#kind of like how some people think Metropolis is Chicago | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lonelywretchjervistetch · 2 years

Text

My DC Cinematic Universe: Superman (Part IX)

Chapter Nine: Superman

It's at this time that we finally begin the story for this first theoretical film. Bits and pieces have been added throughout this elongated essay series, but this post is the culmination of these efforts, as well as fixing or clarifying a few things I've already mentioned.

Now, before anything else, there is something I need to make abundantly clear. I am not a writer. I am not a screenplay writer, a comic book writer, or a writer of any other kind. My name is published in scientific papers, and my training is primarily in ecology and ornithology. I have a bunch of ideas about comics and webcomics, but haven't really finished them (as of yet). I have written a healthy number of film reviews on my side profile, but I DEFINITELY wouldn't call them literary masterpieces. So, yeah, absolutely not a writer.

However, what I am is a MASSIVE goddamn nerd who spends a lot of time thinking about how he would make movies about various comic book characters. Superman, of course, is one of those characters. So, before we start, here are a few things to keep in mind. This is meant to be lighter in tone, and more down to Earth than most Superman films tend to be. Think more like Superman: The First Movie, but a touch more serious nd introspective when it comes to our main character. And again, not a writer, so some blanks may have to be filled in here or there as we go along.

OK, OK, without further ado...let's see what we can do. Flash the DC logo, let's get started!

Prologue: Up in the Sky

We're gonna bookend this film with narration from Lois Lane, specifically pieces that she's writing on Superman and Metropolis. Gonna be mostly show and less tell, but Lois will help introduce us to the city. And in the beginning, we'll go from the opening directly to the street. Bustling activity on the sidewalk, people starting their day as the sun rises, and tracking life in Metropolis, right from the start.

Metropolis, for all intents and purposes, should feel like a real city. I'm talking Chicago, I'm talking New York. But, where Gotham represents those cities in the dead of night, when fear lurks in the darkness, we'll be seeing Metropolis shortly after sunrise, just as the city begins to wake up. And again, this should feel like a real city, with character and flavor all its own. And Lois' narration should reflect and describe that character. A city that's always been grasping towards a bright future, but is inhabited by those comfortable living in the modern day. A place of tomorrows that hold onto the past. Nostalgia tempered by ambition. Y'know, that kinda stuff.

As Lois begins to describe the feel and life in the city, as well as recent changes and strife, we go to Hob's Bay, a older harborside neighborhood, and one of the oldest in Metropolis. a man visits a news stand and picks up a paper. This man is Bibbo Bibowski, a local character and owner of the Ace o'Clubs pub, and he picks up a local paper, the Daily Star. He looks at the Daily Planet, which is reporting on Superman, and grimaces. Not a fan, clearly. He puts in a pair of headphones, and turns on a podcast, Leslie Willis' Live Wire. Yeah, on the nose, I know, but you get it.

As Bibbo's walking to work, he bumps into a clumsy young man, whom he identifies as Jimmy Olsen. The two are friendly, but you can see a brief clash of ideologies as Bibbo refers to Jimmy's job at the Daily Planet as less than respectable, given their stance on certain issues. Jimmy brushes this off, because he's going to be late to work. He grabs some food from a stand, then gets a rideshare to the Daily Planet. But before he can get there...

Why yes, that IS a clip from the 1997 film Steel, starring Shaquille O'Neal. And yes, this IS for a good reason! So, Jimmy's in the ride share, texting Lois to let her know that's he's on his way to the office. But, on the way, a crime erupts when the Metropolis PD race by, interrupting traffic. Jimmy, following the normal actions of an intrepid reporter (according to Lois, anyway), asks the driver to follow them. When they get there, they see the police interrupting a robbery.

Lois' narration continues, telling us that crime has been getting worse, with gangs taking claim over various territories, using increasingly powerful weaponry. This weaponry, in this case is the Toastmaster, a powerful weapon used by the White Rabbit Gang of Hob's Bay. Caught smuggling the weapons by the police, a fire fight has erupted. The Special Forces Unit, led by Maggie Sawyer and Dan Turpin, arrives with their own firepower and manages to subdue some of the gang members. But at that point, a much larger Toastmaster, the BG-105, is brought out by a member of the gang, each of whom have a white rabbit on their jackets. He fires the gun, and it's obvious that the cops are outmatched. It's also at this point that Jimmy's out of the car, taking pictures for a story.

A gang member grabs a box and runs away, backed up by his compatriots. And as the danger's increased significantly, and Maggie and Dan are about to be blasted by this Toastmaster...

Part One: This is Your Life, Clark Kent

So, yeah, obviously this is when Superman shows up. We flash the title screen real fast, play his bombastic leitmotif, and we jump right back into the action. Superman gets hit by the blast, and you can immediately tell that this isn't the normal kind of hit you'd expect Superman to take. Normally, we see Superman sort of glance off bullets and energy blasts like nothing, but this clearly has more kick to it. Superman takes a few steps forward through the blast, struggling a bit as he does it, while Sawyer and Turpin and the rest of the unit mobilize on the other members of the gang present. Even then, though, one of the gang members escapes, scared and not wanting to be caught. Superman is, of course, there to take out the big Toastmaster and provide needed backup for the cops.

The fight ends, Superman has some interaction with Maggie Sawyer and Turpin (the latter of whom is slightly more non-plussed by Superman getting into police business), and he takes off. Jimmy looks on at this, then looks at his photos, all of which are genuinely fantastic. Jimmy, for the record, should be a great photographer. And that should be agreed upon at the Daily Planet, where Jimmy arrives to the angry shouts of editor-in-chief Perry White.

Perry's shouting for Jimmy, as well as any reporters who have info on the White Rabbit attack that's just happened. Jimmy walks into a meeting, where we meet each of the major members of the Daily Planet crew. I've described them of Part V of this essay series, but real quick in this sequence, we get some basic descriptions of their roles in the paper.

Cat Grant is a gossip columnist, whose current focus is on Lex Luthor and his relationship with some Contessa from Italy, as well as other prescient gossip. She's been essentially removed from the Superman beat, which she's still kinda bitter towards Lois about, but whatever. However, over the course of the Superman franchise, Cat will find herself orienting more towards superhero and supervillain reporting, moving her into a slightly different role than she's had in the comics.

Steve Lombard, sports columnist, is focusing on an upcoming game between the Metropolis Meteors (a team which he used to serve on) and the Gotham Wildcats, the winner of which is set up go up against either the Midway Cardinals or the Star City Stags to determine standing in the National Conference. He rambles on about it, but Perry cuts him off.

Ron Troupe, political columnist, is reporting on politician Gordon Crown's campaign, which includes his stance on the crime increase, as well as the struggles of the police. This is our introduction to the some of the sociopolitical strain in Metropolis, which is obviously a major theme going forward, as well as Crown's goal.

It's at this point that Jimmy comes in, with reports of the photos he's gotten for a new story. He looks for Lois, who's on the crime beat and the city beat alongside Clark, and is also not there. Nor is city beat reporter Clark, and we see that their seats at the table are empty, much to Perry's irritation. He asks where Lois is, and we find out exactly where she is.

Here, we finally put face to the narration, as Lois Lane arrives at the crime scene in order to speak with Sawyer, Turpin, and the recently arrived Chief William Henderson, who is speaking with Superman and giving his thanks. Lois, being the intrepid reporter, tries to get an interview with anybody who'll give her the time of day. Basically everybody's in a hurry to leave, as the police are needed for an upcoming press conference with Gordon Crown, which Ron Troupe is also attending. But one person does interact with Lois: Superman. They obviously have a previous press-informer relationship, as Superman gives Lois a healthy amount of info about the events that had unfolded, then takes off after a polite (if slightly awkward) greeting. And once he takes off, running up and out of breath right after is Clark Kent, who had not gotten to the scene as a result of traffic, and was "beat to the punch" by Lois.

So, yeah, obviously Clark and Superman are one and the same, but I'm really trying to carve out a distinct difference between the two identities. Clark is Superman's real face, but he would try and play it up just a little bit to throw suspicion off of himself. Most of the time, this isn't an issue, but there is somebody who's come close to figuring out his secret: Lois. And we get this idea throughout the film. Anyway, Clark and Lois' dynamic is notably different, and we should see the change. The two are clearly friendly towards each other, although we should get the idea that this is a recent development. As reporters, they engage in some friendly competition and banter, but they're also somewhat too busy to hang out outside of work. Which is another dichotomy to enforce. Y'know, Superman is too busy for Lois, but Lois is too busy for Clark. It's symmetry! Anyway, after some pleasant and likeable conversation, the two head to work together.

Two more things real quick. Firstly, the romantic tension isn't quite out in the open as of yet, but there's definitely chemistry between the two. You should get the sense of a pre-existing relationship, with some potentially romantic overtones, but it's not crystallized yet. After all, romance between these two isn't exactly tension, since it's inevitable, but we should see the hints of it beginning to blossom. And it will blossom, but in an unexpected manner. Why?

Well, that brings us to our second point: Lois knows that Clark is Superman, but Clark doesn't know that Lois knows. Because let's be goddamn honest about something: Lois is absolutely a bullshit detector. And her insanely intrepid nature has led her to realize that Clark and Superman are one and the same. But she's mostly wrestling with ethics here. Does she ruin this person's life, and almost certainly the lives of others by telling a truth that doesn't need to be outed...or does she continue to gather information on this person, and try and understand them further to get a more fleshed-out story? And, of course, that was Lois' original plan, but she's realized that Clark is his own person, and not actually pretending to be something he isn't, in both of his identities. And in the process, she actually found herself liking Clark as a person, and not just as a story. But the distance between his identities is still hard for her to reconcile, so she's still figuring things out. But by the end of this film, she'll know exactly what she wants, and how she feels about Clark and Superman.

We cut from those two, and to an alleyway, to where the gang member who'd escaped earlier has run. A car pulls up, and the person inside is Bruno Manheim, who is being played by Tony Dalton in this essay. Somebody suggested it, and I like him for the part, honestly. The gang member is let into the car, and a friendly-seeming Bruno chats it up with them. Apparently, this struggle was part of a trade deal between the White Rabbits and Manheim's group, Intergang, but someone had tipped Manheim and his men off, meaning that Intergang didn't show up to the deal. Who tipped them off isn't said, however.

Manheim wants the Toastmasters, but now wants to deal directly with the boss of the Rabbits, whose identity is not well-known. After a conversation, Manheim intimidates the Rabbit and tells him he wants a meeting with their boss. He convinces the member to help arrange the meeting, and to tell only the boss so that this kind of thing wouldn't happen again. He lets the freaked-out Rabbit go, and relaxes in the back of his car.

A partition lowers, and a man in the passenger seat asks why he let him go. One, Manheim has other places to be; and two, at some point during the talk, Manheim slipped a tracker on the young Rabbit. Yes, this is a tech-savvy gang, and Manheim is not entirely stupid. He tells the driver to drop him off at "the rally", and then tells the man in the passenger seat to track down the rabbit. This man, John Corben, smiles at the request, and the group takes off. Oh, and the pre-Metallo Corben is played by Wilson Bethel in this essay.

OK, we're getting a little bogged down in the details, but let's continue following the story. At this point, I've been building up to a rally that's set to take place that afternoon. As Lois and Clark arrive at the Planet, they interact with the other members of the bullpen in various stages of their day, and we get to know see the inter-office relationships. Most prominently, of course, is Jimmy and our duo, and the three are pretty clearly often associated with each other. They go to meet Perry, he's a little pissed at how late they were, but lets it go in Lois' case when he hears their intel for the overarching story. But since Clark hasn't come in with a story, Perry assigns him to accompany Troupe to the upcoming Crown rally, and to get interviews with the audience members present, while Troupe interviews Crown himself. Clark agrees, and Jimmy offers to accompany them to get pictures of the event.

After this meeting, Clark gets a call from his folks, who are packing to head to Metropolis later that week on a visit. We get a hint that Jonathan Kent recently visited a doctor for cardiac concerns, but little more than a mention. Clark goes to meet Troupe, who's somewhat dismissive, but not out of any malice. It's from him and Olsen than we get an idea of who Gordon Crown is, as well as his views, and what the rally is going to focus upon.

Crown (played by Will Poulter for the purpose of this essay, and because I think he'd be a solid cast), is a young, likeable politician currently running for public office, after having been a popular political pundit working for the rival to the Daily Bugle, the Morgan Edge-owned company Galaxy Communications. On good terms with the Planet staff, he's an affable person with somewhat conservative views. Not everyone agrees with him, but he's got a reliable base. Interestingly, he's particularly critical of superheroes and vigilantes, having built his career on a very anti-crime platform.

He's also a very fast social climber, but this is attributed to him either being a massive suck-up (which he is when necessary), or just very good at his job (which he definitely seems to be). In any case, his success is undeniable, and his popularity is climbing, as seen by the decent number of people at the rally. This number includes Clark, Ron, and Jimmy, amongst other reporters; Inspector Henderson and Maggie Sawyer, who've just arrived; LexCorp representative Mercy Graves (more on her later), there in place of her boss; and pulling up in a limo in the back, Bruno Manheim. He gets out, then tells his driver he knows what to do. The driver pulls around the corner, then parked the car in an alley, bringing a gun with him.

He climbs up to the roof, and as this happens, we get a glimpse at Gordon Crown. We see him talking backstage with Mercy Graves, where she's giving him a message from Lex. He finishes that conversation, then greets Henderson and talks about the events of the day in terms of the White Rabbit Gang, just before going onstage. Just then, the driver sets up a rifle on a rooftop opposite the rally. Obviously, we're looking at an assassination attempt. However, before anything happens, the man leaves, simply setting up the gun and hooking it up to a technological device of some kind. He gets it set up, then leaves after setting a timer of some kind.

Once he makes it into the car, he watches on a screen in the car. When the time is right, he presses the button, and an obvious (obvious) laser light shines on Crown. Everyone sees this, including Clark, who speeds off to intercept the bullet. The gun fires, a bullet hits Superman, who's just arrived, and Crown locks eyes with a passing car, which holds Manheim staring at him through the window, and winking. Crown sees this, Crown understands this...but he says nothing. Instead, he takes the opportunity to thank Superman, even though it's apparent that he doesn't really want to. Superman goes to find the culprit, but to no avail.

After the shooting and the police follow-up, Lois arrives to cover this event, as it falls beneath her wheelhouse. After the stressful day, Jimmy invites Clark, Lois, and Ron to go to the Ace o' Clubs and take a load off. Ron passes, but Clark and Lois agree, and the group decides to meet up that night. Once there, we see that Crown has quickly rebounded, and is meeting with an anchor on a local news program, recounting the events of that day. Bibbo, with this channel on at the pub, comments to various individuals in the bar (Jimmy included) that some people (him included) think Superman was in on it, trying to make himself look like a big hero in front of the audience, and in front of Crown, his biggest detractor. Which, frankly, is a solid argument.

Lois agrees that the idea would be a good story, while Jimmy vehemently disagrees. He's a big fan of Superman, and he knows he was trying to do the right thing. CLark doesn't say much, since he doesn't like to comment on...well, himself. He does agree that it's a plausible theory, though. The three have a conversation about Superman, maybe about other similar figures that have appeared in the city or elsewhere, and give us a better idea of the environs in which we find ourselves.

From there, we go to a very nice house in Martinside, a very wealthy district of the city. A car pulls up to this house, and Gordon Crown exits. He enters the house, where in an office meeting with some of his men, Bruno Manheim is sitting and laughing. When Crown enters, he dismisses everybody but Corben, his right hand man. Crown's clearly a little upset at the assassination attempt, as there was no way Manheim could've known that Superman would show up. Manheim brushes it off, as the wound the bullet was meant to inflict would've been non-lethal, and that whoever his tech connections were knew what they were talking about with the remote rifle.

Crown capitulates this, and thanks Manheim for his cooperation. He also regrets the fact that Superman was there, as it could've helped his public image. Still, he thinks he's spun the angles all right, all things considered. The two have a shared moment of hatred for Superman, but Manheim seems to think he'll be able to take care of him soon. A curious Crown asks how, and Manheim credits his own connections. Just then, we hear someone else enter the room, with a clack of heels.

Now here's where things get a little...tricky. This is Angora Lapin (yes, really), played in this essay by Taraji P. Henson. In the comics, Angora is a villain of Steel, AKA John Henry Irons, having stolen his experimental weapons and work to make the Toastmaster and issue it to the streets for cash. She's the leader of the White Rabbit Gang in this film, and is called White Rabbit in the comics. And she's also implied to be an albino black woman. Which is...hard to cast.

Shout out, by the way, to Diandra Forrest, the only albino black actress I could find. I hope her career goes well, because it's very much in its infancy at the moment. But, for now, we're gonna go with Henson. Now, to be fair, Lapin is basically a cameo here, but she's received the message about meeting with Manheim to make a deal about the Toastmasters. Crown stays during this interaction, which Lapin clocks but cares little about. Manheim, in fact, states that Crown is under the protection of Intergang, and that he'll make things good for them in Gotham. Lapin and her gang can have in on that as well, if they make a deal for the Toastmasters, and lays low for a little while, working for Intergang in the process. Lapin agrees, but also notes that they didn't do much against Superman.

And that's when Crown interjects. His connections may be able to help with that.

Finally, this night in Metropolis is coming to a close. All of this has happened within one day. Clark and Lois leave Jimmy at the Ace O' Clubs, with both Lois and Clark headed home. They say their goodbyes, with Lois' dialogue indicating some kind of knowledge about Clark's secret life, which is easily played off as a joke. They say good night, and Clark goes back to the apartment. He reads some messages from his folks, who've obviously seen the news about the assassination attempt, and are checking in on their son. Clark responds with a smile, maybe even calls, and then heads to bed for the night.

But in his sleep, Clark has dreams that he's encased in crystal, cold and alone in an empty void. Other visions come to him, and we see glimpses of Krypton's destruction and his past. Clark, in this universe, doesn't know a lot about his past, save that he's from another planet, and that he didn't have these abilities from birth. He also knows of his connection with the sun of Earth, and that the ship he arrived here inside of is largely made of crystal and otherworldly metals. But the uncertainty, combined with these dreams of a forgotten past, is a constant thought with him. And when he wakes up in a cold sweat (which Clark doesn't usually do), he gets up and flies into the night as Superman, using his vision to see the stars beyond the light pollution from the city below.

And that's the end of...Act One.

Shit. SHIT. It's gonna be longer than nine parts, isn't it? Dammit.

Index: Superman

Part I: Why I Love Superman

Part II: On Lois Lane

Part III: The Kents

Part IV: The 'Rents

Part V: The...Frendts?

Part VI: Lex Luthor

Part VII: The Real Villains

Part VIII: Superman's Rogues Gallery

Part IX: The Story - Act One

Part X: The Story (Acts Two and Three)

Part XI: The Story - Climax

Part XII: Epilogue (Part One)

Part XIII: Epilogue (Part Two)

9 notes · View notes

bee0bee · 2 years

Text

New York Pas de Deux part 24/2

- Can I help? - I asked. - No, everything...is...fine. I'm just...nervous.- he replied. - It's going to be amazing. - I tried to calm him down. At 18:30PM Cade opened the exhibition with his short speech. - Thank you all so much for coming to see my work. Thank you to those who supported and helped make this possible and…thanks to my muse…Anastasia. - he said and everyone looked at me. I was very embarrassed and I smiled shyly. - Enjoy the evening! - Cade added and people started looking through the photos. - Cade can we talk for a moment? - I asked when he stood next to me again. - Just a minute. I have to talk with some people. I stood alone or walked around the room most of the evening until Cade called me over. - Stasia, let me introduce you to David Zwirner. He is the owner of the David Zwirner Gallery. - Hello Mr Zwirner? How do you like Cade's photos? - They are beautiful. They kind of represent...urban beauty. Here in this metropolis. - he said. - I'm glad you think so. - I smiled next to Cade. Cade also introduced me to a few other guys (critics, gallery owners) and then left me alone again. After the exhibition ended, when only the two of us remained in the hall, Cade finally made time for me and I was finally able to say what I wanted. - So I wanted to ask whether...would you like to visit...my parents in Poland with me during...spring break? - Uhm...yes. - This wasn't convincing. Don't you want to get to know them? - I sat next to him on a bench. - No...It's a good idea. - he said but I saw something strange in his eyes. - They'll like you. My mother is the boss in our family. You don't have to fear my father. - I smiled and leaned a peck on his cheek. - Then, I have to fear your mother. - he laughed a bit. - And...maybe...later you can introduce me to your parents. - I said, which proved to be a mistake. - No. - he said strictly. - Why? Are you ashamed of me? - No way. Why would I do that? It's just…there's no reason for you to meet them. That's it. - Do you have someone at home? A girlfriend in New York and one in Chicago? - I asked outraged. - Are you kidding me? NO. - he seemed increasingly angry. - Then why can't I meet your parents? They are dead? - For me, yes. After our argument, I left him there. I'm an honest girl. I don't want secrets.

#new york #trust issues #exhibition #thomas doherty #badboylovestory

0 notes

power-chords · 3 years

Text

There’s a sophistication to Seven that I didn’t appreciate when I first saw it as a teenager, that I don’t think I fully grasped until even tonight, when I decided to put it under the re-watch microscope.

So I’m sitting there with my #PFS notebook open, jotting down the usual: anything I notice, anything that comes to mind. Impressions, ideas, inquiries, hot takes, bits of dialogue I want to remember, a thing some guy was wearing, the way that scene was shot or edited or scored or blocked. By the bottom of the page, I’m trying to answer the same big question as always, the most important question there is: WHAT’S IT TRYING TO SAY? And I realize for the first time since the start of the so-called semester that Seven has actually thrown me a curveball. It’s pulled the rug right out from under me. I’ve seen this movie a dozen times, I know exactly how it ends, my memory of it is awfully good overall. I’m nodding to myself halfway through like I’ve got the whole thing figured out. And then the twist nails me all over again.

No, not the narrative twist (although that never gets old, and never gets easier to watch). I mean symbolically, what the story has been beating you over the head with for an hour and a half and then amounts to a fucking genius red herring. It had me totally fooled. I think that’s the point.

It's funny: I’ve been eating up thrillers set in the Modern Major American Metropolis for the past six months and one thing they all love to do, pretty relentlessly, is announce themselves. LOOK AT ME, screams New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Philadelphia, Detroit, San Francisco, Seattle. OBSERVE MY UNIQUE HISTORICAL CIRCUMSTANCES AND ARCHITECTURE AND GEOGRAPHY. CHECK OUT THE SPECIAL AND SPECIFIC KIND OF GUY WHO LIVES AND WORKS INSIDE OF ME, HOW I AM SHAPING HIM, HOW HE SHAPES ME! ISN’T IT DIFFERENT FROM THAT OTHER KIND OF GUY IN THAT OTHER PLACE ALL THE WAY OVER THERE?

Seven is shot (mostly) in an anonymized Los Angeles that sometimes looks like Chicago or Philadelphia, sometimes San Francisco, and implies a New York (Tracy mentions “how different things are upstate”). It references itself constantly, this malevolent city-in-the-abstract, and yet takes great pains to redact its own name. This city is not a particular city, but a collection of sinister forces, concentrated in space and time: noise, filth, temptation, corruption, seriously biblical rainfall. It’s a mousetrap or a maze, a claustrophobic crucible, hailing down an oppressive barrage upon the senses. Establishing shots are very brief, and the interiors asphyxiate. Ceilings are low, hallways close in, stairwells are dark and vertiginous. (A chase through John Doe’s apartment building jogs nightmarish flashbacks of Kubrick’s iconic Overlook Hotel.) Most of the houses are haunted with corpses, monsters straight out of a horror film: gruesome, disfigured, rotting, reanimated like zombies. Those that aren’t don’t fare much better, tenuously warding off the constant assault, peeling and splintering and molding, threatening to buckle from the inside (Somerset) and out (Mills).

So that’s where my head went. This is going to be like Witness, I thought, rubbing my hands together. This movie is trying to say something about the City, the City as shorthand for Capital and Industry, Atomization and Automation. I hate this city, says Tracy. How am I supposed to raise a child in this city? Somerset is gunning to get out, can’t wait to leave. I’m gonna get as far away from this city as I can. It infects people, eating away at their souls bit by bit, insidious enough that maybe they don’t even notice it happening. Somerset’s a smart, observant guy: even he hadn't noticed it at first. He insists to Mills that John Doe is perfectly sane, and he has a point, but he’s also got a vested interest. If John Doe is behaving rationally, reacting in an extreme but comprehensible way to the horrible environment which has either produced or enabled him, it implies a kind of moral logic, an external agent whose destructive, deadening influence can be outrun (and maybe, if he's lucky, undone).

What do he and Mills do at the end? Exactly that. They get out. They drive away from the Evil City until it shrinks out of sight in the rearview mirror, with John Doe in tow, sermonizing ominously from the back seat.

Hey — wait a minute. There’s no escape out here, is there? Where are the stretches of green, unsullied farmland, the pastoral Eden that Somerset imagines might await him in retirement? Oh, no. Oh, fuck. It’s dead. It’s empty. Nothingness as far as the eye can see. There will be no safe return to simpler living, no refuge or redemption. Definitely no happy ending. The call is coming from inside the house. The devil is riding inside the car. Except John Doe isn’t really the devil, he’s just a man; a man tormented by the question of god, same as Somerset. How could God allow for this? If God can allow for this, how could he possibly expect me to choose, and choose right? Why ask that of me?

Seven’s conclusion is bleak, but not without hope. (Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.) Mills made his choice, his impossible choice, and he chose wrong; Somerset chooses right, chooses faith, the absurd. Any sane man would have walked away and spared himself the pain, resigned himself to the futility and insignificance of his actions. It’s what he planned to do at the very beginning, after all. Instead, in the face of overwhelming doom and a tragedy he was powerless to prevent, he decides those actions have to mean something. It has to mean something.

So he resolves to go back to the city and face the abyss, to stand before it alone. (To work out his own salvation, in fear and in trembling…)

P.S. I’m a sucker for names, they’re almost always significant, always telling you something. Often it’s what it says right there on the tin, but other times the message is less direct. “William” is as straightforward as they come (as is John Doe, Jeez Louise), but I puzzled over “Somerset” for a while. At first I was like, OK, summer settlement, as in the fantasy for which he yearns. Now, though, I’m thinking it’s more like Somerset as in somersault, as in gymnastics, the aerial maneuver where you go swinging out and tumbling down head-first, then flip up and over to land on your feet.

A leap, you could say.

#seven (1995)#seven #fincher february #david fincher #pandemic film school

31 notes · View notes

longitudinalwaveme · 4 years

Text

The Amazing James Jesse

The Flash stars in: The Amazing James Jesse

Dramatis Personae

Barry Allen, the dorky, chronically late police scientist who is secretly the Flash

Patty Spivot, Barry’s coworker, who is just as awkward as he is

Mirror Master, the larcenous Lord of the Looking Glass, alias Sam Scudder

Heat Wave, a dimwitted, loyal pyromaniac, alias Mick Rory

Captain Boomerang, the rude, crude, and socially unacceptable Australian appropriator, alias George “Digger” Harkness

The Trickster, a charming con artist with weaponized yo-yos, alias James Jesse

Script

Act I

(Enter Barry Allen and Patty Spivot, from opposite directions. Barry is on the phone, and Patty is carrying a tray full of things )

Barry: (On the phone) Don’t worry, Iris. I won’t be late, I promise. Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. No, I didn’t forget that Bart’s going to his friend’s house. Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I remembered to water the flowers this morning. (Pause) That’s terrific, honey! I knew that article was a winner. You’re an amazing- (runs into Patty, knocking tray out of her hands and dropping his phone). Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Miss...um….what’s your name again? I’m sorry, I’m terrible with names. (Patty is on her knees, trying to pick up the mess. Barry joins her, and they clean up the mess as they talk.) Here, let me help you. I’m really sorry. That was my fault. I’m-

Patty: You’re Barry Allen, the chief forensic scientist of the CCPD!

Barry: Yes, I am. Actually, as far as I knew, I was their only forensic scientist. What’s your name? I know I should know it, but like my wife says, I’d probably lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on.

Patty: I’m Patty Spivot, the newest member of the forensics department. I’ve only been here for a week, so it’s not surprising you don’t know my name. I was just transferred here from Coast City.

Barry: Nice to meet you. (Stands up and helps her to her feet) Did we clean up everything?

Patty: Everything but your phone.

Barry: Oh. Right. I’ll get that. (Picks up phone) Welcome to CCPD’s forensics lab, Ms. Spivot. I promise, I’m not this much of a klutz most of the time.

Patty: Anything else I should know, Mr. Allen?

Barry: Well, I’m always late, Captain Singh’s bark is worse than his bite, Detective Chyre acts tough but is nice once you get to know him, and literally running into me is probably the most exciting thing that will happen to you in the forensics department. Central City doesn’t have much crime for such a large city, and the crimes that do happen usually don’t require much forensic examination, because the perpetrators often don’t try to hide their guilt. So before you ask, no, you probably won’t work on a Rogues case. I never have, and I know the Flash personally.

Patty: Is that why CCPD only has two forensic scientists?

Barry: Pretty much.

Patty: That would explain the fact that I was transferred to such a large city despite the fact that I don’t have a whole lot of experience.

Barry: Well, if you need help, you can just ask me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ms. Spivot, I should probably call my wife back before she starts to worry about me.

Patty: No problem. Good-bye, Mr. Allen.

Barry Allen: Good-bye, Ms. Spivot. It was nice to meet you. (Patty exits, Barry pulls out phone) Hello? Iris? (Pause) Yes, it’s me. I accidentally dropped my phone. What were you saying about that article again? (Pause) Oh, that’s right, it got on the front page. Congratulations, sweetheart! Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. (Pause) No, everything’s been quiet lately. Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm. All right. I love you, honey. Good-bye. (Puts phone away) I really wish I hadn’t lost my super speed. It’s nice to know that Wally and Jay have my back, but I miss running around as the Flash all the time. Oh, well. I can help people as police scientist Barry Allen just as well as I did as the Flash. (Barry walks to chair, sits down, and starts mixing chemicals) Besides, now that I’m not the Flash, I can spend more time with Iris and Bart. This is good. This is fine. I am totally not upset that my nephew and my idol are better at being the Flash than I was. This is great. (Pause) Why am I talking to myself?

(Enter Patty)

Patty: Mr. Allen, the Flash is here to see you.

Barry: Which one?

Patty: I’m not sure. He’s younger than us, if that helps.

Barry: Oh. That’s Wally. Tell him I’ll be right out.

Patty: Okay, Mr. Allen. I will.

(Exit Patty)

Barry: Knowing Wally, he’s found a new favorite fast food place. But I can’t say no to seeing my favorite nephew. And who knows, maybe he has some useful information this time.

(Exit Barry)

Act II

(Mirror Master is onstage. Enter Heat Wave)

Heat Wave: Hi, there, Mirror Master! It’s good to see you!

Mirror Master: Hey, Mick. Where’s the Captain? I thought you were bringing him.

Heat Wave: Well, I was going to, but I couldn’t find him. I think they must’ve moved him to a different wing of the prison or something.

Mirror Master: Well, that’s unfortunate. Did you find anyone else?

Heat Wave: Nope. Piper tried to escape two weeks ago, but being the bleeding heart that he is, when he saw that one of his fellow-escapees was trying to kill a guard, he stopped him but got a broken arm in the process, so he won’t be out for awhile. Golden Glider and the Top are in Hawaii for the fifth anniversary of their first date, and Weather Wizard seems to have dropped off the map entirely. Nobody knows where he is.

Mirror Master: Well, that’s just dandy. I’m pretty powerful, but I don’t think we can pull off a heist with just the two of us.

(Enter Boomerang)

Boomerang: G’day, mates!

Heat Wave: Oh, that’s right! Captain Boomerang finally recovered from his broken leg! I knew I was forgetting something!

Mirror Master: Hey, Digger. Long time no see. How’s your leg? Boomerang: Never better, mate.

Heat Wave: Hi again, Digger. I’m glad that you’re feeling better.

Boomerang: Thanks. You’re a bonzer mate, Heat Wave

Heat Wave: Thanks. (To Mirror Master) That wasn’t an Australian insult, was it?

Mirror Master: No, you’re good. (To Boomerang) Why are you in such a good mood?

Boomerang: Two reasons, mate. First, I can finally fight the Flash again and prove to him that boomerangs always come back. Second, I’ve got enough coldies to get off my face.

Mirror Master: You will save that for after the heist, won’t you?

Boomerang: Of course I will. I’m a bloody professional, I am.

Mirror Master: All right. Do either of you have an idea for our heist? Because if you don’t, I was thinking that we could-

(Enter Trickster, disguised as the Flash)

Trickster: Stop in the name of the law!

Boomerang: Oh, no! It’s the Flash!

Heat Wave: You can’t show up yet! We’re not ready!

Mirror Master: Stop yelling at him and run!

Trickster: (Laughs) You should see the looks on your faces! (Takes off disguise) They’re priceless! (Laughs harder)

Heat Wave: (excited) Trickster?

Boomerang: (confused) Trickster?

Mirror Master: (annoyed) TRICK-STER!

Trickster: That’s my name, don’t wear it out!

Heat Wave: Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in months, little buddy!

Trickster: Oh, here, there, and everywhere. (Pulls out tacky souvenir) Want some memorabilia from Las Vegas?

Mirror Master: I think I’ll pass. (Pause) What were you doing in Las Vegas?

Trickster: What everyone does in Vegas: making stupid decisions that they’ll later regret!

Mirror Master: Meaning?

Trickster: I decided to use my airwalker shoes to sit on top of that big pyramid with a hundred balloons tied around my waist and while wearing bell-bottom jeans and a hot pink shirt.

Mirror Master: And you decided to do this because….

Trickster: I like attention!

Mirror Master: (Aside) Well, that much is obvious.

Boomerang: Why didn’t you take me, mate? I love Vegas!

Trickster: Because you almost died of alcohol poisoning the last time you went to Vegas, and that was kind of a downer.

Heat Wave: Did you go anywhere else, little buddy?

Trickster: As a matter of fact, I did! I went to New Orleans-Mardi Gras is fun!-and New York City and Hollywood and Chicago and Gotham and Star City and Metropolis and Coast City and Seattle and Paris!

Mirror Master: How’d you go to Paris? None of us would ever get approved for a passport.

Trickster: Paris, Kentucky . It’s got really nice people-why, I sold more shares for the Great Mississippi Bridge there than I did anywhere else.

Heat Wave: Oooh, can I buy a share, too?

Trickster: I’d love to let you, my shortness-challenged friend, but the Great Mississippi Bridge isn’t real, just my latest money-making trick. I don’t want to cheat a friend.

Heat Wave: Oh. (Pause) How’d you get so smart, little buddy?

Trickster: It’s a gift-just like my angelic cuteness.

Mirror Master: (Aside) Angelic my foot. (To Trickster) So you disappeared for six months to go on a cross-country swindling trip?

Trickster: No, I disappeared for six months to admire my country. The swindling was just an additional benefit. (Pulls out a wad of bills) Anybody want some cash?

Boomerang: Why, you little ripper! Have I ever told you that your blood’s worth bottling? ‘Cause it is, mate. Give it here. (Trickster hands him some bills) Thanks!

Trickster: No problem. Anyone else?

Heat Wave: Sure, little buddy. (Trickster gives him money) This really warms my heart.

Trickster: What are friends for? ( Pause) How about you, Sam?

Mirror Master: All right, what’s the catch?

Trickster: Oh, no catch, my suspicious friend. No catch at all. I live to outwit people, not to make money. I don’t need extra cash tying me down. (Pause) Do you want the money now?

Mirror Master: I’m good, thanks. (Pause) So, do you have an idea for a heist? Because if not, I was thinking that-

Trickster: As a matter of fact, I do! Central City’s First National Bank is receiving a new shipment of money, and I have a brilliant idea for how to steal it. I’ll create a distraction with my amazing bubble machine and my rubber chickens while you guys use the Mirror Realm to get into the vault and take the money. If the Flash shows up, he’ll be impeded by the large crowds and by my weaponized yo-yos, and even if he gets past me, he’ll still have to defeat both Captain Boomerang and Heat Wave to get to you-and since you can pick us up from just about anywhere, all we have to do is make sure that you escape with the cash. Am I brilliant, or am I brilliant?

Captain Boomerang: Sounds good to me, mate!

Heat Wave: I like it, too. You’re so smart, Trickster.

Trickster: I know. Mirror Master?

Mirror Master: (Aside) I’ll probably regret agreeing to this idea, but it’s not actually a bad plan, so I can’t really object to it. (To Trickster) It’s a sound idea. Let’s do it.

Trickster: I knew you’d like it. Now, let’s go get lunch and get ready for our heist!

(Exit all)

Act III

(Barry is onstage. Enter Patty.)

Patty: Hi, Mr. Allen.

Barry: Oh, hello again, Ms. Spivot. What do you need?

Patty: Well, normally I wouldn’t have bothered you, because I know that you’re really busy with that arson case, but I just got a really weird phone call.

Barry: What sort of weird phone call?

Patty: It was from somebody who was calling himself James Jesse. He said that you were the Flash, but that’s impossible because you said that the Flash was your nephew and…..

Barry: James Jesse?

Patty: Yeah. Kind of a strange name, I thought…..

Barry: Ms. Spivot, James Jesse is the Trickster!

Patty: But why would he be calling you?

Barry: Because I’m the Flash, too….or rather, I used to be.

Patty: What do you mean, you used to be?

Barry: A month ago, I was fighting Abra Kadabra, a malevolent magician from the 64th century, when he hit me with some sort of ray that took away my super speed. Luckily, Wally and Jay were there, too, and managed to defeat him, but I didn’t get my powers back, so I had to give up being the Flash. The Trickster doesn’t know about that, because he left Central City six months ago, so he still sees me as the Flash.

Patty: Well, what should I do? He really seems to want you to talk to him.

Barry: (Sighs) Give me the phone. I’ll come up with something.

(Patty exits, then returns with a phone)

Patty: Here, Mr. Allen.

Barry: (Takes phone) Thank you. (To Trickster) This is Barry Allen, Trickster. What do you want? (Pause) I’d advise you not to go through with that heist if you value your liberty. (Pause) I can’t say I expected you to change your mind. Just know that the Flash will be there to stop you. Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Good day. (Closes phone) He’s planning a heist at the First National Bank. Tell the police that they should be ready for the Flash to deliver some Rogues to them.

Patty: I will, Mr. Allen. Gosh, this is so exciting!

(Exit Patty)

Barry: Now to call Wally. (Dials number) Wally’s Voice: (From offstage) I can’t come to the phone right now because I’m fighting aliens. Leave a message after the beep.

Barry: Okay, I’ll try Jay. (Dials number)

Jay’s Voice: (From offstage) This is Jay Garrick, the original Flash. I can’t come to the phone right now, so please leave a message.

Barry: (Closes phone and sighs) Now what am I supposed to do? Jay and Wally are both busy, and I don’t have my speed. Who’s going to stop the Trickster and his teammates now? What am I going to do? The Rogues have to be stopped, but without my speed, I don’t know if I can stop them. Of all the times for the Trickster to show up again...wait a minute! That’s it! It’s time for police scientist Barry Allen to out-trick the Trickster! (Pause) Who am I talking to?

Act IV

(Enter Trickster, Mirror Master, Heat Wave, and Boomerang. Trickster is carrying a rubber chicken, a teddy bear, and his “amazing bubble machine”)

Mirror Master: Okay, that food was legitimately delicious. Good call, Trickster.

Trickster: Why, thank you, Sam.

Heat Wave: I agree. I especially liked their ghost peppers. They’re so warm and spicy.

Boomerang: And their beer is terrific!

Mirror Master: I thought I told you not to drink until we were done with the heist!

Boomerang: It was only one tinny, Sam. It ain’t gonna hurt me.

Mirror Master: That’s what you said right before that heist where you set off the burglar alarm because you were too drunk to avoid it, too.

Boomerang: But I mean it this time!

Heat Wave: Mirror Master, he’s good at what he does. He’ll be fine.

Mirror Master: I hope you’re right, Mick. I really hope you’re right.

Trickster: Besides, I called the Flash and told him about our heist already, so it won’t matter if he sets off an alarm.

Mirror Master: You did WHAT?

Trickster: I called the Flash and told him about our heist. I told you, I like attention-and I like the Flash’s attention best of all, because he’s a real challenge!

Mirror Master: But he always beats us! How do you expect our heist to succeed if he knows that it’s going to happen ahead of time?

Trickster: Because it’s the game I love, not the money! Didn’t I already tell you that?

Boomerang: Do you have kangaroos loose in your top paddock or what? I want money, not a beating from the Flash!

Trickster: Don’t worry so much, guys. The only person who has to get in the bank is Mirror Master. It doesn’t matter what happens to us as long as he gets away.

Heat Wave: See, guys? He knows what he’s doing.

Mirror Master: Forgive me if I’m less than convinced. (Sighs) All right, let’s get to the bank. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to salvage some of the heist.

(Cut to Trickster standing outside the bank, shooting bubbles everywhere)

Trickster: Bubbles bubbles bubbles! Fear my bubbles!

(Enter Barry Allen)

Barry: Hello, Trickster.

Trickster: Hi, Flash! Do you like my bubbles?

Barry: Indeed I do. They’re quite impressive.

Trickster: Really? Why, thank you!

Barry: Is there anything special about those bubbles?

Trickster: Actually, yes! The bubbles can stick to people and hold them in place.

Barry: And what else do you have?

Trickster: Ooh, I have an explosive teddy bear and a rubber chicken that sprays sleeping gas when I squeeze it.

Barry: Fascinating.

Trickster: Aren’t you going to try to stop me?

Barry: Why would I do that? Your new inventions are far too advanced for me to stop.

Trickster: Really? Well, that’s disappointing. The game isn’t fun if you won’t play.

Barry: I’m sorry to disappoint you, Trickster.

Trickster: Can’t you at least try to stop me?

Barry: Sorry. No can do.

Trickster: Please? Please? Please? Pretty please?

Barry: Don’t you want to win?

Trickster: It doesn’t count if you let me win! It’s no fun!

Barry: That’s terribly unfortunate.

Trickster: Stop that! Stop it stop it stop it!

Barry: Stop what?

Trickster: Stop not trying!

Barry: Good-bye, Trickster.

(Barry starts to leave)

Trickster: NO! If you won’t play, then I quit!

(He throws down his weapons and starts to leave)

Barry: All right, then you’re under arrest.

(Barry handcuffs Trickster)

Trickster: (Stunned) You….you tricked me!

Barry: Yes, I did. You see, I don’t have my super powers right now, so if I had fought you directly, I would have lost and you would have gotten away. Therefore, I realized that if I wanted to defeat you, I had to turn your own nature against you. You always want a challenge, so I knew that if I didn’t provide it to you, you would eventually try to leave, and I could then catch you off guard. Face it, Trickster. I just beat you at your own game.

Trickster: So you did...but since you don’t have superpowers, how are you going to stop my teammates from robbing the bank?

(Enter Boomerang, Mirror Master, and Heat Wave, all looking rather disheveled)

Barry: Well, you see, while I was on my way here to out-trick you, I managed to get ahold of Wally, and while I was distracting you, he stopped your friends.

Mirror Master: (To Trickster) I knew trusting you was a bad idea!

Boomerang: Yeah! I don’t know why I trusted you! I mean, you call yourself the bloody Trickster! And now, thanks to you, I won’t get to enjoy getting off my face!

Heat Wave: Aww, lay off the little guy. How was he supposed to know that we’d end up facing two Flashes instead of one?

Mirror Master: Because he’s supposed to be the smart one! He’s a con artist! Outsmarting people is his job! Are you telling me that it was too much for him to outsmart two people at once?

Trickster: Well, I may be a con artist, but I’m also a performer. If I don’t have an appreciative audience, I don’t see the point in going onstage.

Heat Wave: I appreciate your work.

Trickster: And I appreciate the sentiment, but you weren’t there when he showed up, so I was stuck when he refused to play along.

Boomerang: You coulda done something, mate!

Trickster: (To the audience) Some people have no appreciation for art. (To Boomerang) Done what? Attack a Flash who wouldn’t fight back? That was too easy! It would’ve been boring!

Mirror Master: More boring than going to prison?

Trickster: I like prison-in limited doses, anyhow. I love trying out my humor on new guards!

Boomerang: Well, you may be loony enough to like prison, but I hate it! I can’t get a coolie in prison! If you wanted to go to jail, you should’ve done it on your own!

Trickster: And miss the opportunity to spend time with you guys? No way! You’re way too much fun to mess with!

Heat Wave: Trickster’s right. As long as we’re together, it doesn’t matter where we are.

Mirror Master: Just stop talking. You sound like a bad Hallmark movie. (To Barry) Please, take me away already so I don’t have to deal with Mr. Small, Blonde, and Annoying anymore.

Trickster: Aww, I love you too, Sam.

Boomerang: (To Barry) And could you gag him or something? I’ve had enough of listening to his big mouth for awhile. (Aside) Cripes, I really need a tinny.

Trickster: Pot, this is the kettle calling. He wants you to stop calling him black.

Heat Wave: Yeah, Digger. If anyone has a big mouth, it’s you.

Boomerang: Why are you taking his side? He got us all arrested!

Heat Wave: Because he gave us free money when he didn’t have to, did 80% of the work for this heist, and hasn’t gotten mad that you two are yelling at him. Sure, we didn’t succeed, but we never do. It ain’t fair to get mad at him, and you blaming him for our failure really burns me up.

Boomerang: (Aside) He’s gone soft, he has! (Pause) I’m really startin’ to regret that tinny. My head’s aching something fierce.

Mirror Master: (To Barry) Can we go now?

Barry: I’m surprised that you’re so eager, but yes, we can.

(All start to exit)

Trickster: I guess you could say that this was a…. speedy defeat!

Boomerang/Mirror Master/Barry/Heat Wave: TRICK-STER!

Trickster: (“Innocently”) What? (Pause, then, to Barry) Great acting, by the way. I’m impressed.

Barry: (Confused) Um...thanks. I think.

(Exit All)

Act V

(Barry is onstage, talking on the phone)

Barry: (To Iris) Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for your concern. (Pause) Yes, Wally was great. You can definitely give him a lot of credit in your article. Mmm-hmm. Uh-huh. Yes, I’ll be home soon. Tell Bart I love him. I love you, too. Good-bye. (Puts phone away) Not a bad day’s work for a man with no superpowers, if I do say so myself.

(Enter Patty)

Patty: Are you all right? I heard you got into a fight with those awful Rogues!

Barry: I’m all right, Ms. Spivot. I’ve fought the Rogues often enough that I know how to handle them, even without super speed. But thanks for your concern. I really appreciate it.

Patty: You’re welcome, Mr. Allen.

Barry: Oh my gosh! I just realized that I’m off work now! If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late to pick up Bart! Gotta run! Bye!

(Exit Barry)

Patty: (Takes off lab coat to reveal a black leather jacket underneath, pulls hair out of bun) Ugh! Playing the good girl is hard! (Pulls out phone) Hi, Roscoe, darling! Our plan is working perfectly! Thanks to everyone thinking that we’re in Hawaii, he doesn’t even suspect that I’m not really “Patty Spivot”. (Pause) Why, thank you, Roscoe! I’m so glad you think I’m clever. After all, it’s true. And get this! Trickster called police headquarters and didn’t even suspect that I wasn’t really a novice police officer! I outsmarted the Trickster! (Pause) Oh, honeybunch, are you all right? I know you’re sick, but I didn’t think it was that bad. (Pause) Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to get your cure, too. If all goes well, I’ll be able to make you well, defeat the Flashes, and prove to Lenny that I’m as bad as he is all with one scheme! (Pause) Be careful, my little snuggle bunny. Don’t overexert yourself. I love you. Bye-bye. (Puts phone away) Central City, you’d better watch out-the Golden Glider’s on the attack! (Laughs)

#barry allen #flash rogues #dc comics #fanfic

9 notes · View notes

bouwrites · 4 years

Text

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 2

All I wanted was to find there’s something here inside of me they couldn’t keep.

First, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

It might be a strange thought, considering the circumstances, but Jon thinks he’s grown up to be boring. Obviously, his life is anything but boring – there’s little boring about superheroes and villains and cataclysms and tragedies and… well, there’s a lot that’s decidedly not boring. But Jon himself? Kind of boring.

After all, what is he? He’s just the next generation of his dad. He has practically the same personality, the same values, the same hair and eyes, the same fashion (some of the exact same clothes), the same muscle, the same powers. Following in his dad’s footsteps, he even has the same night job, and the same day job to boot, or he will soon enough.

And none of that is bad. Jon loves his dad. To be like Superman is just about the greatest thing he can think of! Boring, if it’s like this, is great.

That said, there’s something Jon is very different from his dad in. That’s that Jon has been fighting crime since he was ten. He knows good people get involved, that’s one of the core lessons his parents taught him, but… even children? The difference between Jon and Superman is that Superman didn’t become Superman until his early twenties. Jon is still just shy of that and he’s been Superboy for almost half his life. The difference is that no matter how their powers set them apart from humans, and no matter how hard it was for his dad to feel that isolation that comes with it (Jon is familiar with the feeling, despite having his dad and aunt around) his dad at least knows how to be normal.

Jon grew up as a hero. He doesn’t know any different. And maybe the grass is always greener, but he wonders, sometimes, what an ordinary life would be like. Jon knows it’s not his parent’s fault. After all, even if they had tried to keep Jon from the superhero life, he would have gone out and been a hero without their permission. He has, quite a few times, anyway, though that’s mostly Damian’s fault. Making him Superboy, even so young as he was, was the only way his parents could let him explore himself and his powers and still watch over him to keep him safe. And he really, really appreciates that. He just wonders if… not being Superboy has ever really been on the table.

It doesn’t occur to him until now, that maybe being Kryptonian, having these powers, being super doesn’t mean he has to be a hero. Maybe he can still be good, still get involved, without rushing to everybody’s rescue, or fighting the next great evil. Maybe he’ll even like that. After all, isn’t that what journalism is about? Getting involved and making a difference without fist-fighting demons? Can’t that be heroism?

What would life be like, to live like any other person on Earth? To be a hero only so far as ordinary folks ever are heroes. To not necessarily not be superpowered, but to live a life irrespective of his powers. A life that’s no different for his powers, except in the way everyone’s differences make their lives unique. A life where Jon can forge his own path and worry only about himself and those in front of him, not everyone his powers might be able to save.

Deep down, Jon longs to find out. He’s just not sure it’s a realistic dream.

Is this teenage rebellion, or did I get all that out of my system being dragged along with Damian’s tween wrath? Jon makes a face at the college website, squinting through the dark. It’s bad for his eyes, staring at the laptop without his lights on, but Jon wears glasses anyway and he’s honestly not convinced his eyes can get messed up the same way humans can, on account of the whole telescopic and x-ray vision powers.

Huh. Maybe biology? Jon clicks idly through the list of colleges, to the sciences. Uh, actually, gross. As interesting as it is, I would hate that. He quickly backs up to the page he was on before, sighing as he tabs back and forth between it and another college website.

It’s so tempting to go to school for journalism. He already has background in it, and his parents can help him if he needs it. It might be nice to be known for the name Kent too, rather than for the “S”. And with journalism, he might be able to get into some interesting places. Chicago, or Austin, maybe. Or he can even stick to Metropolis. He’ll definitely be known as the Kent if he does that.

Then again, maybe he can do something different. Maybe he can make his own way. Define himself separately from his family. He loves them, but… being Clark 2.0, while an honor, is a bit dehumanizing. The last thing an alien needs is dehumanizing. It is frustrating being an “S” instead of a person and being a Kent might just be another variation of that. If he chooses something different it doesn’t necessarily stop him from working in journalism, and it gives him a unique perspective. Plus, he won’t always be surrounded by people who know his parents. There’ll be no reason to expect him to be any different than the rest of the students, and that is a tempting idea in itself.

Then again, Jon does like journalism, and picking a major just because it’s not what his parents do is kind of silly. Or is it smart? I can learn all I want to know about journalism from Mom and Dad, so if I’m going to college, I should pick something I can’t learn here at home, right?

Will they be proud of me if I study journalism? If I don’t? Jon groans. I don’t know. There’s so much to consider.

He’s already got two feet in the door in the journalism world. While he knows he can do to grow as a writer, he doesn’t need the connections and opportunities that college grants for the field. He’s already got those. And even if he does plan to pursue that field as a career, Jon wonders if gaining experience elsewhere will give him better insight and make him a better reporter anyway. Something like… psychology. Or politics. Something that’ll help him understand people in a way that he can use when he writes about them.

Or he can go undecided for now. But then the question of college comes down to location. Where should he apply? Metropolis? Does he want to go to Metropolis? Maybe Gotham? Or even San Francisco or Jump City or something totally unexpected like Paris? If he goes to Illinois or Texas, how will that change how he works as Superboy? Can he… stop being Superboy for a while? Just not deal with that stress on top of college?

Just the idea makes Jon feel guilty. People rely on Superboy. His dad isn’t getting any younger, either, and though Superman is still going strong for now, it’s becoming increasingly clear to Jon that everyone, the Justice League, the people of America and the world, and even Superman himself, is expecting Jon to replace his dad when the inevitable does happen. It’s irresponsible to abandon his duties for college. Superboy is more important than that. Superman is more important than that.

And a small, bitter part of him questions why Superboy doesn’t deserve the same chances that everyone else has. Why he has to sacrifice that time and focus to save them. He knows it’s because that’s what the “S” means. It’s about character. That doesn’t stop him from resenting it.

On the bright side, every next time some genius gets their hands on kryptonite is another chance for him to die young and stop worrying about his character flaws. So, that’s comforting.

But since he is Superboy, and still alive, he shouldn’t wander too far. His powers give him a lot of mobility, so he has more opportunity than a lot of heroes his age. He tries to appreciate that. At least he’s not tied to any particular city, since he can just fly in if he’s needed. He just shouldn’t go across the whole country. Or world. At least it makes deciding easier.

“Have you decided what you’re doing, yet?”

Jon looks up at his dad and smiles weakly. His eyes ache from looking at his laptop screen for so long, and he’s tired and hungry, too. “Not yet.” Jon says. “Might go undecided for a bit.”

His dad sits down with him to look at the screen, nodding. “That’s not a bad thing. But you still need to figure out what college you want to go to.”

Jon sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

His dad hesitates for a moment, and then nudges him. “Why don’t you tell me where you were thinking of? What makes the decision so hard?”

Frowning, Jon clicks through some of the open tabs in his browser. “I just… I don’t know. Honestly, I’m not sure about any of this.”

“What do you mean?”

His voice is so soft and gentle, and it reminds Jon again how lucky he is to have a dad like him. Someone who really cares. “I don’t know if I can handle college and being Superboy.” Jon mumbles. “It was hard enough in high school, and I… I’m not sure I even…” He sighs. “Nevermind. I’ll figure it out.”

“Hey.” Jon feels his dad grab his shoulder, so he turns to face him. “You don’t have to be full-time. It’ll be just like high school. When you’re busy with school, you’re off-duty. Don’t worry about being a hero. It’s okay to just focus on your education.”

Jon ducks his head. “Yeah, I know that.” He says. Even when the League, or more specifically some of the other heroes, try to get him more often, Jon’s dad always makes sure that he has plenty of time to focus on school, and that he’s not interrupted in school unless there’s some complete Armageddon going on.

That happens a few times. It sucks.

Even still… everyone expects him to pick up more responsibilities now that he’s going to college. He’s not sure he wants that.

“Jon.” His dad says. “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing.” Jon mumbles. He clicks through a few more tabs, disquieted more and more by each option.

“Come on, I want to help. What’s wrong?”

Jon sighs. There’s no getting around it. His dad is just too… helpful. That’s what makes him Superman. “Have you ever wondered if you could just be normal? No jumping up to save the day or punching bad guys or anything. Just… being like everyone else?”

Jon agitatedly clicks through a few more tabs and links before he realizes his dad is awfully quiet. When he turns to look at him, and sees the pensive expression on his face, his dad finally says, “All the time.”

Oh. Jon ducks his head. The laptop screen has long since stopped being interesting, but he can’t even pretend to be reading the articles there anymore. The floor is all he can focus on.

“Being a hero isn’t easy.” His dad says quietly. “But, for me, it’s the only way I can be my whole self. Kal-El. And I do a lot of good as Superman.”

Jon huffs a little. “You do a lot of good as Clark Kent, too. And just my dad.”

His dad smiles. “Yeah. I told you before, the ‘S’ isn’t about our powers. It’s about character. That’s where the good comes from. But since we do have powers, it’s our responsibility to use them for the greater good. That’s where Superman, and Superboy, come from.”

“And what if I don’t want to?”

His dad blinks almost dumbly. “Don’t want to? Don’t want to what?”

“Be Superboy.” Jon answers. “I really appreciate that I am. It’s helped me a lot, especially with my powers, but… I never got the chance to not be that. I want to… I want to just… do college like normal people.”

His dad is quiet for another long moment. “And you think you’ll be okay not using your powers?”

“I already hide my powers. Being Superboy doesn’t change that, Dad. We’re still lying and keeping secrets. I just… I’m starting to really hate it.”

“Jon, you know we have to hide to keep you safe.”

Safe. Jon knows that. He knows how safe he’s been. How safe he is fighting giant octopus monsters or Kryponian hunters or whatever the hell is causing the next end of the world. It makes something hot and ugly stir in his chest, and his voice rises and works of its own accord. “I’m not talking about the hiding! Why are we expected to save them when we can’t even live our lives without being afraid of them? Why should having these powers mean I have to handle all my own problems and theirs on top of it?” Jon flinches at his own words, but he can’t calm himself down enough to be more eloquent. “It just… It makes me so mad that I have to be a superhero and devote my life to everyone else when I don’t know what I even want to do with my life! I just- I never thought I’d have to think about it because I just- because everyone just assumed I’m you!”

Jon growls loudly, mostly at himself for getting riled up, but he’s heated now, and he can’t stop himself from talking. “I don’t want to be a hero anymore! I just want- I don’t even know what I want to do! I want to figure it out! I want to be able to figure it out! Without this dumb ‘S’ looming over my head! I’m… I’m confused, and this is just… it’s too much pressure.”

His voice cracks at the end, which finally breaks his tirade and sends him curling up into himself. “I hate this.” He mutters into his knees.

“Jon…” His dad says gently, wrapping him up in a hug. “We have to help people because we can. I know it’s hard. In some ways, it’s unfair. But that’s just what good people do.”

“Maybe I’m not a good person, then.” Jon mutters darkly.

His dad recoils a bit and doesn’t recover before his mom swoops in to sit on his other side and give him a hug of her own. “Hey, sweetie. How long have you felt that way about being a hero?”

Jon just shrugs, not lifting his face from his mom’s shoulder. “Few years now, I guess. I’m tired.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Chuckling humorlessly, Jon buries himself deeper into his mom. “What’s the point? I have to be a hero. That’s what being good means. Doesn’t matter how sick of it I am. Don’t even know how to not be Superboy, anyway.”

There’s a distinct stiffening to the muscles under him that tells him his mom is mad. Jon curls up a little more in preparation for what’s coming. The deserved retaliation for his weakness. For his selfishness.

“Clark.” Jon’s mom says calmly. “Tell the League to list Superboy as off-duty. Indefinitely.”

Jon shoots up, staring aghast and in awe at his mom. “What?” He and his dad say simultaneously.

His mom just narrows her eyes at his dad. “Indefinitely.” She repeats. There’s no room for argument when she uses that tone. Just the way she speaks says, “If you don’t, I will. And I won’t be as nice about it as you will.”

“The League won’t be happy ab-”

“Clark…” Her tone is dangerous, warning. Jon is too shocked and confused to interrupt. “Remind me when you started being Superman?”

His dad ducks his head, rubbing his neck. “Well, I’d just got my job at the paper, so I’d have been… twenty-one? Twenty-two?”

“Just finished college.” Jon’s mom says. “Starting your career. Jon deserves the chance to figure out what he wants to do without being a hero, just like you did. There’s enough heroes that the world won’t end if Jon takes a few years to figure out what he wants to do.”

“I… You’re right.” Jon’s dad says. “The League won’t be happy about a Kryptonian running around outside of their control, but they should trust Jon by now.” Jon grimaces as his dad ruffles his hair. “You don’t worry about a thing. I’ll handle the League, and you can focus on college. When… or if you decide you want to be Superboy again, you can come back when you’re ready. Okay, son?”

Jon can’t help the tears that streak down his face as he tackles his dad, dragging his mom along too into one big pile of a group hug. “Thank you.” Jon mutters.

Jon is still undecided on his major. He can’t bring himself to devote himself so much to one area of study when he’s still feeling like he’ll need to abandon it to go save the world at any moment. It just feels pointless to throw himself into something like this.

That said, he does decide on a college. Eventually. Part of him wants to find some no-name town and hide out there. Someplace where nothing ever really happens, where he won’t hear a scream for help and have to do something about it. But… he picks the alternative instead. New York. NYU, specifically. There are so many heroes in New York that even he’d be hard-pressed to make it to a crime scene before some other hero is already there handling it. And in New York, the League can keep an eye on him easier. Make sure he’s not doing anything dangerous with his world-ending superpowers.

Jon rolls his eyes. The League and their paranoia. It’s rubbing off on him. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. It’s eating him alive that he’s sitting back while there are still people who need help. But he just wants to find some illusion of normalcy. Of safety and… direction. Something that’s not dictated by his heritage or his name. He’s not going to cause any trouble. That’d be antithetical to the whole point of this.

Still. Manhattan. It’s not crazy far, not like he’s flying across an ocean or anything, but even so it’s a new start for him. Jon can’t help but feel excited at the idea. He’ll be living on his own for the first time, sharing an apartment with a stranger.

He has fought and fought and fought just to survive to be able to do this. This, moving into his own life, exploring it and learning all he can, this is what he has fought to protect for so many other people. Now, it’s his chance to do it himself. It’s scary, but it’s also exhilarating.

When he packs up his things and piles into the car, it hits him all at once. A new chapter. A new Jon. He isn’t sure who that is just yet, but he’s braved the unknown too many times to be afraid of it. If he’s honest with himself, he’s much more afraid of going back.

New York isn’t all that different from Metropolis. Jon figures most big cities are pretty similar. They all have their own uniqueness about them, of course, but at their core things work largely the same. Jon is still just a kid from the country at his heart, but with his “home away from home” being Metropolis, New York feels almost familiar to him. Different enough to be exciting, and to remind him he’s doing something so remarkable, but familiar in a way that gives him confidence.

Things will be okay here. Jon can do this.

He repeats that to himself as his gut tightens. His parents will only be a short flight away. He can go out and see them anytime he wants, really, but living away from them, in a whole new city no less, is still nerve-wracking.

But of course, for now, bless them, they’re helping him move into his new apartment. His roommate is out when he arrives, but he can see the signs of life that tell him they’re already here. Probably have been for a day or two. One of the rooms has their stuff in it – he assumes they’re a girl based on the glance he catches when he’s exploring, but the moment he sees they’ve already claimed it he retreats from the room and tosses his stuff in the other one.

The furnishing is spartan, but Jon expects this, and he’s dealt with worse on missions. It doesn’t look like his roommate has done much to make the place feel more homely, except clean, he thinks, but there’s no way to tell until he meets them if they’re just a minimal person or if they’re waiting for him.

I’ll have to buy groceries next time. He thinks, checking the fridge and cabinets, realizing his roommate has already stocked up.

But he doesn’t spend much time in the living room yet. He wants to meet his roommate before he starts messing around too much in the common space. Instead, he focuses on putting his bedroom into order.

Besides their room, and the obvious signs of life, there are some other traces of them around the place. The bathroom has a bunch of products tucked neatly off to the side, and the cupboards under the sink have basic supplies. He spots a first-aid kit, too, which concerns him just a little because it’s a big one. Like, the kind of overstocked kit he’s only ever seen in heroes’ homes. But Jon just shakes the concern out of his head, rationalizing that there’s any number of reasons for a better first-aid kit. They probably just like to be prepared. After all, they’ve already got the apartment in order, with the exception of things he imagines his input would be relevant on. They seem like a fairly organized person from that alone.

When he runs out of things to do in the apartment, he heads out with his parents to sightsee a bit, and that’s how he spends the rest of his day. It’s not until late in the evening that he returns to his new home. Alone.

The first thing he notices when he opens the plain door is the scent of fresh cookies. The next is the soft thudding of feet, and then a petite girl slides around the corner with a used rolling pin in her hands and flour dusting her pink apron.

She grins widely. “You must be my roommate! I’m Marinette. It’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Jon.” Jon says, grinning back. “How long have you been here?”

Marinette turns to lead him down the hallway to the living room. “Oh, I got in on Monday. I’ve been so excited to meet you! Oh! And when I saw your stuff here today, I made cookies! Do you have any allergies?”

“Nope.” Jon follows the flowing black hair bobbing in front of him until they find themselves in the living room and kitchen, snickering softly at how he has to look down at her. She’s so cute! And she made cookies! “That’s really nice of you. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I used to make macarons for my class on the first day of school. This is just my way of saying hi, and that I want to be friends.”

Jon swears his heart melts a little. She’s adorable. Hero or not, Jon resolves at that moment that he’ll do anything to keep this girl safe. She’s too pure for this world. “Aw, well I want to be friends, too.” Jon says. “And now I feel like I got really lucky, with you as my roommate.”

The girl flushes and giggles but shakes her head as she pushes him towards some cookies set out on a cooling rack. “Help yourself. They’re still warm.” She says

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jon has to admit, the cookies look delectable. And when he bites into one, he could be on Krypton for how the taste transports him. “Oh my god, these are so good.”

Marinette just giggles. She smirks proudly, a little smugly. “Mhmm. My parents are bakers, actually, so I’ve been baking almost my whole life. What do your parents do?”

“They’re journalists. Reporters in Metropolis. Mom also writes books.”

“Wow, my best friend wants to be a reporter! In Metropolis, though? Is that where you’re from?”

“Sort of. I live on a farm in Hamilton County. A ways north of there. I visit a lot, though, so it’s a home away from home of sorts. What about you? You’ve got an accent, uh… French?”

“Mhmm. I’m from Paris. I came here to study fashion at FIT.”

“That’s so cool! You’re a fashion designer?”

“Yeah! That’s my dream. I’m so lucky to have this chance to study here.” Marinette helps herself to a cookie herself as she makes herself comfortable on a chair. Jon follows her to sit down as well. “What about you? You’re about my age, aren’t you? You here for college?”

“I’m nineteen.” Jon says “And yeah. NYU. I’m, uh, still undecided though. Not really sure what I want to study yet.” He’s embarrassed to admit it, though he knows he’s going to be telling a lot more people about his indecision. After all, everyone in college is going to be asking each other their majors.

Marinette, when she talks about fashion, even just her opportunity to go to school here for it, she has this glow about her. She knows exactly what she wants and she’s going for it. Jon can’t help but admire that. It makes him feel a little behind the curve, though. There’s a lot of undeclared majors in college, but he imagines most people their age already have some idea at least.

“I just turned twenty!” Marinette says. “But you’ve got time to figure it out, right? There’s a lot of core classes we’ll have to do anyway.”

“Yeah.” Jon admits. “That’s true. No rush just yet.”

“You’ll find what you want to do, Jon.” Marinette says confidently. “No need to worry yet.”

Jon just laughs quietly. Am I that transparent? He doesn’t think he’s so obvious that Marinette can see how bummed he is about not knowing what he wants to do with his life, but she makes that little effort to comfort him anyway. “You’re right. Thanks.”

Marinette grins, and then smacks herself. “Oh, I told myself I’d warn you ahead of time! Making clothes often takes up a lot of space. Mostly just when I have to cut fabric, but I might have to use a lot of the floor space here every once in a while.” She gestures to the living room. “And I might have to move the furniture to make space sometimes. I’ll try to keep as much of it as I can at the university, but…”

“That’s fine.” Jon says. “I don’t mind at all. If you do need to move the furniture, let me know and I’ll help out.” Jon eyes her and the furniture and while the furniture isn’t hefty by any means, Marinette is a small girl. He may not be using his powers much being off-duty and with a roommate who can’t know about them, but he’s still a big guy and moving around some furniture won’t be more than a small annoyance at best. He hopes she doesn’t push herself too hard trying not to inconvenience him if it does come down to that.

“Thank you.” Marinette beams brilliantly. “I understand it might get annoying, but as I said, I’ll try to keep most of that stuff at school. Hopefully, we won’t have to do that too often. And I hope you don’t mind; I took the bedroom with a little bit bigger closet.”

He laughs. “Not at all. Sounds like you’ll need it.”

Marinette agrees, laughing along with him. “So, when do you start, anyway?”

“Next week. You?”

“Same. I’m really excited! To be honest, I still kind of can’t believe I’m here. In America!” She laughs. “I never thought I’d find myself here, but here I am.”

“I’ve been to Paris,” Jon says, “but I never got the chance to really look around. Is it very different from here?”

Marinette shrugs non-committally. “Well, you don’t have the architecture here. Paris is much more elegant, but I do like New York. It’s just as inspiring, just in a different way. Life in a big city isn’t all that different though. I just have to use English, now. It must be worse for you, you said you came from a farm?”

“Yeah, but I spent a lot of time in Metropolis. It’s not too different, either. Biggest thing for me is the noise. When I had to spend the night in Metropolis? Like, do those people ever sleep? It’s so quiet on the farm. Nothing like the city.”

“It must be so beautiful out there, though.”

“City’s pretty, too. It’s different, but they’re both nice.” When Marinette only hums in agreement instead of commenting further, he asks, “So what classes do you have at FIT? Do you have the same core stuff as I do, or is it different since your college is specialized?”

Marinette furrows her brow. “I’m not sure, actually. I still have to get credits in all the normal stuff. Science, math, foreign language – I really need to talk to an advisor about French there, actually – but I’m not sure if they offer the same classes as NYU. I’m taking a communications class but that’s for non-native English speakers, and geometry for my maths. And Science of Jewelry counts for my natural science credit, but I did see that they offered more typical science classes.”

Jon hums. She really is focused on design. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. “I’m taking more general classes. Kind of hoping something will catch my interest and help me figure out what I want to do. I guess it makes sense that a specialized college would teach even the regular classes through that kind of lens.”

“Yeah.” Marinette yawns widely. “I’m glad, though. Not sure I’d enjoy sitting through core classes if they weren’t tailored to art or design.”

“Ha, yeah. You getting tired?”

“A little. I’m still on Paris time, I guess. Do you mind if I go get ready for bed?”

Jon hold up his hands. “Don’t need my permission. This is your apartment too. Go ahead. I’m just going to…” He reaches over to the plate of cookies Marinette leaves on the coffee table. “Take another one of these and get ready for bed myself.”

Marinette giggles. “Alright. Good night, Jon.”

“Nighty night, Marinette.”

-------=-------

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe <3

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml x dc #ml fanfiction #maribat #marijon #ehhtrtd

71 notes · View notes

tripsonflatground · 4 years

Text

Is it just me, or is it kinda capitalist that in order to get new superheroes, people kill off or age up the old ones and then put the new heroes in the same role/identity? Like, they killed Peter Parker to have Miles Morales. Bucky Barnes and Falcon/Sam Wilson both became Captain America after the death or age & retirement of Steve Rogers, depending on whether you’re looking at the comics or the MCU. Batman goes through Robins and Batgirls like it’s going out of style (and seriously, why does Dick Grayson let other people be Robin? That was a personal nickname from his birth family, right? Why would he give something so intimate away?). Replacing someone else and living up to their legacy rather than making your own path was a whole plot point/theme in Spider-man: Far From Home!

There are exceptions to this, like X-23 and Wolverine, who have managed to have some form of a father-daughter relationship in the comics (although, if memory serves, I believe he’s been killed in recent comics and she replaced him as Wolverine - though I haven’t read anything recent, so I might be wrong, and in the film Logan they killed him off). And things like Conner/Superboy from Young Justice being created with the idea to replace Superman doesn’t count in the same way because it was a villainous plot and Con didn’t end up following through. And there’s a new Ms. Marvel now that Carol Danvers is Captain Marvel, which is a much better alternative considering that Carol wasn’t using that identity anymore.

The idea I’m trying to get at, if it isn’t clear, is that the costume identity, AKA Spider-man, Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, etc. seems to me the thing that’s given value while the person behind the mask is more recently being treated as expendable/dispensable. Which doesn’t make a ton of sense to me, because the person created the mask, and so much of themselves and who they are and what their goals are drove the reasons behind the creation of the identity and the way they behave in that identity. It’s like being a kid and trying on your parents’ clothes or getting hand-me-downs, even if it fits, you didn’t exactly choose it, and you look different wearing it. And I’m calling this capitalist because it feels like capitalism. If we equate being a superhero to a job, which in many ways it really is, especially if you are employed by an organization to do it like SHIELD, then the value is being placed on the role/job, and not with the labor. Capitalism doesn’t give a shit who’s doing the job and how they’re being treated as long as it’s getting done. Employees in the service/retail industry get treated like shit and don’t get paid enough but that will never change unless people have other options and aren’t desperate enough to accept those conditions and get something better. Recently, with the deaths and/or replacements of superheroes in order to have someone else fill the identity in comics and films, the individuals behind the mask, who are the real source of emotional connection and relatability, not the mask, seem to have become dispensable in the eyes of the creators.

And I do get that it’s a shortcut and an attempt to bring in new audiences by putting more modern characters into recognizable roles. But why does the original character have to *die*?

Yeah, superhero-ism is a dangerous occupation, sure, but doesn’t death seem like the most extreme option? It’s not as if there aren’t other possibilities:

1.Having characters be located somewhere else other than New York City or its fictional equivalent (Metropolis, Gotham, etc). There are other major cities in the US where crime happens, let alone other cities in the world. Los Angeles, Chicago, Minneapolis, Dallas, Detroit, Atlanta, Seattle, Philadelphia. Who doesn’t want to imagine a Spider-man or a Batman with a Boston accent? Wouldn’t it be a cool storyline if other Kryptonians not related to Superman escaped Krypton and eventually made it to Earth and moved to different cities and took up mantles and eventually the Kryptonian race could start rebuilding on Earth? Talk about a really interesting and positive way to show a diasporic community. And also, it doesn’t make any sense statistically that the majority of the world’s superheroes are in the US. Put some in Toronto, Paris, London, Cairo, Sydney, Tokyo, Beijing, Moscow, Rome, Athens, Rio, Copenhagen, Amsterdam, Seoul, Istanbul, etc. If the Olympics happen there, then there’s probably a lot of people that need saving and crime happening. It’s especially dumb with the alien invasion stories where they show the audience aliens popping up in places other than NYC and suddenly the heroes have to get other there, like unless you got super-speed or teleportation, it’s going to take a while, and how are you even going to communicate with the civilians if there’s a language barrier?

2.Having characters be from other dimensions. Marvel and DC have a history of playing with alternate timelines and multi-verse theory. Into The Spiderverse was a super-popular movie that inspired tons of people to make their own Spidersonas, and the lesson that can be taken from it is that you can take a character and make it still feel unique or individualistic even if you’re using similar themes. Maybe instead of the dimensions having evil versions they have to fight or being fucked up in some other way, make the new version of Wonder Woman or Iron Man or whatever be from an alternate dimension and end up in the main because of science/magic, or a dimension-hopping villain they’re fighting, or an accident, or to get help from other versions of themselves, or even escaping from an apocalypse/doomsday from their own universe. It’s so easy to either send them back to their own universe when you decide you’re done playing with them or keep them around if you want them permanently. Wouldn’t it be fascinating if the Captain America we’re familiar with met a Captain America from an alternate universe where he fought in the American Revolution or for the Union in the Civil War or even in WW1 or Vietnam?

3.Having female characters take on feminine versions of the identity, or vice versa, or non-binary characters find a way to have a gender-neutral version. This has been done with Hulk and She-Hulk, Superman and Supergirl, Captain Marvel and Ms. Marvel back when Captain Marvel was a dude, Spider-man’s daughter May was Spider-girl at one point, Batman’s cousin or something is Batwoman. There’s also been some adjacents, such as AntMan and Wasp or Wolverine and X-23. There are definitely ways that you can use a familiar identity to put more female and non-binary superheroes out there. I mean, military titles (the Captains) or even names like Black Panther, Green Lantern, and Flash aren’t even gendered. You can feminize names if you want to, but I’m pretty sure the female Hawkeye is just straight-up Hawkeye. People like Thor I feel differently about because Thor’s an actual mythological character, not something Marvel came up with, but you could just use a different Norse god/goddess? And yeah, Dr. Strange is the man’s actual name so that’s also a little different, but if he had a daughter or a non-binary child who also got their doctorate, they are in fact entitled to call themselves Dr. Strange rather than something lesser. Not to mention, that whole alternate universe versions point I just made? Yeah, these can be characters from gender-bent alternate universes or a universe where humans are androgynous or something.

4.Have multiple characters use the same secret identity. This would be the perfect concept for twins or friends with the same build. The bank’s been robbed but A is on a date? B can totally show up at the scene! B got really hurt in their last fight? A’s got them covered. There’s a bit of risk to it, like if people recognize they have different voices or someone notices them at two different crises happening at the same time, but that’s just what makes the challenge of pretending to be the same person interesting. And it could get even more complex if you had triplets doing it, or four college roommates, or whatever. It’s also a great excuse to be able to write deep interpersonal relationships and identity struggles. Hell, can you imagine how much scarier multiple Batmans would be? They could play even more on the “you never know where he’s going to be next or what shadow he could be hiding in” thing, like, just when the crook thinks he’s lost Batman, another comes out out of nowhere.

And if superhero writers don’t want to do any of this, there’s also the C-List and D-List heroes that maybe got introduced in like the 70′s or 80′s or whatever but didn’t take or ended up being a blip in another character’s backstory. If you want more modern superheros connected to the major ones so you can use them in the same stories, it is totally valid IMO to try revitalizing these obscure concepts. I have a vested interest in seeing if Monica Rambeau shows up as her hero identity Photon in the Captain Marvel sequel. This idea is still using what you have, but it doesn’t capitalize the lives of the characters you have or make them expendable in any way. In fact, it’s also kind of like recycling, or the opposite of capitalism, because you’re trying to use alternative resources or all of your resources instead of very specific ones to the point of over-saturation.

Look, I’m just very tired of superheroes getting killed off to be replaced by someone else using the same identity or because it’s edgy or dark or whatever. Even a debilitating injury that leaves them in a wheelchair or blind or deaf is a hell of a lot more interesting. Once a character’s dead, they’re dead, there’s nowhere else you can take them unless you bring them back to life (which admittedly happens a lot in superhero universe) or have them hang around as a ghost or something. It’s boring, it doesn’t give the audience any closure and just messes with their emotions for shock value, and it promotes toxic capitalism.

#superheroes #marvel #dc #capitalism #killing characters #alternatives to killing characters

7 notes · View notes

linkbat · 4 years

Text

Who or what is the Batman?

Batman make Gotham safer but nobody really knows what or who he is. So I have collected some theories found on the internet about what he could be and this was the result:

- A vengeful ghost that takes on a corporeal form after dawn Maybe killed in one of the crimes and now it wants revenge.

- Just a legend with too much followers. A legend is unlikely due to many appearances, but we know that shapeshifter exists so maybe it’s just to scare people form committing crimes and some shapeshifter (Clayface?/Martian Manhunter?) coming once or twice a week to Gotham to kept up sightings. From sources, I know that while bank robbing attempts some people just stop afraid of getting beaten up by the Bat. Most sightings are from people like the Penguin or Two-face or their henchmen anyway. That is a good way to loose competition (also would explain the low killing-rate of the Bat). The GCPD rolls with it because the crime rate did went down from first sightings of the Batman and they get paid by the Penguin and Two-face primarily. Also most of those villains are insane so what they say they see shouldn’t be take too seriously.

- Another lunatic Maybe he is just insane like the people he’s fighting. In this city not really unlikely

- A vampire I would say their just fiction then again in the Justice League are, after our knowledge, at least two aliens so who knows what else exists out there. Also fits the whole bat and night thing.

- The cowl has an spirit possessing people to fight crime (or some drunk people just want an explanation why they can’t remember last night and a stab wound) The cowl-spirit explanation would be complicated after some possible alliances from Batman with the Justice League.

- A shadow being he is often described like that.

- Commissioner James Gordon sounds weird but both appeared at the same time in Gotham after he came back from the transfer to Chicago for unknown reasons (training, some something to gain meta abilities?). He seems to cooperate with the Bat but you almost never see them together (except some friends from Gordon but they could be lying). The batsignal to show that the Batman is real and/or make him innocent. Some people say the Batman solves crimes, with evidence from the GCPD this would be way easier, and Gordon is a Detektiv. Also have you ever wondered how they actually accept those criminals I mean what to they have in court? The Batman said they are guilty so yeah lock them up. Surely not. Also he was just a lieutenant until the Bat probably made that much pressure that Loeb left his post and Gordon was Commissioner. It adds up perfectly.

- An villain who wants to shut down the cities “defenses” and then take over the city. (Could be an lunatic, too)

- A robot The robot theory would also explain that most pictures or videos of him on the internet suddenly disappear.

- One meta-human One meta-human would make sense insofar as some other cities like Metropolis have their hero, too. But most of them doesn’t really try to hide so why should he?

- Some people (probably meta-humans) sharing the cowl same problem as before, but it would explain multible sightings of him at once.

And recently accomplices named “Robin” and “Batgirl” were sighted. Eyewitnesses have stated that Robin and Batgirl both look more like a children or teenager than adults or creatures or what ever the Bat is. And that raises questions like are these kids whatever the Bat is? Sidekicks often seem to have the same powers, but why are they then not portrait as nightmarish as the Batman himself?

This would also kind of ruin the “legend with shapeshifter theory” they would try to make him more horrifying not softer due to a child.

But Gordon would makes even more he has a daughter with red hair and Batgirl has also red hair and both are girls, so maybe he got his daughter to help him. He also has a son but with brown/red hair instead of black like Robin’s. And I think he is mentally ill, but this could be a cover or something like that.

(Don’t annoy the family because of this it’s just a theory and mental illnesses are hard to deal with)

So what are your thought and did I miss a common theory? Please comment below!

#sorry for bad grammar englisch is not my native language #batman theory #batman #gotham #james gordon is batman #who is the bat #onlyingotham

10 notes · View notes

skotch · 5 years

Text

Young Justice Airport AU

So I’m a big aviation fan, and I thought I might put together some headcanons for the team working at an airport. Let’s assume they don’t have powers in this universe, for obvious reasons.

First things first: the airport

Gotham-Metropolis Int’l (GMT) is the second busiest airport in the US after ATL

But only just barely, like maybe 10 million passengers a year? That puts it right in between ATL and LAX

As a result, it has like 150 gates divided between 5 terminals

The airport itself has a ton of cool renovations and modern architecture to distract from the somewhat long walks between terminals

Lex Luthor probably owns some of the airport honestly, maybe some restaurants or gift shops too

The airport is technically governed by the city of Metropolis because of zoning

It’s an overall pleasant place to be; there are lots of bars, lounges, food courts, masseuses, a bookstore, a luggage store, and even a Gucci store

And yet, there are never enough outlets in the gate

Okay now that you know the work environment, let’s get into the meat of it

I’ll start with Cassie because I think she might be the hardest to place in this setting. In my opinion, air traffic control is the best match, mostly due to the fact that she’s pretty level headed when working, but not cold or stoic. I feel like she would be the friendly, sometimes humorous ATC that everyone loves to talk to. Her favorite position is probably ground control because listening to Bart’s antics makes her day, honestly. Her least favorite might be enroute control. Dealing with unauthorized aircraft in your airspace isn’t fun lol. She’s really good at it, though, and all the planes in her control are kept super organized. Unless it’s a really busy day, you won’t be circling under Cassie’s control. A little quirk that she has is that she always finishes with “have a nice flight” or “welcome to GMT” or some other nice pleasantry. I guess because she’s talking to so many people over a short period of time, a little kindness goes a long way.

For Tim, I have to do it to him. He is a pilot that regularly flies between other large airports like Chicago-O’Hare and Central City. GMT is his favorite approach, though, due to it being his home-base airport. Lucky for him, he’s usually home by ten, unless he’s flying from SFO or LAX or something. It’s always a pleasant surprise to get takeoff or landing clearance from Cassie. He’s usually pilot monitoring on GMT approaches for that reason. I don’t think he would be captain (at least not yet), but he makes a great first officer. As for the plane he flies, I’d say the Boeing 787 Dreamliner would be a good fit. Very quiet, efficient, and luxurious with the typical three-class seating configurations. Lots of leg room too. Tim’s favorite part of being a pilot is all the planning and procedure that goes into getting a plane off the ground (and back down safely of course). The fuel calculations, weather analysis, and route planning really get him going. His least favorite part is probably short layovers and/or layovers in boring cities.

Bart and Conner are literally best friends forever so I feel obligated to put them together. They both work in aircraft ground handling. Conner is lead ramp agent and Bart works as a part-time baggage handler. He’s the one you see driving the baggage train super fast but manages to never drop anything. And he always gets the transfers right! Bart is really good at catching stuff like that and double checking everything. Your luggage is safe with him, even the oddly shaped ones. In addition, he sometimes helps with wheel chocks and walkarounds for larger aircraft like the 747s and A380s. It rains and snows regularly in Metropolis, so additional chocking on the jumbos is super important. Bart is also a whiz at laying down and picking up cones around the aircraft. He’s just fast at everything. A little quirk of his is that he’s ultra super cautious around jet engines and turboprops. He doesn’t go anywhere near the plane until they have completely slowed down. Safety first, kids. Whenever he knows he’s working with Tim’s plane, he makes sure to load the good snacks, not the cheese crackers. Pilots get hungry too y’know.

As for Conner, his job is to keep eyes on things happening on the ground...which is a lot of stuff. Aircraft marshalling, baggage, refueling, catering, jet bridge operation, pushback, etc. all need to be coordinated in order to safely operate the planes. He loves it, though! The team of rampers is just a big happy family, and Conner looks forward to seeing them every day. He’s a natural early bird, so waking up at 3am for a 5am flight isn’t a problem for him. As soon as he gets to the ramp, everyone else lights up too because his energy sorta feeds the ground team. Cassie sometimes gives a little bit of privilege whenever Conner or Bart asks for clearance. I’d say his favorite part is marshalling because it’s fun? You just wave your hands and a 172,000 kg (380,000 lb) machine follows your every command. A quirk for him is that he always does the cut engine signal even though it’s technically not required in non-emergency situations. That’s just how he was taught, and he values safety more than anything. (and because it makes Bart feel good)

In addition, Jinny works in customs, Teen Lantern is a gate agent, and Amethyst is a flight attendant.

#young justice #superboy #teen lantern #tim drake #don't want to clog all the tags #this is such a good au #i reject your reality and substitute my own #but real talk #i want to hear your opinion #i can definitely see some alternatives #i didn't proofread this #just so you know

13 notes · View notes

tzigone · 5 years

Text

Population and size of Gotham’s neighborhoods

I’ve seen maps/lists of Metropolis that give the size and population of each neighborhood (or at least borough). These lists don’t always agree with each other, but they aren’t too terribly different.

I’m looking for something similar for Gotham. I’ve seen maps (the 1990 one and the late ‘90s No Man’s Land one). While the maps are completely different, most of the neighborhoods listed are the same. And they have descriptions of the economic level of each area, which is really good. But I don’t have a sense of what percentage of the population lives in each area. The slums v. the low-income/high-crime non-slums, v. the middle class area v. the urban upper middle class v. the suburban upper middle class, etc. I really want to know that.

I’m trying to figure out rents and incomes in Gotham. Looked at Jersey City, but proximity to Manhattan influences that. Today’s NYC is too expensive, and too unabandoned (Gotham has several abandoned areas to say the least) to sub in. Chicago, I know, was used for geography (alleys), but Midwest cities don’t cost what East Coast cities do. So I really have to make up my own. If I can get anywhere with either Gotham or Metropolis, I’ll work on Star City (old school, northern California), Central City, and Keystone.

But I don’t want Gotham an endless slum or divided into only slum and super-wealthy (though, IRL, income disparity is getting worse in US). There needs to be at least some areas of middle income (which we do see in some comics over the years - just isn’t where the highest crime is, so isn’t where Batman is). I’m not fond of the Batman Begins or Batman: Year One where the bulk of the city is lost to poverty and crime. Or, at least, I’m not fond of it staying that way. because Batman should make things better. If you have police corruption, then Gordon needs to make things better, too. If not, then they are ineffectual. Do no real good, long-term. It’s a downer. A depressing story where Bruce dies in action or dies an embittered old man, with Gotham as bad or worse than when he started. And that’s not my kind of story.

Depopulation would help account for all the abandoned buildings, but how many of those were industrial v. residential? If residential, it’d drive down rent prices, I’d think. So the problem in that neighborhood would be lack of income moreso than soaring rents that affect several major cities today. But I do think if they are bleeding population, Batman should stem that flow.

We do see some middle-class neighborhood listed in the DC atlas. I really do like that. Alas, there is still the issue that in that one (published 1990), a lot of the middle class neighborhoods listed are driven by manufacturing, and the economy has continually reduced those jobs in the US through relocation of jobs to poorer countries or increasing automation. But since several other things about the DC verse do not match ours (technology, amount of mass destruction, etc.), that could theoretically be different, too.

Anyway, the gist is I want to know if there is any source for how many people in each neighborhood, so I can use that as a proxy for how many people in each income-bracket.

#Batman #Gotham #Bruce Wayne #in-my-head-reimagining

3 notes · View notes

rorykillmore · 6 years

Note

i can't remember if you've said, but where do you think your characters will settle post-shift? what are their new living spaces going to be like?

sokay i talked about this a bit in an ask from tony but i’ll just refer back to it and expand on my ideas a bit! especially since i have some revamp stuff more fleshed out now

lucille’s gonna be living in victorian london! i think she’ll kinda miss living by the water though so she might get a place by the river or something. and she’s gonna probably start composing music and finally make a career out of that because that’s something she’s always wanted to do, and every now and again maybe i’ll give her a monster encounter or something since. she does have a shitton of monster hunting experience by now,

her place’ll probably incorporate a lot of the style she’s developed living on her own in her beach house, so it’ll be a touch modernized by london’s standards but still very. elegant in aesthetic. and i like your idea about her and maria rooming together so maybe we can do that!

siobhan’s staying in the southwest. in the same damn saloon, in fact. so there’s not much new to describe about hers or the denny guardians’ living situation; though maybe they’ll like... have an expedition to explore some of the newer towns at some point? road trip!

though i also said i wanted her to get the chance to visit the triassic period location with raptor red and that still stands; i think that could lend to some interesting dynamic development

sara is gonna be staying on the waverider and maybe sometimes visiting port royal if that’s where nyssa’s gonna be hanging out. so not much new to say here either, except that her life might be less... exciting than she’s used to. she might be restless for awhile. ‘cause, y’know, no more time travel, no more timeline that needs protecting. the legends’ll be kinda robbed of their purpose so she’ll need to find a new one. she might revert to more traditional vigilanteism in chicago perhaps or just, maybe they’ll tour around trying to get leads on the organization and that can be their new thing, who knows!

the cats don’t really need much of an update...

dolores and alana are both staying in beacon heights so i’ll just group them together! for alana, it’s probably pretty convenient that it’s closer to metropolis, because she’ll be spending a lot of her time there trying to help the mld get a handle on things anyway. dolores is too content in beacon heights to really want to move around, although i do have vague plans for her to get involved with our Future Location. maybe in some campaign for sentient ai there. it actually might be a good place to continue to make use of host printing stuff

and now for my characters who are ACTUALLY moving around more,

sophie’s gonna be in chicago, of course, running her own club/speak-easy, so she’ll probably live somewhere close to there! i envision her like... moving into an apartment building and renting out a big ol’ penthouse and living it up. that might be where she conducts some of her shady business related to the club and keeping it protected from the organization. oh i actually forgot i added a cool hotel location to chicago; she might rent out the penthouse THERE. and then she can interact with some of the guests and stuff too.

camille’s gonna be living in metropolis still, so technically not much is changing there, but... she might not be home all that often. once the revamp hits i’m really envisioning her traveling a lot, actually. because one of the challenges of the revamp is like... figuring out how to establish mass communication (there aren’t cell phone towers or wifi in a lot of these locations, unless someone icly starts an initiative to install them!) and spread news from place to place and keep everyone connected. i thought it would be cool and make sense if that task sorta fell to the daily planet, so, yeah! camille might be all over the place, staying in different hotel rooms or crashing on people’s couches, that kinda thing. it’ll be interesting to see who she meets along the way

sly, as we’ve already discussed a bit, is gonna be in port royal! he’ll be on the mainland some of the time but i’m also considering... bring in his (canonical) pirate ship and just letting him fuckin’ have at it with whatever crew he assembles. while he’s in town, i think he’d be the type to try to keep things safe and vaguely ordered (i know we discussed him and nyssa being kind of, like, thief-vigilantes) and while at sea he might be doing things like rescuing people from pirates and... maybe even discovering the location of the Plot Thing in that area, so that later he can help guide people to it

cordelia is gonna be in st. denis (or technically just outside of it) since that’s where the academy is being moved! it’s... gonna be a bit of a lifestyle change for her and everyone living there because the people of st. denis. aren’t so culturally appreciative of witchcraft as the people in new orleans are. so i’m interested to play with the conflict of her and the coven kinda... clashing with some of the locals, and what kind of plot stuff that might draw to the area. they might ESPECIALLY get off to a bad start because fate and i are planning on implementing venomplot soon after the revamp, so like. whoops if cordelia bonded with the symbiote gets noticed somewhere in town,

susie and villanelle are both gonna live in paris! fuckin’ naturally.

susie... despite the fact that she could live pretty much anywhere if she wanted to, probably would be happy with somewhere pretty modest. she really isn’t used to anything lavish. although one thing i was definitely considering was having her start some kind of dance academy there, so maybe she’ll live there if that becomes a thing?? what’s really nostalgic for her about paris is that it’s... pretty much stuck in the time period she comes from, too, so there’ll be that to grapple with

and villanelle. honestly i have this whole complicated thing in my head for how villanelle operates on denny, the hoops she jumps through to keep herself under the radar. essentially the situation is going to be: she has a pretty standard apartment in metropolis, which is the address her rifter id is registered to, and the place she’d bring anyone who was like, casually visiting her or whatever. that apartment is... she takes care to make it appear lived in, but it’s pretty standard and impersonal.

her flat in paris is not registered under her name, is much harder to track, and far fewer people get to see it, but it is definitely more resembling of a place she’d actually call home. it’s very... her, very similar to the place she has in canon, probably. expensive and stylish and ~trendy~, very much a 25 year old girl’s apartment if you discount the weapons she keeps in the drawers. i still think it’d be funny if fox had to live with her for a bit as a parallel to him taking in her younger self,

i’m not quite sure where laura will end up yet; i’m considering a few options. one is -- i haven’t set the details of this particular location in stone yet, but she might be an interesting candidate to hang out in whatever fantasy world we develop! because technically, she’s more magical than anything else. i’m also vaguely considering london or future world for her (and she should definitely have an encounter with those fucking. zombie people who live outside of st. denis, FEAR) but yeah we’ll see. might depend on who she falls in with.

#thanks spear!!#theyre all livin it up.#larkspear

3 notes · View notes

backyardgardenblog18 · 2 years

Text

How to choose the Best Veggies For the Backyard Garden

Vegetables are an easy way to add nutrients and flavor to your diet plan. They are also an easy, low-cost way to take in healthy without getting to spend too much time cooking. Whether you are thinking about the new recipe or perhaps want to try out something new, greens can be typically the perfect addition. This kind of article is about how you may choose the best veggies for your backyard garden. It may cover some of the most well-liked vegetables that folks increase in their home gardens, as well since some tips means plant them in addition to care for all of them so that they grow appropriately. Introduction: Precisely why You Should Start a Backyard Garden? Many people think that they will not have enough space inside their homes to begin a garden. Even so, there are a few ways of which you can make your own personal backyard yard. To make it easier for a person, we have put together a list associated with gardening guidelines to be able to help you acquire started. More details are available on https://answerdiary.com/ The backyard garden is a great way to expand fresh foods and provide your family together with healthy options. It also gives us a chance to teach our young children concerning the importance associated with eating healthy and being environment friendly. Pick the Right Spots for Growing Planting is an extremely popular hobby and many different forms of plants that one may choose to flower. There are a few plants of which require more sunlight than others in addition to it is essential to know which in turn type of herb you want in order to plant before you make any decisions. Sunlight needs: The amount associated with sunlight that a new plant needs varies depending on the particular kind of plant. A few plants need even more sun exposure than others, so it will be essential to know what sort of plant a person want to possess before making virtually any decisions.

Find Outside What Veggies You want to Grow Veggies are a favorite costume in most people's diet plan. Fortunately they are a fantastic source of vitamins and minerals. But how carry out you know precisely what vegetables to expand? This post will provide you with a checklist of the most common varieties of vegetables in addition to tell you in which they grow greatest. The first type associated with vegetable may be the tomato. Tomatoes can be grown in any climate, but they carry out best when they are grown outdoor in warmer weather. The second form of vegetable is usually the cucumber. Cucumbers need to end up being grown indoors or outdoors in warmer climates, nevertheless they do not thrive when grown in colder weather their best York Metropolis or Chicago. Typically the third form of veggie is the spice up. Peppers are perfect for warmer climates, but they need plenty of sunlight and water to be able to grow well. "

#Backyard Garden Blog

1 note · View note

script-a-world · 7 years

Text

Geography in settings

Hi, I saw you answered a question earlier mixing real and fictional settings (not mine). Well, there is a lot of fiction that take liberties with geography. You mentioned “explicit reason for change”. Could you explain more? Also, what kind of checklist might you do when considering what’s bad geographic change. I have examples too. For example the geography in Independence Day (distances between various locations have been completely changed and they moved Area 51) or Sound of Music (the mountain escape is nowhere near Switzerland and actually even goes straight to one of Hitler’s homes). Yet, everyone I personally know who has watched those never shut them down for the bad geography, just found the truth hilarious and interesting. What, in your examples (sunrise in California and Gotham/Metropolis distance) make people complain? Of course, everyone responds differently and there are majorities and minorities. To be honest, I would have thought Sound of Music would be most atrocious because of the politics that go with the bad geography, but I’m surprised people aren’t. Thanks a lot for any more input on this.

__________________________________________________________

Synth: I think the live-action films and TV shows are given a bit of a pass on questionable geography because it isn't always possible to film on location. Studios make do with what is available, which can lead to some weirdness.

Due South was set in Chicago but filmed in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, because it was a Canadian show, but recognizing the landmarks as being definitely not Chicago doesn't make me hate the show. (There was one episode set in Toronto that they went and filmed in Chicago, because that's the sort of show it was.) Stargate SG-1 was set in Cheyenne Mountain/Colorado Springs, Colorado, USA, and various not-Earth planets, but was filmed in and around Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Knowing that <other planet's futuristic city> is really <university campus> doesn't make the show less enjoyable to watch.

The first time I watched Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, my dad wandered past during some of the Hoth scenes and remarked, "Hey, I used to go skiing there," because he did indeed used to go skiing around Finse, the town in Norway near which those scenes were filmed. To me those moments of recognition are more like Easter Eggs than immersion-breaking screw-ups.

Constablewrites: I used the example of the sun rising over the ocean in California because the coast is on the western side of the landmass, meaning the sun sets over the ocean. It's not possible for the sun to rise in that view unless the earth starts spinning in the opposite direction, so it's not a thing you can just artistically fudge. It's also not an obscure fact that requires specialized knowledge, so anyone who's seen a map of the US and has a basic understanding of how that works is going to immediately know that it's wrong, and will then assume that the writer has absolutely no idea what they're talking about. That's where making changes can get you into trouble: when the natural assumption would be that you intended to be accurate and failed.

Synth: "...you intended to be accurate and failed." ↑ This exactly. If it's obvious that you Did Not Do the Research (for things about which it is relatively easy to find information), that's when people are going to get annoyed.

Constablewrites: Not everyone is going to spot every error, of course. I have lawyer friends who cannot watch any courtroom dramas because of how many liberties they take with reality, and that doesn't keep the shows from being popular. (It does mean that most of what the average person thinks they know about the legal system is wildly incorrect, but that's a separate topic.) I have a friend who ranted at some length about a fanfic she'd read which was ostensibly set in Kansas City that made it sound like it was some tiny town in the middle of nowhere rather than a fairly sprawly metro region. IIRC, the author mentioned that they were getting off at a particular junction because it was the last place to stop for a bathroom break for hours--that junction is in the heart of downtown, and at least half an hour from the edges of the suburbs in any direction. It jumped right out at her because she lived there, and it would probably sound off to anyone at all familiar with the area. (And of course, a cursory glance at Google Maps would show how wrong it was.) But if you didn't know anything about it, you might gloss over that and add that very incorrect depiction to your general impression of the city.

Basically, when you make those sorts of counterfactual changes, you're taking the risk that 1) someone will know that it's incorrect, and 2) that knowledge will disrupt their enjoyment of the story. You can usually mitigate point 2 if the story is otherwise well crafted and engaging. But push either point too far, and that's where you get dismissed as bad research, or just bad writing.

#pylons #geography #submission

43 notes · View notes

red-will · 3 years

Link

This is how we can envision Black freedom

For the U.S. to untangle itself from its legacy of white supremacism, we must live like we understand what our true history teaches us, from Emmett Till to George Floyd.

PUBLISHED MAY 25, 2021• 20 MIN READ

On June 27, 2015, Black artist and activist Bree Newsome Bass climbed the flagpole at the South Carolina statehouse and took down the Confederate flag that had flown above the people of that state for over 50 years. This act came 10 days after a white supremacist murdered eight Black parishioners and their pastor at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston. Grown from a congregation first organized by enslaved and free Blacks in the late 18th century, Emanuel is the oldest African Methodist Episcopal church in the American South. It is a church where Black freedom has been envisioned and practiced throughout the entirety of its existence, from the 19th-century congregant Denmark Vesey—who bought his own freedom and helped plan a revolt of his fellow human beings who were still enslaved—to the 20th-century civil rights marchers and leaders who regularly gathered within its sacred space.

As she expected, Newsome Bass was arrested as soon as she rappelled down the statehouse flagpole, Confederate flag in hand. Her act memorialized Emanuel’s pastor and parishioners. It also made an ephemeral but indelible monument to Black freedom.

When asked why she did what she did, Newsome Bass answered, “I did it because I am free.”

What does it mean to be Black and free in a country that rejects Black freedom?

II.

I am an educator who teaches students about submerged histories, revelatory art, and the critical thinking that sharpens questions that move us toward truth. I am a poet, and my poet’s tool is the word. The word is holy and bears the heft of human experience; the poet must wield it as precisely as possible. I have found that writing poems brings me closer to understanding my fellow human beings—individually and in community—in our many contradictions and complex histories. Poems give form to truths and understandings that might otherwise be lost.

As leader of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, I am privileged to help support artists, thinkers, researchers, and other kinds of builders who illuminate stories and experiences that have often been hidden, overwritten, or mistold.

In a year darkened by loss, their light shone with particular power through the work we are supporting with the largest initiative in our history, the Monuments Project.

We have found inspiration in monuments like artist Judith Baca’s “Great Wall of Los Angeles,” a vibrant mural more than half a mile long that has brought together dozens of community members over 40 years to paint a richer, more inclusive history of California.

We supported a new memorial to Emmett Till, the 14-year-old Black boy from Chicago who, when visiting family in Mississippi in the summer of 1955, was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered by two white men for allegedly whistling at a white woman. His mother brought his body back to Chicago for an open-casket funeral to “let the people see what they did to my boy,” and Jet magazine published photographs that would widely spread the word of a terrifying story that was not isolated.

Till became an emblem of the racist violence that Blacks were still subject to and helped to catalyze the civil rights movement. The site sign that marks where his body was pulled from the Tallahatchie River in Mississippi had to be replaced many times because it was riddled with bullet holes.

As an educator and fieldbuilder in African American studies, I believe that the knowledge from this field sits at the center of any genuine understanding of the United States, holding the legacy and ongoing existence of anti-Black enmity in its unflinching gaze alongside the knowledge, philosophy, and creativity that emerges from this American history of struggle and endurance.

The lynching of Emmett Till and the mass murder of the Emanuel parishioners—among countless other acts of anti-Black terrorism down through the generations—underscore this truth about our country: It was built in part, and is still being built, on anti-Black hatred and violence. How do we move forward with this contemptible knowledge and its antidotes as our guides?

III.

On January 6, 2021, domestic terrorists carried out a violent insurrection at the United States Capitol. Incited by the president and some in the U.S. Senate and House of Representatives, this armed and organized mob brutalized law enforcement; killed a police officer; terrorized democratically elected representatives, their staffs, and some of their family members; assaulted journalists; erected a gallows; looted offices; stole documents and laptops, including that of the speaker of the House, which the thief allegedly planned to sell to Russian agents; smeared human feces through the building; and extensively defaced commemorative displays and works of art, including a memorial placard to Congressman John Lewis, the recently deceased civil rights icon.

Also on that day: A Confederate flag, which had never before breached the heart of Congress, was waved in its halls by one of the terrorists. This flag memorializes white supremacy, commemorates the lost cause of those who fought a war to keep Black Americans enslaved, and instructs race-based hatred.

After hours spreading savagery and chaos through the halls, the terrorists were largely allowed to depart the Capitol unfettered. Photographs showed Black and brown custodial workers cleaning up the wreckage the mob left behind.

IV.

Years ago, I wrote a series of sonnets in the voices of young Black women who studied at Quaker educator Prudence Crandall’s school in Canterbury, Connecticut, in the 1830s. White parents pulled their daughters from the school because they did not want them educated alongside Black students, but Miss Crandall continued educating those young Black women and girls despite the violent opposition of Canterbury’s white residents. Those residents ultimately burned the school to the ground. Miss Crandall’s unwavering courage could not keep the schoolhouse safe. But in the sonnets’ vision, the rare quest for education for Black women was “the one perfect religion” that the townspeople could not destroy.

Without learning, without knowledge, without the voices and the experiences and the insights gained from a determined excavation of our country’s past, we will never eradicate racism and racial violence. If we are to stop weaving white supremacism into the fabric of our country, then we must learn our full histories. We must live like we understand what that history teaches us.

In a poem, I once portrayed the great poet Robert Hayden in the 1940s as he dedicated himself, “stoop-shouldered,” to sifting through the records of the slave ship Amistad, extracting history’s hidden insights and the story of resistance from that ship’s log. “Blood from a turnip,” I wrote of his daunting and exhausting process of deep research to tell the story of “this / protagonist-less / Middle Passage” from the perspective of the captives rather than solely that of the captors.

Ultimately the “slavers’ meticulous records” revealed the determination of the Africans on board to resist being dehumanized as property. That gave Hayden, in turn, the knowledge he needed to tell us the story too few had contemplated: that there were many Black people who challenged slavery as their fate and fought back for their freedom, as well as white people who were their allies.

To return to Miss Crandall: After her school was destroyed, in 1834, one of her students, a young Black woman named Julia Williams, moved to New Hampshire to study at an integrated school. There, as in Canterbury, the act of teaching Black and white children together drew a violent response from white people in the community. I researched the history and then described, in the conjured voice of Miss Williams, an unforgettable true scene:

From the town and neighbors came three hundred armed men, ninety oxen teams.

They dragged the school building utterly off its foundation. I have twice seen bloodlust and ignorance combust. I have seen it.

Bloodlust and ignorance combust. I continue to return to those words.

New York City, where I was born, is a city that exists in the mind and in the matter-of-fact corporeality of day-to-day New Yorkers as one definition of freedom—freedom of expression, freedom of belief, and the power of a multicultural metropolis.

The identity emerges from complexity. More enslaved Black people lived in New York City in the 1700s than in any city other than Charleston, South Carolina. Many free Black people lived in New York as well, in places such as Seneca Village, where residents were forced out by eminent domain in 1857 before the community was razed to build Central Park. Those enslaved and free Black people’s stories still speak to us through material clues such as the coins, beads, coffins, and shrouds left behind in subterranean sites like the African Burial Ground in Lower Manhattan.

In Brooklyn, in 2001, five corncobs laid out in a distinct shape were found in a crawl space of a house. Those corncobs formed a star, scholars determined, that suggested a West African cosmogram, one that conveys two worlds of the living and the dead, both eternally connected in a West African vision of the cosmos in diaspora.

When I read about that archaeological discovery, I envisioned the moment when the rumor of freedom was made real, in a poem called “Emancipation”:

Corncob constellation, oyster shell, drawstring pouch, dry bones.

Gris gris in the rafters. Hoodoo in the sleeping nook. Mojo in Linda Brent’s crawlspace.

Nineteenth century corncob cosmogram set on the dirt floor, beneath the slant roof, left intact the afternoon that someone came and told those slaves,

‘We’re free.’

Imagine, the revelation of freedom—two words, “We’re free.” We are still enacting and imagining the aftermath.

VI.

In mid-century Los Angeles, in the Watts neighborhood, an Italian immigrant named Simon Rodia built an extraordinary structure by hand. The Watts Towers soar toward the sky in multiple forms, nearly a hundred feet tall at the highest. Rodia envisioned and built the towers day by day over three decades, from durable steel and delicate wire mesh, bottle glass, white seashells, pottery shards, mint chip and maraschino mosaic tiles, shades of lapis lazuli, cobalt, and the thick, bright yellow of a crayoned sun. Like the “corncob constellation” left behind in the crawl space of the house in Brooklyn, each seemingly mysterious object carries power and meaning.

“It shows that we are people too, that we have brains and we can make it too if we put our minds to it,” Carolyn Byers, a young woman from Watts, said of the towers. She was talking to a reporter in 1991, the year Rodia’s vision was designated a national landmark; six months before that, a Black man named Rodney King was brutally beaten by white police officers in the San Fernando Valley, and the officers’ subsequent acquittal sparked five days of riots across South Los Angeles.

Rodia moved to Watts about a century and a half after the Spanish founded the pueblo that became Los Angeles. Many of the Gabrielino-Tongva peoples who were the first inhabitants of the Los Angeles Basin were forced into enslaved labor at the region’s Spanish missions. By 1848 the part of Tovaangar that would become Watts had passed from the Spanish Empire to the Republic of Mexico and then was taken, along with more than half of Mexico’s territory, by the aggressively expansionist United States at the conclusion of the Mexican-American War.

Rodia lived in the community as it changed from one populated mostly by whites and Mexican Americans to a home for African Americans who had left the South in the Great Migration. By the time he completed the towers in 1954, the Watts community was predominantly Black; today, one full century after he first put his hands to steel at East 107th Street, it is majority Latinx, including large communities of Mexicans and Salvadorans. Throughout this time—throughout Los Angeles—descendants of the Gabrielino-Tongva peoples have continued to live in and honor their ancestral homeland. None of these complexities contradict; we must understand them together.

I have always been so moved by the inspirational power and seeming impossibility of the towers that I described them in the poem “Stravinsky in L.A.”: “The Watts Towers aim to split / the sky into chroma, spires tiled with rubble / nothing less than aspiration.”

To aspire: from the root meaning, fundamentally, “to breathe.”

VII.

When my family moved to Washington, D.C., from Harlem in late 1963, many parts of the city were racially segregated. I grew up a few blocks from the U.S. Capitol. My family and I would regularly stroll its meticulously tended grounds and sometimes picnic. Most years on the Fourth of July, we’d lay out blankets in the humid evening and listen to the U.S. Marine Band as fireworks exploded overhead in the summer deep darkness.

The Library of Congress was my childhood library because the Library of Congress is a public library. In high school I would research and write my papers there. Sitting in the glorious rotunda, I would think with excitement how the very building in which I learned held almost every single book on Earth. Anyone who walked through the doors had access to them.

I knew that the Capitol was where the actual business of our country’s governance took place and that it stood gleaming as both a symbol and a site for working out the complexities of millions of different people, with all their beliefs and backgrounds and experiences, living alongside one another in an ever evolving democratic experiment. My parents taught me that the Capitol was built by enslaved Black people, and that reverence for a space that was ours did not erase understanding voter suppression and the three-fifths compromise. They showed me how to hold seeming contradiction with a comprehension of our full history.

At the Lincoln Memorial, the towering marble form of the 16th president might make a child feel dwarfed, just as it made me feel as a child. But I want the child of today to understand that this figure is not merely a shadowing stone statue. It is also a site of powerful community gathering and activation. As the central location of the 1963 March on Washington and Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech—and so many marches to follow—the Lincoln Memorial is one of the most significant sites of civic action in our history. When Marian Anderson sang “my country, ’tis of thee” on its steps in 1939, she rebuked the segregation that had barred her from singing in Constitution Hall before the Daughters of the American Revolution.

Monuments and memorials are places where people come together to remember, to collectively mark a moment, to be a “we,” to help identify a new direction, and to make a way forward. This is the case even when the way forward is shaped by grief and not by joyful determination. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, designed by the artist and architect Maya Lin when she was just 21 years old, introduced into the D.C. of my young adulthood a memorial that had no precedent in the D.C. of my childhood. This slash into the earth bears no figuration. It holds instead the ephemeral reflections of those who walk down into the ground to mourn their dead, evoking the true cost of all wars. It does so even as it raises unarticulated questions about the millions of Southeast Asian people who also were killed in that particular war, and whose names are not recorded on the memorial’s black granite.

What would it mean for us to have monuments and memorials that do not teach us to memorialize war or to commemorate fighting against others? What would it mean to enact the enduring spiritual’s words, “I ain’t gonna study war no more,” in our monuments?

VIII.

Tell the whole damn truth, in our history, our art, our words, and our memorials.

Mighty civil rights and voting rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer’s words are the simple truth: “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” Fighting for Black freedom means, in the words of Robert Hayden, “visioning a world where none is lonely, none hunted, alien.” It means understanding 19th-century Black enslavement alongside 21st-century Black mass incarceration; comprehending why Emmett Till’s casket is the most sacred object in the National Museum of African American History and Culture; acknowledging the horror of George Floyd’s and Breonna Taylor’s murders standing in seemingly never ending seriality with so many other murders. Fighting for Black freedom means centering the crucial questions raised by decades and decades of African American studies; they are still the right questions. And recognizing that the bravery of Bree Newsome Bass in June 2015 is more powerful than the violent desecration of the U.S. Capitol in January 2021.

Most days I play or hear in my head Nina Simone’s 1967 version of the Billy Taylor song, “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free.” The song has light and delight; it is singable, and in one facet, joyful. But the “wish” is both a commanding action—wish it, make it happen—as well as a word that says we’re not there yet. The conditional tense, “would,” marks that freedom is not fully attained.

The song’s bright music moves us ever forward. But Simone’s voice, in all its coloration and nuance, the dark side it carries in its light, reminds us that freedom—the right of every one of us—is a process. Freedom is work. Freedom doesn’t come by wishing. We must vision it. And we have survived by enacting those visions.

Elizabeth Alexander—poet, educator, memoirist, scholar, and cultural advocate—is president of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. She is the author or editor of 14 books and twice was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize; her book The Trayvon Generation is to be published this fall. She wrote the poem “Praise Song for the Day” for Barack Obama’s presidential inauguration in 2009 and delivered it there.

This story appears in the June 2021 issue of National Geographic magazine.

#black freedom #elizabeth alexander #nat geo #national geographic

0 notes

on-the-wings-of-hope-prose-en · 3 years

Text

Immunity

Hope dies last.

But how could have Gale hoped for anything right now, when the last hopes of the dying alive humanity were rapidly crumbling into thousands of tiny shards, precisely like the fragments of a broken mirror, in which it, humanity, in a moment of brief spiritual insight, was able to behold itself for a brief moment of its history?

Hope for salvation. Hope for earthly life. For the life after death. Is there one?

Today, by some kind of a miracle, Gale finally managed to get inside into one of the overcrowded churches, where divine services had been held without stopping for several months already. All over the planet, the temples of the three world religions have been crowded for a long time, during both day and night. Now, when the so glorified by earthly materialists science could not answer the challenge thrown by natural forces, people tried to find it in their appeals to the Gods.

Now, standing at a distance from the altar of the temple in the sea of other people pressing down on him from all sides and towering over them like a two-meter giant, Gale observed. He needed to understand what was driving these people now when they had almost no hope left to bear. What made them appeal to those of whose very existence this earthly life had made them doubt time and again?

Faith in the possibility of salvation? Fear of devouring nothingness that is opening its greedy mouth? Love for everything they have created – including the very nature that has become so deadly?

As for Gale, until the events of recent years, he believed only in science. It has been his holy grail for many years of life. It, with due diligence, observation, and long experimentation, was able to grant humanity an answer to any question and challenge... if you do not take into account the existence of a Higher Mind.

A sea of human faces. An ocean of emotions. A kaleidoscope of feelings. Raised either in prayers or silent threats, lowered in despair hands. Would anyone see them, would anybody hear this voiceless speech? Gale possessed no answer to this question that had been tormenting him for so long. The day of the answer has not come yet.

* * *

“Mining of antibodies. Participate in a volunteer program to test new vaccines. Earn pharmacoins. Give your answer to novovirus!”

A huge holographic billboard floated around the corner of the skyscraper right in front of Gale’s eyes as soon as he stepped out into the central square. Gale grimaced in disgust. The endless attempts to create vaccines will all die in vain. It’s never possible to accurately predict the shape of something that changes every moment of its existence.

“Virt-club “Pleasure”. There is no fear of death. There is life’s pleasure!”

A three-dimensional rainbow-colored hologram of a girl with her legs spread wide enlightened with neon-laser beams a couple of dozen meters away from Gale, sensitively and quickly reacting to the approach of a lone wanderer. No, he definitely doesn’t need to go that way. When the whole world is going straight to hell in front of your very eyes, there is no more time for pleasure.

“Life after death. Cryostasis. The latest military development. Call us right away!”

As if a living hologram of a man in a blue and seemingly frozen space suit waves his hand in greeting, inviting Gale to come to the next “saviors”. No. There is no escape from novovirus, there is no salvation. All the scientific researches of the best bio-geneticists on the entire planet were unshakable proof of this.

Novovirus. This pestilence had many other names, too. A new plague. Black Death. Reaper. Punisher. Wrath of God. Doom.

Being fueled by fear, the human fantasy gave birth to more and more associations. And more and more cases of infection and either mass death or mutation of people only fueled this hysteria of universal fear. What can the smallest virus do against a man who thinks of himself as the master of nature? Anything. Especially if there cannot be an antidote for this kind of poison.

The government records to which Gale had been granted access after he started working on the “Salvation” project contained a wealth of data on the primary localized cases of infection and their associated symptoms. South America. North Africa. Southeast Asia. First, second, third wave. Initially, the disease was considered to be a new type of malaria and didn’t gain significant attention – until the moment of a rapid surge in the number of infections across the entire planet. And all of a sudden the concept of a “mosquito bite” started looking not so harmless at all.

Along with the development and evolution of the virus, the symptoms also changed. Fever, chills, nausea, and vomiting were only the initial stages of the virus-induced disease. Then the infected ones started to cough up their bodily innards along with the blood. Then came the nerve paralysis and cardiac arrest. Genetic mutations followed their steps. And after them, human madness knocked on the door of omnipotent science.

The virus mutated rapidly, changing its protein-molecular structure within a matter of days. More and more cases, together with the accompanying symptoms, began to be recorded by the governments of many countries every few days. The entire civilized world was swept by a wave of panic. People stopped leaving their homes. Looting, arson, and street looting came into action. Many new “apocalypse witness” sects have raised their heads, each with her mad prophet and course. The quickly approaching collapse of social spheres threatened to plunge the entire world into chaos, hunger, and poverty.

Governments in numerous countries have made huge financial investments while trying to produce a life-saving vaccine. But what seemed so simple and routine at first to many scientific minds, stuck like an irresistible curse of a mad old woman-death on many groups of virologist scientists. The vaccines did not keep up with the virus mutations in the infected cells. And cell mutations inevitably led to the mutation of humankind. And this was so much more terrible than the casual and familiar conventional war – because in the flames and fumes of this new war for survival, the very concept of “man” was about to become the ashes of history.

Vaccines didn’t work. It was paramount to find different ways of salvation, locate it at any cost. Thus the “Salvation” project was born, uniting many of the best scientists around the globe. All they had to do was find another way to save humankind – even at the cost of the lives of thousands of infected people who had become new experimental material in underground laboratories, even at the cost of the lives of the scientists themselves. Everything for the scientific battlefront, everything for victory. And Gale desired to be on the edge of it.

* * *

Gale’s flycar roamed through the depopulated streets of the once-overcrowded metropolis, increasing and decreasing its altitude in violation of all the rules of multi-level traffic, rapidly obeying the commands of the machine’s artificial intelligence, soaring over the arches and billboards of skyscrapers, and diving into high-speed underground tunnels. But no people were willing to issue him fines.

Simon’s words were still ringing in his head. Uninfected one! One among hundreds of millions, one who somehow miraculously passed through the gates of this earthly hell and remained unharmed. A soldier with no signs of novovirus mutation delivered to the “Salvation” scientific laboratories.

A miracle? But science does not believe in miracles, science believes in experiments. And the relentless logic of science demanded that this experiment was to be carried out immediately for the sake of all the living. And if the life a new-found test subject it to be put at stake – it had to be done without the slightest portion of hesitation and remorse of unnecessary conscience. Agitated by the morning’s message that came to his audiovisor, Gale raced through the streets of deserted Chicago with his lips silently whispering prayers to the scientific gods only he knew.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Professor Gale. Simon is in his labs, waiting for you early this morning.”

“Thanks, Miranda. I’m just in a hurry catching up with him.”

“Looks like you have something really interesting planned for today,” their young assistant winked on her way, and after a couple of seconds disappeared around the corner of the sterile white corridor inside the underground laboratory complex.

Gale literally flew through the massive glass doors of the laboratory, almost breaking his forehead – all their outdated automatic opening system based on solar cells seemed to be too slow for him at that instant.

“Where’s the uninfected test subject? I want to examine him!” he shouted from the doorway.

“My, oh my, it must be no less than Professor Gale Newman himself, safe and sound! Did you pour a whole pack of nitro-coffee pills into yourself before the trip, so as not to fall asleep at the wheel at such an early hour?” Dr. Simon grinned through his mustache as he caught a glimpse of a colleague who had flown into the lab, while deftly adjusting his glasses with a free hand. “And Miranda and I were just arguing about whether you’d make it to us before sunrise, or whether you’d be completely put asleep by thoughts of a Higher Intelligence. Did mysticism get the better of you due to old age?” Simon said in a friendly tone, his fingers still working silently on the holo-terminal.

“Have you got a file on him?”

“The NSA transferred a piece of data this morning. Corporal James Cassle, Marine Corps. Participated in the rescue of civilians in Brazil and Venezuela after the outbreak of the pandemic wars. He was seriously injured by marauding gangs of mutated infected ones during the last operation. Received the Purple Heart Medal for battle wounds. He was taken out of the operation area and hospitalized in Seattle. This is all we know so far.”

“And the screening, how did he manage to pass the infection screening?!”

“After being extradited by helicopter from the infection zone, he was examined at a Seattle clinic. They confirmed this fact. The NSA reported that the local medics there literally dropped their jaws opened when no sign of novovirus was located inside his bodily cells, even in a latent state. You know – by today’s standards, this is something akin to a miracle.

“Have you confirmed the diagnosis with our equipment?”

“Not yet, only the general survey was conducted. He was delivered here just a couple of hours ago.”

“Simon, do you even realize that this may be our only chance to…”

“I clearly understand everything, Gale. Go ahead, he’s in the Alpha Bay right now,” Simon said softly, patting Gale on the shoulder, “Authorization code for today: Miracle”.

* * *

“Disinfection of the compartment is complete. Welcome back, Professor Gale Newman."

The voice of artificial intelligence, “Ada”, filled the sterile-white space of the Alpha Bay. As he walked in, Gale checked the protective functions of his tessa-suit once again and nodded in satisfaction. At the very least, this suit will protect him from potential physical aggression or infection for at least half an hour, if somewhere in the higher ranks a mistake was made with regards to the diagnosis of this notorious corporal.

“Do you have a habit of putting your guests in handcuffs these days, or is it just that I was so incredibly lucky today?" demandingly questioned James, shaking his huge cryo-cuffed fists in a show of force as soon as Gale entered the Alpha Bay, which served traditionally as the pre-interrogation cell.

A huge and strong one. Ones such as he usually tend to get away of troubles unscathed. Except for novovirus, perhaps.

“It’s for both your and ours safety, Corporal James. You are a very special case for us. But your true intentions and capabilities remain to be seen.”

“I hope it won’t take too long. My military command did not give me the order to go “awol” after the completion of my treatment.”

“You are within the borders of our responsibility here, with the NSA’s permission. Take my word for it, your commanders won’t have any questions concerning your temporary absence.”

“Is that so?” James leaned his beefy arms on the table and squinted at Gale’s face, his jaw working, “And to whom do I owe the favor of being invited to your party?”

“It’s thanks to your fighting skills, James. And your potential immunity to novovirus," Gale decided not to delay revealing his cards.

“Considering the so-called immunity – is it what your grandmother-midwife sang to you, or did a bullet suddenly fly into your forehead?” James chuckled bitterly and shook his head. “I have no immunities. None of us have. We are not the ones to decide the length of our own lives. Only the width.”

“Whether it exists or not remains to be seen. If the diagnosis made in Seattle is not confirmed – tomorrow you will be a free man.”

“Sure, great! That’s what I am going to do anyway!” James agreed abruptly, fixing Gale with his gloomy gaze. “Come on, don’t delay, your scientific majesty, I still have ordinary mortals to save from hordes of infected!”

“We were not the ones to develop this virus, James," Gale retorted, suddenly serious and edifying, “The virus is currently spontaneously mutating every day under the influence of natural forces that we don’t fully comprehend and…”

“Yeah, sure! Tell those who have been turned into animals alive about where the experiments on genetic material have led to in an attempt to create the desired vaccines! I saw with my own two eyes how the hordes of these madmen were tearing my fighters apart on the battlefield!”

“I understand your pain, Corporal, but our department has nothing to do with…”

“Be off with your lies, doc, or find a more attentive audience! What exactly do you need from me – blood plasma tests, cortical screening, a smear from the fifth point? Spit it out!”

“Nano-molecular cell screening. Observation of the reaction of cell membranes to the injection of viral molecular structures.”

“Simply put, you want to re-infect me with a new strain of novovirus and then observe with genuine scientific interest how long I will suffer in mortal agony? Am I missing anything from your plans, doc?!”

“If our tests are correct, this will be an attempt to develop a primary immunity to a new form of the virus.”

“Do I have any choice?”

“I am afraid you don’t,” Gale spread his hands, “until the test procedures are completed, you are placed at our direct disposal by your superiors.”

“More like being sold out.”

"However you desire to think of it. If you are ready, security will extradite you to the testing bay right now”.

“Then don't delay. I still have other unfortunate people to save from you and similar experimenters.”

* * *

Gale could not believe his own eyes. Over and over again, he rechecked the data coming from molecular nanoscopes, adjusted the scanning frequencies, and even rubbed his own eyes with bare hands. But the tools weren’t lying. The miracle lived on and did not intend to die out like misguided humanity.

The virus mutated, continuously rearranging its molecular structures, repeatedly trying to break down the protective cell barrier, to overcome the membranes separating it and the cells – and time and over again, as if an invisible and insurmountable wall stood in its way. These unsuccessful attempts of a newly created by nature bio-weapon to enslave and turn its next victim into a mad monster lasted about a dozen minutes. And then... then it finally came, a Miracle.

“Finish your experiments. You can see that, can’t you? I feel no fear!” James’ powerful voice ringed in the room.

He yanked at the inner levers of the terra-capsule he was trapped in with all his might, trying to free himself, but even his enormous strength wasn’t enough. And during that exact moment, the virus that had been trying to inject itself into the cells over and over again seemed to explode from the inside, rapidly disintegrating into hundreds of individual tiny molecules. It was as if a wave, invisible to both the eye or the instruments, had hit it, crushing, knocking over, and smashing to dust. The defeated micro-Goliath fell, and so did Gale’s glasses, hitting the lab floor.

“You... what… but how…”

“I am not afraid of you! Freedom!” James pounded on the inside of the terra-capsule with his powerful fists.

“Calm down... I just need to... readings…” continuing to fastly whisper something under his breath, Gale was rapidly pushing the keys of the terminal. “The reason for the disintegration of the viral structures… the impact of an unknown type of energy... the wave generated by the cell... I don’t understand!”

There is always room for wonder in genuine scientific discoveries.

“Cellular mitochondrial synthesis of unknown origin... Bipolar intracellular currents... But from where?”

“I am afraid of neither of your viruses, nor you nor anyone like you!” the violent impact from within caused a small dent in the outer surface of the terra-capsule.

“What... what did you just say?” Gale cast a confused glance at the prisoner who was struggling to get out of the capsule. “But this cannot be! If... only… A feeling! What kind of feeling did you experience a few seconds ago?!” Gale screamed in a frenzy of excitement that filled his entire being. “Please, James, repeat it!”

“Freedom! Life!” – another dent in the surface of the terra-capsule.

And the remaining viruses are scattered into molecular dust. Eternal – to eternal. Dust – to dust.

A feeling!

It was as if a new great revelation was descending on Gale at that very moment, breaking and overturning all the materialistic theories of the world, all the endless scientific skepticism and incalculable human stupidity in a single, unrestrained rush.

Spirit was prevailing over matter. The feeling was overcoming the disease. Fearlessness has become an immunity.

And this was echoed in unison by the laboratory devices that were going off scale from the waves of new-found energy.

“You are… free… to go," Gale Newman whispered helplessly, opening the capsule’s locking mechanism, “We are all free now…”

* * *

On this great starry night, Gale was once again flying in his now-adult dreams.

His spirit, freed in one fell swoop from the yoke of all materialistic prisons, was floating in this wonderful dream between seemingly absolutely real planets, moving like a great trailblazer starship on a hitherto unknown thrust. It was unspeakably calmly and joyful – as if wings had suddenly grown on his back.

And then an invisible warm wave lifted him and carried him somewhere high up. Two great figures, radiating with an otherworldly light, whose love for him surpassed any human love, tenderly took him into their enormous warm hands. They gently lifted his tiny spirit to their faces – and in that infinite moment, a wave of rapture and bliss, together with tears of joy, swallowed up his whole being…

“Blessed are those who weep, for they will be comforted…”

12.05.2021

0 notes

0100100100101101 · 7 years

Link

There’s a revolution afoot, and you will know it by the stripes.

Earlier this year, a group of Berkeley researchers released a pair of videos. In one, a horse trots behind a chain link fence. In the second video, the horse is suddenly sporting a zebra’s black-and-white pattern. The execution isn’t flawless, but the stripes fit the horse so neatly that it throws the equine family tree into chaos.

Turning a horse into a zebra is a nice stunt, but that’s not all it is. It is also a sign of the growing power of machine learning algorithms to rewrite reality. Other tinkerers, for example, have used the zebrafication tool to turn shots of black bears into believable photos of pandas, apples into oranges, and cats into dogs. A Redditor used a different machine learning algorithm to edit porn videos to feature the faces of celebrities. At a new startup called Lyrebird, machine learning experts are synthesizing convincing audio from one-minute samples of a person’s voice. And the engineers developing Adobe’s artificial intelligence platform, called Sensei, are infusing machine learning into a variety of groundbreaking video, photo, and audio editing tools. These projects are wildly different in origin and intent, yet they have one thing in common: They are producing artificial scenes and sounds that look stunningly close to actual footage of the physical world. Unlike earlier experiments with AI-generated media, these look and sound real.

The technologies underlying this shift will soon push us into new creative realms, amplifying the capabilities of today’s artists and elevating amateurs to the level of seasoned pros. We will search for new definitions of creativity that extend the umbrella to the output of machines. But this boom will have a dark side, too. Some AI-generated content will be used to deceive, kicking off fears of an avalanche of algorithmic fake news. Old debates about whether an image was doctored will give way to new ones about the pedigree of all kinds of content, including text. You’ll find yourself wondering, if you haven’t yet: What role did humans play, if any, in the creation of that album/TV series/clickbait article?

A world awash in AI-generated content is a classic case of a utopia that is also a dystopia. It’s messy, it’s beautiful, and it’s already here.

Currently there are two ways to produce audio or video that resembles the real world. The first is to use cameras and microphones to record a moment in time, such as the original Moon landing. The second is to leverage human talent, often at great expense, to commission a facsimile. So if the Moon descent had been a hoax, a skilled film team would have had to carefully stage Neil Armstrong’s lunar gambol. Machine learning algorithms now offer a third option, by letting anyone with a modicum of technical knowledge algorithmically remix existing content to generate new material.

At first, deep-learning-generated content wasn’t geared toward photorealism. Google’s Deep Dreams, released in 2015, was an early example of using deep learning to crank out psychedelic landscapes and many-eyed grotesques. In 2016, a popular photo editing app called Prisma used deep learning to power artistic photo filters, for example turning snapshots into an homage to Mondrian or Munch. The technique underlying Prisma is known as style transfer: take the style of one image (such as The Scream) and apply it to a second shot.

Now the algorithms powering style transfer are gaining precision, signalling the end of the Uncanny Valley—the sense of unease that realistic computer-generated humans typically elicit. In contrast to the previous somewhat crude effects, tricks like zebrafication are starting to fill in the Valley’s lower basin. Consider the work from Kavita Bala’s lab at Cornell, where deep learning can infuse one photo’s style, such as a twinkly nighttime ambience, into a snapshot of a drab metropolis—and fool human reviewers into thinking the composite place is real. Inspired by the potential of artificial intelligence to discern aesthetic qualities, Bala cofounded a company called Grokstyle around this idea. Say you admired the throw pillows on a friend’s couch or a magazine spread caught your eye. Feed Grokstyle’s algorithm an image, and it will surface similar objects with that look.

“What I like about these technologies is they are democratizing design and style,” Bala says. “I’m a technologist—I appreciate beauty and style but can’t produce it worth a damn. So this work makes it available to me. And there’s a joy in making it available to others, so people can play with beauty. Just because we are not gifted on this certain axis doesn’t mean we have to live in a dreary land.”

At Adobe, machine learning has been a part of the company’s creative products for well over a decade, but only recently has AI become transformative. In October engineers working on Sensei, the company’s set of AI technologies, showed off a prospective video editing tool called Adobe Cloak, which allows its user to seamlessly remove, say, a lamppost from a video clip—a task that would ordinarily be excruciating for an experienced human editor. Another experiment, called Project Puppetron, applies an artistic style to a video in real time. For example, it can take a live feed of a person and render him as a chatty bronze statue or a hand-drawn cartoon. “People can basically do a performance in front of a web cam or any camera and turn that into animation, in real time,” says Jon Brandt, senior principal scientist and director of Adobe Research. (Sensei’s experiments don’t always turn into commercial products.)

Machine learning makes these projects possible because it can understand the parts of a face or the difference between foreground and background better than previous approaches in computer vision. Sensei’s tools let artists work with concepts, rather than the raw material. “Photoshop is great at manipulating pixels, but what people are trying to do is manipulate the content that is represented by the pixels,” Brandt explains.

That’s a good thing. When artists no longer waste their time wrangling individual dots on a screen, their productivity increases, and perhaps also their ingenuity, says Brandt. “I am excited about the possibility of new art forms emerging, which I expect will be coming.”

But it’s not hard to see how this creative explosion could all go very wrong. For Yuanshun Yao, a University of Chicago graduate student, it was a fake video that set him on his recent project probing some of the dangers of machine learning. He had hit play on a recent clip of an AI-generated, very real-looking Barack Obama giving a speech, and got to thinking: Could he do a similar thing with text?

A text composition needs to be nearly perfect to deceive most readers, so he started with a forgiving target, fake online reviews for platforms like Yelp or Amazon. A review can be just a few sentences long, and readers don’t expect high-quality writing. So he and his colleagues designed a neural network that spat out Yelp-style blurbs of about five sentences each. Out came a bank of reviews that declared such things as, “Our favorite spot for sure!” and “I went with my brother and we had the vegetarian pasta and it was delicious.” He asked humans to then guess whether they were real or fake, and sure enough, the humans were often fooled.

With fake reviews costing around $10 to $50 each from micro-task marketplaces, Yao figured it was just a matter of time before a motivated engineer tried to automate the process, driving down the price and kicking off a plague of false reviews. (He also explored using neural nets to defend a platform against fake content, with some success.) “As far as we know there are not any such systems, yet,” Yao says. “But maybe in five or ten years, we will be surrounded by AI-generated stuff.” His next target? Generating convincing news articles.

Progress on videos may move faster. Hany Farid, an expert at detecting fake photos and videos and a professor at Dartmouth, worries about how fast viral content spreads, and how slow the verification process is. Farid imagines a near future in which a convincing fake video of President Trump ordering the total nuclear annihilation of North Korea goes viral and incites panic, like a recast War of the Worlds for the AI era. “I try not to make hysterical predictions, but I don’t think this is far-fetched,” he says. “This is in the realm of what’s possible today.”

Fake Trump speeches are already circulating on the internet, a product of Lyrebird, the voice synthesis startup—though in the audio clips the company has shared with the public, Trump keeps his finger off the button, limiting himself to praising Lyrebird. Jose Sotelo, the company’s cofounder and CEO, argues that the technology is inevitable, so he and his colleagues might as well be the ones to do it, with ethical guidelines in place. He believes that the best defense, for now, is raising awareness of what machine learning is capable of. “If you were to see a picture of me on the moon, you would think it’s probably some image editing software,” Sotelo says. “But if you hear convincing audio of your best friend saying bad things about you, you might get worried. It’s a really new technology and a really challenging problem.”

Likely nothing can stop the coming wave of AI-generated content—if we even wanted to. At its worst, scammers and political operatives will deploy machine learning algorithms to generate untold volumes of misinformation. Because social networks selectively transmit the most attention-grabbing content, these systems’ output will evolve to be maximally likeable, clickable, and shareable.

But at its best, AI-generated content is likely to heal our social fabric in as many ways as it may rend it. Sotelo of Lyrebird dreams of how his company’s technology could restore speech to people who have lost their voice to diseases such as ALS or cancer. That horse-to-zebra video out of Berkeley? It was a side effect of work to improve how we train self-driving cars. Often, driving software is trained in virtual environments first, but a world like Grand Theft Auto only roughly resembles reality. The zebrafication algorithm was designed to shrink the distance between the virtual environment and the real world, ultimately making self-driving cars safer.

These are the two edges of the AI sword. As it improves, it mimics human actions more and more closely. Eventually, it has no choice but to become all too human: capable of good and evil in equal measure.

42 notes · View notes