#like saying its a Key Thing when its. largely invented for the movie. maybe?

[true-blue-megamind]

FAN THEORY THURSDAY: Megamind’s Connections Beyond the Film

Before we get started, it’s time for the obligatory SPOILER WARNING!  

In case this hasn’t been made sufficiently obvious by the fact that this is a post about Megamind written in a fan theory series about Megamind and published on a blog dedicated solely to Megamind, please let me just assure that this article is, in fact, about Megamind.  

If you haven’t seen the film yet yet, I have to question why you’re reading this in the first place.  As well as your taste in animated movies.  I’m definitely questioning that.

Over the years I’ve heard several fan theories concerning connections between the film Megamind and various other forms of media.  Today, let’s delve into just a few.

The first one is so obvious it’s almost painful, but it has to be mentioned.  Megamind is a Superman spoof.  Metro Man is clearly based on the Man of Steel himself, with a hefty dose of Elvis Presley and a larger range of character flaws thrown in for good measure.  (He also seems to contain quite a lot of the Popular Jock archetype.)  The character of Megamind is more complex still, combining elements of Alice Cooper and a nineties Goth theater kid with several comic book supervillains. The best known of the last include alien genius Brainiac and mad inventor Lexx Luthor, but they aren’t the only ones.  Some of Megamind’s engineering and technological inventions call to mind Spiderman villain Doctor Octopus even more than Lexx Luthor, and he also shares some parallels with the mad inventor Dr. Sivana in the SHAZAM comics.

Megamind’s most notable of the latter is the similarity of attitudes toward society.  Both Megamind and Dr. Sivana started off trying to use their inventions for good—the first in the classroom and the second for the betterment of mankind—but both became bitter when people mocked and shunned them.  For Dr. Sivana, this led to a desire to conquer all of Earth while for Megamind, in a sort of microcosm, it led to a similar drive to take over Metro City.  Both Lexx Luthor and Dr. Sivana have, perhaps, the strongest connections to Megamind as share, deep down, a desire to help or protect mankind, and as Lexx Luthor, like Megamind, harbors a secret love for the reporter damsel in their respective stories.  (This desire to do good, especially in the face of corrupt officials, ties into another Megamind fan theory that I will likely discuss in more detail in a later post.)

The connection between Megamind and Alice Cooper, by the way, was extremely intentional.  The creators stated in an interview that, like Alice Cooper, Megamind’s dark, evil self is, in fact, a stage persona.  (Even their clothing, consisting largely of black leather and spikes, is similar.)  That fact is illustrated in the film as we can see that Megamind’s behaviors on- and off-camera tend to be vastly different.  Even as a villain, he is merely playing a role, although in the case of Megamind that role has begun to merge with his self-identity.

There are, however, hints within the world of DreamWorks that Megamind has other connections as well.  The first is fairly recent and intensely interesting. In the Rise of the Guardians, Jamie Bennett, a young boy who still steadfastly believes in the seemingly impossible, mentions “aliens in Michigan,” only to be scoffed at by his friends.  Because Metro City is located in Michigan, (as can be seen briefly when the Death Ray is fired from space,) many fans theorize that the “aliens in Michigan” are none other than Megamind, Minion, and, perhaps, Metro Man. 

This would indicate that the two stories take place in the same world, and that Megamind’s adventures, while well-known in Metro City itself, have been covered up and kept secret from the rest of the world.  (Imagine moving to a moderately-sized city only to discover that—surprise!—there’s an extraterrestrial supervillain in residence and, oh, by the way, if you live downtown homeowners’ insurance is ridiculous!)

The second inter-film connection is less clear, but has spawned some interesting fan theories as well.  The idea is that, like Rise of the Guardians, Monsters VS. Aliens also takes place in the same reality as Megamind.  It’s not too far fetched—after all, both films involve extraterrestrials and amazing inventions—but there is one specific theory that really ties the two together.  Consider this for a moment: Megamind is a blue alien with incredible intelligence who hails from a destroyed planet.  Does that sound like any other DreamWorks character you know?  If you’ve seen Monster VS. Aliens, the antagonist, Gallaxhar, probably springs to mind.

According to Fandom.com, Gallaxhar’s official backstory is that he “destroyed his home planet” for the implied reason that “he experienced bad childhood and unhappy marriage.”  The fan theory is that that Gallaxhar’s planet was, in fact, Megamind’s home world, and that the former created or harnessed the black hole which destroyed it.  This would explain why Megamind’s people—as well as Metro Man’s—didn’t have time to escape despite being space-faring.  You see, black holes take millions of years to develop, and even a rogue black hole would take about a million to shift and swallow an entire solar system, so if the event had occurred naturally, there should have been plenty of time to build an entire fleet of spacecraft and leave for Earth or another safe planet.  (The fact that Megamind’s parents set his escape pod’s navigation system for Earth indicates that they knew of its existence.)

Of course, despite their large heads and blue skin tones, there are quite a few physical differences between Megamind and Gallaxhar.  The first is humanoid while the second has four eyes and tentacles instead of legs.  Fan theories have explanations for that, too, however.  

There appear to be two schools of thought on the subject.  The first is that Gallaxhar was another breed of alien living on the planet, possibly a servile race different from Minions, and the second is that part of Gallaxhar’s “bad childhood” involved being experimented upon, thus giving him his bizarre appearance and his seeming obsession with experimenting on others.  (There is some disagreement in the Megamind fandom about exactly why Gallaxhar was subjected to such treatment, ranging from falling into the hands of an unscrupulous scientist to being part of an experimental medical program.  The latter fan theory suggests that Gallaxhar was both blind and paraplegic, and that his additional eyes and tentacle “legs” were meant to rectify that, but that those physical differences made him an outsider, thus leading to his unhappy life and ultimate hatred for his own planet.)

If that were true, many may wonder what, exactly, Megamind might do if he ever found out about Gallaxhar.  Well, good news!  Just like there’s an app for everything, there’s a fan theory for that, too!  I will warn you, however, that this one is, frankly, build upon pretty thin evidence.  However, it’s interesting enough to be worth relating.

There is a character in Monsters VS. Aliens named General Warren R. Monger who, on the surface, is exactly what he appears to be: a high-ranking military man.  However, there are a few things that fans point to as possible evidence that Monger isn’t what he seems.  

The first is so simple that, alone, it would be inconsequential.  Monger rose through the ranks uncommonly fast, so much so that it caused some comment among others.  The second is significantly odder; Monger claims to be ninety years old despite looking like he is in his late forties.  Now, of course, this may have simply been the character exaggerating or messing with the “monsters” under his care, but some fans say it’s more than that, and claim that Monger chose that age because he was unfamiliar with human lifespans.  Next there is the fact that Monger is so intelligent that, despite one of the beings in his containment facility. Doctor Cockroach, being a super-genius, Monger outwits every escape attempt the monsters can make.  Then, of course, there is the fact that, despite his brusque manner, Monger seems to actually sympathize with the inhuman people he is charged with containing, and even pushes for them to be given a chance to prove themselves.  There is the oddity that, although he is assigned to the secret military base at “Area Fifty-Something,” Monger seems to disappear a lot, often for days at a time.  Finally, there are a few key physical and technological attributes: Monger has some odd and incredibly energetic facial expression—including a nearly maniacal smile and a dark scowl—as well as a jet pack that he appears to have constructed himself and green eyes.

I’m still not certain I see the resemblance, but maybe there are some similarities?  What do you think?

If you’re familiar with Metro City’s resident blue alien, you can probably see where this is going.  Although it’s not a popular theory, I’ve heard it suggested in the Megamind fandom that Monger is, in fact, Megamind disguised using his holowatch.  (This is why the green eyes are significant; Megamind’s eye color is the only aspect of his appearance that the holowatch doesn’t change.  However, I feel compelled to note that the shade of green appears to be different.) Fans insist that it would have been easy for someone as incredibly brilliant as Megamind to hack government systems and forge documents such as birth certificates thoroughly enough to dupe even U.S. Military Intelligence. The two jet packs, some have contested, look different either because of the disguise or because the one featured in Monster VS. Aliens is an older model. I’ve even seen the fact that both Megamind and Monger begin with M being pointed to as possible evidence that the latter is no more than an invention of the former.

The argument is as follows: as Monsters VS. Aliens takes place in 2009, one year before events in Megamind, it’s possible that Megamind, still being a villain, created an alter-ego which he could use to help him search for and deal with other alien life.  (He is shown to be painfully lonely, and the Megamind comics reveal his desperate desire to find other survivors from his home planet.)  Upon figuring out who Gallaxhar was, and more importantly what he had done, Megamind wanted to be part of taking him down.  But he couldn’t be too open about it; he was, after all, still a “Bad Guy.”  This theory explains Monger’s frequent long absences—during those time Megamind was back in Metro City taking care of his regular business— as well as why Monger had a secret soft spot for the “monsters.”  Megamind, having always been treated like a monster himself, would naturally want to give them a chance, but wouldn’t dare behave in too overtly friendly a manner as it would have aroused suspicion.

As I said, support for that particular theory is, perhaps, a little thin, especially given the fact the Monsters VS. Aliens preceded Megamind, so character designs from the former are unlikely to have been influenced by the latter.  Nonetheless, I admit to appreciating the complexity and creativity of it.  It’s an undeniably fun theory. If they haven’t already, maybe someone will write a fan fiction about it one day.

Those are only a few of the theories out there connecting Megamind with other fandoms.  One could go on and on about the subject, but I won’t torture readers by doing that.  Nonetheless, it illustrates once again the immense love and original thought that Megamind fans put into developing their theories!  I dare say that few other animated movies have earned a following so dedicated and inventive…  But, then, any of us who love the film Megamind will tell you that it has more than earned the consideration!

[bevioletskies]

the first time (ever i saw your face)

summary: On their six-month anniversary, Apollo and Klavier decide to pose a seemingly harmless question: what did they think of each other when they first met? As it turns out, the topic is a little more complicated than they originally thought.

word count: 4.9k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day one of seven (prompt: "firsts"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings. Mild spoiler warning for the end of Apollo Justice; warning for brief mentions of alcohol. Fic title is from the song The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack.

“...why does this look like something out of a direct-to-streaming movie adaptation of a YA novel that has a three-star average rating on Goodreads?”

“If you’re trying to say you don’t like it, baby, you could just say so.”

“No, no, I - I’m actually kinda into it. It’s like we’ve walked onto the set of a staged proposal, though if you ask me to marry you right now, I will start laughing.”

Klavier sighed. “I’m starting to think the phrase ‘romance is dead’ was invented specifically for you.” Nevertheless, he tugged gently on Apollo’s hand. “Come on, liebe, I got our favorite snacks, I queued our favorite movies...and before you ask, nein, there is no engagement ring, so stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not...totally opposed to getting married, you know,” Apollo added as he followed Klavier. “It’s just...it’s a little early for me. This is only our six-month anniversary, after all.”

“Fair enough,” Klavier hummed, the two of them settling down in their spots. He’d learned long ago that Apollo wasn’t one for flashy, photo op-worthy dates, that he preferred more intimate, low-key settings. And so, for their six-month anniversary, Klavier had taken them to his family estate. He had cleared out the conservatory overlooking the garden of all its furniture, filling it with blankets and pillows, drapes and string lights, and a projector whose screen covered the entire back wall. It reminded Apollo of what he himself had done for their three-month anniversary - because apparently, he was that kind of person now - when he’d planned a weekend’s stay in a cozy lakeside cabin. “A conversation for another time, ja?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Apollo draped one of the blankets over his and Klavier’s laps, then lowered his head to rest on Klavier’s shoulder. Smiling, Klavier turned to briefly kiss Apollo’s temples, then reached for his laptop so he could start the movie. They spent the first fifteen or so minutes in companionable silence, sharing a bag of popcorn and a bottle of wine while they watched, until Apollo eventually spoke again. “...weird, isn’t it?”

“The movie? Not particularly,” Klavier shrugged. “If anything, I’d say the plot twist is a bit predictable.”

“No, not the movie. I mean...this.” Apollo gestured aimlessly. “You and me. Us.”

Klavier’s expression darkened somewhat. “Are you...having doubts about our relationship, Apollo?”

“Wh - no, no, not at all!” Apollo protested, sitting up. “It’s just...I guess it’s mostly weird for me. Like, if someone told me, say, a couple years ago, that I was gonna be in a relationship with you, of all people...hell, can you imagine if someone told me that on the day we met? I-I wouldn’t believe it!”

“You weren’t shy about your distaste for me, true,” Klavier agreed, his slight frown relaxing into an amused smile.

“I don’t think that’s an...entirely accurate assessment of, uh, of how I felt,” Apollo said carefully.

Now it was Klavier’s turn to straighten up, looking at him curiously. “Really?” he asked. “Then what did you think of me when we first met?”

“You first,” Apollo retorted, seemingly on instinct. He then softened. “I mean, only if you want to. I’m kinda curious.”

“I don’t mind,” Klavier reassured him, setting down his wine glass so he could squeeze Apollo’s hand. He hesitated, thinking it over. “...I expected to hate you from the very beginning, to be perfectly honest. And, for a moment there...I did.”

Apollo’s eyes widened. “Wh...what?”

“‘Disgraced Defense Attorney Dismantled By His Disciple’, I believe the headline was,” Klavier continued. He then smiled wryly. “A bit dramatic, if you ask me. But then again, I’m not a big fan of alliteration, so I might just be biased.”

“Did you really hate me?” Apollo’s shout had dropped to a mere whisper. “Because...because you didn’t wanna believe it, did you? About…what had happened. What he’d done.”

“It wasn’t all bad memories, all the time, you know.” Klavier gently released Apollo’s hand so he could brush his hair out of his eyes, though he kept his head ducked low. “We had our moments, him and I. We weren’t close, but...we weren’t estranged, either. In fact, I...I first heard your name from him, not from the papers.”

“He told you about me.” It wasn’t a question. “I guess I should’ve suspected, but I never really knew what your relationship was like...before. I mean, he never once mentioned having a brother, so I kinda assumed…”

“As everyone does,” Klavier shrugged, far too casually for Apollo’s liking. “Anyway, your question was about you and me, not me and him, ja? He told me all the usual things people have to say about you - loud, eager to please, a little bit sensitive. I didn’t think much of it at the time, other than the fact you had a strange name.”

Apollo rolled his eyes, sinking back into the cushions. “Wonderful. Fantastic. Glad to know I made a great first impression.”

“And then when the headlines came along...and Mama and Papa called…” Klavier’s face darkened once more; he cleared his throat. “I looked you up. I hadn’t bothered when I first heard your name, but I had to know. Still, I...I found almost nothing. No photos, no social accounts...nichts. Just a single line on a college graduate roster and the same articles I’d been reading before.”

“...I see.” Apollo fiddled with the ends of his blanket, just so he would have something to do with his hands. “So, when we finally met in person…”

_____

The first thing Klavier noticed was Apollo’s eyes - large, round, expressive to a fault. The color of melted chocolate, though in the sunlight, more akin to the color of honey. Those eyes of Apollo’s, curious and maybe a little bit accusatory, narrowed right at him as he arrived at the entrance of People Park. He internally winced at the sight of Apollo’s companion, who was arguing with the police officer standing guard at the scene. Despite the time that had passed since he last saw her, he could never forget Trucy Enigmar-now-Wright.

Are you working for Phoenix Wright now? Klavier wanted to ask as he approached them. Why? Don’t you know what he’s done? Don’t you see what he’s become?

“I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies...but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man,” he said instead, leaning forward to smile somewhat condescendingly at them. Klavier was momentarily struck by how similar they were - how their hair was the exact same shade of brown, how the dusting of freckles across their identically shaped noses matched too perfectly, how their furrowed brows and perplexed frowns were one and the same. The only difference was their eyes, hers more the color of a stormy sea. Perhaps there’s a song lyric there? Klavier mused to himself. Ach, now is not the time.

“Mr...Gavin?” Apollo said disbelievingly, his eyes now widening. His arms, previously crossed tightly against his chest, fell to his sides. The motion caught Klavier’s eye, drawing his attention to the glint of the golden bracelet sitting on Apollo’s left wrist. He wondered if there was some sort of significance to it, what with the way Apollo clutched it tightly with his right hand.

“Ah, fräulein,” Klavier continued, his eyes flickering back upwards. He wondered if she knew him, if she recognized him at all. Clearly, Apollo had no idea who he was; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that just yet. “What is a sweet morsel like you doing in such a dismal place? Can I help?”

“Yes! The police man officer fellow here won't let us in!” Trucy complained, huffing. She brandished an envelope in Klavier’s face, nearly swatting him on the nose as she did. He flinched slightly, surprised by how brazen she was. “We even have a letter of request!”

Klavier’s smile softened into one that was a little more genuine. He couldn’t help but be instantly charmed by her. “You must be exhausted, standing out here. I will take you to the scene of the crime.”

“Ooh! Really?” Trucy exclaimed, brightening. Apollo looked skeptical in comparison, his intense gaze traversing the length of Klavier’s body. Usually, he would have preened at the attention, been flattered by the obvious interest and maybe made a show of looking back, but he knew that wasn’t what Apollo was looking for. I am not him, Klavier thought fiercely. I am not the one you trusted, the one who taught you everything you know. I could never -

“By your leave, officer,” Klavier said with a nod and a wink. He barely heard the officer’s affirmation over his own thoughts. Then, he turned back to Trucy and tilted his head towards the park. “Very well. This way, fräulein.”

Trucy’s giggle was sweet, melodic, as she happily followed him through the entrance. He made a show of lifting the police tape for her to duck under, which she seemed easily amused by. Apollo, meanwhile, was left standing on the street, staring at them incredulously, before he finally seemed to register what was happening. “Hey! What about me?!” he cried. His voice gets raspier the louder he gets, Klavier couldn’t help but observe. Interesting.

Once Apollo had caught up, Klavier turned to grin at them both, teeth clenched beneath his lips. Trucy was rocking back and forth on her heels, beaming back, while Apollo had braced his hands on his hips indignantly, like he had something he wanted to say and was just waiting for the opportune moment to say it. Ach, those eyes, those hands, those freckles, Klavier thought rather stupidly. Wait - you’re not supposed to think he’s cute, Klavier, hör auf!

“On that note, enjoy your investigation,” he remarked. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the flash of a white lab coat further into the park that told him he needed to leave if he didn’t want to be reprimanded - or worse, Snackoo-ed.

“Thank you! Will we see you again?” Trucy asked, hopeful.

Klavier hesitated. Apollo still hadn’t said a thing about the obvious elephant in the room, still staring at Klavier like he was a ghost. He wanted Apollo to say something, anything, to ask questions, to start the conversation that he himself admittedly didn’t want to take responsibility for. But Apollo was clearly stunned into silence, and any courage Klavier had had when he first walked up to them moments ago was long gone.

“Ask the wind, fräulein. I'll be riding on it,” he said, shooting them one last saccharine smile. He could hear the click-click of Ema’s shoes against the cobblestone as she approached. With that, he turned and left, his chest aching in confusion.

_____

The silence was heavy, heavier than Apollo expected. Klavier had turned the movie volume down long ago, leaving them with nothing but the sound of their own quiet breaths. “Makes sense,” Apollo finally said, shooting Klavier a sympathetic smile. “To you, I...I jumped ship from one corrupt defense attorney to another. At least, that’s what it seemed like at the time, right?”

“Part of me wanted to confront you right then and there, but I didn’t want to do it. Not in front of everyone, especially not in front of her. But the other part of me...I just wanted to learn more about you. To get to know you before I decided whether it was a battle worth fighting. Whether he was worth defending.” Klavier then smiled back; now it was his turn to drop his head onto Apollo’s shoulder. “Besides, you were cute, and I’m weak.”

“‘Were’, huh?” Apollo teased, nudging him. “Well, I’m glad Trucy’s presence, your curiosity, and my cuteness apparently deterred you enough to walk away. To think, what would you have done if you didn’t think I was cute - ”

“Achtung, you’re such an arschgeige sometimes,” Klavier groaned, laughing. “Anyway...I got my answer in court soon enough. I could trust you, and he...he wasn’t worth defending. Not one bit.”

“No, not at all,” Apollo agreed. “Still, I’m...I’m sorry, Klav. Not for what I did, I mean, I-I had to, but just...how it all played out. How messy things got. Whenever we, y’know, come here to see your parents, I still see that look in their eyes. It’s that face that you make when you think no one’s looking.” He swallowed. “Mr. Wright says Trucy does that, too. Less now that she’s got me and Mom, but…well.”

“It wasn’t you, Apollo, it was me. It all started with me believing he wouldn’t lie to me.” Klavier’s laughter was bitter now. “Anyway, I’m starting to think we’re all a little too observant for our own good. None of us can ever let things go, nein?”

“We’d be horrible lawyers if we could,” Apollo chuckled, rubbing Klavier’s arm reassuringly. “But fine, fine, I’ll stop psychoanalyzing you now. It’s my turn, anyway.”

“I want to hear this,” Klavier said, snuggling closer. “Lay it on me, baby. Tell me how you fell for me in two seconds flat.”

“I’m gonna lay into you in two seconds flat if you don’t let me talk,” Apollo said dryly, elbowing him again. “I, uh, I don’t think I remember it as clearly as you do, but…”

_____

“Excuse me, coming through.”

It was a voice, a smooth, musical voice, polite but firm, that caught Apollo’s attention first. He turned in its direction, confused by how familiar it felt, how similar it sounded to another voice he knew, but with a light, lilting cadence and a strangely affected accent whose origins he couldn’t quite place.

“Ah! It’s you! Mr. Gavin!”

Apollo’s eyes widened, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, then narrowed at the sight before him. Striding towards them with a swagger in his step was a man who, as far as Apollo could tell, was supposed to be behind bars. Only, his skin was a few shades darker, his hair a shade or two lighter, and he was wearing, for reasons Apollo couldn’t fathom, eyeliner and leather and chains instead of a neatly-pressed suit and wire-rimmed glasses. Who’s THIS guy? Apollo thought, his stomach turning.

“I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies...but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man,” the man said, leaning in close; his smile was a little wider than Apollo would have liked. Apollo also didn’t want to think about how pretty he was, how long his eyelashes were or how smooth his skin seemed to be. This can’t be him, Apollo decided, though he was still frozen in place. He could only vaguely feel Trucy’s fingers tugging gently on his shirt sleeve. No, it can’t be - it’s not - but who -

“Mr...Gavin?” Apollo said stupidly. He felt a phantom pinch on his left wrist; he released his arms from where they were crossed so he could rub the spot where it hurt, though the moment he touched it, he realized he hadn’t been in pain at all. The man’s eyes flickered down, following his fingers in curiosity, before moving back up to continue smiling beatifically at Trucy.

“Ah, fräulein,” he said; he was practically simpering now. “What is a sweet morsel like you doing in such a dismal place? Can I help?” Apollo barely managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. Of course, he internally sighed, he’s one of those guys.

“Yes! The police man officer fellow here won't let us in!” Trucy whined, shoving the envelope in the man’s face. Apollo had to bite back a laugh at his startled expression, a contrast to his otherwise indifferent smile. “We even have a letter of request!”

“You must be exhausted, standing out here,” the man murmured sympathetically, eyes sparkling. He seemed intrigued, though Apollo couldn't blame him. He supposed he and Trucy looked like a completely mismatched pair. “I will take you to the scene of the crime.”

“Ooh! Really?” Trucy exclaimed, her entire face lighting up. Apollo tried not to smile himself; her energy was infectious. Then, the man’s words finally clicked in his mind. Wait - really?! But why would he - how can he - who is he?

“By your leave, officer,” the man ordered, winking. A pleasant shiver went down Apollo’s spine, one that he was trying his best to ignore. No good was going to come out of that train of thought, not when this man was clearly someone he needed to worry about - though in what way, he wasn’t sure yet. He seemed too generous, too open. Whether he was a police officer, a detective, or, god forbid, a prosecutor, Apollo didn’t trust him not to lead them astray, not one bit. “Very well. This way, fräulein.”

Before Apollo knew it, the man was walking away with Trucy in tow, leaving him behind. “Hey! What about me?!” he shouted, jogging after them. By the time he caught up, both of them were grinning at him amusedly, as if watching him trip over his own feet was some hysterical inside joke. Huffing, he braced his hands on his hips, ready to open his mouth and protest. The man’s gaze briefly travelled down to his hands once more. What’s that all about? Apollo wondered, confused. What’s he looking at? Is it my bracelet? It’s not that weird, is it? Wait, or can he tell that it’s -

“On that note, enjoy your investigation,” the man said, speaking a little quicker than he did before. He suddenly seemed distracted, like he couldn’t wait to get away from them.

“Thank you!” Trucy chirped, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Will we see you again?”

“Ask the wind, fräulein,” the man said, recovering. He seemed almost too focused on Trucy, like something about Apollo bothered him. Maybe he already knew who Apollo was, what Apollo had done. Was he angry? Resentful? Waiting for the right moment to strike? A shiver of a different kind tingled throughout Apollo’s body at the very thought; the phrase “kill them with kindness” was coming to mind. “I'll be riding on it.” He then left without another word, leaving Apollo to stare stupidly after him, his heartbeat in his throat.

“...who was that?” Apollo exclaimed, stunned, as if he wasn’t confused enough by everything else that was going on. His mind was racing with possibility, with anxiety that he really, really didn’t need. Before he could get into it, however, his jumbled thoughts were quickly cut off by Trucy’s surprised cry.

“Eek! Apollo, look - a c-corpse!”

_____

“...interesting,” Klavier said after a moment’s silence. “Did she really think the mannequin was a dead body?”

“Seriously, Klav?” Apollo groaned. “Surprised you didn’t fixate on the part where I thought you were pretty.”

“‘Were’?” Klavier echoed mockingly, grinning. His expression then sobered. “So...mixed feelings all around, it seems. I suppose it shouldn’t be all that shocking, though. We weren’t...total strangers, after all.”

“You practically were to me,” Apollo murmured, tangling his fingers in Klavier’s hair. Klavier leaned into his touch, his eyes fluttering closed in contentment. “At least you knew I existed, while I...he never…” He then shook his head. “Y’know, I-I’m not sure if I really wanna think about this anymore. Not if it makes us think about him.”

“It’s not one of our happiest memories, nein,” Klavier agreed, humming. “I like where we are now...where we can trust each other. There’s little I hate more than ambiguity. And not knowing how I was supposed to feel about you…”

“Sucks, right?” Apollo let out a hollow laugh. “But at least we were on the same page, in a, uh, weird way. I guess that’s always been our thing. Even when you’re driving me up the wall in court - which is all the time, so don’t even question me, I see that look on your face - we’re, y’know, generally working towards the same goal.”

Klavier’s fingers danced along the length of Apollo’s forearm, tapping out a rhythm that Apollo couldn’t quite pick out. “I’d like to think so. I was never really sure until...ach, well. You remember.”

_____

Apollo was still trembling as he exited the courtroom with Trucy by his side. She was putting on a brave face for them both, but he had a feeling that she was more torn up about what had happened than he was. He wanted to comfort her, to reassure her somehow after they’d learned the truth behind her biological father’s death, but for once, he was completely speechless.

“Polly?” Trucy’s voice was tentative. “I’m...kinda hungry.”

“I...oh.” Apollo looked at her curiously. Out of all the things he’d expected her to say, that hadn’t been one of them. “Do you wanna get something to eat? We could go to Eldoon’s if you want.”

“No, that’s okay,” Trucy reassured him. Her face then lit up. “I was actually thinking about the courthouse café! We can get cake and drinks and stuff. A little sugar goes a long way!”

Apollo smiled softly. “Sure, Trucy. Whatever you’d like.”

And so, they found themselves a small table at the courthouse café - and maybe calling it that was rather generous on Trucy’s part - with two thick slices of Swiss rolls and tall glasses of milk tea. Admittedly, Apollo still felt numb, but Trucy’s running commentary of her thoughts on the trial kept him going. “Now all we need is for Vera to wake up,” Trucy said, gripping her fork with determination. “I’m still so worried about her! What if she doesn’t - ”

“We can’t think like that, okay?” Apollo said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. “We gotta have hope. That’s all we can do, you know?”

“I guess,” Trucy murmured, chewing her bottom lip fretfully. She went quiet for a minute or so, poking at the last bits of her drink’s half-melted ice with her straw. “Hey, um...Daddy says he’s meeting up with a friend later today, and he wants to have dinner. And when he says ‘friend’, he usually means Mr. Edgeworth. You know, the prosecutor?”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely heard of him.” Apollo sat up a little straighter at the word ‘prosecutor’. In his stupor over the whole ordeal, he’d barely spared a thought for Klavier; he could only vaguely guess how he was doing. “What about him?”

“I was just wondering if, maybe, you’d wanna...join us?” Trucy suggested. He’d never seen her so hesitant before. “For dinner, I mean.”

“...oh.” Apollo paused. “No, uh - not today, sorry. I should really go home and sleep all of this - ” he gestured aimlessly “ - off. I feel like I need to sleep for, like, three days straight.”

“Sure, of course,” Trucy nodded, smiling faintly. “But….you’re still coming back to the agency, right? Maybe not tomorrow, but like...in a few days?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Apollo promised, surprised by how quickly he’d responded. In all his hesitation, his doubts about law and what it was meant to be, what it could be, he was finally starting to feel like the Wright Anything Agency was where he belonged.

After they finished eating, he and Trucy parted ways after a long, much-needed hug on the courthouse steps. Apollo then went to fetch his bike from the rack adjacent to the courthouse parking lot, only to spot a familiar face lingering nearby, seemingly in no rush to leave.

“...Gavin?” Apollo said carefully.

Klavier turned sharply at the sound of Apollo’s voice. His smile was a touch too wide, his eyes suspiciously glossy. “Ah, Herr Forehead,” he greeted, ducking his head; his voice sounded trapped in his own throat. “Good show in there, as always. You never fail to impress.”

“Thanks. Hey, um - I’m surprised to see you’re still here,” Apollo commented, taking a few tentative steps closer. “Don’t you have somewhere...better to be?”

“Not really, nein.” Klavier let out a short, forced laugh. “I have paperwork to do, I’m sure. But it can wait.”

“...right.” Apollo cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thanks, by the way.”

Klavier blinked. “Entschuldigung? What for?”

“For agreeing to summon your brother, and...y’know, everything after that.” Apollo found himself oddly fascinated with a few stray pebbles on the ground, nudging them around with the toes of his loafers so he wouldn’t have to look at Klavier’s face. “Look, I-I’m not gonna pretend like I know what you, or Trucy, or Mr. Wright are going through. I’m mostly on the outside looking in, so. All I really know, if I know anything at all, is that, uh...we did the right thing. Yeah?”

“Ja.” When Apollo looked up, Klavier was also deliberately looking elsewhere, staring off into the distance at nothing in particular. He’d displayed a whirlwind of emotions back in the courtroom, but none of them were quite the same as the bitter expression he was wearing right now. “...Apollo?”

Now it was Apollo’s turn to do double-take. “Huh? Wh-what is it?”

“Danke schön. For...everything. I honestly don’t think I could’ve done...any of that on my own,” Klavier confessed, his voice thick with emotion. “And I think I...I think I’m going to take a little time away from the prosecutor’s office. Not for long, mind you. Just...I need some time off. A week, maybe two. Some distance, some perspective...it would make a world of difference, achtung.” He then turned to face Apollo directly for the first time since they started talking. He looked tired, defeated, even. His posture, his expression - Apollo felt as if he was seeing an entirely different person standing before him.

Without thinking, Apollo took the last few steps forward and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around Klavier and pulling him close. Klavier let out a startled noise; then, he hugged Apollo back, sinking his weight against Apollo’s, his forehead dropping to Apollo’s shoulder. His exhale was long, unsteady. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Apollo said, fingers digging into Klavier’s back, his face buried against Klavier’s bicep. “And if you ever wanna talk about it...I-I mean, I’m sure I’m not your first choice, but still. I’m, uh, I’m around.”

“Danke,” Klavier murmured, barely above a whisper. They stayed like that for a moment, maybe a moment too long, just holding each other in the middle of the courthouse parking lot for anyone and everyone to see. Klavier’s breath trembled against Apollo’s ear; Apollo half-expected his knees to give out from underneath him. Then, he slowly detached himself from Apollo’s grasp, carefully schooling his expression into something more Klavier-like, something brighter and blander, his teeth blindingly white in the mid-afternoon sun. “Anyway, I should really get going. That paperwork isn’t going to take care of itself, ja?”

“Oh, uh. Yeah, don’t I know it,” Apollo said, letting out another strained chuckle.

“Until next time, then,” Klavier said smoothly, winking. “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.” He didn’t wait for Apollo’s send-off, instead turning and heading over to his motorcycle, humming and twirling his keychain expertly between his practiced fingers. Apollo watched him peel out of the parking lot, silently wondering if he’d said all he wanted - no, needed - to say.

_____

“Of course I remember.” Apollo held Klavier just a little bit tighter. “But, y’know, again - not our best moment. Not by a long shot.”

Klavier lifted his head from Apollo’s shoulder so he could kiss him briefly, gently. Apollo smiled against Klavier’s lips, cupping his jaw so he could bring him closer. “But I’d still say our first kiss is more of a memory worth reminiscing over. Wouldn’t you agree, liebe?”

“It was a little dramatic for my taste,” Apollo teased, pulling back so he could affectionately nudge his nose against Klavier’s cheek, his fingers lightly pressed into Klavier’s sides. “But you’re into that sort of thing, so I’ll give it a pass. Still, let’s just agree not to cry all over each other ever again, okay? It was honestly kinda gross. And wet. And not in a fun way.”

“You’re saying you won’t cry when I propose?” Klavier asked, pouting exaggeratedly. “Because ach, I know I will.”

“Who says you’re proposing?” Apollo retorted, grinning as he prodded Klavier in the chest. “What if I get there first? What if, while you’re getting down on one knee, I just whip a ring box out of my pocket - ”

“Then I really will lose my scheisse,” Klavier murmured, his lips ghosting across Apollo’s skin. “I’m going to hold you to it, baby.”

“Can’t guarantee it’ll happen, but I’m definitely gonna try,” Apollo said, turning his head to capture Klavier’s lips once more. The two of them exchanged slow, lazy kisses for a few minutes, fingers loosely tangled in each other’s hair. In the background, the movie continued on, long forgotten; not that it mattered, seeing as they’d watched it together many times before.

Eventually, Klavier carefully detangled himself from Apollo. He passed him his wine glass, still half-full, then reached for his own and lifted it above his head. “To making new memories, ja?”

“Are we really cheers-ing ourselves? That’s pretty self-serving, literally,” Apollo said dubiously, though he still raised his glass all the same, amused by Klavier’s dramatics. “But hell, why not? To new memories that don’t involve us crying, sneezing, yelling - ”

“You make us sound like absolute disasters, achtung,” Klavier protested, chuckling. “We’re not that bad, are we?”

Apollo took a sip of his drink, then leaned in close, so close that his nose brushed against Klavier’s, his wine-stained, kiss-bitten lips stretched into a fond grin. “Nah. I think we’re doing just fine.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my first entry for Klapollo Week 2021! I've never participated in any fandom challenges/events before, so I'm super excited to see how this goes. My plan is a little overambitious, with all seven fics set in the same continuity, but in a different order. For example, this fic is actually the last, chronologically speaking, while day seven's fic is set in the middle. If you're wondering why they were crying during their first kiss, you'll have to wait until then 😉

Don't worry about any of that, though, you don't need to read the others to follow along! Day seven is technically a sequel to day five, but it can be read as a stand-alone, though I think it packs more punch if you read it after day five. They're also the longest; every other fic averages out to about four to five thousand words, whereas five and seven are over ten thousand words each. Brevity is the soul of wit? Not in my Google Docs, I am wordy as hell.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[zzinvolterra]

I’ve read your post about the downsides of having powers and I loved it cause I always thought it couldn’t be that easy. Now I want to know the others!

I have a couple of ideas but I’d love to read your headcannons for Aro, Marcus, Edward, Alice, Jasper... I mean... everyone with a power.

Have a splendid day and be safe!

[previous post]

Thank you so much, you too!!

// mentions of panic attacks, anxiety attacks, sensory overload //

Aro

When he touches someone, he can read every though the person has ever had.

The possibilities.  I think the primary concern would be losing or mixing up his own memories with others’ thoughts.  He’s come into contact with vampires with millions of their own thoughts many times, and because of his memory, they’re all locked in there, perfectly preserved forever.  (Also, the criminals that he would be reading would likely have quite gruesome memories.)  So forgetting who he is, experiencing constant déjà vu and horrific flashbacks (that aren’t his... or are they?), and becoming overwhelmed to the point where he can’t function are all very possible.

Marcus

He sees the relationships or connections people have to one another.

I suppose Marcus could occasionally be overwhelmed, perhaps experiencing headaches when looking at a large coven.  (Also, there’s so much honesty in his gift, meaning in nearly every relationship he has, he knows exactly how they feel about him.  Which could be painful at times.)

Didyme

Aura of happiness, I guess. [not a quote]

Didyme emits an aura of happiness that seems unconscious and may have occurred to a lesser degree as a human.  Like I mentioned before with Chelsea, every relationship she’s had could have been affected by that.  (...including Didyme/Marcus - would their love be the same if she didn’t have her Ability?)  And depending on how much her gift affects a person, she could be sobbing (vampirically) and everyone else in the room would still be grinning and laughing euphorically.

Everyone else is under the cut!

Edward

Edward can read the thoughts of anyone in close proximity to him...

I just started MS, so I’m not quite sure how this is in canon, but I imagine it would be quite easy for Edward to become overwhelmed, especially as a newborn when he didn’t know how to block out voices.  He could also experience migraines.  Plus, in terms of how much he’s got bouncing around in his head, he’s like Aro Jr.  Not Good.

Alice

She can see into the future, although what she sees is based on decisions being made; thus, she must wait for a decision to be firmly rooted in the mind or acted upon, before she can see the end result.

Her visions send her into an almost catatonic state, and she sees them often enough that there must be quite a few of them preserved in her mind.  She exists on a different plane of reality, really, that must make it harder for her to connect with others.  Could definitely see her experiencing constant déjà vu (she’s just living to catch up to her next vision) as well as anxiety attacks from trying to avert every single possible disaster.

Jasper

Jasper has the ability to both feel and manipulate the emotions of those around him.

It seems like Jasper is constantly inundated with the emotions of others, including their thirst, so him experiencing sensory overload is definitely possible.  He’s also able to manipulate others with his gift, so unconsciously influencing someone could be a concern of his.

Bella

Her mind is impenetrable; no one can read her thoughts unless she allows it.  She can shield herself from all types of psychic attacks and learns to shield those around her.

I like to think that Bella feels a dampened down version of whatever she’s blocking, especially when she’s expanded her shield.  For example, she could feel a stinging sensation when Jane attempted to Pain™ them in BD.

Resume

She can show people her thoughts by touching their skin.  So far, no one has been able to block her talent.

Sounds scary, but okay.  Maybe showing other people her thoughts drains her energy?  (While we’re talking about her, I support the headcanon that Resume is like an immortal child in the way that she draws people in and encourages them to die for protect her.  Her Ability could increase that effect.)  There are also some weird parallels between her and Aro.

Zafrina

Zafrina has a strong illusory talent.  She can make her target see any illusion she wants, or see nothing at all.

Hmm.  I suppose for Zafrina, she could perhaps experience a diluted form of her own Ability when using it on others for an extended period of time.  I’m assuming that she has to concentrate on what she wants them to see, and maybe after a while, she starts seeing bits of it herself.  Or, her own vision could start growing dimmer as she exerts more energy.

Eleazar

He has the ability to sense the type and strength of gifted vampires’ talents.

Eleazar is like a gift metal detector.  Consequences could be that being around powerful gifts, or many at the same time, could overwhelm him.  For example, getting headaches when he was part of the Volturi or during the army witness gathering in BD.  (And I’m assuming Aro visits him semi-regularly, which is not an enviable position to be in.)

Kate

She has the power to cause a painful, electric shock-like jolt in anyone she touches.

I think with Kate, she could become drained, especially if she’s touching more than one person or using her Ability for an extended period of time.  And until she fine-tuned her control over her gift, she was probably shocking everybody and was afraid to touch those she loved in fear of hurting them.

Benjamin

He can influence the elements – water, earth, fire, and air.  He is able to physically manipulate the world around him with his will, similar to telekinetic.

Because of his power, Benjamin wasn’t allowed to leave the house for years, so yeah.  Downside of being the Avatar is everybody wants you.  Also, it seemed, at least in my opinion, that he doesn’t have the greatest control over his gift - meaning every time he uses it, it’s large and powerful.  In the BD (movie) vision, he creates a chasm... that’s deep enough to reach magma?  (Fault lines!!)  So if he were to ever lose that bit of control over his Ability, he would do a lot of damage.

Maggie

She is able to tell if a person is lying.

Maggie is compelled to point out lies, to the point where she can’t stop even when people become uncomfortable and punish her for needing to state the truth.  Therefore, hearing lies could hurt her, mentally or emotionally.  It could also be sort-of an obsession of hers to have everything be the “truth”.  (Do with this what you will - basically what I’m trying to say is that Maggie is unable to not point out lies.)

Siobhan?

Some suspect she can affect the outcome of a situation through willpower alone.

If she does have an Ability, I suppose it could be that the outcomes she causes have unintended side effects - a bit like how Alice attempts to manipulate events, but those new events bring new potential disasters.

James

He was a skilled tracker, able to sense in advance the most likely moves of his prey.

Demetri-ish?  Hyper-aware of his surroundings.

Victoria

She was exceptionally good at evading enemies.

She’s canonically good at hide-and-seek...?  To me, it seems like an Ability that was invented to explain why nobody could find her, but all right.  Perhaps a mix of Afton, hiding-wise (though she doesn’t turn invisible-ish), and Bella, evading-Demetri-wise.

Fred

He has the ability to make anyone feel physically repulsed.  He can use this ability to make someone unable to think of him for a period of time.

In “The Second Life of Bree Tanner”, it seems like Fred’s Ability is always active.  Perhaps gaining control of that power could be difficult because, until he does, he pushes everyone away...(Reneta-ish?)  Also, he’s called “Freaky Fred”.  Rude.

Raoul

He had a limited ability to make others view him as their leader.  It worked best on those who were directionless.

This is hard because it almost seems like Raoul is just exceptionally charismatic.  Potential scenario: if his directionless followers somehow found direction, he would have to deal with an uprising.

Alistair

Alistair can track both people and things.  He can sense the general direction of whatever he is looking for, but it takes him a long time to narrow this feeling down to a specific location.

(He’s very good at finding those car keys.)  He would be aware of his surroundings, similar to Demetri but to a lesser degree.  Not sure if he’d be as overwhelmed as often since it seems like he needs to focus on something specifically to find it, but I imagine his first few years weren’t fun.

Charles

Charles can sense when someone is lying to him.

Maggie 2.0?  Or perhaps more accurately, Maggie 0.5?  Sounds like he’s essentially Maggie, but less affected by lies.

Mele

Could take Abilities and transfer them to other people.  However, she couldn’t use the gifts herself. [Also not a quote]

Gift snatched.  Her power on its own is not very helpful to her survival, since she can’t harness the gifts she takes, nor is it beneficial to her existence.  In my opinion, Mele, due to her Ability, will always be stuck in the position of serving someone (like Sulpicia in Life and Death) or be killed because she’s a threat (Aro).

[nautiscarader]

Nautiscarader’s Wendip Week day 4: Lost key

Wendy and Dipper find and old drive-in cinema with a locked cabinet inside the projector room...

"lost key" really has almost no connection to the story, it was just excuse to use an idea I've had for a while ;)

One summer the two decided to put their passion for old cheesy movies (the worst they could find (la la la)) to action and try to refurbish and old drive in cinema. It worked for exactly one night, because the projector was haunted.

(Ao3)

===================

Dipper Pines has seen a lot of strange things around Gravity Falls: ancient buildings, communes of magical creatures, tasty fat-free food, you name it. And yet, on occasions like these, despite his years of expertise, he was still stumped by his findings.

- Why would anyone build a huge empty billboard in the middle of the woods?

He scratched his head, walking around a huge once-white rectangle, propped between trees that now have overgrown it, blocking it from sight. Only because of its unnaturally light colour he and Wendy have managed to spot it during one of their many walks around the forest.

And it was Wendy that very quickly made him realise that the thing he was looking at was not exactly what he thought it to be.

- Dude, it's a screen! - she exclaimed - This must have been a drive-in theatre!

She spread her arms, and only now Dipper realised how oddly flat the meadow they were on was. He then noticed more and more evidence of her being right: rusty, metal poles he thought to be part of some fences, turned out to be holders for old speakers, though with very little electronics left.

And a huge, moss-covered rock was revealed to be a half-dilapidated carcass of a car that served as a home to some birds that flew way when Dipper uncovered it.

But there was one more mystery, and Wendy was on it, carefully looking around.

- If that's the screen, then the projector must be...

She turned around trying to spot it in the thick forest that have overgrown the place.

- There! Look!

Wendy pointed to a building on a nearby hill they previously thought to be just an abandoned shelter. But a rectangular hole in its wall, pointing towards the screen proved her right once more.

- Jackpot! - Dipper shouted - Let's check it out.

The two didn't have to break in - the door have succumbed to the passage of time years ago, giving Wendy and Dipper a mesmerising sight of an old projector room, filled with antiquated technology, frozen in time, as if they were the first people to explore it.

- Dude... do you think it still works? - Wendy suddenly spoke, as she looked through the hole in the wall at the place they've just left.

The answer became obvious when Dipper pulled the large handle on the wall, and with low, buzzing noise, the equipment woke up from its slumber, though Dipper put it back to sleep, knowing well not to test a potential fire-hazard too much.

- That's awesome! Do you know what that means? - Er, no... - We could, I don't know, renovate this place! This could be a new local attraction!

Dipper's eyes widened.

- You know, this isn't a bad idea! We would need some movies first, though...

He looked around, until he heard Wendy's playful grunt. The red-head was pointing out to a locked, metal cabinet with "Movies" written on it.

- Jackpot again... er, we just need to find a key.

He pointed to the rather imposing paddlock on the door. Wendy snickered.

- Stay back, man, I've got this.

She grabbed her axe and with a precise move, she hit the rusty piece of metal that practically turned to dust, and with a loud clunking noise, the door moved.

Wendy and Dipper eagerly grabbed each wing and opened it ajar, revealing rows of old circular reels of film, covered in only a thin layer of dust, preserved by time.

Dipper grabbed one of them, and gently blew the dust away, revealing the title.

- "Hare goulash"? - he raised his brow - From 1933... wow, this place is from the forties! Old as heck. - Maybe it's old, but it's still one of our finest!

With a loud, cluttering noise, Dipper dropped the metal reel to the ground when a third voice joined theirs. Wendy jumped back as well, and readied her weapon, though she was not quite prepared for what she saw.

A ghost with thick, bushy eyebrows and a moustache appeared from between the reels of old movies, wearing a tuxedo, a bowtie and a comically large glasses.

- Woah, lady, be careful with that axe, I've already cut down on my smoking!

He pointed a ghostly cigar at her and, contrary to his own words, took it back into his mouth, much to both Dipper's and Wendy's confusion.  

- Who are you? - Me? I should be asking you, I didn't know the circus was back in town! You are the weirdest travelling salespeople we've had in years! - Er... we?

Wendy asked the question, just as the answers revealed themselves to them. With more cluttering, two more spectres materialised from the storage closet, one wearing a bowler hat and the other a rather tarnished cylinder, eyeing the two living beings with eerie, wide-eyed stares.

- Woah, nelly, are we back in action? - the second ghost asked - I sure hope they haven't invented color movies, I only have black and white clothes!

The third ghost didn't say anything, but filled the room with melodious tune of his flute, at least until he looked at Wendy, and whistled loudly.

- Hey, watch out! - Dipper stepped forward. - Watch? - the first ghost chimed back, floating around her - Aren't you the ones to do so? We're the actors here! - What the-

Dipper yelped when his vision was obscured by his own vest being tossed over his head by the other two ghosts.

- Well, great, now the spectres have spectators! So, what are you kids doing here? Cos' I hate to break it you, you ain't gonna sell us any cookies to us.

The ghost with rather thick, bushy eyebrows sat, or rather levitated over the chair and produced a large cloud of smoke from what would be his lungs.

- We've just found this place. - Dipper explained, fixing his clothes - So, do you guys live here?

A loud, horn noise filled the room when one of the ghost produced one from nowhere and honked it at Dipper.

- Time-out for the nosy one! You don't say "live" to a ghost, you know. - Okay, okay - Wendy continued - Were you guys locked in this closet? - No complaints from me - the middle ghost answered - I can't imagine a better company than these two.

He hugged his two ghostly friends, much to their displeasure.

- Imagine that happening for sixty years. And he's the one who thinks he can sing! - Er, do you... do you guys have names? - Moustachio, at my service! - the moustache-wearing one bowed, and reached for Wendy's hand, only to grab and kiss his own. - Chorizo! - the second one lifted his hat, revealing two ghostly mice living underneath it - And this one's Honky, you can guess why.

Another loud sound, this time from a trombone filled the room, when Honky greeted Dipper and played his ghostly instrument.

- Okay, that's-that's neat... I guess. I'm Dipper, and this is Wendy.

Dipper introduced them to the ghosts, still standing a few feet away from them.

- We, uh, we were thinking if we could renovate this place... - Why? Are these cobwebs out of fashion?

The ghost grabbed both ends of his moustache and spread it apart, revealing several ghost spiders on an impressive grid of cobwebs.

- Ew! Stop it!

Wendy automatically swiped her axe, slicing the ghost in half.

- Hey, if you think I need to get back on a diet, you could have just told me! - Chorizo spoke, tugging his lower part back as if it was his pants. - No, you don't get it - Dipper continued - Wendy... Wendy just had an idea that we could bring this place back to li-, I mean, make it work again. - So we could play your movies again! They are all yours, right? - Hey, this one's bright! - Chorizo said, putting sunglasses onto his nose. - Hmm...

Moustachio twirled the end of his whiskers, until he grabbed his two ghostly friends.

- Team meeting! And you two, no peeking!

The see-through ghost turned around and he whispered something to the other two. Chorizo chimed in after a while, and sad tune of violin meant Honky gave his vote on the matter.

After just a few seconds, the three turned around and faced Wendy and Dipper.

- After long and heated discussion we came to a *clear* conclusion. - Moustachio spoke - We're old, you're young, so we hate you by definition. Get out of our lawn, it was nice meeting you!

And with that, the ghosts grabbed Wendy and Dipper and unceremoniously tossed them out of the bunker-like building, closing what remained of the door right in front of their nose.

- Oh, you little-

Wendy got up at once and tried kicking the dilapidated door open.

- Is that the pizza? It better be, it's been half a century!   - Open up, you old farts! - Wendy roared - Uh, Wen-Wendy? - Dipper gently nudged her - Maybe we shouldn't be interrupting them...? - Are you kidding me? We could make this place running and have fun, and these three weirdos think they own the place. - Uh, maybe they do? - Dipper raised his brow - I mean, it looks like this place has a whole set of their movies...

Wendy gave him a disappointed stare.

- I thought you were on with this plan... - Uh, Wendy, listen - he quickly corrected himself - I like watching old movies with you, but you know, at your place. I don't need- - But wouldn't it be more fun? To see them on big screen? - We could just... go to the regular movies, you know.

Wendy's smile faded away.

- You're no fun...

She kicked a nearby rock and turned around, and began walking down the hill.

- We-Wendy, wait!

Dipper slid after her, trying not to tumble down.

- Okay, let's-let's say I'm up with... this crazy plan. How could we do this?

Wendy's freckled face lightened, gracing Dipper with a beaming smile. She reached to her pocket and took her phone out.

- Well, answer this: who are you gonna call?

Dipper's eyes widened, as he understood her plan.

- Oh, great, phoneboxes can fit in a pocket now! Hope the bills are equally small. - Moustachio said, appearing out of the ground.

Several hours and one phonecall later, Wendy and Dipper came back to the abandoned drive-in theater, equipped with the best vacuum cleaners they could get.

The two shared knowing looks, nodded and stormed inside the projector room, ready to kick the ghosts' non-existent butts.

- Oh, good, we were waiting for you! We needed a fourth one. - Moustachio, Chorizo and Honky tossed their cards into the air, as the three left their card game. - And the small one can be the joker! - Hey! - Wendy stepped forward - Don't you ever call him that...

She turned on the portable vaccum cleaner and with a steady hand, aimed it at the three, with Dipper quickly joining her, sucking the stale air, and the ghosts with it.

The three spectres let out sharp yells (Honky using a triangle), and grabbed a nearby rail, as their bodies stretched and thinned, being sucked into the machines Dipper and Wendy pointed at them.

But as the two were sure of their victory, the three ghosts escaped their grip with ease, proving they were never in any danger at all, laughing and pointing at the teenagers, floating freely above them.

- Oh come on, using Hoovers to get rid of ghosts? - Moustachio rolled his eyes - We were the ones making comedies for fifty years, and even that plot is too silly for us. - And I bet you didn't even change the bags, we're kinda sick of the dust and all! - Oh, we were not going to trap you here...

Wendy and Dipper smiled at the same time, reaching into their pockets.

- Don't you know that cameras can trap souls?

And with that, the room was illuminated with flashes of light, as the two began shooting the ghosts with photo after photo, making them twist and writhe in after-agony.

A loud piano tune broke the silence, as Honky waved a white flag.

- Alright, alright, stop doing that! - Moustachio yelled - We've already sold our souls to Hollywood, who knows how much we have left.

At once, Dipper and Wendy lowered their "weapons", still wearing the same cocky smiles.

- So, you youngsters want to spend a night at a cinema, eh? Well, I guess it's yours, we can haunt a vaudeville or something. - Nah, you can stay here. - Wendy eagerly countered - We just wanted to do some cleaning...

The two raised their vacuum cleaners and turned them on, this time pointing to the dusty, dusty floor.

===========

It took Dipper a better part of the day cleaning the projector room, and the next four or five days restoring the parking lot.

Wendy offered to cut down the trees that have overgrown the place, and she came back the next day with a few benches made out of the same wood, as the place was certainly not up for any cars anymore.

Dipper took care of the electric circuits, making sure the place was up to the modern standards ("You don't want to know how much worse the Health and Safety inspectors are in the afterlife, kiddo!").

Wendy also nicked some fresh white bedsheets and used them to repair the white screen to properly display the movie.

By the end of a week of tiring work, the theater, though still looking old, was at least brought to a working state, with Wendy and Dipper excited to be it first customers, before opening it to the public.

They walked into the projector room, where the three ghosts turned on the machine, lighting up the glade with white light. But as Dipper was about to pick up a reel of a movie, Moustachio grabbed it and absorbed them into his see-through body, together with the rest of the collection.

- Hey! What gives? - Wendy shouted back. - You know, we gave it a thought, and we're not just gonna play the movies for ya'. - Moustachio spoke - I figured out how to retroactively file a copyright claim on our movies! They're no longer in public domain, they're in boo-blic domain.

The three ghosts grinned.

- If you want to run this cinema, now you have to pay us! - And we will adjust for inflation! - Chorizo added. - What? No! - We should bust you again just because of that joke. - Dipper added - And besides, who told you how to do that?

By now, Dipper should have learned not to ask questions about money in Gravity Falls.

- Hiya kids! - Grunkle Stan?!

Wendy and Dipper roared in disbelief, as the old entrepreneur casually walked into the room, playfully swinging his cane.

- I see you've met my pals! - he grinned jovially and closed his arm around the ghosts in a brotherly hug. - And I gotta tell you, I have huge plans for this place. Look, I stole some microchips or whatnot from Ford and glued them to the cups.

He tilted a large styrofoam cup he was holding, proudly presenting a small, sparkling device underneath it.

- And apparently, now you cannot get refills! You have to buy a new drink every time! And I only kinda understand how it works!

He burst into maniacal laughter, dragging his ghostly friends with him. The men laughed and walked out of the projector room, though only one of them was able to do it without colliding into a wall.

- Well, looks like this is it.

Dipper sighed and turned away, kicking a half-century old can. But he quickly felt Wendy's hand on his shoulder, as she stopped him.

- Maybe... but guess who made camrips of their movies?

She waved her phone, and Dipper's face brightened, before they too burst into a fit of giggles. With the prize in their hand, the two teenagers were soon running away to a much cozier place.

A few minutes later, they were sitting in the dilapidated car, in front of now-empty screen, their faces illuminated by the light of the cellphone. The two laughed, as an actor from the bygone days said the same joke for the fifth time in a row, getting his face plastered with a pie.

- Hey, Dipper? - Wendy suddenly asked, in the middle of a musical number - Yeah? - Thanks for everything. And for... you know, helping me out. - Yeah, shame it didn't work. - Hey, it wasn't that bad. We've had some fun, didn't we?

Even though her face was half-hidden in shadows, Dipper could see a faint blush, contrasting with her gleaming, emerald eyes, which in turn made his cheeks match her.  

Their faces got closer and closer, and suddenly, the warm August night became as hot as noon in the middle of a heatwave. And just as their lips were about to meet, they were drowned in white, bright light and they jumped in their seats as the old speaker crackled with a high-pitched noise.

The two looked at the sign projected on to the screen, and groaned, when the ghost repeated those words.

- Kissing costs extra five bucks!

[letterboxd]

In Focus: Interstellar.

Inspired by Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar placing high across three notable Letterboxd metrics, Dominic Corry reflects on how the film successfully hung its messaging around the concept of love—and what pandemic responses worldwide could learn from its wholehearted embrace of empathetic science.

“Love isn’t something we invented. It’s observable, it’s powerful. It has to mean something.” —Dr. Amelia Brand (Anne Hathaway)

This story contains spoilers for ‘Interstellar’ (2014).

Although it is insultingly reductionist to both filmmakers, there are many reasons Christopher Nolan is often described as a modern-day Stanley Kubrick. The one most people usually settle on is the notion that both men supposedly make exacting, ambitious films that lack emotion.

It is an incorrect assessment of either director, but it’s beyond amazing that anyone could still accuse Nolan of such a thing after he delivered what is unquestionably his masterwork, the emotional rollercoaster that is 2014’s Interstellar.

In the epic sci-fi adventure drama, Nolan managed to pull off something that many filmmakers have attempted and few have achieved. He told a story of boundless sci-fi scope, and had it be all about love in the end. It sounds cheesy to even write it down, but Nolan did it.

That Interstellar is such an overtly cutting-edge genre film that chooses to center itself so brazenly and unapologetically around love, is frankly awesome.

Love informs Interstellar both metaphorically and literally: the expansive scope of the film effectively represents love’s infinite potential, and love itself ends up being the tangible thread that allows far-flung astronaut Cooper (Matthew McConaughey) to communicate with his Earth-bound daughter Murph (played as an adult by Jessica Chastain) from the tesseract (a three-dimensional rendering of a five-dimensional space) after Cooper enters the black hole towards the end of the film.

Matthew McConaughey as Joseph ‘Coop’ Cooper, Mackenzie Foy as Murph, and Timothée Chalamet as Tom.

In transmitting (via morse code) what the robot TARS has observed from inside the black hole, Cooper provides Murph with the data to solve the gravity problem required to uplift Earth’s population from its depleted home planet. Humanity is saved. Love wins again. Hard sci-fi goes soft. Christopher Nolan’s genius is confirmed, and any notions of emotionlessness are emphatically washed away.

This earnest centering of love in Interstellar is key to the film’s universal appeal, and undoubtedly plays a large role in why it features so prominently in three significant Letterboxd lists determined by pronoun: Interstellar is the only film that appears in all three top tens of “most fans on Letterboxd” when considering members who use the pronoun he/him, she/her and xe/ze. (“Most fans” refers to Letterboxd members who have selected the film as one of the four favorites on their profile.)

To get a bit reductionist myself, sci-fi adventure—in cinema, at least—has traditionally been a masculine-leaning genre, but Interstellar’s placement across these three lists points to it having superseded that traditional leaning, hopefully for the better.

Yet the film reliably still provokes reactions like this delightful tweet:

few movies make me as mad as Interstellar. who the fuck makes 3/4 of an excellent hard sci-fi movie backed up by actual science and then abruptly turns it into soft sci-fi about how the power of love and time traveling bookshelves can save us in the final 1/4? damn you, Nolan

— the thicc husband & father (@lukeisamazing)

February 13, 2021

Although this tweet is somewhat indicative of how many men (and women, for that matter) respond to the film, I think it’s pretty clear the writer actually loves Interstellar wholeheartedly, final quarter and all, but perhaps feels inhibited from expressing that love by the expectations of a gendered society that is becoming increasingly outdated. The “damn you, Nolan” is possibly a concession of sorts—he’s damning how Nolan really made him feel the love at the end. It’s okay, @lukeisamazing, you don’t have to say it out loud.

Conversely, it can be put like this:

“The emotion of Interstellar is three-fold: Nolan’s script, co-written with his brother as with all his best stuff, masters not only notions of black holes, wormholes, quantum data and telemetry, but it also makes a case for love as the one thing—feeling, fact, movement, message—that can mean more and do more than anyone in our current time, on our existing planet, can comprehend.”

The writer of this stirring summation, our own Ella Kemp, is paraphrasing a critical section of the film, when Nolan goes full literal on the concept of love and has Cooper and Dr Amelia Brand (Anne Hathaway) debate its very nature, quoted in part at the top of this story. It comes when the pair are trying to decide which potentially humanity-saving planet to use their dwindling fuel reserves to travel to. Brand is advocating for the planet where a man she loves might be waiting for her, instead of the planet that has ostensibly better circumstances for life.

Brand: “Love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that even if we can’t understand it.”

“Love has meaning, yes,” responds Cooper, heretofore the film’s most outwardly love-centric character, exhibiting a stoic longing for his dead wife, while also abandoning his ten-year-old daughter on Earth for a space adventure (albeit one designed to save humanity) than has now inadvertently taken decades. “Social utility. Social bonding. Child rearing.” Ouch.

McConaughey with Anne Hathaway as Dr. Amelia Brand.

Brand: “You love people who have died. Where’s the social utility in that? Maybe it means something more. Something we don’t yet understand. Some evidence, some artefact of a higher dimension that we can’t consciously perceive. I’m drawn across the universe to someone I haven’t seen in a decade who I know is probably dead. Love is the one thing we’re capable of perceiving that transcends dimensions of time and space. Maybe we should trust that even if we can’t understand it yet.” Amen.

Cooper remains unconvinced by Brand’s rationale, but this dispassionate display presages him going on to realize the true (literal) power of love (and his poor, science-only decision-making—thanks Matt Damon) when it provides him the aforementioned channel of communication with Murph in the tesseract. Nolan has a female character make the most eloquent vocal argument for love, but it’s the male character who has to learn it through experience.

So while Interstellar does initially conform to some prevailing cultural ideas about love and how it supposedly relates to gender, it ultimately advocates for a greater appreciation of the concept that moves beyond such binary notions. That is reflected in how important the film is to Letterboxd members who self-identify as he/him, she/her and xe/ze. We all love this movie. Emphasis on love.

Brand’s speech—not to mention the film as a whole—also can’t help but inform the current global situation. Interstellar argues for a greater devotion to both science and love, in harmony; such devotion might have mitigated the devastating effects of the coronavirus pandemic where both concepts were drastically undervalued by many of those in charge of the response.

Jessica Chastain and Casey Affleck as the grown-up Cooper siblings.

Despite the reactions cited above, responses to Interstellar aren’t always split down gender lines. We’re all allowed to feel whatever we like about it, and substantial variety comes across in the many, many reviews for the film.

Zaidius says Interstellar is so good that, “after watching [it], you will want to downgrade all of the ratings you have ever given on Letterboxd.”

On the other hand, Singlewhitefemalien takes issue with Dr. Brand’s aforementioned love-based decision-making in her two-star review: “She wants to fuckin’ go to Planet Whatever to chase after a dude she banged ten years ago because women are guided by their emotions and love is all you need.” A perhaps fair assessment of the role Nolan chose his sole female astronaut to play in the film?

Sam offers food for thought when he writes “First, you love Interstellar; then you understand Interstellar.”

Letterboxd stalwart Lucy boils it down effectively in one of her multiple five-star reviews of the film: “I needed a really good cry.” It’s hard to say whether Vince is agreeing or disagreeing with Lucy in his review: “Fuck you Matthew McConaughey for making me cry.” The catharsis this movie provides for dudes becomes clearer the deeper you venture into our Interstellar reviews (and I ventured deep): “How dare this fucking movie make me cry… twice,” writes John. Let it out, John.

Then there’s Rudi’s take: “I sobbed like an animal while watching this but I’m not exactly sure what animal it was like. Like a pig? Like a whale? I don’t know but I do know that I cried a whole fucking lot.”

Emotionless? With all this crying?

Christopher Nolan inspires more debate than any other filmmaker of the modern age (when we’re not getting unnecessarily riled up about something Marty has said, that is) and while Nolan has the passionate devotion of millions of viewers, I’d argue he still doesn’t quite get his due. Especially when it comes to Interstellar.

By so successfully using love as both a metaphorical vessel and a palpable plot point in a sci-fi adventure film, he built on notable antecedents like James Cameron’s The Abyss and Robert Zemeckis’ Contact, two (great) films with similar aspirations that didn’t stick the landing as well as Interstellar does. In Contact, McConaughey engages in a similar debate about love to the one quoted above, but notably takes the opposing side.

Steven Spielberg (who at one point was going to direct an earlier iteration of Interstellar) did a pretty good job of showing love as the most powerful force in the universe with E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, but there hasn’t been a huge amount of room for such notions in the genre since then.

Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, Interstellar’s most obvious forebear, is often accused of being the director’s most brazenly emotionless film. And while that’s perhaps a bit more understandable than some of the brickbats hurled Nolan’s way, there’s more emotion in the character of Hal 9000 than in many major directors’ entire oeuvre. It’s also, in part due to Hal’s place in the examination of queer consciousness in the sci-fi realm, the film currently in the number one spot on the xe/ze list.

Two films that notably exist in Interstellar’s wake are Denis Villeneuve’s Arrival, which expands upon Interstellar’s creative use of time-bending (and like Contact, features a female protagonist) and James Gray’s Ad Astra, which tackles the perils of traditional masculinity with more directness.

Interstellar doesn’t solve the sci-fi genre’s cumbersome relationship with masculinity and gender, but it makes significant strides in breaking down the existing paradigms, if only from all the GIFs of McConaughey crying it has spawned. Its appeal across the gender spectrum is an interesting and encouraging sign of the universality of its themes. And the power of love.

Fans out of touch with their feelings may complain about the role love plays in the film, but that says more about them than it does the film. Love wins. Also: TARS. How could anyone not love TARS?

TARS and Christopher Nolan.

Related content

Men/Boys Crying: a master list

“I Ugly-Cried Like Matthew McConaughey in Interstellar”: Amanda’s list

“I Liked Interstellar”: Sar’s list of what to watch afterwards

Follow Dominic on Letterboxd

[beastars-takes]

Zootopia Takes: Darker’s Not Better

The Shock Collar Draft

So, it sounds like people are largely positive on me doing some Zootopia posts on this blog, and I wanted to talk about this tweet I saw the other day:

I’ll punt on explaining why Beastars isn’t “Dark Zootopia”--that’s a great topic for another post. But I would like to talk about why this popular yet stridently uninformed tweet is so, so wrong. Why the shock collar draft was not better, actually.

And obviously, I’m not writing several pages in reply to a single tweet--this is a take that’s been around since the movie came out, that the “original version was better.” It’s been wrong the whole time.

Let’s talk about why!

Part 1: “Because Disney”

Let’s start with this--the assumption that the film’s creators wanted to make this shock collar story and “Disney” told them to change it.

That’s not how it works.

I try to keep stuff about me out of these posts as much as possible, but just for a bit of background, I’ve worked in the animation industry for about half a decade. I know people at Disney. I have a reasonable idea of how things are there.

There is this misconception about creative industries that they’re constantly this pitched battle of wills between creative auteurs trying to make incredible art and ignorant corporate suits trying to repress them.

That can happen, especially in dysfunctional studios (and boy could I tell some stories) but Walt Disney Animation Studios is not dysfunctional. It’s one of the most autonomous and well-treated parts of the Disney Company.

The director of Zootopia, Byron Howard, isn’t an edgelord. He made Bolt and Tangled. He knows what his audience is, and he’s responsible enough not to spend a year (and millions of dollars in budget) developing a grimdark Don Bluth story that leadership would never approve. It wouldn’t just be a waste of time--he would be endangering the livelihoods of the hundreds of people working under him. Meanwhile, Disney Animation’s corporate leadership trusts their talent. They don’t generally interfere with story development because they don’t need to. Because they employ people like Byron Howard.

Howard and the other creative leads of Zootopia have said a dozen times, in interviews and documentaries, that they gave up on the shock collar idea because it wasn’t working. They’ve explained their reasoning in detail. Maybe they’re leaving out some of the story, but in general? I believe them.

But Beastars Takes, you say, maybe even if Disney didn’t force them to back away from this darker version, it still would have been better?

Part 2: Why Shock Collars Seem Good

I will say this--I completely sympathize with people who see these storyboards and scenes from earlier versions of the movie and think “this seems amazing.” It does! A lot of these drawings and shots are heartbreakingly good, in isolation.

I love these boards. They make me want to cry. I literally have this drawing framed on my wall. Believe me, I get it.

But the only reason we care this much about this alternative draft of Zootopia is that the Zootopia we got made us love this world and these characters. You know what actually made me cry?

Oh, yeah.

So let’s set aside the astonishing hubris of insisting Zootopia’s story team abandoned the “good” version of the story, when the “bad version” is the most critically-acclaimed Disney animated feature in the past SIXTY YEARS.

“But Beastars Takes!” I hear you say. “Critics are idiots and just because something’s popular doesn’t make it good!”

Fair enough. Let’s talk about why the real movie is better.

Part 3: The Message (it is, in fact, like a jungle sometimes)

This type of thing is always hard to discuss, in the main--a lot of people don’t want to feel criticized or “called out” by the entertainment they consume, and they don’t want to be asked to think about their moral responsibilities. But it’s hard to deny that Zootopia is a movie with a strong point of view. Everything else--the characters, the worldbuilding, the plot, grows out from the movie’s central statement about bias.

And the movie we got, with no shock collars, makes that statement far more effectively.

To dive into the full scope of Zootopia’s worldview and politics (warts and all) would be a whole post on its own, so I’ll just summarize the key point of relevance here:

Zootopia's moral message is that you, the viewer, need to confront your own biases. Not yell at someone else. No matter how much of a good or progressive person you consider yourself to be--if you want to stand against prejudice you have to start with yourself.

That’s a tough sell! For that message to land, we need to see ourselves in the protagonist.

Judy’s a good person! She argues with her dad about foxes. She knows predators aren’t all dangerous. She’s not speciesist. Right?

Ah fuck.

Let’s fast-forward to the pivotal scene of this movie. In an unfortunate but inevitable confluence of circumstances, Judy’s own biases and prejudiced assumptions come out, and she shits the bad.

Nick, who’s already bared his soul to her (against his better instincts), is heartbroken. But not as heartbroken as he is a minute later when he tries to confront her about what she’s said, and she makes this face:

Whaaaat? Come on, Nick. I’m a good person. Why are you giving me a hard time?

People like to complain about this scene. That it’s a hackneyed “misunderstanding” trope that could be easily resolved with a discussion. They’re wrong. Nick tries to have a discussion. She blows him off.

This isn’t Judy acting out of character, this is her character. Someone who identifies as Not A Racist, and hasn’t given the issue any more thought. This is not only completely believable characterization (who hasn’t seen someone react this way when you told them they hurt you?) it’s the film’s central thesis!

Yes, Nick somewhat provokes her into reaching for her “fox spray,” and her own trauma factors in there, but she’s already made her fatal mistake before that happens.

(As an aside, people also make the criticism that the movie unrealistically deflects responsibility for racism onto Bellwether and her plot. It doesn’t. All the key expressions of prejudice in the film--Judy’s encounter with Gideon, her parents’ warnings, the elephant in the ice cream shop, Judy’s early encounters with Bogo, Judy's views on race science--exist largely outside of Bellwether’s influence. She is a demagogue who inflames existing tensions, she didn’t invent them. Bogo literally says “the world has always been broken.”)

So, anyway. But we love Judy. She’s an angel. She also kinda sucks! She’s proudly unprejudiced, and when her own prejudice is pointed out to her she argues and doesn’t take it seriously. This is bad, but it’s also a very human reaction. It’s one most of us have probably been guilty of at one point or another.

Look at Zootopia’s society, too--it’s shiny and cosmopolitan, seemingly idyllic. Anyone can be anything, on paper. But scratch too deep beneath the surface and there’s a lot of pain and resentment here, things nobody respectable would say in public but come out behind closed doors, or among family, when nobody’s watching. It’s entirely recognizable--at least to me, someone who lives in a large liberal city in the United States. Like Byron Howard.

Wow, this place is a paradise!

Wait, what’s a “NIMBY”?

Part 4: Why Shock Collars Are Bad

So, with the film’s conceit established, let’s circle back to the shock collar idea. Like I said, it’s heartbreaking. It’s dramatic. It’s affective.

It also teaches us nothing.

If I see a movie where predator animals are subjected to 24/7 electroshock therapy, I don’t think “wow, this makes me want to think about how I could do better by the people around me.” I think “damn that shit’s crazy lmao. that’d be fucked up if that happened.” At a stretch, it reminds me of something like the Jim Crow era, or the Shoah. You know, stuff in the Past. Stuff we’ve all decided couldn’t ever happen again, so why worry about it?

The directors have said this exact thing, just politely. “It didn’t feel contemporary,” they say in pressers. That’s what it means.

If anything, the shock collar draft reifies the mindset that Zootopia is trying to reject--it shows us that discrimination is blatant, and dramatic, and flagrantly cruel, and impossible to miss.

And...that’s not true. If you only look for bias at its most malicious and evil, you’re going to miss the other 95 percent.

The messaging of this “darker version” is--ironically--less mature, less insightful, less intelligent. Less useful. Darker’s not better.

Part 5: Why Shock Collars Are Still Bad

So what if you don’t care about the message? What if you have no interest in self-reflection, or critical analysis (why are you reading this blog then lmao)? What if you just really want to hear a fun story about talking animals?

Well, this is trickier, because the remaining reasons are pretty subjective and emotional.

The creators have said that the shock collar version didn’t work because the viewers hated the cruel world they’d created. They agreed with Nick--the city was beyond saving. They didn’t want to save it.

The creators have said that Judy was hard to sympathize with, not being able to recognize the shock collars for the obvious cruelty they were.

Fuck you, Judy!

But we haven’t seen the draft copies. We haven’t watched the animatics. We have to take their word for it. Anyone who’s sufficiently invested in this story is going to say “well, I disagree with them.” It doesn’t matter to them that they haven’t seen the draft and the filmmakers have. The movie they’ve imagined is great and nobody is going to convince them otherwise.

But the fact remains that the shock collar movie, as written, did not work. And, if behind the scenes material is to be believed, it continued to not work after months and months of story doctoring.

There’s even been a webcomic made out of the dystopian version of Zootopia. It’s clever and creative and well-written and entertaining and...it kind of falls apart. The creator, after more than a little shit-talk directed at Disney, abandoned the story before reaching the conclusion, but even before then the seams were beginning to show. How do you take a society that’s okay with electrocuting cute animals and bring it to a point of cathartic redemption? You can’t, really. The story doesn’t work.

Does that mean people shouldn’t make fanworks out of the cut material? That they shouldn’t be inspired and excited by it? Hell no. This drawing is cute as hell. The ideas are compelling.

But I suppose what I’d ask of you all is--if you’re weighing the hot takes of art students on Twitter against the explanations of veteran filmmakers, consider that the latter group might actually know what they’re talking about.

See you next time!

[fernwehbookworm]

Haunted- Chapter 5

This is where Alex finds them, well she finds Kara. Alex uses her spare key to unlock the door and bursts in to find Kara sitting at the table with a soft smile on her lips. Kara looks like she is about to laugh when she registers Alex’s presence at the door.

“Alex!” Kara shoots to her feet as if she has just been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Kara! What are you doing? Kelly called me. She said you ran off!”

“I… Nothing. Just trying to finish this article. I think I got it now.”

“And you came to your apartment that is compromised in some sort of way?”

“Yeah, about that. Look it’s nothing. Just… A friend pulling a prank. It’s all taken care of.”

Alex watches closely, she knows her sister is lying. Kara was never good at lying. Kara also keeps turning her head a bit to the side, as if she was hearing someone calling her name but she was refusing to turn her head to acknowledge them.

“Just a prank, huh?”

“Y-yup. Everything is fine. Completely normal.”

“Really? Then why did Kelly call me, worried, because you had run off yelling something about Lena being there and you not being crazy.” Alex makes her way closer to Kara, shutting the door behind herself.

“I was just disorientated from the glitch in the program. As soon as I cleared my head I was fine. Then I had an inspiration for my article and decided to write. It’s done now. I just have to submit it.” Kara sits back behind her computer and picks up her pen, playing with it between her fingers. Fidgeting, a classic sign.

“Well, that’s great!” Alex says, “Then we can have a movie night tonight. I’ll tell Kelly to come and we can get takeout.”

“No!” Kara shouts then immediately regrets it when Alex raises an eyebrow. “I mean, no, it's fine. I need to catch up on sleep and I’m sure you and Kelly have to work early.”

“We have hardly spent any time together. It will be fun.” Alex pulls out her phone and is already dialing Kara’s favorite Chinese place.

“Seriously Alex—” Kara is cut off by her sister ordering some of her favorite foods.

“We can’t talk about everything you need to know if your sister is here,” Lena says in Kara’s ear.

“I know.” Kara says under her breath, trying to move her lips as little as possible. “But I don’t have much choice right now.”

“Just keep the pen close. It’s helping me focus on staying together.”

Kara nods just barely then pockets the pen to keep it in reach. While Alex finishes the order, Kara submits her final draft and hopes that Snapper will like it. Then she logs off and powers down her computer to face an evening of trying to act normal around her sister.

“Okay, food will be here in an hour, so will Kelly. What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t care. You can pick.” Kara Grabs drinks from the fridge for the two of them and joins Alex, who has already settled on the couch and is scrolling through the menu. Kara settles next to Alex and feels Lena settle next to her also, as much as Lena can settle.

Kelly arrives and Alex let’s her in. Kara can hear hissed words as they work through an argument before returning. Kelly has her own plate of leftovers and Kara watches Lena eye the food longingly. At some point, Kara fell asleep, she was still semi-conscious of her sister and Kelly talking softly and laughing at the movie. At some point, a blanket is draped over Kara and the television turns off. Soft sounds of Alex and Kelly cleaning up pull at Kara’s consciousness.

“I’m worried, Alex. The reading I had from the program is troubling. I really think something is wrong. I… I think she may need more help. This could be stress-induced.”

Kara stiffens and is alert almost instantly. She can see Lena looking into the kitchen area intently, the pen was still clutched in Kara’s hand.

“I know. She’s lying to me and I don’t know why.”

“I've seen it a couple of times before. Patients lie because they know what is happening isn’t normal. Seeing things, hearing voices, or maybe paranoia. It’s not a good sign.”

“What do we do?”

“Maybe if we can get her to my office again then I can get a colleague of mine to evaluate her for… more extreme care.”

“Like what? Getting her committed?” Alex hisses at her girlfriend.

“If it's necessary. Alex, you know I love her like my own sister. I am terrified of what might happen if she doesn’t get the help that she needs. She could be suffering a mental break. We can’t ignore that.”

The silence is tense. Kara stares at Lena as Lena looks back with fear. This could ruin everything. Lena would never make it back to the physical world. Kara could not get trapped in a facility because she is not crazy. An audible sigh comes from Alex.

“Yeah, okay. We can get her there tomorrow. Come on, once she’s out from a movie she won’t wake up. We can take her bed, it's too late to go home.”

Sounds fade to the bedroom but Kara stays unmoving on the couch. Kara weighs her options before sitting up slowly. Lena sits next to Kara and Kara feels the cold presence of Lena’s hand on her’s.

“We have to go. Now. It’s getting harder to hold myself together. We can’t wait until the weekend. And if your sister somehow commits you against your will, then I might as well be dead.”

The lamp clicks off in the bedroom and Kara remains silent for several more minutes. Then she stands as quietly as possible and grabs her shoes by the couch. She pads to the door in her stocking feet and eases the lock open as quietly as possible. With a small squeak, the door opens and closes and Kara puts on her shoes in the hall.

“Okay, time to go,” Kara says half to herself and half to Lena.

It’s late, almost 3 am, and the world is quiet. As quiet as a city can be. The walk to L-corp is nerve-wracking, every little sound had Kara looking over her shoulder. Street lights glow yellow and it throws the world into a surreal alternate reality as Kara makes her way between the light and shadows. When Kara approaches the looming shadow of the L-corp building, Lena directs Kara towards an underground garage where Lena’s own personal entrance will be.

“It has a handprint scan, how is that supposed to work?” Kara asks when she approaches the shiny plate next to the door.

“There is an override code. Just don’t mess it up. There are no retries before security is alerted. Ready?”

Kara swallows hard and nods.

“Okay. It’s long. 31415926535897932384” Lena says the numbers just slow enough for Kara to input each one of them. When the last number is imputed, the light turns green and the door slides open for Kara to step through. She makes her way down the short hallway towards the elevator doors.

“How in the world do you have that number memorized?” Kara asks in amazement.

Lena gives her a surprised look. “It's the first twenty digits of pi.”

“You have the first twenty digits of pi memorized?” Kara asks with disbelief.

“I have the first 100 digits memorized,” Lena says smugly.

“Wow, your brain is so attractive,” Kara says.

Lena blushes. “That is not normally a compliment I get about attractiveness.”

“Well, it should be. Okay, next code?”

“8822672”

The elevator dings open almost immediately and Kara steps in. “Floor 33” Lena reminds Kara of the lab floor.

“What does that code mean then?” Kara asks as the elevator ascends.

“Radium. The element that Madam Curie helped discover. It’s the atomic number, weight, period number, and group.”

“So really are a geek under all that genius.” Kara smiles at Lena.

“You really have no idea. Are you sure you still want to have dinner with me?” Lena smiles back.

“More than ever,” Kara says seriously. The door dings open on an empty hallway.

They continue like that through four more doors until Kara and Lena are standing in the still broken lab. The papers and glass on the floor had been cleaned up, but the window was still cracked and the work stations were disrupted. Lena quickly makes her way towards the machine, passing right through a table turned on its side.

“Shit, they took my laptop. It’s probably up in the CEO’s office, knowing Jess. There is another elevator directly up at the other side of the room. Come on.” Lena is on a mission now. Moving quickly, Kara follows. Worry knaws at Kara as she notices Lena not looking as solid as she had before. Lena is running out of time.

“12101815, it’s the birth date of Ada Lovelace. She was considered the first computer programmer, before computers were invented.” Lena tells Kara, unprompted, as Kara inputs the code into the elevator.

“Wait, before computers were invented? How?” Kara asks while getting in the elevator.

“She made an algorithm for Charles Babbage’s proposed analytical engine. Way ahead of their times and current technology.”

“Wow. Like how do you even think like that? It’s like trying to describe a color that no one else can see.”

“It is. But that’s how we advance in technology. People pushing the boundaries of imagination.”

The elevator doors ding softly open. Kara steps into Lena’s large and spacious office. It’s dark, the only lights far below in the streets of the city. The buildings out the massive windows are mostly dark. Soft white carpet pads Kara’s footfalls. The moonlight reflects off the white surfaces that fill the office. A large desk with an even larger chair sits in front of the windows.

“Quick, we need to turn off the alarm. There, by the door. 10241993”

“What’s that number?” Kara asks as she quickly steps towards the control panel. The digital screen counting down to the alarm going off.

“It’s actually, well, my birthday.” Lena lets out a small, uncertain laugh, “I know you are not supposed to do that, but really, if people get this far I don’t know if the last password will stop them.”

“It’s good to know you are human enough to use your own birthday.” Kara smiles over her shoulder at her phantom before inputting the code.

A loud buzz sounds and the screen flashes red as the code is denied. The timer hits zero. Nothing happens in the office. “Shit.” Lena has behind Kara, “Jess must have changed this passcode. Quick, find the laptop. Security has been alerted and we have about three minutes. It’s probably in the wall safe. 08241995. Jess’s birthday. I doubt she would have changed that.”

Kara does as she is told and it works. The paper light laptop is there and Kara grabs it, bolting for the elevator. Once inside it starts to descend, then it jets to a halt.

“You have been detained. Security is on its way. Do not resist.” comes a deep voice through the speaker.

“Override it with that keypad. 06262015” Lena shouts.

“Legalized marriage?” Kara asks as she inputs it.

“Yes, but I can’t explain them all to you.”

Kara sees stress etched into Lena’s face and it seems to be making it harder for Lena to stay present. She flickers in and out of focus. Her voice sounds muffled and far away. Kara watches her until the door opens and rushes to turn on the lights and set up the laptop and inputs another code that Lena gives her.

It’s a frantic rush of connecting cables and turning dials. Kara’s hands are shaking from nervousness. The computer seems to take forever to call up the program that Lena had been using to run the machine. Kara can hear shouting out in the hall. Quickly she begins to push overturned work tables to the door, even pilling chairs on top of them, anything to keep the security out. Kara Rushed back to Lena to start setting dials on the machine to where they should be.

“Good, That should do it. Now just hit ‘run’ on the program. It will take a mi—” Lena’s voice was getting softer and softer and then suddenly Kara can’t hear her anymore. Kara could see through Lena now. Time was running out.

In the silence, a phone rings. Kara jumps and stares at the phone mounted to the wall. It rings into the stillness and Kara finds herself walking towards it to answer.

“Kara! Kara! What are you doing? How are you doing this?” Somehow, it’s Alex. Alex is calling Kara on the L-corp lab phone. Which means, Alex is in the building. There is a loud thumping at the lab door and angry shouts.

“I have to do this, Alex. I have to save her. I knew I wasn’t crazy. How are you here?”

“They called the FBI and my director called me! What are you talking about? Kara? How did you get so far past security?”

“Lena. She's helping me to bring her back. Now, I have to finish this.”

“Do not turn that machine on! It will kill you too!”

“It won’t. It will bring her back.”

“ No it won’t! Kar—”

Kara hangs up the phone on her sister.

“Kara.” It's a whisper now, Lena’s voice. Barely louder than a breath.

It moves Kara forward. Lena is almost gone and only Kara can save her. Kara starts the program and waits. It’s just like her dream. The machine starts up, light begins to build until it is so bright that Kara has to turn away.  The noise becomes deafening. Then, with the shattering of the window, silence falls. Kara thinks she might have blacked out for a moment because she is on the floor. The lights are out again which means there was probably another power outage. When Kara sits up, she sees Lena. For real. Slumped over in front of the machine, the dark head begins to move and sit up. A pale hand presses against a temple and Lena groans.

“Lena!” Kara cries and scrambles to the scientist's side.

“Kara?” Lena responds horseley.

“I’m here,” Kara reaches out and places a hand on Lena’s arm. It’s solid and warm. Kara smiles. “And you are here too.”

“I’m… here. Really here?” Lena is still processing.

“Yes.”

Loud bangs resound from the door to the room. It happens again as Kara helps Lena to her feet. With a loud groan and the splintering of wood, the door is broken down and big burly men rush into the room and pause as they find Kara with Lena’s arm thrown over her shoulder.

“Kara!” Alex cries as she rushes in after the men, Kelly right on her heels, followed by Jess.

Jess gasps as she takes in the sight of her employer and friend. “Lena!” Jess bursts into tears as she pushes a man aside to get to the CEO.

“Hey Jess,” Lena says softly, and is nearly knocked off her feet as Jess wraps her in a tight embrace. Kara steps away to let them have a moment. Jess is crying into Lena’s shoulder and Kara thinks Lena might be too but she can't tell as she is squeezed into her own hug with her sister.

“Don’t you ever do something that stupid again!” Alex practically yells in Kara’s ear. Kara feels another pair of arms as Kelly joins them.

“Sorry, but I am not planning on being haunted by a scientist again.”

“So you weren't going crazy?” Alex asks

“No, but I don’t blame you for thinking that.”

“But how…”

“It’s a long story that I don’t really understand myself.” Kara cuts off her sister's question.

There is shuffling on the far side of the room as security seems uncertain what to do. They were coming in to detain a criminal but now that criminal has somehow brought their employer back from the dead and there were now a lot of tears. A throat clears and Lena seems to pull herself together instantly.

“You may all return to your posts. I will fill out a report and submit it to the chief of security. As you can see, there is no break in here. Just the CEO accessing the office after hours with her friend.”

There are some protests and grumbling but a look from Lena silences the men and they file out of the room, one by one. Finally the women are alone and everyone looks to Lena.

“How is this possible?” Jess asks Lena.

“I don’t know everything, but something happened when I started up the machine and the field of transportation was expanded and I was affected as well. Then I was stuck in this between state and somehow anchored to the pen that Kara here stole,” Lena pauses to raise a pointed eyebrow at Kara, “I could communicate with her, then, and she was able to come here and reset the machine to bring me back to this plane of existence. But it took a bit to figure all that out and Kara here thought she was being haunted.”

“Well, wouldn’t you when someone writes ‘Help Me’ on your bathroom mirror and creepily starts music playing and knocks things over?” Kara defends herself.

“Of course you did that.” Jess rolls her eyes at her friend's antics.

“When there are a few times you can solidly touch things, you have to take advantage.”

“But, my program?” Kelly asks.

“That I can’t really explain, except it put Kara’s mind into a more open state so it was easier to contact her. I think it just appeared as a glitch in the system. Look, this is all science that is even beyond me and I’m going to have to study it. I don’t have answers right now except that I don’t think it was an accident. The settings I had Kara replicate weren’t the ones I originally set.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Kara says softly, yet surely.

All four women’s heads turn to her. “How do you know?” Lena asks.

“A dream. I was watching you. You were setting up your test. While your back was turned and the experiment was running, I saw a shadow come in through the door. I couldn’t make much out, but then I saw a hand turn that dial,” Kara points towards the black knob, “then everything went to shit and the light got so bright I couldn’t see and woke up.”

Lena nods slowly, “That’s the one that was off. But I used the program to replicate the last settings.”

“Who could have known you were here and running tests?” Jess asks.

“I don’t know. I had even told you I had gone home.”

“I know.” Jess deadpans. “And I will never believe that lie again.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “And after I told you that, I… canceled my flight to meet with... shit…”

“Meet with who?” Kara asks.

“Max Lord.” Jess finishes.

“He knew the premise of the project because he tried to beat me to copyrights. I won, though. We were meeting about another project but when I canceled he must have figured I was close to a breakthrough. That would be bad for him.”

“How so?” Kara asks.

“Because he runs very shady import and export businesses in third world countries and this machine would bypass a lot of that. It would allow me to send medicine and food directly to those in need.”

“Cutting down on his profits,” Alex says, deep in thought.

“Exactly.”

“Do you have any proof of this?” the FBI agent asks.

“Oh, yes. I have been compiling it for a while. It's not airtight, but it may be enough for an arrest.”

“Perfect. Let me make some calls.” Alex grins.

[l0andbehold]

best tv, movies, & music of 2020

If I leaned into one hobby during this trashfire of a year, it was consuming media. Me and my poor little astigmatized eyes observed a rigorous nightly schedule of Netflix and chill, Hulu and disassociate, Starz and eternal scream, etc., etc.

I never ever do this but maybe I'll start doing it yearly. Here are my favorite things I watched and listened to in 2020, in no particular order. (And if something you loved isn’t here, that’s okay! Different tastes, but also, there are a lot of new things I skipped, especially shows with dark themes or lots of violence.)

Television

Betty, season 1 (HBO)

Water with cucumber and lime. Stepping across an autumn leaf-littered sidewalk in thick-soled boots. Lying on a floatie in a pool mid-summer. In the same vein, Betty refreshes. Based on Crystal Moselle’s Skate Kitchen, Betty serializes the adventures of a group of energetic and beautiful gen Z girls trying to take a bite out of New York City’s men-dominated skateboard scene. The series is sweet and naturalistic, and deftly handles issues of family strife, workplace racism, and sexual assault. It was an oasis in a year of overwhelm.

Vida, season 3 (Starz)

I’ve loved Vida from season 1 but it took the panny for me to sit down and get caught up. Vida follows two estranged sisters who move back to East LA to run their mother’s bar after her sudden death. I often disagree with the show’s politics (e.g., its ethos is more pro-gentrification than not, the utter lack of Afro-Latinx cast members); nevertheless, Vida handles issues of legacy, intimacy, and queer identity with tenderness. Mishel Prada is mesmerizing in her portrayal of Emma, who finally lets love in. This is by far the most underrated show of the decade.

P-Valley, season 1 (Starz)

One of the rules of Mississippi strip club The Pynk? No motherfucking chips! This specificity and humor is all up and through P-Valley. Creator Katori Hall’s world is so well-built that you can almost feel the club’s dim interior and lithe dancers. Mercedes, a tough veteran dancer trying hard to leave The Pynk, and the club’s proprietor, non-binary femme sensation Uncle Clifford, are engaging, charismatic leads. Unapologetically Black and southern, P-Valley is critically acclaimed for good reason and I can’t wait for season 2.

Almost made the list: The Flight Attendant (HBO Max), How to with John Wilson (HBO)

Movies

Palm Springs (Hulu)

I’ve always had a little crush on Andy Samberg because he’s extremely good at his job--being funny. Yes, he’s funny in this film, and he also perfectly reflects the weariness and nihilism of millennials today. Cristin Milioti is an excellent co-lead who uses her large eyes to express at turns annoyance, excitement, and pain. A film about reliving the same day, every day, was kind of cruel to watch during the heart of my quarantine, but Palm Springs was a sumptuous, romantic companion.

Disclosure (Netflix)

I really don’t like when media about marginalized groups is billed as “much needed” or “powerful”. It’s patronizing and flattens the creator’s artistic vision. So, I won’t use that language but I will acknowledge how much I learned from Disclosure and how affecting it was. It offers a deep dive into representations of trans folks in mainstream media and is extremely well-edited and cohesive. Importantly, it was produced by trans people and directed by trans filmmaker Sam Feder. Watch it.

The Old Guard (Netflix)

There was a joke floating around on Twitter about how a lot of women never thought we liked action movies until we saw The Old Guard, then we realized, oh, we just need to see women in instrumental roles! Beyond Charlize Theron’s layered performance as an immortal baddie, the story is inventive and engrossing. The Old Guard is super rewatchable and a lot of fun.

Almost made the list: I’m Thinking of Ending Things (Netflix), On the Record (HBO Max), Tender, Onward 

Music

Favorite albums

Jaguar

Victoria Monét is a star. Maybe it’s because I’m in my thirties but I had never heard of her before my friend urged me to listen to Jaguar (shoutout to Kayla, thank you, Kayla!). I like my R&B warm and well-written and cozy. Victoria’s voice is smooth and polished and evokes the sensuality of jazz singers from the 30s. When she croons “had a feeling we would take it this far / when you kissed me in your car”, it’s easy to tell why Kehlani fell for her. This is, as they say, an album with no skips.

Suga & Good News

Megan Thee Stallion’s year was marred by a horrible event--she was shot. And then, social media trolls did their best to blame her for the shooting because the curse of being a Black woman is that we are never allowed to be victims. Even still, she bookmarked either side of that event with an EP, Suga, and her first full-length album Good News. They are strong projects (although I prefer Suga) because our girl is as clever and versatile as ever, constantly one-upping herself and her featured artists with rhyme after rhyme. Hotties rejoice, the champ is here to stay.

Ungodly Hour

Chloe x Halle have cemented their status as Those Girls. Ungodly Hour is a near-perfect album and showcases their startlingly beautiful harmonies and earwormy, haunting lyrics. This album was a key piece of fuel as I hammered away at my dissertation prospectus this summer. I would wiggle my shoulders in time with “Do It”, belt out “Tipsy”, and ignore the catch in my throat when “Lonely” was on. Importantly, Chloe and Halle are settling into adulthood and the darker themes on this project reflect that. Believers and skeptics alike, Ungodly Hour is for you.

Almost made the list: Carly Rae Jepsen - Dedicated Side B, Emily King - Sides, Jessie Ware - What’s Your Pleasure?

Favorite tracks

Cardi B ft. Megan Thee Stallion - “WAP”

“Gobble me, swallow me, drip down the side of me”-- Do I need to go on???

Aminé - “Compensating”

Aminé is attractive and competent and so is this single. It’s the perfect summer track.

Giveon - “Heartbreak Anniversary”

His voice haunts me. When I first heard Giveon, I looked up as if to ask who is that? He’s model-beautiful and his deep baritone lingers in the room after the song ends.

Jessie Ware - “Ooh La La”

I have loved Jessie Ware since her first album Devotion, which was firmly R&B. This single and accompanying album are disco/funk territory. “Ooh La La” is uplifting and well-suited to Jessie’s warm soprano.

[gunnerpalace]

And I’m 💯 sure that you’re blocked and you can eat it.

But I would like to talk about this idea a little, actually. So, here are a couple of points:

The thing that a lot of modern-day “Bleach fans” don’t get is that as far as Japan is concerned, the only thing that really sells Bleach to the mass-market general audience is Ichigo and Rukia interacting. The hard truth those “Bleach fans” refuse to accept is that most of fights sucked, most of the mysteries sucked, and other than the two of them (and maybe Toushirou and Byakuya) most of the characters aren’t interesting to the average person. If you liked Bleach for any of those three reasons (or any other minor reasons), then you are in the absolute minority of nerds.

The cold, iron truth of economics is that you sell media properties in one of two ways: either by drilling down to a highly dedicated fanbase (e.g., moe-blob anime with extremely jacked-up Blu-ray prices) or by appealing to as wide and shallow an audience as possible (e.g., the Marvel Cinematic Universe). The interesting thing with Bleach is that those two audiences, by the numbers, are actually interested in the same thing: Ichigo and Rukia, and more particularly, IchiRuki.

Bold claim, I know. But you don’t have to look hard to see it. This is why the musicals were focused on them. This is why the LA movie was focused on them. And this is why both of those deemphasized other ancillary characters, especially Ichigo’s human friends like Chad—or Orihime: because they are essentially irrelevant to that largely singular fixture of the series and are forgettable other than to some hardcore nerd. (The only other thing that comes remotely close to being as iconic are the Soul Society fights, especially Ichigo vs. Byakuya.)

This is also why every time the property has been reinvented for a new market (again, e.g., the musical and the LA movie) the focus has always been on early Bleach: because it most showcases their interactions and establishes their foundational emotional connection. This is in large part why arcs that more and more deemphasized their interactions suffered increasingly worse sales, to the point that Bleach was consistently ranked 20th out of 20 in Weekly Shounen Jump’s ratings on a week-to-week basis. Less Ichigo and Rukia, and especially less Ichigo and Rukia together, means less sales. This is why TYBW and WDKALY sold abysmally, and I’m willing to bet that CFYOW’s numbers aren’t too great either considering it features neither of them at all.

This is furthermore why Studio Pierrot gave them so many moments, like the ice-skating and fireworks date that they used to send off the anime: because IchiRuki sells. And not much else does.

So, having established that, let’s talk about your idea.

Ichika and Kazui don’t make sense, because their existence in TYBW isn’t established. They simply appear, like the rest of the ending, with no buildup or explanation. In other words, there is no reason to invest in them as characters; they are simply designs walking and talking on a page. (And surprise, the only people who cared “about” them at all were people like you who were pleased as punch that it was evidence that Ichigo and Orihime, and Rukia and Renji, fucked. And even you lot don’t care about them, because there is nothing about them to possibly care about. You care about them as symbols and nothing more.)

However, what would make even less sense is to introduce them without having TYBW at all. For the anime to jump from Ichigo and Rukia having an ice rink not-date to having Ichika and Kazui running around in their places would be a bit like jumping from Star Wars: Episode V - The Empire Strikes Back in 1980, to Star Wars: Episode VII - The Force Awakens in 1983, instead of having Return of the Jedi. It really isn’t possible to overstate how much that big of a leap would lose an audience, whose reactions would be, “What the fuck is this? What happened?”

As I have previously calculated, animating TYBW would take about 4–5 seasons and about 3–4 years of production. So, unless you wanted to pull one of the strangest continuations ever in media history, you’d be waiting for that to wrap first, and presuming its financial success (which is dubious, for the above outlined reasons, and its relative historical print failure which got the manga cancelled).

Setting all that aside, Ichika and Kazui are not photocopies of Rukia and Ichigo; they are genderflipped photocopies of Renji and Orihime. There is a reason why, despite the best efforts of IH here on Tumblr Dot Com, the IR community has never warmed up to them: why would you take a cheap clone knockoff that can’t even trace the original properly when you could just have the original? This will likewise hold true for a general audience. If a random-ass person in Japan knows anything at all about Bleach, it’ll be Ichigo and Rukia. Going, “This isn’t them, but here’s the same great taste but less filling!” is going to get you a response of, “No thanks.”

Setting that aside, what exactly would be the premise? The Espada were retconned in from the aether and people were fine with them, since they were basically just the inverse and mirror of the Shinigami. But people didn’t much care when Xcution were retconned in from the aether. And they didn’t like it when Yhwach and the Sternritter were retconned in from the aether. And they really don’t care now that Tokinada, Hikone, and Aura were retconned in from the aether. Are you really going to have a fifth group of baddies we never even vaguely heard of before showing up? Or are you going to just recycle a set? “Oh, no, Aizen has escaped Muken and has made the Super Fullbringer Espada…” Please. The concept is tapped out: it either has to keep inventing new bullshit and pretending it was always around, or it has to recycle the same ideas but in a less exciting way. Or it has to be rebooted.

It is clear that something or other is happening with regard to Bleach for this “anniversary” event, but the evidence, in my eyes, doesn’t match what you would see for TYBW being animated, let alone for some kind of Boruto-style series.

The event has been marketed in a rather low-key fashion, which is weird considering the 2020 Olympics are a once-in-a-generation event which provide the perfect hype vehicle (and which Shueisha has been using to push other WSJ properties). If you were working on a large or risky project, you’d want a lot of hype—either to prepare the audience, or to maximize your initial buy-in and returns if it’s going to flop (e.g., Anthem). Being cautious indicates both the scale and risk are small.

The emphasis on the voice actors who are appearing at the event are all for classic and popular characters: Ichigo, Byakuya, and now Rukia. You know what fans don’t like? Having a bait-and-switch pulled on them where their classic faves are affiliated with something, only for them to be radically deemphasized in the actual final product. (Just look at the three recent Star Wars movies for some proof of that one.) It is far more likely to be something focused around them.

MegaHouse is making new Bleach figurines this year. But the designs they’ve chosen so far are… Fake Karakura battle Armored Yoruichi (who I’m excited for), and Hueco Mundo style unreleased Grimmjow. If you were going to make merchandise for TYBW or a next-generation show, it’d make a lot more sense for that merch to be… actually related to those events, rather than “classic” designs, now wouldn’t it? To go to the Star Wars well again, they weren’t trying to sell Qui-Gon Jinn or Lando Calrissian toys with The Last Jedi.

To me, all the evidence indicates that whatever it is will be some sort of “Greatest Hits” OVA or something like that, with a focus on the Aizen era of the series. Maybe a lot of the “best” battles redone in really high quality. Maybe a video game. Maybe a reboot of the series from the start. Hard to say. But it doesn’t look an awful lot like TYBW, let alone a next-generation effort.

Now, I’m not saying that either of those things are impossible. I’ve been wrong before in this life (for example, I didn’t think Putin would invade Crimea), and I will be wrong again. I could be wrong about this too. I can only speak in probabilities.

But what I will say with confidence is that committing to TYBW would be fairly dumb as a business decision given everything that is evident about what makes Bleach sell.

And committing to a next-generation series at this stage before doing TYBW would be even dumber.

And doing a next-generation series without doing TYBW would be even dumber still.

Now, stupid people are in ascendancy worldwide in all kinds of endeavors, so it’s not outside the realm of possibility that someone greenlit something so dumb. But if they did, I don’t think it’s going to do so hot.

So, good luck, I guess.

[detectivejigsawpines]

The Most Hideous Creatures Known to Man, part 1 (A three-hour tour)

Stan continues to find his calling.  Unfortunately, not everyone agrees with his methods...

Part 5 of the Flipside AU.

It was only a matter of time before Stan’s clientele in the forest (he’d set up in a glen near C-beth’s place as his unofficial barber shop) began expressing curiosity about the human world.

For all the myths and legends about the amount of time they were supposed to spend kidnapping children, seducing adults, casting spells on farmers’ crops and so on, the creatures in Gravity Falls had surprisingly little direct interaction with humans.  Even the gnomes were mostly limited to stealing food from their cupboards or window sills while they were sleeping, except when they were trying to find an offering for their queen (both of the Pineses had made it adequately clear to the little group they found sneaking into their Ford’s house one night that they were not available, thank you anyway).

Stan wasn’t sure if this ignorance was the case for anomalies all over the world or just the ones in this tiny part of it.  But as he cut their hair, cleaned and polished their scales and massaged their shoulders, they began peppering him with questions about what it was like for human people.

“How do you get anywhere without wings?”

“What’s it like not having gills?”

“Where do the magic lights in your houses come from?  Do you have a wizard who controls all of them? You have a lot of them, so he must be ever so powerful.”

“What is the significance of those strange boxes humans hold up to their ears sometimes?  They can stand and talk to them for hours-are they some kind of listening insects, since they have those long antennae attaching them to the bigger boxes?”

He answered their questions as best he could, making educated guesses (or maybe kind-of-sort-of flat-out lying) if he didn’t know the answers...but after a while he realized that it didn’t seem to matter what he told them, as long as he made it sound exciting.  The creatures ate it all up in delight, amazed at the way humans seemed to use this strange kind of magic called SCIENCE to make things happen.

And just like with the idea for how to get unicorn hair for his brother, an idea began to spark in Stan’s brain.

“So, let me get this straight,” Stan said one afternoon as he finished putting curlers in a beard cub’s fur, “None of you have actually seen a human up close besides me?”

“And that brother of yours,” C-beth whinnied, looking up from her copy of Whinny, Pray, Trot.  “And the occasional visitor to my glen, or hikers, or-”

“No no no, I mean, you’ve never seen humans in their natural habitat.”

The little group-unicorns, fairies, beard cubs, even a mermaid sitting in the nearby pool-all looked at him in sudden interest.

Stan grinned.  “What would you say if I offered to give you guys a guided tour?”

Of course, not all the creatures could afford to pay in gold and jewels, like the unicorns.  Those who couldn’t had to pay in other things, like samples: skin samples, hair samples, feather samples, tooth samples, any kind of samples they could spare.  Stan would bring them home for Ford to study, and he’d get dizzy with excitement over how he’d “been wanting to study this thing for ages, thank you Stanley!” and immediately run off to his lab to put it under a microscope or whatever.  It gave Stan a warm feeling in his gut, knowing that he’d given a valuable contribution to his brother’s research, and in the meantime he could use the treasure the unicorns gave him to handle other expenses, like the mortgage and groceries and stuff.

If it wasn’t samples, it was things like mushrooms, which he could then give to the gnomes in exchange for favors, or enchanted items, or whatever else could be used to set up an elaborate and profitable barter system.

It was like nothing Stan had ever imagined for himself, but somehow it all worked like a charm.  And now here was a perfect chance to make an addition to it.

If I tell Ford about this, he’s either gonna love it or hate it.

****

For the moment, Stan decided to keep it a secret from his brother.  At least until he got all the details worked out and stuff.

This required him first finding a map of Gravity Falls, and marking out places that seemed like the best “attractions.”  Then he had to think about how he was actually going to conduct these tours a) without any humans noticing, and b) without letting the group of nosy anomalies wander off and get into trouble, or (in some cases) cause trouble.

It took him the better part of a day to come up with a plan, which turned out to partially involve the, ahem, liberation of a very large golf cart from a nearby Santa’s Village, and a pound of jerky for the manotaurs in exchange for them tracking down the invisible wizard and bringing him to Stan so he could strike a deal with him.  To his major disappointment the wizard refused to give up the potion that turned him invisible, but he did lend Stan something that was in some ways even better: a few bottles of what he called “un-notice powder.” I hope I don’t need to explain its purpose.

Once he had these and a few other things thrown together, he was ready to take the first group on a wild tour of...the Human World!

“And on your left, you’ll see ‘Greasy’s Diner,’ home of the perpetually broken spinning pie trolley!”

“Oooohhhh!”  The various anomalies leaned so far to the side of the cart that Stan was worried they were going to tip them all over, staring goggle-eyed at the restaurant.  To prevent this, Stan hurriedly put the cart in park, and then, remembering what the gnomes were like, he slipped the keys into his jeans pocket.

“Twenty-I mean, two hundred gold pieces or the equivalent in samples to come in and get your picture taken with it!” he proclaimed, rushing over to the door and pushing it open.  He promptly had to jump out of the way to avoid being stampeded by the eager crowd.

Inside the diner, the guests looked up in bewilderment at the door, which appeared to have been pushed open by a sudden freak wind.  Susan Wentworth, the head waitress who worked there (and who was kinda cute, Stan had to admit), rushed over to close it, and Stan barely moved out of her way in time.

The tour group (ten gnomes, thirteen fairies of various sizes and colors, a Moth Man, the invisible wizard-who’d insisted on coming at a reduced price as recompense for his being manhandled and bullied so rudely, and Stan had decided not to argue with a man who could turn him into a frog if he got mad enough-a manotaur, and the mermaid, who the manotaur was carrying in a portable cooler filled with water) stared agape at the inside of the room, before hurrying over and taking turns being photographed in front of the pie trolley.  They also had fun prodding at the humans, swiping bites of food from their plates, and taking pictures of them pretending to squeeze their heads or whatever.

Stan watched the chaos with a smile, and took the opportunity to eat some blueberries off the top of a plate of pancakes belonging to that dumb Gleeful kid.

****

Their next stops were the town hall, the cemetery (where a few Category 2 ghosts tried to sneak on without paying, but were scared off by the silver mirrors Stan had strategically placed on the cart), the library, and the high school, before finally they stopped in front of an electronics store.

“Behold!”  Stan leaped out onto the sidewalk, arms spread wide.  The dramatic gesture was nearly ruined by a few teenagers who nearly walked right into him (because of course, they didn’t notice him), but he managed to dodge out of their path just in time.  “Ladies and gentlemen-I guess that includes most of you-”

The tour group laughed.

“-For today’s final attraction, I give you the most horrifying, dangerous, yet incredibly enticing invention of mankind yet: the Idiot Box!”  He gestured at the display of televisions in the front window, which were plugged in to different channels about news, sports, movies, and so on.

The anomalies gasped, staring at the images darting across the screens in transfixed amazement.  He could practically see their eyes turning into hypnotized spirals like in the movies.

“These fiendish devices control the minds of millions every day, encouraging them to buy things they don’t need, eat foods that aren’t good for them, and become emotionally invested in the lives of fictional characters who they are never gonna meet in real life!”  Stan had no idea where most of his words were coming from, but he was on a roll now, and there was no stopping him. “And all it takes is a little bit of electricity and a good channel-”

“I WANT ONE!”

Stan blinked, startled out of his spiel by the manotaur’s roar.

The beast abruptly hurled himself out of the cart and charged-right.  Through. The window. He smashed several of the televisions in his excitement, but he managed to snatch one up intact, ripping the plug out of the socket and hoisting it over his head triumphantly.

Not even un-notice powder was enough to prevent the people inside the store from noticing the wanton destruction.

Time to go.

****

Fortunately, Stan managed to herd everyone (several of the other creatures had rushed into the store to snatch devices for themselves in all the excitement) back into the cart and take off before the cops showed up.  Even better, the un-notice powder didn’t completely wear off until they were back in the forest, so even if the townsfolk noticed them fleeing the scene, it wouldn’t have been anything too distinct. Probably.

Stan gladly accepted a few extra tips from the happy group as they left the carts, hurrying off into the forest and chattering excitedly to each other about all the things they’d seen.

“See ya later, everyone!  Tell your friends! And remember, we put the ‘fun’ in ‘no refunds!’”

Huh; I like the sound of that.  Gonna haveta remember it for next time.

Grinning to himself, Stan finished putting everything in the large treasure chest he’d brought to collect everyone’s payments, locked it, and then drove back towards home, feeling that on the whole this had been a pretty good day.

It was just his luck, however, that Ford would be standing in the driveway as he came up, hands on his hips and wearing his “there had better be an amazing explanation for this” expression.

The cart came to a slow stop, and Stan gave his brother a weak smile.

“...Hey, Sixer.  I got you more samples.”

[theloniousbach]

50 Years of Going to Shows, Pt. 2: The Grateful Dead Universe

Part one of this series extrapolated from the conceit that the 9/4/19 Hot Tuna show here at the Sheldon Concert Hall also marked the anniversary of my Fall 1969 Johnny Winter concert that was my first rock show.  50 years!!   That segment was about those early concerts in KC (well, a couple of Dylan shows in St. Louis and then Chicago).  

The glaring omission from that note was the Grateful Dead (11/11-12/72; 6/16/74 Des Moines; and 10/28/77).  I propose correcting that with this entry that can take up 7/26-27/94 and 7/5-6/95 (shows 4 and 3 from the end) plus visits with The Other Ones, The Dead, Furthur, Dead and Company, various Phil Lesh and Friends iterations (including the Q 3 times, the Campbell/Greene band twice, another time with Campbell, and this past summer with an Allison Krauss sit in); Ratdog maybe 5 times; Weir and Wolf Bros; and Joe Russo’s Almost Dead to whom I’ve passed the torch.

This is a quite modest Deadhead roll call, but it does include 1972, a Wall of Sound, and 1977.  So I’ve been around long enough to have opinions.  

And I do have opinions.

1972–The 11/11 show was all we thought we were going to get.  A Sunday night show after them always missing us.  There was a rumor then, pure fiction it turns out, that they opened (?!?) for Iron Butterfly (#@%!) in KC before I got on the bus (1969ish?).  I was transfixed—the long unfolding two sets, pauses including for a cigarette puffs), the wide range of songs, the stacks of speakers and Macintosh amps even if it wasn’t quite officially a Wall of Sound show—but that’s all I remember.  Set lists say there was a Box of Rain.  

The second show got added and I was going to go no matter what—two school nights in a row.  And that one is better fixed in memory because of an Owsley Stanley tape that captures a sprawling Playing in the Band to close the first set.  I don’t need that tape to remember the Dark Star>Morning Dew, though being able to revisit it sure is a treat.  It was in fact huge though I was beside myself from the opening notes announcing that the adventure was beginning.  In the moment, I just knew it was happening and that was good enough then.  It is a big big one though with lots of space travel before settling into the Dew.  I turned grumpy about Dew but this one was magic then and now.  

1974–I couldn’t get anybody to go to Des Moines to see them that June.  My dad, actually, was up for the drive and camping (him staying in camp while I and the other Deadheads went to the afternoon outdoor show.  He had a draft dissertation to read which he left somehow but we got it back).  The key parts of this show (another Playing with a gnarly breakdown) were released officially as part of the Road Trips series honoring the Wall of Sound.  That was a sight though I thought I’d seen a version of it inside in KC.  Also a sight was Garcia’s chin and upper lip as he had reduced the beard to mutton chops for a very short while.  The second set was where the meat of the show was culminating in the Playing.  I experienced it at the time as meandering and anxious, without the tranquil spaciness of some of their explorations, but it’s just fine and part of the oeuvre as per repeated listening AND a much broader experience with their music.

1977–When Steal Your Face and then Blues for Allah came out, my enthusiasm was waning.  To this day, I’m a pre-hiatus fan with a real focus on 71-74 when Kreutzmann was the only drummer.  They were more lithe, exploratory, and dynamic.  Still a good friend told me I was going back to Memorial Hall for a late 1977 show, so I got part of that magical year.  And what stood out was 1977 slinkiness even though there wasn’t a Dancin’ in the Streets.  But Lazy Lightning>Supplication, Samson and Delilah, and Passenger all caught my ear.  It was fun, but I was not on the bus much.

The taping scene pulled me back in in the late 1980s, though I’d been intrigued by Lowell George of Little Feat producing Shakedown Street.  I suppose in some ways I am a secondary Touch Head, though Without a Net too was welcome.

I was on the periphery of the Brent Mydland era and actually found Bruce Hornsby’s interlude a real boost to the creativity, particularly Garcia’s. That was spent really by 1994 and 1995.  I went to both nights that they were in St. Louis on those summer tours.  Still I was glad to see the break outs and covers (Here Comes Sunshine, Take Me to the River), but they were going through the motions, keeping Garcia in tow.  It was fun, I'm glad, I'm went, they are memorable in a general sense, but I won't go play recordings.  1995 was the third and fourth shows from the end as they headed from here to Chicago.  Within 5 weeks, Garcia was dead.

It was about the party or, ahem, the cultural experience. I'm glad I got that too with the originals (and subsequent Furthur Festival/The Other Ones/The Dead/Furthur/Dead and Company shows in big venues were as much about that as the music), but an advantage of the end of the big machine is that the shows got much smaller.  The party was still there, but the music was closer. Also as I have aged, I've been willing to pay for better seats (to see Phil Lesh at Willie Nelson's Outlaw Festival this summer we even paid for premium parking.  Sheesh.) so that helps put the music to the fore.

So has couch touring—and that is how my concert gang and I saw the first night of Fare The Well—GD 50 from Levi Stadium in the Bay Area as well as the Friday and Sunday from Chicago.  We also saw a Phil Lesh Quintet reunion.  Being in real time, I count those as shows which indicates that experiencing the music live is what counts for me.

The GD Meet Up at the Movies don’t, but they do remind me that I like to be in the presence of those songs and their creators. And that has pulled me along so far to shows that have included at least Phil Lesh and/or Bob Weir.  I actually am a fan of Drums/Space and stay in my seat to watch the spontaneous magic happen, so having Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart along for The Other Ones, The Dead, and Dead and Company is just fine.  But those operations felt a little bloated.  They have to be in large spaces to accommodate the party, so the gestures are equally grand and the rituals are observed.  Furthur (Lesh and Weir’s operation) was a bit more nimble—one drummer, Joe Russo, and more flexible set lists.  But I saw them in a small arena (12 K) and The Fox Theater (almost 5 K), so those were big concert experiences.

Bob Weir is an indefatigable road warrior, sometimes when he shouldn’t.  St. Louis was an early stop of a Fall 2004 tour that was aborted.  But we got to see him and it was awfully good, one I return to.  It jammed into Jack Straw into the opening of a Terrapin that would be concluded in the second set and the rest of the suite in the encore into Dark Star (my first since 1972 and the only one of two more I saw in person, both from Ratdog) that concluded at the end of the set before back into Jack Straw.  The second set had Peggy O, The Winners, and Friend of the Devil for a can’t be beat acoustic interlude before firing up The Other One and Uncle John’s Band (its reprise after Terrapin proper closed the second set.  With the exception of Playin’, he rehearsed all the big tunes and was energetic and in good voice.  That one was a treat.

Ratdog was always fun, a solid band and a showcase for Weir’s quirkinesses which help make the GD experience.  I like many of his songs more than Garcia’s, excuse the heresy, but I confess that I probably haven’t given up being angry at him not just for being dead but for dying, for giving up which probably started in the 1980s.

Ratdog shows were chances to hear the songs and Weir’s take on them, including Garcia’s at the heart of the canon were always good to hear.  He brought most things into circulation.  The bands were not the all star configurations that Lesh’s were, but they were effective.  St. Louis shows reflected his connection with Johnny Johnson (a 2003 The Dead Show had Johnson and Willie Nelson jam on Little Red Rooster (overplayed over the years, but the way to do a 12 bar blues) and Lovelight that was historic).  After Johnson’s death, it was his horn section sitting in, usually for one of the big jam tunes.  A Dark Star stands out, but there must have been a Sailor>Saint or Eyes another year.

But it is Lesh who is the curator of the part of the universe that matters to me—the invention, the opportunity that any tune can unfold into a world of possibility.  That was most clear with the Q—John Molo, Warren Haynes, Jimmy Herring, and Rob Barracco whom I got to see in their prime three times.  They played the big barn with Weir’s Ratdog to open in July 2001, with a Weir sit in to open set one.  The feature of that one was a Viola Lee Blues sandwich that wove out of that primal jam vehicle from the GD past four times with interludes of Lovelight, Tons of Steel, and Into the Mystic.  Lesh would pull out tunes that had fallen out of the rotation—Alligator and Doin’ That Rag that night, Caution with Furthur at the Fox, Cosmic Charlie with the Q that November, and Viola itself.  The Q revival Couch Tour show we saw had a Mountains of the Moon which suggested a potential (not developed) for that tune as a subtle jam vehicle just as it was the last night of Fare The Well.  They did Beatles tunes, Brent Tunes, Van Morrison.  The second show at the Fox for some reason doesn’t leap out as magical.  But the third one, also at the Fox, on what would have been Garcia’s 60th birthday was.  The first hour was Bird Song>Here Comes Sunshine>Not Fade Away and had me riveted.  The second set had Sunshine of Your Love and a transcendent Low Spark of High Heeled Boys with Haynes somehow capturing the piano parts on guitar.

My only quasi bit of touring was to run over to Indianapolis to see Lesh in a hybrid band of Molo and Barraco with Larry Campbell, Barry Sless on pedal steel, Greg Osby on alto, and Joan Osborne on vocals.  It was a hot hot day but good adventurous stuff.  The Peggy O  as a story with Lesh narrating, Osborne being the fair maid, Campbell as our captain was very cool.  Bertha, Viola, and Shakedown stretched things out too.

With the Molo/Larry Campbell/Jackie Greene/Steve Molitz band, I got to see the premiere of the Ritter Eyes of Horus bass.  A dark stage, the fretboard LED lights on, a solo into The Other One and then Truckin' made quite an impression.  It didn't have the heft/power of the Modulus instruments he used before and after (a possibly smaller one) and it was more striking then pretty, but it was a moment of GD lore that happened on my watch.  Those were two good shows with Campbell showing a range I hadn't expected.  He could dig into the jams whereas I thought he would be more of a Robbie Robertson fills and one chorus solos player. It was also fun to watch Greene grow.  It was like he went to grad school or maybe a post doc in that band.

I have seen Greene at least 5 subsequent times (Duck Room, Old Rock House twice (band and "acoustic," Delmar Hall, and as an opener for Gov't Mule).  He has tasty covers including but not exclusively GD ones and some damn good tunes.  It's good to see his efforts to extend the GD universe.

But I'm putting my money on Joe Russo's Almost Dead as where the legacy will reside.

I saw them earlier in the year and they strike me as not just a Dead cover band, but a PLQ cover band--anything can be jammed out, the tunes can be played in any order in any part of the set.  Russo is a dynamo of energy on drums and his alter ego Marco Benevento is an inventive player.  It's cool to see the varied opportunities the music presents.

My shows this year with Weir (the Wolf Bros trio) and Lesh at Willie Nelson’s Outlaw Festival felt valedictory.  Weir was an interesting disappointment in that his wonderfully idiosyncratic guitar was at the fore, but too often through a too thin toned D’Angelico Bedford guitar.  He had that jangled tone in Ratdog but it went away during Fare The Well and beyond when he used Fender Stratocasters. His voice too was thinner.  So, while I wanted to see him in the spare setting, I don’t need to do it again.

And, though I’m likely to succumb to peer pressure if Dead and Company comes to town, I don’t need that party.

So, I’m content to go out on the Phil and Friends set at the barn with Willie Nelson as my last time seeing an original member.  There was Molo once again, Jason Crosby and Stu Allen from the Terrapin scene, and a new other guitarist Cris Jacobs.  The set had Jack Straw, Brown Eyed Women, Sugaree, and a Cumberland Blues (a favorite) as the closer.  Eyes was the jamming tune, but so was Help>Slip>Morning Dew.  And what a Dew it was as Alison Krauss sang it as she did on To Lay Me Down.  Amazing and what a rare moment in the Dead universe.

Dead music is magical and so it has been for me right to this end.

But long live JRAD too.

[moristarcake]

Biff Tannen x Reader: Chapter One

(Please read the author’s note)

(A/N: Two changes: this will take place in college, not high school like it was in the movie, and there’s no terrible r*pe plot line with Marty’s mom anymore. Obviously this could be taken as a meme or seriously, I don’t mind either way you see it, but c’mon, Biff Tannen deserves redemption. His actor’s too sweet and handsome.)

Finishing class work early always has its perks of free time and earlier sleep, but it didn’t come without a cost, either. (Y/N)’s eyelid’s droop in boredom as they walk along the sun baked sidewalk of Hill Valley. A small, uninteresting town with nothing to do but glance at passing shops and daydream of buying trinkets with money you don’t have.

Not even being in college makes things more interesting around here. The old building where students gather is about as fun as a funeral. Professors are strict, students are too tired to party, and there are no dorms to stay in. Most of the community college’s students still live with their parents or in a dinky little apartment somewhere close to campus.

(Y/N) had the latter, and their job to keep the stupid apartment was even more grueling than school. Still, they had the day off of work so they were free to do as they wished after classes were over.

They still had to walk everywhere, though. A job at a gas station didn’t exactly pay enough to get through a month’s rent, let alone a car.

A sigh escapes them as they shift the weight of their backpack, soreness developing in the centre of their spine. It was a long walk home, and the sun was beating down mercilessly onto their skin and sticky clothes. Instead of continuing forward, they made a sharp turn down a cul-de-sac with a small bakery squatting next to larger buildings, and trudged into ‘McFly’s Pies’, the bell atop the door notifying an elderly man behind the counter.

“Well if it isn’t Little Brown,” he chuckles, sliding from around the counter, “summer heat got you beat?”

They glance up at him unamused, “what’s with that lingo, Marty? It’s twenty-twenty one.”

“Since when is rhyming words together ‘lingo’?”

“Since an old man said it to look cool,” they gave him a smile and plopped into a seat.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles, smacking them with a dishrag, “you and me both know your grandpa was the coolest old man to ever live.” He slips behind the counter and grabs a glass, filling it with cool water.

(Y/N) shrugs, “never met him Mart, only heard stories from you and Jen.” They take the glass gladly, gulping it down faster than they should have. Marty shakes his head and pulls out the seat across from them.

“Hey, slow down kid. And they aren’t stories, (Y/N). I may be old but I know what happened to me, Doc, and that DeLorean.” (Y/N) gives him a disapproving look over their glass, but remains silent. This has been an argument ever since (Y/N) was little, even their mother would take Marty’s side. ‘Emmet Brown was her father after all, she would know!’ was what Marty would always rebuke with. They’ve learned to ignore it, though there was always that curiosity of why they’d keep it up for so long, if it was a lie.

“Look,” his sudden speech caught (Y/N) off guard, “you got school work to do?” They shook their head, a wave of boredom hitting them again as they remembered there was nothing to do for today. Marty leaned forward in his seat, a trademark sly smirk wrinkling his already wrinkled face, “I got the key to Doc’s old shed. He kept all of his inventions in there. Mind reading machine, dream controller, even the DeLorean. It’s all in there.”

(Y/N) leans forward as well, intrigued, “what? Why are you telling me this now, after all those years of bickering?”

“I’d lost the damn thing,” he said, holding up a copper key he dug out of his pocket, “but turns out after ten years I found it under the pie racks today. Must be fate, huh?”

(Y/N) throws themself back dramatically in their chair and groans, “don’t tell me you believe in fate now, Mart. What’s next, true love?”

He chuckles and throws the key to them, “Jennifer’s all the proof I need, (Y/N). Even after seeing future old, gross, wrinkly me when she was a teen, she still loved me. And now that I am that old, gross, wrinkly man-”

“You’re only fifty two.”

“-she still loves me.” (Y/N) rolls their eyes so hard they’re sure they ruptured a vessel, but they can’t argue. Though they don’t entirely believe Marty and Jen’s fanciful story, they do know the couple had been together since high school. And that takes a lot.

“Well she ain’t wrinkle free either,” (Y/N) remarks, a shit eating grin tugging at the corners of their mouth as Marty widens his eyes in mock amazement.

“Sick burn Little Brown, now bounce. You already know where the shed is.” He shoo’s them as he hauls himself from the chair. (Y/N) wrinkles their nose at the obvious use of old slang, and grabs their bag.

“See ya.” He gives them a final wave before they disappear out the door, the bell chiming soon after.

It doesn’t take long for the sun to become an annoyance again as (Y/N) makes the final stretch out of the cul-de-sac, past their old house, and in front of a looming, beaten warehouse. Well, garage. Supposedly Doc Brown moved from Germany with his mother and father, who were rich, and bought a mansion here. It got destroyed, and the garage of it was where he lived until (Y/N)’s mother was born. Their mother told them he made a living making inventions for his clients because he spent the whole family fortune on trying to make the DeLorean.

“Crazy old geezer,” they say to themself as their eyes scan the chipped plaster, “I see where I get it from.”

The copper key in their palm reverberates with uncertainty. The fact that Marty found the key after ten years of it being lost seems unbelievably fishy to them. They’d known him since they could walk after all. That smirk meant something. But what was he hiding?

They slowly bring the key to the lock, pausing a few moments before finally shoving it in and twisting the gears. If there was any moment to find out, it was now.

The door creaks open followed by a barrage of dust and cold air. They bring their hand up to their mouth and cough, using the other to wave the particles away. Even though it was mostly dark, the thin curtains on the windows allowed sunlight to stream through. Silent clocks decorated the walls in large amounts, and strange looking machines stood with an eerie stillness about them. Furniture and cooking appliances looked untouched, a thick layer of dust coating the counters and a solitary TV in the corner.

And in the middle of it all, was a sleek, ivory car.

Feeling strange would be an understatement. Though (Y/N) had never met their grandfather, their mother and Marty’s eyes would light up whenever they spoke of him, and a warm fondness would unmistakably be present in their words. It felt as if (Y/N) didn’t have the right to be in here. They’d never known him, why were they allowed to glimpse his former life? It felt wrong, but they press forward into the frigid darkness.

(Y/N)’s hands graze the walls for a light switch, but upon finding and trying one there was no luck. They sigh and reach in their back pocket, pulling out their phone and turning on the flashlight. The rather rough looking sports car caught their eye almost immediately and they made their way through the clutter towards it. Dents and scrapes littered the bumper and doors as well as the windows.

“Damn, girl,” (Y/N) ran their hand across the damage, “you’ve been through hell. Maybe I’ll get dad to fix you up.” It wasn’t until they wandered to the back that they noticed the thrusters jutting from an intricate tangle of wires and added machinery, “oh, well, maybe not.”

They nearly leap from their skin as the door of the DeLorean hisses open, causing them to whip around and aim the flashlight inside the older vehicle. Slowly, they crept up to the opening, peeking inside and unsurprisingly seeing, well, nothing. “You better not be haunting me, gramps,” they grumble, feeling irritation crawl up their back.

There’s a pause before (Y/N) rolls their eyes and climb in, letting curiosity get the better of them. They switch off the light and pocket their phone, throwing their backpack to the passenger seat as well. Their fingers come to trace the various buttons and switches with wonder, questioning for a moment if what their mother and Marty said is really true. 

Bright red, green, and yellow lights obscure their vision as their finger hits a switch.

Their hands immediately shoot up to cover their eyes as a dormant pair of goggles drop onto their lap. Blinded, they scream and rear their foot forward on the pedal. The ancient car lurches backward, tearing through various machines and furniture before breaking out of the garage. They grip the arms of the seat and move to slam the break, but it’s all too late. There’s a piercing array of colours before a zap of white light swallows (Y/N) along with the DeLorean, and they vanish.

For @mintgreenmenace and @im-a-butch-bitch-u-cant-kill-me in particular. They supported me in the making, real MVPs :’)

[damnit-samnit]

Chapter 24 Preview

Hola! Here’s a preview for chapter 24. I’m still working on the last bit of the chapter and expanding some areas. Hopefully I’ll have it done by tomorrow (or maybe even tonight but remember, take what I say with a grain of salt, I’m an optimist but my optimism often makes me a liar).

Also, it looks like I lost my italicized formatting pasting it over and I don’t feel like fixing it because I’m writing lmao so I apologize for that 

- - -

“You know, I thought you would eventually move to Tokyo…” A squealing sound rang out as packaging tape was pulled off of its roll. “Come be around everyone else. Musutafu’s closer but…”

You looked up from the dishes you had been carefully stacking and wrapping in towels.

“Exactly -- Musutafu is a bit closer to Tokyo,” you said, catching Yume’s eye as she reached for a marker. “I’m excited. It’ll be nice to get out of Kamino. New job. New city. A clean slate.”

“You had a new job and Tokyo could have been a new city--”

“This will be good for me,” you continued airily, once again interjecting before she could work herself into another tangent deriding your judgment. You’d been working on dodging them all day. “You’ll see. My gut is telling me this is the right decision.”

Catching on that you were purposely cutting her off, Yume grumbled under her breath and you did your best to ignore it, assuming she was still a bit bitter over your departure from your relatively short stint at Odaiba Research.

When you had finally broken down and given her the news a handful of days back, that you had decided to leave your position, she reacted pretty much how you expected -- angrily. Disappointedly. It was obvious the feelings she had weren’t derived from someplace dark or hurtful, she just thought you were making a dumb decision.

Maybe you were.

But ultimately it was your decision to make.

She had spent a good portion of your dinner that night trying to reason with you, to goad you into reconsidering: How could you leave Odaiba!? Working there was a dream for many a scientist. To be given such an amazing opportunity and just toss aside so easily…

Not only that, Yume had gone to bat for you -- she talked you up, talked your skillset up. How would your departure reflect on her?

Eventually, you revealed your ‘good’ news -- that you had already accepted a position elsewhere and had already given notice to Doctor Kravitz and the team that you were leaving as soon as possible.

It was done.

You were just telling her as a courtesy.

For about of week after that less-than-friendly dinner, you ignored one another other, each stewing over the actions of the other. You were far too impulsive. She was far too close-minded.

Yume broke first, though, texting you.

Then, she took you out for ice cream.

Moving, however, hadn’t been a thought-out decision. You received notice that the lease for your lab space was coming up for renewal, with a slight increase in the rent price. It had been months since you had been there, having lost all desire to invent and having no commissions to work on.

It was the idealist in you that ultimately convinced you to, finally, give up your lab. Nothing was quite the same after your almost-brush with death over a… disagreement regarding the quality of your work. Although you always knew death and/or injury was a possibility while working with villains, it wasn’t until you were actually burned that it clicked in your mind that yes, you could actually die. It was a very real peril. Your, ‘come on, what are the odds?’ reasoning could no longer be used as the odds were, apparently, pretty good.

Luck had gotten you out of that situation with your life and that ace in the hole could no longer be played.

It was a long time coming, anyway, you had reasoned. The past several months had been alluding to the fact. You had turned down commissions, you no longer felt any desire to cash in on under the table money.

You wanted a normal life void of any secrets or skeletons.

It was funny how appealing being another cog in the machine had suddenly become.

Quite suddenly after reaching the decision of shutting down shop, that same vein of thought also goaded you into moving altogether. Don’t just close the lab -- break the lease on your apartment early. Get out of Kamino. Start over. You would lose your deposit and have to pay a fee, sure, but you would also be free.

After Power Loader promised that, yes, you still had a job and he wasn’t going renegade on the offer, you found a nice little rental house in Musutafu in a neighborhood geared toward families. All things considered, you were making more money at Power Loader’s lab as you had only been an apprentice at Odaiba (though, had you been brought on fulltime as was always teased, you would have made bank… and you didn’t quite want to think about that).

It seemed like a good, responsible decision.

You didn’t have a lot of time -- once you signed the lease on your new humble abode, and you broke the lease on your Kamino apartment, you only had two weeks to pack up years worth of junk and move, which made you regret your decisions immensely as moving was the absolute worst.

Then, entirely all too soon, two weeks was up.

You had been working down to the wire -- the last day you were allowed in your apartment was the day the movers showed up to lug all your boxes and furniture away. Before you went to go hand your keys over to the building manager for good, you stood in the living room surveying the skeletal remains of your home.

The apartment in all its mediocrity -- blemishes to the drywall, the bubbling paint along the creases of the ceiling, the creaky doors, the drafty windows -- was your home. Half-hearted fantasies about moving somewhere nicer had come true but you hadn’t been prepared for the strange lament that had settled in your heart during your goodbye.

It was an apartment.

You ignored the whispers of recollections moving around the empty room. Of scarfing down take-out on the floor with Yume when you first moved in and had almost no furniture. Of burning curtains and scorch marks on the floor thanks to misfired inventions prior to signing for your lab space. Of sleepovers and illnesses and late-night visitors and movie nights and broken furntiure and broken doors and--

It was the comforting presence of your apartment that you were sad to see go. You were a hermit crab exchanging a shell -- leaving felt weird only because you weren’t used to the new place. But you would be. It’ll be just as much of a home.

You sighed when the door clicked behind you for the last time, staring at the front door.

It felt like the end of an era.

You were moving into your silver age.

- - -

“So… last time we talked you had just moved into your new apartment. Tell me about that, how do you like it so far?”

You shifted slightly on the couch so you could sit on your hands, eyes flickering between your knees and the large-eyed man in front of you.

“It’s good,” you said with an uncomfortable grin, trying to convince yourself to not be so… closed up. It was what, your third session with your shrink? You had decided to sign up for therapy by your own volition, you had been the one to schedule the sessions, so why were you so… guarded when it came to talking with him? You were basically throwing money away if you weren’t going to use the time.

“You’ve got to give me a little more than just good,” he said, knowing eyes peering from behind even-larger glasses.

“It’s nice,” you tried again. “Leagues better than my old apartment but it’s still a little drafty. One of my neighbors has a little boy and he told me the other day that my house is haunted.”

“Oh!” Your therapist’s eyes crinkled with humor while you rolled yours.

“Wasn’t thrilled about that conversation.”

“But otherwise, your neighbors, you get along with them?”

“More or less. I live on the corner and I’ve only said hello to the family next to me in passing. There’s a pretty big fence separating our houses.”

“And the job is treating you well?” At that question, you cracked an actual smile. “Well, that’s a good reaction. Your whole aura completely changed.” He sat back, glancing up to the ceiling, rubbing his tongue across the roof of his mouth. “Tastes… like apple juice? Reassuring. So you’re comfortable there?”

“I think so,” you said, the smile still there. “It’s only been, what, a month? But I really like it there. It’s very… calm.”

“Calm?”

“Calm.”

“And you like the calm?”

“I think I do, yeah.”

“You think you do?”

“Well…” you shifted your jaw. “I don’t think I’m good under pressure. I used to think I was but… I don’t think I am. But I kept throwing myself into situations and jobs where there was a lot of pressure on my shoulders. This is a good change of pace.”

“I like what you just said there,” your shrink said, wagging a finger at you. “That bit of self-reflection at the end. Expand on that.”

You chuckled awkwardly, freeing a hand to rub at your knee.

“Sour. Tart,” the therapist observed, frowning, tongue clicking. “Lemons. Why the change? What makes you uncomfortable? The subject or talking about yourself?”

“A little bit of both. I guess I’m a little disappointed in myself for giving up and… accepting defeat?”

“Defeat?” He shook his head. “Don’t think of this as a win and lose situation. Life’s not a fight. Instead, look at it as playing on your strengths and weaknesses. You weren’t happy but now you are.”

“For now--” you ventured to say, earning a snort of disgust from the man sitting across from you.

“Don’t assume everything is fleeting. Accept and appreciate now. You’re happy now. You live in a house in a nice neighborhood.” He raised his thumb. “You have a job that mentally stimulates you and brings you joy.” He raised his pointer finger. “You’re in a good headspace -- your aura was bright when you walked in. Nothing was bogging you down.” His middle finger joined the others. “Name something else that’s been giving you joy?”

“My friends threw me a house warming party last weekend?”

“Friends are taking time to celebrate your achievements,” he said with a nod, lifting another finger in the air. “You know what, let’s go for five. Give me one more positive. Did you start up your kung fu lessons again?”

“Kung fu?” You blinked. “Oh, Krav Maga. No… uh, not yet.”

He frowned at you -- last session, you had admitted to your short ‘personal betterment’ stint with Krav Maga lessons after a situation with a villain. When you refused to elaborate on the villain portion of your story (you weren’t about to cop to any… misdeeds you may have done in the past), he instead started pushing you on why you had dropped Krav Maga -- why did you eventually just stop? Why don’t you start up again?

He was adamant you develop some sort of hobby.

“I started knitting again?” you offered a half-truth. You had purchased yarn online the day prior but hadn’t made anything. In fact, your knitting supplies were still packed away in one of the boxes you had yet to go through.

The large-eyed man openly smacked his lips, unamused.

“Overripe,” he said.

You sighed.

“Okay -- I’m going to. I bought yarn, I just have to unpack it.”

“I’d prefer if you did something physical though,” he grumbled. “Yoga? Running? Tai Chi? Something to get you moving. It’s not just about taking care of the mind, the body is just as important too. And exercise will help balance your mind.”

You drew your mouth into a tight line.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine.”

“I’m gonna ask about it next session. Now, give me one more positive…”

“One more…” You really had to think, which your therapist noted. “One more…”

Nothing came to you. When it became clear you were tapped out of ideas, he jotted something down.

“Fine, I’ll accept four today. But next time we meet, I want you to come with five positives of the week ready to go, alright?”

“Alright.”

He regarded the topmost section of the notebook, where notes from your last meeting were written neatly.

Metal. Salted Earth.

A taste that sometimes lingered in the back of his throat during the answers and stories you shared with him. It had exploded across his tongue when you had danced around the specifics of your villain altercation but otherwise, it had been muted.

He wanted to know what it meant.

But, he decided not to ask about what, or who, the taste represented. Your relationship was not as… forthright as it would probably need to be. You weren’t comfortable enough with him yet.

“Okay,” he said, breathing in deeply through his nose, tapping his pencil on his knee. “Why don’t we talk about something outside of work. What have you done in Mustafa is new to you -- have you explored the city?”

“Well…” You scratched at your nose. “My boss took me and his… assistant out to dinner the other day. That was a hoot.”

“Bubblegum!” Your therapist said, lighting up. “You had a good time! Tell me a little about that!

- - -

The train ride home wasn’t crowded. At your station, you swung into a nearby corner store to pick up a couple bananas -- you were craving them now thanks to your therapist’s ‘overripe’ comment.

Banana bread would be divine right now.

The store didn’t have any bananas or bananas bread, so you grabbed a couple of banana milk, hoping it would be enough to sate you.

It was… nice how unhurried and relaxed you felt as you walked home that afternoon. It was your day off and there was no dread hanging over you about missed calls and avalanching emails. The lingering anxiety in your gut had abated a few weeks back -- you felt lighter.

The little neighbor boy who told you that your house was haunted was out on the street when you rounded the corner, sliding a red car back and forth against the asphalt in front of your house. He stopped his playing as your approached, standing up.

“Hello miss,” he greeted solemnly.

“Hello, little Sato,” you said, stopping and giving him the same respectful greeting. “I like your car.”

“Thank you, my baa-baa gave it to me.”

You nodded, giving the boy a brief smile before turning toward your house, prepared to leave him to his playing.

“You had visitors come to your door but you weren’t home,” Sato said, following you. You quirked a brow at him.

“Hm? Really?”

Visitors? Was it people from the rental company?

“Policemen!”

You stopped turning the key in the lock of your front door.

You glanced back down at the boy.

“Policemen?” you repeated and Sato’s face lit up -- he eagerly nodded his head.

“I told them you weren’t home. Well, first they asked me if I knew your name and I told them I did. Then I told them you weren’t home. And then my dad came out and they asked him about you too!”

“Your dad…” You swallowed, heart squeezing. “They asked your dad some questions?” You forced a smile. “DId you happen to hear… what kind of questions?”

“They asked if you made things and my dad said you worked with the hero Power Loader!” For added effect, he punched the air beside him, body twisting and following after his arm.

“Did they ask him anything else?”

Sato stopped his full-body punching, choosing to purse his lips as he stared up at you. You stared back, unease traveling across your body.

Come on, think kid.

“When you moved in,” he said, squinting his eyes. “My dad said you were nice. I told them about the ghost, in case they were here for that. Oh! If you have a lot of visitors. If it seems like you invent in your house. Dad said he didn’t think so.”

Shit.

Shit.

“Sato!”

A female voice drifted from up the street and the boy’s head whipped in the direction of his house.

“Sorry miss, I gotta go get my lunch.”

“No, no, no, it’s fine Sato.” You waved the boy off. He walked a few steps before stopping and grinning. “Oh, they also said they’re coming back, miss. So don’t worry!”

Only when you were safely inside your entryway did you allow yourself to openly panic.

You knew their visit had to be related to your under-the-table work. Someone must have been arrested and blabbed about where they had gotten their gear. And the police had found you! Though, it’s not like you were living off the grid -- you probably weren’t hard to track down.

Shit.

What were you going to do?

You dropped your plastic bag of banana milk on your kitchen counter, pacing around the room, hands combing through your hair.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

You were going to go to jail.

Undoubtedly, you were going to lose your license.

You had just moved. You had a new job. You were going to lose all of that.

You were fucked. You were royally fucked.

Who could it have been, though? Who could have been arrested? You pulled out your phone, staring at the darkened screen as your jittery brain tried to piece together cohesive thoughts. Your fingers were shaking.

If you knew who it was, who had gotten arrested, you could work on an alibi. At the very least drum up a reason why you didn’t know them.

But no familiar names came up on the hero news sites. Could it have been someone small time?

Eventually, you paced your way out to your living room.

Fate had marked you. If villains weren’t going to get you, the law was going to get you.

And you were trying to be good!

Desperately, you were trying!

That wasn’t going to matter though. You needed… a lawyer, right? In crime TV shows, bad guys always want their lawyer present and requesting one usually stumped the police. Okay, a lawyer. What kind of lawyer? What were the charges you were facing?

In your panic, a naive idea came to mind.

You knew someone who could help.

With the weight of the world back on your shoulders, shamelessly you found his number and called him.

He could help you out of this. You knew he could.

[imjustthemechanic]

Glockenspiel

Part 1/? - Transmission Part 2/? - The Sandhill Hotel Part 3/? - Piccadilly Part 4/? - The Future

“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Howard.

“No, it’s not obvious at all,” Peggy told him.  HYDRA having a time machine opened up enough cans of worms to fill a grocery store.  They might go back and murder Steve before he could become Captain America.  They might steal the secrets of the atom bombs and deliver them to Nazi Germany or Imperial Japan.  Peggy could probably fill a book with the awful possibilities, and these escaped HYDRA operatives doubtless knew things she didn’t.

“Sure it is,” said Howard.  “All we have to do is go back, and we can stop this from ever happening in the first place.  It shouldn’t be hard.  We’ve got seventy years to do it.”

“Or!”  Toulouse held up a finger.  “You might create the very future you’re trying to avoid!  That happens in movies all the time!”

“I’ve got a headache already,” sighed Peggy.  This was too much to take, even for her – she needed to sit down.  The hotel room Toulouse had gotten them was spacious and nicely furnished, with a sofa and chair at one end, facing a black glass panel mounted on the wall that Peggy could only assume was an extremely pretentious piece of art.  At the other were a pair of enormous beds.  Peggy went and sat down on the sofa, and took a deep breath.

“The first thing to do,” she decided, “is to find whoever’s running the SSR these days.  Toulouse, do you happen to know?”  She probably didn’t.  It was an American organization and Toulouse was British, and anyway, the SSR liked to keep out of the spotlight.  Many people seemed to think it had disbanded after the war.

“There isn’t an SSR anymore,” Toulouse replied  “There was SHIELD, but they’re gone now.  It was run by a guy named Fury, but he’s dead.  Mysterious car accident,” she added.  “Everybody knows it was an assassination, though.”

Peggy frowned, thinking.  “Zola was in SSR custody.  The man we met in there must be from at least a little while in our own future, because he couldn't have gotten away from his escorts to use the machine again... he might even be from a few years ahead.  So we do have to return to our own time, and make sure he doesn't get the opportunity.”  That would be at least a start, although the full ramifications of this would take more time to deal with.  “Do you think you can build a time machine?” she asked Howard.

“Probably,” he said, coming to lean on the sofa from behind.  “But as in the case of the Rift Generator, it'd be much easier just to steal one.”

Peggy nodded grimly.  “So we have to sneak back into that hotel.”

“Why do we have to sneak?” asked Toulouse.  “Daddy owns the hotel.  If I can just get in touch with him and tell him they’re in there, he’ll send somebody to chase those men out and we can just walk right in and use the thing.”  She picked up the slab-phone again.  “Let me ring him.”

“Wait, Toulouse,” Peggy reached out to stop her.  “Are you absolutely sure your father’s not involved in this?  I know that must be a painful question for you…”

“Daddy?  Of course not,” said Toulouse.  “He was promoted to Deputy Prime Minister because he wasn’t involved in the whole HYDRA thing while the fellow he replaced was.  They put him in charge of the investigation committee and the Queen gave him a special honour for it.  If there’s Nazis in his basement he’ll want to do something about it, I promise you.”

That sounded very reassuring, but Peggy still didn’t want to absolutely trust this man she’d never seen.  Come to that, she wasn’t sure she trusted Toulouse, either.  “Maybe don’t mention the time machine part,” she decided.

“I’ll just tell him about the cows,” Toulouse decided.  She entered a number and waited impatiently while it rang.  “Harvinder?  Oh, thank goodness.  I need to talk to Daddy.  It’s an emergency.”  There was a brief pause as whoever she was talking to replied.  “I don’t care if he’s in Honk Kong, Cape Town, or Saskatoon!” said Toulouse.  “This is important.  There is some seriously weird shit going on in the new Piccadilly!”

“I’m going to wash up,” Peggy decided.  It had been a long day, first on dusty roads in the foothills and then sweating in the warm, close environment of the walk-in safe.  She needed a shower.

“Don’t take too long,” Howard said.  “I want to go next.”

Peggy automatically expected a hotel bathroom to be tiny, but this one was huge.  There was an enormous tub, two sinks, a giant mirror, and lots of fluffy white towels.  It looked like a lovely place to relax for a evening, but even if Howard hadn’t asked her to hurry she knew they didn’t have that kind of time.  She therefore limited herself to a shower, though she ran the water scalding hot and washed her hair twice.

She emerged in a thick white robe with another towel around her hair, to find Toulouse had taken out that silver thing she’d been keeping in the walk-in safe and had opened it like a book, propping it on the desk.  One side of it was a sort of flat typewriter, while the other displayed a moving image, and Toulouse was staring intently at it as her fingers flew over the keys.  Howard, meanwhile, was mesmerized by the black glass panel on the wall, which was also showing images.  It was some kind of miniature cinema screen, Peggy realized, showing colour newsreel footage.

“Okay, here we go!” Toulouse announced.  “Good news.  Looks like both of you make it back to the 1940s just fine!  Howard Stark died in a car accident along with his wife in 1991…”

“My wife?” Howard asked, looking over his shoulder in startlement.  “I got married?”

Peggy wasn’t quite shocked, since she’d always assumed he’d have to settle down sooner or later, but it was still a surprise to get confirmation of it.  “Good heavens,” she said.  “Next you’ll be telling me…” she paused, glancing sideways at Howard.  He’d hinted that his own father hadn’t been very good at it.  Would he… she decided not to ask just yet.  “What about me?”

“You’re still alive, but you’re retired,” said Toulouse.  The text on the device in front of her was scrolling past too quickly to follow.  “You were married twice and outlived both of them, had two kids and outlived one of them, too, and helped keep everybody from dying in the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

“Good to know I continue to do my job,” said Peggy.  There was a thought, she realized – if she could find out where her older self was living, she could visit her.  Would that cause a paradox and destroy the world?  Her future self would not appreciate that after a lifetime spent saving it, so best not to go there.  She leaned to take a closer look, but then Toulouse’s little telephone, now lying on the table next to the typewriter device, started playing music.  Toulouse squeaked and grabbed it to put it to her ear, and Peggy had to straighten up in a hurry so as not to be smacked in the face.

“Daddy?” Toulouse asked.  “Oh, finally!  Listen, have I got a story to tell you!  Those men in the basement are not electricians, they’re some kind of weird conspiracy.  They’ve got a machine that’s making cows or something!”  She covered the bottom of the device and looked at Peggy.  “Should I tell him they were locking people in the safe?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Peggy decided.  “The fewer people know we’re here, the better.”  Even if Mr. Sandhill wasn’t a member of HYDRA himself, there was no telling who he might mention the incident to.  Somebody at his hotel company must have suggested to Zola that the men could get in under the pretense of electricians.

Toulouse nodded and put the phone back to her ear.  “No, Daddy, cows.  Yes, moo!  And there’s a car that came right through the lobby windows with no driver.”  There was a short pause.  “No, a car!  Cows don’t need drivers!”

Peggy suspected this phone call would take a while.  She went and sat down next to Howard on the couch.

“The washroom is free,” she noted.

Howard jumped a little – he’d been so wrapped up in what he was seeing on the cinema screen, he hadn’t even noticed her sit down.  “Peg, look at this!” he said, gesturing to the wall.  “It’s a personal theatre!  It can show you all kinds of things.  You can get films, you can get cartoons, newsreels, serials, all in your home!  Toulouse doesn’t know who invented it.  I hope I did.  If I didn’t, when we go back I will.”

The image on the screen showed aerial footage of a large ship, still blackened and smoking from a recent fire, being towed into a harbour not by a tugboat but by some tiny, unidentified object.  It switched, then, to a man who was recognizably a reporter with a microphone, standing on top of a building with the ship visible in the water behind him.  He turned to interview what was either an astonishingly advanced machine or else a man wearing some kind of red and gold armor.

“See that?” Howard pointed to the corner.  “It says live.  We’re watching this as it happens on the other side of the world!  This is in Canada!”

Sure enough, a caption at the bottom of the screen read LIVE: Iron Man tows burning tanker into Vancouver.  The being in the armor reached to remove its helmet.

“You tune it with this,” Howard went on, holding up an object about the size and shape of a candy bar.  He pressed a couple of buttons on it, and the image changed – from the news, to footage of sharks swimming, to South Asian people in fabulous costumes dancing, to a group of men and women sitting arguing in a restaurant.  “This is wild.  I always hoped I lived a long life, just so I could see what the future brings – now here I am, and I get to go back knowing what’s possible and maybe help it along a bit!”  He grinned.

“Here I thought you'd be disappointed in the lack of flying cars,” said Peggy.

“Only a little,” Howard assured her.  “The cars are beautiful, aren't they?  They look like they could fly, even if they don't.”

Peggy thought they were hideous, all streamlining and no elegance, but she didn't say so.  “The washroom is free,” she repeated.

“Oh, right,” he said.  “There’s another robe, right?”

“There is,” Peggy assured him.

He turned off the theatre with a look of honest regret, and went to wash up.  Peggy looked over her shoulder at Toulouse, but the young woman was still on the phone.

“Anyway,” she was saying, “I told the police there was a bomb in the hotel, because I figured they wouldn’t think cows were serious and after that thing in Sheffield they probably wouldn’t believe me if I said there was a conspiracy in the basement…”

Yes, this was going to take some time.  Peggy decided she needed a breath of fresh air.  She got up and went out on the balcony to take another look at the city.

The suite had a large terrace with a private pool, chairs and tables to sit at, and a few small garden beds.  Peggy passed them by and went to lean on the railing, the better to appreciate the view.  It was properly night now, with a half moon hanging low over the city and the whole place glittering with lights.  The last time Peggy had seen London in the dark, it had still been blacked out for fear of German bombers.  Seeing it all lit up like this was strange in itself, but still not nearly as strange as the city itself.  The giant ferris wheel and the towering glass buildings beyond didn’t even look like England, let alone London.  The skyscrapers would have been out of place even in New York.  One had a graceful spiral twist to it, looking rather like an enormous Christmas ornament.  Another resembled a pyramid stretched out to impossible proportions by a funhouse mirror.  They looked like something from the cover of one of those science fiction magazines Agent Penner liked to read.

But there was the outline of Big Ben, brightly lit against the dark sky.  There was the Waterloo Bridge, and if Peggy leaned very far forward she could just see the turrets on top of the Tower.  This was London, certainly, but it was London utterly transformed, the familiar bones wearing a new and alien skin.

This was the first real moment of quiet Peggy had been allowed since this all began in the bunker outside Los Angeles, twelve hours and seventy years ago, and now that she had the opportunity she did her best to try to digest the situation.  The future!  Seventy years was a lifetime – people who’d been small children when she’d left were now on their deathbed.  Most likely anybody she’d ever known was long dead, and from what Zola and Toulouse had said about the SSR and its successor organization SHIELD, there wasn’t even an institution they could go to for help.  A time traveler in the 1940s would have come to the SSR’s attention, to be met with either help or opposition depending on the individual’s agenda.  Who took care of such things in the 2010’s?

“Peggy!” called Toulouse’s voice.

She looked up.  Toulouse was standing in the French doors, waving at her.

“I’m coming!” Peggy said.  She took a couple of deep breaths to compose herself, and then headed back indoors.  She’d had her moment to digest, and now it was time to deal.

Back in the room, Howard was getting out of the shower, and Toulouse was back at her typewriter device, her fingers flying over the keys composing a letter to one of her professors, while at the same time her mouth chattered about their current situation.  “Somebody’s going to collect my things and bring them here,” she said, “so that’s taken care of, and I managed to wear Daddy down.  He’s gonna send Prince to investigate.”

“Prince?” asked Peggy.  Was that the name of a dog?

“Like the Artist,’ said Toulouse with a nod.  “He’s my big brother – my half-brother, to be exact.  His Mum was Daddy’s first wife  Mine was his third.”

“How many has he had?” asked Howard.  For once Peggy was glad he’d said something, because her first question would have been to ask what kind of person names their children Prince and Toulouse.

“Six,” said Toulouse, as if this were quite ordinary.  “Don’t worry, he didn’t behead any of them.  Now,” she went on, “it’s late, so he won’t bother being there until tomorrow.  That means we can get up early, go in, and send you guys back to the 1940s, done!  Then Prince and I can clean up, and Daddy can get another award from the Queen for thwarting a plot against the throne!”  She seemed to think it would be quite simple.

Peggy knew better.  “Once we’re back inside the hotel,” she said to Howard, “can you repeat whatever it is you did in California?”

“I’m not sure what I did in California,” Howard admitted.  “I think there must have been a residual charge in the coils and my touching the wire caused a short circuit.  Once I’ve had a chance to study it, I’ll be able to figure it out.”  He smiled, proud.  “You know me.  The only thing I’m better at than building stuff is figuring out how other people’s stuff works.”

“Then I just hope it’ll be that easy,” said Peggy.  Once they got back, the real work would begin – keeping tabs on Zola, and figuring out what this all had to do with die Glocke.

[mst3kproject]

1109: Yongary: Monster from the Deep

 The first time I saw Yongary was when I was on a Kaiju Eiga binge over Christmas break one year.  It was on YouTube, with the sound removed for copyright infringement, and no subtitles.  At the time, this didn’t bother me much.  I thought I’d seen enough weird monster movies that I could guess what was going on from the visuals.  It turned out I really couldn’t.  Even now that I’ve seen it with sound, I’m still not sure what happened in this movie.

Korea’s top astronaut has just gotten married when he’s called off to a space emergency – somebody is testing bombs in the middle east and they need a guy in space to watch it.  The bombing causes earthquakes that cross the globe until they reach Korea, where the ground cracks open to reveal, what else? An oddly rubbery and humanoid monster!  Yongary proceeds to devastate the land, as oddly rubbery and humanoid monsters do, feeding on oil and taking an occasional nap, until the astronaut’s very much younger brother (I think) Icho and future brother-in-law (again, I think) Ilo discover its one weakness: itching powder.

So yeah, there’s a lot to unpack here.

If Yongary has a visual aesthetic, it’s empty pockets and boundless enthusiasm.  The production appears to have had very little money and they spread it very thin, resulting in effects that are shoddy and unconvincing across the board… and yet, the people who created them went all-out, absolutely determined to wring every last jeon out of their budget.  The monster suit never looks like anything but a monster suit, but they never shy away from showing it.  The model cities are large and elaborate, even as they lack detail or realistic lighting. Shots showing earth from space look like a seventh grade science fair project.  The matte shots are bad.  The itch ray is just light reflected onto things with a mirror.  It all looks terrible, but their hearts were in it.

Unfortunately, not half so much effort appears to have gone into the script, which wanders from character to character in a series of events that are connected only by the monster, and sometimes only barely.  A number of things are set up as if they’re going to be very important and then are simply dropped, leaving the impression that they were only there to fill time.

What, for example, is the point of the space sequence?  They drag the astronaut (whose name I never caught in the movie, and IMDB is no help) away from his honeymoon to observe this nuclear test.  Some kind of failure on the spaceship, perhaps related to said test, puts him in danger but after much worry he reaches the ground safely.  Wow!  Our hero is a great pilot with nerves of steel!  Surely this will be very important later.  Maybe he will be called to do something dangerous to defeat the monster!  Maybe something he saw from space, while he was out of touch with the ground, will be key to saving the day!

Uh, no.  He’s not even in the rest of the movie, really, and we certainly never hear tell of the space program again.  As far as I can tell, the only purpose to any of this was establishing the nuclear test (because everybody knows those create monsters) and then trying to have some tension before Yongary actually emerges.  The whole sequence was filler.

Then there’s the itching ray, which first appears in the hands of little Icho as he plays a prank on the newlyweds.  Exactly why Ilo has invented an itching ray, I don’t know.  Was it intended to do something else and just ended up being itchy?  When Icho swipes it again to use on Yongary, I figured maybe a souped-up itch ray would turn out to be what kills the monster but again, no.  The itching ray doesn’t even set up anything important. I think it’s foreshadowing that itching is Yongary’s weakness, but the ray has nothing to do with the chemical allergy that brings the monster down, besides manifesting a similar symptom.

The fact that itching appears in the movie in more than one context probably makes it a motif.  Why, out of all the possible themes and symbolism you could put in a movie, the makers of Yongary chose itching, I have no idea.  Perhaps it represents something below the surface trying to break free, like the monster itself?  If that’s the case, then it’s fitting that the source of the itching is always externally imposed: the ray and Yongary’s allergy induce itching, and the nuclear test makes the earth ‘itch’ so that Yongary breaks out.  Whether this means anything deeper than that, I honestly cannot say.

Itching brings us to Icho.  I’m pretty sure Icho is the actual main character of this story.  He’s there at the beginning, he’s there at the end, and he’s the one who realizes what the monster’s weakness is.  He even has a bit of an arc, I guess… he’s nothing but an insufferable brat at the beginning of the film, and while he continues to be bratty throughout he does develop a more mature outlook, coming to understand the need for Yongary’s destruction while still feeling sorry for the monster.

Icho is clearly supposed to have some kind of emotional bond with Yongary, but this is completely one-sided and even less justified than Kenny’s supposed friendship with Gamera.  Whereas Gamera saved Kenny from falling to his death, I don’t think Yongary ever even notices Icho – which is probably all for the best, since Icho is doing things like turning off his food supply and zapping him with itching rays.   Icho’s defense of Yongary is also a little more realistic than Kenny’s of Gamera. He never insists that Yongary is good and gentle, only that the monster didn’t mean to hurt anybody.  This is probably true.  Yongary is not presented as a creature with a personality or intentions, he is merely a force of nature, doing what giant rubber monsters do.  He does not seem capable even of understanding that he is causing suffering.

What’s kind of interesting about this is that it makes it clear that Gamera, rather than Godzilla, was the primary inspiration for Yongary.  The monster emerges as a result of a nuclear bombing that is never mentioned again. It eats oil and is strengthened by fire. Annoying little kids like it for no readily apparent reason.  As an attempt to create a Kaiju franchise in 1967, when the genre was already well-established, it was probably inevitable that Yongary would look like a ripoff of something, but the choice of Gamera for a model seems particularly weird when we consider the ending.  At the end of Gamera, the monster was sent to Mars where he would presumably continue to live without bothering humanity.  This is pretty cool and appeals to children.

In Yongary, the monster dies of internal bleeding while Icho watches.  This doesn’t seem to have bothered Icho but it sure disturbed Jonah and the bots, and once I saw it in a context where I understood what was happening, it made my jaw drop, too.  When I think back on the deaths of monsters in Kaiju Eiga, they tend to be fairly quick affairs: in Godzilla, King of the Monsters, the oxygen-destroyer pretty much instantly skeletonizes things.  Even bad-guy monsters tend to die or be driven off in one final blow or finishing move, as when Gamera throws Gaos into the volcano.  When the monsters visibly suffer, like Gamera with the baby Jiger inside him, or Anguirus when Godzilla rips his tongue out, it’s shocking and unpleasant.  Maybe this is because we think of these movies as being for children, or perhaps it’s the unavoidable anthropomorphic shape of the creature suits.  Whatever the reason, Yongary’s death is a major tonal departure and the ‘happy ending’ that follows it makes it even weirder.

I know basically nothing about the geography of Korea, but people who do have apparently written a great deal about how important the landscape is to Yongary.  According to critic Steve Ryfle, Yongary emerges in the northern part of Korea, near where the Korean Armistice Agreement was signed in 1953 – this makes him perhaps symbolic of aggression from the north, marching inexorably down the peninsula towards Seoul.  Korean critic Kim Songho noted that Yongary destroys the old Seoul Capital building, a symbol of the Japanese occupation of Korea before and during World War II (the building was knocked down in the 90s for this reason).

Using your giant monster to make a political statement, particularly an anti-war or anti-colonial one, is nothing new, but I don’t think the makers of Yongary intended a unified one by this.  The two political messages in the landscape seem opposed to each other: one paints Yongary as a semi-foreign force of aggression, the other as a native being destroying a symbol of foreign aggression.  This isn’t a problem for me, the non-Korean viewer, and the two ideas work fine when they’re each considered in isolation, but they do speak to the overall lack of unity in the script.

That lack of unity is probably the biggest single obstacle to enjoying Yongary for what it is, rather than the ironic amusement people like me get out of bad movies.  The jarring ending, the space program that is set up and then not used, and the inconsistent symbolism all make Yongary: Monster from the Deep feel like something assembled from parts rather than being a coherent whole.  All movies are made by committees, but a good movie shouldn’t feel like it was.

[summerb4jc]

A Review (With Spoilers™)!

I read The Bad Beginning for the first time in third grade.

Well, technically my third grade teacher served as my reader, a term which here means “an adult who read The Bad Beginning aloud to the class and then refused to read the second book so that any interested third graders would be forced to seek out the next chapter of the Baudelaire’s unfortunate history on our own.” 

Which I did. 

The End, Book the 13th, came out on Friday the 13th the year I was thirteen, and I’ve read the series through almost every year for the past thirteen years. So while the erroneous story of Veronica, Klyde, and Susie put forth by the Daily Punctilio does not interest me, the plight of Violet, Klaus, and Sunny Baudelaire certainly does.

There are those of you who might recall the dark days of this series, in which a well cast, well costumed, and well filmed adaptation of the first three books was released. (Jim Carry as Olaf! Jude Law as the shadowy silhouette of Lemony Snicket! MERYL STREEP as Aunt Josephine!) An adaptation that, despite its strengths, somehow managed to get the story so very wrong that even unsophisticated, 11 year old me could recognize it as a spectacular disappointment.  (You can read my thoughts and feelings on that here.) 

The final season of Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events premiered on New Year’s Day, and I finished it long before sunset. Now that all the books have been adapted, I am here to lend my thoughts. They are as follows:

Bangin.

This show is bangin.

This whole series has blown me away. This adaptation respects the source material while simultaneously elevating the story as a whole, tying together all the threads that were left somewhat loose in the book. Tiny details and easter eggs are sprinkled throughout that weave the episodes together. Changes were, of course, made to translate the story to screen, but the majority of those changes only strengthened the narrative. This is due in large part to Daniel Handler, the man behind the pen name Lemony Snicket, who actually wrote several episodes. This showed that the series wasn’t just an interpretation of the books, but an expanding of the story.

Some examples: The side plots and flashbacks of VFD to help the audience better understand the shadowy organization and the schism itself, the Hook-Handed Man’s bond with the youngest Baudelaire (making him a more sympathetic character and better explaining his eventual defection from Count Olaf), the introduction of Olivia Caliban, who improved and deepened the character of Madame Lulu, the inclusion of some elements from The Beatrice Letters (Lemony’s speech to Beatrice, the letter from his niece), and the fact that we got to see the events that transpired at the opera La Forza del Destino and that those events were essentially what kicked off the schism. We were also, finally, told what the sugar bowl contained.

We were also given a peek into how and why Lemony Snicket came to investigate the sad case of the Baudelaire orphans, how close he came to intervening at a crucial moment, and how much time has passed since the Baudelaire orphans tale had come to an end. The story looped back around on itself. Lemony Snicket, after many lonely years in many miserable hotels wherein his only companion was his trusty typewriter, no longer has to be alone. After so much time spent searching for the children of the woman he loved he finds another Beatrice, his neice, and has a root beer float with his last remaining family member.

Only one change slightly altered the spirit of the story, and this is the moral quandary the Baudelaire’s find themselves in during the later books starting with their first act of true deception in The Hostile Hospital, stealing Hal’s keys. This is followed by their setting Madam Lulu’s tent on fire in The Carnivorous Carnival, the trapping of Esme Squalor in The Slippery Slope,  Count Olaf getting his hands on the Medusoid Mycelium in The Grim Grotto, the burning of the Hotel Denouement in The Penultimate Peril, and finally, not telling Ishmael about the Medusoid Mycelium in The End.

“Now, Summer,” I hear you thinking, “All those things happened in the show as well.”

And, my astute observer, you are not incorrect. These things do happen in the show, but with less moral responsibility for the Baudelaires.

The stealing of Hal’s keys plays out much the same in both the books and movies, but the true deviation begins with The Carnivorous Carnival. In both, Count Olaf takes Sunny before informing a disguised Violet and Klaus that they must burn down Madame Lulu’s tent if they want to come with him to the Mortmain Mountains.

In the show, they weigh their options, the rights and wrongs, before Count Olaf reenters the tent, lights the torch for them, and literally guides their hands down to ignite The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations.

In the book, however, Violet and Klaus are left with an already lit torch. They deliberate, but when they hear Sunny crying somewhere through the smoke, they toss the torch behind them and leave without looking back. They aren’t guided, they decide. They choose to throw the torch.

Similarly, in The Slippery Slope, the Violet, Klaus, and Quigley spend an entire night digging the ditch in which they plan to trap Esme Squalor, but change their minds and do the noble thing by warning her at the last second. In the show, she falls into a hot tub, and they tie her up? Maybe? She got out very easily, so I couldn’t really tell who had fallen into who’s clutches. In the books, Sunny gives Count Olaf the Medusoid Mycelium, in the show it is Fiona. In the books, Violet gives Carmelita Spats the harpoon gun without knowing if it is the right thing to do. In the show, Frank Denouement assures her that all is well,VFD knows the plan for the harpoon and has taken it into account. In the book, Sunny suggests burning down the hotel, and then they themselves throw the match onto the copy of Odious Lusting After Finance (finance, not fortunes, in the book. I never did pick up on that being O.L.A.F. until the show though). In the show, Olaf takes Sunny’s idea and lights the fire himself.

In the show, the Baudelaires are almost entirely without fault. In the books, the Baudelaires, however justified, perform some morally ambiguous acts. They never want to, and sometimes it seems to be the only choice, but it makes the “people are like chef’s salads” line and the Baudelaire’s guilt at Dewey’s death that much more poignant, because, no matter how justified or how accidental, they did have a hand in villainy. It’s one of the ways the books grow in complexity as the characters and readers themselves grow.

That was my only complaint for the show, in the end. AND I THINK that’s about as coherent I’d like to be about this subject, so enjoy a list of elements I thought were really neat that I don’t want to put in paragraph form.

Jacqueline, who played a rather crucial role in the show but doesn’t show up in the books at all, is revealed to be the Duchess of Winnipeg, who is mentioned quite a few times in several books.

In the second episode of The Penultimate Peril, Violet wears a dark purple dress with a white collar, which is very reminiscent of the dress she wears in the book art.

Ishmael was revealed to be the man who started VFD in the first place, which was neat and made Count Olaf’s mysterious vendetta against him (more or less unexplained in the books) make much more sense.

We get to see the Quagmires reunited

We get to see Fiona and the Hook-Handed Man find their stepfather (Aye!)

The Beatrice Letters came with a poster that showed a shipwrecked sailboat (the Beatrice), implying a dark fate for the Baudelaire’s. HOWEVER, at the very end of the show we hear Beatrice Baudelaire (Snicket’s niece) say that before the Baudelaire’s third trip to Briny Beach, they were accosted by female Finnish pirates. This proves that ONE: they do eventually make it safely to shore, and TWO: Female finnish pirates invented the Devil’s tongue knot, the knot Violet uses to created her grappling hook in the first book, another nice tie-in.

The series captures the feel of the books, the quirky, literary feel of the world Lemony Snicket creates. I am so, so very satisfied with how lovingly these books were adapted for the screen.