#but I was surprised at how many Brazilian riders were there

[netherzon]

Just went to my first bull riding show and from now on America, Brazil, and Australia are the bull riding trio to me

[magicalgirlagency]

hmmm i wonder, just how many other characters are in your magical girl story? it sounds cool!

The main team, the Red Star Agency, is a team of 16 (17, including Thor) Magis. I know it’s too much, but I went along with that number of members because I wanted to spite Magical Girl Raising Project for saying that 10+ Magical Girls in the world was a valid excuse to murder them all in battle royales.

Like fuck you, Asari Endo. Observe as my team is as big as a K-Pop group and no one dies and everyone lives happily ever after.

Honey Witch Vivi: The leader of the team, a B-Rank Magi. 22 years old, pansexual/genderfluid, brazilian, autistic. Passionate, smart, idealistic, and occasionally the Mom Friend™. Despite being a leader, she sees her teammates as equals and wants to see them succeed. Basically, my self-insert. Is in a polyamorous relationship with other two Magis. Transformation trinket is a heart-shaped locket, her powers are light-based, and her assigned gemstone is Citrine. Weapon of choice is a strawberry quartz wand that can transform into a parasol. Her mascot is a Squirtle named Bubbles (she’s the only one who can understand what her mascot says).

Cupid Harpy Sally: Was once Vivi’s first mascot and dearly beloved childhood toy but later graduates into a Magi herself, a A-Rank Magi. 20 years old (in human years), asexual, wondarian. She’s also Vivi’s adoptive sister. Spunky, sassy, energetic, and sometimes naughty. True to her Magi Title, she can shapeshift her arms into wings. Transformation trinket is a heart-shaped hairclip, her powers are fire-based, and her assigned gemstone is Cherry Quartz. Weapon of choice is a lance (which she calls “Lovely Lance”), and a infinite set of Cherry Bombs.

Star Navigator Amelia: Vivi’s girlfriend (and her childhood friend, as well), a B-Rank Magi. 22 years old, bisexual, brazilian. Loyal, adventurous, mature, and calm. Her design is basically Sayaka Miki (from PMMM) if she didn’t snapped. Was once as Magi dropout due her depression, but got back to magic business thanks to Vivi’s help. Transformation trinket is a golden star medallion, her powers are water-based, and her assigned gemstone is Larimar. Weapon of choice is a rapier/espada ropera.

Pink Soldier Kiki: Vivi’s other girlfriend, a S-Rank Magi. 20 years old, pansexual/gender-neutral, japanese/brazilian, autistic. Creative, brave, charismatic, and bright. Heavily inspired on Kirby (specially on Star Allies), and is able to transform into many disguises and personas. Transformation trinket is a pair of pink bead bracelets, her powers are love-based, and her assigned gemstone is Tourmaline. Weapon of choice is a twirling baton (which it also acts as a stimming toy for her). Her “mascot” is a broomstick named Glinda, that once belonged to Vivi.

Wisp Rider Winona: A Kamen Rider afficionado, a A-Rank Magi. 21 years old, lesbian/non-binary, australian. Athletic, optimistic, clever and a bit of a joker. She has a strong connection with the Wisps (from Sonic Colors), and can emulate their hyper-go-on energy by shapeshifting into them. Transformation trinket is a star-shaped belt buckle, her powers are alien-based, and her assigned gemstone is Emerald. Weapon of choice is a golden hoop (which she calls “Power Ring”).

Cheerful Doll Delilah: A revolutionary doll, a B-Rank Magi. 19 years old, lesbian, wondarian. Elegant, sweet, sensitive, and a bit dramatic. Was a circus ballerina before she became a Magi, and rebelled against her manipulative boss. Has a crush on Winona, and looks up to her. Transformation trinket is a pair of poofy scrunchies (that she uses as bracelets), her powers are music-based, and her assigned gemstone is Rose Quartz.. Weapon of choice is a pair of cheerleader pompoms.

Tech Witch Donovan: A young techie and a ninja, a B-Rank Magi. 21 years old, asexual/biromantic, asian-american. Brainy, dexterous, wise, and introverted. Has a passion for everything that combines magic with technology and can tame demons. Is actually the reincarnation of 2k12!Donatello, after April killed him in the 100th episode. Transformation trinket is a turtle-shaped brooch, his powers are ninja/tech-based, and his assigned gemstone is Spirit Quartz. Weapon of choice is a metal bo staff. His mascots are the spirits of his brothers from another timeline (basically, they are Leo, Mike and Raph that all fell into a spiral of insanity and commited seppuku after Don and Splinter were murdered).

Frost Rabbot Nia: A magical android, a S-Rank Magi. 20 years old (in human years), asexual, wondarian. Logical, curious, intelligent, and a tactical genius. She’s a wondarian project designed to be the perfect Magi. Looks up to Donovan, and thinks of him as a older brother. She consumes Earth’s sci-fi media in order to study their mistakes, and fix them. Transformation trinket is a star-shaped core in her chest, her powers are ice-based, and her assigned gemstone is Sapphire. She has no weapon of choice, because her body is a weapon (not in a creepy and de-humanizing way, I promise!)

Quirky Rebel Nova: A energetic outsider, a A-Rank Magi (later to be promoted to S-Rank due to her awesome violent ways to exterminate Incubators). 21 years old, asexual/panromantic, currently wondarian. Impulsive, persistent, captivating, and a go-getter. She is in reality Star Butterfly, but she ran away from Mewni without leaving a trace, after learning her life was a lie (in the third season episode, The Butterfly Effect); she changes her name to Nova (as in Supernova), and has traveled throughout the Multiverse, training herself to learn magic without a wand. Can transform herself without a transformation trinket, her powers are chaos/wildcard-based, and her assigned gemstone is Fluorite. Weapon of choice is a pair of magic gloves/gauntlets (after giving up her wand). Her mascot is a Sableye named Glitter.

Devilish Clover Perci: A skillful archer, a S-Rank Magi. 22 years old, pansexual/trans, british. Stylish, outspoken, dauntless, and very friendly. One of the most popular Magis, specially due to her control over dark magic. She adopts Nova as her sister, and their personalities clash quite nicely. Transformation trinket is a peridot brooch, her powers are darkness-based, and her assigned gemstone is Sugilite. Weapon of choice is a magic bow (that was previously Nova’s wand).

Milky Angel Holly: A wild angel, a B-Rank Magi. 23 years old, pansexual, american. Unruly, rebellious, lively, and brutally honest at times. Was once one of the best Magis, but a certain happening in her life made her develop trust issues, and she became a delinquent. To get her attitude adjusted, she is assigned to the RSA. She’s designed after Panty Anarchy (from P&SwG), because I shamelessly liked her and I got salty about her sudden and out-of-the-blue “death”. Transformation trinket is a pair of golden hoop earrings, her powers are angel-based, and her assigned gemstone is Angel Aura Quartz. Weapon of choice is a light-molded musket and a halo that acts like a boomerang.

Pretty Punisher Aya: A recovering survivor, a C-Rank Magi. 19 years old, lesbian, japanese. Shy, gentle, soft-spoken, and always doing her best. She’s an alternative version of Asagiri Aya (from Mahou Shoujo Site) if she ever snapped at her bullies, abusive brother and neglective parents and actually have used her magic to kill them all. She becomes part of Wondaria’s rescuing and therapy program, that helps abused earthlings and offers them a chance in becoming Magis themselves. She is later assigned to the RSA to develop her powers better in a non-violent and zero percent toxic environment. She sees Holly as her upperclassman, and wishes to be as brave as her. Transformation trinket is not actually a trinket, but rather her heart tattoo on her left wrist, her powers are healing-based, and her assigned gemstone is Ruby. Weapon of choice is a heart-shaped pistol.

Demonic Witch Ace: A ruthless hero, a S-Rank Magi. 24 years old, pansexual, japanese. Strong, ill-tempered, fiery, but becomes a total dork once you know him better. Real name is Akira, Ace is just a nickname. He’s a half-Oni, cursed to be the successor of the Devilman name, and he has trust issues thanks to that. To everyone’s surprise, Vivi actually manages to break his shell and befriend him. Transformation trinket is a spiky bracelet, his powers are demon-based, and his assigned gemstone is Obsidian. Weapon of choice is a kanabo/iron mace. His mascot is a sizeshifting kitsune named Miki (while not a pokémon, he can understands what the little fox says).

Artsy Chameleon Enzo: A quirky street artist, a B-Rank Magi. 23 years old, pansexual/trans, italian. An artistic soul, always on the move, tricky, and unable to give fucks to anyone who dares to discriminate him. He was kicked out of his house after coming out to his parents, but later became a Magi so he could leave earth to live in Wondaria. He’s best friends with Perci, who’s also pan/trans. Transformation trinket is a leaf-shaped belt buckle, his powers are art/chameleon-based, and his assigned gemstone is Opal. Weapon of choice is a pink baseball bat.

Cursed Maestro Arthur: An anxious fortune-teller, a B-Rank Magi. 23 years old, asexual/polyromantic, filipino. Jittery, cautious, but hardworking and doing his best to become brave. He is the reincarnation of Arthur Kingsmen (from Mystery Skulls Animated), after Lewis killed him. He has the Hellbent Curse, where he becomes aware of how his past life came to an end. He has a crush on Ace, and wants to be as brave as him. Transfromation trinket is a orange bead bracelet, his powers are ghost/music-based, and his assigned gemstone is Japser. Weapon of choice is a conductor baton. His mascot is a Dedenne named Peanut and a scarf named Tempo.

Soul Genie Inka: A rebellious alien, a C-Rank Magi. Older than any human, asexual/non-binary, wondarian. Curious, smart, cheeky, and always eager to learn more about Earth culture. was previously a defective Incubator, who grew tired of stealing souls and spreading despair. Kiki was the only one who believed in them, and later became a Magi when things got tough for her. Transformation trinket is a drop-shaped garnet stone on their chest, their magic is genie/chaos-based, and their assigned gemstone is Pearl. Weapon of choice is their long ponytail.

Mighty Berserker Thor: A broken god, a S-Rank Magi. 24 years old (in human years), bisexual, wondarian (previously asgardian, but Asgard is no more). Approachable, a friend to all, awkward at times, and a tad bit salty (it comes with the trauma). Has yeeted himself of his world with the power of the Infinity Stones because he grew tired of being ridiculed and dealing with a constant streak of despair and death in his life. He was taken in by the RSA, and is treated with such care (which it scared him at first after spending five years in depression), but he eventually warms up to the team and finds once again a motivation to fight and protect. Transformation trinket is his prosthetic arm, his powers are lightning/weather-based, and his assigned gemstone is Sunstone. He has no weapon of choice (as originally intended!); he’s basically a giant living taser. His mascot is a pocket-sized imp that’s actually his brother Loki (he was punished due his past transgressions, and he HATES it).

…phew…! Here it is, the entire team assembled! It was hard, but I’ve had loads of fun with it honestly! It flatters me that you were interested in my dream plot, Anon!

[ubourgeois]

Top 30 Films of 2018

I’m actually getting one of these out at a fairly reasonable time! I’m a champion.

Compared to last year, I would say 2018 had fewer films that I really loved, that shook me and immediately registered as important - but also, more films that have grown on me over time, that were clever and inventive in ways that convince me to look past their shortcomings (or reevaluate if they are shortcomings at all). Plenty of odd, perhaps imperfect movies made it far up the list, and I think I ended up privileging that weird streak more than usual this year. But hopefully that makes for interesting reading here.

I found making this list that a couple of the big arthousey hits of the year (Eighth Grade, Burning, The Rider, and others) ended up slipping into the basement of the top 50. Keep an eye out for a rejoinder post following this in a couple days where I hash out my thoughts on those. For now, top 30 after the jump:

30. Unsane dir. Steven Soderbergh

Remember when Tangerine came out and everyone was like, “wow I can’t believe this was shot on an iPhone” and it was a whole thing? Well, I can believe that Unsane was shot on an iPhone, and that’s really for the better. Ever the innovator, Soderbergh follows Sean Baker’s lead by taking full advantage of the logistical advantages and distinctive appearances of iPhone-shot footage, putting together a film that uses its hardware not as a flashy obstacle to be overcome but as a driver of its look and feel, proving at least for now that mobile-shot films are viable (though we’ll see how his next one turns out). The film itself is good too - Claire Foy gives a wonderfully prickly performance, and the claustrophobic visuals make for a great psychological thriller.

29. Cold War dir. Paweł Pawlikowski

Expanding on the aesthetic territory he explored with Ida, Pawlikowski brings another black & white, Polish-language period piece about identities split between different (religious, political) worlds. Cold War is the more complicated and perhaps less focused film, but also the more alluring one, with a luscious love story, incredible music (Łojojoj...), and great, showy performances from Joanna Kulig and Tomasz Kot. In other words, it’s luxurious, romantic Euro-arthouse fare. Probably best watched with a full glass of wine in hand.

28. Ready Player One dir. Steven Spielberg

A film that many accused of “pandering” to audiences for its many blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nods to 80s nostalgia and gaming culture, Ready Player One was on the contrary seemingly uninterested in anything of the sort. It managed to accomplish something more meaningful by packing the film so dense with nerd-bait that it becomes just texture and noise - Tracer popping up in the background of random scenes ends up being less of Overwatch reference and more of a piece of plausible set dressing in a VR social media hub. This contributed to RPO being not only a technically impressive but a visually overwhelming effects film, packaged around a seemingly knowing 80s blockbuster pastiche (the story, the character types, even the music cues were too old-fashioned to be on purpose). A film both smarter and easier to like than the discourse around it suggested.

27. Widows dir. Steve McQueen

I do really wish that McQueen would go back to making demanding, brutal films like Hunger, but if he simply has to become a commercial filmmaker I guess I don’t mind this. Surely the ensemble film of the year, with the entire cast firing on all cylinders - Daniel Kaluuya as the sadistic enforcer/campaign manager in particular impresses, though naturally Viola Davis, Elizabeth Debicki, Cynthia Erivo, and even Colin Farrell make for compelling characters in this twisty, nervy heist film. The action scenes are all impressively mounted (if a bit few and far between) and there are enough McQueen-esque florishes to keep things interesting in the interim (that long car scene!). Great moody popcorn stuff.

26. An Elephant Sitting Still dir. Hu Bo

Elephant has gotten a lot of press for two reasons: its nearly four-hour length and its director’s untimely death shortly after its completion. The length is important because it beats you into submission, forcing you to accept its rhythm and smothering you in tight focus on its main characters until you feel like it’s your own POV (I wasn’t really into it until, uh, the two hour mark, but then somehow I was hooked). Hu Bo’s death is important because knowing that, the sensation of being trapped, pressured, and disoriented by the Current State of China (ever the popular subject matter) feels all the more palpable and, maybe unfortunately, grants the film some extra layer of authority, or at least urgency. If I ever have the time or energy, I would love to revisit this film - I expect it will one day be seen as a landmark.

25. Make Me Up dir. Rachel Maclean

A bizarre little bit of sugary pop-feminist techno-dystopia, pulling off a sort of cinematic cousin to vaporwave by way of Eve Ensler. What unfolds is pretty insane, involving dance numbers, incomprehensible lectures on dodgy gender politics, and sets that look pulled out from a cheap children’s TV show. It’s definitely a marmite film - how well you connect with this will depend heavily on your tolerance for clearly-fake CG, well-trodden feminist talking points, and pastels - but for those with the appetite for this brand of political kitsch then this is just about the best version of itself imaginable. 

24. Liz and the Blue Bird dir. Naoko Yamada

Naoko Yamada out Naoko Yamada-s herself. A standalone spinoff of Hibike! Euphonium that focuses on members of the secondary cast, Liz makes good on the sensitive, subtly-executed love story that the show ultimately failed to produce (not quite Adolescence of Utena-tier course correction, but we’ll take it). This is a film propelled by the tiniest gestures - a hand tensing behind the back, a nervous flicker of the eye, a cheerful bounce in the step - in that way animation can provide that seems not incidental but hugely, blatantly filled with meaning. While A Silent Voice was a great breakthrough for Yamada as an “original” feature, it’s Liz that feels like the more mature film, and a promising indicator for what lies ahead.

23. Sew the Winter to My Skin dir. Jahmil X.T. Qubeka

Maybe the most surprising film of the year is this, an action-biopic about John Kepe, a South African Robin Hood figure, that almost entirely eschews spoken dialogue in favor of visual storytelling, physical acting, and clever audio design. But this is not some pretentious, austere arthouse film substituting gimmicks for actual character; Sew the Winter to My Skin is an engaging, fascinating, and unexpectedly accessible historical epic, prioritizing mythic bigness over simple recitation of fact. While it demands some patience at first (with no dialogue, it takes a bit for the film to properly introduce its cast), it quickly shows itself to be an inventive, exciting, and occasionally funny adventure that proves Qubeka as a truly exciting voice in South African cinema.

22. Mom and Dad dir. Brian Taylor

Forget Mandy, THIS is the crazy Nic Cage movie of the year. A slick, rapid-fire horror comedy that feels almost like a music video at points, Mom and Dad has what’s surely Cage’s best unhinged performance in years as well as a great, more restrained turn by Selma Blair. The violence is ludicrous, the premise is nutty, and the sense of humor is utterly sick - that the film manages to squeeze out a surprisingly coherent commentary on suburban family life on top of this is a minor miracle (a scene where Cage destroys a pool table proves strangely thoughtful). For all the broadly acclaimed “serious” horror films in recent years, like this year’s kind of boring Hereditary, groan-filled A Quiet Place, and mostly incoherent Suspiria, I more appreciate this breed of deranged, funny, and tightly focused effort. It doesn’t need to be that deep.

21. Good Manners dir. Marco Dutra, Juliana Rojas

I’m going to mark this write-up with a **spoiler warning**, as I think it’s basically impossible to talk about this film without giving the game away. Good Manners has one of the best genre switcheroos in recent years, starting off as a proper Brazilian class drama (think Kleber Mendonça Filho) with a lesbian twist before explosively transforming into a horror movie that reveals a hidden monster-coming-of-age story that’s nearly unrecognizable as the same film from an hour before. As delightful as this bit of narrative sleight of hand is, it can’t justify a good film alone, which is where the great lead performance by Isabél Zuaa and the mesermizing, inventive matte paintings of the São Paulo skyline come into play, making this fantastical, genre-bending film a true original of the year.

20. The Miseducation of Cameron Post dir. Desiree Akhavan

There’s a tendency in the queer teen film genre to sometimes drift towards miserablist portrayals of growing up; to emphasize the hardship, nonunderstanding, and isolation to the expense of other experiences. Cameron Post manages to avoid this path even as it explores the dreadful premise of life in a conversion camp by balancing the solidarity, humor, and defiant joy hidden along the edges of the camp experience with the cruel, dehumanizing nature of the place. The film works, then, not only as a statement against conversion therapy and the real harm it does to all participants, but also as a lively, triumphant teen movie that feels more powerful than the lazy, doom-and-gloom approach.

19. Minding the Gap dir. Bing Liu

Few films capture the particular small city Midwest atmosphere quite like this one, a very raw documentary that feels very much like the first feature it is - but in a good way. Cut together from years of Liu’s amateur footage as well as new material of its subjects (the director and two of his old friends), a documentary that at first seems to be about the local skateboarding culture stretches out to many other topics: domestic violence, race relations, middle-American economic anxiety. The film, perhaps because of its closeness to the director and his relative inexperience, manages to take on a quick-moving scattershot approach, weaving stream-of-consciousness from one topic to the next, while still giving each the time and weight it deserves. 

18. The Green Fog dir. Evan Johnson, Galen Johnson, Guy Maddin

A hard film to sum up, though at its heart not a terribly complicated one. Ostensibly a very loose reconstruction of Vertigo using clips from other material shot in San Francisco, from The Conversation to San Andreas to Murder, She Wrote, this new, uh, thing from Maddin and the Johnsons is a short, sweet, and really quite funny collage less interested in slavishly reenacting its inspiration than making funny jokes with movie clips. Some highlights include Rock Hudson carefully watching an *NSYNC music video on a tiny screen, a long sequence admiring Chuck Norris’ face that doesn’t seem to match any particular part of Vertigo, and a number of scenes of dialogue with all the speech cut out, leaving only awkward pauses and mouth noises. It’s high art!

17. Sorry to Bother You dir. Boots Riley

Boots Riley’s transition from long-standing underrated rapper to breakout auteur has been wild to witness. Sorry to Bother You is certainly one of 2018′s most original and distinctive films (what other film is it like, exactly?), and any complaints about unsubtle politics or overpacked narrative can be easily counterbalanced with the film’s sheer verve and oddball energy. Like Widows, it’s another of the great ensemble pieces of the year - Lakeith Stanfield and Tess Thompson are great as usual, and of the supporting cast Armie Hammer emerges as the standout with an incredibly funny halfway-villainous turn, plus a great bit of voice casting with David Cross. Leading candidate for this year’s Film of the Moment.

16. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse dir. Robert Persichetti Jr., Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman

The problem with comic book movies a lot of the time is that they’re somehow too embarrassed to own their source material. Into the Spider-Verse succeeds because it emphatically embraces its roots, not only visually (the cel shading, impact lines, and even text boxes that make up the film’s look) but also narratively, by adopting the multiverse concept in earnest and milking it for comedic and dramatic effect. It’s an incredibly innovative (not to mention gorgeous) animated film that not only raises the standard but expands the scope of superhero films, giving new hope to a genre that has been stuck spinning its wheels for years. Plus, it has probably the only post-credits scene actually worth the effort, which is a very special sort of victory.

15. Museo dir. Alonso Ruizpalacios

A playful, thoughtful heist film that gets the actual heist out of the way as soon as possible. Two suburban twenty-somethings pull off a daring robbery of Mayan artifacts from the National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City, then set off on an ill-fated roadtrip to fence the goods. There’s a certain magic to this film, in its approach that is at once totally reverent and mythologizing but also eager to take the piss out of everything (the recurring motif of Revueltas’ The Night of the Mayas suite does both), and in how it turns this story into something of a love letter to the history and geography of Mexico. Very mature, well-balanced filmmaking in Ruizpalacios’ second feature.

14. BlacKkKlansman dir. Spike Lee

The best Spike Lee joint in a long, long time. It taps into the freewheeling, confrontational energy of his best work, but almost as a career victory lap as he makes a game out of outfoxing Klan members. There’s plenty of humor and tension here, with a great, dry leading duo in John David Washington and Adam Driver, and a funny turn from Topher Grace (!) as David Duke. Even if it does play it a bit safe with an easy target and wraps up a bit too easily (a quick flash-forward to Charlottesville as a postscript notwithstanding), it should be fine, I think, for a film to indulge in the simple pleasure of overcoming obvious villains in a glorious fashion. For all the recent films that give nuanced and serious takes on racism in America, one ought to be about the joy of blowing up the KKK.

13. Mirai dir. Mamoru Hosoda

Since he’s started making original features, Hosoda has been taken with relatively high-concept storylines, from his “debut” The Girl Who Leapt Through Time to Wolf Children, but Mirai is certainly his most ambitious yet. Nearly every choice about the film is a bit weird: from the unusual, compact layout of Kun’s home to Kun’s very believable, nearly alienating (to an older audience) childish behavior to the simply bizarre logistics and metaphysics of Kun’s fantastic adventures. The time- and space-travel antics Kun and Mirai get up to never seem entirely literal or entirely imagined, somewhere between childish fable and psychological sci-fi, a mixture that culminates in a surprisingly existential climax for an unabashed children’s film. After the quite safe The Boy and the Beast, it’s exciting to see Hosoda branch out into such a complicated and strange project, certainly the most daring animated feature of the year.

12. Support the Girls dir. Andrew Bujalski

A bubbly, sensitive, and lightly anarchic workplace comedy in that most essential of American institutions: the Hooters-flavored sports bar off the highway. Bujalski continues to prove himself an observant and funny writer, putting together a fascinating ensemble of characters brought to life by a perfectly-cast ensemble (Regina Hall is flawless as advertised, and Haley Lu Richardson brings us one of the most adorable characters in cinema). I don’t think I’ve seen a more charming film about workers’ solidarity and the lively communities that find their niche in liminal spaces. 

11. First Reformed dir. Paul Schrader

Edgy priests are in a certain way low-hanging fruit; the tension is automatic, the contradiction inherently compelling. It’s a lazy symbol that can be milked for cheap profundity when employed, if you will, in bad faith. That’s why it’s so important that First Reformed, for all of its alcoholic, violent, libidinous angst packed into Ethan Hawke’s (masterfully interpreted) character, is also a great, genuine film about faith besides. It’s a Revelations film if I’ve ever seen one, about facing down the apocalypse with no way of understanding God’s plan, about living on the precipice of a collapse of belief, about accepting mystery. It’s the only film I saw this year that communicated actual dread, but even then still, somehow, bizarrely hopeful. 

10. Birds of Passage dir. Cristina Gallego, Ciro Guerra

Ciro Guerra (now with partner Cristina Gallego co-directing) follows up the excellent Embrace of the Serpent with another powerful portrait of an indigenous community that, under the pressure of colonial influence, gradually devours itself. In the new film, however, this takes the form of a traditional gangster film, from the humble beginnings and runaway success to the explosions of violence and crumbling of an empire. Birds of Passage shows the origins of the Colombian drug trade with the native Wayuu people (a counterpoint, Gallego explains, to the much-celebrated Pablo Escobar narrative), and in doing so still finds room to organically and respectfully depict the traditions of the Wayuu, as well as showcase their beautiful language, which makes up much of the film’s dialogue. Best film in the genre since at least Carlos. 

09. The Favourite dir. Yorgos Lanthimos

Though I really admire Dogtooth, I’ve found myself increasingly disappointed in Lanthimos’ output since that film. Alps was fine but clearly minor; The Lobster started strong but fizzled out; Killing of a Sacred Deer was ultimately too self-consciously bizarre. With The Favourite, we’re finally back in exciting, unsettlingly weird territory, Yorgos having found that his very mannered style of English dialogue works superbly in a costume drama context. He also gets great, uncharacteristically emotive performances (compared to, say, the last two Colin Farrell outings) out of his central trio of Olivia Colman, Rachel Weisz, and Emma Stone, with especially great work coming from Stone, who I think has discovered that all of her best roles take full advantage of the fact that she looks like a cartoon character. It’s wonderfully perverse, incredibly funny stuff, with one of the great, inexplicable endings of the year - fair to call it a Buñuel revival.

08. Bisbee ‘17 dir. Robert Greene

A documentary that tackles a shocking forgotten chapter in American labor history - a group of strikers deported from their mining town and left for dead in the desert - as well as the potential of historical reenactment to act as communal therapy. Greene moves a bit sideways from his usual performance-centric subject matter to show a different kind of performance meant not to affect the audience but the performers themselves, breaking through decades of near-silence on Bisbee’s tumultuous small town history. It’s also a remarkably multi-faceted film; though it would certainly be easy to side fully with the strikers, Greene makes sure to document the perspectives of current Bisbee citizens who sympathize with or even celebrate the decision to deport, complicating the emotions and politics of the reenactment in genuinely interesting ways. A powerful, important documentary.

07. Asako I & II dir. Ryusuke Hamaguchi

Unwieldy and annoying English title aside (especially considering all the possible translations of Netemo Sametemo), Asako seems on the surface like nothing more than a cheap TV romance. It hits many of the same beats and adopts much of the visual style associated with this vein of visual media, particularly in the music video-esque, almost-supernatural meet-cute that opens the film. But hidden beneath these affectations is a shockingly cold un-romance, a story with an inevitable bad end that you’re tricked into thinking might not come to pass. By employing so many stylistic and even verbal cliches, Hamaguchi reveals how these internalized these storytelling devices are, and how they not only can’t prepare us for the complications of actual relationships, but even shift our expectations away from reality. It’s an absolute gut-punch of a film, covered in a seductively sweet carapace. 

06. Sweet Country dir. Warwick Thornton

In a fairly large shift from his previous Samson and Delilah, Thornton has put together one of the best and most unusual Westerns in recent years. Featuring great, earthy performances from its nonprofessional cast (plus a bit of Sam Neill and Bryan Brown for good measure) and a weird, almost Malicky flash-forward structure, the film explores a not-widely-depicted history of exploitation of indigenous Australians. It’s a sad film, showing a fairly exciting lead-up to a somewhat deflating moment of unjust violence - but of course, many of the best Westerns aren’t about good triumphing, either. It’s the film on this list that most grew on me over the course of the year, having not impressed me at first but then blowing me away on a second viewing. 

05. Leave No Trace dir. Debra Granik

For all the buzz surrounding Winter’s Bone - a film that still holds up after so many years - it’s a bit surprising that it took Granik eight years to put out a follow-up, but I guess it’s worth the wait. Unlike Bone, Leave No Trace is a kind, gentle film, leaving behind the edgy Ozarkian drama of its predecessor for a similar but more forgiving setting of woodland communities in the Pacific Northwest. It initially seduces you with Ben Foster’s outdoorsy survivalist lifestyle, cut off by seemingly uncaring state officials, but gradually revealing, through the second thoughts of his daughter (Thomasin McKenzie, in a shall we say Lawrencian turn), the downsides and flawed motivations for their lifestyle choice. It’s a quiet and thoughtful film, melancholy and optimistic in equal measure. Makes one hope Granik can get another project off the ground sooner. 

04. Roma dir. Alfonso Cuarón

I mean, what else can we say about Roma? It’s about as good as claimed, beautifully shot, framed, written, acted, whatever. It’s at its best, sort of ironically, when Cuarón breaks up the quiet personal drama for some of his characteristic action-y set pieces (a Children of Men-esque protest sequence and the climax on the beach are particularly memorable), but he also shows his talent in handling relatively uneventful family scenes, using the layout of the house to facilitate some surprisingly interesting camera movements. I’m happy that Cuarón, who could easily transition into a more boring prestige Hollywood filmmaker if he so chose, is using his industry clout to pull together neat little films like this. 

03. The Old Man & the Gun dir. David Lowery

What a completely pleasant film. A film that walks a dangerous tightrope - one of nostalgia, roguish charm, and incessant aw-shucks optimism - that can easily fall into twee, navel-gazing hell, but that miraculously pulls it off, resulting in a genuinely spirit-lifting character study of an almost folkloric figure. Robert Redford’s good in this, but of course he is - that’s the whole point. Perhaps more appropriate to say that this film is good for Robert Redford, that it rises to the occasion of celebrating his career in full and pulls it off without appearing trite or disposable. As good a (reportedly) final outing as anyone could ask for.

02. I Do Not Care If We Go Down in History as Barbarians dir. Radu Jude

A nearly three-hour, densely conversational, nakedly didactic examination of the historical effects and contemporary sources of fascism and ethnic nationalism that somehow flies right by. Radu Jude, a relative latecomer to Romanian cinema’s rise to international prominence, makes a strong argument for being his country’s best and most important filmmaker, taking on complicated, controversial, and infrequently discussed subject matter about Romania’s troubled past. If you can get past Barbarians’ sort of user-unfriendly exterior (Iona Iacob opens the film by introducing herself and explaining her character, which tells you the sort of thing you’re getting into), it should prove to be a remarkably stimulating and even fiendishly funny ride. 

01. Shoplifters dir. Hirokazu Koreeda

If you’ve spent the ten years since Still Walking wondering what exactly Koreeda is trying to do anymore, then this is your answer. He’s spent most of the last decade pumping out the same nonconventional family drama over and over again (everything from I Wish to After the Storm, at least) so he could hone his skills like a weapon and create the perfect, ultimate version. With a pitch-perfect cast (Koreeda regulars Lily Franky and Kirin Kiki are the standouts, but Sakura Ando, Mayu Matsuoka, and the two child actors more than hold their own), and probably the perfect expression of the chosen family, spots and all, that has consumed much of Koreeda’s career, Shoplifters is one of its director’s career-best films, showcasing all of his talent for depicting delicate, intimate moments and bringing smart, complex ideas to seemingly straightforward premises. The most exciting Palme d’Or winner in years and easily the best film of 2018.

[forthesapphicsonly]

I'm losing but I'm winning

Anon:  Fic when the reader is an English major in college so she challenges Diana in scrabble? So to make it interesting, because she knows that she’ll win anyway, Diana decides to make it strip scrabble so she can get the reader to undress for her (consensually, of course) 

I apologize for the delay. I read and love all the requests you send, but not always I have the right inspiration to write them, so I can take a while. However, I'm glad I waited. Because I was able to write this now and LOVED the result. I hope you like it too. Stay tuned for the final notes. :D

Just to clarify it, the reader is a senior student and therefore of legal age. :)

In your few years of academic life in college you never imagined meeting someone like Diana

You always thought you would start and finish your studies alone and without friends.

It was no news to anyone how shy and introverted you were and how difficult it was to get along with the young people your age.

Not that you felt superior or anything like that, but sometimes they could be so .... childish.

You just didn’t live in the same environment as them.

And so it was a surprise when you made friends with the last person you would expect in your life. Your art teacher.

Not any teacher.

Diana was amazing and it was something you knew from the first day of class you had with her.

Diana seemed to realize how excluded you was and slowly began working on a way to get closer to you.

You were extremely intelligent and insightful and she wanted to know better the girl hidden behind the books

But this isn’t a story of how you met and became close. It's the story of how you ended up half-naked in the middle of the board game in front of a fun and debauched Diana.

Your family was currently living in another state and since taking up college, you spent all holidays and weekends alone on campus.

Since Diana became your best friend (and whenever she had time), she would spend those dates with you so you wouldn’t be alone anymore.

It was like a girls' night.

And girls' night had games.

The only problem was that Diana was good at every game you played.

(After all, what was that woman not good about?)

"I can not believe this" you huffed slightly before saving scrabble pieces with a slight pout on her lips

Diana laughed behind a glass of wine. It was really fun to see you trying to win in every game you played. But she always won and that always frustrated you.

She liked it. You were adorable when you pissed a loser.

"I was really confident" you murmured, before settling down beside the Amazon and sipping your hot chocolate.

Diana could not blame you. She lived years ago, scrabble became one of the easiest and fun word games for her. She had an extensive and long vocabulary accumulated all these years. You couldn’t beat her even if you wanted to.

"How about a game I don’t know, so you get the upper hand" Diana suggested, running her free hand through your hair.

She loved your hair. They were just so soft and silky she could stay all day smoothing them.

But of course ... that would be strange. You were just friends.

"That would be cheating" you murmured almost in a purr for the affection in the head.

Diana just smiled and shrugged.

"Not if I am giving you the opportunity"

Snapping your tongue, you opened your eyes and thought for a moment what games you still had and which Diana had not yet played.

"I know!" You jumped off the rug where you were sitting and ran into the bedroom. Diana just laughed at your enthusiasm and stood up to make some popcorn while she waited for your return.

Not long after, you returned with a board box and set it down on the coffee table where they were playing.

Diana came back and looked at the game with curiosity.

"What would that be?"

You smiled broadly and opened the box as you separated the pieces.

"It's a Brazilian war game based on conquest and strategy. It is disputed with a map of the world divided into six regions. Each player receives a card with a certain goal and whoever completes his first and declares it completed, wins. "You removed the base of the map by opening it on the table, as well as the cards and dice. "These colorful pieces represent our armies ..." you went on to explain the purpose of the game to Diana and the rules while they both ate the popcorn and relaxed on the rug.

Diana loved being in your surroundings, it was simply cozy and comfortable. You made her feel at home. She had stopped paying attention to the explanation and only admired you, until you finally took advantage of the situation and blushed slightly.

"What's it? Didn’t you like it? We can play something else if you find this boring too "

Diana laughed at you concern and denied it softly.

Suddenly an idea formed in she's head ..

"How about we make the game more fun?" You frowned in confusion and leaned your head slightly to the side.

It was one of the things Diana thought was too cute for you.

"Of course. Shoot" you shrugged, curiosity racing over your head.

"The game is based on conquest. Right? "You nodded in confirmation and Diana continued as if she didn’t want anything. "What if, on each continent that one of us conquers, we take a piece of clothing?"

You froze for a moment. Your throat went dry and you were sure that all your blood was on your face now.

Diana had a passive, calm expression on the outside, but inside she was content not to laugh at your shy reaction.

"W-why ... why this?" You stammered, adjusting the glasses on your face and looking anywhere but Diana.

"You need to loosen up more. That's what you told me last week. I thought it would help. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to" Diana touched your shoulder, feeling your tension. "Hey, it was just a joke. I would never tell you to do something you are not comfortable with "

And yes, you know. Diana was too good to make anyone embarrassed.

And she had already told you that she had grown up with many sisters and that female nudity was something she was already accustomed and indifferent to. So, why not?

Diana was your friend and she would never judge you for it.

Taking a deep breath and summoning courage from the bottom of his crease, you nodded.

"Lets do this. What's too much, anyway?"

Besides this was a game you were familiar with and Diana was not. You could win!

~~~~~

You certainly were not winning.

How was this possible anyway?

You were doing so well in the early rounds. So Diana had to take some clothes and ......

And she was a freak of a distraction.

You were no longer thinking straight and your moves were a mess.

Damn it. She had everything under control from the start.

"OK. I hate you now ..." you murmured, hugging your chest. You were so lost in your defeat that you didn’t even have time to feel ashamed for your partial nudity.

You were in only your sports bra and underwear. Diana still had her pants on, so yes. You were losing.

Diana gave a lascivious smile.

It was also a surprise to her.

Growing up on an island of Amazon warriors, well trained and certainly muscular in partial nudity your whole life should have prepared her to see you half-naked.

But this was not the case.

You was so beautiful. Your skin looked so soft and smooth and her hands itched to caress you.

She just wanted to sprinkle kisses everywhere, on every little freckles you had. Leave a red line on your neck ....

"Diana ..." you cut off the rider's thinking. Diana cleared her throat and met your eyes.

"Yes?" Diana still had to shake her head to ward off the dirty thoughts from her head while you seemed completely unconscious

"You won, you ask. Remember?"

Diana bit her lower lip. She really tried to keep a line of friendship with you, but she knew she felt much more than that.

If she risked now, she could lose you. But at the same time she could win her heart too.

In the meantime you stared at her in silence. You were relaxed, leaning slightly backward, propped up in your arms as Diana crawled up to you, hovering over you.

"Anything?" Diana asked in a whisper and you were sure your neurons were frying right now.

Your whole brain seemed to be on alert. A flashing red light and thumbnails of you running around.

Not knowing if she could find your voice, you just nodded.

"Can I kiss you?" Diana asked softly, but you still noticed a slight concern in her voice. Rejection, maybe?

With your brain in short circuit and your voice hidden somewhere deep in your throat, you didn’t want to give Diana the negative intention and in a small surge of courage you moved a hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her mouth to find yours.

Diana fell on you as the kiss became more and more heated and passionate.

And as Diana's hands tightened around her waist and your legs wrapped around her waist, you realized that losing a game might not be so bad ...

You should lose more often.

So for those who got a little confused about the game. "La conquite deu monde" was a game created in France and popularized in North America through the Parker brothers with the name Risk and a Brazilian decided to create a version of the game (because at the time there were no board games for adults on here). And so WAR was born. It has several formats such as WAR Roman Empire. WAR Vikings and everyone is excellent. I hope you enjoyed it. I know I did not focus on the game, but if you're curious you can google for Risk (I've never played it, but I think it's similar). 

[noblecrumpet-dorkvision]

Monk Week: Martial Arts Styles

image credit: David Gaillet

There are many real-life examples of martial arts that you can pull from to describe your attacks and moves when roleplaying a monk. It’s definitely more flavorful to specialize in one technique so that other players can imagine how your character moves. A Muay Thai monk is going to move a lot differently than an Aikido monk. Think of how distinctly the four different nations in Avatar: the Last Airbender fight. There’s even a short behind-the-scenes video about them. Figure out what sort of style you want to use and that can help you flesh out your monk. Look up some tutorials on moves and styles unique to your martial art and use for your character! All it takes is watching a few online tutorials or demonstrations; it's not like we are giving up roleplaying to learn secret martial arts for forty years. Here is an exhaustive list of well-known martial arts that exist from around the world:

http://www.blackbeltwiki.com/martial-arts-styles

Here are some of my favorites (click the names for videos):

Aikido: Japanese. Focuses on evasion, joint locks, and redirecting attacks away from you. Looks sort of like dancing.

Bajiquan: Chinese. bursts of energy and powerful elbow strikes. Movement is slow and melodic but punctuated by powerful, lightning-fast strikes.

Canne de Combat: French. sporting cane fighting. I mostly just want to see a gentleman monk.

Capoeira: Brazilian. Dance fighting.

Hung Ga: Chinese. Many styles based on animals. (Crane, Dragon, Leopard, Snake, Tiger) 

Iaijutsu: Japanese. Art of drawing a sword; many forms.

Kung Fu (Monkey): Ape-like movements to attack from surprising angles or to fool opponents into thinking you are off-balance. This is where the Drunken Master style comes from. Also if you haven't seen that Jackie Chan movie shame on you.

Kung Fu (Praying Mantis): Redirecting attacks, joint locks, pressure point strikes, and traps.

Muay Thai: Thailand. Kickboxing with powerful knee and elbow attacks. Also here’s some bonus Ong Bak

Sikaran: Philippines. Almost exclusively a kicking martial art, with arms and hands used only for blocking.

Taekkyeon: Korean. leg sweeps, high kicks, spiraling arm movements to confuse enemies, soft movements with powerful force.

Example: Drunken Fist

image source: Jackie Chan in Drunken Master

To give you an example of what sorts of notes you might take, I will do my own with a style that Wizards has already made a subclass for: the Drunken Fist. A lot of people will either be confused or upset I didn't go into detail about the drunken style this week so I might as well sate your hunger for it here. And here is a link to Wizards' stats for the drunk monk for those that were unaware of it. Note that I know close to nothing about martial arts. I am just a guy with access to Google.

Drunken Fist Techniques:

Daoist Style of the 8 Immortals (as seen in the Drunken Master Jackie Chan film). Names can be used for names of moves, words of wisdom, or roleplaying.

Lu Dongbin: leader of the immortals, magic sword on his back. Style involves swaying back and forth to trick the enemy. Fast punches that return to a pose as if holding or drinking from a cup. Move where he kicks behind him.

Li Tieguai: cripple with one leg and a cane. Style is mostly standing on one leg and tumbling. The standing leg is kept rigid and ahead of you while moving. Leg sweeps, drop kicks, and a weird jump-and-tumble while grabbing the rigid leg.

Han Khongli: carries a cauldron of wine. Style mimics this by always returning to a stance with arms outstretched before you as if holding the "cauldron." Though Jackie mostly just does a bunch of punching, Wikipedia says it involves powerful tackles, so use this when describing a grapple attack.

Lan Caihe: immortal with a bamboo basket. Has a “sudden waist attack.” Seems to be holding this imaginary basket higher than the cauldron god and with one hand in front of the other.

Zhang Guolao: the elderly donkey rider. Most of this style involves kicking but has some notable moves. An airborne spinning double kick that ends by falling to the ground face-up, then kipping up into a front flip. Another is with the body rigid on the ground, held up by one arm and hopping while the other arm punches. Another that seems usable for any style is bending over backwards and punching the enemy at chest-height.

Cao Guojiu: the young and clever immortal. Most notable moves were flips, including one flip with his hands behind his back. The Wikipedia says this style includes locks and breaking joints, as well as attacking vulnerable parts of the body. This seems like a drunken Praying Mantis style (based on description alone).

Han Ziangzi: the flute-player. Hands return to a position mimicking holding a flute. This form is often used in the film when blocking or deflecting attacks, mostly with the wrists. One notable move was a raging forward attack with flailing arms.

He Ziangu: Miss He, who "flirts with the enemy to cover her short-range attacks" according to Wikipedia. This is likely the key part of drunken fist, which is luring opponents into a false sense of superiority. Use this when getting up close and personal and for comedic moments. Twist the waist whenever you dodge an attack.

Jumping to the side and backward onto one knee, twisting the waist towards the jump, likely to engage someone who was to your side or while stumbling about the battlefield to suddenly engage a foe.

Named moves found on YouTube:

Lotus Nymph Scattering Flowers: one hand up and other down while waggling fingers.

Han Khonli Waving a Fan: slapping back and forth with one hand.

Attracting the Phoenix with the Flute: In the flute position but spinning backward in a circle to presumably dodge.

Goliath Offering Wine: Cauldron position spinning around for a punch.

General Guan Stroking his Beard: the move itself wasn't notable, more like a position. I would pretend this move is a barrage of attacks or deflections mimicking stroking a beard. The name sounded cool so it's gotta be used.

Other observations:

Snakelike waist movements

Circular arcs with outstretched arms while flailing.

Stumbling has a certain rhythm to it as the center of balance moves back and forth.

Lots of interaction with the ground via drop-kicks or fake-outs or leg-sweeping.

Always miming taking a deep swig to seem off-balance. In-game this can be done by actually carrying a drink in-hand.

Anyway those are the sorts of things I would keep in mind after researching a fighting style. It’s more of a martial ART anyway, so describing your monk’s attacks is more about capturing the feel of it than knowing exactly how to execute every last move. 

Tune in tomorrow for some new homebrew subclasses for the monk! (no Drunken Fist but trust me there are some rad ones!)

[3one3]

The Sequel - 898

Black Belt

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

Fried panko prawns with arugula, mango, and red chili salad with Melocha sauce, crispy flatbread topped with sautéed wild mushrooms, more arugula, goat cheese, and truffle oil, Brazilian Picanha, ribeye, beef tenderloin, flank steak, Australian lamb chops, and Achiote marinated chicken carved at the table, and chaufa rice with chicken and egg tortilla- Christina tried a little of everything while Juan and his DJ friend and the guy’s manager talked about Manchester United. He made sure to tell them how much she hated that phase of his career, and how much she hated Manchester itself, just to ensure there would be extra teasing. Kyrre and his manager, Myles, were nice people. They were funny and easy-going. Juan got along with them really well. They talked music and football together like old friends, and had plenty of more getting-to-know-you type conversations too. The rider made cameos in all the conversations, and led a few when asked about her horses and the Olympics. She felt like she was contributing just enough to sound smart, funny, and interesting, without trying to inject herself into everything, without asking a million questions, and without seeking attention. One reason she ate so much food was the mixture of self-exclusion and lack of interest. She wanted to make a good impression, and reflect well upon her friend, but she was also tired, kind of bored, and really into the delicious Toro Toro food. Each time a server appeared at their table with a giant skewer of meat, she was the first to pass her plate over for a piece. She was also a little afraid the big EDM star would judge her music tastes if she discussed them too much. Only one of his songs tickled her fancy, after all, and it happened to be because Selena Gomez did the singing on it.

The restaurant was morphing into a lounge by the time Christina was declining dessert. Half of it was all comfortable seats and low tables anyway, meant for cocktails and hanging out, listening to the Latin DJ performing somewhere far enough from the foursome’s regular table that they only had to shout a little to hear each other rather than shout a lot. It was a pretty big place, and decorated kind of generically for such a high profile spot. The German girl and the Spanish guy had seen luxury hotel restaurants just like it all over the world. The vibe was nice though, and along with the more loungey atmosphere taking over late at night came a sense that fewer people were watching. Christina always felt in Qatar like there was someone ready to scold her like the security guard at Al Shaqab. Also, not a single person recognized Kygo, and only one stopped her date for a selfie, on the way into the hotel. The less noticeable she felt Juan was, the more free she felt to be unguarded with him. She could lean on him, or touch his arm, and not worry that it would become a “thing”.

“I’d love another one of these though,” she said about her cocktail. The actual alcohol in it was a mystery, but it tasted like apple, orange, lime, and bitters, with ginger ale.

“Are you lubricating for dancing?” the Chelsea man asked back with a warm smile. He paid the right amount of attention to her throughout dinner, and she appreciated it. He also spoke very proudly about her, and she loved that. “She loves Latin music,” he explained to his friends.

“No. I’m saving my dancing for tomorrow.” The girl in the sheer black button-up winked at the artist and then busied herself with refolding the sleeves that had been falling down all night. Her top was loose and comfortable and the tiny rouched cuffs refused to stay rolled near her elbows. She turned to Juan when the sleeve was somewhat secure again. “Can you go away for a minute?” she requested sweetly. “I need to speak to Kyrre about your Christmas present.”

“I guess,” he chuckled, his eyes doing an entry-level performance of the exploding mosaic thing she loved so much. I hope I didn’t just give it away, Christina worried, afraid that his happiness was an indication that he already knew what she intended to give him for Christmas. He got up and took his phones with him, and after a short trip to the men’s room he returned an interesting call, to André.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” the BVB player asked pleasantly enough when he answered. It wasn’t quite so late in Dortmund yet, so he was just heading back to the sofa after putting Lukas to bed.

“Everything is good. You said to call you back when I’m alone. I’m alone, for the most part,” Juan clarified, glancing around the entrance to the restaurant from where he loitered sort of between there and the hallway with the bathrooms.

“Yeah, I was just wondering...is Chris okay? Her ankle, I mean. She’s not hobbling around is she? Or pretending it’s fine but it’s actually terrible?” André collapsed heavily on the leather couch in his big boy playroom and then immediately regretted not grabbing the TV remote first. Spencer and Lucky both hopped up next to him and then took turns standing on his stomach with their front paws.

“No more than usual, I don’t think. She wrapped a zip bag of ice on it for the ride from the show to the hotel tonight. Why are you asking me instead of her?” Juan sounded slightly disapproving, but mostly curious.

“She went to see Müll yesterday and she said it went fine and there was nothing new going on with either ankle, but then one of the Dortmund doctors handed me a bottle of pills today that he said is for Chris from Müll, because she didn’t know of a pharmacy to tell him to call in the prescription. I get everything from the club, you know, and when she was sick last month her doctor had the medications to give her. We didn’t have to go get them. Well, there was some over the counter things too...”

“What are they for? Are they painkillers or something to make it better?”

“They’re for pain, yeah. I don’t want to call her and interrogate,” the German forward sighed. “I hate to cause problems when she’s at a show, and I don’t want to sound like I don’t trust her. So I was just wondering if she seems like she’s in a lot of pain.”

“Not really. It’s normal that she ices it, no?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to ask her about it? Not about the pills, obviously, but the doctor visit? She told me the same thing, that it was fine and nothing new came of it.”

“I don’t know. Maybe just...Just watch and see how she is. Where is she right now?”

“We’re still at dinner. I got up to use the restroom. She’s been a little quieter than normal but I think it was the food. Too busy eating to talk.”

“Okay. Well just let me know if you see anything...weird,” André finished with a shrug. Occasions uniting him and his wife’s boyfriend were always “weird” too, but sometimes he found it reassuring to have a partner in watching out for her wellbeing. The surprise pills really bothered him. He hated the conclusion that she was deliberately hiding anything from him, but something relating to her health was extra disturbing, and something relating to pain medicine, which she’d had issues with before, was even worse. He hoped it was all just an oversight- that she forgot to mention the drugs. The only problem with his hope was that it came with no explanation for why she’d need any drugs to forget in the first place if she weren’t concealing new, worsened pain, or worse.

“I will.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m sure she’ll call you when we get back...”

“Yeah.”

“All right, well...”

“Okay, ciao.”

“Bye.”

Juan returned to the rectangular booth, where Christina was holding court. The Christmas gift discussion must have been short, because she was talking about how the top dressage riders have professionals compose a bespoke score for their musical freestyle classes from scratch rather than simply using a track or doing an amateur job of cobbling clips together. She was also talking about how much she preferred recognizable tunes for dressage tests, either in whole or in part, because familiarity creates an emotional link to the audience right away, and an engaged audience can help the horse, and their energy about the test can help subliminally sway the judges. A little mistake here and there might not be punished as severely if the whole arena is loving the mood of the test, for example.

“Are there any events with music for jumping?” the composer at the table inquired curiously as Juan watched her sip from just her second short cocktail.

“Not specifically. Lots of shows play generic pop songs over the PA during rounds in not very big classes. Usually you get quiet for a grand prix course. There’s always loud music queued up for the end of the course if it’s a good one. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve jumped a clear round and then almost bit the dust because the second we land on the other side of the last fence they blast Katy Perry or something and the horse flips out. And then sometimes for fun classes, like gambler’s choice or hit and hurry, you can actually choose your “walk out” music.”

“Which do you pick?”

“Depends on the horse and the occasion but I love to go with Crockett’s Theme from Miami Vice. It’s Jan Hammer,” the equestrian giggled, blushing.

“I know Jan Hammer!” Kyrre exclaimed.

“Personally, or like, know the music?”

“Both!”

“You have no idea how much headache you’ve just come in for,” Juan snorted. “She will want an introduction now, so that she can make a music video with her favorite horse and Jan Hammer.”

“That is 100% correct. I’m going to need that hookup!”

“We can do that,” Myles nodded.

“Yay!” Christina clapped, her face all lit up with excitement and alcohol, and then leaned into Juan’s ear beside her to whisper, “Can we go soon?” I’m stuffed and tired, the rider thought. And it’s getting louder in here, and it’s not even the good kind of Latin music. I don’t think Juanin is desperate to stay. We’ve been here almost two hours.

“Of all the artists I’ve been asked to link someone up with, never has it been Jan Hammer.”

“Chris is...original,” the Spanish player commented. “And she turns into a pumpkin at midnight during competitions, so I’m going to have to get her back to the hotel.”

It took another 20 minutes to finish drinks and settle the bill, and 15 more to get back to the Four Seasons. Christina didn’t actually want to go to bed yet. She asked Juan if he was interested in finding a hidden lounger in the mazey garden around and between the swimming pools, and just hanging out for a little while with the smell of the sea and the din of the people closing down the beach bar. He was down. And he was picky about the lounger. After rejecting two of her suggestions, he selected the most private and secluded bed, near the grotto, concealed from the balconies above by a canopy, shielded from people walking on the main thoroughfare by tall and dense plants, and lit only with the obscured lights embedded in the walls of the shallow pool next to them. They put the back of the lounger up at about 45-degrees and got comfortable right away. The Spaniard had a light cardigan to put over his tee and was thus warmer than the girl in the silk harem pants and see-through shirt, so she snuggled up to him and stole his warmth. Naturally she shed her heels.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” she yawned once settled in the perfect spot. Juan had an arm around her and was preparing to show her the videos he made of Socks and Rio earlier on his phone.

“I’m surprised you’re so tired, cariña. It wasn’t the busiest day. Did you take anything for your ankle that makes you sleepy?”

“Nah. We stayed up late last night, and then you didn’t let me nap!”

“How is your ankle? It’s okay?”

“Same as always. It hurts a little extra right this second from walking around in those shoes.” Christina drew her right leg up and rested her heel on the player’s stomach to poke and squeeze her Achilles. It was the usual amount of swollen. “Daniel’s been trying to talk me into trying new lightweight stirrups. Almost everybody uses them. I like my old school ones though. I have traditional irons on all my saddles.”

“Can’t hurt to try, right?”

“I dunno. It’s hard to change something you’ve been using forever.”

“Can you get your foot out of my stomach now?”

“Sorry,” she laughed as she righted her pant leg and put her foot back down next to his. “Did you enjoy dinner? The food was so good.”

“Good company.”

“They’re cool. It’s really nice of them to get passes and stuff for all the guys.”

“I think I should tell you something.”

“You have a big gay crush on Kygo?”

“I told him you think all his music sounds exactly the same and that he’s a one piano trick pony.”

“Juanin!”

“I’m kidding!” the Blues midfielder sniggered while under attack from small but mighty pinching fingers. Two of them got a hold of his nipple and squeezed mercilessly. His knees curled up and he tried to twist away from the assailant. “I didn’t tell him! Stop!”

“Oh shut up, you probably like it,” Christina quipped after being forced to let go. She couldn’t reach over his arm when he turned all the way to the right, away from her. He rubbed his abused right nipple while pretending to be in great pain, and then snatched her hand to drag under his arm and squeeze right in front of his chest. The squeeze tightened enough to make her complain about the pain, and then he lightened up the grip but kept the hand for a few seconds, like he was hugging it, like when they were in bed or on the couch and she was the big spoon.

“Don’t start fights you don’t want to see to the end,” he advised her.

“You started it!”

“And now I own your hand. It’s mine. You’ll have to pay me to have it back.” Juan tugged her palm all the way up to his mouth and gently bit down on one of her knuckles. Her eyes were rolling.

“What’s it going to cost me?” she snorted.

“A lot. I’m very wealthy, cariña. I can already buy most things.”

“Name your price.” She pulled on her hand, found it completely trapped, and wiggled her fingers. Inside, she enjoyed the imprisonment. She enjoyed Juan being affectionate in any form.

“You know what it is,” he confidently replied.

“One miiiiillion pounds.”

“No. It’s actually not a monetary fee. It’s something else.”

“Then I have no idea.”

“What’s the one thing I want and can’t buy?”

“You can’t literally have my hand, Juanin. We’re not getting married at the Four Seasons Doha.” Christina was just kidding around, as she was sure her friend was, but the growing frustration in her voice was real.

“Besides that,” he droned back. “Think harder. What do I want?”

“How should I- No! You can keep my hand. We are not having butt sex!”

“Shhh!” The Chelsea star let go of her hand and rolled over quickly to cover her mouth with his own palm. Loudly talking about anal sex at the Four Seasons Doha was an even worse idea than getting married there. His girlfriend glared above his digits. He held the other pointer to his lips to emphasize the “shush”, and then slowly removed his hand from her natural pink lips.

“We are not having butt sex!” she whispered.

“Why not? Why don’t you trust me?” He relaxed back against the lounger and smiled with warmth and calm. Technically he was hounding her to do something she made clear she never wanted to do, but he wasn’t being a terrible jerk about it. There was even a palpable sense, to Christina, that he was mostly still just kidding around. “You don’t trust that I know what feels good?”

“It’s gross. It’s icky. It’s degrading.”

“It doesn’t have to be any of those things. At least let me get you started- let me show you how good it can feel.” Juan wrapped his hand around one of hers and folded down all of her fingers but one, which he held up between them. “At least try it. Just a finger. One. You don’t have to do the full thing the first time.” His persistence was annoying, but his genuine care for her showed in his persuasive case too. He truly believes that I’ll like it, she realized, perhaps for the first time. I’ve always just assumed he loves it and wants that and it would be great if I just tolerated it and let him do it. But he seriously thinks I’ll like it, she sighed to herself. I don’t know why. He’s yet to be wrong in that department, but come on. What could be enjoyable about sticking things up your butt if you’re a girl? This isn’t like when I was younger and said there’s no way any girl likes giving head and just pretends to please her boyfriend and then I found out that it can actually be totally awesome. This is objectively gross!

“Are you thinking it over, or...”

“It’s so...unclean though,” she complained, whining. “Even if for some inexplicable reason I did like the feeling, it’s so ewwww. The smells involved! I can cope with horse poop and baby poop and even toddler poop but I can’t cope with them in a sex environment. That’s so not sexy! What if something icky happens? You’ll never not think of it whenever we’re having sex! You’ll make fun of me forever. Or you’ll just be totally grossed out and never turned on around me again. It’s also not even safe. There are infections!”

“Oh come, I won’t make fun of you. Baby girl I know what I’m doing. I know how to be safe, and nothing gross will happen.”

“You say that like you’re some kind of anal sex pro,” Christina bristled. This is one of those times when he makes me feel like a dumb kid because he is old and wise and experienced. Bah humbug. Look at his face though. That face is like...begging to be trusted. “How many girls’ butts have you fucked?” she asked in a tone befitting of the age she felt, maturity wise, in comparison to him. The Spaniard’s eyes shifted away from hers and he began to mumble numbers.

“Carry the two...”

“Juanin!”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” he man-giggled at her, reaching to take a hold of her other hand so that he had both in his possession. His laughter and smile said he was having a ball with the teasing, even as he promised not to make fun of her if anything embarrassing happened. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Four.”

“Taylor...”

“Taylor, Alexis, a random girl I saw a few times years ago, and my first girlfriend.”

“And did they want to do it or did they just do it for you? Weh- Lex definitely wanted it, right? She had “cum in my butt” written all over her.”

“Three of them already liked it, and the other we just tried together and enjoyed it.”

“I’ll take all of this into consideration but don’t get your hopes up,” Christina warned. He nodded and winked at her.

“It’s a start. Now relax. You look so stressed.”

“You’re stressing me out! Plus, why are you so obsessed with this? Is my vagina not satisfying enough? Am I boring you? You need to-“

“Shhhh! And no. Your vagina is...by far the best place my dick has ever been.”

“Riiiight.” Despite her continued dismissive eye rolling, the German girl stretched out on her half of the chaise again and snuggled into the player’s chest, where she had been perfectly at home before he said whatever he did that made her try to pinch him in the first place. She couldn’t remember. As she finally got still and relaxed inside and out, the sound of the sea in the distance returned, she could make out laughter and music from the bar, and their hiding place felt cozy and nice again.

“I swear, that’s the truth. I’m not obsessed with anal. I just think you’d like it. I like to make you feel good. You don’t know how good it can feel to have so many different places stimulated at once.”

“Yeah, sure. You’re always talking about it for me. Nothing to do with you.”

“Do you want me to never bring it up again?”

“I don’t care.”

“Can I have a kiss?” The Chelsea man asked sweetly. Specifically, he asked in a voice no one but his girlfriend ever heard. It was cute, and intimate, and kind of immature almost. It was only ever used at close quarters, in private. In was flirty but in a way reserved for only the person he didn’t need to flirt with anymore. He’d never use it to speak to some new girl he flirted with for fun. It was like his version of the little girl voice Christina used in very affectionate situations. She scooted up a little and pursed her lips together for the smooch. “I love you,” he added after, in the same voice, while she nuzzled into his sweater.

“I love when you’re sweet-boyfriend Juanin and not black-belt-in-anal-sex Juanin.”

[jefferyryanlong]

Fresh Listen - Antonio Carlos Jobim, Wave (A&M Records, 1967)

(Some pieces of recorded music operate more like organisms than records. They live, they breathe, they reproduce. Fresh Listen is a periodic review of recently and not so recently released albums that crawl among us like radioactive spiders, gifting us with superpowers from their stingers.)

Elevators. Supermarkets.

In a popular culture that distorts and deforms every aesthetic absorbed into its parasitic and ever-decaying life cycle, bossa nova has long been a joke, drained of its musical significance through juxtaposition with the most banal of circumstances. Elevators. Supermarkets. But how many of us has really ever heard bossa nova in the elevator, or lowly emitting through hidden speakers in the grocery store, as soulless muzak? The last song I remember hearing at my neighborhood market was “Emotional Rescue” by the Rolling Stones. And I ride a section of the best elevators everyday, and the only recurring sound is the synthesized likeness of a clacking keyboard while my fellow riders type things into their phones.

The myth of elevator music, specifically, bossa nova, is, for me, akin to an implanted replicant memory–I assume that it has happened to me, that at one point I sprinted to that monumental job interview, and when I slipped between the closing doors and pressed the button for the thirtieth floor, the gentle strains from “The Girl from Ipanema” with its maddening rhythmic syllables magnified my anxiety to something unbearable, and the ride was a never-ending ascent toward failure. Or I stepped into the elevator with the beautiful girl from a floor above in the dormitory, and bossa nova made a fool of both of us, robbing us of our ability to speak. For what could elevate the banality of bossa nova? Sometimes I feel that these things must have happened to me, else I would have no opinion of bossa nova at all. But no, these made up situations were simply collected, copied, and transferred from the weak imagination of someone else’s consciousness.

These memories don’t belong to me. They are the result of years of compounded gags in movies and television. I believed in the joke, and when I felt compelled to truly come to grips with the form, when I was mature enough to treat it as a sincere expression of composers and musicians from a country lousy with genius composers and musicians, I couldn’t take bossa nova seriously. In my mind I was playing out the fiction that had been programmed into me, that bossa nova’s cultural meaning is defined as a punchline in American popular culture.

It was in an auditorium on the University of Hawai’i campus that bossa nova grabbed me by the collar, shook me up, slapped me in the face a couple of times, and threw me down the stairs. Who was I, some twenty-something fuck who believed rock’n’roll to be the epitome of artistic expression to cast dispersion on this internationally beloved music genre’s meaning or intent?  Bossa Nova: The Sound That Seduced the World was not a definitive documentary, but it made me realized how stereotypical my thoughts on this form were. (A later documentary I saw in the same auditorium had a similar effect on me: I’d never been all that impressed by the records of Chet Baker until Let’s Get Lost showed how age and personal devastation had transformed him into a broken yet exceedingly eloquent instrument). An early insight I received from the documentary had to do with the form’s characteristic mellowness–as one musician explained, in the crowded apartments of Corcovado, the practitioner of the emerging sound of bossa nova had to pick on his or her guitar gently, lest the neighbors on the other side of thin walls become enraged. In those subdued living rooms and bedrooms of urban Brazil, the insistence of samba evolved into a kind of melancholic eroticism, its rhythms designed to inspire smaller movements in the body, a slight sway of the hip instead of a complicated step, a lingering good-bye kiss instead of a twirl or a spin.

Though I had a slight familiarity with Astrud and Joao Gilberto, as well as some of the work they recorded with Stan Getz, the artist I felt could truly expose me to the meditative soul of bossa nova was Antonio Carlos Jobim, composer of the most celebrated works of  the genre, a maximalist arranger and minimalist musician. I had been dissatisfied with his 1963 album The Composer of Desafinado, Plays, with its sentimental string sections sapping the melodies of any real emotional weight, but was drawn to his 1967 record, Wave, by its striking cover. The dark image of a solitary giraffe, its spindly legs gathered under its body as if captured in mid-run, bisected by a horizon splitting the sky dyed green and a desiccated landscape dyed blue. The image was significant to me because I needed it to be significant. It spoke to me, and I believed Jobim’s interior music would explain the giraffe’s lonely trek through a freak environment. Before I played Wave, I expected psychedelic dissonance (if psychedelic dissonance could be achieved in the mode of bossa nova). I expected earth pleas, the rumblings and complaint of a ravaged world. What would be the meaning of a rejuvenating wave to the depopulated world of the cover? 

The music turned out to be, well, bossa nova. Not avant-garde explorations of tone and harmony. The music was conventional, but it was immaculately constructed and luxuriant in its unhurried sweep through the air it occupied. Although Jobim’s songs, as it turned out, had nothing to do with the giraffe on the cover image (maybe it was just the art director’s take on those trippy times), they did, as a collection, show how melancholy can shade the surrounding world into alien colors–the inherent sadness that seeps through much of the music on Jobim’s Wave filters the perceptions of the listener with blue and green.

The first thing prospective listeners should understand in experiencing Wave is that it is, above all else, a guitar record. Though the music has the same symphonic imagination found in The Composer of Desafinado, Plays, and incorporates piano, flute, piccolo, harpsichord, and strings (thankfully, more tastefully so), the focal point of Jobim’s album, rhythmically and harmonically, is the plucked, picked, and occasionally strummed acoustic guitar, played with such precision that it almost seems mechanized. Jobim’s style is hardly hair-on-fire axe wizardry, though its surprising nuances, the significant press or release of a finger here and there, establish the guitar as the instrument around which every element of Jobim’s songs are based. The guitar sets and maintains the the tempo for the percussion, and it establishes the chords melodies are birthed from. Though his guitar, Jobim is given access to the blueprint of an aural architectural scheme that both reinforces and transcends bossa nova. Even the bass and drums are subordinated to the percussive framework laid out by Jobim’s complicated guitar patterns.

The album’s title track, “Wave,” is put together like a breezy twelve-bar blues, Jobim’s single-handed piano lines messing around with ad-libs of the melody line. This isn’t of the waves along the coast of Big Sur that drove Jack Kerouac into the throes of death depression. This wave rolls up around your ankles easy-like, taking nothing from you as it slides away, coolly and obligingly. Throughout the record, Jobim makes interesting moves with woodwinds, directing the flutes to ride low, fortifying notes ai for a lighter, higher pitched piccolo to step lightly upon.

“The Red Blouse’s” seemingly chill groove is subverted by a brisk rhythm that pulses in the bloodstream, sugars from the alcohol of a brunch-time mimosa as you’re awakened from a nap in the sun. It’s melodic refrain, maybe less a melody than an insistent riff, is taken up by a variety of instruments, each progressively grating as the song reaches for its climax.

Though in the classification system favored by records stores bossa nova is generally shelved in the jazz section, its forms, as well as its harmonic interests,  are perhaps too premeditated, in opposition to the obligatory improvisational freedom offered through jazz musicianship. “Look to the Sky” is the most “jazz-like” song on Wave, though the lead horn is less about spontaneous composition around harmonic possibilities than about playing straightforward variations of the melody.

The calculated and clean “Batindha” is, essentially, a guitar exercise, Jobim subtly altering chord expressions toward an understated display of the beauty of a broken heart. “Triste” could be an extension of “Wave,” except Jobim cleverly inserts the lofty blown notes of a Fench horn between the simple piano runs. The melody  of “Mojave” is a conversation between the piano and the other instruments, each player’s sentence ending in a definitive period. “Dialogo” emphasizes the romanticism of expressing art through a gauze of sadness, while “Lamento” with its sole vocal performance of Wave, attacks depression with a quick beat. “Antigua” allows the bass, for the most part overshadowed by the more prominent rhythmic operations of the guitar, to move around, to reach for the kind of fluidity that the previous songs have inhibited. Bass legend Ron Carter takes the opportunity to display his presence without drawing away from the totality of Jobim’s vision. The album’s final track, “Captain Bacardi,” disposed of the accumulated melancholy and infuses the atmosphere with the feverish motions of a party, and the song’s Brazilian percussion at last moves the thesis of Wave away from leisurely reflection to a physical self-actualization, in which dancing is free and open.

We plod through this world alone, mostly. Even to closest friends and loved ones we only reveal those aspects of ourselves we feel will be understood. The dark stuff, the fear and sadness, we may even hide from ourselves, until that darkness comes to perch on the headboards of our beds, keeping watch over an interminable insomnia. Wave washes over the unspeakable sadness of its author with brief, pretty tunes, and those notes that resonate within our darkness are relieved by the possibility of also being brief, easy-going, and pretty.