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letterboxd · 4 years

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Empathy Machine: The Value of Film.

Kambole Campbell surveys the rapid rise in films our members are watching to deepen their understanding of racism, and recommends some deeper cuts once you’ve finished with the ‘first five’: 13th, Do The Right Thing, I Am Not Your Negro, Malcolm X and Selma.

As worldwide action against police violence (as well as a normalization of state-sponsored racism and armed-citizen violence) continues in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, it can feel strange and perhaps inappropriate to be talking about film, or even considering it.

But although the act of engaging with film is far from activism, there is still value to be found. These events are cyclical, and painful, and exhausting; you shouldn’t insist that your Black friends help you understand, you should be doing the work yourself. One easy way to start: with the many creative and galvanizing works by Black filmmakers. The likes of Spike Lee, Ava DuVernay, Cheryl Dunye and so many others have already done the job, all you have to do is watch.*

And, as clichéd as it feels to invoke, the simplest reasoning comes from Roger Ebert, who said: “Movies are the most powerful empathy machine in all the arts. When I go to a great movie I can live somebody else’s life for a while. I can walk in somebody else’s shoes.”

A lot of Letterboxd members feel the same way. Just as cinephiles flocked to Steven Soderbergh’s Contagion as the coronavirus pandemic began to spread, viewings of the likes of Ava DuVernary’s documentary 13th, Spike Lee’s magnum opus Do the Right Thing and Raoul Peck’s elegiac James Baldwin essay film I Am Not Your Negro—along with more films focused on Black experience, history and protest—have spiked in viewing and review numbers in the past fortnight.

Malcolm X, Selma, Daughters of the Dust, The Hate U Give, If Beale Street Could Talk, Just Mercy, Fruitvale Station, and more are all enjoying an undeniable surge of viewership—in some cases, an increase of a thousand percent over their historical viewership numbers. And a matching rise in the number of reviews gives us insight into the feelings, or sense of catharsis, people are seeking from these films. Here, we take a survey of recent reactions to the top five—followed by suggestions for digging deeper.

Activist and scholar Angela Davis in ‘13th’.

13th (2016) Directed by Ava DuVernay

At the time of writing, 13th was the current most popular film by volume of activity on Letterboxd. (Within 24 hours of its release, Spike Lee’s Da 5 Bloods jumped into the top spot, with 13th now in second place.) It’s easy to see why Letterboxd members gravitated to the film—Ava DuVernay’s 2016 documentary on the loophole of the 13th Amendment to the Constitution, which effectively allows slavery in the modern day, is comprehensive and convincing.

Built around interviews with a number of Black academics and a thorough history of Jim Crow laws through to modern-day mass incarceration in the US, it’s an important and effective primer for anyone looking for a basic comprehension of new methods of oppression from the state. Part of the film’s power comes from, as member and film critic Josh Lewis puts it, “the way DuVernay sequences this, the way she moves us through the major events, records and timelines with passion and anger, allowing Black voices and art to naturally narrate”.

As with a number of films from the last decade that examine Black protest, there’s a juxtaposition between modern imagery and rhetoric, and systemic racism from a history that America too often insists it has left behind. It makes clear the repetition of this history of oppression for Black Americans with powerful editing, as DuVernay organizes archive footage from the past through to the present day to emphasise this point.

Spike Lee on the set of ‘Do the Right Thing’ (1989).

Do The Right Thing (1989) Directed by Spike Lee

It could be said that the recognition of this repetition is part of why these particular films have proven so popular in recent weeks. Perhaps the most significant part of the engagement with older work like Spike Lee’s (arguably best) film Do The Right Thing, is that the imagery hasn’t aged. As Ashley Clark says in a recent piece for Time on films about Black history and protest, “…it’s amazing to see those patterns repeat now, specifically in the discourse of people focusing more on the destruction of property than on lives that are lost”. Do The Right Thing’s palpable anger and unending relevance make it one of the best fictional films to watch right now, if not for understanding and empathy (“I have a lot of empathizing to do,” Letterboxd member Ted agrees), then for some kind of catharsis.

Denzel Washington as Malcolm X in Spike Lee’s 1992 biopic.

Malcolm X (1992) Directed by Spike Lee

It’s not just Do The Right Thing either—even just going off the numbers, Spike Lee is a go-to name when it comes to engaging with Black people’s history in America and in American film. He’s been engaging with these subjects of protest and anguish for the longest time, and there are few such prolific directors in the way he broaches the subject, crossing the line back and forth between fiction and non-fiction, readily blending the two together in many cases.

That status feels evident in the corresponding surges of popularity for Malcolm X, one of his most acclaimed works, and BlacKkKlansman, one of his most recent. His latest work, the excellent, galvanizing war drama Da 5 Bloods (streaming on Netflix now), acts as a reminder that institutional racism is not just a symptom of the current establishment, but something deeply embedded in American ideology. It’s a multimedia examination of the overlap of racism and imperialism, its arguments backed up by clips of Angela Davis, Kwame Ture, Muhammad Ali and of course Malcolm X.

Malcolm X is a valuable watch in that it provides a loving and complex portrait of a man often vilified by white liberals as much as white conservatives, an example of the ‘wrong’ way to protest or take action. It’s a counterpoint to the reductive and often-held perspective of the man, who is often presumed to have stood in opposition to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It’s a humanist portrait of a man constantly changing, one brought to life by, as Jaime Rebenal writes, “one of cinema’s very finest performances” from Denzel Washington (whom, I must reinforce, was truly robbed of that Oscar). A long film, but not a minute wasted.

David Oyelowo is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in Ava DuVernay’s ‘Selma’ (2014).

Selma (2014) Directed by Ava DuVernay

On the flip-side of this is Ava DuVernay’s Selma, which paints an equally complicated portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., focusing on the organized action that lead to the Voting Rights Act of 1965. “As sobering as it is galvanizing” writes Letterboxd member and correspondent Ella Kemp. Selma’s vision of MLK was of a complicated man, one steadfast in his commitment to peaceful resistance and protest for civil rights, but still a man as opposed to a saint.

I could talk at length about that supposed saintliness being thrown back in the faces of Black people, as well as the gossip compounded by American institutions to discredit the man’s work—DuVernay and David Oyelowo’s interpretation of MLK saves me that time.

All beautifully lensed by the—at that point—upcoming cinematographer Bradford Young (whose subsequent credits include Arrival and Solo: A Star Wars Story), and with typically gorgeous costume design from Black Panther Oscar-winner Ruth E. Carter (a long-time associate of Spike Lee), it’s a visual treat as well.

Novelist, poet, playwright, essayist and activist James Baldwin.

I Am Not Your Negro (2016) Directed by Raoul Peck

I Am Not Your Negro, Raoul Peck’s documentary-slash-adaptation of the unpublished James Baldwin memoir, provides a similar juxtaposition between America’s past racism and its present. Narrated by Samuel L. Jackson, words from Baldwin’s unfinished manuscript ‘Remember This House’ explore American anti-Blackness through a mixture of archival footage and anecdotes from Baldwin, as he recounts the lives of his civil rights leader friends Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Medgar Evers and others.

As with many other Letterboxd reviews, Daisoujou reflects on the persistence of state-sponsored racism, writing that it’s “a movie that feels like it was made yesterday, based on writings from roughly the 80s, which also feel written yesterday, in the most depressing way”. A lot of identifying with films detailing Black protest is to recognize this cycle, the seeming neverending-ness of it all; that engagement with racism is not just something occurring in the present moment but something that carries the weight of history, at all times.

A scene from Cheryl Dunye’s ‘The Watermelon Woman’ (1996).

These are all strong starting points for the beginning of an empathy with Black protest, struggle, history and art on film. But it’s just scratching the surface. The five films above mostly skew towards the recent, when there’s a long and exceptional history of Black cinema.

It’s important to consider the expansiveness of Black art, that not all of it is about our tragedies, there’s more to witness than our pain, and this deserves attention after crisis as well. K. Austin Collins’ introduction for his Vanity Fair list says it best: “Black defiance on-screen is bigger than Do the Right Thing, however. Black defiance (including but not limited to outright protest), Black anger, Black art: These are vast territories.” As Collins’ excellent two-part list states, the history of our representation and the self-determination of our on-screen legacies of course goes far beyond just the work of Spike Lee and Ava DuVernay.

You could watch Cheryl Dunye’s The Watermelon Woman for a film examining just that: how the narrow idea of ‘representation’ has failed so many, that their own histories have to be invented, and how Black people often have to deal with art’s frequent rejection of their own image.

You could watch the work of Kathleen Collins, you could watch Paris is Burning for a history of New York City ballrooms and drag culture (and here’s K. Austin Collins again with a recent re-reading of that film, in conversation with its white director). The history of Black Britishness also often gets left at the wayside—both Collins and Clark recommend Handsworth Songs and Blacks Britannica for pictures of Black thought and struggle in the context of Thatcher’s Britain (and many more in their aforementioned lists, both well worth checking out).

The protests have also, naturally, lead to conversations around representation of Black people across media, in front of and behind the camera. Such discovery is both vital and easier than ever, as the protests have inspired artists and streaming sites to make their library of work more accessible—among those, the Criterion Channel, having dropped the paywall for much of its collection focusing on Black lives.

Related content

Black Life on Film: a master list, and broken down into sub-genres, by Adam Davie (he discussed the list, a three-year labor of love, on episode 6 of The Letterboxd Show podcast).

Black Saint’s list of Films by Black Directors You Should Watch.

Queer, Black, 21st Century: a list of 21st-century films featuring queer, Black experiences, by Black filmmakers (directors and/or writers), for Pride 2020.

Letterboxd’s official top 100 narrative feature films by Black directors

*It’s important to remember amongst all this that just watching these films isn’t activism; action is also required. Educating yourself is just the first step. Ways you can help, tangibly.

#kambole campbell #black lives matter #ava duvernay #13th #13th amendment #spike lee #da 5 bloods #do the right thing #black life on film #black directors #letterboxd

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bookandcover · 4 years

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Haunting, complex, raising many questions and intentionally giving no easy answers--this is a beautiful novel, compressed into a glittering, sharp gem. I was really pleased to receive this novel as a gift and as a recommendation from my literary friend. I hadn’t heard of Alexander Chee before this book, but he’s clearly someone I should know. The space his work inhabits--between fiction and nonfiction--is a lovely, poignant suspension, dream-like, that asks us to consider others’ lives and to look critically at our own.

It seems an oversimplification to compare Edinburgh to Lolita--both beautiful novels dealing with the fringe topic of pedophilia--because this book is its own thing, its own life. Yet, I did think of Lolita while reading this because of the beauty of the prose and the awareness of beauty on the part of the author. The sense of beauty that permeates these pages, that takes on a life of its own and transcends above any subject matter, reminded me of Nabokov. Chee’s prose is stunning, direct, effervescent--like sinking into a crystal, still lake. Chee writes, as Fee contemplates and then attempts suicide for the first time: “The new year is underway, and the snow makes everything seem perfected, cleaned off and put away until the spring. The evergreens are the suggestion or the idea of a tree, a green shadow helmeted in white. And the bare trees, arterial, reach out as if they give up something of the earth to the air above.” The novel’s characters, like Chee through his prose and his literary craft, experience a love of beauty, and a longing for it, which creates both a contrast and a resonance with the darkest moments in the novel. Chee’s characters struggle with depression, violence, self-harm, sexual assault, and the erasure of their identities. But, at the same time, they leap toward beauty--elegant lines of others’ bodies captured in art, mythology and history studied and retold, repeated motifs of fire and foxes burning brightly against a dark landscape, and the ever-present sublimity of nature.

I, personally, was very aware of the setting of this novel as part of its beauty. The landscape of Maine--the weather, the flowers, the ocean, the outdoors--is woven throughout the book. This landscape seems to exist in relationship to the emotional state of the narrator (whether Fee or Warden). The natural objects are not symbols, as they too often are in literature. Stones and butterflies don’t represent something that they’re not. Instead, they appear at the right moments, as if summoned into being by the emotional state of each narrator. Or, perhaps, each narrator is able to see them, suddenly, because of a familiarity, a recognition between his inner life and the outer life of the world. We, the readers, notice these connections. Warden sees the glacial erratics, in the oceans and fields, and asks Fee about them just when he feels out of place, just when he feels shattered against a larger, impossible stone. Fee works for Speck and sees his painted fresco of Edinburgh, encounters the letter from the trapped man, right when he feels buried, assumed “dead” by those around him. But we’re not asked to overanalyze these objects, to cheapen them through assignment of meeting. Their role, instead, is to create affinity--a common feeling, an intimacy--between a vulnerable human and a, somehow, sympathetic world.

It was certainly an odd experience to read a prominent book set in a place I’m so familiar with; I swam in the Cape Elizabeth pool for swim meets in middle school and high school, I camped throughout Maine, I drove through the streets of South Portland that Chee mentions, my guy friends growing up were in Boy Singers of Maine (which Chee calls the Pine State Boys Choir in the novel). Especially in the first section of the book, this familiarity took some getting used to. But it also added to the experience of reading for me. It felt like this story was being told to me by a friend, someone close to me and talking about things I was familiar with. Fee’s experiences, therefore, took on the added horrifying level of proximity, a kind of “this could be me” or “this could be my close friend” feeling. I felt, acutely, the privilege of this not being me, of having been able to grow up slowly and at my pace. Of having been able to ask questions about myself and my identity when I was ready to and not on someone else’s schedule or with someone else’s cold, self-serving interference.

One of the values of this book, I think, is the way that it does not provide easy answers about pedophilia, sexuality, queerness, and identity. I love the fact that, in the second half of the novel, Warden shows us the experiences of a teenager wildly attracted to an adult, crossing the stigmatized border between adult and child in a very different way than it is crossed by his father Eric Gorendt. At the same time, the novel’s awareness that the line between adult/child is not simple, and that love and attraction can move across it, does not lessen nor excuse Big Eric’s crimes. Big Eric’s crimes are never treated as anything less than horrifying and reprehensible; we see the terrible impact on the boys he assaulted--from Peter’s suicide to Zach’s suicide. Yet, at the same time, we’re privy to Fee’s guilt, his confusion over whether his sexuality played some strange role in these crimes. Fee seems to repeatedly wonder whether Big Eric sensed in him some affinity, some willingness to be complicit? Fee’s misguided guilt, his confusion, his ongoing obsession with Peter and boys who look like him allows us readers to view all these issues and questions around attraction as ones that are deeply complex. We can, and we are asked to, condemn Big Eric. But we are not asked to condemn attraction beyond the barriers that are normally established by society. And we are asked to question our own assumptions, about anything.

At the heart of this novel, there is love. It’s a novel, fundamentally, about love. Love that is not to be confused with attraction, with obsession, with selfishness--although the characters question themselves, repeatedly, on the reasons they experience all of these feelings. I’m not sure I understand the ending of this novel--a lot seems unresolved--as it spirals into a rather shocking resolution with Warden’s attack on his father (the kind of decisive action Fee never seemed to be able to bring himself to?), the sudden affair between Fee and Warden, and Fee’s choice (is it final?) to abandon Warden and return to Bridey. After thinking about this a lot, my interpretation is that the ending works as a reminder of the central, essential role of love. Love is healing. Fee is the main character and he moves through the novel from a place of trauma to a resolution in healing. The novel, while feeling unfinished around certain plot points, is finished when its narrative arc is understood to be Fee’s journey toward healing. His brief, passionate relationship with Warden allows him to directly address the long-term trauma that he carries, which has solidified in an obsession with Peter and Peter’s death. At the same time, his choice to let Warden go, to go back to Bridey, shows real growth and healing. Fee chooses the relationship that means “moving on.” He chooses the adult relationship and the life he built for himself, and not the relationship that is about processing and recycling his past. Fee’s choice is an act of self-love, an act of healing, an act of freedom.

It’s a bit troubling(?) that this act of self-love, this choice, might come at expense of other characters. The jury’s still out on whether “troubling” is the way I feel about this... The novel does a good job setting up Bridey’s character and liberating him from this; he loves Fee wholly and this love comes with understanding. He understands that Fee needs to process his past and he is not irrevocably hurt by this (in fact, he almost seems to see Fee’s affair coming, with his comments on “needing to keep in practice in case I get dumped.”) Bridey finds Fee at the end of the novel. He knows him. He waits for him. And this is the love that changes Fee, that allows him to choose a life free from his past. The Lady Tammamo myth circles around again at the end of the book, as Fee reflects that “love ruins monsters.” All Lady Tammamo needed to do to become human was to love one man. Fee, too, seems to become human, in his own eyes, faced with Bridey’s unconditional love. There is hope for them, going forward, awareness of a new version of Fee that is better to be in love with.

But what of Warden? We don’t get Warden’s resolution, his reaction to Fee’s departure, and I wondered about this. Warden’s descriptions of his love for Fee always got to me, always took hold of my heart and squeezed, transfixed me--like the butterflies he preserves on pins. These are the kinds of lines you’d want to write and rewrite, on journals, on skin, in places you’d see them everyday.

“And so it is that the faint, caused by my thinking of the theft of the picture, is the first reason he takes me in his arms.”

“I love him, I say, surprising myself. When he’s around, it feels like he’s in charge of everything in me. I don’t know what to do with that. Do you kiss it? I don’t know.”

“So let me get this straight. You throw up so much that you are fainting, and now you have been prescribed drugs, because you want this man so much, but, you aren’t gay.”

“How tear, as in to cry, and tear, as in to rip or pull, how they’re spelled the same? You could write them and someone reading would not know if you were crying or separating.” [Outro: Tear, anyone?]

I wanted happiness and healing for Warden, as well. But the bird inside him scares me. Perhaps his story is another story--Warden’s story, he was part of Fee’s only briefly. Is Warden’s story a tragedy or one in which he comes to know himself, though this experience of young love, and moves on--also looking to the future, and not the past? I hope so. If Fee has left Warden behind, another hurt child, that ending for this novel is, certainly, troubling.

I don’t have an easy answer here (or anywhere). But the novel’s resistance to resolution/finality is realistic, and one of the most powerful moves of this story, as it inhabits that uncanny valley between fiction and non-fiction.

#edinburgh #alexander chee #queer lit #maine #good reads

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eureka-its-zico · 5 years

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Pricked Pt. 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Scenario: You and Mino have been together since you were eighteen years old. You’ve been through so much together, but time changed who you both were, what you both wanted and, ultimately, it ended. It ended once, twice, and a million times after. Each time fate somehow bringing you back to one another; but how cruel could fate really be? For with every time you crashed back into one another, you felt pieces’ fray and rip at the seams; pricked by love thrones that never healed.

A/N: Okay.Admit it. How many of you thought this would never get finished? It’s finally happened. I finished Pricked. Over time, I received countless private messages and anonymous asks about finishing this. I’m sorry it took over two years for me to get back into writing. I’m sorry it took so long, you guys. But, my sincerest hope is that after reading this, it all feels worth it. I appreciate the countless support for my fiction. For the continous shares and likes while I’ve been away. You all helped remind me why I started writing in the first place: for the love of telling a story. I hope you love this one. Much Love, Jenn.

Genre: Mino x Reader

Words: 5850

Disclaimer: As always, any gifs that are used are not mine and all credit is given to their rightful owners.

It was almost comical how a room that felt so big became hauntingly small. The echoes of his last words etching themselves in your bones until they ached where you sat. Immobile, like a frightened child that hears the creaking sounds of old stairs; threatening to make your heart leap at the thought of old monsters.

Mino couldn’t have meant it. Just like you knew, without a doubt, you were only pretending to be self-righteous. To care about an unnamed woman who should’ve never taken your place to begin with: a poor man’s replacement. A replacement you yourself tried to make of him. The whole reason you showed up here, now, was to force him to choose you. Or else what had been the whole point of the large affair you’d created, if it wasn’t to lead to an end that favored you both.

But this was where your self-righteousness ended.

In the distance your ears could hear the shower running. You knew Mino was undoubtedly undressed on the other side of the door. His last words a farewell forever: a painful dismissal.

How could you blame him? When your lips failed to move and voice refused to work. Because that self-righteousness flared back up and made you believe you could do the right thing.

What was right?

What could be right about losing him, and spending the rest of your life with the maybe’s and what if’s. All you needed to say was what you’d wanted, and allowed, the selfishness that rained over the past year to win. Because honestly, why did you decide now of all times to act so holy? You wanted to do the right thing, regardless of it being too little too late. To believe that self-sacrifice, being a martyr, would be enough to forgive yourself for choosing to hurt so many.

But you were done falling on swords. Done playing games. If you didn’t tell him now, right the fuck now, that you couldn’t live with the idea of him waking up besides the wrong woman every morning, not you, some stranger who only saw what she wanted, knew nothing about how he used to hide his favorite snacks under pillows during his first year of training, and bleached his hair so badly it left his head raw for days. How he ruined so many school shirts with stains of ink from broken pens that drove his mother into an annoyed rant. She knew nothing of his past. What made him. She only knew what he chose to show her like a carefully wrapped present. But you - you knew all. Past and present. You wanted to know who he became in the future. To see the version of yourself he talked about with confidence reflecting in his eyes.

You knew, deep down, underneath the claustrophobic hands of fear, that you could be better for each other. There would be no more running. No more imaginative ‘What If’s’, to keep you at bay.

You weren’t surprised to find your feet already guiding you towards the door of the bathroom. Your heart already knew where it was trying to go: it had just been waiting for your mind to catch up. And somehow, after all that mental pep talk, you still found your hand hovering above the knob.

“No more caving,” you whispered. “I’m doing this.”

Without another moment spared to thought your hand closed around the knob and turned.Whether you were conscious of it or not, you were holding your breath. As if you would find something other than Mino’s naked body on the other side.

Immediately, your body was engulfed by a hot breath of steam. The mirror fogged up to hide your reflection, and condensation dripped from every surface. If the shower wasn’t strategically placed in the middle you were sure you could’ve gotten lost in the large high-end expanse of the bathroom. The showers glass enclosure covered a majority of the room and offered no privacy. Your eyes able to roam over every available inch of flesh that it left exposed, and you drank in the sight of Mino greedily.

Even slumped with his hands splayed out against the patterned granite - body being drenched every second in a heavy flow of water - Mino was still able to command the room. Although, you knew by the heavy sigh between his shoulders that he was a man in mourning. A dull ache wormed its way inside your chest and threatened to bloom, but a memory batted it away.

It was the beginning of spring; months after you’d begun your secret affair. Both of you pretending it was just something simple as convenience. A past history of being first loves and promises of fairy tale ever-afters allowing you the false ideal it would be over once either of you had your fill.

You could see now, caressed in a fog of steam, what a lie it was.

That day the humidity had been worse than the heat. It ended up like that a lot during the peaking days of summer. The two of you finding solace in the new studio Mino rented out; a private, safe place for his artistic ideas to flourish and die in a privacy only he knew.

He’d rung you to come by. Mino’s voice tempting your body already with the sweetness of kisses and a promise of that honeyed voice that was held between those lips kissing its way between your thighs. You didn’t need much prodding after that. Your fingers already on an app to hail the nearest driver.

You’d arrived minutes before he’d asked, and found him surrounded by splattered canvases. A majority of them thrown to the ground, like an island of misfits. Mino was already working on a newer canvas, but the frustration radiated off of him and hit you in waves. You could see it in the way his teeth dug themselves into the wood of his brush, and the large strokes of his fingers, covered in paint, across the canvas. You could’ve sworn you could hear the brush beginning to snap under the pressure.

Mino had always been this way. His drive for perfection charging his artistic nature, usually with him being completely unaware. He was in such a trance focusing on his work that he hadn’t paid any kind of acknowledgment to your entry. All Mino could see was the canvas before him and the irritating fact it wasn’t coming out like he’d wanted.

You were more than ninety-nine percent sure if this had been anyone else, you would’ve been annoyed at not being acknowledged. But here in his artistic heaven you were just fine being ignored. It left you plenty of time to gawk at the mosaic piece that covered an enormous section of a wall. The bright pieces coming into the colorful shape of a cartoon man holding a wilting flower. The petals somehow becoming larger until they landed on the ground at his feet. The back wall displaying a dozen or so paintings. The theme of them all painstakingly the same.

In one various arrays of color, he had the facial outlines of a man and a woman. You could only assume by the way the woman’s face was comforted and the way the lips of the man drew near to caress her lips, that it was a painting with the image of intimacy in mind. That feeling of intimacy causing your cheeks to flush and a yearning to be touched. Another showcased a couple outlined in white against the charcoal of the canvas. There were stars small as speckled dust that told you he’d brushed a single finger through the hair to obtain the effect. The longer you looked at it a stirring feeling of recognition began to ache in the back of your mind.

“It’s that night we spent by the Hongdae river.”

Mino’s voice cut through your thoughts and brought you clarity. Your eyes barely shifting to acknowledge his body turned in your direction, before looking back at the painting. It seemed the second he mentioned it everything about it began to make sense.

It was the moment he’d caught your gaze stuck to the bright sky. So bright and full of endless possibilities.

“Do you remember what you asked me?” He questioned.

You didn’t even need to consider the thousands of possibilities. You already knew.

“Do you ever wonder if the stars miss each other. Millions of them are in the sky. You would think with so many, they would be close to one another, yet they’re so far apart.”

It wasn’t until your eyes took in the shape of dying dust behind a falling star that you finally turned to look at Mino. Your full attention on dried paint that scattered itself on his hands and arms; splattered in rainbow hues all over his shirt and pants. He resembled a piece of art himself, housed inside a room you realized held painted moments of past times together, and more recent. Through this act of whatever it was you’d both created, Mino made something beautiful out of it. He made something beautiful out of you.

Looking at him now...you knew, Mino would forever stay a work of art that would take your breath away. And in that realization, your mind only came up with one solution to end his creative slump he currently found himself in.

You didn’t think twice before your hands found the hem of your shirt and began to lift it over your head. Mino’s eyes widened slightly; no doubt enjoying the unexpected show you put on.

“You’re having trouble painting today.”

It wasn’t a question. You didn’t need an answer, but Mino’s mind wasn’t truly listening to you. It followed his eyes as they watched your hand loop around your back and undo the clasp on your bra.

“I’ve actually been unable to draw - paint - anything. No matter where I go or what I draw, it never comes out right.”

You were stepping out of your shorts when you nodded in acknowledgement. As the last article of clothing fell to the floor, you were left exposed, in all your glory. For some reason, as ridiculous as it sounded, being naked in front of Mino this way sent your nerves into overdrive. It took everything you had not to begin to fidget with your hands.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Use me.”

You blurted it out so harshly it caused Mino to jump. This time you did close your eyes as the embarrassment began to burn against your cheeks.

“Use you?”

By now, Mino was slowly moving towards you. The playful tilt of a smirk drawing up the side of his mouth as his eyes took you in. He radiated a heat that sent your body trembling; not in a bad way. No, no. Far from that. It was an undeniable urge for him to touch you. For his hands to leave burning trials of his exploration of your body on every inch of your skin.

You had to swallow twice to be able to speak.

“Yeah. Use me as your canvas. Paint on me and see if this helps break you out of your creative slump.”

That appeared to stop him cold. His feet no longer coyly bringing him towards you and the smirk now drawn in a thoughtful pout. The first real hint of fear hit your tongue and you tried to swallow it away. You hadn’t considered the fact Mino might call your idea ridiculous and, perhaps, stupid. You were about ready to tell him never mind when his hand motioned for you to move next to the canvas and paints he’s been working on previously.

“Come lay over here.”

You couldn’t reply. Your head giving a curt nod in response as he moved to grab a blanket. It wasn’t the length of your body, but just enough to cover your more...precious parts from the dirt of the floor. Once it was laid in place, you moved to lie down and waited patiently for him to spread his paints out on the tray. Your mind going to counting sheep to pass the time. Around sixty-seven, a gasp of surprise from the cold of the brush against your skin.

“Babo!” You shrieked.

Your hand shot out to smack his arm, which only awarded you with the deep bass of his laugh.

“Should I have warned you?” He asked playfully.

“Duh!”

“Okay, okay. Lie back down and be ready this time, eh.”

You wanted to smack him again and it sent him into more hysterics. You did what he asked though and laid back with your arms out by your sides.

“I’m gonna move the arm closest to me, alright.”

“Why are you telling me?”

“I’m letting you know so you don’t smack me again.”

This time you chuckled to yourself as his hands took gentle hold of your arm and moved it into place. A few moments later the coldness of the brush touched down on your skin. You didn’t jump this time.

You couldn’t tell how long you laid there. Mino moving around different points of your body; spreading different colors along your torso, down your legs, and under your breasts. The two of you making light conversation as he worked, until after a while he informed you he was finished. You were ready to move, but your body was heavy with relaxation and you settled on wiggling your toes.

The sound of a Polaroid camera going off shot your attention back in Mino’s direction. His fingers snaking around to drag the film gently the rest of the way out.

“You better not show anyone.”

Mino gave you a cynical glance over the side of the camera before snapping on more.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I wouldn’t share you with anyone: not even as artwork. I just want to save these.” Mino set down the Polaroid and gave the two photos a couple last good shakes before he set them gently down. You began to get up when he knelt beside you, stopping your movements completely. “Y/N, I mean this more than anything. I think this is the best art I’ve made in a long time. What we’ve created together today.”

The compliment sent your lips into a humbled smile that you did your best to hide, but Mino refused to let you.

“Mino-ah, I did nothing.”

“There you are wrong.”

He didn’t allow you to argue further: his lips crashed down on yours. His body collapsing against yours and hands moving in a heated rush to remove his clothes. You weren’t surprised to find your own helping. The two of you soon making love in a flurry of still wet paint that helped to create a new work of art against the studio floor.

With the memory fading away, and leaving you to stand back inside the bathroom and Mino a few feet away, it filled you with renewed resolve. What did it matter if you hadn’t graduated from college yet. If you didn’t know a major to stick with, and you worked like a majority of everyone else in customer service jobs and not a giant firm. That your apartment wasn’t in an established part of Seoul.

You were every bit as good for Mino. Hell, you were the right person for him. You knew that more than anything, and you refused to feel any less unworthy anymore. Without waiting another second to allow doubt to stop you, you reached out and took hold of the shower door and opened it to step inside. Mino turned at your entrance with alarm spread clear on his face and raised eyebrows. After his panic subsided, recognition began to lower his shoulders and formed a question in his brow.

“Y/N,” he started huskily, “What are you-“

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. Using the momentum you gained from entering the shower you pushed into him. The warm water from the shower drenching you both as you wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him to you. Your lips pressing against his the only answer that you needed to give.

Mino matched your desire with his own. His mouth opening yours up to him allowing him to drink down every moan he could elicit from you. When pushed to move you back against the wall of the shower, you gave no protest. The need every placement of his hands made coursed through you and sparked like an electric current. Every tug on soaked fabric and delicate graze of teeth skimming down lips until a tongue lashed up to soothe it's haunting ache. Underneath the basic carnal need that plagued your body for Mino’s touch - his touch alone - you knew it was something deeper.

The idea of soulmates and fate seemed like a fairytale of pleasant dreams meant to keep the boogeyman of life at bay. That there was some hope of a Disney ending, definitely not G-rated, far from PG, but still somehow attainable in life. The thought alone used to be enough to make you roll your eyes. In the end, you couldn’t allow your cynicism tarnish the truth you knew was true between you two.

How could you deny the power of the universe when the cosmos rested solely in his lips? The way his name was written in stars along your skin. For fate to align itself over and over until you stood face-to-face wrapped in each others arms in a tangled connection that refused to make sense.

There had to be a reason for all this chaos.

Mino and you were swollen lips and ragged breaths. His naked body pressed against your soaked clothes stirred a desire to finish what you’d started in the other room. Mino, apparently, hadn’t shared the same sentiment. His lips suddenly breaking free of yours only to lead you in a daze from out of the shower.

When you came back into the room, he didn’t bother with a towel. Instead, Mino opted to struggle his wet appendages into the legs of his jeans. He gave small hops of hope that he used to wedge the fabric up his hips. The whole ordeal already making you fight back the rising fit of giggles, only to end up as a losing battle. The shoulders of his t-shirt becoming trapped around his head; face peeking out through the open collar enough to look ridiculous, and finally broke you down into hysterics.

When Mino finally was able to get his shirt comfortably on he walked over to where you’d collapsed onto the bed. You were soaked and the sporadic dry patches on your jeans were annoying. Your body still vibrating from your earlier outburst and you watched as he moved to kneel beside you. Not caring that both of you resembled drowned rats. Mino reached out to calmly take both of your hands. The angle he was at giving you perfect clarity of his face. Perfect enough to be able to see a decision rapidly being made in the softness of his eyes.

“This is gonna sound nuts.”

You reached out to cradle his cheek in your palm. Your thumb rubbing lightly to try and calm the storm of emotions that whipped his eyes frantically back and forth searching your face.

“Mino, this whole year has been crazy. I don’t think anything you could say would surprise me.”

“Marry me.”

Okay. You were wrong. His outburst did surprise you. Your body went still in front of him and your thumb no longer grazed against his lips. You were going into shock and he was taking your silence as denial.

“I mean, I know it’s stupid. It’s a stupid idea, Y/N, and you deserve a better proposal than this, but I don’t want to waste another moment without you and-“

He was rambling. The both of you knew he was and only because the room swelled with the panic of finality you both felt. That terrible chance that if either of you stepped out of the room, whatever spell of courage happened between you both would end. You could see the pleading in his eyes and could only think of doing one sure fire way to bring his frantic speech to a close. You took his face in yours and gave him one good kiss. When you pulled back he was stuck in place looking for all the world like a wound up doll who’d run out of juice.

“To answer your question, Mino: yes.”

It took his ears a second to register what you’d said, but the minute he heard it Mino broke into a smile so big you couldn’t help but smile back. He rushed to close the small space between you and wrapped his arms with a constrictors grip around you. Only pulling back to kiss you rapidly all over your face raising giggles from your throat.

“Yes? Yes! She said yes!”

“Ya, Mino,” you chided playfully. “You act like someone is going to hear you.”

“I don’t need anyone to hear me. All I needed to hear was your answer. Come on,” he urged rushing to grab both of your jackets. “I know somewhere that’s still open that they’ll do the ceremony right now.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you moved hand-in-hand to the front door. This was it. You were on your way to get married. Nothing and yet, everything was about to change. Mino shot you one last smile over his shoulder before he ripped open the door. The both of you coming to a halt in front of the woman, closed fist raised to knock, frozen in shock before you.

You didn’t need Mino to tell you who she was. By the way her face crumbled like all the cheated souls before her, you knew this was his fiance. The look of pain replaced itself with something much colder and harder. The anger coming in waves to steel herself against the pain you no doubt swimming inside her like a monsoon.

“How long?”

Her voice trembled in a way that would have made anyone consider it to be sadness. Anyone else, besides you. You knew it was simply the sound of her choking back on a heartbroken rage cocktail that was brewing deep in her chest. Her tears scolding while the judgement her eyes held a very clear hatred for you. Her world slowly falling apart as she drank you both in. Clothes still clinging to your body like a second skin with both lips puffy and red from each other’s kisses. Her world was collapsing into ruin in quiet milliseconds of betrayal before her.

Mino finally let go of your hand and stepped towards her. She instantly retracted from his touch and swatted away his hand as if it were a pest.

“Don’t touch me!” She shrieked.

“Jang-mi, please,” he protested. This time Mino didn’t make the mistake of trying to touch her. His hands simply motioning for her to come into the safety of the room. “Let’s discuss this inside the room. Not the hallway.”

Her face turned a bright red, and you understood why. Mino sounded like he was coddling a tantrum throwing child. Not a woman who just had a brutal awakening of her soon-to-be husband’s affair. Jang-mi took on last reproachful glance in your direction and moved to go inside the room; taking careful steps to touch neither of you.

As soon as the door to the room was closed, she whirled on you both. Maybe it would’ve been better to remain at Mino’s side to seem like a united front. But you couldn’t bring yourself to give her another theoretical smack in the face with that. So you kept a few inches between you and your head cast downward at the carpet.

“How. Long.”

Jang-mi enunciated every word. Her small fists now in tight fists as her eyes scanned from one face to the other. Waiting for one of you to find the courage to answer. You wanted to let out a sigh of relief when Mino finally spoke: “Close to a year.”

That answer wasn’t what the other woman wanted. The air appeared to be knocked out of her, as her knees collapsed from under her and she ended up sitting on the bed.

“I should’ve known,” Jang-mi began with her voice breathy as if she was talking from a memory. “That day in the alley. When I seen you two together. I knew by the look on your face.”

She looked up at you then, and you didn’t dishonor her by looking away. You held her gaze and knew you deserved what she thought of you. For in Jang-mi’s story, you were the villain. The one who came and stole her ever-after and did it without apology. You wouldn’t ask her to offer forgiveness for your selfishness.

“His mother has a picture with you in it still. When you were younger at Danah’s eleventh birthday party. I know you were his first love. It’s clear on your faces, but make no mistake, I am the one he chose to marry.”

Jang-mi found her strength to stand and it was against you. You admired her fight but, in this, you refused to let her win.

“That can change,” you snapped.

Your response surprised her, but she made it clear in her squared shoulders and upturned chin she wasn’t backing down.

“How? For a year, you were nothing more than a girl kept in the shadows. No better than a whore-“

“Jang-mi, enough!”

Mino cut in and went to shield you. You stopped him with a hand to his shoulder and stepped around him. Mino could be your knight in shining armor any day - but not today. Today, you would do it for yourself.

“Think what you want, but I will be what you can never be: the woman he loves.”

Your cheek erupted in flecks of pain that radiated along the side of your face. It was so intense, your eyes blurred with unshed tears. This time you didn’t stop Mino from stepping between the two of you. Their arguing words drowned out to the ringing in your ears.

“You need to choose Mino: right here and now! Either me or her, and you better make the right choice.”

You knew her threat wasn’t empty. It was backed by outrage with need for you to be proven wrong. That she was the one that held his heart; not willing to admit to the fact she might never have to begin with. Tears were freely streaming down her cheeks now as she reached out to hold onto him. Mino’s guilt leaving him unable to look away from the tears she tried to claim were of anger, but really a reflection of her breaking heart.

The small room erupted in silence, and it began to make doubt creep into your thoughts. There was always the off chance Mino could choose her, and that was something you couldn’t bear. With your cheek still burning and eyes roaming back and forth between the both of them you didn’t notice Mino moving to stand beside you. His hand moving out to gently take yours in his, while his eyes sadly took in the woman before him.

“I’m sorry, Jang-mi for being a coward and not telling you sooner. I love you, but I’m not in love with you and...because of that I cannot marry you.”

If things had been different, you would’ve went to her. You were sure that you were the last person she would ever want to comfort her. Not when the two of you stood mockingly the day before her would-be wedding. You knew Mino didn’t want to leave her this way. That he would carry the guilt of what transpired here tonight, and maybe he should for now. No one should go without acknowledging their own wrongdoing in someone else’s pain. Before he could say anything to Jang-mi, however, a sudden knock came at the door.

“Mino, are you there?”

The sound of Mino’s father at the door immediately made him stiffen. The anxiety evident on his face, and here it was Jang-mi saw her opening to share her grief with someone new.

“He's here with another woman!”

“J-Jang-mi, is that you?”

Mino’s father sounded perplexed and you couldn’t blame him. He probably wasn’t expecting to hear his future daughter-in-law yelling about another woman. A tight squeeze into your hand reminded you of Mino at your side. Throughout this whole moment, Mino remained calm and allowed Jang-mi to react how she felt, because he knew he’d given her one of the greatest forms of betrayal. But the quiet understanding he’d used to compose himself was now gone. Now he just looked plain pissed off.

“You have no right to bring him into this!” He snapped.

“He deserves to know the kind of man his son is,” Jang-mi retorted. Her disdain dripping off of every word.

“Mino! Open this door! Is Jang-mi in there with you?”

“Oppa, everything is alright!”

“No everything is not!”

Jang-mi screeched the last word high enough it made you wince. She moved forward and slammed an angry fist down on Mino’s chest. You moved to grab her, but Mino simply shook his head and placed his hands gently on her shoulders.

“Jang-mi,” he began sadly, “this will not make your pain hurt any less.”

“No, you’re right. It won’t.” She moved her hands to rest on his arms and stayed there. Just for a moment. Her looking up at him, Mino staring back, and you feeling like the odd third wheel in what seemed like an intimate moment. Suddenly, her gentleness turned cold and her arms shoved his away and stepped back. “But if I can make you feel any ounce of humiliation that I feel, just for one second, then it’s worth it.”

The room swelled with tension of the unknown before Jang-mi opened her mouth wide and let out a scream. Her mascara running down in droplets that reminded you of the matchmaker in Mulan. For all the world she had passed her pain and went start to rage and called out the worst things. That you were assaulting her. That Mino has struck her. It was enough to send Mino’s father into a frenzy outside the door.

“Fuck this,” Mino growled.

He reached out his hand and clasped it securely around yours. He didn’t wait to grab your coats or cellphones. Mino moved straight for the door not caring for the howling woman at your back and opened the door to startle his father, and a few gawking hotel guests.

“Mino, what’s going on?”

Mino didn’t answer his father. He pushed past him and forced you to do the same. The Song elder finally noticing your presence and his confusion only aging him faster.

“Mino. Stop!”

But he didn’t stop. He kept running you both down the hallway and to the stars. The sound of his father and others rushing to catch up to you. Mino was running down the stairs at a speed that forced you to jump two at a time to keep up. It should’ve been odd. Maybe embarrassing, to be seen bursting from the stairwell into a fancy lobby. Your abrupt entrance startling guests waiting and checking in. In truth, it caused you to laugh.

It didn’t matter what strangers thought as you moved through the prestigious double doors with people from the bridal party giving chase. Not even seeming crazy that Mino, or you, had any idea where you were going to run too. You just kept running, hand in hand, until he finally spotted a bus a few yards ahead.

The both of you started waving the driver down in hopes he would see you and wait. There was a brief moment your heart dropped when it seemed he was about to shut the doors, but noticed his annoyance at having to wait for you written plainly on his face. You silently wished him and his family a thousand blessings as your feet took the small steps loudly. Mino and you digging like crazy around in your pockets to find the exact change to put it.

You both couldn’t present it fast enough when his family came tearing into view, causing Mino to take the wad of money and shove it towards the driver.

“You can keep all of it if you’ll just shut the doors and take off now. Please.”

It didn’t seem the older man was going to comply. His wary eyes moving from the money to both of your sweaty figures gasping for air and damp clothes. You were almost about to step back off the bus when he motioned with his head for the two of you to sit down. You were ready to hug him, but didn’t want to push your luck.

The both of you moved to sit at the far back of the bus. Mino taking the window seat and you curled up against him with your head resting on his shoulder. The two of you stayed silent for a long time. Neither of you commenting on his father and, maybe, the groomsmen or the brides’ family, slamming their hands against the door just before the driver merged into the Seoul traffic.

You listened only to the sound of his heart beating. The way it began to ease into its natural rhythm after the storm passed. It’s what helped you sort out all the thoughts that raged for purpose inside your head. The main one being the only one you chose to speak out loud.

“What now?”

Mino let out a sigh as a lazy hand moved to stroke over your hair. He remained quiet a while longer before he spoke.

“Now? Now we just live out our happily-ever-after.”

A snort of laughter left you as you looked out the window; not wanting to move less it caused him to stop playing with your hair.

“Oh, is that all?” You teased.

“Forever is simple. It’s the in between of getting there that’s hard.”

“You saying I’m hard?”

You looked up him and took in the wistful smile that danced behind almond eyes. His finger moving delicately to trace the outline of your face.

“No, jagi . You are the part of getting to forever that makes it all worth it.”

He spoke the last of his words against your lips. His nose playfully kissing across yours, before he actually moved down to give you a kiss and as he did you couldn’t help but agree. Everything that led to this point had been hell and messy, but it was easy to breathe once again. Your world righted itself and begun to make sense and that, you knew, was because your forever was simple. Your forever was kissing you, and that was the magic of finding your happily-ever-after and never letting go.

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philosophicalparadox · 6 years

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Sympathy for the Devil

Sometimes, I wonder about those characters.

The ones that everybody hates, but that so many of us love.

And I can not help but think, that maybe we love them, not because they are relatable, or because they are righteous, or maybe not even because they are interesting,

we love them for what we can not see, but that we can sense.

There’s always more than one side on a coin, and sometimes what the audience thinks is a square, might actually be a cube if looked at from the proper angle.

Characters that have no backstory are often the highlights of a series; There’s always something we don’t know about them, and that makes them interesting -- and yet, there can be so many proper heros who we also know next to nothing about, but do they recieve the same adolation? Not really. In quantity, yes, certainly. There are I don’t know how many people that speculate about the livelihood and past of “hero” characters like Yusuke of Yu Yu Hakusho. Because frankly, we don’t know anything about that past.

But for the villain, for the outcast, for the devil himself, there is a different attitude towards those speculations. There’s a fandom-wide curiousity, but also, I think, a pervasive sense of sympathy for those characters. In human psychology, a man does not become a monster overnight without something already there, some spark, an incentive -- a reason. In one second to the next, a decent human being isn’t likely to murder somebody, and not feel anything about it.

There are, definitely, conditions such as Psychopathy which, from birth, render a person unable to experience or learn empathy or compassion. And yet, they are not often the ones who perpetrate the worst crimes (As much as hollywood and cheap, plastic Wikipedia articles would have you believe otherwise).

And there are conditions, often falsely roped into the same group, such as Sociopathy, which is learned through horrible, neglectful, pervasive abuse that goes on continuously in someone’s life. Those sociopathic characters that can’t bring themselves to have a conscience in spite of being born okay -- well, they weren’t okay as they grew up, and learned that feeling was a bad thing. Feeling pity, or sympathy, was something used against them. It was something they were punished for, or that they were just never taught because there wasn’t anyone around to teach them. (Dude, telling you now, don’t try to argue with me that empathy is inherent in humans, because it is learned - there’s a whole lotta scientific papers and psychology to prove you wrong if you want to go check them out.)

Narcissistic Personality Disorder is also a learned condition, and I think we can name at least a few characters we could suspect of that. (Ahem, you know who you are :p ) It, too, is a disorder born of abuse and neglect, and setting entirely the wrong standards for your children. (There is a genetic component for both of the above, but nurture is what brings those traits out).

But there are so, so many completely typical (as in neurotypical) flaws in those characters we love to hate, hate to love. Look at Alucard (Hellsing) - if that isn’t a human man with a broken sense of self, I don’t know what is.

He’s a monster, a beast that likes to pretend he has no feelings, but it is so very painfully obvious to some of us that yes, yes he does -- and they are all too human feelings. He feels jealousy. He feels rage. He feels empathy, which is a rather miraculous thing since he is both quite old, and has been dragged through hell and back from the time he was a small boy.

To his defense, Alucard was human at one point and time. But what about those other, not-so-human characters? Can we feel sympathy for them? Or is it just their way to be so mean and nasty?

Well, I think both.

I seen a post a long time ago, talking about Sebastian (Black Butler) and how he reacted to being called a monster at that party in the beginning of the Blue Cult arc.

And honestly, that fine post has stayed with me, as did that scene. He had such a look of hurt on his face, that it is really hard to place whether it was truly fake. The post went on about how Sebastian wasn’t such a heartless monster; maybe he did feel, on some level, like we do. Certainly, he seemed to be offended at the least when so many women began to shield their children from him.

I don’t know if I fully agree with what that post said about him having human feelings, but I definitely concur that he has feelings, and that there was an unmistakable sense of realism coming from his response. He seemed, to me, confused and affronted more than hurt, his expression begging the question, what did I ever do to you? followed by his tucked head, maybe even shamefully, wondering, I never wanted to hurt you, so why do you hate me?

I got a similar-ish sense from Mephisto when he was confronting Amaimon on the balcony, Amaimon stating flatly that he hated his brother.

Mephisto just shrugged with a hmf, and said ‘Hate? What a human emotion.” which I think is a remark of contempt from him. Contempt, maybe not for human feeling entirely, as surely you couldn’t enjoy the company of humans if you didn’t have tolerance for their fickle hearts, but perhaps towards those feelings which he has known, and abandoned.

It’s pretty evident that demons in the Blue Exorcist universe are capable of fairly complicated human emotions, and compassion is not something unknown to them, nor incapable.

But it would seem that Mephisto, like many, forgo that compassion and empathy at some point. Why?

Because it hurts.

And something which hurts is something you could live without, by demon logic. Besides a body. Because a body is such an intoxicating and exhilerating thing that no demon, save a few bold souls, would dare be without one, even at the cost of enduring torture. They’re the ultimate drug, the highest addiction, and nothing ever feels the same once you’ve had it once.

living bodies are heroin for demons, change my mind

But feelings? Feelings are fickle, they’re not necessary to survive or to enjoy the pleasures of the mortal realm. Things like empathy can get you hurt. Being nice to people can get you yelled at, or hit. Showing great wells of compassion to the sick and dying won’t bring them back, and the humans who mourn them will try to kill you if you use magic that they don’t understand. Because mankind is a terrified animal who doesn’t know where they are in the scheme of the cosmos, but damnit if they don’t wonder. It just happens that when one tells the truth, and one is called a liar, everyone around them would rather accept that they know better, and that you are the one who lied.

And it is too often true, and a trope of course, that when you’re called a monster enough times, you will someday see yourself become one. After all, a child who does bad things to get attention, is still getting attention, and we all know that demons, at least in the Blue Exorcist universe, but sometimes in mythology as well, have the tired hearts of children. Their minds are complex and at times, expansive, but their emotions are those of kids who just want to play, to have fun and, of course, be recognized.

I have a great deal of sympathy for the Devil. He wanted to be recognized, to be admired and loved as much as his Father was; but in the end, he became a victim, not only of his own pride, but that of his Father as well.

I feel for Mephisto, too. There are times I don’t wonder if he really was an “angel” once upon a time. Maybe somewhere, deep in a past he can’t remember, he was benevolent, and kind, only to find out the hard way that humans can be cruel, unspeakably so. To find out that their fickle hearts can love you one day, and in the same stroke, hate you the next, and all because of one mistake. It’s been happening for millenia; Good people who are doing good things, but lose face, and in the end, lose trust. It’s got to be one hell of a bitter realization for an alien that knows nothing of human kind, to be adored and praised and given the recognition every child yearns for; and in the same day, have all those men and women leer and sneer and throw stones at you because you made a mistake.

We all know how it feels, to be blamed for something unjustly. Imagine that playing out over, and over, and over again over hundreds, thousands of generations. They love you, they hate you, they die. Repeat for thousands of years, thousands of humans who ally themselves with you, who praise you and uphold your image, who worship you as a god; but just as quickly as they came to find affection for you, they either move on and forget your existence, or they hate you and point the finger your way every time something bad happens, because hey, it’s easier to blame the devil than to admit you were wrong, right?

None of this is to excuse the terrible actions of those “demons” and “devils” and “evil people”; Your actions are your own, and they are just as responsible for them as anyone else, fictional or not. There’s no denying that Alucard has killed, slaughtered, butchered and masacred thousands, that he has tortured and bullied and abused others.

There’s no denying that Sebastian, demon as he is, isn’t sadistic, nor that his actions with Beast were of questionable consent, seeing as he basically intimidated her into sleeping with him.

There’s certainly no denying that Mephisto is a toxic cocktail of narcissism combined with an enabling attitude; he might not have been directly involved with the human experimentation that went on in Asylum, but he did nothing to stop it’s progress either. Hell, he proposed the idea! And the suffering of all those clones, all those kids, is at least partly on his head.

But he doesn’t care. None of them care, because it would hurt them if they did. It would drive them mad and make them scared of themselves (like Alucard isn’t, pfft) if they took those steps back and looked at what they did, and examined it through the eyes of the empathy that they might have had at one time. (Alucard still does, but he is super selective about it. Compartmentalization at it’s finest.)

But somehow, I don’t think they got that way by choice. Someone failed to teach them that it was okay to feel hurt, that it was okay for them to be scared, that they didn’t need to hide or disguise or push it down.

This is mostly to do with the fact none of those mentioned had “parents” to teach them anything at all, but instead relied on themselves or, in the case of Mephisto/Samael, the humans around them. And what they learned instead was that they were the only reliable ones, that the only people they could trust was themselves, and that human nature is a confusing mixture of contradictions, of pleasure and pain, of kindness and cruelty, and the only way to feel good about themselves was to focus on themselves, and to live as an island, sustaining their own egoes and living for the sake of themselves, because they “know” no one else will.

And I think, in some way, those of us who are willing to love the bad guys while also hating their guts -- we feel that. We sense that. We know there’s something underneath all the flashy clothes, the smirking sarcasm, the shrugged shoulders and the utterly remorseless attitudes. We sense something deeper, even if we don’t know what it is. In fact, the very reason we cling to them sometimes is because we don’t know what it is, and it makes for a far more entertaining thought to chew on than the flat, but adorable, but also sometimes embarrassingly shallow hero. (Ahem, Inuyasha, I’m looking at you, mister “I have no character development despite being the main character”).

I have great sympathy for the Devil, and I think all of us do too.

#blue exorcist #Ao no Exorcist #mephisto pheles #kuroshitsuji #black butler #sebastian michaelis #hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alucard #monsterbehindthemask #sympathetic deceit #sympathy for the devil

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attackfish · 6 years

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Storytelling, Craft, and Conveying an Idea: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Jurassic Park

Okay I never had to learn to love Jurassic Park, and I never stop worrying.

Jurassic Park was the film Steven Spielberg directed just before Schindler's List, and it's nearly impossible for two films to be more different. Spielberg, at the time an acknowledged master of the summer blockbuster, didn't think he was capable of directing a film with the weight and magnitude of Schindler's List, and attempted to enlist other more respected, in his opinion more worthy directors for the project he intended to produce. It was only after these other directors turned him down that he took the helm himself. With Schindler's List came a sea change in Spielberg's film-making, after which he gained the confidence to take on more ambitious projects and make the kinds of movies that would bring him recognition not only as a man who made fun movies, but as a great filmmaker.

He did not spring fully formed as a great filmmaker. While his vision was much grander in his later films, Spielberg's summer blockbusters already showed him to be a master of the craft of telling a story through cinema. This mastery of craft underpins all of Spielberg's more ambitious movies. And, conversely, without his later grandness of vision, Spielberg's storytelling craft is much easier to spot in films like Jurassic Park.

And this is why I want to talk about Jurassic Park, not because of what it means for Spielberg's development as a filmmaker, but as an example of a finely crafted story. Artistic craft in general is the tools that enable an artist to convey an artistic vision to an audience. Storytelling craft more specifically is the ability to express ideas and themes in the form of a story so that they have emotional impact and are rendered compelling to an audience.

There is an idea among some critics and indeed some writers, that ideas get in the way of a good story, and writing a story with big ideas is a surefire way to get a very bad story. This is an understandable belief, but fundamentally misguided, because a story, no matter what the author's intent, is going to express the author's ideas, and it is much, much better for the author to know what ideas they are working to convey, so that the story and the ideas harmonize. So what ideas does Jurassic Park convey? What is the big idea at it's heart?

Like all good stories, Jurassic Park has many ideas threaded through it, but the central theme, that the movie comes back to over and over, is the consequences of human hubris.

This is a common theme in the human storytelling tradition. The Greeks for example loved it. Frankenstein is such a story. Because of man's hubris in creating life, disaster happens. With such a beginning, it's unsurprising that modern stories of hubris, Individual hubris, and especially the collective hubris of humankind, would find a home in the speculative fiction genres, especially science fiction.

I was a certified scifi and fantasy nerd growing up, so I was bound at some point to stumble across the mid-twentieth century intellectual scifi sub-genre. If you spend any time in the speculative fiction genres, you probably know the type of story. They focus around a single idea that the author wants to make you think about. They are short, they often have a twist ending, and half the time the characters aren't even named, they are so unimportant to the author. And once the idea has been expressed, the story ends. They are stories that aren't really stories. Everything that would make for a good story with real emotional impact has been sacrificed in service of beating the audience over the head with the all important idea. They are the kind of story your well-meaning English teacher recommends to you because it will blow your mind.

I mention these stories for two reasons, one is that the consequences of human hubris is one of the most common ideas they attempt to convey, which makes sense, because they reflect the anxieties of the Cold War and the dawn of the nuclear age. Because of man's hubris in splitting the atom, the world could end.

I am singularly unimpressed with the sub-genre and its modern descendants. I don't think they're half as smart as they pretend to be, and they're boring. It's not that the ideas these stories are trying to convey are without value, it's simply that they are badly conveyed. And I would argue these stories, and other similar stories in other genres, are a big part of the reason for the disdain some writers and critics have for "stories with ideas", i.e. stories where the teller sets out to convey ideas. Because these stories sacrifice all the characteristics of a good story to convey their idea more succinctly, they are indeed bad stories. And because they bash you over the head with their Big Idea, it can seem as if stories that convey their idea with more subtlety don't have an idea to convey. This is why I have a certain amount of sympathy for this viewpoint, even though as I said earlier, there are ideas in every story, whatever author intent, and it's much better to have them there deliberately were they can be integrated into the story in an intentional and thoughtful way. Storytelling and the ideas in a story don't have to be in conflict. In fact they should not be.

The other reason is because these stories are much more likely to be respected as smart, cerebral than Jurassic Park in spite of often sharing the same underlying Big Idea, because of man's hubris, disaster happens. I think this is because there is a strain of thought in the West that says that emotions and reason are in direct conflict and reason is superior. If a person is having an emotional response to something, they must not also be having an intellectual response, and this is bad. Emotional responses are bad and we should fear them. This is not true. Everything we know about human development and learning tells us the opposite, that humans learn and internalize information and ideas better when they make an emotional connection to them. Furthermore, a good story, where the ideas are integrated into the story allows the audience to tease out the themes and ideas for themselves, allowing for a simulated experience, and audience's own discovery. Humans are also much more better able to learn what they discover for themselves than what they are told. Ironically this means that spoonfeeding an idea to an audience, as the terrible stories I talk about above do means that the audience is much less likely to learn that idea, or remember it. This also means that stories are a profoundly important means of conveying ideas. Humans are built to learn through stories.

So, with all that background in place, how does Jurassic Park tell a good story? How does it create emotional impact for its ideas? How does it show its ideas in a way that the audience gets to learn by simulated experience? How do the ideas and the story harmonize with the story serving the ideas at its core?

First and very simply, Jurassic Park gets its audience to care about its characters. Everything else, all of the emotional impact, rests on this. The novel Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton, on which the movie is based, has a lot more in common with the storyless scifi stories I mentioned above than it does with the movie. Crichton was great at coming up with high concept premises and not very good at actual storytelling, and this is why although Michael Crichton wrote the original screenplay for Jurassic Park the movie, Spielberg called for extensive rewrites mostly focusing on characters and character development, giving characters arcs, shuffling around traits, and rebuilding some characters from the ground up.

This is how Ellie Sattler got personality and agency, Alan Grant got his dislike of children, Ian Malcolm went from an obnoxious author surrogate who existed to explicitly state Crichton's ideology while high on morphine, to an anxious intelligent audience surrogate, and John Hammond went from a greedy, grasping, conniving evil business man to a genial wealthy eccentric who wants to give children the experience of a lifetime. The children also are engaging and sympathetic instead of terminally annoying. This is also where the character arcs begin to take place. Alan Grant's initial dislike of and discomfort with children leads to his character arc learning to understand and appreciate children, and Hammond, no longer so revolting, can learn his lesson and live instead of the well deserved death he gets in the novel.

Spielberg also demonstrates his understanding that character arcs serve a purpose. While character arcs can be a useful tool to keep a character, especially one who gets a lot of focus, interesting, there is nothing wrong with static characters. Character arcs should tie back to the themes of a story, and Jurassic Park the movie does just that, Hammond's character arc especially. It's Hammond's hubris that leads to several deaths, and Hammond, his beloved grandchildren, and all of the main characters being placed in mortal peril, and it's the consequences of this hubris that force Hammond to reconsider his core assumptions about the world, how it works, and his place within it. Grant's character arc ties into many of the movie's secondary themes. of coming together, of self sacrifice, and that children are the hope for the future.

Ellie Sattler and Ian Malcolm meanwhile do not have character arcs. In both cases, the ways in which they could evolve over the course of the story would be thematically weird. Ian is our anxious audience surrogate, who complains and warns of impending doom, and is visibly anxious and sarcastic throughout. In a lesser story, he would be eaten by dinosaurs. In a mildly lesser story, he would be given an arc about overcoming his fear. This arc would clash with the main theme of the story, because Ian's fears are justified. He is the one not succumbing to hubris. Instead, what happens is Ian is shown to be both anxious and brave at the same time. He doesn't have to change to be brave. When the time comes, he can show tremendous courage and self sacrifice, and then when that time is over, he can go right back to being visibly anxious. This subverts audience expectations and makes him a richer character without changing him and dealing with the thematic implications. Ellie meanwhile also does not have an arc. Instead, she is the one who articulates the realization Hammond needs to come to. Much like Ian, she represents where the other characters need to get to. Both characters do this for Hammond. but also for Grant. Ellie gently mocks his discomfort with children and shows her own lack of the same discomfort, while Ian regularly shows concern for the children, and understanding of them and their feelings. They both push and prod the two characters undergoing arcs into the changes they need to make without feeling preachy. And Ellie especially makes choices that advance the plot in positive ways, making her proactive and more interesting without forcing her to change.

But great characters are unimportant if the audience doesn't get to know them before the emotional impact is delivered. Jurassic Park give the audience plenty of time to get to know the characters and watch them interact and bounce off each other. This process of getting to know the main characters and coming to like and identify with them means that later, we will care when they are in danger.

Spielberg also uses story structure to advance the themes of his story. The movie is structured in such a way as to build maximum suspense, but more importantly, it is designed to play on audience expectations, and to mimic within the movie the feeling of watching the movie. Spielberg knew of course when he was making the movie that his audience would go into the theater knowing certain things about the movie. There would be dinosaurs, they would be a towering special effects marvel, and then the dinosaurs would get loose and eat people. Instead of subverting this expectation, Spielberg gives it to us and sells it.

The first thing he does is show us a dinosaur, killing someone. This is off screen and only heard, and we don't actually see much at all of the raptor. This gets everybody onto the same page. If you managed to miss the whole "people will be eaten" thing, now you know. And this is something that other characters can reference throughout the first part of the movie, to build suspense and highlight Hammond's careless faith in the safety of his park. We are next introduced to Grant, Ellie, and most importantly, Hammond. Hammond in the movie is a clear surrogate for Spielberg himself, and the filmmakers more generally. This well-meaning showman will give the other characters dinosaurs in a stunning scientific and technical achievement, just as the movie will for the audience. And Grant and Ellie are sold on the park and the potential of seeing dinosaurs, the wonder and technological impressiveness much the same way the special effects dinosaurs are sold to the audience.

We are teased some more with the prospect of dinosaurs, we get to watch the characters interact, and then, at last, the movie, and Hammond, gives us what we, and the characters, have been waiting for. We get dinosaurs.

Within the movie, the dinosaurs are a stupendous, awe-inspiring fulfillment of all of the characters’ desire to see these amazing extinct creatures walking and breathing in front of them. And outside of the movie, the dinosaur special effects are a stupendous awe-inspiring fulfillment of all of the audience's desire to see these amazing extinct creatures walking and breathing in front of them. For one transcendent moment, the experiences of the characters and the audience are in near perfect unity. This binds the audience closer to the characters, causing us to identify with them, and it allows us to buy into their journey, to become stakeholders in it.

This wouldn't work if the special effects weren't really just that good. The dinosaurs in Jurassic Park are breathtaking in how real they look. It's been decades and they still look staggeringly real, more real even than the dinosaurs in some of the more modern installments in the franchise. This movie really is as close as most of us will ever get to that childhood dream of seeing real dinosaurs. And Spielberg sells it. He sells it hard, with sweeping visuals, John Williams's soaring score, and every cinematic trick in his arsenal that I don't know nearly enough about to describe. And he sells it not only because this is what the audience paid the price of admission for, but also because it does bind us to that character experience, and critically, it gets us to buy into the hubris at the center of the story. Yes we know the dinosaurs will end up eating people and it will all end in terror and tears, but aren't they cool?

They really really are.

And because we the audience buys into the hubris, there is a sense of betrayal when it all goes wrong. And this emotional gut reaction is in spite of the fact that the entire audience knows this is coming. It's the other thing we paid admission for, not just to see dinosaurs, but to see them eating people, to be thrilled and scared. The audience is given the shock of the hubris coming back to bite everyone. We experience through the story the theme of the story. And this is done so deftly it's hard to realize it's happening.

And that is why Jurassic Park is a shining example of storytelling craft, and why I love this movie.

#jurassic park #writing #storytelling #okay to be perfectly honest i love this movie because dinosaurs #but it's also genuinely good #anybody who wants to talk to me about how the science sucks can leave it alone #i know okay #anybody who wants to tell me we now know that this wasn't how these dinosaurs really looked can also leave it alone #i know this too #this isn't about that

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lbroach · 6 years

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Frankenstein’s Faults

The allusions to other fiction works Mary Shelley creates illustrates the duality of Victor’s relationship with God embedded within Frankenstein. As Allison notes in her text “Frankenstein and the Labors of Men Genius,” Frankenstein parallels the Romantic work of fiction retold by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: the Faust story. According to Allison, “Like Victor Frankenstein, Faust longs for knowledge and power through any means, including alchemy. He makes a deal with Mephisto, a demon, in order to gain unlimited access to knowledge and power outside of the reach of humanity.” Obviously, making deals with demons is not a holy way to pursue anything, but despite that, both Faust and Frankenstein were tempted to commit treason against God by the powers only knowledge can give. Perhaps Victor’s and Fausto’s desire for it was out of pride and ego. To understand things only God or a Demon would, and to rise above humanity in such ways suggests that “When ‘the masters of science sought…power…’ an uncontrollable monster is threatening” both in the literal sense as seen with the Creature, or figuratively, as the threatening monster could be ego derived from “hubris, pride, overstepping our limits, crossing into forbidden territory, and violating the sacred” (Peters). Frankenstein and Faust demonstrate how pride, selfishness and a yearning to be recognized for one’s accomplishments follow closely behind the desire to master the secrets of knowledge and nature. Frankenstein believes himself to be “uniquely able to give [his] knowledge to the scientific community and the world,” (Allison) seeking recognition for his selfish passion for glory and knowledge. Frankenstein even admits how “surprised that among so many men of genius, who directed their inquiries towards the same science, that I alone should be reserved to discover so astonishing a secret.” (Shelley). However, Shelley’s allusion to Prometheus in respect to Victor Frankenstein forces us to examine Victor’s motives and actions in a different light.

Allison reveals that Shelley herself subtitled Frankenstein “The Modern Prometheus” which provides a legitimate reason for the argument that Frankenstein was indeed a misunderstood scientist, and like with Prometheus, God(s) may have been wrong in the severity of the punishments. Prometheus’s story is portrayed to be heroic, a sacrifice to evolve the technology and science of the world. Prometheus “created the human race, forming our ancestors out of clay. Second, he stole fire from the sun and gave fire to us creatures living on an otherwise dark and damp Earth. Prometheus’ gift of fire led to human advance in writing, mathematics, agriculture, medicine, and science. But this theft violated the sanctity of the heavens overseen by the Olympian god, Zeus. In anger, Zeus retaliated by chaining Prometheus to a rock. The imprisoned Prometheus helplessly endured the indignity and pain of having an eagle, the symbol of Zeus, daily eat his liver” (Peters). Prometheus and Victor stole precious knowledge and fire from the heavens, and both suffered greatly for it. That may not be the only connection; at least one person believes in the goodness of Frankenstein. Over Frankenstein’s dead body, the Creature cries “Oh, Frankenstein! Generous and self devoted being” (Shelley). Even after all the torture Frankenstein and the Creature inflicted on each other, the Creature in the end realized his love and great sadness in causing Frankenstein’s death. When we view Prometheus as wrongfully punished for the benefit of the whole, Frankenstein is understood as an over enthusiastic student who overstepped boundaries. Though he struggled to do right by God, Frankenstein was haunted in the end by something of his own hands’ creation and died an early death. The emotional trauma Frankenstein experiences may have been the result of an angry God, furious at having his powers taken from him and cursing Frankenstein to be not the benevolent scientist attempting to enlighten humanity, but a crazy, angry, and depressed demon who only brings death to those he loves. Victor’s belief that “the world to me was a secret, which I desired to discover” (Shelley) can be interpreted as the malicious desire to probe nature, or as the words of a man whose holistic, intellectual pursuits went awry, burdened for life by his dangerous ambition to acquire knowledge for the greater good at whatever the cost, even against God.

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more--than--music · 6 years

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2018 Albums of the Year

Here’s my albums of the year. 2018 has been a brilliant year for music, and so I thought I’d lay out my favourite albums, and the reasons why they’re my favourites.

10: Unknown Mortal Orchestra – Sex and Food

Kicking the list off at ten, we have the fourth full-length project from the New Zealand lo-fi psychedelic group Unknown Mortal Orchestra. An album that calls to mind at various points dusty late 70s grooves, 80s synth work and yet very modern production sensibilities, Sex and Food bounces between deeply introspective balladry, and funky danceable beats. A sure step forward for a band that only looks to become more experimental as time goes on.

9: Ben Howard – Noonday Dream

The Devon based singer-songwriter gives a compelling vision of the future of indie-folk with this transient and supremely accomplished set of songs. Taking a further stride away from the straightforward acoustic sound of 2011’s Every Kingdom, Noonday Dream shows an artist unafraid to utilise aspects of electronic and ambient music into his soundscapes, resulting in a transcendent, elegant, and above all beautiful set of tracks. The opening duo of Nica Libres At Dusk and Towing The Line are a particular high point.

8: Thom Yorke – Suspiria (Music for the Luca Guadagnino Film)

Surprisingly his first ever venture into soundtrack work, Thom Yorke’s masterful score for the Luca Guadagnino film of the same name could be in this list simply on the strength of its lead track; Suspirium is an otherworldly waltz, a spartan piano line presided over by Thom’s instantly recognisable vocals. But it is the deeper cuts for which this album earns its place; Open Again begins with a fingerpicked guitar progression that grows into a monolithic walk to the gallows and then fades out once more. A master at the height of his powers.

7: Sports Team – Winter Nets

Undoubtedly the least well-known name on this list, the debut EP from the London-based indie-pop outfit Sports Team has been one of my most played records yet this year. A cerebral mix of Jarvis Cocker-style lyricism preoccupied with the minutiae of suburban life, and pitch perfect indie rock arrangements teetering on the edge of chaos, this shows talent beyond their years; the only EP on this list, these five tracks managed to catch my attention early on, and have stayed with me through the year. Ones to watch.

6: MGMT – Little Dark Age

A name I would not have expected to see on this list at the start of the year, the comeback from the early 2000s electro-pop group is unexpectedly brilliant. Far from the runaway chart success of singles such as Electric Feel, Little Dark Age is full of tracks that could have been pulled from the dusty archives of pretty much any 80s synth bands, but combined with so many left-field production choices, and lyrics that belie a dark sensibility beneath the bright instrumentation, this album becomes a very mature release indeed. The single, Little Dark Age, is just magic. I can’t wait to see what comes next.

5: Car Seat Headrest – Twin Fantasy

Bringing us into the second half of this list is Will Toledo’s project Car Seat Headrest, with a rerecorded, remastered version of his 2011 breakout album Twin Fantasy. Toledo’s DIY ethos calls to mind contemporary Kevin Parker, of Tame Impala, although the two go about their self-imposed individualism rather differently. Toledo’s recordings retain the lo-fi teen emotion of the original Twin Fantasy, while adding the production sensibilities of Toledo’s later Car Seat Headrest ventures, resulting in such a dizzying barrage of pitch perfect indie ballads that display mature, incisive and insightful lyricism. The peaks of the album slip off the rails in the most glorious way, and culminate in simple, honest, and resounding emotional resolutions. Few albums so perfectly capture the teenage experience... a brilliant achievement.

4: Father John Misty – God’s Favorite Customer

It will come to no surprise to those of you who know me that Josh Tillman has made his way into this list; I have been following Father John Misty since last year’s existential crisis of an album, Pure Comedy. But God’s Favorite Customer is an entirely different beast- aside from the single, Mr Tillman, the typical luscious arrangements of a usual Father John Misty album are conspicuously missing here. Gone are the chamber pop orchestras and parlour ballads; here is FJM with an acoustic guitar, a month’s stay in a hotel room, and some utterly shattering songwriting. Tillman has abandoned his lofty perch overseeing the human condition in favour of personal, painful lyrics that dissect a failing relationship in real time. Many of these songs are addressed to, or from the perspective of, Josh’s wife, Emma, and the narratives are as autobiographical as ever. But the key here is that Tillman has ceased to be just an observer of the phenomena he comments on; in God’s Favorite Customer he has no choice but to experience them from the inside, and it makes for devastating listening in places. However, Misty has not abandoned all hope; closer We're Only People (And There's Not Much Anyone Can Do About That) ends the album with a remarkably beautiful and optimistic look at humanity, and leaves you ready to emerge from the hotel room, blinking against the sunlight, into the outside world.

3: Blood Orange – Negro Swan

London born producer, multi-instrumentalist, and general prodigy Devont Hynes, has outdone himself on his fourth project under the moniker Blood Orange; Negro Swan represents exactly the kind of progressive song writing Hynes is so sought after in the pop world for, and brings together a beautiful collage of sounds and textures to produce an album that is so of the moment, it feels like a time capsule of today. Swan embraces diversity, revelling in a celebration of sexuality and identity that feels almost carnival-like in its embrace of so many aspects of modern R&B and Hip-Hop. On what other album can you find Puff Daddy monologuing about his own fear of being loved? This whole project is filled with moments such as this, with trans black activist Janet Mock providing a loose narrative thread tying the album together. But for me, the true highlight of this album is Hynes himself; a young black artist showcasing a striking talent that simply refuses to obey the laws of genre or society. The musical prowess on show is undeniable; in particular, Hynes’ guitar work is so accomplished, tracks such as Charcoal Baby are sheer joy to listen to because of it. The vocals on this record are equally impressive; comparisons will undoubtedly be drawn to Prince, although personally I see Hynes as akin to Frank Ocean, both showcasing a new vision for R&B in the 21st century, and Swan feels in many ways a sibling to Ocean’s 2016 album Blonde, in its transient nature and almost soundscape-like mixture of sounds and feelings. Negro Swan is a glorious celebration in which all expression is embraced, and no identity is off-limits. This is what all modern R&B should aspire to.

2: Arctic Monkeys – Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

Those monkeys, eh? Four years after their last studio effort, with each member having done something entirely different (and accomplished, see Alex Turner with The Last Shadow Puppets, and Matt Helders on the latest Iggy Pop record) with their sabbatical, no one quite knew what shape their return would take. Recorded in London, Paris and Los Angeles, the sixth album from the band synonymous with early 00s indie could have taken quite a number of directions; furthering the slick arena rock of AM, delving deeper into the baroque pop offering the Last Shadow Puppets pursue, or perhaps even a return to their raucous indie rock roots. Naturally, they did none of the above. The first sign of their step in a different direction was a video they posted in mid-April, announcing a return with an eerie synth line and a fuzzy guitar lick; in hindsight it was the perfect segue into the TBH&C era, both a nod to the leather-clad rock of AM, and yet the space-age synths and fictional space resorts of Tranquility Base. And when the album did come? Oh boy. I’m not sure a release in 2018 divided fans quite like the Monkeys’ did. I’ve heard it variously described as “sheer genius”, “derivative retro nothing” and “f*cking lift music”. It really was that polarising. I’m sure that from its spot on this list you can guess which camp I fall into. From the go, the surreal lyricism of Alex Turner is front and centre, and the record is all the better for it. From surreal references to Kubrick film techniques, and obsession with sci-fi jargon, to ridiculous pastiches of Hollywood clichés, critics weren’t short of liner notes to unpick. But the key for me was the way that the album, as all great sci-fi does, comments on modern life through the lens of futurism, while also keeping you scratching your head the whole time. Furthermore, the actual songwriting is as good as ever, with Turner making a tune about a less than perfect review for a taquiera on the moon into the rhythmic centrepiece of the album. I do have to confess, I am slightly biased; I’m a lifelong AM fan, and I did see this performed live, which only deepened my admiration of it but truthfully- listen to this album. Then listen some more. And then some more again. Because when it clicks, you won’t experience anything else even remotely like it all year.

Bonus Round

These are albums that I discovered in 2018, but weren’t released this year… they deserved recognition along with the rest of these projects.

5: Frank Ocean – Endless

Frank Ocean is one of, if not the, best and most innovative artists working in modern R&B. That much is undisputed. But until 2018, despite being a huge Frank Ocean fan, I had neglected his 2016 visual album, Endless. Perhaps this was due to laziness, not having Apple Music, or perhaps it was because for me it was vastly overshadowed by the release of the seminal Blonde a few days later. Or maybe I simply thought a visual album wasn’t worth my time. Whatever the reason, I was a fool to overlook it. Endless is an ethereal journey through Ocean’s psyche, with a vast soundscape of beautiful, flowing synths and guitars. Furthermore, Endless features some of Ocean’s best rap work since Channel Orange. A truly beautiful project, and Higgs is, for me, Ocean’s most devastatingly sad track… further evidence that Frank doesn’t put a foot wrong.

4: Leonard Cohen: Songs Of Leonard Cohen

In 2016, the music world lost one of its most treasured talents, in the form of Leonard Cohen. However, although I have always been aware of Cohen’s work (Hallelujah, his inspiration of Nick Cave, The Last Shadow Puppets’ Is This What You Wanted cover), I had never taken the time to sit down and immerse myself in his work. Well, I was very much missing out. His cinematic, confessional storytelling, and his instantly recognisable voice and manner, mean that his songs are almost exactly the type of ballads I love, and Songs is his finest work. From start to end, you see the world through Cohen’s eyes. A poet.

3: King Krule: The OOZ

King Krule (real name: Archy Marshall) is a divisive artist; many see him as a visionary, however he is also, to many (including my dad) just “the one with the awful voice”. To me, Krule is a fantastic lyricist and producer, with an instantly recognisable sound. From the moment you enter The OOZ, you are in Marshall’s world, a London of grimy concrete and eerie loneliness. However, there are moments of beauty among the sluggish, smog-filled music; Slush Puppy, despite descending into madness near the end, is a really quite endearingly desperate performance. Cadet Limbo also shows off Krule’s more jazzy influences, and is all the better for it. A view into the future of singer-songwriting.

2: Father John Misty: I Love You, Honeybear

Josh Tillman has already featured on this list once, and it’s no secret I think he’s one of the best artists working today. However, until this year, I had never given his 2015 romantic opus, Honeybear, a proper listen. I was turned on to Misty by his 2017 work Pure Comedy, and after an existentialist view on all of Humanity, a romance album seemed like a step back, so I didn’t give it the time it deserved. How wrong I was. Honeybear is a beautiful, tender, and being an FJM record, deeply satirical and funny, look at love, relationships, and society. It features lush, beautiful arrangements, and gorgeous melodies, all delivered with Misty’s characteristic tongue-in-cheek smirk. Not one track on the album is dead space, and there are several high points, right from the start. Favourite for me is I Went To The Store One Day, which is a simple, yet incredibly beautiful and moving ballad to close the album. Stunning stuff indeed.

1: Everything Everything – A Fever Dream

I’ve known of Everything Everything for quite a while now, but in early 2017 I was gifted tickets to see them on their A Fever Dream tour, and it absolutely blew my mind. EE have crafted brilliant electronic indie music in the past, with catchy melodies and odd, skittering rhythms. However, A Fever Dream builds on this in the best possible way, building on their electronic sound and adding an even more fiercely of-the-moment view on songwriting. One of the highlights for me was Jonathan Higgs’ vocals, which electrified the music with a fierce intellect, and sparkling melodies. An ecstatic blend of so many musical styles, which results in a fantastic album. A masterpiece for today.

Okay, finally the main event. My album of the year 2018 is…

1: IDLES – Joy as an Act of Resistance.

Here we are then. Number one spot. And again, if you know me, you know there could never really have been any other album here. I first discovered IDLES earlier in the year, riding off the success of their breakout debut album Brutalism, an unstoppable punk locomotive of an album, with guitar and bass lines that are so, well, brutal, that they break down the door and hold you at gunpoint until you sit up and pay attention. This band is the perfect voice for austerity Britain, more mature than Slaves, more relevant than Sleaford Mods, and yet they walk an incredibly fine line. It’s almost impossible to define until you hear a band that possess it, but they simply make. So. Much. Sense. Joe Talbot talks with such a fiery intensity that it’s impossible not to listen, and an eloquence that is so often missing from punk. He’s so likeable, and oddly enough for punk, easy to listen to. However, don’t mistake that for the album lacking brutal riffs. Because it has those in spades. From the opening bass rumble of Colossus, JAAAOR picks you up by the scruff off your neck, and doesn’t put you down until the last manic notes of Rottweiler fade away. This is a rock record that defies rock, a punk record that doesn’t define itself as punk, and a political statement that bases its politics on the phrase “Love yourself.” This provides an infectious alternative to the toxic masculinity of so much mainstream rock, and a uniquely vulnerable take on an incredible variety of issues. Beginning with an immediate left-footing with Colossus, the album the catches its witty and caustic stride with Never Fight A Man With A Perm, going from strength to strength the whole time. I’ve never quite identified with a track lyrically as much as I’m Scum, a rallying call for liberals everywhere: “I'll sing at fascists 'til my head comes off, I am Dennis Skinner's Molotov / I'm lefty, I'm soft, I'm minimum wage job”and erupting into the chant of “this snowflake’s an avalanche”. It goes on to postulate about not caring about the next James Bond, as “we don’t need another murderous toff”. The next track is the joyous Danny Nedelko, an ode to Talbot’s friend, and frontman of Heavy Lungs, Danny Nedelko. It’s a quite magnificent celebration of immigration and diversity, and embodies the sentiment of the album as a whole quite simply with a roar of “Unity!”. Potent stuff. The next highlight (or rather lowlight) for me is the one-two punch of June and Samaritans. June is a singularly moving ode to Talbot’s stillborn daughter, building all the time to a non-existent crescendo, and repeating the six-word mantra “Baby shoes, for sale. Never worn.” Incredibly painful, raw and poignant; you feel as if you’re witnessing a moment that you really shouldn’t be, a would-be father grieving at the bedside. It then transitions into Samaritans, an anti-toxic masculinity manifesto, furious in its denial of male stereotypes: “Man up, sit down, chin up, pipe down”, and building relentlessly to sheer ecstasy of the decree: “I kissed a boy and I liked it”. Powerful, powerful stuff. Track eight, Television, is pinned down by a juddering riff complimented by the incredibly able drumming of Jon Beavis (a very much unsung hero of the group), and a wonderful self-love mantra. Moving on, Great is an anti-Brexit track than manages to reveal the hypocrisy of nationalism without ever moving into preachy politicism, which is Talbot’s greatest strength; he can make any point sound like the simplest and most honest declaration ever. Gram Rock and Cry To Me are witty, and the least overtly political tracks of the album; but even these apparent low points aren’t by any means stale, quite the opposite. Every moment of this record fizzes with energy. Finally, Joy rounds off with the magnificent Rottweiler, a searing discrediting of the UK media, ending in the wheels coming off as the tension built throughout the 42 minutes comes to a chaotic end, with Joe yelping “Unity!”over and over. I have one final thing to say about Joy; it’s production is pristine throughout, with clarity in even its most chaotic moments. This is my record of the year, because I feel no other record held my attention so completely, and was so representative of the sentiment of this year. Pure joy.

Well then, thanks for sticking with me. 2018’s been a belter of a year for music, and I can’t wait to see what 2019 brings.

#2018 #albums of the year #unknown mortal orchestra #ben howard #thom yorke #sports team #mgmt #car seat headrest #father john misty #blood orange #arctic monkeys #idles

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davenportbang6-blog · 6 years

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Brave New Planet Through Aldous Huxley-- Reviews, Conversation, Bookclubs, Lists.

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character-planning · 2 years

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Character Chart

Character’s full name: Aisha Harker

Character’s nickname: Pashmina (family)

Reason for nickname:

Birth date: March / Pisces

Physical appearance

Age: 20s (between Jesse and Nell)

How old does he/she appear: around age

Weight: slightly above average/chubby

Height: 5”1

Body build: hourglass

Shape of face: round

Eye color: brown

Glasses or contacts: no

Skin tone: warm medium dark brown

Distinguishing marks: none

Predominant features: hair

Hair color: black

Type of hair: 4A

Hairstyle: short, big

Voice: high, bouncy

Overall attractiveness: more of a “cute”

Physical disabilities: none

Usual fashion of dress: skirt over jeans

Favorite outfit: sweater, skirt, jeans, white sneakers

Jewelry or accessories: jewelry on occasion, fun purses

Personality

Good personality traits: optimistic, kind, spontaneous, fun, caring, open minded, creative

Bad personality traits: messy, scattered, unreliable, gossipy, impulsive, easily bored

Mood character is most often in: upbeat, bored

Sense of humor: silly, “random”

Character’s greatest joy in life: making people smile/laugh

Character’s greatest fear: being alone

Why?: she has always been around lots of people in life and doesn’t know how to handle solitude, is afraid to confront herself and her feelings

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?: if her freedom was somehow taken from her

Character is most at ease when: she is fully allowed to be herself and do what she wants

Most ill at ease when: in situations requiring discipline, silence, conformity

Enraged when: entertaining or teaching others, discovering something new, exploring ideas and actions

Depressed or sad when: she has no one to share her joy with, when people she cares about are not well

Priorities: entertaining self, pursuing new experiences, living life to the fullest, helping others do the same

Life philosophy: carpe diem! Do no harm, take no shit

If granted one wish, it would be: something stupid and impulsive on the spot, but with time to reflect, something for a loved one who needs help

Character’s soft spot: animals

Is this soft spot obvious to others? Yes

Greatest strength: resilience

Greatest vulnerability or weakness: fear of failure

Biggest regret:

Minor regret:

Biggest accomplishment: getting into a prestigious art school

Minor accomplishment:

Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about:

Why?

Character’s darkest secret:

Does anyone else know?

Goals

Drives and motivations: recognition, self satisfaction through mastery, joy, a creative self lead job, freedom financially and in lifestyle

Immediate goals: finish college

Long term goals: get a job as a costume designer

How the character plans to accomplish these goals: get really good and build lots of connections

How other characters will be affected: a new job may require her to move out

Past

Hometown: fictional northern Californian city

Type of childhood: busy, chaotic, lively, loving

Pets: dog, 2 cats, and whatever critters her siblings brought home

First memory:

Most important childhood memory:

Why:

Childhood hero:

Dream job: costume designer for films

Education: in college (ba)

Religion: none

Finances: middle class family, comfortable

Present

Current location: renting a room with…

Currently living with: Jesse, nelle

Pets: none

Religion: none

Occupation: in school, gigs

Finances: support from family but still short on spending money

Family

Mother: yes, adoptive

Relationship with her: good

Father: yes, adoptive

Relationship with him: good

Siblings: 5

Relationship with them: good for the most part

Other important family members:

Favorites

Color: orange

Least favorite color: purple

Music: pop, hyperpop, funk, rnb, metal

Food: fruit

Literature: fantasy, history, non fiction (art, media)

Form of entertainment: tv and film

Expressions:

Mode of transportation: roller skating

Most prized possession:

Habits

Hobbies: baking, roller skating, tv and film, thrifting

Plays a musical instrument? No

Plays a sport? No

How he/she would spend a rainy day: going out anyway

Spending habits: over spends

Smokes: socially

Drinks: yes, in moderation

Other drugs: no

What does he/she do too much of? Working on her projects, spending

What does he/she do too little of? Relaxing alone, dealing with mundane tasks

Extremely skilled at: making clothes, visual skills in general, entertaining others

Extremely unskilled at: being diplomatic

Nervous tics: eye twitch when stressed

Usual body posture: upright, confident

Mannerisms: fast, bouncy, jerky

Peculiarities:

Traits

Optimist or pessimist? Depends on topic

Introvert or extrovert? Extroverted

Daredevil or cautious? Daredevil

Logical or emotional? Emotional

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat? Messy

Prefers working or relaxing? Relaxing, work if it’s her passion

Confident or unsure of himself/herself?confident

Animal lover? Yes

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself: confident but very high standards for self, hard on herself if not successful

One word the character would use to describe self: bold

One paragraph description of how the character would describe self:

What does the character consider his/her best personality trait?

What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait? forgetfulness

What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic?

What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic?

How does the character think others perceive him/her:

What would the character most like to change about himself/herself:

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general:

Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others? Rarely

Person character most hates:

Best friend(s):

Love interest(s):

Person character goes to for advice:

Person character feels responsible for or takes care of:

Person character feels shy or awkward around:

Person character openly admires:

Person character secretly admires:

Most important person in character’s life before story starts:

After story starts:

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gravitascivics · 3 years

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KANT BE SO

Yes, a cheesy title, but in its way, it hits the point of this posting. This blog, after rendering a cursory description of how Romanticism got started in Europe, now begins describing its introduction into the US. And in that, one comes across familiar titles: “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow” by Washington Irving along with his “Rip Van Winkle.” There’s James Fenimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans and the depiction of Puritanical morals in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter and Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick.

But of direct interest to this blog are the essays and other non-fiction works of Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson. And with these efforts, one can see that many Americans readily took up the themes their European counterparts had been expounding. That included a high dose of moral judgement, an emphasis on individualism – from a more psychological perspective – and the importance of intuition, more on this in a bit.

They also promoted an almost reverence for nature – especially in the case of Thoreau – in which the message was it was “naturally” good while society was indulgent and corrupt. Of course, as the last posting described and explained, these themes were recurring in Romantic offerings in Europe as those artists and writers took aim at the Enlightenment’s reliance on reason. And to underline this divorce from Enlightened thought, American Romantics hit upon a term that they felt emboldened their disdain, that being transcendentalism.

Why? That question takes one back to Europe. There, the origin of this anti-reason strain gets an initial upstart not from an anti-reason argument, but one that placed certain restraints found in the works of Thomas Hobbes and John Locke. In their works – to use a Lockean term – the mind at birth was a tabula rasa, a blank slate.

It, then through experience, perhaps resulting from the succession of rewards and costs that one encounters, one “learns” to see those things that one should pursue and what one should avoid among what all those encounters teach a person. In that one learns, from observing how one’s mind works, to reason since reasoning increases the probability of success. To that argument, Immanuel Kant sought to qualify it.

He did not argue that reason and the ability to reason were not important aspects of learning and decision-making, but he claimed there was more going on in the mind and those processes of sorts were inborn abilities. And that needs to be explained. To begin, yes, at birth one experiences and/or observes isolated things out in one’s surroundings, but that is all a subject can do that relates to his/her reasoning ability.

That is, each encounter is merely observing a sensation. At that stage, reason could not do anything with each sensation or, to use the jargon, each thing-in-itself. As such, each is phenomenal, or datum and one cannot pass any judgement about it. To this point, there is agreement with David Hume in that Hume’s skepticism questioned the human ability to draw any conclusions even if colliding billiard balls then move away from each other.

But, Kant adds, that upon that pure information, one has built-in a mental capacity – not based on experience – that allows one to make judgements of what underlies or constitutes those experiences. And that is what Kant called with the unfortunate term, noumenal (roughly pronounced new-ou-min-al).

This noumenal is a totally different realm of knowledge into which the mind can tap. It is through this element that the mind can investigate the nature of things or to pass judgement as to its ultimate truthfulness, its functionality, its morality, and other qualities that transcend its physical qualities, i.e., beyond one’s observation of the things-in-themselves. And here, according to Kant, one does not use reason – reason only deals in the phenomenal.[1]

All of this review reminds this blogger of what he reads concerning contemporary psychological study of these human, mental abilities and processes. For example, Nobel prize winner, Daniel Kahneman, writes:

Our everyday intuitive abilities are no less marvelous than the striking insights of an experienced firefighter or physician – only more common …

[quoting Herbert Simon] “The situation has provided a cue; this cue has given the expert access to information stored in memory, and the information provides the answer. Intuition is nothing more and nothing less than recognition.” …

An important advance is that emotion now looms much larger in our understanding of intuitive judgements and choices than it did in the past. [An] executive’s decision would today be described as an example of the affect heuristic, where judgements and decisions are guided directly by feelings of liking and disliking, with little deliberation or reasoning.[2]

All this gets heavier as one plunges into Kant, and the purpose here is not to do so – even if this writer could – but to give the reader a sense of why Romantic Americans adopted the term transcendentalism. In doing so, they probably extended Kant’s purposes, but it did fit into what they wished to promote. As with their European counterparts, they had an attitude against reason and Kant’s transcendent argument fit their designs. Allen Guelzo explains:

There were, Kant said, two things which amazed him – the starry heavens above, which were phenomenal, and the moral law within which belonged to the noumenal. Never the twain would meet, at least methodologically. Philosophy could not become transcendent. But, through the gift of the noumenal, it could become transcendental. Reason, and all of its limitations, half heartedness, and sterility, could retire off the stage and minds could rejoice in knowing the certainty of external phenomena and the intuition of transcendental wonder.[3]

And wonder seems to be what many Americans were searching to find in the 1820s and 1830s.

As with the Great Awakening, the first signs of this transcending that is Transcendentalism appears in the Boston area. It devolved from Unitarianism, a Protestant sect springing from the days of the Great Awakening, on the Harvard campus. By the early 1800s, it had become the most prominent religion in the Boston area.

Upon the election of Henry Ware as a professor of divinity as early as 1805 and the ascension of John Thornton Kirkland as president of that college in 1810, a certain natural evolution from Unitarian beliefs took hold, an outgrowth or sort of rebellious thinking that promoted free consciousness and initially valued intellectual reasoning.

But this view moved on and began to question such Unitarian biases of mildness, sobriety, and cool rationalism. They, the self-anointed Transcendentalists, sought more intensity. Parallel to otherwise Unitarian beliefs, they went looking for more visceral spirituality in their beliefs and in the religious experiences that they encountered.[4] These notions took root and led to the eventual founding of the Transcendental Club in Cambridge in 1836 under the leadership of George Putnam, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Frederick Henry Hedge.

The club had female members and of note, Thoreau was also a member. It published a journal, The Dial. But the club and its movement did not enjoy widespread influence during the 1840s. As a matter of fact, it did not hit its stride until later in the mid-nineteenth century. At that time, Transcendentalism influenced a growing movement known as the “Mental Sciences.” Later, it took on the name “New Thought.” It considered Emerson its intellectual father as well as depending on a long list of influential British writers of those years.[5]

It turns out that these Americans had little direct exposure to European Romantics and most of what they understood or knew of them came to them through the works of Thomas Carlyle and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. It is through their presentation of Romantic ideas that this blog will next look at and report on their influence.

[1] Henry E. Allison, “Kant, Immanuel,” in The Oxford Companion to Philosophy, edited by Ted Honderich (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 435-438.

[2] Daniel Kahneman, Thinking, Fast and Slow, (New York, NY: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2011), 11-12.

[3] Allen C. Guelzo, The American Mind, Part II – a transcript book – (Chantilly, VA: The Teaching Company/The Great Courses, 2005), 23-24.

[4] Ian Frederick, “The Emergence of Transcendentalism,” American Studies at The University of Virginia, University of Virginia (November 2014), accessed September 13, 2021, Rise of Transcendentalism (virginia.edu) .

[5] “New Thought,” MSN Encarta, Microsoft (November 11, 2002), accessed September 13, 2021, New Thought - MSN Encarta (archive.org) .

#Romanticism #Transcendentalism #Immanuel Kant #noumena #phenomena #intuition #reason #civics education #American history #social studies

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