So I need to go on a rant about my ships (Rannefischelle edition)
(That's Razor x Bennett x Fischl x Noelle)
I PHYSICALLY NEED THEM TO INTERACT IN GAME.
Which is mostly on Noelle's end with the rest and then Fischl and Razor (I can't remember if they have voicelines about each other) BUT I JUST THINK BENNETT SHOULD UNITE THEM.
Well so the first thing you need to know getting started in Rannefischelle or any Noelle ships inside it: Bennett has invited Noelle to join the Adventurer's Guild MANY TIMES
And it's not that she doesn't like the idea. It's just that being a maid for the knights and trying to become one is everything she's ever known for a while now. And she's not gonna become one any time soon because Jean knows she doesn't have what it takes *mentally*. But there's a HUGE miscommunication where Jean just DOESN'T TELL HER THAT SO SHE CAN SOMEHOW IMPROVE.
So I just firmly believe that sooner or later Noelle is just gonna. Very likely end up collapsing and giving up on becoming a knight after realizing she's done everything and more for most of them and barely gotten any recognition out of it.
So in my utopia she joins the Adventurer's Guild. And I think she would have an AWESOME time with those three.
And I also think Noelle would be the perfect addition to Fischl's little roleplay. (Yeah, eventually the other three know she isn't actually princess Fischl, and Fischl herself doesn't feel the need to dive into that fantasy daydream of hers to escape reality, but they keep doing it between them because it just feels fun and light)
Anyways back to the main point: Noelle would be amazing for Benny's Adventure Team. Even if you don't wanna look at it romantically. She would be an amazing help for him, even if she isn't immune to his bad luck, she's determined enough to find her way around it.
My favorite thing to think about is the four of them having a "camp date" together. They tell Bennett to just sit down while the other do stuff, to assure everyone will be safe, and 100% Noelle is the one doing the cooking. Which takes me to: Them sharing specialty dishes with each other and they would all love it.
(I also just found out Razor doesn't like vegetables and Noelle's favorite dish is satisfying salad, and Fischl (and Oz) don't like Sweet Madame and Bennett is a pro at it... Poor them.)
For Bennett there's not much trouble since he's also a pro at other meat dishes so no problems there, but I do think they should get Razor to try vegetables. Maybe if they season it well enough? Eating any grass in the wild just like that surely isn't very good)
Anyways my ramble is over (for now), I just wanted to get this out because I have to cook my own food over here
15 notes
·
View notes
Horror Movie of the Day: Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)
There’s a psychiatric condition known as the Capgras Syndrome: the irrational belief a person close to us has been replaced by an identical stranger. Tied to some fairly intense forms of mental illness, it can easily spiral out of control and create a sense of isolation and paranoia. But, what if multiple people suddenly started saying this at the same time?
When a strange species of flower starts appearing across the bushes and trees across the city of San Francisco, health inspector Matthew Bennel has to make this question to himself. His close friend and coworker Elizabeth Driscoll is apparently experiencing this situation: her partner Geoffrey is suddenly acting cold and distant. Matthew’s initial suggestion is for her to talk his psychiatrist friend David Kibner, but similar stories keep popping up. And then a strange, incomplete looking body appears on the spa of another of his friends. That also seems to try to mimick them.
It’s clear this is no mere delusion. Something more sinister is going on.
A remake of the eponymous 1956 classic (which is in turn based on the novel The Body Snatchers by Jack Finney), this movie takes the same core story idea of its source of inspiration and flips it on its head by simply changing the setting. Instead of taking place within the confines of a small town, having the story take place in an urban environment changes the story dynamics and even themes. Instead of an outwardly placid town where people become strangers, you get the cold strangers becoming uncannily close to each other as suddenly the city masses are all staring at you in an urban alienation nightmare.
It’s a fantastic remake of an already great movie, upping the ante while still paying respectful homage to what came before. With a stiffling, dissonant sound design, the cynicism of 70's cinema, and a splice of body horror the end result is an all time great of the genre.
6 notes
·
View notes
Hola
Cómo trataba MJ a los animales??? Es que he escuchado que tenía un zoológico en su rancho.
Hola. Precisamente salio un documental hace como un mes sobre el abuso/negligencia que sufrieron los animales en Neverland. No lo he visto completo, solo vi la entrevista que le hicieron a Jane Goodall acerca de los chimpancés y el oso que Jackson tenia (y reveló cosas bastante malas acerca de eso) (Puedes ver aqui una parte del documental, pero sin subtitulos).
Pero incluso sin adentrarnos tanto y solamente analizando por encima la relaciones de Jackson con sus mascotas exóticas, se puede ver como Jackson veía a los animales como accesorios. Por ejemplo, a Bubbles, en ves de darle un recinto para que pudiera socializar con otros chimpances y permitirle expresar comportamientos lo mas cercano que lo haria si estuviera en libertad; decidió vestirlo, hacerle bailar y convertirlo en su payaso personal hasta que se volvió lo suficientemente grande para convertirse en un peligro. Llevo a su llama a los estudios de grabación para mostrarlos, ignorando totalmente que ese no era un recinto adecuado y que las llamas donde menos quisieran estar era en un estudio. Osea hacia lo que él quería para satisfacerse, no lo mejor para el animal (ni para los propósitos de conservación de ese animal, también debo decir).
Simplemente eran como juguetes para él, y también creo que eran una forma de atraer la atención de niños a su rancho. De hecho, varios pedofilos utilizan mascotas exóticas para ese objetivo:
[Los pedofilos] Tienen pasatiempos que son como los de los niños, como coleccionar juguetes populares y caros, tener reptiles o mascotas exóticas, o construir modelos de aviones y automóviles.
Hubo un caso de un abusador de menores, Barry Bennell, que me hizo acordar mucho a Jackson. En su casa, él también estableció una especie de zoologico en donde tenia un mono y un lince. Las demas cosas que tenia en su casa (juegos de arcade, juguetes), me hizo recordar mucho a Neverland.
4 notes
·
View notes
“...Interest in a presumed political allegory has dominated critical response to the story, as in Harry M. Benshoff’s observation that the “human-looking monsters have been thought to reflect a paranoid fear of both mindless U.S. conformity and Communist infiltration, wherein a poisonous ideology spreads through small-town USA like a virus, silently turning one’s friends and relatives into monsters.” No specific ideology fits the story exactly. Rather, the snatched bodies of an American small town register the uncertainties raised by social and political transformation and scientific and medical discoveries in the postwar world.
Benshoff’s metaphor picks up on the viral features of the pods that run subtly from Finney’s novel through the films, becoming explicit in Cook’s version, in which the human beings succumb to an aggressive alien virus implanted in primordial DNA. In all versions, Body Snatchers recounts the story of an ecological invasion that turns willful and even malicious with the incarnation of the pod people. The pods’ viral features fleshed out the viral agency emerging in the medical literature and mainstream media and helped to develop the conventions of the incarnated virus and the epidemiological struggle over the fate of humanity that characterized the outbreak narrative.
The Body Snatchers offered a mythology for the moment: a story about the uncertain nature of human being conceived as a struggle for the future of humanity. Finney’s protagonists experience the terror of utter estrangement when they find themselves suddenly certain that everything is different despite the evidence of their senses, which tells them that nothing has changed. It is a story about carriers, spawning one of the few films of the genre, as Benshoff notes, in which the monsters physically resemble human beings.
While Burroughs encourages inspection of the nature of human beings, Finney forestalls any such inquiry. “Humanity,” in his novel, is at risk, but never in question, and although it seems precarious, it proves finally indestructible. The novel chronicles the gradual discovery by the doctor narrator, Miles Bennell, of the source of his patients’ disturbing insistence that close relatives are not who they claim to be in the personality theft perpetrated by the intergalactic pods. Of the uncle who raised her, one woman puzzles, “He looks, sounds, acts, and remembers exactly like Ira. On the outside. But inside he’s different. His responses . . . aren’t emotionally right. . . . There’s something missing.”
The difficulty of detecting the pod people’s subtle loss of humanity makes those who notice it seem delusional. Naturally, the experts consulted in this case assume that they are witnessing a psychological phenomenon, what Miles’s psychiatrist friend Mannie Kaufman calls “the first contagious neurosis” he has ever seen, “a real epidemic” (23) of an imagined disease, panic spreading “like a contagion” (98). The problem, of course, turns out not to be in the minds but in the snatched bodies of the residents.
Having isolated Santa Mira from the rest of the world, they are invasive and colonizing: actively determined to spread. Miles and his girlfriend, Becky Driscoll, watch in horror from Miles’s office while three farm trucks loaded with pods drive up to the town center and begin to distribute the pods to townspeople with “families or contacts” in surrounding towns (147). They are also transformative, leaving no one “what he had been, or what he seemed still, to the naked eye. The men, women, and children in the street below . . . were something else now,” Miles explains, “every last one of them. They were each our enemies, including those with the eyes, faces, gestures, and walks of old friends. There was no help for us here except from each other, and even now the communities around us were being invaded” (149).
Humanity is negatively defined by the pod transformation: they become automatons, lacking passion, compassion, and emotions of any sort. They also lose their uniqueness in the display of a hive mentality. Depictions of mass hypnosis and mental control had long preceded Cold War science fiction. David Seed identifies a gothic tradition that associates a horrifying loss of humanity with the state’s aggressive manipulation of its citizens.
Through the conventions of horror, the loss of humanity becomes a loss of individuality and is configured through features designed to provoke disgust, such as the decaying body and oozing innards of the zombie. By the 1950s, horror and disgust were implicit in the idea of mind control. Finney’s novel conjoined these associations with contemporary technological innovations and scientific theories to dramatize the possibility of a transformational loss of humanity and the threat that imperceptibly changed human beings could in turn pose to the state.
While Richard Condon’s 1959 novel The Manchurian Candidate pointedly showed how mind control could turn a human being into an assassin, Finney’s novel depicted the disturbing biological mechanisms of mental contagion, and virology supplied the vocabulary through which Finney explained the metamorphosis. When Miles, Becky, and their friends Jack and Theodora Belicec begin to piece together the phenomenon, the pod people become viral.
Following an odd clue in a daily newspaper, Jack, an author and attentive reader, has led them to the index case, the former botany professor Bernard Budlong, who explains the pod phenomenon in language that might have been lifted from a virology textbook: the pods are a life-form, although not in a conventional sense, and they have arrived on earth “by pure chance, but having arrived, they have a function to perform. . . . The function of all life, everywhere—to survive” (152).
Stressing their lack of malevolence, he concedes that “the pods are a parasite on whatever life they encounter. . . . But they are the perfect parasite, capable of far more than clinging to the host. They are completely evolved life; they have the ability to re-form and reconstitute themselves into perfect duplication, cell for living cell, of any life form they may encounter in whatever conditions that life has suited itself for” (153).
Understanding how the pods work entails coming to terms with a new conception of human being, Budlong explains, as he cautions Miles not to be trapped by his limited assumptions about life. Noting that Miles’s grandfather would have been dubious about radio waves, Budlong anticipates that Miles will be similarly skeptical of the insights that the human body “contains a pattern” that “is the very foundation of cellular life” (155), that “every cell of [an entire body] emanates waves as individual as fingerprints” (155), and that “during sleep . . . that pattern can be taken from [the sleeper], absorbed like static electricity, from one body to another” (155–56), which is precisely what the pods do.
This description recasts individuality: every human being is unique, but also predictable, conforming to a pattern. Every individual can be reducible to patterns of “information” and can therefore be “snatched.” Budlong’s explanation rehearses the version of information theory that Norbert Wiener had popularized in The Human Use of Human Beings. Wiener had declared a “pattern . . . the touchstone of our personal identity. Our tissues change as we live: the food we eat and the air we breathe become flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone, and the momentary elements of our flesh and bone pass out of our body every day with our excreta. . . . We are not stuff that abides, but patterns that perpetuate themselves.”
Noting that a “pattern is a message, and may be transmitted as a message,” and drawing, like Budlong, on the patterns of sound and light that make radio and television work, he contemplates “what would happen if we were to transmit the whole pattern of the human body, of the human brain with its memories and cross connections, so that a hypothetical receiving instrument could re-embody these messages in appropriate matter, capable of continuing the processes already in the body and the mind, and of maintaining the integrity needed for this continuation by a process of homeostasis” (96).
If Wiener suggests that the human body is information that could conceivably be transmitted (a sort of human fax), The Body Snatchers represents the potential abuse of that information—the alienability of the human personality. In response, Finney’s story insists that humanity consists of something at once intangible and physiological that cannot be reduced to information. The pods in The Body Snatchers do not exactly reproduce the human beings whose information they steal.
Like viruses, they replace that alienable information with themselves, something distinctly not human. While their initial introduction into the earth’s ecosystem was accidental—an “invasion” in the ecological sense—their mandate to survive turns them into willful carriers: “From the moment the first effective changeover occurred, chance was no longer a factor” (160). Family members and service providers, “delivery men, plumbers, carpenters, effected others” (160).
The effected changes seem initially passive, brought about with the least sense of conscious agency it is possible to convey. Effected, however, invokes the more expected infected, which implies the deliberate spread of a disease. When the pods take human shape, they evolve into unmistakably sinister, cunning, and conniving beings, a conspiratorial race of carriers. The concept of an invasion, which was added to the title with the 1956 film, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, becomes more pronounced with each version.
Like any viral invasion, it comes from without and proceeds to take over the host’s bodily functions and mechanisms to reproduce itself. The animation of this viral agent is a stock feature of outbreak narratives, and it shows how and why they readily generate narratives of bioterrorism. The scale of the danger escalates rapidly to a species-threatening event. Budlong explains that the pods have used up the resources of every planet on which they have landed and will use up the earth’s within about five years and then move on.
Miles and Becky are not convinced by his justification that human beings similarly have used up many of the earth’s resources. “You’re going to spread over the world?” Miles asks in disbelief. And Budlong maps out the conquest of “this county, then the next ones; and presently northern California, Oregon, Washington, the West Coast, finally; it’s an accelerating process, ever faster, always more of us, fewer of you. Presently, fairly quickly, the continent. And then—yes, of course, the world” (163).
Budlong’s five-year forecast resembles the Soviet’s Five Year Plan, summoning the predictions made in the United States about the industrializing Soviet state and explaining readers’ temptation to read the novel as a simple political allegory, despite Finney’s demurrals. The wasted police state that Finney describes offers readers a glimpse into the effects of Communist infiltration on prosperous small-town USA.
But the pods are more generally colonizers, and the apocalyptic vision of world conquest and rapidly expended resources expresses colonizing anxieties in environmental terms, linking a global exhaustion of resources to a terrifying loss of humanity; social and political transformation becomes a threat to “humanity” that shades into an ecological catastrophe.”
- Priscilla Wald, “Viral Cultures: Microbes and Politics in the Cold War.” in Zombie Theory: A Reader
5 notes
·
View notes