up on via summaries in the name of continuity, will follow her on the astral plane, so idk, maybe she’s just in a deep coma right now physically), maybe it could still happen with three eps to go? 

Also, on a side note, I liked watching DS’s “Syd-as-David” drag RK’s weakly protesting “David-as-Syd” down the halls muttering, “It’s okay, David! I gotcha!”  Took me awhile to figure out wtf Syd was up to and what she was really trying to pull during the discussion, complete with her tipping her hand about Switch’s whereabouts; I concur with a tweet I read dismissing it as a stupid plan on the part of Syd, quite frankly, thereby minimizing sympathy somewhat imo for her current position.  But I still enjoyed watching that post-swap part for some reason; acting-wise, that had to be a challenge for both DS and RK, so props there!  (And okay, yeah, Syd using David’s powers to blast his knife-wielding followers?  On the one hand, I feel sorry for them, but on the other, I concede with reluctance that it was kind of cool, if for no other reason that I no longer have to listen to them call him “Daddy”!  ROTFL!  Not sure what annoys me more, their calling him “Daddy” or Farouk calling him “My son” or “My baby.”  Let’s put it at a photo finish, shall we?  LOL!)

Okay, on to the Lenny Shocker -- and to me, it was a shocker!  Yet there was a huge dropped ball in this scene that annoyed me:  As Lenny was calling David out on his narcissism, why the heck didn’t he point out that the only reason he was keeping her around and/or she had a body in the first place -- a body destroyed by Syd, accidentally or otherwise, using David’s body and powers, I might add!!! -- was because Farouk destroyed the only tangible family, adopted or otherwise, in order to grant her request for a physical body and freedom?  He would have certainly had grounds to do so, Heaven only knows!  Okay, fine -- not saying that Hawley & Co. had to call up Katie Asleton to get her to film new scenes; a few flashbacks and/or at least the name-drop of Amy would have been good enough for me.  But I’ll give NH credit:  There may have been a case in which he did write such a line in this scene for David, and heck, maybe it was even filmed, only to be cut at the request of the FX execs who argued that it would cause the ep to run too long to ironically run that Twizzlers ad during the commercial breaks.  (Anyone else catch that in the “Lenny Swan Song”-ep with regard to a sponsor choice? that couldn’t have been a coincidence! LOL!)  Perhaps the best part of the scene (at least imo), David shedding visible and genuine tears as Lenny slowly bleeds to death, was supposed to indicate this, that the closest thing he had nearby to remind him of a true family was slipping away from him.  Interesting ref during the Sydvid talk that he later describes this as “abandonment” and equates it with his parents.  I guess that’ll work for now, but I would have liked to at least hear the Amy-ref, since it’s safe to call that moment the turning point in S2, David’s realization of Lenny’s true identity.  JMO.

And while the World Wide Web is crying “There’s no doubt about it, David truly is a villain now!” can we just take a look at Farouk in this ep once and for all and say “Yeah, okay, whatever, but that doesn’t mean that Farouk is good by default!”?  (I know, I know -- two wrongs don’t make a right, as I keep saying, but again, Farouk’s old enough to have a better idea of what he’s doing, and apparently for all his coolness, even he in the end underestimates his competition!) Puppet master, master Chess player (oooh, a Xavier/Magneto ref! LOL!), etc., etc. -- we definitely see Farouk as nothing more than a master manipulator.  Yet he’s not completely successful in his control over D3, and since the D3/Summerland gang has changed so dramatically and frustratingly over the course of this show to the point where I’m not even sure I can root for the Loudermilks anymore (Kerry’s excitement about going to space was kind of fun, though!), I’m not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed in this turn of events and the inevitable parting of the ways.  (Or at least I would hope so; perhaps he’ll use Syd’s apparent condition to his advantage, idk.)  Frankly, I’m coming more and more to the conclusion that there is going to be no true winner at curtain’s end no matter how you slice it; at best, perhaps some parties will come away with a bittersweet sense of closure, and that’ll be about it.

Regarding Farouk’s underestimation of his control over the situation, I liked Switch’s suddenly popping up to help David, but if she’s incarcerated in a hibernation chamber, how the heck did she manage to snap out of it so quickly?  That had a rather deus ex machina-feel to it imo.  I may have missed something, idk; quite possible with this type of a show.  LOL!

And as often happens, I guess I had a little more to say the morning after than I thought I did! 😂

[rose-of-pollux]

The Yorick Affair (MFU oneshot)

Title: The Yorick Affair Rating: G Summary: The search for a valuable artifact leads Napoleon and Illya to a Shakespeare festival, where they will need to utilize all of their wit and resourcefulness... and their knowledge of the Bard.  Dedicated to Robert Vaughn. Notes: This is a ficlit I wrote for the Shakespeare challenge at Section 7; it’s a fun little romp, and since Robert Vaughn was one of the (if not the) biggest Hamlet fans around, I’d like to dedicate this ficlit to him.

If you prefer reading on FFN, you can read it here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12460511/1/ If you prefer reading on AO3, you can read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10710915

Illya had been expecting to see a lot of people in costume as they investigated a Shakespeare festival’s celebration of the Bard’s work.  But the Russian hadn’t expected that his partner would be among those in costume; Napoleon was dressed as Prince Hamlet, in all black, with a tunic embroidered with gold threads on the shoulders and collar, and black tights—and even a touch of black eyeliner.  Illya had stared at him for a good five minutes before just shaking his head and realizing that nothing was going to change Napoleon’s mind, so he didn’t even bother trying.

“Dare I ask where you got that costume from?” Illya inquired, as they walked past numerous craft tents and small, open stages where amateur performers were reciting from the Elizabethan plays.

“Oh, it’s mine,” Napoleon said, with a grin.  “Birthday gift from Del Floria one year—been waiting for a chance to use it.”

“I, for one, am astounded that you did not wear it to one of the Halloween parties we throw each year.”

“Oh, I wanted to,” Napoleon admitted.  “But I like it when our costumes coordinate, and I didn’t think you’d want to be Horatio. …Though you could pass for him if no one took a second glance…”

“What?  I do not look like…”  Illya trailed off as he looked at himself in his black turtleneck and matching black pants.  He sighed and rolled his eyes, hiding his amusement.  “I did not plan for this.”

“Oh, I know,” Napoleon said, with a chuckle.  “Like I said, this doesn’t seem to be your thing.”

Illya arched an eyebrow, and then began to recite one of Horatio’s lines from the first act—

“Season your admiration for a while with an attent ear, till I may deliver, upon the witness of these gentlemen, this marvel to you.”

Napoleon froze as he began to speak, and then turned to face Illya with an absolutely giddy expression.

“For God’s love, let me hear,” he quoted in return, but truly meaning it, as well; the admiration was evident in his voice.

But Illya merely smiled.

“Later, Napoleon; we are on a mission, remember?” he teased.

Napoleon scoffed as they continued past the vendors and actors.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he said.

“I assure you I have not,” Illya insisted.   “There has never been a necessity to quote the Bard on any of our missions before.”

“Didn’t have to be in missions.  We could have gone as Hamlet and Horatio last Halloween.”

“What, you want us to bore everyone at the part by quoting sections from the play all evening?”

“No one could find that boring,” Napoleon insisted, scoffing again.  “With lines like this?  ‘Tis now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn…”  He paused and grinned as a passerby, impressed with either his costume or his delivery (or both), gave him a thumbs-up, and he silently acknowledged the praise.  “Speaking about churchyards, what do you think about our mission objective?”

“The crystal skull?” Illya asked.

“Yeah.  THRUSH claiming that they want to get their hands on an ancient crystal skull—one of a set of thirteen with, allegedly, powers beyond our imaginings,” Napoleon said.  He was a bit more open to the idea of the supernatural than Illya, but even he was finding this one hard to swallow.

Illya, sure enough, shook his head.

“I have no desire to even acknowledge that,” he said firmly.  “Regardless, the fact remains that the skull is a valuable antiquity, is stolen property according to international antiquities laws, and it cannot be allowed to fall into THRUSH’s hands, lest they sell it to fund their schemes.”

“Considering that most of the crystal skulls are still lost, it’s a mystery in and of itself as to who found it and subsequently stole it,” Napoleon said.  “As well as why they would want to make the sale here—in a Shakespeare Festival, of all places.”

“Oh, I can answer why they would choose this place,” Illya said.  He indicated Napoleon’s costume.  “This is the one place where someone could carry around a large skull and no one would give them a second glance.  Now, we must find our crystal Yorick before THRUSH does.”

“Working on that,” Napoleon said, indicating the list of vendors and actors that the organizers of the fair had given him.  “We’ll have to check on the Hamlet performances—all the amateur ones, and the official one tonight.”

“That can be your area,” Illya said.  “You would enjoy it best.”

Napoleon grinned again.

“I would, indeed,” he said. “That leaves you to appreciate all the crafts booths and hope that one of them…”  He trailed off, suddenly frowning.  “What…?”

“What is it?  You found a suspect?”

“You could say that…” Napoleon said, handing him the list and watching as Illya perused it.

Illya then paused, his eyebrows arching.

“…Edward Partridge?” he asked, looking to Napoleon in surprise.  “Not…?”

“We’ll find out,” Napoleon said, pulling out his communicator. “George?  I need you to look up something for me in our database.  You know your way around that computer better than anyone else I know.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence,” George said.  “What do you want to know?”

“Our file on Emory Partridge—does he have any known relatives?”

“Oh, that’s easy to find out; just give me a second…” George said.  There was a pause.  “Well, you know about his wife, Edith.”

“We’ve met,” Napoleon agreed.

“His sister, Hester? It says she’s deceased.”

“We’ve met her, too,” Napoleon said.  “But we didn’t stop to think that they were related.”

“Hester Partridge had two children—a son, Barnaby, and a daughter, Victoria…” Geroge continued. “Barnaby’s status is deceased; Victoria’s is unknown.”

“We have met them, too,” Illya said, scowling at the reminder of Barnaby Partridge and what had transpired at Club Thanatopsis.  “Is there anyone in his family named Edward Partridge?”

“Um…  Actually, yes.”

“Another nephew?” Napoleon asked.

“Nope.  Son.”

“What!?” Napoleon and Illya exclaimed, in unison.

“Yep,” George says. “Says right here that Emory and Edith had one child, about your age; he had gone off to further his studies well before you chased his parents into the jungle.  Why do you ask?  Is this about the crystal skull mission you’re on?”

“It sure is; he might be the one selling it to THRUSH.  Why are we only finding out about his existence now?” Napoleon asked.

“Because Edward Partridge has done an excellent job of keeping his head down since the first time you exiled his parents,” George said.  “Just be careful with him, you two.  The both of you had his parents arrested after that Eastsnout incident. And then you tangled with Emory again in the Yukon, and then led to the deaths of Hester and Barnaby.  Edward has had a long time to decide that he’d ally himself with THRUSH since you are their sworn enemy.  You know the old saying--the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Napoleon exhaled.

“So, not only do I have a Horatio, but it looks like I’ve got a Laertes, too.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind; I’ll explain it later,” Napoleon said.  “Well, thanks for confirming that we have a prime suspect.  Hopefully we can recover Yorick without too much trouble.”

“Anytime,” George said. As the channel closed, they heard him quietly mutter, “Yorick?”

“Shall we pay a visit to Edward Partridge’s vendor tent?” Illya asked.

“Let’s,” Napoleon said.

It took a bit of time for them to find the tent, but they found it soon enough.  Edward Partridge was mostly selling what claimed to be replica of armor and weapons that would have been used in the various plays. There were also a few skulls on display, all of them made of crystal.

“One of them must be the antiquity,” Illya realized.  “He is waiting for a THRUSH representative.”

“Illya, I need a distraction.”

“Consider it done,” the Russian said.

Without anther word, Illya dashed forward, grabbed a rapier from the ones that Edward was selling, and ran. Napoleon watched as Edward took one of the crystal skulls with him, closed his tent, and then engaged in pursuit.

Napoleon exhaled again as he, too, joined the chase; in hindsight, he should have expected that Edward wouldn’t have left something so valuable unguarded.  Still, he had saved them time by helping pinpoint which of the skulls had been the genuine one.  Now, they had to get it from him.

Illya was already one step ahead; he had darted behind a tent once he had seen Napoleon give chase; as Edward continued the chase, Illya punched him squarely in the jaw.  The force of the hit sent Edward falling backward, and the crystal skull fell from his grip.  Napoleon dove to catch the skull, succeeded, and then got back to his feet and continued to run with Illya.

“He’s quite green, isn’t he?” Illya commented.  “He should have seen that coming.”

“He was smart enough to take Yorick with him; you ought to give him credit for that,” Napoleon mused. “The question now is, how do we go about apprehending him, too?”  He glanced over his shoulder again, pausing in his tracks as he realized that Edward was not following them.

“We do need to know his THRUSH contacts,” Illya agreed.  “But trying to find him in this fair will be difficult.”

“He might have gone back to his tent—rally some supporters he can charm in order to try to stop us,” Napoleon said.  “We’ve got to make a choice—be content with just recovering Yorick, or try to get him, too.”

“This is your case; I would say it is your call to make,” Illya said.

Napoleon thought over this for a moment.

“Well, I’m feeling lucky—and greedy,” Napoleon said.  “And besides, if he escapes, he’ll probably use the chance to come up with some crazy revenge scheme like his dear old dad has done on occasion.”

“True.  And we have the perfect bait to lure him out,” Illya said, indicating the skull that Napoleon was holding.  “THRUSH is expecting that skull; Edward Partridge is smart enough to know that if they do not get what they are expecting, it will be a dark day for him.”

Napoleon nodded.

“Let’s get to his tent—we’ll approach together, but cautiously, in case he has a small army with him.”

They began to walk back towards the tent, pausing as, from a distance, it was clear that the tent was open again—and empty.

“Did he leave already?” Illya asked, puzzled.  “Before THRUSH would arrive to see his failure?”

“I guess that’s also possible,” Napoleon said, sounding disappointed.  “Well, let’s return with this and see if we can track him down--”

Napoleon trailed off as an arrow zipped past him and embedded itself into a nearby tree, narrowly missing his head.

“He hasn’t run; he’s hiding—and fighting back,” Illya said, dragging Napoleon into the crowd. “Although he is still very green—why does he not use a gun?”

“I, for one, prefer this method of attack,” Napoleon said, wryly.  “Come on; the nearest exit is this way; we’ll get to the car and call for backup to help with apprehending him.”

They dodged another arrow, but soon found that the crowds around them provided to be as much a hindrance as a way to disappear; trying to go against the crowd, towards the exit, was not working, and the duo found themselves swept along near one of the stages—it was one of the amateur stages, which was allowing any attendee to come up and recite.  People were applauding someone who had just recited a soliloquy from another play—and left the stage from behind, away from the crowd.

“Illya,” Napoleon said. “Follow me; I’ve got an idea.”

He took the Russian by the hand and hopped onto the stage, sweeping past a couple who had been ready to go on as Romeo and Juliet; Napoleon quickly apologized, and the couple graciously let them cut ahead in line.

Napoleon cast a glance out at the crowd; not seeing Edward, he held the crystal skull in his hands and, moving to ensure that he was not an easy target, and began to recite—

“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!”

Both he and Illya kept their eyes open, not seeing Edward, and as Napoleon and Illya finished the scene and people applauded them, they took their bows and moved to retreat backstage.

But Edward suddenly appeared from backstage, brandishing a rapier, blocking their exit and leaving the duo wondering how he had managed to get back there before him.

Napoleon thought fast and signaled to Illya, who quickly handed him the rapier he had taken from Edward before.

“Come, for the third, Laertes: you but dally,” Napoleon quoted.  “I pray you, pass with your best violence; I am afeard you make a wanton of me.”

Edward sneered at him.

“Say you so?  Come on,” he returned.

They began to fence as Illya watched on, cautiously, his hand going for his Special in his pocket, waiting for the right moment to use it; the crowd seemed to be focused on the duel, so all he needed was an opening…

He got it as Napoleon and Edward both drew back, aiming to run the other through; Illya’s silencer was on, and no one heard the pop as Edward was tranquilized and dropped to the stage like a stone.

Napoleon, still holding onto the crystal skull, now sunk to the stage as well.

“Heaven make thee free of it!  I follow thee,” he gasped.  “I am dead, Horatio.  Wretched queen, adieu!  You that look pale and tremble at this chance, that are but mutes or audience to this act, had I but time--as this fell sergeant, death, is strict in his arrest--O, I could tell you--But let it be. Horatio, I am dead…”

Illya gathered Napoleon in his arms, acting his part by gently placing his forehead against Napoleon’s, and the two of them acted out the rest of the scene, culminating in Horatio’s famous line—

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” Illya quoted, gently kissing him.  “And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

The crowd burst into wild applause, and Illya gently carried Napoleon backstage, and then came back to drag Edward off, as well.

Finally, they made it back to their car, with the still-tranquilized Edward handcuffed in the backseat, as they headed back to the nearest U.N.C.L.E. outpost.

“Well, I have to say that this was one of our more enjoyable missions,” Napoleon said.

“Of course you would think so, Sweet Prince…”

Napoleon grinned, and then pondered over something.

“Say, Illya, after we leave the younger Partridge in one of our holding cells, I don’t suppose we could--”

“You wish to come back here to the festival once we have dropped him off?” Illya finished.

“Well…”

But Illya responded with an amused chuckle.

“Very well, Napoleon; I, too, would find it an interesting time.  Perhaps you will regale even more people with your Hamlet recitations.”

“We,” Napoleon corrected him.  “I couldn’t have made it this far without my Horatio, after all.”

And Illya smiled now—a genuine smile, one of the rare ones that he would only let slip in front of Napoleon.

“Likewise, Napoleon. Likewise.”

And the two of them chatted as they headed back to the outpost, eager to enjoy their upcoming downtime.

[barddom]

The Two Gentlemen of Verona

I had never read Two Guys, A Girl, And Pizza Place – I mean, The Two Gentlemen of Verona (hereafter referred to as Gentlemen or Two Gents) before now. This is probably because it’s not one of the big, hyped Shakespeare plays (see: Hamlet, Macbeth, King Lear), but upon reflection it could stand to be performed more often? Small cast, simple plot, neat – if completely ridiculous – resolution. 

 Anyway, I hadn’t read it, but I guessed, based on the title, that it was about two dudes from Verona. And I was right. That’s pretty much it. 

 Without even realising it, I’ve leapt straight from “Shakespeare’s Last Play” (Tempest) to this, which some people believe was “Shakespeare’s First Play”. It was definitely an early play, and an early comedy, written probably somewhere between the late 1580s and early 1590s. While I’m not usually someone who’s like, “Oh, it’s an early play, which is why it sucks!” it… might have something to do with why it’s not great. 

Don’t get me wrong. Gentlemen has friendship, passion, conflict, drama, loyalty, and cross-dressing! (And really, what else is there?) But after stepping off the ship from Prospero’s cell and landing in Milan, finding this scene on shore is a little underwhelming. Where are the harpy spirits and chess motifs? Why is nobody half naked and swearing at the sky? Also, Gentlemen is #problematic. But we’ll get to that. 

So many, so so many of Shakespeare’s plays are about, or involve intimate male friendships. This is because intimate male friendships were a Big Deal, at the time, and not just in a gay way, but in a totally heterosexual, platonic way. (But sometimes also in a gay way.) 

The difference between Shakespeare and other writers who lauded male friendships is that Shakespeare is… suspicious of them, or suspicious of the idealized versions of them. In all his plays about male friendship, these friendships aren’t perfect. I will talk more about this at length during my summary, I guess, but also when we read Hamlet later. (I feel a great many things about Horatio.) 

The first imperfect friendship we’re going to meet is these guys, Valentine and Proteus of Verona. (A part of me wants to already press pause and say, seriously? Valentine and Proteus? What kinda on-the-nose names are these? But then I remember that, as far as I know, while Chaucer had already somewhat popularised Valentine as a saint of love, I actually have no clue how widely that kind of language was used. And also “Proteus” doesn’t just mean “First” (first lover, first character, first play?) but is also, like, a god of the sea? So really I need to calm down about my etymological leaps.) 

Act One 

Here’s the deal. Valentine is about to leave Verona to go explore the world (see: Milan), but he doesn’t want to leave without Proteus. Normally, these two guys are inseparable! Amigos! Compadres! Guys being dudes, dudes being guys! But alas, Proteus can’t leave Milan. Why? Because he’s in looooove. He’s so gone for this chick Julia that he turns down an all-expenses paid gap year with his bff. In the next scene, we find Julia chatting with her friend Lucetta, and the conversation is basically this-- 

Lucetta: That Proteus guy totally has a thing for you. Julia: Oh my god, really? Lucetta: Uh, yeah! It’s sooooo obvious. Julia: I guess he’s… cute.  Lucetta: Julie… babes… you literally wrote I Heart Proteus in your notebook eight times since I walked into this room. Julia, looking down at her notebook: Oh shit, you’re right. I mean. What? 

Julia is so determined to deny that she likes Proteus that when Lucetta says she has a letter from him Julia literally rips it up! And then tries to piece it back together and kisses it? Like Helga Pataki or something. It’s the weirdest. (1.2.99-123) 

Meanwhile, Proteus’ dad doesn’t understand why his son would want to waste his time at home when he could go have bro-tastic adventures in Milan. (Also, I just checked: Milan and Verona are… very nearby each other. You could walk there in just a few days.) 

Proteus has received a letter from Julia saying she loves him back! They’ve traded vows! He gave her a ring! But he doesn’t tell his dad about that, because he is worried his father won’t approve. So Antonio – that’s dad – forces Proteus to go to Milan and have some fun, damnit. 

Act Two 

In Milan, we meet Silvia, the object of Valentine’s affections. He’s all over her like a rash, but he seems incapable of understanding how she flirts. Ironically, Speed – Valentine’s servant from Act 1 who is supposed to be dim as a rock – seems to be the only smart, funny character who Gets Stuff. (Unless I’m reading him as being too sarcastic where he is supposed to be sincere.) 

For example: Valentine writes a love letter to Silvia, and she tells him to keep it. He says, “Wait, no, it’s for you?” and she says, “Yeah, I asked you to write it. But it’s for you.” 

 “I’ll write you another one, then.” 

 “Then after you write that, read it, and if you like it, good. If you don’t like it, then think of ways to make it better.” 

 “And what if I like it?” 

 “Then keep it for yourself.” (2.1.109-123) 

Exit. 

Valentine is (I guess understandably) frustrated, but Speed, speaking in rhyme/verse (where he normally speaks in prose), makes fun of the situation, like, “Hahaha, you essentially wrote yourself a love letter, lmao.” Speed explains that Silvia is flirting by having Valentine write love letters and giving them back to him. She is giving him love letters: “Herself hath taught her love himself to write unto her lover.” (2.1.156)

I have a soft spot for the fools, especially the fools that make fun of love and romance. Maybe I’m giving Speed too much credit, and he’s not actually smart/witty, just mean and a foil for the lovestruck protagonists. Fools are pretty much always a case of the wisest words coming from the foulest mouths. ANYWAY.

Silvia’s dad wants her to marry this guy Thurio, who she’s not keen on at all. And when Proteus turns up, he immediately forgets all about Julia and decides that he also wants to marry Silvia. Men are so predictable. 

 See, Valentine’s busy ribbing Proteus about Julia, and while Proteus is like, “Julia’s not a goddess. I just like her, mortal flaws and all,” Valentine is busy espousing the holy divinity of Silvia. Something in Proteus’ brain flips. He must have that goddess. 

Back in Verona, Julia is coming up with a Flawless Plan to go see Proteus in Milan. She needs to see him again or she’ll die. (2.7.15)

But she can’t travel as a woman, alone, without a male escort! So, she does what any rational woman would do, and decides to disguise herself as a boy. (Worth reminding you again: Milan and Verona are about 93 miles apart. That’s about a 3 day journey on foot.) 

 As this is the first time we, on this blog, are witnessing crossdressing in Shakespeare, it is worth reminding you that women did not act on the Elizabethan/Jacobean stage. All female characters are played by boys in drag, essentially. So when crossdressing happens – and it almost always happens with a girl pretending to be a boy – what is actually happening on stage is that a boy is pretending to be a woman pretending to be a boy. Layers!  

Act Three 

Proteus is plotting against Valentine, because nothing comes between two best dude friends better than a sexy lady. He tells Thurio – the other suitor – that Valentine has been sneaking up to see Silvia at night and that they’re planning on running away to elope. 

Thurio is like, “wtf?” and dobs this in to Silvia’s dad. The Duke is like, “Yeah….. I know….. it’s an issue.” Doubly an issue because Valentine has been tryna play the Duke like a harp. The Duke is too quick for this and tricks Valentine into revealing all his wooing techniques, and through some sort of weird trick involving a ladder (the logic of this train of thought remains unclear?) finds Valentine’s love letter to Silvia and is like “AHA!!!! YOU FIEND!!!” 

Valentine is told to leave Milan and never return. Boom. (3.1.120) 

The Duke is all, “Gee, I’m so glad my new friend Proteus tipped me off to all this. He’s such a stand up guy.” 

 Silvia, who was really into Valentine, is super pissed at her dad, and also wants nothing to do with Proteus since he’s the one who screwed everything up for her. Meanwhile, Proteus is trying to play Valentine’s old game, and pretends to be in favour of Thurio marrying Silvia. (Hint: this won’t work out well.) 

Act Four 

 On “the frontiers of Mantua”, Valentine and Speed get attacked by outlaws. If Mantua sounds familiar, it’s also where Romeo get’s banished to in Romeo and Juliet, so it’s clearly where all the rejects from the Italian justice system get sent.

Valentine lies to the outlaws and says he was banished by the Duke for killing a man. And they’re like, “Oh shit! This guy is legit! Let’s make him our leader!”

 And that’s how Valentine becomes the leader of a pack of outlaws. 

 Meanwhile, Thurio is futzing up his wooing of Silvia, because Proteus is giving him really bad advice, like singing bad songs and generally being annoying.

 There’s also a bit here where Proteus says, “… Yet, spanial-like, the more she spurns my love / The more it grows and fawneth on her still.” (4.2.14-5). This is almost the exact same line that Helena says in Midsummer re: Demetrius. Just worth mentioning. 

 This is when Julia enters, in boy’s clothes. (So, I guess it’s been three days.) She hears this song about Silvia and is like, “Woooooow. Ok. So… this sucks.”

 Even worse, she overhears a conversation between Silvia and Proteus, where he says, “Look, I was in love once, but that chick is dead, so… I’m wide open.” And Silvia responds, “That’s sad and all, but you also stabbed your best buddy in the back like a total tool. So I can never trust you, let alone love you.” 

 Silvia plans to escape Thurio, Proteus, and her father, and head to Mantua where she and Valentine can be together. Also, she gets rid of the little dog that Proteus gave her. Because who needs that shit around. 

 When Proteus sees that his dog has been returned to him, he’s like, “Fine! I can up my game!” He turns to Julia, who for some reason he doesn’t recognise, a la Lois Lane not recognising Superman when he has his hair done a little different, and says, “Take this ring and give it to Silvia.” 

It’s Julia’s ring! She is… crushed. 

 When Julia goes to give the ring to Silvia, like a lamb, she basically bursts into tears and says, “I knew Julia. And this belonged to her. And he wants to give it to you. But if she knew… she would… probably die forever and ever.” 

 Silvia – who, in my opinion, realises that this boy is actually Julia – says, “Take the ring, and this purse of money. Look, I’m crying too. Wow. Ok, bye.” 

Act Five (i.e. when things deteriorate quickly). 

Silvia wants to get the hell out of Milan, and she and Sir Elgamour talk about their plans outside Friar Patrick’s cell. They’re gonna run away! That always works well.

 (A lot of conspiring happens in, or by, a friar’s cell – see: Romeo and Juliet.)

 Meanwhile, Proteus being grilled by Thurio about Silvia. Does she like me? Does she hate me? What is going on! What Proteus really wants to know is what Silvia said to Julia aka Sebastian. 

 But before we can get any answer – the Duke bursts in and announces that Silvia has disappeared! Dun dun dun. 

“She’s fled unto that peasant Valentine.” Clever dad. 

 In the next scene, we find Silvia in the forest, alright, but Sir Elgamour is nowhere to be found! In fact: Silvia is being held captive by outlaws. I’m sure you, who is not an idiot, can see where this is going. 

 In the next scene, Valentine gives a speech about how lonely being the inexplicable leader of a band of outlaws can be, and how all he really wants is Silvia. Who cares about unchecked power and the loyalty of violent criminals when the love of your life has been taken away from you? Sigh. 

 But then, there’s a suspicious noise – and lo and behold, enter Proteus, Silvia, and Julia! 

Valentine steps aside into the shadows to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

Apparently Proteus (and Julia) helped rescue Silvia from the outlaws before she could successfully be taken to Valentine. 

 “What do you mean you still don’t want to fuck me!” Proteus complains. “After me and my servant rescued you and everything!” 

 “Dude,” Silvia replies, “I would literally rather be eaten by a lion than have you rescue me from anything.” (5.4.33-34) 

 “It’s a damn shame when a woman can’t love when she’s loved,” says Proteus.  

“It’s a damn shame when Proteus can’t love when he is loved by Julia who, yeah, I know is still alive, you steaming pile of human garbage. Also, I love Valentine, who was supposed to be your best friend,” Silvia replies – though I may be paraphrasing a little. 

 This is when Proteus, and I shit you not, “seizes her” and says, “I’ll woo you like a soldier, at arms’ end / And love you ‘gainst the nature of love – force you.” (5.4.59-60) 

That’s right. Proteus fully intends to rape Silvia then and there. 

 Valentine leaps out of the shadows and goes to rescue Silvia from Proteus, rightfully calling him all sorts of despicable names that I’m sure would have been very insulting to someone four hundred years ago. 

Naturally, Proteus drops everything (‘everything’ being Silvia) and apologises profusely. 

 “Okay, cool,” Valentine says. 

 Wait, what? OKAY COOL? “Then I am paid, / And once again I do receive thee honest”? How? 

 Similarly shocked by all these developments is Julia, who swoons. 

When everyone rushes to her side, she says, “Oh, I forgot to give Silvia this ring…” 

“But… this isn’t the ring I gave you to give Silvia. This is the ring I gave Julia!” Proteus says, like a genius. 

“Oh, right. I meant this ring,” Julia corrects herself, taking out the ring that she had given Proteus that he had then given Silvia. (Lots of rings.) 

“But wait, how did you get this ring?” Proteus asks, still not getting it. 

This is when Julia gives up and has mercy on everyone, and reveals herself to not be a little boy named Sebastian but a grown woman! And a very specific grown woman! 

After a bit of blushing about being seen in such immodest attire, Julia and Proteus kiss and make up. So now instead of a very messy love triangle/square/octagon, we just have two happy couples! Yay, heteronormativity restored!

Thurio, the Duke, and the band of outlaws all then rock up, presumably for the closing song. Are there going to be any consequences for anyone’s actions? No? Does Thurio hold this against Valentine? Absolutely not! What about the Duke? Any issues with his daughter ending up with the leader of a band of murderers? 

 “Sir Valentine, / Thou are a gentleman, and well derived; / Take thou thy Silvia, for thou hast deserved her.” (5.4.158-59) 

Nope, and nope. 

Closing remarks? 

I think we can see why Two Gents isn’t considered a piece of High Art in the way a lot of other Shakespeare plays are. It’s essentially the Shakespearean equivalent of a sitcom, or a formulaic romantic comedy. When trying to look Deep into Two Gents, most people point to the gender relations and the complications that arise with crossdressing on stage. There are also grounds to investigate the role of forests in Shakespeare’s plays – if it happens in the woods it’s bound to be interesting. Then of course there are the all-encompassing questions about love, and the truth of love, and the relativity of that truth. Proteus was so in love with Julia that he almost couldn’t bear to leave Verona, and yet as soon as he saw Silvia, any love he felt for Julia went flying out the window. Shakespeare once said that love looks not with the eye, but with the mind. I would say that Two Gents preaches exactly the opposite. Absence doesn’t make the heart grow fonder; it just sets it loose on the nearest soft object. 

Things to accompany The Two Gentlemen of Verona 

Two Guys, A Girl, and a Pizza Place (1998- 2001) starring Ryan Reynolds. 

The Road to El Dorado 

“Same Girl” by R. Kelly and Usher 

I dunno, every sitcom ever.

[bluewatsons]

Past and Present in "Strange Simultaneity": Mark Fisher Explains Hauntology at NYU, Rhizome (May 18, 2011)

Still from Chris Petit "Content"

If I might extrapolate from what Simon calls these 'comments on half-erased or never-quite-attained songform': perhaps Ariel Pink's appeal is that his sound musters the sonic equivalent of the 'corner of the retina' effect that the best ghost stories have famously achieved. To understand what this entails, we need to reverse, or at least nuance, the commonplace which has it that the ghost is at its most scary only when it can't fully be seen. To say this implies that the ghost could be made the positive object of apprehension. Yet spectres are unsettling because they are that which can not, by their very nature (or lack of nature), ever be fully seen; gaps in Being, they can only dwell at the periphery of the sensible, in glimmers, shimmers, suggestions. It is not accidental that the word 'haunting' often refers to that which inhabits* us but which we cannot ever grasp; we find 'haunting' precisely those Things which lurk at the back of our mind, on the tip of our tongue, just out of reach. 'Haunting refrains' we are compelled to simulate-reiterate are sonic objets a around which drives circulate. To return to Mike's point, we can now begin to see why it is important to think of the 'negative' aspects of Ariel Pink's sound not as the covering over of porcelain-perfect pop in fuzz and scuzz, but positively, as the means by which an anamorphic sonic object is produced. The anamorph, remember, can only be seen when looking askance, out of the corner of the eye. In this respect, Ariel Pink has much in common with Jessica Rylan, who should be added to the hauntology canon forthwith. After seeing Rylan live last year, I referred to 'the beguiling illusion of a sonic object that would be perfect if only you could hear it more clearly. Yet the 'perfection' is an effect (a special effect, you might say) of the blurring and distorting techniques themselves.' I made similar observations after seeing Ariel Pink live, writing of 'a deliberate fogging of the digitally hyper-clean, with the result that what you are hearing is as much doubt and speculation as anything else.' Why hauntology now? Well, has there ever been a time when finding gaps in the seamless surfaces of 'reality' has ever felt more pressing? Excessive presence leaves no traces. Hauntology's absent present, meanwhile, is nothing but traces.... - K-PUNK, HAUNTOLOGY NOW, JANUARY 17, 2006

Thirty years ago "should sound ancient," Mark Fisher said at the first of two presentations for NYU’s “Colloquium for Unpopular Culture" on May 4th. "Think about what thirty years means —or what it used to mean. That's the difference between pre-rock'n'roll 50s and post-punk." Fisher, author of Capitalist Realism and editor of The Resistible Demise of Michael Jackson for Zer0 Books, teaches at University of East London, Goldsmiths, University of London, and the City Literary Institute. His blog k-punk covers digital culture, speculative fiction, and speculative realism among other concerns. For over five years he’s steered conversations on — the topic of that evening’s lecture— hauntology. Jacques Derrida coined the term “hauntology” in Spectres of Marx (1993), describing the accumulation of ghost-like traces of the past as we move further in the future. Fisher applies this term to describe music with a particular nostalgia, sometimes sounding indistinguishable from that which was composed decades ago. “Time out of joint” as Hamlet said to Horatio. Perhaps an inevitable symptom of this condition, Fisher’s 2006 comments on hauntology remain relevant five years later. So “why hauntology now” —still— in 2011? Fisher started his talk mentioning a conversation he had with Simon Reynolds, author of the upcoming book Retromania, regarding Darkstar's cover of a 1982 Human League b-side. The song is unique for reasons beyond the band's "curatorial act" of “resituating it in contemporary electronic music culture.” While Darkstar may be “more advanced technically,” when it comes to the overall aesthetic "neither sounds more futuristic."

The Human League - You Remind Me Of Gold

The difference, he explained, is Human League preceded the future while Darkstar arrived after it. But these sounds from the past and present seem in “strange simultaneity.” “I have a better sense of the 1973 sound and texture than 2003 —not because I ceased to pay attention, but because culture and time relation has changed.” Music typically marks time. But “something odd is happening” if you can imagine Darkstar or Amy Winehouse or the Artic Monkeys performing decades in the past without any sense of disjuncture. This “flattening sense of time” appears to Fisher as a byproduct of what

Marc Augé called “non-places.” The airports, retail parks, franchise coffee shops, and other homogeneous buildings absent of local flavor are indeterminate temporally as well as locally. Fisher brought up Chris Petit’s film Content, for its depictions of non-places. The film is of particular significance to him as its footage of a container port was filmed not far from his home, more than an hour's drive from London. As he wrote in Sight and Sound:

At one point in Chris Petit’s haunting new film Content, we drive through Felixstowe container port. It was an uncanny moment for me, since Felixstowe is only a couple of miles from where I live – what Petit filmed could have been shot from our car window. What made it all the more uncanny was the fact that Petit never mentions that he is in Felixstowe; the hangars and looming cranes are so generic that I began to wonder if this might not be a doppelgänger container port somewhere else in the world. All of this somehow underlined the way Petit’s text describes these “blind buildings” while his camera tracks along them: “non-places”, “prosaic sheds”, “the first buildings of a new age” which render “architecture redundant”.

Content could be classified as an essay film, but it’s less essayistic than aphoristic. This isn’t to say that it’s disconnected or incoherent: Petit himself has called Content a “21st-century road movie, ambient”, and its reflections on ageing and parenthood, terrorism and new media are woven into a consistency that’s non-linear, but certainly not fragmentary.

Content is about ‘correspondence’, in different senses of the word. It was in part generated by electronic correspondence between Petit and his two major collaborators: writer Ian Penman (whose text is voiced by the German actor Hanns Zischler) and the German musician Antye Greie. Penman’s text is a series of reflections on the subject of email, that “anonymous yet intimate” ethereal communication. Some of Penman’s disquisitions on email are accompanied by images of postcards – the poignant tactility of this obsolete form of correspondence all the more affecting because the senders and addressees are now forgotten. Greie, meanwhile, produces skeins of electronica that provide Content with a kind of sonic unconscious in which terms and concepts referred to in the images and the voice track are refracted, extrapolated and supplemented.

Fisher ended his presentation discussing the music most closely associated with the term hauntology — Burial, The Caretaker, and artists on the label Ghost Box. The Caretaker with its distant ballroom melodies from the 20s and 30s, takes its name from a famous line in The Shining (a film dripping with hauntological significance.) Burial, however, looks critically at a more recent time — the 90’s rave and drum’n’bass scene. Fisher called Burial, “the Edward Hopper of our time.” The lyrics and titles of his songs are self-aware of the nostalgic expression of scratch and crackle. The music Burial samples and mimics was ecstatic at the time, but he transports listeners to the underbelly — the “sense of dilapidation, broken glass, and empty warehouses,” the morning after a rave party. Responding to a question from the audience about his UK-centric examples, Fisher explained Los Angeles-based Ariel Pink was one of the first artists mentioned as an example of sonic hauntology. Then again, the UK has a particular history starting with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. Extremely strange experimental music composed by Delia Derbyshire and others found its way into people’s suburban homes. Fisher called it, the “greatest penetration into everyday life of experimental music.” It was a “utopia we actually lived in.” Ghost Box artists, drawing from “library music” samples, are in many ways re-dreaming this past. Fisher did not talk about hauntology as it applies to photography, but the Instagram and Hipstamatic iPhone app toy camera mimicry is yet another example of contemporary culture restless in temporality. The topic has fascinating artists like Harm van den Dorpel. Likewise, William Gibson and Bruce Sterling writing on atemporality in the digital age, find the specter in fashion and design. If “history has run out,” as Fisher says, hauntology only grows more relevant as years go on.