#Who needs plot twists when you can create such an intense sense of Dread

[sysig]

One better (Patreon)

[ranaiki]

and then there was one

Okay so I once had this thought that completely, absolutely shattered my heart. And, like the amazing person I am, I’m going to be putting it into words and sharing my heartbreak with you all. I don’t want to give too much away here, but it has to do with the bond shared between twins :) (no, it is not twincest)

Characters: Miya Atsumu, Miya Osamu, Kita Shinsuke, Suna Rintarou, Hinata Shouyo, Aran Ojiro (some smatterings of Atsukita and Osasuna).

Warnings/Tags: angst. Just angst. Fluff if you squint? Swearing, death. Only a little bit of plot. Throwing up mentioned at one point. Post-timeskip spoilers ig?

A/N at end <3

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⠀

Atsumu and Osamu Miya have always had an inexplicable connection.

Some shred of the universe decided that they would be borne of the same flesh and blood, that everything they had would be shared with one another - from their lives and experiences, all the way down to their face.

And maybe it’s silly, to think that anything other than coincidence made them brothers, twins, but the way they so perfectly melded together, two halves of the same whole, was far too special to have been left up to chance.

Well, maybe it wasn't always perfect. In fact, it was less than. But within imperfections lies the completeness many chase in life, the very same that the Miyas were fortunate enough to be born with already in their possesion.

As babies, Atsumu and Osamu would cry when separated, and never quell until their twin was once again in their presence. From the very beginning they had been pressed up against one another in an uncomfortable proximity, yet it was this that provided the most ease. In a brand new, scary, and cold world much different from the one they had grown in, they were each others pillars - the sources of comfort and familiarity that could only be found with one another and was necessary for their trudge through life.

Even as they aged, the fact remained that they were each others constant. Even as they grew and sprouted into wholly different beings with different hearts and passions, they still stuck to each others’ sides

The Miya twins.

When one fell, the other was there to pick them back up again.

When one strayed too far, the other was there to drag them back and set them straight.

When one changed and grew, the other was changing and growing right alongside them.

Even when they grated on each others nerves, when they bickered and brawled, when they fought so bad they swore they would never again talk to each other, they never left. They’d always quietly return with unspoken apologies perfectly understood, and everything was right.

They were two sides of the same coin, after all.

⠀

As adults, Osamu and Atsumu had parted physically, but were always still together. Osamu opened an Onigiri shop in Hyogo, while Atsumu had moved to the professional leagues of volleyball, and was based in Osaka. They shared calls often, visits occasionally, but even if they went weeks or months without talking, they always knew they’d see each other again.

There was no doubt in their minds. They knew that even while chasing their own dreams, their twin was right there with them. Atsumu knew that Osamu was sitting in front of a tv during each of the games he couldn't attend physically, watching and cheering for him. Osamu knew that in Osaka, Atsumu was bragging to his friends about Onigiri Miya and Osamu’s cooking skills, claiming that the next time they went to Hyogo they all needed to visit his brothers shop and get food there so everyone can taste for themselves Osamu’s wonderful cooking.

And when Atsumu stood on a platform in front of a small crowd of friends and family, vowing to love and cherish his now husband, Kita Shinsuke, Osamu was right there with a smile on his face and pride in his heart.

Even when Osamu and Suna’s little family expanded from two to three, Atsumu was there, greeting his niece and helping look after her while the new parents finally got some sleep.

It was the kind of love and bond that couldn't be forged, that couldn’t be recreated by people who met at some point along the paths in their lives. The connection Atsumu and Osamu shared was created when they were, was born with them, and has stuck ever since.

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Atsumu stretched languidly with his teammates in their training gym in Osaka.

The golden haired setter had his phone at his side, fidgeting slightly as he leaned over his spread legs. He woke this morning in a state of discomfort. He couldn’t figure out where the sense of unease had come from. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head, one he couldn’t shake, and one that was getting stronger the more time passed.

“Astumu-san?” Hinata’s voice roused him from his thoughts, and he realized he’d been staring intently at the floor in front of him.

“Hm, Shouyo-kun?”

“You’ve been staring at the ground for a while now, is everything all right?” He was gazing at the setter with those wide, brown eyes. Frightening yet childlike all at the same time.

Atsumu offered one of his dazzling smiles, nodding reassuringly. “Jus lost in thought.” He explained, reaching over to ruffle the orange tufts of hair springing from the smaller man’s head. This earned an indignant squeak as Hinata ducked, shrinking into his track jacket in the process.

Atsumu chuckled softly, glancing around.

Something just didn’t feel right.

He shook off the nagging as best as he could, continuing with his stretching.

Practice was grueling. Those uneasy feelings hadn’t left him, and he couldn’t focus on anything, watching apathetically as he failed set after set and serve after serve. His teammates had backed away from him a long time ago, afraid of his carelessness and lack of intensity. He hardly even noticed what he was doing, completely drowned in his mind.

Worry was beginning to take root, worming through him. Was something wrong with Kita? No, he had seen him only an hour ago. His parents, maybe? He didn’t think so. They were old, but they were in good health. So, who?

Osamu.

As soon as the thought passed through his head, cold dread sunk its claws into him, and he could feel his gut twisting.

No, he’d visited Osamu and his daughter just a week ago, and they were both fine. He’d facetimed his brother a few days ago too while he was at Onigiri Miya, and he was in perfect health even then.

He moved suddenly, leaving the court without a word and disappearing into the hallways of the gym complex, ignoring the shouts of his name echoing behind him.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Suna, the need to quell his fears overpowering.

“Atsumu?” The voice on the other end sounded startled to hear him, and if it weren’t for his frantic state, he would’ve heard the way Suna’s voice cracked when he spoke, and sounded disoriented.

“Suna!” Atsumu chirped, breathing a sigh of relief. “I keep feelin’ like theres somethin’ wrong, wheres ‘Samu?”

Silence.

He thought maybe their phones had lost connection - the gym didn’t have the best cell reception - but a soft, broken sob and background voices reached his ears before he had the chance to check.

“Oh fuck, is that Atsumu?” The voice was muffled and distant, but he could still hear it.

Suna had broken into full on, anguished cries now, his wails filling the phone. Atsumu was frozen, numbness beginning to spread over his body, his eyes wide and mouth gaping.

“I’m sorry.” Suna sobbed, “I-I can’t-”

There was a loud clattering sound, murmuring.

Someone else was on the phone now.

Atsumu was standing in place, silent, frozen, still.

“Atsumu?” It was Aran. He had this tone of voice as he said his name, one filled with finality, somberness. Atsumu’s stomach lurched.

Aran’s words were lost to Atsumu, blabbering nonsense as his vision clouded. Two words broke through: Osamu and...

dead.

Emptiness.

That was all he felt. The world around him crumbled, and he was left standing in nothing. His head was blank, hands trembling. He was filled with nothingness, but it was the most painful nothingness he had ever experienced.

Pain seared through him, filling in the parts that were suddenly no longer whole, the parts that had been left empty as soon as those words of finality were uttered. It was comparable to multiple heart attacks all at once, and it had Atsumu collapsing on the ground as his brain tried to catch up.

“What?” His voice was a feeble whisper, a wobble to it as everything began to process.

“I’m so sorry Atsumu.” Aran said, and it sounded like he was tearing up. “The wound was deep, and he was found too late. He’s gone. The-”

Atsumu didn’t hear the rest.

The phone in his hand clattered to the floor beneath him as he sat there, staring blankly at the entryway just ahead.

That emptiness spread through him like a cold fire. He felt incomplete, raw. Tears dripped from his eyes, warm and salty, that he hadn’t even realized had formed. He was dead silent, not a peep coming from him as his lips trembled and bile rose in his throat.

And suddenly, he was hunching over, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the polished concrete, heaves wracking through him.

He threw up until there was nothing but stomach acid left. And as he finished, hunched over a mess with his arms clutching his abdomen for dear life, he finally made a sound.

A raw, agonized scream. It ripped his already searing throat. It was broken. Nothing was more heart wrenching than the wailing sobs that tore through Atsumu’s body, the dizzying pain of his loss flooding his senses as he hunched over further, once again throwing up on the concrete below between bubbling cries.

He vaguely registered his husband rushing in; he didn’t even wonder how he had gotten there. He hardly noticed when Kita’s strong arms wrapped around his trembling frame, pulling him away from the mess. He didn’t hear it when his former captain was crying softly, whispering reassurances, trying to calm him down. Because the pain he felt? It was too much. And the black hole Osamu’s death had left inside of him was threatening to swallow him whole. So he went limp, letting the tears and sickness and sobs run through him without restraint.

Osamu was gone.

His best friend, his confidant, his brother. The person who had been there his whole life. His pillar of support and voice of reason before anyone else, the one who supported him no matter what.

The only one he could truly rely on, who he knew would always be there.

Was gone.

And nothing hurt more than knowing he was no longer whole, that he was now no more than a flattened, one sided coin.

Nothing was worse than the way he knew. He knew Osamu was dead before he was told. He could feel it. He hadn’t realized it, but he could feel him slip away, he could pinpoint the exact moment when Osamu had passed. 

And it hurt.

Osamu was gone.

Osamu was dead.

And he never even got to say goodbye.

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A/N: so... hope ya liked it. This is actually my first fic now, technically. Uhhh.... its not the best? I feel like I didn’t express the pain in the way I wanted to - I’ve always been an emotions bottler so in all honesty, I don’t know what its like to let it out like Atsumu does here. I wanted to briefly explain my thoughts and like, the og one this drabble is based off of. Pretty much, I was thinking one day how if Osamu or Atsumu were to die prematurely, or in a gruesome way, the other twin would be able to feel it because theres this like, link between twins thats sometimes discussed and isn’t shared between normal siblings or other pairings. Its specifically a twin thing. So like, just imagine - Atsumu or Osamu are minding their own business and all the sudden they just feel wrong. And they know, they know subconsciously that their twin just died, but they haven't realized, but once they learn? Oh god the pain.... yeah sooo anyways! Hope y’all had a good time reading bc it certainly broke my heart to write haha.

[for-your-therapeutic-smile]

They Never Teach You How to Stop

Rarely do I lack the words to express myself. Perhaps this reflects my failure to maintain my journal consistently throughout 2020. Here goes an honest attempt to capture and document my mental state and the fatigue of Covid, the inertia of this shelter-in-place, the anxiety of this political crisis we face as a nation, the pressure of being a 1L in law school against the backdrop of civil unrest and Justice Ginsburg’s death, coming out - my dad told me he was disappointed -, the possible erosion of my relationship with someone I love, and this feeling of absolute dread and resentment for a system that continuously fails my and future generations (robbing us of a social contract that promised life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness), among many other things I’m too tired to consider. When did we accept a $0 baseline as the American Dream? Oh, to be debt free - free from this punishment for having pursued an education. Stifling the educated to prevent them (myself included) from organizing and mobilizing the masses so we can supplant this system with a better one is the overall objective of the oppressive class (read: Pedagogy of the Oppressed); it’s the conflict between the bourgeois and the proletariat. The proletariat has swallowed the middle class, leaving only the ruling class. I am essentially on autopilot, forcing myself to go through the motions so I can survive another day. I know others join me in this mental gymnastics of unparalleled proportions, one social scientists and medical researchers will soon study and subsequently publish their findings in an attempt to explain the unexplainable. Despite a lack of air circulation, we are breathing history; the constitution, like our societal norms, must adapt accordingly. Judge Barrett: there is no place for originalism. While I seldom admit weakness or an inability to manage life’s curveballs, this series of unfortunate events seems almost too much to bear. 

And yet somehow I continue to find the energy to submit assignments due at 11:59 p.m., write this post at 1:38 a.m., “sleep”, wake at 7 a.m. so I can read and prepare (last minute!) the assigned material leading into my torts or contracts class. I find the energy to text my boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend) so I can attempt to salvage the real and genuine connection we have, cook elaborate meals to find some solace, wrestle with whether or not to hit my yoga mat (I don’t), apply to a fellowship for the school year and summer internships, prepare my dual citizenship paperwork, manage a campaign for two progressive politicians, and listen to music in an attempt to stay sane . . . ~*Queues John Mayer’s “War of My Life” and “Stop This Train”*~ . . . I realize I have to be kinder to myself, give credit where credit is due. I hate feeling self-congratulatory though.

Mostly, I am too afraid of the repercussions if I stop moving at a mile/minute, that I can just work away the pain and be the superhuman who numbs himself from the low-grade depression and nervous breakdown. My body tells me to slow down, as evidenced by the grinding of my teeth, but I take on more responsibility because people rely on me. I must show up. I am a masochist in that way. This is what I signed up for and I’ll be damned if I don’t carry through on my promise to do the work. Pieces of my soul scattered about like Horcruxes, though they’re pure, not evil, so I hope nobody resolves to destroy them. 

My mind rarely rests. It’s 3:08 a.m., one of the lonelier hours where night meets morning; it’s the hour for and of intense introspection. It makes you consider pulling an all-nighter, one you reserve for an “important” school or work deadline. We always put our personal lives on the back-burner. 3 a.m. sets the tone for a potentially awful day. But that doesn’t matter right now. I’m letting some of my favorite albums play in the background: Joni Mitchell’s Blue, Mac Miller’s Circles, Rhye’s Blood, Alicia Keys’ ALICIA, Coldplay’s Ghost Stories, Frank Ocean’s Blonde, Miley Cyrus’ Dead Petz in addition to other playlists, Tiny Desk performances, and tracks (I unearthed last week, like When It’s Over by Sugar Ray). I need to feel something. I need to feel anything. I need to feel everything. We experience such a broad spectrum of emotions throughout the day that we lose track of if we don’t pause to absorb them. Music reinforces empathy; it releases dopamine.

I spent the past two hours reading through old journals and posts, as scattered as they were, on a wide range of topics: poems I had written about falling in and out love, anecdotes about my world travels, and entries on personal, political, and professional epiphanies. The other night I found one of my favorites, a previous post from my time living in Indonesia, centering on the dualities of technology. It resonated with me more than the others. To summarize, I wrote about my tendency to equate the Internet with a sense of interconnectedness (shoutout to Tumblr for being my digital journal; to Twitter for being a place of comedy and revolution; to Instagram for curating my *aesthetic*; to Facebook where I track my family’s accomplishments and connect with travel buddies displaced around the globe all searching for a home). And yet I feel incredibly lonely and disconnected whenever I spend too much time using technology, so much so that I set screen time limitations on my phone recently to curtail this obsession with constant communication and information gathering. Trump and Biden admitted that it’s unlikely we’ll know the results of the election on November 3rd during their first presidential debate. Push notifications don’t allow us to learn of trauma within the comforts of our own homes. I’m already fearing where I will be when that news breaks. 

This global pandemic and indefinite shutdown of the world (economy) undeniably exacerbates these feelings. This is some personal and collective turmoil. But I was complicit in the endless scrolling and swiping of faces and places long before Covid-19. Instead of choosing to interact with my direct environment (today’s research links this behavior to the same levels of depression one feels when they play slot machines), I am still an active on all these platforms, participating the least in the most tangible one: my physical life. I am tired of pretending. I am tired of being tired. I am tired of embodying fake energy to exist in systems that fail me. I am tired of the quagmire. Like Anaïs Nin, I must be a mermaid [because] I have no fear of depths and a great fear of shallow living. This particular excerpt from that 2016 entry was difficult for me to read: “The fantasy of what could have been if a certain plan had unfolded will haunt you forever if you do not come to peace with the reality of the situation. I hope you come to terms with reality.” I am not at peace with my current reality. But is anyone?

It’s a bit surreal for my peers to have suddenly started caring about international relations theory. It’s transported me back to my 2012 IR lecture at Northeastern: are you a constructivist or a feminist? Realist or liberalist? Neo? Marxist? The one no one wants you to talk about. Absent upward mobility, this is class warfare. But I cannot be “a singular expression of myself . . . there are too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers” . . . It feels like America’s wake-up call. But I know people will retreat into the comforts of capitalism if Biden wins and, well, we all enter uncharted waters together if the Electoral College re-elects #45. For those who weren’t paying attention: the world is multipolar and we are not the hegemon. Norms matter. People tend to be self-interested and shortsighted. Look to the past in order to understand the future. History, as the old adage goes, repeats itself. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Taxation without representation. Indoctrination. Welcome to the language of political discourse. Students of IR and polisci have long awaited your participation. Too little too late? Plot twist: it’s a lifelong commitment. You must continue to engage irrespective of the election outcome or else we will regress just as quickly as we progress. Now dive into international human rights treaties (International Covenant on Civil & Political Rights; International Covenant on Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights), political refugees, FGM. No one said it wasn’t dismal. But it’s important. We need buy-in.  

While I am grateful for the continuation of my education, for this extended time with family, for this opportunity to be a campaign manager for two local progressive candidates (driving to Boston to pick up revised yard signs as proof that the work never stops), it would be remiss of me, however, not to admit that I am lonely: I am buried in my books, in the depressing news both nationally and globally, and in precedent-setting Supreme Court cases (sometimes for the worst, e.g. against the preservation of our environment). In my nonexistent free time I work on political asylum cases, essentially creating an enforceability framework of international law, for people fleeing country conditions so unthinkable (the irony of that work when my country falls greater into authoritarianism and oligarchy is not lost on me). I am fulfilling my dream of becoming a human rights lawyer which stems back to middle school. I saw Things I Imagined (thank you Solange). I have held an original copy of the Declaration of Independence that we sent to the House of Lords in 1778 and the Human Rights Act of 1998 while visiting the U.K. Parliamentary Archives as an intern for a Member of Parliament. This success terrifies and exhausts me; it also oxygenizes and saves me. Every decision, every sacrifice, has led me to this point. 

“It’s the choosing that’s important, isn’t it?,” Lois Lowry of The Giver rhetorically asks. This post is not intended to be woe is me! I am fortunate to be in this position, to have this vantage point at such an early age, and I understand the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. My life has purpose. I am committed to the work that transcends boundaries; it is larger than life itself. It provides a unique perspective. But it makes it difficult to coexist with people so preoccupied in the drama they create in their lives and the general shallowness of the world we live. It feels like there is no option to pump the brakes on any of this work, especially in light of our current climate, and that pressure oftentimes feels insurmountable. Time is of the essence. It feels, whether true or not, that hardly anyone relates to my experience, so if I don’t carve out this time to write about it, then I am neither recording nor processing it. 

Tonight, in between preparing tomorrow’s coursework, I realize that I have an unprecedented number of questions about life, which startles me because typically I have the answers or at least have a goal in mind that launches me into the next phase of life or contextualizes the current one. These goals, often rooted in this capitalistic framework, in this falsity of “needing” to advance my career as a means of helping people, distract me from asking myself the existential questions, the reasons for why we live and what we fundamentally want our systems to look like; they have distracted me from real grassroots community organizing until now. They distract me from the fact that, like John Mayer, I don’t know which walls to smash; similarly, I don’t know which train to board. Right now feels like we are living through impossible and hopeless times and I don’t want to placate myself into thinking otherwise despite my relatively optimistic outlook on life. As we face catastrophic circumstances – the consequences of this election and climate change (famine, refugees, lack of resources) – I do not want to live in perpetual sadness. I am searching for clarity and direction so I can step into a better, fuller version of myself. 

It’s now 3:33 a.m. Here is the list of questions that I have often asked myself in different stages of life, but recently, until now, I have not been willing to confront for fear that I might not be able to answers them. But I owe it to myself to pose them here so I can have the overdue conversation, the one I know leads me to better understanding myself:

Are you happy? Why or why not?

What do you want the future to hold? What groundwork are you going to do to ensure it happens?

What does your ideal day/week/month/year/decade look like? Why?

With whom do you want to spend your days? Why?

Who do you love and care about? Have you told people you care about that you love them? Does love and vulnerability scare you?

What do you expect of people – of yourself, of your partner, of your family, and of your friends? Should you have those expectations? Why or why not?

What do you feel and why?

What relaxes you? What scares you? What brings you joy?

What do you want to improve? Why?

What do you want to forgive yourself for and why?

Does the desire to reinvent yourself diminish your ability to be present?

Do you have a greater fear of failure or success? Why?

How do you escape the confines of this broken system? How do you break from the guilt of participation in it and having benefited from it?

How do we reconcile our daily lives with the fact that we’re living through an extinction event? This one comes from my friend (hi Jeanne) and a podcast she listened to recently.

How do you help people? How do you help yourself? Are you pouring from an empty cup?

How will you find joy in your everyday responsibilities, in the mission you have chosen for yourself? What, if any, will be the warning signs to walk away from this work, in part or in its entirety? Without being a martyr, do you believe in dying for the cause?

So here are some of the lessons I have learned during this quarantine/past year:

“I’ve Got Dreams to Remember,” so do not take your eyes off them. Chasing paper does not bring you happiness.

Be autonomous, particularly in your professional life.

Focus on values instead of accolades.

Do everything with intention and honest energy.

Listen to Tracy Chapman’s “Crossroads” & Talkin’ Bout a Revolution for an energy boost and reminder that other revolutionaries have shared and continue to share your fervent passion . . . “I’m trying to protect what I keep inside, all the reasons why I live my life” . . . When self-doubt nearly cripples you and you yearn a few minutes to run away when in reality you can’t escape your responsibilities, go for a drive and queue up “Fast Car” . . . “I got no plans, I ain’t going nowhere, so take your fast car and keep on driving.”

With that said, take every opportunity to travel (you can take the work with you if absolutely necessary). Go to Italy. Buy the concert ticket and lose yourself in the moment. Remember that solo excursions are equally as important as collective ones. But, from personal experience, you prefer the company. Find the balance.

Detach from the numbers people keep trying to assign to measure your personhood.

Closely examine the people in your inner circle and ask them for help when you need it.

“And life is just too short to keep playing the game . . . because if you really want somebody [or something], you’ll figure it out later, or else you will just spend the rest of the night with a BlackBerry on your chest hoping it goes *vibration, vibration*” (John Mayer’s Edge of Desire) . . . so love fiercely and unapologetically.

Be specific.

Go to therapy even when life is good.

[joehertler]

30 Modern Horror Movies For Your Spooking Pleasure (Updated for 2018)

Dearest Friends and Fellow Rainbow Seekers,

as you may know, I am rather obsessed with horror movies. Over my lifetime, I have submitted myself to thousands of hours of horror cinema, but such extended exposure has come at a cost. It is true that I sometimes lose sleep over the fear of grinning demons sitting at the foot of my bed, or perhaps finding the bloated corpse of a drowned girl crying in my closet. But dark thoughts, as such, are typical to those who willfully endure the macabre. As a horror fan, nothing is more terrifying—or more gratifying—than clammering your way through the black swamp of terrible movies in search of the diamonds in the rough.

I have done the work for you, dear reader. I have hunted through hundreds of faux haunts and I have identified those that are genuine. And if you’re willing, I would be honored to serve as your guide through this realm of dark cinema. A concise list lies below, consisting both of films widely recognized, and lesser-known cult classics. They are united only by their modernity and their overall awesomeness. This is a list of films to be watched by all fans of cinema. So I urge you, dear reader, to call your significant other (or the one you desire to be your significant other). Then, put on your favorite onesie, and get ready for spookiness!  Because the night is dark and full of terror—and you deserve to be spooked by those films most worthy of spooking!

The Babadook - 2014 [TRAILER]

This might be my favorite on the entire list, so I'm gonna stick it right here at the top. But really, if there's one movie on this list that you should watch, it's the Babadook. Sure, you might have to suspend your disbelief on a few occasions, but it's totally worth it. It seems so rare that horror movies transcend their linear plots into something deeper, but the Babadook succeeds to descend to wonderfully cerebral depths. Without spoiling too much, the plot centers around a mother, grieving the loss of her husband, and her ADHD trouble-child, who come across a creepy kids’ book. An emotional and psychological haunting ensues that dares viewers to venture into the realms of depression and mania.

Let the Right One In - 2008 [TRAILER]

I've been bored of Vampires since Harry Potter, but this little charmer bit me right in the jugular. The plot centers around a boy who befriends a young female vampire—and yes, for you vampire loving people out there, it does get kind of romancy (in that innocent kid way). Apart from the totally on-point acting, the film maintains an oddly delicate balance of emotional tenderness and intimacy to total blood-chugging brutality. It is easily the best vampire movie to date, and if Swedish subs aren't your thing, there's an American version, Let Me In, that is equally as good.

It Follows - 2015 [TRAILER]

With one of the most original plots I've ever experienced in a horror movie, It Follows is being touted as one of the best movies of 2015. It's a film best left to experience without outside influence, but I can say that this film will be well enjoyed by those who appreciate speculation, interpretation, and subplots involving the exchange of STDs. It follows tread along a straight forward plot, but contains a wonderful amount of depth to sift through afterward. The film also has top-notch acting and is beautifully shot (much of it shot in Detroit). Make sure you see it with a few friends so you can talk about it afterward!

The Orphanage - 2007 [TRAILER]

I love me a sad, creepy ghost story, and there's something even better about them when they involve dead children. Like many of the films on my list, The Orphanage, produced by Guillermo Del Toro, has just that. But in all seriousness, this film has a wonderfully emotional story that’s rarely found in the horror genre. It's a well-known classic amid fans of the horror genre, a film that masterfully builds writhing tension to evoke its scares.

Lake Mungo - 2008 [TRAILER]

Lake Mungo offers a long-winded but mature examination of loss and grief. Its presentation is almost dreamlike, with a plot that focuses on the horrors experienced by a family after the drowning of their daughter. Lake Mungo exceeds as a film in the way that it relentlessly builds upon a wrenching sense of dread. Made with a tiny budget, but supported by solid acting, this film is surprisingly believable and captures the vulnerability, isolation, and confusion experienced after the unexpected death of a loved one. Simply put, this movie is completely terrifying, yet contains almost no cheap scares. It's a 100% unrelenting, slow-roast dread that doesn't let up until well after the credits.

REC - 2007 [TRAILER]

The original REC is a deliberately fast-paced film that sandwiches its doomed characters between compounding layers of dread, resulting in of one of the best modern horror films in years. The pseudo-zombie plot derails right from the get-go, and later smashes into the supernatural for a terrifying climax. But the disgusting monster at the end? That takes the cake for one of nastiest creepers ever to make it into cinema.

The Curse (Noroi) - 2005 [TRAILER]

There is a goldmine of Eastern horror out there, and the Curse represents the genre as one of the best. It's a Japanese, low budget, faux documentary, that—amid scenes of complete ridiculousness—manages to be completely and dreadfully effective. Noroi presents an engrossing, slow-burn mystery that carefully leaks the details of an ancient demon-curse. If you're interested in venturing into classic eastern horror, definitely check this one out.

Kill List - 2011 [TRAILER]

In some ways, Kill List tries to be a deep character study (and I'd say for the first 45 minutes, this might hold true), but then it’s quickly upstaged by an eerie crime drama, which later transforms into a totally effed cult-terror-gore-fest. Somehow, it all seems to work together, leaving you with a disturbing, yet surprisingly thought-provoking mess to discuss with your friends. This is a film to be viewed with others, and I highly recommend it for those who love cults, mysteries, and gore.

28 Days Later - 2002 [TRAILER]

While I wanted to avoid the obvious choices for this list, I couldn't leave out 28 Days Later, because...Well, it's just too good to ignore. With fast zombies, sympathetic characters, and incredible production, Danny Boyle has created one of the best pieces of apocalyptic horror ever made. You’ve probably already seen it, so you might as well see it again.

The Descent - 2005 [TRAILER]

The Descent stars six women, all part of an extreme adventure club, who decide to explore the creepiest cave in the entire world. In this cave, of course, dwell terrible, fanged, amphibious slime creatures who have an affinity for jump scares and standing directly behind the backs of the characters...but the real horror of this movie is the cave. The movie absolutely excels in conveying intense desperation and suffocating claustrophobia. Despite solid reviews, I had low hopes for this movie, but ended up really enjoying it. Highly recommended.

Cabin in the Woods - 2012 [TRAILER]

Horror fans tout Cabin in the Woods as a modern classic. Is it particularly scary? No. But it does provide an ample serving of self-aware humor and cliche-bending twists. I don't care much for self-aware horror movies, but Cabin in the Woods does it right, offering one of the best works of pop culture entertainment that the horror genre has ever seen.

Suicide Club - 2002 [TRAILER]

With an opening scene of 50+ Japanese schoolgirls jumping in front of a train, I can confidently say that Suicide Club is one of the most hardcore horror movies of all time. The movie follows a wave of unexplained suicides and slowly pieces together a rather nebulous mystery. Answers, however, are few and far between, and I am still not sure if I actually like this movie. But for anyone who is looking for something a little bit darker, this is for you.

Battle Royale - 2000 [TRAILER]

Before the Hunger Games, there was Battle Royale, which happens to be set in a  similar dystopian universe, wrought with unemployment, crime, and malcontent. Each year, a randomly selected 9th grade class of Japanese, khaki-donning schoolchildren are outfitted with exploding shock collars and given an assortment of weapons. They are then forced to hunt each other down until there is only one left. Long story short, it's the hunger games with an R rating, and if I am not mistaken, this controversial child-massacre-gore fest was banned for a time. But for real, this movie rules, topping its big-budget, modern successor with tons of style, as well as a healthy dose of dark, humorous cynicism. If you felt that the Hunger Games didn’t have enough teen gore, then this movie is for you.

The Devil’s Backbone - 2001 [TRAILER]

A haunting allegory of the Spanish Civil War, Guillermo Del Toro's film presents a chilling school house ghost story that stands as a masterfully produced piece of cinema. It's heavily atmospheric, emotionally fraught, and above all else, spooky. This fable is one of Del Toro's best and is a must watch on this list.

Creep - 2015 [TRAILER]

Laced in dry humor, Creep is another slow burner that masterfully builds upon a foundation of discomfort and creeping uneasiness that relies little on jump scares (although, it does not forgo them). The two fold script prompts some of the best acting on this list - and rumors state that much of it was improvised. Creep is proof that you don't need to have a big budget with CGI jump scares to make a compelling horror movie. Did I mention that it's available for Netflix streaming, too?

Gerald's Game (89% RT) [TRAILER]

The plot begins with a dude named Gerald, who, with his wife, depart to an ocean side cabin for a sexy-time retreat. Except their sexy time, in typical Stephen King fashion, goes horribly wrong. Next thing you know, Gerald is being eaten by a dog and she's handcuffed to the bed and then the boogieman starts to come out at night. Hopefully I didn't just ruin the movie for you, but for real, it gets really good - and the boogieman is one of the best horror spooks I've seen in a long time. The wife, Carla Gugino, gives nothing short of a stellar performance, too.

The Witch (91% RT) [TRAILER]

The Witch centers itself around a (Puritan?) family who is banished to the outskirts of the New England wilderness in the 1600s (where an ancient and foreboding evil lurks). Shortly after, the crops die, people get possessed, someone's nipple is eaten by a demon crow, and Satan appears as the family goat, named "Black Philip." Despite what I just said, the Witch bares little, but what it does reveal is absolutely brutal. But the real horror is not what hides in the woods, but rather the evil that makes its way inside of the characters. Overall, it's an exceptionally well made period piece that will marinade you in dread... and thus the Witch is one of my favorite horror movies of all time.

Under the Shadow (99%) [TRAILER]

Under the Shadow is an art house masterpiece that serves as one of the greatest horror movies ever made, yet it is mostly unknown outside of horror circles. The movie is about an Iranian mother and daughter, living in a bombed out Tehran in the middle of the Iran-Iraq war. Her Husband, a doctor, is drafted to serve at the war front and they are left behind when an undetonated missile comes crashing into their apartment building (followed by a superstitious neighbor spouting about how the missile brought with it a middle eastern demon, or Djinn). Things start to get creepy when random items being to go missing, the daughter's behavior becomes increasingly erratic, and the Mother is plagued by horrible nightmares. But most unnerving of all is the isolation and desperation of a mother and daughter trapped in urban chaos.

IT (86% RT) [TRAILER]

An ancient, child devouring evil lurks under the town of Derry, Maine, who manifests itself physically as the apex of one's fears. Over the centuries, It has developed a taste for children (whose fears are easier to conceptualize, apparently), and thus It's preferred manifestation is that of a google-eyed, drooling, and mildly pedaphilic clown named Pennywise. Without drenching this write-up with my slobbering love for this movie, please know that the director and actors absolutely nailed it. The book presents 1200+ pages of historical world building with time-jumping plot lines - and the movie does an amazing job portraying the phantasmagoric and fantastical, yet demon-beleaguered town of Derry. Director, Andres Muschietti and co. deserve every penny of the 300 million dollars it has grossed since release.

It Comes at Night (89% RT) [TRAILER]

It Comes at Night is a psychological slow-burner, relying on the fears of the unknown, of mistrust, and of post-apocalyptic desperation. The plot revolves around the plight of a family, isolated and hidden, in their forest home as an undefined and unnatural blight ravages the outside world. One day, another destitute family comes stumbling into their home, who are cautiously taken in. Paranoia and mistrust slowly begin to boil between the two families, awakening an evil greater than the zombie-esque disease they seek to hide from. It's an unnervingly fantastic film that will stick with you long after viewing.

Get Out (99%) [TRAILER]

You can't have a “best of horror” list without mentioning "Get Out." The plot, which involves a bi-racial couple making a visit to the girlfriend's (white) parent's house, is both sharp and nimble in its often satirical portrayal of racial tension. The over-the-top plot initially focuses on a particularly awkward form of racial envy, which quickly derails into something much more sadistic - all the while tinged with director Jordan Peele's trademark humor. It is a movie that gives hope to the genre and has absolutely cemented itself as one of the best horror flicks ever made.

Train the Busan (95%) [TRAILER]

A father and daughter find themselves fleeing through the countryside (via train) amidst a zombie apocalypse. It's predictable, gory, and over-the-top, but in our cinematic world, over-peppered with every kind of zombie flick conceivable, Train to Busan still explores nuances amidst its campy and relentless action. Simply put, "Train to Busan" is a well-made and exceptionally entertaining film that still offers a dose of originality from within its South Korean setting. Just try not to take it too seriously.

The Wailing (99%) [TRAILER]

In a quiet south Korean village, a strange visitor appears, and soon after people start violently killing each other. In a panicked desperation, the police consult the occult to aid in solving the mythical blight that threats to spread beyond the village's outskirts. The Wailing is best enjoyed without knowing too much, but this phantasmagoric and gritty film is a cemented gem of Korean horror. It has some flaws and is exceptionally long, but the exploration of creepy eastern cult-mythology makes it well worth the trek.

The Banshee Chapter (75% RT) [TRAILER]

A man goes missing after consuming some CIA branded psychedelic research chemicals - and his friend decides (with the help of a gonzo-inspired journalist) that she’s going to track him down.  They acquire the aforementioned chemicals and proceed to smoke them, which apparently allows an evil deity to invade their lives (this particular deity takes the spooky meter and sends it to level 10). The plot is, admittedly, pretty lame, but if you can embrace the campiness, you'll find the movie is legitimately terrifying. I was prepared for a b-movie cheese fest, but for real, this movie is exceptionally spooky.

Hell House (76%) [TRAILER]

A malfunction occurs in an Halloween attraction set on the site of a hotel with a nefarious past, causing the death of 15 people. A half decade later, a documentary crew decides to investigate the tragedy and end up acquiring some tapes of the incident. It's a bit cheesy, but the plot and the acting are pretty damn good for a straight-to-VOD, found footage B-movie. Most importantly, though, is that "Hell House" is extraordinary creepy; completely worth watching for the thrill of horror.

Hereditary (89% RT) [TRAILER]

Cemented by Toni Collette’s wonderful performance, Hereditary is easily the best horror movie of 2018. The movie presents one menacing sucker punch after another as it rips apart the ground beneath the security of home. Both devastating and anything-but-subtle, Hereditary is recommended to those who like ancient demons, candle lit seances, and the occult.

A Quiet Place (95% RT) [TRAILER]

A Quiet Place’s plot, both affecting and inventive, throbs with (at times) agonizing, hold-your-breath tension. At the core you will find a family of four, struggling to survive in a world inhabited by invasive, sound-sensitive creatures who would prefer the extinction of humans. John Krasinski serves as both director and acting lead, which is good news for those of us who could care less for the recent stream of superfluous action movies he’s been producing.

A Dark Song (91% RT) [TRAILER]

Brooding and methodical, A Dark Song is set-piece pagan horror at its finest. It features only two characters: A mother in mourning and an arrogant occultist whom she seeks the aid of. The duo lock themselves in an old mansion to enact a lengthy and risky ritual, one that (ideally) results in a wish being granted. The acting is both fantastic and believable as the characters, in typical horror movie fashion, make mistakes that send them into a descent of madness. It’s witchcraft-gone-wrong; a slow burner with the relentless dread and chaos of a waking nightmare. This is one of my all time favorite indie horror movies. Highly recommended. 

1922 (89% RT) [TRAILER]

Unreliably narrated via the confession of a father who murders his wife (and who also ropes his hesitant son into the act), 1922 is a brooding tale of a man driven to madness by way of guilt. There are no jump scares to be found, as the movie favors the father’s slow-rot suffering and his futile and increasingly desperate attempts to bury his festering guilt. Psychological horror at its finest, this King adaptation is another excellent addition to Netflix’s diverse and original collection of horror movies. The Ritual (71%) [TRAILER]

While imperfect at best, this B-movie, set in northern Sweden, provides an interesting set (creepy, frost-dusted hinterlands) inhabited by four bros and an imaginative monster who’d prefer they were hiking somewhere else. Ankles are sprained and tempers swell as the friends become increasingly lost amidst a forest of their misjudgment. This movie is the definition of “pretty decent” with enough substance to hopefully see you through to the “less than decent” finale. 

[gamerszone2019-blog]

Erica Review - Grab The Popcorn

New Post has been published on https://gamerszone.tn/erica-review-grab-the-popcorn/

Erica Review - Grab The Popcorn

Erica never lets you feel at ease for long. In one scene, a character teaches Erica how to play a song on the piano–you’re encouraged to memorize the cute little melody and try to perform the correct timing. But just when you start playing along, somebody suddenly starts coughing up blood everywhere, it’s messy and gross, everyone starts screaming, and the vibe is killed. In Erica you have to treasure those sweet breaks before they’re swiftly swiped from your hands and replaced with a solid helping of worry, stress, and a side of confusion.

A fully filmed playable thriller in which the titular character is on a mission to help solve a murder case that she has strange family ties to, Erica utilizes some subtle yet effective film-inspired techniques–like match on action and screen wipes triggered by touchpad interactions–to tell its enigmatic tale. To progress each scene, you choose dialogue options and make various adventure game-like actions. The game bounces back and forth in time between Erica’s childhood with her father to the mess that is modern-day life, in which she has to move to a strange hospital her late parents helped create for her own safety.

Erica, played by real-life actor Holly Earl, is a relatable, if malleable, protagonist. Earl regularly looks like she’s bewildered or uncomfortable, exactly how you feel as a viewer in most of the situations. She seems thoughtful and patient, but other than that there isn’t too much of a set personality for her. You decide through your in-game choices if she’s more passive or aggressive or unhelpful during the case, and because of the high stakes murder circumstances, switching her attitude and approach never feels abrupt nor out of character. Even if you spend most of the game being rude, you can be friendly to someone and it doesn’t feel weird. Your reactions, and in turn Erica’s, are likely to change frequently during a playthrough every time new information pops up, objectives change, and new, incredibly peculiar characters enter the picture.

Somehow, every new character you meet is more suspicious than the last. Everyone talks to you like they just poisoned the food you’re eating. There’s a sequence in the courtyard where you can choose a girl to hang out with and get to know better, and right after you pick a possible pal to spend the afternoon with, the head of the hospital says, “Just remember that some of the girls here… Uh… They can be quite manipulative,” and just walks away. The guy is nowhere to be found after that, and you’re left sitting there wondering why would he say that–and before you know it, you’re overthinking every interaction because you don’t know which person he was insinuating was going to manipulate you. All of the secrets, ulterior motives, and Erica’s own faulty memory cause for some very intriguing “Trust nobody, not even yourself” gameplay.

Perpetual disorientation is the central feeling of Erica, and it’s what keeps you searching for the truth no matter how many crooked obstacles stand in your way. The plot is ever-changing and chaotic; you’re attempting to solve a crime by talking to a plethora of weirdos in an unfamiliar, creepy place while having stifling flashbacks of your messed-up childhood. There’s so many forces clashing and intense situations going on that you find yourself yearning to make sense of even the smallest mystery just to feel grounded. There was a time where Erica was being gaslit by a character and I ended up shaking my fist and yelling “She’s not crazy, you’re just lying!” at my TV–but even though that character annoyed me I kept listening to them in case they accidentally dropped a small hint to steer me in the right direction, and they did. Erica is a striking example of a whodunit that’s heightened by its enthralling characters, shady occult science, and recollections of previous trauma.

From the overall murder case to smaller questions like what kind of hospital you’re staying at, there are a number of mysteries weaving together concurrently throughout Erica. It’s easy to miss context that’s vital to understanding the full picture. You might get an answer to a question that’s been burning in your mind for the last half hour, but that answer could be a truth that presents new pathways to choose from or a lie that leads you astray. That mystery management is exciting and makes every experience with the game its own curious, isolated thriller molded by whatever answers and stories you care about at the time.

You can use either a DualShock 4 controller or a companion phone app to play Erica; the latter is smooth and seamless for the most part, while the former is bogged down by a clunky implementation of touchpad controls and is the far less preferable option. As you move through the narrative, you alternate between selecting which areas to explore, choosing dialogue options like “contempt” or “desperation,” and performing no-stakes everyday actions like cleaning the fog from a mirror or turning on the sink. Potential actions are shown as silhouettes on-screen, and there’s also a mock trajectory of where to swipe your hand on your phone if you’re using the app. The inputs are all done by small, comfortable hand swipes, not extending to the full horizontal or vertical reach of the screen.

Most actions are intuitive, and you feel like you know where to swipe and what you can do before the game even tells you. There’s a moment where you and a detective walk up to an empty reception desk that has a bell sitting on it, for example. I lit up when I saw it and I started tapping on the screen a bunch–Erica didn’t hesitate to mimic my actions in her world and ding away, so much so that the detective swatted her hand off of it because he got annoyed. The straightforward motions make navigating trouble-free, and being able to quickly deduce what moves you can make adds a connection to the moment-to-moment gameplay. It keeps your focus on the important things, like figuring out what the heck is going on in the story.

Choices and quick-time events happen every 30 seconds or so, which may sound overwhelming, but it isn’t so in practice. Most of the time, they aren’t high pressure actions; they’re a chain of a few choices, and those chunks are separated by longer cutscenes every so often. They do eventually get mundane and feel unnecessary, especially if you choose to use the DualShock 4, though. The game is controlled entirely with touch, and while the swipes are supposed to be a convenience for your hands, it’s difficult to perform them on the small DualShock touchpad without your fingers slipping off or hitting the joysticks. There were also a few occasions where the companion app was slightly unresponsive, which is something that can have game-changing consequences if it happens at a critical moment. It takes a second to get back into the game’s rhythm after there’s a blip in the controls. They’re small things, but those shortcomings pull you out of what is otherwise a really engrossing experience.

In general, the filmic elements are integrated so carefully that it’s a genuine and mostly calculated mix of two mediums. Erica is in the middle of game and movie, and a lot of small mechanics add up to show that. For example, the character Erica is an artist, and there’s a scene fairly early on where you can flip through the pages of her artbook. Looking through a character’s personal items is a common feature in interactive adventure games, but the detail that went into shooting the natural angles of each flip makes it an even more intimate way of gaining insight into who the character is. Outside of the footage itself, all of the trophy pop-ups are paused until you complete the game, which goes a long way to keep you from getting distracted. It’s a small, fitting touch for a game that values story so much.

Perpetual disorientation is the central feeling of Erica, and it’s what keeps you searching for the truth no matter how many crooked obstacles stand in your way.

There are also some sneaking situations that are made better by the film aspect. There are always conversations happening behind closed doors, and because you have so many questions that you need answered, sometimes you have to be a weirdo and eavesdrop on people. If you peek out for too long or open the door too fast, they’ll see you, stop their conversation, and share an awkward glance with you. Because it’s footage of actual peoples’ facial expressions, it makes you cringe a little more–and that is one of the most high-tension fail states I can imagine.

The whole time, the game marinates you in a constant anxious energy that fuels a curiosity for the dodgy, mysterious world that you’re influencing. Some scenes you’re just holding a book or a photo and staring at it for details, but since it’s paired with an insidious sting it transforms what would be a normal occasion into bitter dread. There are flashbacks, dreams, and abnormal things happening frequently; oftentimes you’re forced to decide on the one secret you want to uncover the most and drop the others. Should you pick up the phone that’s been ringing in the lobby or check out that weird ghost thing in the hallway? There are some decisions that are straight-up difficult–high-stakes ones where, in the bottom of your heart, you don’t know what the right thing to do is, but you know you have to do something. Those times will have you wishing that this game was just a movie, but Erica is more than that.

Erica has a strong, fleshed-out narrative full of twists and turns that each bring their own unique piece to the story. Its cryptic tone is carried through the audio, visuals, and writing; it never lets you relax. Sometimes weird controls jolt you out, but there is an abundance of enticing threads to follow, and it’s a treat to be able to mold your own adventure out of it. Using a combination of crisp cinematography and FMV-specific game mechanics, Erica never fails to hook you into its haunting, mysterious world.

Source : Gamesport

[aeroknot]

some thoughts on the latest wynonna plot twist

i’ve been working on this for a little while. 

i just want to explain a large part of my resistance to the wearp development of season 2. it is very personal (perhaps tmi) and reveals a deep bias infiltrating my ability to whole-heartedly accept or celebrate the plot line. I still think it’s worth expressing, though.

ok so like… i’ve felt a range of emotions regarding this pregnancy plotline, most of them negative and just varying in the degrees of pissy pessimism i can shift between, and at first i was really self-interrogating and just being like “are you being an insufferable asshole about this because of wyndolls?” and i thought about it and y’know, probably, like, I’ll be transparent bc who the fuck else am I gonna be real with about this show other than strangers on the internet? and yeah, 10% of it’s wyndolls-related dread, sure, but honestly??

the root of it is that I don’t like kids right now, especially infants, and this intensely combines with the fact that, as a 27 year old with shared qualities with her, I was projecting onto wynonna hard. a big specific fear we shared was where I constantly wonder about whether I truly have choices in my “fate” (mostly, re: am I doomed to repeat my parents’ mistakes? and also am I doomed by my depression? a deep and real limitation that really honestly does feel like its own kind of curse. and, would I pass this onto a child and doom them?) I was ecstatic to be connecting with her and key tenants of her personality, as well as her past traumas (such as but not limited to: child abuse from an alcoholic father, being institutionalized, and acting things out sexually with guys) that I found so relatable. a smaller part, but most relevant to this discussion, is that liked to think of her as a woman who, also, at this point in her life, was wholly uninterested in motherhood, for a whole shitton of reasons; many of which I could relate to, but particularly based in her family trauma/this curse/complicated relationships with men, and also her general attitude of prioritizing her needs above everyone else’s except maybe waverly’s and her partner(s)’. working on herself. and i loved that. it resonated with me.

a baby has really thrown a wrench in this experience, and this is largely because a not-so-insignficant emotional dufflebag that’s been chained to my ankle since my ex left is all the times he told me I’d be a terrible mother, and how i’ve been processing that and moving on from letting that hold any more weight in my life completely opposes being excited about a plot development like this.

after I finally picked myself up off the floor of my shame spiral into his evaluation of me, I rebuilt myself by asking: what right did he have to evaluate my worth based on an abstract, idealized, and hypothetical version of motherhood he imagined – specifically myself as a mother, when, might I add, neither of us were even close to being stable enough even as individuals to be ready for parenthood – (answer: no real fucking right). so: would it be liberating and healing to discover that I can be a woman without procreating? could I still find my worth in myself if it never happened for me? could I erase some of that disdain for my character away by moving the goalpost and allowing myself to say: I don’t need this to be a woman worth admiring and loving-- and I could remain someone a person would desire in a long-term romantic relationship? and did I even fucking want children? was it a good idea for me to have them? I don’t completely have a definitive answer and even if I did decide I didn’t want some, maybe if I met the right partner and i decided -- regardless of what my partner wanted -- that I wanted a baby more than I was afraid of a baby, it’d change, maybe. or I’ve thought about adoption later in life. but for now, and what’s feeding into my disappointment and discomfort with wynonna’s arc, is the fact that I have been experimenting with expressing disinterest in children, publicly and privately, and testing out how that makes me feel, and lately, I’ve felt pretty damn good thinking about a childless future, and after the pain I felt with ‘being inept at motherhood’ lorded over my head as a deep insult to my character, it’s very healing and empowering for me to be able to say “I could live without kids” or “having children is perhaps not in my path” and even go so far as to admit “I don’t think I even like children right now.” 

I don’t dislike children, per se (though I do resent I even feel the pressure to have to put that as a disclaimer!!). I’m nice to them. I love my young cousins. I think children are often hilarious and inquisitive and generally good-natured. but they’re…. they’re like how men are to me right now. the idealized ones are really neat; the fictional ones and the ones over there and the ones other people really love are really cool and I’m happy they make others happy and sometimes I get to spend some time with them too, but as a general practice I’d like to just not prioritize them in my life right now, and women are asked to prioritize both all the damn time or else believe there’s something wrong with them, and I’d like to create space and consume some more media where maybe we just… don’t allow that as much? I promise I’m not going around kicking kids nor am I telling other people to kick them. but I am letting myself feel what it’s like to admit that maybe I don’t think they’re the greatest thing on earth, which is what I feel pressured to say (oh god damn, especially in my Christian work environment, dear lort). I’m experimenting with allowing myself to say to someone who invasively inquires about the status of my reproductivity, “y’know, I don’t really like the idea of being responsible for a very sensitive, innocent, impressionable, and defenseless young soul who deserves a lot of time, energy, and self-sacrifice in order to care for and raise; emotional and physical and mental labor that I don’t feel like designating to anyone but myself right now.” basically, I just don’t find them as enthralling as I used to (I once worked at a daycare and wanted to be a teacher), and I’m even questioning now how much of my enchantment back then was authentic and how much of it was indoctrinated.

and a large part of what I’m realizing is the fact I’m made deeply uncomfortable and displeased by the idea of carving out parts of my identity and my life in order to create the large, large space a child deserves in order to fit one into my story. I don’t like the permanence of adding a child; I don’t like the irrevocable nature of such a huge undertaking that will impact every single facet of a person’s life from that point forward. maybe I’m selfish. maybe I’m just not ready. call me what you want, I’m still walking this path for now, though, and I’ll assert I deserve respect even if I don’t want kids.

so to watch this story that I was feeling so connected to for reasons really opposite of this whole storyline so quickly suddenly make room for a baby while I am resisting motherhood as a measure of a woman’s worth and also very freaked out by the permanence and weight of being responsible for your offspring? yeah. it’s a little disheartening to me. like dolls said, it changes everything. and it’s like…… any way they shake the story out, I think I’ll be upset, because I’m... not personally invested in the baby even sticking around, even though I know that sounds sort of horrible.

I admire the way they’ve done it so far in the aftermath of this reveal. I admire the dialogue. and I think admiring and respecting how they’re doing it while still not liking it is valid, and is also a testament to how well-executed it can be. but I’m still hesitant, skeptical, and resistant.

and this is all hard for me too because like… I think I WOULD think it’s awesome if post-broken-curse, older, perhaps in-a-loving-relationship-wynonna and forgiven-herself wynonna kicks down a door while pregnant, and asserts she can still be a hero while pregnant, and she’s still this or still that and not an invalid fragile incompetent person at her job, etc, etc….. demon-hunting mom who pisses off the PTA moms because all their kids think she’s so cool. but it... it’s sudden. it’s “too early” in my head. and of course I understand why that is. but I’m still grumbly about it.

i’ve also realized that I was a child who was somewhat unwanted. conceived between two people with an unhealthy relationship who did not want to be tethered together for the rest of their lives. and as a child in the middle of that stress, as an unplanned baby who MY MOM GOT PREGNANT WITH WHILE ON BIRTH CONTROL, I know what the downsides are to have that origin story. with this context, it makes sense this is a big hang up for me, something I’m recoiling from. and my mother made me her impetus for change and growth and when she failed at healing herself through me, it made me feel like the failure and a waste of space and “not worth it.” (it’s similar with my dad, but fatherhood’s not really the point here.) to be entirely both the source and motivation for your mother’s (and sometimes father’s) personal healing is a lot of pressure. and it feels suffocating. to be the only reason your mother works on herself when you live with her, but then devolves when you’re not with her-- it serves up some real emotional erosion. we can’t say for certain this is what wynonna would do, but even a whiff of this makes me want to run the other direction.

I’m also upset about the issue of consent in the pregnancy. her opportunity to choose was taken from her by the time demon, and that makes me uncomfortable. she’s doing amazing now, she’s so fucking strong, but I’m still upset. it was clever, but if you really look at it, it was another way she had no choice. &... I appreciate her anger about it! i really do! that is one of the things I do really respect: I appreciate her sadness being allowed time onscreen, and Melanie’s acting is uh-mazing regarding this.

see, I have a lot of conflicting emotions about this. I’m trying to articulate it as best I can.

so then I’m even further flabbergasted by all the ways my brain is trying to cope and trying to make the story cool, trying to patch it, trying to adapt it, trying to twist it, and trying to sneak in lighter and happier moments, and trying to find optimism in things like “oh well I love Jane the Virgin and that’s baby-heavy from the get-go.” .... though therein sorta lies the fundamental difference. you knew a baby was coming from the very first episode, the baby is literally the impetus for everything, and so even though there were consent issues even in Jane the Virgin, there was no real transition from Main Plot to Suddenly A Baby Gets To Be The Center of Everything..... but.... making this comparison also helps me to maybe trust a bit more. I love Jane the Virgin (but.... even still, I’ll be honest that I’ve kind of lost interest since Mateo was born and I haven’t been keeping up as regularly as I used to. I need to stop with that, but I feel it’s another example of just how much I’ve been disinterested in kids these days.)

anyway...

i’m trying to…. well…. respond to the prospect of this fictional baby the exact opposite of how I’ve been trying to react to real babies lately. and it’s just… it’s all a perfect storm, I guess.

BUT: it’s my own personal shit. and maybe I just need to set it aside. 

and maybe, even.... this take on motherhood onscreen, seeing wynonna, who I relate to so much, be a mother... perhaps it may even heal some of the wounds I’ve felt regarding the subject since the shame was first implanted by my ex, and reinforced by my own childhood and genetics and immaturity as an “adult.”

maybe. 

we will see.

[operawindow9-blog]

What’s missing from our list of 2018’s best TV?

As we wind down 2018, our best-of coverage continues with the following question:

What’s missing from our list of the year’s best TV?

Kyle Fowle

There’s hardly reason to argue with almost any year-end list these days because of the sheer number of good TV shows out there, but I’m genuinely surprised that HBO’s High Maintenance didn’t make our list. The second season of the HBO run keeps with the anthology-esque spirit of the show, but it goes deeper in ways surprising and touching. So, there’s still the random characters that populate New York and The Guy’s life, but what’s different this time around is a narrative through-line involving The Guy’s ex. That character arc, one of pain and jealousy and moving on, adds so much to a season that’s already achingly honest. Add in the fact that one of the year’s best episodes—“Globo,” reckons with the election of Donald Trump, and the completely indescribable feeling of moving through the world on the morning of November 9, 2016 in a smart, poignant, and stirring way—and you have a season of TV that’s more than worthy of any year-end list.

Myles McNutt

It’s difficult for an established reality show to make it into a best of TV list: Beyond the fact that critical conversation privileges scripted programming, reality shows are built on iteration, and that feels less novel or memorable when we reach the list-making time of year. And I’m part of this problem, because I failed to put CBS’ Survivor on my own list despite the fact that its fall cycle has been absurdly enjoyable for a show in its 37th—not a typo—season. Yes, the David Vs. Goliath theme is profoundly dumb. No, I couldn’t tell you a single thing that happened during the season that aired in the spring, so 2018 wasn’t all great for the series. But something about the alchemy of casting and game-play has created a season with a succession of satisfying twists and turns, reminding us that although we may not instinctively think of it as list worthy, a reality show 18 years into its run can still create some of television’s best drama and comedy. (I’ll never hear the name “Natalie” without laughing now.)

Eric Thurm

Making reality TV really pop is an artform: There are hundreds of hours of interactions to film, comb through, and precisely edit into a narrative that will make sense, delight viewers, and feel just slightly off, like humans hanging out too many years in the future to quite make sense to us. So every year, I become more and more impressed with the reigning queen of the genre: Vanderpump Rules. The sixth season is one of the show’s best; over half a decade in, Vanderpump Rules remains an examination of fame, misfired charisma, and the terrors of tenuous social status that would put any 19th century novel to shame. Whether it’s Jax Taylor maybe falling in love with his reiki master Kelsey while his relationship with Brittany Cartwright festers like an untreated sore, Stassi Schroeder’s then-boyfriend creating a new god tier of social faux pas by grossly hitting on Lisa freaking Vanderpump, or the slow-moving car crash of James Kennedy ignoring the “best friend” he was clearly sleeping with (not that anyone else cared), Vanderpump Rules remains mesmerizing. The cast of past, present, and future SUR employees are stuck with each other forever, and it’s incredible. It’s not about the pasta; it’s about dread.

Clayton Purdom

Aw, come on—am I the only person who thought Maniac was one of the year’s best? Well, apparently. Cary Joji Fukunaga’s 10-parter was far from perfect, but it aimed admirably high, wrangling spy action, elven fantasy, late-capitalist malaise, intense family dynamics, corporate psychotherapy and more into a freewheeling caper across several levels of reality. It also got career-best comedic performances out of Emma Stone and Justin Theroux and a fine, sad-sack turn from Jonah Hill. And Ben Sinclair! Not all of its ideas stuck, but it was messy, smart, and light in a way I’d love to see more sci-fi attempt.

Dennis Perkins

I’ll admit, I was worried going into the new, Mary Berry-less (not to mention Mel- and Sue-less), Great British Baking Show era, but I am pleased as rum baba to say that this enduringly endearing and delightfully stressful baking competition series has marched on just as sweetly. Sure, there’s a lingering bitter aftertaste to the great British baking show schism that led to those departures, but not on the Great British Baking Show itself, which rides remaining judge Paul Hollywood’s gruff charms alongside new judging partner Prue Leith and celebrity goofballs Noel Fielding and Sandi Toksvig without missing a trick. The key ingredient to this series’ success has always been the utterly generous heart that goes into every episode, and Fielding and Toksvig, if anything, seem more emotionally invested in the fates of the contestants they have to expel, one-by-one, from the show’s famous tent. And if Hollywood and Leith continue the necessarily merciless judging of soggy bottoms, overworked and under-proved doughs, and the occasional collapsing confectionary disaster, they, too, provide warmly constructive criticism rather than the traditional reality show scorn. A series—as the departed Berry was wont to say—“cram-jammed” with delights, The Great British Baking Show remains one of the most cozily exciting TV experiences going. [Dennis Perkins]

Alex McLevy

Maybe it’s the curse of distance that comes from being released way back in January, or maybe it’s simply a victim of the era of Too Much TV, but I’m bummed out to find the Steven Soderbergh-helmed Mosaic failed to crack our top 25. The miniseries is everything you could want in superlative television: a sharply nuanced and well-written mystery, performed by a coterie of uniformly strong actors at the top of their game (longtime character actor Devin Ratray deserves to be getting award nominations for his star turn), and an ace director brilliantly shooting and editing the whole thing into an intriguing puzzle? It’s the one thing I have felt comfortable recommending to anyone all year long who’s asked me what great show they should check out, regardless of individual tastes, and sadly, not a single person to date has responded with, “I’ve already seen it.” (Feel free to ignore the accompanying multimedia app as an experimental lark on Soderbergh’s part.) You’d think an HBO series from an Oscar-winning director wouldn’t need underdog-status championing, and yet here we are. Give it a watch if you haven’t yet—and odds are, you haven’t.

Caroline Siede

Come on you guys, Netflix’s Queer Eye gave us two full seasons and a special in 2018, and we couldn’t even give it a spot on our list?! I get that it can be hard to stump for reality TV when there’s so much great scripted stuff out there, but Queer Eye at least deserves a special award for being one of the most unexpected joys of 2018. The new Fab Five offered an updated spin on the early ’00s Bravo original, emphasizing self-empowerment, confidence, and empathy along with styling tips and home makeovers. Karamo used his vague “culture and lifestyle” assignment to deliver some really thoughtful therapy sessions, Tan invented a whole new way to wear shirts, Jonathan established himself as an instant icon, Antoni put avocado on stuff, and Bobby did five times as much work as everyone else while getting barely any credit for it. Whether we were bonding over tear-jerking transformations or mocking Antoni’s complete inability to cook, Queer Eye was the rare cultural unifier based on something lovely and uplifting, rather than dark and depressing. I’m guessing we’re still going to need that in 2019, so it’s a good thing the show has a third season on the way. Until then, I’ll just be rewatching A.J.’s episode on a loop.

Lisa Weidenfeld

I watched and loved a lot of TV this year, but it’s possible Wynonna Earp is the show I looked forward to the most, and also the one I wish I was seeing on more best-of lists this December. It’s a Western, a procedural, a Buffy descendant, a horror comedy, and probably a few other things as well. But mostly it’s fun. Its wildly entertaining third season was the strongest yet, and featured a potato-licking mystery, a Christmas tree topper made out of tampons, and one of TV’s sweetest ongoing romances—the usual stuff of great drama. The show’s mythology keeps expanding into an ever larger battle between forces far more powerful than its scrappy team of heroes, but it’s the writing and character work that make the show shine. Wynonna may be tough and merciless in her pursuit of victory, but it’s her sense of humor that keeps her human and compelling, and the bond between her and sister Waverly has provided a grounding emotional force on a show with an increasingly complex central plot. There just aren’t enough shows on TV that would work a Plan B joke into their heist sequence.

Vikram Murthi

Even correcting for James Franco’s involvement, which might put people off for legitimate reasons, it blows me away that The Deuce didn’t crack AVC’s main list. David Simon and George Pelecanos’ bird’s-eye view of the inception and proliferation of the sex industry in the United States represents some of the most mature, compelling television of the year. Simon’s detail-oriented, process-focused approach comes alive when examining a side of American culture that functions as a metaphor for everything: gentrification, the rise of cultural conservatism, urban renewal, late capitalism, and, most potently, the filmmaking process. This season, Simon and Pelecanos pushed their subjects toward broader freedoms that quickly revealed themselves to be traps in disguise. Not only does all social progress come with a price, but also it’s limited to those pre-approved by those controlling the purse strings. Yet, Simon and Pelecanos never forget that the tapestry of human experience is neither exclusively tragic nor comprehensively optimistic. Some people discover happiness, and others lose their way. Rising and falling in America has always been a permanent state because social environments and political context circumscribe life-or-death choices. It’s been a decade since The Wire ended, but its worldview lives on through Simon’s successive work: everything’s connected, follow the money, and bad institutions fail good people every damn day.

Danette Chavez

Although the show’s title addresses a certain demographic, Dear White People has so much to say beyond calling out the oblivious and privileged. Yes, Justin Simien’s adaptation of his 2014 film of the same name wears its politics on its sleeve, but they’re right next to its heart. The show is much more a winning coming-of-age dramedy than it is a polemic, and even then, it’s still miles ahead of most college-set series in both style and substance. Simien’s created his own visual language to capture both the intimacy of the relationships among the core cast, as well as the microscope they’re under as black students at an Ivy League school. And I really cannot say enough about the dialogue, which crackles and informs. Season one had such a moving coming-out storyline, made all the more so by DeRon Horton’s vulnerable performance; the new season follows Lionel’s adventures in dating and dorm sex, with hilarious and poignant results. Really, the whole cast should be commended, from Logan Browning, who provides a wonderfully complex center as Sam, to Antoinette Robertson, who may have given the series’ best performance in season two’s “Chapter IV.” Dear White People still makes a point of punching up—at racist and sexist institutions, tangible and otherwise—but many of its most extraordinary moments have come from characters like Sam, Gabe (John Patrick Amedori), and Reggie (Marque Richardson) recognizing their personal foibles. Thankfully, Netflix has already renewed Dear White People for a third season, giving you all a chance to get it together.

Gwen Ihnat

The odd Amazon sitcom Forever had a lot to say about the monotony of monogamy and marriage: Can you really stay with someone happily for the rest of your life? (Or afterlife, as the case may be.) With anyone but Fred Armisen and Maya Rudolph cast as that main couple, Forever might have slowly slid into bland drudgery. But the two gifted comic actors injected a lot of life into the monogamy question, aided by a spirited supporting cast including Catherine Keener, Julia Ormond, and Noah Robbins. Sure, there are some days when you want to talk to anyone but that person sitting across from you at the breakfast table. But who else would discuss with you, ad nauseam, banal topics like the perfect way to spend a half-hour, or the best way to sit in a chair? The standalone episode “Andre And Sarah” makes achingly clear how much finding (or not finding) that person who makes you shine steers the path your life will eventually take, all in a mere 35 minutes.

Allison Shoemaker

While I’d love to praise one of the many things that aired this year that I’m sure to revisit in future—someone else is going to mention Wanderlust, Salt Fat Acid Heat, and the dazzling Jesus Christ Superstar Live In Concert, right?—I feel compelled to bring up a program I’m almost certain I’ll never watch again. It’s unlikely that when HBO snapped up The Tale at Sundance this year, the network was thinking of the benefits of the pause button. Yet it’s a benefit all the same. The debut narrative feature from documentarian Jennifer Fox follows a fictionalized version of the director (played by Laura Dern) as she re-examines a traumatic childhood experience she’d filed away in her mind as loving and consensual, managing to be both gentle and almost unbearably upsetting all at once. Dern’s simple, seemingly relaxed performance belies the nightmare which fuels it, and that pause button may prove invaluable to some—it certainly was for me. The Tale is a film which seems to demand that you witness, rather than merely watch it. Should you need to walk away for a minute, it’ll keep.

Noel Murray

I know, I know: At least once or twice a year someone tells you about some cool animated series you should be watching, and talks about how trippy and ambitious and strangely deep it is. But guys, trust me: You need to catch up on Cartoon Network’s Summer Camp Island. Only half of season one has aired so far (20 10-minute episodes, mostly non-serialized), with the rest of the first batch reportedly set to debut before the end of the year. It’s a show parents can watch with grade-school-aged kids or on their own—a treat for animation buffs, and for anyone who enjoys a the kind of surrealism that’s more adorable than upsetting. With its snooty teen witches, dorky monsters, and never-ending parade of anthropomorphic clothes, toys, plants, and foodstuffs, Summer Camp Island is like a weird old Disney cartoon crossed with an ’80s teensploitation picture. And it is glorious.

A.A. Dowd

Mike Flanagan is a Stephen King guy. You could guess that from his adaptation of Gerald’s Game and from the news that he’s doing King’s Shining sequel Doctor Sleep next. Or you could just watch his work and marvel at how plainly influenced it is by the author’s, at how well it captures that signature King touch—the division of perspective among multiple characters, the interest in history and trauma, the graceful juggling of timelines. There’s much more King than Shirley Jackson in Flanagan Netflix take on The Haunting Of Hill House. The miniseries didn’t scare me as much as it seemed to scare a lot of my friends and colleagues—while well-executed, its jolts were mostly of the familiar James Wan spirits-slithering-up-walls variety. But I loved the intricacy of the storytelling, the way Flanagan moved fluidly from the childhood scenes to the adulthood ones and back again, mapping the entwined lives of these damaged siblings to suggest the way that our past and present remain in constant conversation. (It’s memories, of course, that are really haunting the Crain family.) In the end, I found Haunting Of Hill House a better, more spiritually faithful adaptation of It than the real one from last year. Guess that makes me a Mike Flanagan guy.

Erik Adams

The contents of The Big List demonstrate that it’s a great time for television comedy of all stripes: Animated, musical, workplace, detail-oriented genre parody, surrealist examination of the agony and ecstasy of existence. And while I would’ve liked to have seen some notice for the humble charms of NBC’s Superstore or a nod to that episode of Joe Pera Talks With You where Joe hears “Baba O’Riley” for the first time, I’m surprised that we didn’t heap more praise on another Michigan-set cable show co-starring Conner O’Malley. Like Myles with Survivor, I’m willing to accept that I’m part of the problem: Detroiters didn’t make my ballot’s final cut, despite all the hearty laughs, shoddily produced TV commercials, and General Getdown dance routines (“He’s a general—he’s the best”) the Comedy Central series gave me this year. Sam Richardson and Tim Robinson’s love letter to their shared hometown will always be powered by the stars’ explosively silly onscreen connection, but season two did some stellar work at fleshing out their characters as individuals, whether it was Sam reuniting with an ex to record a sultry grocery-store jingle or Tim (loudly) grappling with the family legacy of Cramblin Duvet Advertising. If nothing else, these episodes proved that when it comes to comedic news anchors, sometimes the inspiration for Ron Burgundy outstrips the legend himself.

Source: https://tv.avclub.com/what-s-missing-from-our-list-of-2018-s-best-tv-1830979080