#roger's theatre works

[therogerclarkfanclub]

🔹 BEHIND THE SCENES 🔹

ROGER CLARK as Lord Henry in:

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde • Directed by Quin Gordon • Adapted by Michael Reaver

The Picture of Dorian Gray was performed at the Sonnet Repertory Theatre in New York in August 2012

[general-dar-benn]

GALVAN LONDON

✨Liza Velvet Dress In Black

CHRISTIAN LOUBOUTIN

✨Lace Up Kate 85 suede pumps

ROGER VIVIER

✨Viv' Choc Mini Bag in Nappa Leather

COMPLETEDWORKS

✨Pearl and Zirconia Recycled Gold Vermeil Earrings

✨The Time of Wonder, Gold Plated Ring

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 26: Overstimulation - Steve Rogers

Summary: It's the 1940's, and you're a dancer on the infamous USO tour showcasing Captain America. You're due on stage in 5 minutes, but Steve's too busy with his face between your legs.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, begging, exhaustion, innocent!Steve (kinda)

masterlist 📚 

kinktober masterlist😈 

AO3 Link 

“We’re on in 5 minutes! I repeat, 5 minutes. Did you hear Mr Rogers?”

“Hmm? Yeah, 5 minutes, I heard!” Steve’s head perked up from between your legs, wetness coating his lips and chin as he shouted through the door to the stage hand.

Your body collapsed onto the desk, completely worn out. Eyes heavy, struggling to stay open, and lungs burning with how out of breath you were. “Please, I need to go and get ready; the girls will wonder where I am”.

Steve licked his lips and began to spread your thighs again, his hold hard enough to leave bruises behind as you sighed heavily, head falling back against the mirror. “Just one more; I know you can do it, then you’ll feel much better when you’re dancing baby”. His face descended to your cunt, tongue lapping at your already sensitive hole, his nose pushing and stroking against your engorged clit.

Steve had been at it for what felt like hours. You were one of the dancers on his USO tour across America, dancing and singing every night in a new city to sold-out crowds. You watched as the infamous Steve Rogers sold the bonds and punched fake Adolf Hilter in the face for the crowd's entertainment.

The tour had been going on for weeks as the war ravaged worldwide. Steve had kept to himself, appearing to be scared of any female that walked past him, let alone any of the dancers or singers on stage, even though he had hundreds of women ready to throw themselves at him.

You felt bad for him, the big superstar who sat lonely in his room every night, so you worked up the nerve to speak to him one day. He was sweet, attentive, and very innocent, and you quickly drew him out of his comfort zone. A few kisses and cuddles turned into more risque. He was a virgin when you first met him, and you were completely respectful of that, but after a few awkward fumbling, you decided to take charge and show him how to move, touch and feel, pleasuring both him and you.

The first time Steve made you cum, it was like a light bulb switched in his brain. He was obsessed. The more you taught him about your body, the more he would want to hear your sweet melodic sighs of euphoria, to the point that it was starting to interfere with your work.

Which brings you to today. You’d visited him in his little dressing room at the back of the theatre, intending to get his lunch and ended with your panties on the floor and skirt bunched around the waist and legs over his shoulders as he ate you out to perfection. Every suck and lick had your back bowing and fingers trembling to cover your mouth to stop those outside the door from hearing your multiple orgasms.

Your entire body felt like it was burning from the inside out. You were stuck between being wholly exhausted and wanting the moment never to end. Due to past experiences, you knew that Steve’s stamina was devastatingly good due to the super serum. Once, you’d fucked all night, and you couldn’t walk the following day and had to call in sick to the show, which Steve was pink-cheeked and apologetic for, forgetting just how fragile you were compared to him.

You were getting close to that point again, attempting to push against his shoulders weakly, knowing you should stop but not wanting him to because you were so close to your next orgasm. You weren’t sure how many you’d had; all you were aware of was that your pussy was plump from all the stimulation, your clit was throbbing to the point that Steve could feel your heartbeat against his tongue, and your hole ached from the number of times it had clenched and tightened.

“Just one more”, Steve had repeated so many times that you could hear him saying it in your lucid mind. Slumping back against the mirror, the pleasure built, his tongue lapping your juices and stroking your clit, plunging and twitching in your pussy as he held you down on his desk.

The waves of the orgasms throbbed through your entire body, your hands pulling at his hair to move him away from your pussy as you sat up, losing control for a second as your body tried to process the euphoria.

“You’re so beautiful, Doll. You’ve done so well for me”, Steve encouraged, his hands massaging your aching thighs as you tried to catch your breath. As the pulses in your cunt calmed, you leaned forward until your head rested against his shoulder, his arms moving around your hips as he cradled you close.

“I might need to cancel the show”, you say, trying to wiggle your toes but finding your limbs were slow in response.

Steve moved back slightly to look at your flushed face, “You know you can’t do that, Baby. You’re on your last warning. Sorry, I’ll try to stop doing this before shows; sometimes I just can’t help myself.”. He pecks your lips softly, and you lean into the touch and try to slow your breathing to calm your body.

A knock at the door disrupts the embrace, “We need you at the stage door in 1 minute!” The stagehand shouts through the door, and you refrain from groaning.

“Could you help me get dressed, please?”

“Of course!” Steve was as sweet as ever, finding your panties and shorts for your costume and helping to pull them back onto your trembling legs. When you tried to stand and straighten your skirt and top, your knees buckled, but thankfully, he caught you, holding you for a couple of seconds until you found your strength.

Looking in the mirror, you tried not to cringe at the streaks you’d left behind on the surface, and then there was your appearance, completely glazed-over expression, and hair a mess, but you didn’t have time to sort either. Rushing to the door, you cringed internally and how sensitive you felt between your legs and how uncomfortable it was to walk with your pussy slightly swollen.

Steve was behind you, opening the door to allow you to step out and rush to the curtain. Making sure no one else was around, you turned and leaned up to kiss him sweetly, “Break a leg.” you wished him luck before running to join the others, who all gave you exacerbated looks for nearly being late.

The show was nearly a disaster; your legs became heavy halfway through from exhaustion, but thankfully, Steve caught you, somehow managing to play it off as part of the play, catching the damsel before continuing with the show.

Your entire body was warm to the touch, and the bright overhead lights only worsened it. As you danced across the stage, you became increasingly more aware that your panties were drenched, your pussy still flowing with juices, to the point that you were worried it had leaked through your shorts for the audience to see.

By the end, your cheeks ached from fake smiling, and the muscles in your legs were burning to the point that you collapsed on the stairs as you exited the stage. You were exhausted, eyes hardly open as one of the girls asked if you were okay.

“Sweetheart? Are you coming down with something?” the show manager asked, but you waved everyone away.

“I’m fine; I just need to sleep”, you explained whilst thanking one of the other girls who had returned with a glass of water.

“What’s going on? Hey, are you okay?” Steve asked, pushing his way through the crowd. Your body heated even more as Steve’s eyes widened briefly before he tried to mask his reaction. It was evident in your contract that you were not allowed to form intimate relationships with the show's star, which of course was Steve, so whatever it was that you had with Steve had to stay hidden, even though you were sure everyone suspected it.

“Everything’s fine, Mr Rogers, she’s just cooling off”, the manager attempted to move his prize possession away, not wanting him to worry about any of the girls and push him back to his awaiting taxi.

“She doesn’t look fine; why don’t I take her to a doctor?” Steve suggested, lowering himself so that you were both eye to eye.

“She doesn’t need a doctor; she’s fine, aren’t you, sweetheart?” the manager tried to reassure, but you were too tired even to respond.

“Ok, let me rephrase this, I’m going to take her to a Doctor, now move out of my way”, Steve demanded, actually standing up to the manager for once as he slid one arm under your knee and the other supporting your back as he lifted you, your head rolling onto his shoulder.

You relaxed into the hold, the sway of it helping to lull you into a half-asleep state. Only when the two of you were alone in the taxi did you decide to speak finally. “I don’t need a doctor, I just need to sleep”.

“I know, baby. I just wanted to get you away from everyone. I’m sorry for going so hard earlier, and I’ll try and calm it down from now on”, Steve apologised, holding your body close to his as the taxi began to move towards the motel you were all staying at.

You grinned, tilting your face towards his, “I didn’t say you had to stop, Steve”.

His eyes flicked between your lips and eyes, a small smile forming on his handsome face. Giving you a quick kiss on your temple, the two of you relaxed into the embrace as you quietly fell asleep.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Guileless

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, dejection, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: The reader attempts to move past her ruination, but is reminded of her tarnish conscience at every turn. (Regency AU, tall!reader)

Masterlist

Character: Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson

Note: thanks to those who waited on this one!.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love coffee and that’s a lot and probably unhealthy. Take care. 💖

It should be the happiest time in your life. You should be elated, and yet, as ever it is, every victory precedes a treacherous defeat. A proposal one day, and despair the next. That nipping of doom in your gut, that ever present doubt, is made certain by the passage of time. It has been much too long. 

You sit in the pews, throat tight as you keep your chin locked. You breathe slowly, as if too sudden an intake might unleash the tempest brewing inside of you. It is more than nerves, you know it, that sicken you so. You should be happy for your pending nuptials but you are only horrified at the thought. 

The bishop reads out the banns before the rows; the first for yourself, the third for your sister. She will be permitted to wed and your mother has presided over much of planning already. You dip your head as your name rings out beside Lord Odinson’s and you swallow back a swell of bile. You’ve been gulping down your own stomach for much of the morning, ever since you caught a whiff of pickled shallots in passing the kitchens. 

You push your head up and your hand down to your lap, knowing you will be observed. You must at least look certain of your fate. You must sit proud for the engagement all would put into question. For the time until it shall all dissolve, you must play your part. 

You can barely keep from wilting where you are. A prudent woman might bite her tongue. She may commit to the theatre of it all. She might lie and get away with the folly. You glance over at Lord Odinson, just across the aisle, and you know you cannot. It isn’t one lie, it’s a lifetimes’ worth of betrayal. 

Yet how should you tell it? It isn’t only him who must know. Your father would need good reason why you’d rather the convent to a proper marriage. You will be ruined but you could not put that stain upon the only person who was ever kind to you. Lord Odinson deserves an honest wife and a child of his own. 

Your insides sour and you nearly spasm as you fight the tide of nausea, brought upon by more than your forsaken condition. Your eyes trail away from your betrothed to another man bound in promise. Lord Rogers sits with your sister, as ever, and she leans on him shamelessly, even beneath the Lord’s rafters. 

She would deny it. She would laugh in your face should you ever reveal the absolute truth. No, you must confess the sin as your own and that alone. You will not name the culprit for they would they never believe you and he would never admit it himself. 

Yet, you know that the Duke Rogers will ever be triumphant in knowing that he has brought the monstrous giant to her knees. You are his Goliath, the vile retched creature he has slain in his valour. He will be hero and you be the villain. 

💟

You hand the letter to the carrier just before noon. You don’t expect an audience to be granted until the next morning at earliest. Lord Odinson is a busy man; an ambassador in much demand between the house and society. Even his betrothed must request his presence. 

The cart rattles through the gates and you watch it fade off into the grim horizon. The winter bites in the air, adding to the chill in your bones. That coldness that freeze over your heart. You must be strong now, as strong as the valkyrie he misnamed you as. 

When you go to Lord Odinson, you will bring the crown to him. You will hand it back and admit your tainted stature to him. You will show him how truly small you are.  

At least, that is what you intend. You may prove yourself weak as ever. However it should unfold, this engagement cannot persist. 

“A day! A day and I shall call you husband,” Cora’s shrill tone greets you as you come through the front doors. She is in the sitting room with Lord Rogers. Your mother continues to fawn over the last-minute details for their wedding. “Isn’t it very exciting, my lord?” 

“And I shall call you wife.” 

“And Duchess,” she preens with a trilling laugh, “oh, how elaborate I shall be.” 

“My Athena,” Rogers drones back, “my goddess, my beloved.” 

“Oh, how darling,” your mother preens over them, “it shall be resplendent. I’ve made certain the cake will be exactly as you like it, dearie. The cook has even procured some citrus for the lemonade.” 

The mention of lemonade makes you shrivel. You recall the sunny day when Lord Rogers spoke to you over a weeping beverage. As you fell for that virulent charm. And all that came after. 

You peer at the grim windows and frown. How everything does change so quickly. Happiness is fleeting and yet disappointment comes as a chronic plight. You will never know a day without shame. 

You flit off without notice. Your heart rents at the thought that you will not have the same fervour. You will not sit and plan your own wedding with Lord Odinson. All your fanciful dreams have evaporated. It is one thing to put a mask on, to pretend as virgin, but you could never foist a bastard upon the kind man who has shown you a taste happiness. You will be certain to thank him for all he’s done but you will not spit in his face. 

As you get to the bedroom doors, your stomach churns violently and you burst through, not stopping as you rush to the pot and fall to your knees. You wretch into it as your body contracts painfully. You empty your stomach until you are panting and hollow. 

“Sister,” Alina startles you as she rolls to the edge of the bed, a novel in hand, “is it a winter ague?” 

“I...” you shakily wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, “I believe so.” 

That lie alone singes your tongue like a brand. Your eyes well with tears and you flick them away with your lashes. You sit back on your heels and heave out a pungent breath. 

“Oh, how awful, and just before the wedding,” she sits up and shuts the novel. “Let us pray it passes quickly. You needn’t delay your own nuptials.” 

“Mm, no, that wouldn’t be...” you let the sentence tail off and you stand, taking the pot with you, “I’ll dump it before it can stink.” 

“If you are unwell, call for the maid.” 

“No, it is fine,” you insist, “I didn’t mean to disturb your reading.” 

“You didn’t,” she insists. “What’s the matter, sissie? You hardly seem a lady about to marry.” 

“I...” you croak, “it is the ague, that’s all.” 

“Mm, perhaps Lord Odinson might offer some comfort should it get any worse. He does seem the character,” she offers. 

“Or perhaps he is better to stay away. You as well, should it pass onto anyone else,” you hold the pot to your stomach and turn, carrying it out without another word. Albina huffs and falls back onto the bed, the flutter of pages following shortly after. 

You descend and keep along the wall, passing through the kitchens and beyond the servants’ quarters to the rear of the manse. You come out into the crisp air and overturn the pot well away from the house. A wave of dizziness washes over you, silver spots dotting your vision. Perhaps it is an ague. Oh how you wish it were. 

You set the pot down as you grasp at some stability. You stand and wipe your clammy forehead. Your hand drifts down to your bodice and you let it venture further. You try to feel your stomach through the layers. It is tauter than it once was but no rounder. Not as yet. 

You sit on a low stump, the seat the stabler uses to shoe the horses. You let the frigid air seep through your dress and stare at the grey clouds that blot out the sun. You hold your chin, elbows on your legs, hunched over as you let the stagnancy of that moment swallow you. 

For a moment, you believe that you can make time stand still. That you might stretch on this fantasy a little longer. That a single second might be spent into an eternity. You shake your head and close your eyes as your cheeks tingle with the cold. 

You try to picture the convent. You imagine dark halls and darker mornings. Prayers and repentance filling the days and keeping wakeless the nights. Would the nuns even accept a ruined soul like yours? 

“Miss,” Mary, the broom girl, stands along the path back to the house, “you have a caller.” 

You sit up and blink, a caller? How long have you been there? You shiver and rise, towering over the young servant like the mottled forest creature of wives tales. You nod and stride past her, rubbing your arms to warm yourself as you return to the house. 

It cannot be him. Not already. You’re not prepared. It has been all you can think of and yet you are wholly unready for it. 

You carry on inside and come into the main hall. Lord Odinson waits, your mother chittering at his elbow as Lord Rogers and Cora stand in the archway to the west wing. 

“You will be at the wedding tomorrow? We did not receive your response sir,” your mother pleads as she tugs his sleeve. 

“Ah, yes, did I not give it?” Odinson says coolly, “certainly I will come with some Asgardian ale to christen the blissful newlyweds.” 

“And we thank you for such generosity,” Cora coos. 

“I’m certain refreshments will be plenty,” Lord Rogers deflects. 

“Ah,” Lord Odinson’s attention is drawn by your emergence from behind the staircase, “my valkyrie, you called for me and I am here.” 

“I... you have come so... swiftly,” you remark, your voice teetering. 

“Of course,” he assures as he crosses the polished floor, “as ever I will for my beloved.” He approaches and takes your hands in his, kissing your knuckles, “you are like ice,” he feels your hands and covers them with his gloved ones, “are you ill?” 

“No, uh, yes, no,” you stammer, “sir, I only meant... I only thought to speak with you.” 

“I do cherish the tenor of your sweet voice, lady, I would ride so fast as I might to hear it,” he assures. 

“You rode... all this way, my lord?” 

“I do prefer to be in a saddle,” he affirms, “so, shall we converse? Perhaps we might have some tea to warm you, my valkyrie.” 

“Please,” you cringe, wishing he would quit his honeyed words, “I do not require it. Perhaps somewhere private...” 

“With chaperone of course,” your mother insists. You blanch but do your best not to show your unease. “Pollo! Pollo!” She claps, “forgive me I will not be able to do so myself as I have much to attend to for the morrow, but we have a groom here... Pollo!” 

She cries out and the dark-haired man appears. The old groom has a round belly and wine-reddened cheeks. He doesn’t speak more than Italian but he is steadfast in his service. Your mother bids him, pointing at you, then shoos him with a flick of her fingers. 

He shrugs and bows his head, nearing you and the duke. You peer over at your sister and Lord Rogers as they watch. The former stares at your betrothed as he clings still to your hands and the latter narrows his eyes in your direction. Just the sight of him makes you even more sick than before. Of any, he cannot know though you expect should Cora find out, it will not be a secret. 

“The sun room, perhaps,” Odinson suggests. 

“As you wish,” you agree. 

He offers his arms and you accept it. He guides you along, well-acquainted to the halls already, and takes you around to the sun room. The curtains are closed and the space is dim with the shadow of winter. The groom claims the armchair in the corner, making it groan with his weight, as another servant follows to light a lamp and put flint to the fireplace. 

When all is lit, you detach from Odinson and retreat from him. You mash your hands together and sway, spinning back to face him as he watches you intently. He seems unbothered by the spontaneity of it all. 

“You missed me? I have longed to see you again,” he beams. 

“Please,” you show your palms, “please, I... we must speak.” 

“Of? Name anything and it shall be yours. As my wife, you will never want for anything, valkyrie.” 

You wince as if struck. You drop your arms and your head. You stalk over to the bench that looks toward the window and sit, slumped forward as you shake your head. He approaches as he lets out a long exhale. He sits beside you. 

“Something is amiss. Forgive me for making light, I came upon mistaken sentiment,” his voice is grave, “you have something to say and I must listen. As ever, I am the storm but these winds have calmed.” 

You rock and another hot tinge settles behind your eyes. You roll them up and sit straight. You crane to see over your shoulder. Rollo’s eyes are closed as he’s halfway to sleeping. It is propriety alone that has him sat in that chair. 

You look ahead once more, “I cannot marry you.” 

He sucks in air and snorts, “what?” 

“I cannot—it cannot—I'm sorry, Lord Odinson.” 

“Why ever should you change your mind? The banns are read and will be again,” he touches your arm and you shy away. 

“You deserve... better.” 

“I deserve you,” he insists. 

“Please, sir, let me find the words,” you beg touch your temples as you try to rein in your wits. You close your eyes and shudder. 

“You are cold still, perhaps you might move closer to the fire--” 

“It hardly matters,” you lower your hands and clutch them tight.  

You make yourself look at him. You must. He warrants at least the truth told to his face and not the floor. His blue eyes twinkle as his usually bright face is stern. 

“I am...” you take a breath and struggle to let it back out as the words burn the tip of your tongue, “I... am with... child.” 

You choke out the last word and nearly faint. You stare at him, waiting for him to explode. You mightn’t even have a say in who knows should he speak too loudly. His eyes search yours and he blinks. He turns his face down and looks at his lap, gripping his thighs as he nods and hums. 

“That’s wonderful,” he says. 

“Pardon?” 

“Yes, it’s wonderful. We’ll have a child.” 

“Sir, I—we haven’t... it is another man’s,” you feel as if you shouldn’t have to explain this. 

“Why certainly he put it there, yes, but I would claim it,” he faces you again. 

Your eyes round, “why should you do that? That isn’t... proper. I am not proper, sir. I am telling you that I have been... corrupted. I should never have said yes.” 

“But you did.” 

“You needn’t-- it isn’t fair.” 

“Perhaps it isn’t fair that you should have to carry the cad’s seed,” he agrees, “for any many who would lay with a lady and not seek her hand, well, he can be nothing else.” 

You’re quiet as disbelief clouds around you. He can’t possibly mean it. He must be in shock. Certainly, he wouldn’t just accept another’s child. 

“Sir, you shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t do this. I am releasing you.” 

“I don’t want to be released,” he says sullenly. 

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask. 

“I meant all I said to you, from the first breath, my valkyrie,” he proclaims. “And I mean it still.” 

“But, sir, you cannot—I cannot live with myself--” 

“You are honourable. Honest. You have told me this when you did not need to. When you could’ve claimed an early birth, when you could have kept quiet, yet you did not. That says more than a fleeting tryst. For that’s what it was, yes? Or do you lay with this man still?” 

You shake your head and look down at your fingers as you twists them until they hurt, “just once. Only once. It was... unplanned. It wasn’t...” your voice cracks. 

His chest inflates with a sonorous breath, “did you want it?” 

“Pardon?” You murmur. 

“Unplanned... did you... was it... your tryst, was it willing?” 

You put your fist to your mouth and sob. You can’t say it. You won’t. You replay it in your head every night and you think of how you told him to stop and yet you did not stop him. You should have fought more. You should have screamed. 

“I didn’t make him stop,” you eke around your hand. 

“Make him? Did you ask him to begin?” 

“Please, sir, I cannot—please just end this and I will ask my father for the convent once more. I cannot bring this shame on you.” 

“Shame? Shame is the man, if I should call him that, who has done this,” he snarls and reaches for you, taking your hand. “I swore you would be my wife and I will hold to that. As you swore to be my wife. We will see the altar together. As one.” 

“You do not have to--” 

“I want to,” he growls and you look up at his angry face. You’ve never seen such fury in him. “I have never done anything but by my own whim and will not change that now.” 

“You are too nice, sir. Too nice, I cannot ask it--” 

“Who?” He sneers. 

“Sir?” 

“Who has done this to you?” 

“I cannot--” 

“I should know.” 

“No, please, I wouldn’t-- it would be my ruin--” 

“No, it would be his and you protect him still, so tell me.” 

“No, no I will not. That I cannot tell you, sir. To say it would defeat me completely.” 

He sighs into a snarls and lowers his chin. He sounds like a simmering bull, readying for the charge. You tug on your hand but he will not release you. You relent and let him cling to you. 

Silence, suffocating and still.  

“My brother was an orphan. We took him in when he was young. He is a duke, same as me, now,” he declares as he squares his posture. “You wouldn’t know the difference. And I won’t. Not between this child and our next.” 

“Sir, surely--” 

“We are to have a child,” he says, “that is happy news and I thank you for bringing me here to hear it.” He pets your hand and leans his arm against yours. He brings your fingers up to your mouth and kisses them, “one day, I will know who the culprit is and on that, I will surely split his skull. Not for his bastard, for that child has no sin, but for your honour, lady. For my wife’s honour.” 

💟

Cora’s wedding to Lord Rogers culminates in a grand luncheon. The bride is a beautiful mist of tears as she accepts the well wishes of her guests. She basks in the attention as you gladly languish in the shadows. 

Despite Lord Odinson’s unexpected and reassuring reaction, you’re still uncertain. You don’t know if he’s keeping a good face on until he knows how to act, perhaps renegs his grace, or if you might come to pay for your discretion later in your union. You’re prepared to meet your atonement, however it comes. 

As you sit for the meal, the chair beside you is claimed almost at once. Your betrothed has appeared throughout the event but you’ve hardly been at his side. Each time you see him, his eyes skim the crowd as if he can see right through every one of them. Yet, when he looks at you, you feel only warmth. You don’t understand how he can look at you as such. 

“How do you fare, today, my valkyrie?” He asks as he straightens his cravat, “you look well.” 

“Good, I think.” 

“Glad to hear it,” he raises his glass for a servant to fill it with sherry. You opt for lemon water, as much as your tumultuous stomach can handle. 

“I thought we might have our own reception at Nine Pillars,” he suggests. 

“I would like that,” you agree, your eyes drifting beyond him, to your father’s gardens, where... “whatever you may offer, I will be grateful for.” 

“Mighty valkyrie, full of grace,” he praises and reaches for a platter, “ooh, they have some sweet ham here with pineapple.” 

He takes a helping and puts it on your plate. You smell the tangy fruit and the underline savoury waft of the meat. You lurch and grasp the edge of the table. You give a panicked look to Odinson as he peers down at the food. He switches your plates out swiftly. 

“Tell me, what are you in the mind for then?” He leans in so his arm touches yours as you sip from the lemon water to quell your stomach. “Valkyrie, give me your command and I will obey.” 

You give him a coy grin, “you can be so silly.” 

“Silly. Mad. All for love,” he assures you.  

“Is their anything dry?” You ask, “bread, perhaps.” 

“Sourdough,” he reaches to take the basket as others help themselves to the spread. 

“I’ll have some of that.” 

“With marmalade?” He offers.  

“No,” your face pinches at the thought, “no, bread will do.” 

You blink and shake of another tide of sickness. As you do, your eyes meet another pair further down the table, amid the rabble of voices. Lord Rogers tilts his head as Cora tugs on his sleeve and giggles up at the couple behind them. He hardly seems to notice as he stares you down. 

You go rigid and quickly look away. You touch Odinson’s arm to keep from panicking. He looks at you, then down the table. He doesn’t say anything, merely carves off a chunk of bread for you. 

You pick away at the hard crust and the dry spongey inside. You take small bites, cautious of upsetting your volatile stomach. The afternoon wears on, course after course, and you avoid those dishes which threaten to overthrow your restraint. 

At last, the cake is serves, a tiered sponge with cream and fruit and candied sugar spun in a facsimile fountain atop it. It’s splended and beautiful. The couple are served first as they smiles in delight. The doling out of servings takes some time as guests wait patiently for their turn and the cake is pushed on a cart from chair to chair. 

When it comes your turn, your name rises over the crowd. You sit up and glance over, relieved at least not to watch the layers of custard and cake hit your plate. Lord Rogers has his hand on the back of his wife’s chair. 

“And how do you like the dessert? I believe you’ve been saving space for it all day, eh?” He chirps. 

You angle your head in confusion. You look down then at Odinson who sits a little taller as he leans forward. 

“You’ve hardly indulged, so I hope you might show your support and delight in this delectable dessert,” Rogers taunts. “A wedding is no place for a sour face.” 

Your lips part. You’re stunned. How could he be so bold as to call you out? Among all his guests and he must torment you. Was one night not enough. Your whole life as his violation thrives within your womb. Lord Odinson subtly touches your elbows. 

“I am most happy for you and my sister,” you rebuff, “and you are correct, I’ve been in much anticipation for dessert.” 

You take your fork and scoop up a heaping mouthful. You smile at it even as your insides rage. You make yourself taste it. It’s so sweet and smooth and wonderful, but your stomach mulches as if it is rubbish. Your cheeks tremble and you swallow, nearly gagging. 

“To you, sir, and my sister, Cora, I wish a happy marriage,” you force out as you hide your mouth behind a handkerchief. 

“To the happy couple,” Lord Odinson raises his glass and the table erupts, at once, the attention shifted back to them. 

You brace his arm and squeeze. You fight but you cannot withhold the uproar within. You stand and rush away, frantically searching for somewhere to hide and spew your guts. 

💟

The days overcome your doubts. The weeks come with more affectations; your sickness ebbs and flows and the temperature feels at times hotter then colder, swaying back forth, while some moments you spend with a throbbing head and pulsing feet. The most obvious symptom of your condition is the tightness of your stay. Soon, you will be showing more than you like, but for now, loosened laces can ease your discomfort. 

Your wedding day fast approaches. Time does seem to defy any human whim. You wish it would slow so you could catch your breath. Much like your husband-to-be who has yet to falter in his affections. 

You sit before the mirror with the grown of silver petals in your lap. There is one still bent from Cora’s envy but you will keep it to the back of your head. You will wear it as proudly as that night Lord Odinson gifted it to you. You hope for the day you might both forget all else. 

If it is to be. If he is at the altar waiting still. 

Albina and Hannah take the crown from you and secure it among your styled locks. Albina smiles at your reflection as Hannah jabs you with a pin. You nervously wring your hands as you admire the lavender shade of your gown. You wish you’d had more of it, that you hadn’t needed to trim it in ivory to make up for your height. Still, it is beautiful and the nicest dress you’ve ever worn. 

“Are you nervous?” Albina asks. 

“Suppose,” you admit and lift your chin, “very, truly.” Though not for the reason she might think. 

“Lord Odinson is kind. He should be gentle,” Hannah says. 

Your cheeks tinge at her suggestion, “sister.” 

“Well, it is what we are all thinking, isn’t it?” She shrugs. 

“I hope I do not find a husband so soon,” Albina adds, “I would like to enjoy my books a little longer.” 

“You might take on the spinster’s mantel then,” Hannah snipes. 

“It shouldn’t be so bad,” you murmur. “Every woman must do it. Eventually. It cannot be so horrible.” 

You lower your head again, trying to hide the emotion battling in your chest. It was bad, that first time. Lord Rogers hadn’t been kind at all. Would Lord Odinson be any different? For Rogers seemed kind at first glance only to be cruel upon touch. 

What if you husband did not want to meet his duty? What if he could not knowing you had lain with another? You would not blame him and without consummation, he might still turn you away. 

“Cora said it was more painful than anything she’s ever felt,” Hannah undercuts your dread. “Though she still loves her husband well.” 

“You shouldn’t speak of that,” you gird. 

“Why not? Won’t you tell us how it is so we may be ready?” She challenges. 

“I... I... It’s rather strange to speak of it.” 

“You are strange,” Hannah retorts with a huff. 

“But pretty,” Albina chimes, “look at you, sissie. You truly look like a queen in that crown.” 

You meet the gaze of your reflection. You do look better than you ever have before. You wonder if they notice the new fullness in your cheeks. If they do, they don’t mention it. You take a deep breath. 

“I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer,” you stand.  

If you wait any longer, you might lose your nerve. 

The bishop waits in the grand hall of Nine Pillars as you emerge from the rooms allotted for your preparations. The crowd stands among the columns and hushes as you appear at the end of the hall. You face the clergy man and for an instant, your heart dangles precariously, ready to plummet.  

Where is Lord Odinson? 

His golden head pops up beside the bishop and he fixes the flower tucked into his lapel. His long blond hair is draw back as a scarlet bow holds it back, its ears peeking out behind his nape. He is smiling as he pauses and his eyes meet yours across the space. 

You can see even from there how his features slacken and for a moment, you are breathless. He looks as stricken. You put one foot down and let your long legs carry you. 

All your doubts float away. The faces around you haze together and the world crumbles to dust. It's only you and that man.  

💟

The ceremony gives way to a soiree, bodies clustered together, partners dancing, and you among them. Your husband, a husband, has your hand in his as he leads you in the steps. This man, this wonderful forgiving man you vowed yourself too nearly sweeps you off your feet, a sensation you've never known before. 

Your cheer blooms from you as his cheeks flush in his excess. He barely pauses to receive kind words from his guest. His elation is contagious. It gives no way to your fears. 

"Do you know what I thought upon the altar, beautiful valkyrie," he purrs, "I nearly fell upon my knees even." 

"What?" You smile, glowing up at him. 

"That the gods did bless me. That you must be sent from them, a gift to me, mere mortal." 

You can't help but pat his chest, "you flatter." 

"You are too modest," he guides you along, "you are a statue come too life, art in the flesh." 

"My husband... you words are too sweet." 

"I know, I know, the wedding night is still ahead of us, I do run too fast," he chuckles, "but how can I help the anticipation? 

Your lashes flick and giggle, "husband." 

"That word has never sounded sweeter," he grins, "but a sweeter noise might be my own name. Say it for me, valkyrie." 

Your cheeks burn hot, "Thor?" 

"Delicious," he growls nearly baring his teeth, "and I shall savour every sound you make. Every moan and mewl. Every breath and laugh. Just as every part of you." 

It's too good to be true. You deign to let yourself feel it all but you must. If even only for tonight. If only for the next moment. You will have a morsel of happiness if it's all you have to chew on for the rest of your life. 

💟

The night wears on and so do you. Your feet ache, as does most of you, and your voice is raw from laughing and talking. It is the first that you ever spent an event not along the wall or hiding in some shadow. It is a night all your own, or so your husband has made it feel. 

Yet, he does not tire. Not as quickly. As he booms and bawls to the amusement of all, you cling to his arm and repress a yawn. You will not spoil his fun, you will persist. 

Still, you cannot ignore all urges of your humanity. You press a hand to his sleeve and excuse yourself, promising to return. Your husband pauses to bid you not be long and you're further abashed at his attention. 

You flit off to find the privy. You've been several times over the day. Your bladder swells no matter how little you drink. As you progress, you find your body is contradictory to your mind. 

You venture down the corridor and sweep into the room. Once relieved, you emerge feeling lighter but no less tired. The silent desolation of the corridor rather makes your exhaustion all the more potent. 

You turn towards the statue of a warrior, you recognise it, it is the means by which you've found your way. Before you can pass it, a figure appears from behind it and you falter in your slippers. 

You gasp and ball your hands, the man before you sending a ripple of horror through you as he smirks at your surprise. Lord Rogers' cheek dimples as he quorks his head like a cynical crow. 

"You are ever a creature of urges," he muses, "fluttering back and forth as a skittish bird." 

"My lord, I... what is the meaning--" 

"I'm afraid we've not had much of a chance to speak, have we? The blushing bride is much a titter," he chortles, "she has the gull to giggle like a maiden, even." 

"Lord Rogers," you utter, appalled. 

"But the sway of her hips do betray her true nature. That which is within her," he sneers, "as does the curdling of her face over any dish that tickles her nose." 

"Sir, I know not what you mean--" 

"I should laugh truly, to know that another will raise my bastard," he taunts, "that it is him, does entertain me more." He takes a step forward and you back, "so you will be certain to lay with him this night so he may believe he has vigour." He grabs your arms before you can elude him, "you will think of me, won't you, Athena, my fallen goddess? Of how I desecrated your--" 

Suddenly, you are staggered. Lord Rogers is swung backward and flung into the statue. There's a roar, tha same noise you would expect of a charging bear, and the flash of scarlet. You watch paralysed as Thor grabs Lord Rogers by his jacket and spins him, throwing him into the other wall. 

The smaller of the men, though they are both built well, slides to one knee, his hand on the plaster. The other is quick, wasting not a second before aims a foot into Rogers' stomach. The duke falls backward and is at once straddled beneath the larger. 

Thor lays blows upon the other man, hailing down on him like the tempest he claims himself. Your fear overflows and you push through the thick waves. You come forward numbly and pull your husband by the back of his collar.  

"Please sir, unhand him." 

"You would defend this animal!" He wails down another fist and growls. 

"No, no, I would not spare him but I would... I would have my husband not take me to my wedding night with bloodied knuckles. Thor," you pet the back of his head, "let this be a happy day. Please." 

He sits back on his heels and puffs out. He looks back at you as you step away. You put your hand to your middle.  

"Husband?" 

He snarls and spits on Lord Rogers, standing with a huff. You reach for his hand and he takes it. He squeezes as he sends one last kick of his toe to the man on the floor. 

"Let me save my strength for you, wife. I certainly would need it." 

[fsugirl1]

Hey babe I’m just boarding the jet should be home in a few hours how’s your day? 😘

Hi beautiful day’s been great worked out took Noon for a long walk had a nap headed to the theatre now. How was your day? 😘 🤗 😘

Nothing major, just played tennis with ROGER FEDERER Nbd 😱

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with Backstage (2024)

Jonathan Bailey is still marinating in his thoughts, andthey taste pretty sweet. Top notes of red wine, he says. 

These are busy times for the witty British heartthrob. He’s speaking over Zoom from Malta, where he’s filming the next “Jurassic World” installment. And two days prior, he received his first Emmy nomination for his supporting turn on Showtime’s “Fellow Travelers.” 

What’s lingering in Bailey’s mind after reaching such a huge milestone? “The nature of the story, and how that story’s come to be told,” he says of Ron Nyswaner’s limited series, a decades-spanning gay drama that’s chock-full of steamy sex scenes. For him, the Emmy nod is “an acknowledgment of [the show] meaning something much bigger.” 

The 36-year-old actor radiates humility and surges with pride for his collaborators; “Fellow Travelers” also picked up nominations for lead actor Matt Bomer and for Nyswaner’s writing. Bailey believes the fact that executive producer Robbie Rogers was able to get the project on television at all is a “brilliant signifier” of changing times. He feels lucky to have been the right person for the job. And after a couple of decades in the industry, the actor’s star is about to go supernova. 

Childhood stage work and gigs on 2000s teen TV shows led to roles on acclaimed series like ITV’s “Broadchurch” and Channel 4’s “Crashing.” He nabbed an Olivier in 2019 for his performance in Marianne Elliott’s West End revival of “Company.” Households on the other side of the Atlantic learned his name in 2020 when he courted lockdown audiences as Anthony, the strident head of the titular family on Netflix’s period-romance smash “Bridgerton.” 

Then came the game-changing “Fellow Travelers.” Bailey plays the idealistic Tim Laughlin, a closeted congressional staffer who pursues a clandestine relationship with another man amid the witch hunts of McCarthy-era Washington. The actor is keeping up that momentum in the coming months with part one of Jon M. Chu’s highly anticipated film adaptation of the Broadway musical “Wicked” (out Nov. 22), followed by the fourth “Jurassic World” in 2025. 

“Fellow Travelers” is a fitting inflection point for Bailey, considering it reflects aspects of his own gay identity. Tim’s story also illuminates a thread connecting the actor’s work, both in and out of character: always embracing the truth, shame be damned. 

Born in Wallingford, England, Bailey made a beeline for the arts as a kid when he began studying music and ballet. After getting a taste of performing at a young age, he secured an agent when he was a teenager. Even now, he feels the sense of joy and wonder he discovered in those early days. 

He chose not to attend drama school, instead throwing himself into professional theater, where he encountered the performance process in its most essential form. “You start with your own instincts, and then you share with others in the room in real time,” Bailey says. “You academically approach text, then you emotionally explore it. Then, you physically put it on its feet.”

Theater taught him to be observant. In rehearsals, he witnessed actors being brilliant and bold, but also making crucial mistakes. Weeks of rehearsing helped him learn how to spend time with a character as he watched his castmates play against type and expand themselves through performance. Those lessons both tested and encouraged him, and they’ve carried him throughout his career. 

Since then, Bailey has gotten the chance to see plenty of giants at work. He reverently discusses performing Stephen Sondheim’s music alongside Patti LuPone in “Company” and reciting Shakespeare opposite Ian McKellen in the Chichester Festival Theatre’s 2017 production of “King Lear.” 

His contemporaries also made for great teachers. He worked with Phoebe Waller-Bridge on “Crashing” and Michaela Coel on “Chewing Gum”—two certified television geniuses whose creative successes Bailey likens to the magnesium flame of a meteor. It’s an apt comparison—Waller-Bridge called him “a meteorite of fun” in a 2022 interview with GQ. (“I think I’ve always been quite naughty,” he says playfully.)

“There’s so much you take on via natural osmosis,” Bailey explains. “It’s what you watch and how you interpret things.”

For example, he thinks that every actor should see Sandy Dennis’ Oscar-winning turn as Honey in Mike Nichols’ 1966 film “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” Her performance whet his curiosity about the craft: “She is so fluid. I mean, that might be the most exposing answer I’ve given about what my inner world is like.”

Bailey’s technique is rooted in music. He plays piano and clarinet, and he approaches acting like an instrument, too. When reading a script for the first time, he experiences his character’s arc as the phrases in a song. “The way my brain works is that I see the images of what they’re doing,” he says. “When I say ‘phrasing,’ it’s like, how you get from that image to this image.”

When he was playing the bottled-up Anthony on “Bridgerton,” Bailey found inspiration in songs by Echo and the Bunnymen and Nirvana. While filming “Fellow Travelers” in Toronto, he went on long walks while listening to expansive pop music to help him explore Tim, a character whose energy radiates outward.

Considering Bailey’s process plays like a song, connoisseurs of his work might notice a motif. Sam from “Crashing,” a party boy Bailey calls “a wild, untamed animal in a tiny little cage,” aggressively maintains a facade of heterosexuality while pining for his male housemate Fred (Amit Shah). On Season 2 of “Bridgerton,” Anthony locked himself into a prison of duty and a loveless engagement to avoid acknowledging his desire for the fiery Kate Sharma (Simone Ashley).

Tim of “Fellow Travelers” is the latest in a series of sharply drawn characters confronting the tension between their assigned roles and their personal truths. Viewers first meet a straitlaced rule-follower whose Catholic piety is only matched by his loyalty to the infamous Senator Joseph McCarthy. All that changes when he crosses paths with Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Bomer), a crystal-eyed, debonair State Department official. Their respective closets combust on contact, and they enter into a forbidden love affair just as McCarthy’s Lavender Scare has begun purging queer people from the halls of government.

Bailey’s interior work tends to be more emotional than cerebral, but he’s a generous conversation partner who’s always game to riff on the deep stuff. Whether it’s yearning, going against expectations, or facing high stakes, the phrasing is what draws him in. 

He finds a lot of gorgeous notes to play across the eight episodes of “Fellow Travelers” as the action moves from the 1950s to the ’80s, making pit stops along the way. While Hawk settles for a life of straight domesticity, Tim hurtles through a sexual and political awakening: The Beltway boy becomes an activist priest who refuses to diminish himself, especially when the AIDS crisis begins to rip his community apart.

Bailey loved being inside Tim’s head; in fact, the actor thinks of him as a hero. After experiencing the isolation of his secret relationship with Hawk, he opens himself up to the world: He comes out, moves to San Francisco, cobbles together a found family, and builds a life as his true self. 

“Ron Nyswaner has spoiled Matt and me for the operatic detail that existed between [our characters],” Bailey says, “and also with Tim’s political fervor: the truth and the honesty that he demands of himself and the world around him, and the grappling with anything that is an obstacle to his own and other’s happiness.”

You can’t talk about “Fellow Travelers” without discussing its rapturous sex scenes—and not only for titillation’s sake, though the kinky encounters between Tim and Hawk certainly call for smelling salts. These sequences gave Bailey the opportunity to commit authentic queer intimacy to the screen, which members of the LGBTQ+ community rarely come across as they search for ways to understand their identities. 

The trust between Bailey and Bomer informed everything they did onscreen. Before filming those scenes, the two actors talked through their approach at a café (Goldstruck Coffee on Cumberland Street in Toronto—a ribald little detail that still makes Bailey laugh). The filming itself was incredibly technical, and the actors worked with an intimacy coordinator on set. “We sort of hit the ground running, knowing exactly what was going to be required but also how to communicate throughout it,” Bailey says. “It felt immediately quite safe.”

He sensed an exciting opportunity to tell a story about transformative love amid the “wild, oppressive moment” of the Lavender Scare, dismissing any reservations about the explicit nature of the material. “Honestly, this is exactly why this show is going to be brilliant,” he remembers thinking.

The series’ milestone dramatic moments, with buttons still done up and no skin showing, carried that same sense of significance. No matter how much Tim grew over the course of his arc, Bailey says that his bond with Hawk remained an “extraordinary, material thing.”

This summer, the actor made a very Tim move when he founded the Shameless Fund, a charity that supports LGBTQ+ causes under the tagline: “Raising cash. Erasing shame.” The initiative grew directly out of his acting work—first inspired by the platform afforded to him by “Bridgerton” and further influenced by his experience on “Fellow Travelers.” 

Playing Tim—or, as Bailey puts it, spending “five months doing a dissertation on queer oppression and liberation”—catalyzed his thoughts about the people who created a world where such a show could even exist. “I think in ‘Fellow Travelers,’ it’s so clear what Tim wants,” he says. “But as the world around him develops, you realize there’s so much that he can’t have, but that he can help change.”

Bailey sees that progress playing out in the next generation. He has a small role on the upcoming third season of Netflix’s queer YA hit “Heartstopper” as a dreamy academic who’s the celebrity crush of the series’ protagonist, Charlie (Joe Locke). Based on creator Alice Oseman’s graphic novel series, the show has found a passionate following of young LGBTQ+ fans. 

When he watched “Heartstopper” for the first time, Bailey remembers wondering what it would have been like to see such representation on television when he was growing up. “I was so celebratory of it,” he says. “But it was obviously kind of a melancholic watch for people above a certain age, because it allowed them to grieve what they didn’t have.”

Having conquered the Regency and Cold War periods on the small screen, Bailey’s blockbuster era is imminent. He’s playing dashing love interest Fiyero in the “Wicked” films (based on Gregory Maguire’s 1995 novel), singing and dancing alongside Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande. It’s a perfect fit for the actor’s particular lens: “Musically and theatrically, I understand it massively.”

Since “Wicked” came with its own well-known songs to study, Bailey spent a lot of time with composer-lyricist Stephen Schwartz’s music in his ears rather than Kurt Cobain’s. He explored Fiyero’s interiority through the musical theater form itself: What does the act of singing express for him?

And for a character whose signature number is called “Dancing Through Life,” what metaphorical direction are his steps leading him in? 

Bailey sees Fiyero as part of the same club as Tim, Anthony, and Sam, as the heightened world of Oz sends him on a journey of radical transformation. “I think about where he starts and where he ends up; he’s literally a changed person,” the actor says. “I savored the arc over two films.” 

Next year, Bailey will become an action star in Gareth Edwards’ next installment of “Jurassic World” opposite Scarlett Johansson. Though details have yet to be announced, including the movie’s title, production is well underway; Bailey just finished filming in Thailand before shooting moved to Malta. A few days before we spoke, he was interacting with a fake blue-screen dinosaur (which is only a spoiler if you thought Hollywood has actually been cloning big reptiles this whole time).

But Bailey is still keeping his theater muscles toned. Next year, he’s starring as the titular monarch in Nicholas Hytner’s production of Shakespeare’s “Richard II” at London’s Bridge Theatre. “I have to go and sharpen up,” he says of returning to the stage. “You feel so sharp and dexterous at the end of a theater run—but also, you know, without a soul. Carcass levels of absolute exhaustion.”

Bailey lights up at the prospect of getting back onstage and experiencing the kinetic energy between the actors, crew, and director. He believes that the emotional and intellectual rigor of theater leads to a tight, specific piece of work. It’s an art form that requires continuous creation night after night.

This stamina comes in handy in front of a camera, too. “When you’re exhausted, you have to rely on technique,” he explains. “Technique does get you over the finish line, and you can deliver a performance that is honest and tell the story effectively and truthfully.” 

Until then—and until he’s back on set with those fake dinosaurs—he’s going to soak up that Emmy-nomination afterglow for a little while longer. 

“I’m actually going to go and have another glass of wine to celebrate,” he says.

Source

[useless-catalanfacts]

The Catalan authors who were kept out of the Nobel Literature Prize for being Catalan

Did you know that there have been a handful of Catalan writers who were candidates to win the Nobel Literature Prize, but because of Spanish interference they never did?

The Nobel Prize discloses its debate and reasoning process 50 years after each edition. This means that we already know the details of what happened in the earliest editions of this Prize, which was started in 1901.

The name of the Catalan play-writer Àngel Guimerà (author of Marta of the Lowlands, Mar i cel, La filla del mar...), whose works have been translated to many languages and played all around Europe and the Americas, with many film and opera adaptations, sounded often in the Nobel committee. He was presented as a candidate to win the Nobel Prize 17 times in a row, since 1907 until his death in 1924. In the editions of 1917 and 1919, many were convinced he would win. However, the declassified documents show why he didn't: as written by the man who was then president of the Nobel Committee, Haralg Härne, Guimerà wasn't given the prize "to avoid hurting the national pride of the Spanish". In 1919, Härne writes that the objective of the Nobel Prize is to promote peace and thus to award Guimerà and show support for a minority culture would be to encourage internal conflict (🤦). The Academy decided that they couldn't give a prize to Guimerà "before awarding another writer who expresses himself in the most ancient noble language of the country" (weird way to mean "the official language", aka Spanish, because they surely didn't mean Basque). In summary, if a Catalan is to be considered, he must always be second to a Spanish man. Even when the Catalan is, in the words of the Nobel Academy, "the most eminent writer of our times", he can never be considered an equal, always must be behind.

Àngel Guimerà wrote in the Catalan language, which was discriminated against by Spanish and considered an enemy by the Spanish government and much of Spanish society. Guimerà was a firm defender of the right to use the Catalan language and that nobody should be forced to speak the imperial languages instead of their own, and was involved with the political movement for the rights of Catalan people. For this reason, every time the famous Swedish academy was considering Guimerà, the Spanish Royal Academy of Language (RAE) fought it with all its might. Nowadays, Guimerà's theatre plays continue to move thousands of spectators every year.

The same happened again with the poet Josep Carner. In the 1960s, Josep Carner was on exile, because he was a Catalan poet writing in Catalan and who stood against the fascist dictatorship of Spain, which persecuted the Catalan language and identity. Famous writers from around the world, including T. S. Eliot, François Mauriac, Giuseppe Ungaretti and Roger Caillois, supported Josep Carner's candidacy to win the Nobel, but the Spanish Government did everything possible to obstruct it. We don't know if Carner would have won or not, but he was deprived of even trying because of the Spanish government's hatred of Catalan.

Something similar seems to have happened between the 1970s and 1990s to three other Catalan poets: Salvador Espriu, J. V. Foix, and Miquel Martí i Pol, where they did not get any support from the Spanish authorities, so we don't know how it would have ended up.

Another example of what it means to have a state actively working against you because of bigotry against your cultural group.

Sources: book Det litterära Nobelpriset by the president of the Nobel Committee Kjell Espmarck, Pep Antoni Roig (El Nacional), Joan Lluís-Lluís (El Punt Avui), and Jordi Marrugat (Institut Ramon Llull).

[theholmwoodfoundation]

THE HOLMWOOD FOUNDATION PILOT EPISODE CAST/CREW - PART ONE

REBECCA ROOT - MADDIE TOWNSEND/MINA HARKER

Rebecca trained at Mountview Academy of Theatre Arts. Theatre credits include A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time for the National Theatre (UK and Ireland tour); Rathmines Road for Fishamble at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin; Trans Scripts at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and American Repertory Theater in Cambridge, Massachusetts; The Bear / The Proposal at the Young Vic; and Hamlet at the Gielgud Theatre and Athens International Festival. TV, Film and Video Game credits include Monsieur Spade, This Is Christmas, Irvine Welsh’s Crime, Hogwarts Legacy, Horizon Forbidden West, Heartstopper, Annika, The Rising, Sex Education, The Gallery, The Queen’s Gambit, Finding Alice, Creation Stories, Last Christmas, The Sisters Brothers, Colette, The Danish Girl, Flack, The Romanoffs, Moominvalley, Hank Zipzer, Boy Meets Girl, Doctors, Casualty, The Detectives, and Keeping Up Appearances.  Radio credits include Clare In The Community, Life Lines, The Hotel, and 1977 for BBC Radio 4. Guest appearances include Woman’s Hour, Front Row, Loose Ends, Saturday Live, and A Good Read.  She plays Tania Bell in the award-winning Doctor Who: Stranded audio dramas. Rebecca has also recorded numerous documentary narrations, audiobooks, and voice-overs. Rebecca is also a voice and speech coach, holding the MA in Voice Studies from Royal Central School of Speech and Drama.

SEAN CARLSEN - JEREMY LARKIN/ JONATHAN HARKER

Born in South Wales, Seán trained at the Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama. He has worked extensively in audio drama, television, theatre and film.  Seán is perhaps best known to Doctor Who fans as Narvin in the Doctor Who audio series Gallifrey and has appeared on TV in Doctor Who - The Christmas Invasion and Torchwood. Recent TV credits include Mudtown (BBCiplayer/S4C), Dal y Mellt (Netflix), His Dark Materials (BBC1), All Creatures Great and Small (Channel 5), A Mother's Love (Channel 4) and Series 5 of Stella (Sky1).  Films include supporting leads in Boudica - Rise of the Warrior Queen, cult horror The Cleansing,  the lead in Forgotten Journeys and John Sheedy’s forthcoming film ‘Never Never Never’

SAM CLEMENS - ARTHUR JONES

Samuel Clemens trained at the Drama Centre London and is an award-winning director with over twenty years’ experience. Samuel has recently written and directed his debut feature film ‘The Waterhouse’ with Take The Shot Films & Featuristic Films and represented by Raven Banner Entertainment, which is due for release this coming year.  In addition, he has directed fourteen short films, winning awards all over the world including shorts ‘Surgery (multi-award winning), A Bad Day To Propose (Straight 8 winner 2021), Say No & Dress Rehearsal’. Samuel also directs critically acclaimed number one UK stage tours and fringe shows (Rose Theatre Kingston, Swansea Grand, Eastbourne, Yvonne Arnaud, Waterloo East Theatre) and commercials include clients JD Sports, Shell and Space NK. Samuel is also a regular producer and director for Big Finish Productions & Anderson Entertainment. He has cast, directed, produced and post supervised numerous productions of ‘Doctor Who – (BBC), The Avengers (Studio Canal), Thunderbirds, Stingray (Anderson Entertainment), Callan, Missy, Gallifrey’& Shilling & Sixpence Investigate’ and many more. Samuel has directed world class talent such as, Sir Roger Moore, Ben Miles, Tom Baker, Sylvester McCoy, Alex Kingston, Frank Skinner, Rita Ora, Rosie Huntingdon-Whiteley, Rufus Hound, David Warner, Celia Imrie, Samuel West, Youssef Kerkour, Sophie Aldred, Ian McNiece, Colin Baker, Olivia Poulet, Stephen Wight, Jade Anouka, Mimi Ndwendi, Michelle Gomez, Peter Davidson, Paul O’Grady and many more. Samuel is one of the founding members and directors at Take The Shot Films Ltd and is Head of Artistic Creation and Direction. Lastly, Samuel is a regular tutor at The London Film Academy, The Giles Foreman Centre for Acting & The Rose Youth Theatre and is a member of The Directors Guild UK. As for upcoming projects, Sam is currently in pre-production on his next feature film “On The Edge of Darkness”, which is based on his dad’s stage play “Strictly Murder”.

ATTILA PUSKAS - DRACULA

Attila Puskás is a native Hungarian Voice Actor born in Transylvania – Romania, so Romanian is in his bag of tricks too, but most of his work is done in English, in a Transatlantic Eastern European Accent, but is quite capable of Hungarian, Romanian and International Eastern European accents, plus Standard American. His voice range is Adult to Middle Aged (30-40+) due to his deep voice. Vocal styles can range from authoritive, brooding to calming and reassuring and much more. He’s most experienced in character work, like Animations and Games, but his skills encompass Commercials to Narration as well. He’s received training through classes and workshops, pushing him to the next level to achieve higher standards. Now on a journey to perfect these skills and put them to good use!

PART TWO: HERE

PART THREE: HERE

[schmergo]

I think there's a very specific type of girl that just loves the stepsisters from Cinderella in any incarnation and that trait stays with you for life. When I heard about Lucy Punch, who's played 4 different versions of Cinderella's wicked stepsister in movies and TV shows over the years and apparently had a wicked stepsister themed birthday as a child, I was like, "Yeah, makes sense, goals." I love characters who are tacky and over-the-top and trying to be 'glamorous' to the point of being grotesque. And I always loved Anastasia and Drizella's style from the animated Cinderella.

When I was very little, like first or second grade, a girl in my class got one of those 'put on a play' kits from American Girl and invited a bunch of us over to put on Cinderella in her backyard. Of course, half the kids couldn't read fluently yet, so that wasn't going to go great, but I was SO DESPERATE to play a stepsister, and nobody else wanted to play them because they're ugly/evil, so I ended up reading both stepsisters' roles. I guess that was technically my introduction to theatre.

In sixth grade, I auditioned for a summer children's theatre production of Cinderella and got cast as a stepsister. That very same day, I found out I had been chosen to appear on a nationally televised game show. My reaction was basically, "Oh my gosh, best day ever! I get to be on Jeopardy! and I get to be a stepsister!" When I actually appeared on the show, my intro fact was that I had just played a stepsister in Cinderella and that it's more fun to play the villain.

I was in a musical theatre class in high school. We had to pick two solo songs and a duet for our musical showcase and while most of the duets were dramatic in nature, this other girl and I made an absolute beeline for the stepsisters' song from Rogers and Hammerstein's Cinderella.

AAAAAAND just now, at the age of 31, I auditioned for a local production of Into the Woods, my first musical in over 13 years. Did I audition for one of the lead roles? NO! I auditioned for a stepsister! And I GOT CAST AS A FLIPPIN' STEPSISTER! And I sincerely believe that somehow giving off this very specific spark as that weird girl who's obsessed with the stepsisters and actually wanting to play that role is the one thing that I had working in my favor.

I wanna play stepsisters forever. But I am also willing to eventually graduate to playing the stepmother.

[late-to-the-party-81]

Trolling Steve Rogers

AN: Hi all, another mood board for a Bingo fill, with a bit longer blurb this time. I hope you enjoy.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingos and Challenges: Stucky Bingo B3 - Rogers: The Musical

“Where are you taking me, Buck?”

Steve’s voice sounded strange in his own head. Bucky had placed noise cancelling headphones over his ears so he couldn’t work out where they were, but they were attached to comms so Bucky could talk to him. In tandem with the eye mask across his face, he was almost completely disoriented. All he knew was that they were near a lot of other people, if his nose had anything to tell him.

“Easy now, Stevie. Let’s just sit you down here. Almost time for the big reveal.”

Steve was jostled by someone else at his side, and he picked up the scent of Nat’s perfume. That meant that Sam was probably here too. Now he was getting worried. Nothing good came from Bucky and Sam scheming, and Nat would only interfere if it was dangerous.

“Right, here we go, big guy.”

The headphones came off first and the sound of an orchestra tuning up, along with the hubbub of hundreds of people having their own quiet conversations hit his ears. The theatre then. But why would Bucky..? Oh no! Realisation hit him, and Steve scrambled to remove the blind fold. A bright yellow curtain assaulted his eyeballs.

“Buuuuuck,” he whined. “This is gonna be so embarrassing.” Bucky and Sam just giggled. Steve turned to Nat who was looking quietly amused. “Why didn’t you stop them?”

“It won’t be that bad,” Nat placated before her smile broadened into a grin. “Look, I even bought you something as a souvenir.” She lobbed a piece of grey fabric at him.

Steve unfolded the official merchandise tee shirt and didn’t know whether to pout or laugh himself.

“I hate you all.”

Tag list: @kmc1989 @km-ffluv @wheezy-stucky @kombatfather1796 @christywrites @alexakeyloveloki @doasyoudesireandlive @galactusdevourerofworlds @crayongirl-linz @mightstill @nicoline1998enilocin @starrkermarvel @ronearoundblindly

[therogerclarkfanclub]

ROGER CLARK as Simon Gardner in:

South Beach Babylon • By Michael McKeever • Directed by Kate Alexander

South Beach Babylon was performed at Florida Studio Theatre in Sarasota, FL in 2013.

[broadwaydivastournament]

A Birthday Tribute to Stephen Sondheim

We interrupt your regularly scheduled Diva posts and polls with a 24-hour Stephen Sondheim lockdown to recognize an honorary Broadway Diva and certified musical theatre god.

Stephen Joshua Sondheim (1930) was a legendary composer and lyricist who essentially reinvented the American musical with his soaring scores and fiendishly clever lyrics. With Oscar Hammerstein as his mentor, he began his Broadway career writing lyrics for West Side Story (1957) and Gypsy (1959). Throughout his life, he won eight Tony Awards, including a Special Tony, more than any other composer. His dedicating to writing fascinating, flawed, fantastic roles for women (particularly women of a certain age) means his work is some of the most sought-after of our Divas.

Sondheim Theatre and Concert Credits:

I have done the research and pulled together a list of every single role our Divas have played, and every Sondheim concert they have participated in. Here are just a few takeaways.

All together, 64 Divas have had a whopping 245 roles/concerts and counting.

Eleven Divas have never (to my knowledge) performed in a Sondheim or at a Sondheim-specific concert. Seven of those are non-singing actresses, leaving just four musically-inclined Divas bereft. (Brenda Braxton, Lillias White, Linda Eder, Ute Lemper). However, all four Divas have performed Sondheim's songs in their personal concert repertoires

Eighteen Divas have done just one Sondheim, some in particularly obscure contexts.

The most common roles are The Witch (Into the Woods - 9), Mrs. Lovett (Sweeney Todd - 8), Mama Rose (Gypsy - 8), Desiree Armfeldt (A Little Night Music - 8), Phyllis Rogers Stone (Follies - 6). More on that later.

Most Frequent Sondheim Performers:

Bernadette Peters: 21 Highlights include: Sunday in the Park with George, Into the Woods, Follies, Gypsy.

Patti LuPone: 20 Highlights include: Company, Sweeney Todd, Gypsy, Anyone Can Whistle.

Marin Mazzie: 13 Highlights include: Passion, Merrily We Roll Along, Into the Woods, Anyone Can Whistle.

Audra McDonald: 11 Highlights include: Sweeney Todd, Passion, Six by Sondheim, A Little Night Music.

Donna Murphy: 11 Highlights include: Passion, Into the Woods, Anyone Can Whistle, Follies.

Christine Baranski: 11 Highlights include: Company, Sunday in the Park with George, Sweeney Todd, Follies.

Tony Awards and Nominations:

Leading Actress in a Musical: 14 Nominations (exc. wins) | 5 Divas 9 Wins | 4 Divas

Mama Rose in Gypsy is the most-decorated role in musical theatre canon, and arguably the best role for women period. In five productions, every actress has either been nominated (Ethel Merman, Bernadette Peters), or won (Angela Lansbury, Tyne Daly, Patti LuPone).

Both Desiree Armfeldt actresses have won their respective years (Glynis Johns, Catherine Zeta-Jones). Additional winning roles have been Phyllis Rogers Stone (Alexis Smith), Mrs. Lovett (Angela Lansbury), The Baker's Wife (Joanna Gleason), and Fosca (Donna Murphy).

Featured Actress in a Musical: 17 Nominations (exc. wins) | 4 Divas 4 Wins | 1 Diva

Some of the most common roles to be nominated for in a Sondheim show are Amy and Joanne from Company (in the original production, Elaine Stritch competed in Leading Actress), and Louise in Gypsy. No featured role has netted more than one award.

Winners: Patricia Elliott (Charlotte, ALNM), Laura Benanti (Louise, Gypsy), Karen Olivo (Anita, West Side Story), and Patti LuPone (Joanne, Company).

[avengerscompound]

The Interview - Chapter 1

The Interview - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist

Rating:  E

Warnings:  On the series; smut, family trauma, bad workplaces  On this chapter; sexual innuendo

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Melody Danes

Word Count:  3109

Summary:  Melody Danes gets the break of a lifetime when as a lowly intern, she’s assigned to write a profile piece on Captain America.  Steve Rogers is a hard man not to fall for and as she and Melody get closer and Melody’s career takes off, jealousy leads to sabotage, and the potential to bring her whole world crashing down.

A/N:  IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED IN THE REMAINDER OF THIS SERIES, EITHER ADD YOURSELF TO THE TAGLIST OR SEND ME A MESSAGE

Chapter 1

It was the dream life.  An apartment on the upper west side of New York, located in a beautiful old brownstone.  A career in journalism.  Getting to interview an actual Avenger.  When Melody Danes boiled down her life to its bones, it was exactly how she had planned it out.

Of course, that did ignore some pretty glaring oversights.  Like how she actually had two jobs.  The journalist position was an underpaid internship that barely covered food let alone rent and bills.  Or that the internship was with the Daily Bugle, one of the most despicable publications in the world, with the worst boss she had ever worked for.  Or how she lived with her cousin in a one-bedroom apartment, because neither of them could afford anything bigger in the city - even with Bobbi working three jobs.  Something that left Melody relegated to a bed that was walled off from the rest of the living room with bamboo screens, while Bobbi got the bedroom because she paid the bigger portion of the rent.  Or the fact that the apartment itself was a shit hole that had unreliable plumbing, heat, and super to fix anything.

Still, she didn’t like to complain.  She was in New York, the city she’d dreamed about living in her whole life.  Plus, there were worse roommates than Bobbi.  Melody and Bobbi had grown up in the same small town in Oregon.  They weren’t technically even cousins, but rather the children of best friends who had been born a few months apart.  The two ‘cousins’ had grown up together being subjected to years and years of taunting about when the two would get married, and constant mentions of Bobbi being Melody’s boyfriend despite the fact Melody had always seen Bobbi more as a sibling than a potential romantic partner.

Of course, back then Bobbi had been known as Roberto.  Interestingly, as soon as she’d transitioned, all jokes about Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez had stopped immediately because suddenly, it wasn't only Melody and Bobbi being made to feel uncomfortable but their parents as well.

The two had remained close throughout everything and had made the promise that they would support each other to get their dreams realized.  Melody’s dream of being a journalist or author, and Bobbi’s of acting.  Yes, there were occasional disagreements that popped up stemming from sharing such a small space, but through it all they’d held on to that support.

That was why, when Melody had come home freaking out about the fact she was going to interview the Captain America - and not just for a short piece, but an in-depth personality profile over a week, Bobbi was the first one to congratulate her.  She then brought all her friends from her job at the dinner theatre to help find her something to wear.

It was why she was now headed down East 45th in heels that were a little too big and a pantsuit that was a little flashier than she would have liked, looking for the Comfort Diner.

Despite being a little wobbly on her feet, she felt good.  Nervous.  Excited.  But good.  The pantsuit did make her look professional, and her friends had done her hair so her black curls were pinned back in an almost 1920s-style wave that was folded over in a loop at the nape of her neck.  Her makeup was immaculate and her copper complexion gave off an almost glow in the light.  More importantly, this interview was her golden ticket.  It wasn’t even supposed to be Melody that got this interview.  The person who was originally assigned to it had written one too many scathing think pieces about the Avengers. She’d been told neither Captain Rogers nor any of the other Avengers were willing to talk to her anymore.  A quick scramble through the other reporters had only brought back people who were either in the middle of assignments or were equally loathed by the Avengers and so they had handed it to the intern with the most promise.  Melody Danes.

As she made her way down the street, her heel caught in a crack in the pavement. It was just a brief catch, but given her shoes were the wrong size it caused her to stumble forward directly into a huge wall of muscle.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” the wall said as it steadied her with large hands.

She was about to answer that ‘she was until some stranger called her ma’am’ when she looked up into the clear blue eyes of Captain America, and the words caught in her throat.

He was somehow even more attractive in person.  He had a broad chest and muscular arms that seemed to be testing the tensile strength of his shirt as he supported her.

That was not what drew her attention most.  His face held her captivated.  His skin was flawless, his pores so small they almost looked airbrushed out, and his complexion was the color of peaches and cream.  He had a square jaw and a straight, narrow nose that both exuded masculinity. Yet, his high cheekbones, full lips, and long dark eyelashes were all beautifully feminine.  All this paired with the pale blue of his eyes and for a moment she was lost for words.

“I’m fine,” she said when her brain finally kicked into place again.  “Embarrassed mostly.  I’m actually going to meet you for lunch.”

“You’re the one from the Bugle?” Steve asked, his tone giving away his surprise.

“That’s right,” she said, straightening herself out.  She offered him her hand.  “I’m Melody Dane from DB.  Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Steve replied, shaking her hand.  “I guess you just weren’t what I expected.”

The two began making their way to the diner together, both still staring at each other.

“What were you expecting?” she asked.

Steve shrugged.  “I don’t know, to be honest.  A trilby with a press pass sticking out of it?”

She started laughing.  “I’ll wear one next time.  Though I do have my press pass here if you’d like me to stick it in my hair or something.”

Steve’s laughter joined her and he shook his head.  “That’s okay.  You can keep it in your purse.”

They entered the cute little 50s-style diner and took one of the booths up the back.  The greeter set them up with menus and left to get their drinks while they decided what they wanted.  She set up her recorder and notepad on the table.

“So, I’m not sure what it is you were after,” Steve said as his eyes flicked over the menu.  “The Bugle is always just investigative reporting, and if I’m honest, they don’t do a great job investigating.”

She laughed.  “You’re telling me,” she said.  “It’s barely above a tabloid magazine.  It runs on sensationalism.  But with the way that the internet is affecting print media, they’re trying to branch out into different things.  This is technically a profile piece for a yet-to-be-named magazine.  They want a story about the man behind the shield.  I’ll come talk to you a few times over the next week.  We’re going to do a little tour of Brooklyn so you can tell me how it’s changed.  Other than that, whatever access you’re willing to give me, the better I can craft the article.  I’m not here to make you look bad.  We just want a piece that shows the world that there’s more to you than a flag.”

“How does that fit in with Jameson’s whole superhero menace thing he does?  I mean, this was going to be conducted by Norah Winters, right?  She’s not exactly our biggest fan either?” Steve asked.

“I’m not Norah Winters,” Melody said.  “Norah Winters couldn’t even get you to agree to sit down with her.  I’m hoping that the fact they chose me after running through just about everyone else in the paper, might allow for some room to grow trust.”

Steve nodded and poured himself a glass of water. “Okay.  Well, I’m here.  I guess we’ll see how we go.”

“My first question is; why did you want me to meet you here?  You were asleep for the 1950s, so it can’t be a nostalgia thing,” she asked.

“Honestly?  I’ve never actually been here before,” Steve said.  “I just wanted somewhere that wasn’t intruding on my space, that was relaxed enough that I didn’t feel like I was on display.”

“Do you often feel on display?” she asked.

“All the time,” he said.  “Since the day I was given the serum.  It’s part of the job.  There are people out there who are okay just saving the day and slinking back into the shadows, but what I do - or at least what I hope I’m doing - is giving people someone to rally behind.  It means that I draw attention to myself and I have to make sure that what I believe in is stated clearly or people use me as a symbol of oppression.  It means that I need to teach with actions, not words.”

The waitress came over with the drinks and Melody and Steve placed their orders.  She opted for the soup and sandwich, while Steve went for the steak.

When she was alone again, she took a sip of her coffee and watched Steve toy with his cup. The white branded mug looked tiny in his hands.  “Does that get hard?” she asked.  “Being on all the time.  I mean no one is perfect.”

He nodded.  “But I hope what I do helps in some way.  Not just the obvious ones where I save lives because of an alien attack.  But maybe if people see that I am standing up for people, they might do it too.  I mean - I wasn't always this-” he gestured vaguely to himself.  “I was this tiny guy with a huge list of medical conditions….”

“I did read that list,” she said.  She’d done her research coming into this.  She’d known Steve Rogers had been marked 4F several times and that the list of his medical conditions was as long as her arm.  “People always seem to always focus on the asthma, but some of those conditions are debilitating.”

Steve nodded.  “I was a perpetual letdown for my father.  All he wanted was a good strong son who could follow in his footsteps, but what he got was a sick kid they didn’t expect would make it to adulthood,” he explained.  “The ulcers paired with the anemia were the worst.  I had to eat a pound of raw liver a day but I was constantly throwing up or having heartburn.  You're right, there were a lot of conditions but those two were the worst.  It’s given me a weird relationship with food now.”

She was surprised by how open he was.  She’d expected him to be a little more closed off this early on and yet, he was freely sharing details about the trouble he had growing up.  “What do you mean by that?”

The waiter chose that moment to bring over their meals.  Steve looked down at the steak in front of him.  “Well, take this,” he said.  “Steak is fine.  But is it what I wanted?  I’m not even sure.  I chose it because it looked like it was the best combination of protein and carbohydrates to get me through until dinner.  The serum has made it so I burn through calories so fast, so if I eat something like pancakes or pie, I end up having a crash an hour or so later.  And I can’t have that because it means I have to eat again.  And for a guy who grew up through the great depression with medical conditions that made it so that he had to eat pounds of raw meat that I’d just end up throwing up - well I can’t take constantly eating throughout the day.”

Her heart broke for him and she had to resist the urge to reach over the table and take his hand.  “So what you’re saying is, you really wished you’d ordered pancakes?”

He gave a little side nod.  “Kinda, yeah,” he said.  “But even acknowledging that out loud - I will still just eat this steak.  But I’ll feel uncomfortable eating in front of you because you’re a stranger, even though I need it to get through the rest of the day.”

She nodded in understanding.  The burden of trauma was a hard thing to shake.  Even if you were a superhero.  “That really does suck.  I do understand it though.  It’s hard to retrain yourself.  In fact, if you figure out how to do it, let me know.”

He smiled at her and began to cut his steak.  She took a moment to take a bite from her sandwich.  It was surprisingly good for something from a diner and she couldn’t help the soft hum that escaped her lips.  “I don’t want you to have to dwell too much on your illnesses if you don’t want to - but I do have one more specific question about it.  Is it true they used to treat asthma with cigarettes back then?”

Steve laughed.  “They used to treat lots of things with cigarettes,” he said.  “The asthma ones weren’t usually tobacco cigarettes mind you.  Not that they were necessarily better than tobacco ones.  If memory serves me arsenic and belladonna were some key ingredients used.  They also told my mom to give them to me for the scoliosis and heart palpitations.  But they played havoc on my stomach. They also told me I should drink a lot of coffee.”

She shook her head in disbelief.  “You ever wonder what the things we all accept as true now will be looked at as being completely crazy in the future?”

Steve thought for a moment and when he spoke it was almost like he was talking to himself.  “Circumcision.”

She nearly choked on her soup, which made Steve laugh and lean over, patting her on the back.  “I’m sorry.  It was the first thing that popped into my head.  I mean - that wasn’t even something people did much out of religious reasons back in my day.”

“You’re totally right.  They brought it in in the fifties to stop men masturbating, but I wasn’t expecting Captain America to bring up circumcision,” she said, still laughing.

“I’m so sorry,’ Steve said again.  “God - I can’t believe I did that.” 

“It’s fine,” she giggled. “Seriously.  Oh man…”

Steve ran his hand down his face.  “I will say this though,” he said.  “Even after all this time with the serum, I still feel like I’m that guy.  I still feel like that 95-pound piece of chewed bubblegum.  I still remember every time I got beaten by some bully trying to keep me down and I still remember getting up, because my mom always said you keep getting up or they win.  I still go into every battle remembering that and holding it with me, because I know what it’s like to have someone try and use their strength to keep me down and I don’t want anyone else to have to go through that.”

She nodded and wrote the quote ‘I still feel like that 95-pound piece of chewed up bubblegum’ into her notebook.  “What did it feel like when you changed?”

“It was really sudden.  I went into this thing that was like a metal coffin and pumped full of these drugs while they irradiated me.  The process was excruciatingly painful.  I started changing right away.  It felt like I was being stretched out in all directions.  Then it stopped and the pain stopped with it.  And not just the pain of the change.  All my pain.  My stomach didn’t hurt.  My chest didn’t hurt.  I didn’t have pain in my back.  When I took a breath it went in easily and filled my lungs.  And then on top of the very noticeable lack of pain, I had other things, like my heart didn’t feel like it was racing for a change.  I could see colors properly.  I don’t even think I could describe what that was like.  And all of it mixed together …” he trailed off and shook his head.  “I apologize, I’m going to be crass again and I hope that you might do me the favor by paraphrasing this, so I don’t sound like some kind of pervert, but it was like that feeling you have when you orgasm, only magnified by a hundred.” 

“Wow,” she said and took a large bite from his sandwich.  She chewed it thoughtfully as she tried to imagine how extreme that would feel.  “That’s something.”

He nodded. “It’s a shame that they lost the formula.  I mean - I know having a bunch of rogue super-soldiers out in the world isn’t necessarily a good thing, but if there was a way you could cure disease as easily as that still out in the world, imagine how far we would have come by now?”

She nodded.  “It would have been an impressive piece of medical science.  And it would be a very different world where no one had to worry about illness.”

They both sat quietly in thought for a moment as they ate. “So,” she said, finally breaking the silence.  “I said before, we wanted to get to know the man behind the shield, and I’m certainly hoping I get to know the real Steve Rogers doing this, but do you think there’s a difference between Steve Rogers and Captain America?”

“Of course,” Steve answered quickly.  “I think that’s true for everyone, right?  I’m sure you sitting there interviewing me isn’t the same person you are when you’re home with your family or out with your friends.  Knowing the publication you work for, I’m sure it’s not even the same person you are in the office.  We put different aspects of ourselves forward all the time.  If you’re asking where the divide between Steve Rogers and Captain America is - I’m not sure.  I’ve put so much of myself into this for so long… I don’t know who I am without it.  I know I’d always want to stand up and fight for what I believe in.  I know I’d always want to stand up for the little guys.  But aside from that… I couldn’t say.”

She frowned a little.  “I guess I can see how that could happen,” she said.  Though the admission made her realize something, article or no article, she wanted to find out who Steve Rogers was for his sake as much as how drawn to him she already was.

// NEXT

[uwmspeccoll]

Shakespeare Weekend

This weekend we enjoy Shakespeare’s romantic comedy, Twelfth Night the thirty-fifth volume of the thirty-seven volume The Comedies Histories & Tragedies of William Shakespeare, published by the Limited Editions Club (LEC) from 1939-1940. The original full title of the play is Twelfth Night, Or What You Will, and it was written between 1600 and 1601 with its first performance noted in 1602 at the Middle Temple in London. Twelfth Night was not published until 1623 with its inclusion in the First Folio.  

Italian artist Francesco Carnevali (1892-1987) illustrated the LEC’s edition with colorfully detailed watercolors. Carnevali was a professor at the Academy of the Book in Urbino, Italy and was serendipitously already working on illustrations for Twelfth Night when the LEC wrote to him asking if he’d like to collaborate on their Shakespeare publications. The resulting watercolors are unique in their angled perspective providing readers with an elaborate view of the action as if they were sitting in balcony theater seats and transporting them into the ambiance of a seaside town. 

Laid in with our holding is a program from the Spring 1941 performance of Twelfth Night performed at Milwaukee’s historic Pabst Theatre. The performance starred Helen Hayes as Viola, Maurice Evans as Malvolio, and was presented by The Society of Allied Arts. 

The volume was printed in an edition of 1950 copies at the Press of A. Colish. Each of the LEC volumes of Shakespeare’s works are illustrated by a different artist, but the unifying factor is that all volumes were designed by famed book and type designer Bruce Rogers and edited by the British theatre professional and Shakespeare specialist Herbert Farjeon. Our copy is number 1113, the number for long-standing LEC member Austin Fredric Lutter of Waukesha, Wisconsin. 

View more Limited Edition Club posts. 

View more Shakespeare Weekend posts. 

-Jenna, Special Collections Graduate Intern 

[jamman42]

Characters/storys I think if they were real they would be a buzzfeed unsolved ep

Steve Rogers

Ok think about Amelia Earhart and how no one has found the plane? Imagine a symbol of power for the US in wwII just disappears one day, some say he crashed into the Arctic, others say he was captured yada yada. Such a case they would cover if cap was found a couple years later than he was. Bucky might also work with this mind set

Crowley and Aziraphale

Video title would prob be ‘ mysterious husbands that have appeared all throughout history’ Crowley has been EVERY WHERE IN HISTORY however he changes his look alot. However Aziraphale hasn’t really hidden himself or changed, ever. So he would be the weird nice man that the entire street thinks has been around since the 1800s and does not like customers at all. Imagine all the pieces and statues that Corey has probably had done of himself throughout history. It just looks like the same dude except one isa picture from the 1900s and the other is a statue from ancient rome. It would be an awesome ep

Hannibal/ The Chesapeake Ripper

Watch the show. No one knows who this killer is?? (Other than us watching the show but even then I can barely tell) Plus the copycat killers. He has a very specific style of killing and is very theatrical but is impossible to find, they would probably say he is a theatre major . All the theories would be very interesting to watch

The Winchester brothers

I have not seen supernatural (I know im uncultured) but my friend loves it and to my understanding, two brothers just go around the country trying to investigate paranormal activity with a man who might be an angel, and ‘fist fighting god’ (what the hell??) according to my sources. Maybe they would just be friends with Shane and Ryan and make a cameo on the show.

Trying to figure out any superhero identity (dc, marvel, ect)

Id imagine all the dumb theories and maybe even trying to get them on the show and investigating them. Spiderman would DEFINITELY get on the show just to fuck with em, especially toms spiderman bc hes a genz icon

The tardis/ the doctor

A box that just appears throughout history, no matter the time period despite being made in the 1950s , people would FREAK OUT. Like Rose Tyler for example she was missing for what a year ? And came back with a strange man out of a police box. A person called the doctor that is worshiped throughout history and sometimes there are photos of the same person in completely different times.

Thats all i could think of at the moment please tell me if you have more <3

[d-criss-news]

Evan Rachel Wood, Darren Criss on Stepping Into ‘Little Shop of Horrors’: “We’re Both These Little Theater ’90s Nerds”

The 'Westworld' actress and 'American Crime Story' star open up about deciding to take the stage together, personal connections to their characters, and their love for Howard Ashman and Alan Menken.

It’s early afternoon on a Friday when Darren Criss and Evan Rachel Wood pick up the phone, just five days before the duo is set to debut as the new Seymour and Audrey in off-Broadway‘s Little Shop of Horrors. Both are on their way to the Westside Theatre stage for their first top to bottom run-through, taking over the complicated but beloved characters based on Roger Corman’s 1960 horror comedy and deftly adapted for the stage by theater legends Howard Ashman (book and lyrics) and Alan Menken (music). Now in its fifth year, several notable names have left their mark on this U.S. revival of the dark goings-on of a Skid Row flower shop: Jonathan Groff, Jeremy Jordan, Conrad Ricamora, Corbin Bleu, Constance Wu, Maude Apatow, Tammy Blanchard, Lena Hall. But none quite like this, as an intentional leap together among friends.

As the interview begins, Wood — who is already at the theater — openly wonders whether she should take the elevator down to where she’ll soon meet co-star and friend Criss, before quickly interjecting that “you might lose me for two seconds.” Meanwhile, Criss declares he opted to skip the subway after realizing he was running behind, as he briefly turns on his Zoom camera to reveal himself in the backseat of a car.

Later, his voice will drop out for a few minutes, before reappearing, sounding winded. “I have my ear pods in, and so I just got out of the car talking to you guys, and you cut out,” he tells The Hollywood Reporter. “Then I looked at the car driving away, so I just sprinted down the block to grab it.” This frantic energy is reminiscent of what you can find within this kind of scrappy, fast-paced, off-Broadway musical environment in the final days before curtains go up. As replacements, Criss and Wood will do so with less time to rehearse and no preview audiences on which to test their performances, but that doesn’t seem to phase either of them. Instead, with their easy and fun rapport, the duo celebrate the challenge of what it means to be passed this mantle for a three-month run, beginning Jan. 30. On Tuesday, Wood will make her New York theater debut, a long-awaited moment for the actress who grew up with a father (Ira David Wood III) as an actor, playwright and theater director in her hometown of Raleigh. With her early stage ambitions sidelined by a burgeoning film career — later including movie musicals like Frozen II and Across the Universe — the Emmy and Golden Globe-nominated Wood will finally return to her performance roots, a year after news of her attachment to a possible Thelma & Louise musical adaptation for Broadway.

Little Shop of Horrors will also mark Criss’ first return to New York’s musical theater world since a multi-week replacement run in 2015 as Hedwig in Hedwig and the Angry Inch. On the phone, he’s adamant that, absent traditional musical theater training, he’s fooled the world into thinking he’s more than an “actor trying to act like he knows how to sing.” But with several EPs, a Christmas album, Billboard-charting work with StarKids Productions, and roles in musical-driven screen projects like Glee and Hazbin Hotel, it’s hard not to believe that the Emmy and SAG award-winning performer, like Wood, will be right at home. Ahead of their debut, the duo spoke to The Hollywood Reporter about sharing the stage, the impact of Little Shop of Horrors across the stage and screen, their love of Ashman and Menken, and why these roles are personally resonant and remain culturally timely. Darren, you said in a previous interview that you had been begging Evan to come do theater in New York for years. How did you make that happen now and for you both together? CRISS Let me just start by saying as much as I can before she can hear me. I’m in a regular habit of just exalting Evan for her talent. I’d done this before I even had the great privilege of getting to know and become friends with her. I’m always talking about how wonderfully talented she is and how I’ve always really loved her voice and her breadth of ability. When I meet people who are these wonderful triple threats that have a really strong theatrical background — people who can sing and don’t have as many opportunities as I wish they did — I get off on the idea of people who didn’t know that they could do this thing finally getting to see that they could do this thing.

Evan has done a lot of singing in her life. She’s literally a Disney princess for Frozen II and there’s obviously Across the Universe. But knowing that she has this really strong theatrical background, I’ve always been hell-bent on getting her on a stage. As a friend, she has popped up on many gigs with me in my personal life just for fun and parties I’ve thrown. She showed up for me on the Christmas album. She’s said yes to me far more many times than I frankly deserve. So when this came around, a lot of my colleagues — a lot of my friends — have been Seymour, and who loves theater that doesn’t love Little Shop of Horrors? It would be a really fun time for me, but the thing that would make it really, really special is if I had got the chance to do it with an Audrey that not only I thought really could bring something spectacular to the role, but on a personal level, this is off-Broadway. We’re all doing this scrappy theater thing in a basement together. If we’re going to live on top of each other might as well be someone but I’m also personally very fond of and have a wonderful relationship with. So short story that’s way too long, I went to Evan and said “Hey, I have an idea. Would you be available to do this?” and thank my lucky stars, she said yes. I’m just a pig in shit, getting to do this with her. It’s an absolute joy. Evan, what’s your response to that glowing review, but also, why did you want to make this show your off-Broadway New York theater debut?

WOOD Funny enough, I have been so close to being on Broadway a handful of times and something has always come in the way of scheduling or something falls apart. It was actually my dream as a kid. I went back and read some old interviews of mine when I was around 12 or 13, and I completely had forgotten that my dream was to go live in New York, go to NYU, and do theater in New York. That was where my sights were set before my life sort of got derailed for a moment. So it’s always been in my sights. It’s gotten increasingly harder over the years to make it work, especially if you have kids, to be away from home for such long periods of time. Usually, the theater commitments are an amount of time that I was just never able to do and so the timing was perfect because I was thinking to myself, “God, I wish I could go to New York and do a play, but maybe not a six-month run. Maybe something around three months. A classic musical that’s going to be really fun.” Darren called me maybe a week later and said, “I’d love for you to come and do it with me,” and it was like an instant yes. To piggyback on what Darren said, I feel very similarly about Darren and that whenever he’s asked me to do something, I just know it’s going to be great. I know it’s going to be fun and I fully believe in everything that he does and his talent. We’re both these little theater ’90s nerds that just hit it off in so many ways, and we collaborate well together. I just felt like we would like this project. It’s made so much sense for both of us that it was a no-brainer.

Little Shop of Horrors is one of those musicals that even people who aren’t big fans of musical theater and attend regularly are aware of, both in terms of story and music. Among the many adaptations of this, whether it was a professional or high school staging or even any of the movie versions, was there one that made you want to do this show? CRISS I’ll say this. As hip of an aura as I’ve tried to give off, make no mistake, I think the biggest gateway to this property for everybody is hands down the movie. I was not seeing off off Broadway theater in the 1980s. I wasn’t there, and that’s why I love movie musicals so much. As much as I love going to the theater, being able to go to a Broadway show is a very specific and privileged situation tied to being in New York City. But whether it’s a liked or celebrated movie, it is still going to be the most accessible thing in perpetuity for everybody. So definitely the movie and those songs. Before you can really understand the complexities of the thematic, Faustian elements and high dramaturgical elements of the story — and before you even get the comedy — you get the music. Especially when you’re really young and your parents are playing you things that you go, “OK, well, kids can get behind music.” It doesn’t take much to understand that the music from that show is beloved. I mean, this music and this show are like proto-Disney Renaissance. It’s like what got [Jeffrey] Katzenberg to ask Alan Menken and Howard Ashman to help them out. It was like, “We want to do some Disney musical fairy tales.” Now, because of the show, we have The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast.

I grew up in the ’90s, as me and Evan tend to relate upon a lot. With The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, Beauty and the Beast, and these films that I loved so much, as I got older, I really wanted to know more about the people behind them. I became obsessed with, and I talk a lot about, Howard Ashman and how much of an influence he’s had on the musical theater genre ever since the popularity of those films. So I wanted to go back to the start of that, and that’s when I started to dive into Little Shop and discover how this was the sort of nexus — the genesis — of everything. WOOD Yeah, same. I grew up watching the film and being so terrified by it, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. I grew up doing theater. My father runs a theater in Raleigh, North Carolina, and so that was my childhood. I was always listening to show tunes, and as Darren said, the classic Disney albums, acting out plays in my living room and Little Mermaid was certainly one of them. Ellen Greene’s performance always stuck with me, and I am also a major Howard Ashman-Alan Menkin nerd for similar reasons as Darren. Those were all things that drew me to it. I was really terrified about and still am terrified about being eaten by the plant because it was like a deep seated childhood fear of mine that I had to conquer to do this show. It’s stuck with me since childhood. It’s not as bad as you would think. But it’s still pretty scary. Also just a fun fact, I was cast as Audrey in the seventh-grade school play, but I couldn’t do it because I was doing movies. (Laughs.) So I got pulled out of school, but I was almost Audrey in seventh grade.

CRISS You aged into it well. This is a much more appropriate time in your life being Audrey than in seventh grade, so worked out just great. (Laughs.) I just have to say, this production, we both have our careers going on and different dragons that we’re chasing in our professional and personal lives that committing to a big Broadway production is a huge investment. What’s so wonderful about this is, the way the show is set up, we can kind of come in for just a little bit. It’s really high output but like low stakes — and I don’t want to say that to be reductive of the production. I mean that the show is beloved. There are people that know this show but have never seen it, and have heard of it and know the songs without ever even having tried to listen and know the songs. So it’s so culturally ubiquitous, that it’s a very, welcome accessible thing for all kinds of folks and that might cross-pollinate between me and Evan’s demographic of people who might be interested in us. Also, it’s been running for long enough that I feel protected. I’ve seen this production several times. Evan and I went just last night. It’s something that you don’t have to figure out. One of the hardest parts about getting a show up on its feet is like, does it work? Do we want this song in? We got to do with an audience and you really have to workshop stuff for a long time. Shows take years before they’ve reached mainstream Broadway, so the fact that all that legwork is taken out is a no-brainer for us. It’s just this really like warm snuggle from something that we really love.

You’re right in that this is not a traditional production experience for you, as you’re coming in after others, and you have less rehearsal time, no previews. What have the challenges or exciting elements of that been for you so far? WOOD I don’t know about you, Darren, but I feel like one of the reasons why I said yes to doing this with you is because this is kind of where you and I thrive — in the fast-paced chaos. I need a challenge sometimes. I need that adrenaline and I need that fast pace, especially if I’m coming in to do theater. That’s where I grew up, and that’s what I’m used to. That’s where home is for me. So coming back into the theater into the organized chaos of it all feels right. My brain loves it and thrives off of it. When somebody says “Oh, this is a really hard number to learn,” I think, “This is going to be my favorite number.” (Laughs.) I love figuring something out, and picking it apart piece by piece and putting it back together, then conquering it. There’s just such satisfaction that comes from doing that there, Darren, and I think it’s similar for you. CRISS It is kind of a party trick some people are quick studies of, for better or for worse. I think this kind of pace suits us. I think it’s something that we wear pretty well, and I think we do that a lot in our own lives. But to do it together is pretty fun. I’ve thrown Evan into all kinds of things where she’ll just show up knowing a whole song last minute. That’s not too dissimilar, and it’s not like we’re learning new music. We know these songs.

In the theater world, you learn a track. It’s literally a track — there are little railroad tracks set around the stage because there’s no follow spots. The lights are where they are. You don’t have to do hours of tech rehearsal, figuring out where the lighting cues are. They’re there. It is our job to jump into a machine that is already very well-oiled and running. So in that regard, you’re kind of free from having to worry about that stuff. But you can just focus on your characterization and nuance within these very, specific directives. I’ve done a few put-ins. I think this is probably your first, Evan, for a show that’s already going. Correct me if I’m wrong. WOOD I did learn, for the record, Baz Luhrmann in one night and performed it the next night. CRISS Case and point. So yeah, doing a put-in — I’ve done it a few times for Broadway — it’s nice because then you can just focus on the little things that you really want to play with and not worry about these big macro things. What’s funny is that people always say, “Oh, I love Broadway music. I love Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors.” The word Broadway is often conflated with the music from narrative storytelling, whether it be from films or TV. This show was always an off-Broadway darling. It was only really on Broadway for a little bit in 2003. Beyond that, it’s the movie and this off-off-Broadway show, which started in the ’80s and ran for a pretty long time. Then in just so many regional and school productions. But it’s actually only been on Broadway for a minority of the time.

WOOD And that was intentional, right? It was really important to them to keep it off Broadway because that was the spirit of the show. It was on Skid Row. It wasn’t supposed to be a big huge glitzy production. CRISS When you contextualize it, it’s a famous show now, but if you’re in the ’80s, and you’ve got some big Broadway musicals happening uptown, and you’re trying to tell your friends, “Yeah, I saw this thing downtown. You got to come. It’s kind of this doo-wop that’s based of this Roger Corman B-movie. There’s a plant that’s a puppet but it’s hard to explain. You just got to come down and see it.” (Laughs.) Trying to contextualize that, it makes you realize this really is a weird thing, man. It’s a weird, off-the-beaten-path, outlying renegade show. You’ve both done musicals in different mediums, which is, obviously, a different process. Was there anything you brought in with you about doing it on-screen to your performances now? WOOD It’s kind of the opposite for me. I’ve carried theater into my film work because I started in theater, so I learned how to do things fluidly and without stopping. There’s a lot of stop and start in TV and film and sometimes that’s nice. But sometimes it’s frustrating, especially when you come from a theater background. There’s something so satisfying about telling the story from beginning to end and playing the entire arc of the character in one go. There’s just a certain energy and an aliveness that comes with that that you can’t have when you have the camera in the room and it’s constantly moving and starting and stopping and changing.

CRISS I would say the same thing. I don’t know if this math checks out, but I think I’ve spent in my collective hours working in any kind of performing art more time in a theater than I have on a set. That might not be true, but in my mind, it feels that way. I constantly feel like I’m bringing what I know in the theater to film and television. I’d always prefer to be doing theater, but these days, listen, I’ll work anywhere, anyhow. As long as, hopefully, it’s positive, and additive to the world in some way. The theater, without getting on a total spiritual kick, it is a holy place. It’s an ancient art form. It is catharsis. It is sharing something with people in real-time before your very eyes. It’s why, despite the fact that we have TV and film and every possible AR, VR medium to displace our reality, theater is still around. It’s why we go to church, why we go to temple, why we go to the mosque — so we can experience something that we collectively want to believe in. We’re strangers and we want to elevate ourselves to something that’s bigger than the sum of our parts. I realize I said I didn’t want to get into a whole spiritual thing with it, but there you go. That can only happen after the fact, months if not years after you do it in a film set.

Evan and I are about to do our first put-in rehearsal, which is to say, we’re going to do the whole thing top to bottom, but there will be a key character missing, and that is the audience. The audience is one of the main characters of any show. And as much as you’d not want to break the fourth wall — that they’re not supposed to be there — of course, they’re there. Of course, that’s why we’re there — to have that kind of sacred communion with an audience giving you the privilege of their presence. You have a responsibility and a duty to make sure that you are sharing some kind of worthwhile experience with them. So getting to renew that experience every night, to me, is the most noble vocation that you can have as an artist.

WOOD I learned how to sing before I learned how to act because I wanted to do musical theater. So this is my favorite thing to do. Of all the mediums is being able to marry the singing and the acting together. Always my first love. CRISS I’m still learning how to do those two things, which is why Evan Rachel Wood is in this production — to teach me how to do those things. (Laughs.) Part of why shows like Little Shop go on for so long — why they can get this many revivals or adaptations — is that there’s something timeless about the story and its characters. For you, what is most timeless about Seymour and Audrey? Amid all the other actors who have taken on these roles, what are you most connecting to? WOOD From what I understand, everybody that’s come in to do the show brings their own energy and spin on it. Especially with Audrey — Ellene Greene, her performance is so iconic. The look, the voice, the songs. So stepping into that is figuring out how I pay homage to the parts of this character that people love and expect to see, but also bring my vibe and energy to it. That’s exciting to figure out what my Audrey looks like. For me, it’s also hard not to relate to her and her struggles because, unfortunately, those are very timeless — poverty, abuse, patriarchy. She’s sort of a victim of all of those things. Not to get too real for a second, but I am a domestic violence survivor playing this character who is going through similar struggles, who has these similar feelings and dreams of getting out and going to a better place and getting far, far away from her past. They’re all very real things, but they’re in this setting of campiness and horror. What’s amazing about the show for me is that it is fun. It is campy. There are man-eating plants. But there’s such sincerity to it as well. Especially with Audrey, Seymour, and their relationship. There are so many beautiful real moments between the two of them. Themes of poverty and capitalism are still just so prevalent that that’s why it’s so timeless because these things just are not going away.

CRISS I’m glad Evan mentioned her own experience and what that brings to the show. I think, for my money, pathos is a dish best served sweet. Comedy and fun are a wonderful support system for really heavy themes. WOOD Exactly. CRISS I think I’m that I’m more likely to take something more seriously if it’s not shoved down my throat. This is a comedy and to me, there’s not a lick of fat on this thing from Howard Ashman who was just such an extraordinary dramaturg. He took this really silly B-movie, and managed to hone in on the very ancient themes. You’re asking what makes Seymour so timeless. It’s a Faustian tale. This is the one of the oldest fables asking what is the price of greatness. What is a man willing to do, willing to give up, willing to trade to get what he wants? WOOD He literally sells his soul. CRISS Yeah, he sells his soul. The plant is Mephistopheles in this parable of Little Shop. But, of course, if you’re going go downtown and say, “I’m going to do a show. It’s like a Faust thing, and Mephistopheles shows up,” you can see people’s eyes glaze over. Well, how about it’s this guy, there’s music that is evocative of what was popular in the late ’50s, but the plant sings. It’s sci-fi, but it’s horror, but it’s fun, and it’s comedy. Now you have my attention, now I’m subscribing to the fun and the music. But by the end of it, I’m experiencing a classic, traditional, academic tale in a really fun way. When you said there’s been millions of iterations of this show, my mind went to, there’s been millions of iterations of this story. This is probably just one of the funniest ones I can think of.

There is ancientness to this tale. I’ve realized recently I’ve made a lot of my roles, especially in the Broadway world, about people who would do anything to accomplish greatness. To varying degrees of evil or good or compromise, people are always trying to figure out what it is they have to do, and what they have to give up. What line they would cross to get it. A lot of times people are kind of conflicted [watching Little Shop of Horrors] because you are rooting for this guy doing this thing, but he’s doing something terrible. Does that make you complicit? Are you a bad person for wanting this? All those things are the bread and butter of good old-fashioned drama.