#same with Julia. that one is more in a ‘killing as a theatrical meaning for love/sex/etc

[veganhamsalad]

Amnesty please I have a sad backstory

[dememarquette]

INITIATION

Adria's promotion came without precedent. You can call Ashwater the trial run, but that was do or die. This? This is procedural. Her own unit. A task force specially designed for beating up monsters- and no, she's not returning to HBO.

Her run-in with the demonic ring and Invidia was exactly what the city needed to see. It was a story built for the presses. Executed with the idyllic mixture of good sleuthing and novel ass-kicking, her stunt hit the news cycle with a vengeance. After that, funding was on board and the tax dollars came rolling in. Ashwater ripped the band-aid off supernatural phenomena, and the rest of the world was waking up. This began with Modena, and it'd launch with Adria. It was only right that she'd be in the first team on the field. She earned the pioneer position. No one else had a résumé that could compare, and the better part of America that wasn’t composed of undead abominations was there, cheering her on. And if you asked her? Glory reached its pinnacle with her office. Watching her name's stenciling peel onto the glass was a vindicating moment. She came from a town most GPS’s have mapped as Corn. The office was a symbol. It culminated all those long, restless hours of knowing she could be doing better while she was stuck signing off parking tickets. ....Even so. It wasn't a twist she was expecting. Don't get her wrong- she was honored. Thrilled! But saying she was vanguard in a new and exciting development of law enforcement seemed... Well, braggadocious. And when she was feeling awkward about the incessant waves of praise, Demetrius was there to both confirm and fix it by making it actually bombastic. At around the fifth time of him repeating the title of her newfound position with accents slaughtered from various James Bonds, she came around. Adria Kyriakoulopoulos, lead investigator of Modena Paranormal Investigation Unit. It had a ring to it. Secretly, Adria found herself repeating it in the mirror too. She couldn't ask for anything more badass. And with all the boring set-up and paperwork out of the way, her new badge came with a celebration. City-funded. This was an induction of an entirely new branch- there's no way history would be made quietly. Modena knew how to party and anyone who was anybody in law enforcement or civil service was there. It had it all: catering from businesses city-wide, open bar, and live music. No one knew how this would shape the city, country, or future so everyone wanted their foot in the door. (Including Julia, who regrettably did not make the guest list.) Ashwater's sweethearts arrived as a pair. 'Fresh to death' didn't cover it. Demetrius spent hours picking at his suit the week before, and even longer getting ready this morning. Adria would have just snagged something off the rack, and spared the sales team (yes, team) the headache but that is strictly forbidden in Demetrius' company. She was roped into the tailored route too, only a little bit against her will. Without her braid, she leaned into her new snipped cut. This made her ensemble riskier than her usual formal affair. It flaunted an open back: sheer in all the right places, and hugging her curves where it mattered. It was a tasteful parrotail that cropped at her knees, confirming both that she DID have legs, and it was out to drive Demetri crazy. If he hadn't confessed to Buzzfeed, he would have given himself away tonight. It was all eyes on her. While they separated to schmooze as the party started, he always found his way back. "Congratulations detective." He bumped into side. He toted a flute of champagne in one hand, her waist in another. "How's it feel to be living the X-files?" "Overwhelming." She said, with a small smile. He found her mingling on the outskirts of the crowd, enjoying the buzz of party-goers without actively participating. Socializing of this magnitude required breaks. "This, I mean. I think I'm better at punching monsters than cocktail parties." "Maybe you should've thought about that before wearing that dress. Everyone's watching." It was true, but only somewhat for the reason he meant. Adria had been dodging conversations all night. The ones she couldn't escape usually started with 'How do you do it? What's it like?' and her responses were always along the lines of 'You stab some. Others you have to decapitate, sometimes burn, but it all depends-...' They weren't exactly the edge-of-your-seat anecdotes the masses were hungry for, and she wasn't theatrical enough to give a good statement. Still. It was exhausting, but fun. "How about you? Are you having a good time?" "Of course. Though, people keep thinking I'm jumping back into the ring too. Like me? In a cop uniform? Please." "Aw, really? Modena needs you on call," She smirked. "What if we encounter a big bad guy and desperately need lamp post across the street shot out?" "Ha ha. Don't forget, you're the one who gave me lessons." She nudged his side- not to take credit since he's turned down six lessons since, but in general contentment with the moment. Demetrius had gotten over his reluctance about Adria making herself a bullseye to the otherworldly, and the both of them were loosening up. She felt great, she looked great, and now that Demetrius was 'allowed' to go on record being her plus-one? She couldn't ask for more. Life was good. "I understand you're hiding out by the gross appetizers for anonymity, but would you like a drink Detective Kyriakoulopoulos?" "Sure." "And what would you like?" "Surprise me." "Oho, you won't regret that," He winked. "I will be right back." That cocktail turned into two. Then three. And when Liam was on the phone? Four. Between the second and third they cha-cha slid to the floor. People knew better to butt into their moment, or were informed ‘courteously’ by the princess of the hour. From that point on, the party might as well been just the two of them, and that suited both just fine. The DJ's had fun with the playlist. Records ranged from fan-favorites, ironic Halloween staples, to radio smash hits. And though they were getting tipsier with each passing song, it went unsaid that the obligatory slow jam up next was a redeeming moment for their last disastrous slow dance. It wasn't a scar that necessarily needed healing but it certainly felt nice to amend it. Her head settled on his shoulder. At the first romantic strum, their eyes shut and fingers laced. They fit into one another naturally. Uninhibited and undisguised- just the two of them in their own world. It was perfect. This sublime peace lasted thirty seconds. Adria heard it before he acknowledged it: a grimace and low whine barely audible over the tender notes of the piano. She withdrew from his chest to find his brows set in deepest degree of apologetic she'd ever seen. Horrifying. "Deme-?" "Excuse me- sorry." He stepped back, panicked. "One moment. One- hrrk-" He darted off. Couples swayed around her, picturesque under the dreamlike strobes. At the height of the night, Adria was alone. She stiffly excused herself from the floor. Plopping into a seat off the side of the stage, she nestled among the lamenting women in heels and elderly. The plan was to wait and flag him down, but Adria is not patient. She had nerves of acid: caustic and thorough. Sitting on standby lasted all of five minutes, and when disaster thoughts started eating her alive, nothing was stopping the cop from barging into the men's bathroom. Social propriety be damned. "Deme?" She kneed the first stall in, then the second. "You in here? Deme?" "Uuugh." "Deme!" Adria shoved into the third only to jerk back like she stepped on a mine. "Jesus. What did you drink?!" "Same thing you were." He said miserably into the bowl. Monster pastries weren't looking too cute on their callback, and neither was he. His pristine bangs moments before were mussed, tangling with his fingers as he supported his head in his hands. His collar was undone, and he slouched on the seat like it was the only thing keeping him from the floor. "Don't tell anyone I can't hold my liquor." She dropped to his side, rubbing his back. "Are you okay?" "Been better." "Stupid question- should we go? I can call Liam. I'm going to call Liam." He groaned, rueful voice echoing in the bowl. "I don't want to ruin your big day." "I've had enough 'Congratulations on being good at killing things' for one night. It's fine-!" The door squeaked. A random attendant walked in, popping their moment. "Uh-?" Adria poked her head out the stall. The look was damning on her knees, "Hey we’re occupied, all of them!" "Aren't you-? But- this is the men's-" "What'd I say! Go!" Flustered, he bolted and found a potted plant somewhere else. Deme looked over his shoulder- pitiful, but in good spirits. "Pretty sure you were the one breaking the law, officer." "It's my party, I can kick people out of the bathrooms if I want. C'mon, let's go." She hefted his arm around her neck. After one more false alarm, they headed back to her place. He desecrated one taxi en route. After narrowly doing the same to her doormat, he spent spent the night in her bathroom until ultimately retiring to the couch, garbage bin in hand. Adria peeled herself off at around 8. Fiddling in the kitchen gave her something to do. It was nonsensical but she still found a way to take blame. Making breakfast felt like fixing last night. Demetrius wasn't conscious for a good while after, and when he did wake up, she was going to send him back for another eight. He looked like garbage. His blonde hair looked like he slept on a balloon, and the dark circles that rimmed his eyes suggested he'd been sucker punched for symmetry. It scared her enough to where he got the first word. "I'm taking the week off," He declared. She forfeited a plate. "That's a bit of an overreaction for a hangover." Not that she disagreed. She had been ruminating alone for hours, therefore amply prepared. Breakfast came with a tall glass of water and an Asprin. His Starbucks order was already queued up, but overall the effort wasn't necessary. He looked down at her offerings queasy, like she was out to poison him. "Is it? Doesn't feel like it." "I mean. Can you even do that?" "Sure. I can get a substitute." She revoked the waffles without hard feelings. "I don't think your fan-base will like that." "We've already gone over this. You're more than a couple notches higher on my priority list." She stopped mid-turn. Nowhere was she in this equation. "Me? What does this have to do with me?" He shrugged, poking at an egg on a side plate only to watch it tear. Technically they were past the awkward feelings, but it always had time to rear its head. It didn't suit him, and when he looked as pathetic as he did right now? She took it personal. "I dunno. I never get to see you anymore." "What? We spent all weekend together. Where is this coming from?" "You're going to be working all the time..." "It won’t be different than it has been!" "Except when you slip off radar undercover?" His gaze locked with hers. Unable to look away, she receded back into her seat. "Or when you have to investigate some nocturnal freak, and you sleep through the day? You're always going to be busy. And with the new unit, I won't see you until next year." Troubled, she found it hard to argue. Everything was too new and intimidating, but to have problems arising before day one on the field? No one knew what they were dipping their feet into. Especially not her. "Yeah well." She frowned, slumping a little too. "...Is this going to be a problem?" His apprehension melted, eyes widening at the unexpected outcome. "What? No." He compulsively he reached across the table. He snagged her hand in his. "Nooo. This is my way of spending more time with you. At least the first week, while everyone's ansty." "...I'm not antsy. Are you antsy?" "I'm not antsy." He said, putting more effort into faking the lie than actually lying. Somewhat soothed, she rubbed a thumb over the back of his palm, catching onto where this was going. Or at least, she thought she did. "I guess what I'm saying is- you go get all the stress of saving Modena from Godzilla, and I'll be here to hear all about it." "Yeah." "...And maybe we can think about condensing our living situation when you're comfortable." She blinked. What he meant took a second to sink in. And while it was clear as day, it still had to filter through a wall of disbelief before she allowed her heart to be set. "...Really?" "Maybe..?" He smiled, hopeful. - - - The next day she dove into work. Far from anxious, she was energized. The future never looked so bright. And gross! When she wasn't pinning apartments for consideration, she was drawing big fat X's across hot spots on the map. Turns out when you're looking for monsters, it's easy to find them. Ghosts, vampires, banshees. Or the lesser known critters like something called the 'Gowrow' slinking around the Great Lakes. This wasn't Ashwater, this was large scale. These were pockets of creatures that have been here for centuries with roots as old as the cities themselves. They owned the properties, they ran the shops. Some accusations were thrown around that they were running for office. (The department was determined to not get political just after it inception. Or at least, not while everything was circumstantial.) Nevertheless, she was kept busy. And after a long day's work of pouring over night cam footage and house calls regarding suspicious smells, she'd come back to her apartment, where Demetrius was. "-and then I kicked down the door. They screeched, just like the things under Minnie's house, do you remember?" "I do. But do you remember when you were satisfied doing traffic stops?” He countered. “I sure don't." She propped her legs across his lap, still working a towel through her hair. It was impossible to tell if the notably short shower was a result of the four feet lopped off her head or the chipper mood. "Right? I really feel like this is good for me." "I can tell. Look at your eyes. It's like Stephen King with a nightmare. I don't understand it but if it's working for you, I'm glad." She grinned. There was no denying it. Being a detective was exciting but this was the next step. "And what have you been doing?" "Hey," He warned. "You can't seriously be expecting me to follow-up after a house elf drug bust." "Try anyways." She teased. He drummed against her knees. "Hm. Well. I spent the day laying the groundwork for community events later this year. How does a Oops I Did it Again themed confession night sound?" "Awful." "Right? I'm excited. I didn't get too far, though. Still feeling off." She draped the towel over her shoulders. "You know Ian got sick at that party too." "Yeah? Figures he's a lightweight." She rolled her eyes when he actually meant it. "Martina's cousin, too." "Huh...maybe it was something in the food?" "Maybe." She thought. Though she had eaten off his tray until it came to fishy hors'devours with names she couldn't pronounce. But an eleven year old wasn't touching salmon mousse cups either. "You rest easy then, okay?" "Aye-aye." - - - After her first couple days, beginners luck wore off. It's not that they weren't getting intel. Everyone had their stories. Tip lines rang off the hooks- it's just they weren't getting anywhere with them. Adria would try to make rendezvous with a witness, and they'd disappear. Stake-outs weren't active. Shops of interest shut down, and their owners went on holiday. Work plateaued. Overnight Modena's horror problem was drying up and leaving the department to scratch their heads. "What is going on?" Adria brooded into her steering wheel. Her partner, Peter, shook his thermos as if its contents hadn't gone cold ages ago. "They heard you were taking the city by storm and decided to pack up. "Yeah right. They couldn't get enough of me in Ashwater." He shrugged. For once, he had no wise aphorism to offer. They sat in the car for another uneventful four hours before turning in. She had nothing stranger to report than the ridiculous outfits people will be caught in public in. She came home that night, wound up and irritable. "Every day can't be a winner," Deme consoled. She was stabbing into leftovers like she'd injure the abstract concept of Modena's Lack Of Supernatural Crime by proxy. "Yeah, but nothing? It's like they fell off the face of the Earth. I get it, these guys are supernatural or whatever but that doesn't mean you can just disappear." "Except that it might?" "Unlikely!" She threatened him with a fork. He surrendered, two hands in the air. "You're right! So what now?" "We got one more place to check out for the Dover Demon problem." She said. "This little diner. The owner's story didn't match up with the rest of the accounts so we were going to ignore it as some guy seeking his five minutes of fame, but I guess we have no choice." "Good luck." The next day he turned up dead. "Jesus Christ." Adria held her nose. What smelled worse? The body, or the rotting lunch meat? The answer was both. All of it. The corpse was affixed to the ground with every utensil in the shop. It looked like the killer's intent wasn't to kill but to perforate. Blood spattered like a blender without it's top, leaving a scene so grisly that you'd have to be a true skeptic to believe this was done by a human hand. Adria wasn't one. It screamed occult, and when the crime scene turned up without any physical evidence despite being a snuff film outtake, it was safe to say everyone was onboard with that theory. It was awful. Aggravating, to have another lead go cold before pursued but the part that Adria couldn't get over was the timing. This guy had been shouting crazy nonsense for months. He published columns in Fortean Times. The FCC banned him from radio bandwidths- and this was all long before the unit popped up! It's only now that something felt threatened enough by him to off him? It didn't sit right. While forensics grasped for straws in the alley behind the shop, Adria left early. "What are you doing home?" Demetri blinked. He was fitting the key to her door. Startled, he offered a confused peck as she shouldered out of her jacket. The way she shoved it onto the rack was already a glaring indication something was wrong. The gun belt, thankfully, was set down with more delicacy. He shut the door quietly behind him. "...Are you okay?" "Today was a bust." "Again?" "Yeah. The guy was dead. The last witness!" "Jeez..." "Before, the case hadn't escalated to homicide. This is- all this!!- ugh." She sighed, attempting to expel the drama with her lungs. She was done with it. Demetri couldn't say anything comforting. Not in a way that mattered because she was just going to get angry if she thought about it too much. The scope is limited, but the eventual toll this could take on the city's faith in the MPI was a problem. How could anyone promise protection against the vague and general idea of Monsters? Before it was under control? There was no reference for handling these issues either. Other teams in the unit were having the same problems, if not worse. They actually looked to Adria for guidance. It was the helplessness that pissed her off. He sensed this. Settling onto the sofa, he patted the spot beside him as a tense reprieve from pacing. "...What now then? You can't just scrap it." "I can't." She took the bait. "But I guess we have no choice but to backtrack, and wait on the lab. I have a stack of cases that need my attention. Getting somewhere on one of them might inspire me." "Other cases?" She looked over, in the middle of combing through her hair with her fingers. He was rapt, but it was something about the way he asked. Maybe in the vein of jinx- superstition perhaps. She didn't know what prompted her to reply the way she did. Even doing it felt ridiculous, but Adria had spent enough years ignoring her gut and paying egregiously for it to not give in. Just this once. "We're also working a case on vampires.” She said. “There are suspicions of them at the casino." It wasn't a lie exactly. There were actual accusations, but they more or less seemed fabricated. "Reports say they’re taking care of people that can't pay up. A traffic light camera caught something promising, of all things. Can you imagine?" "Does this mean more undercover work?" He asked, with a salacious wiggle of his brows. "I'm not going blonde again." "Psh no. But black might be fun. Mysterious~" He shut one eye, picturing it between the angle of his thumb and finger. "I almost want in on it. Almost." "Maybe. We're still thinking about it, but I'll let you know if we need a human sacrifice." She frowned. "Speaking of looks, you look like you're doing the whole vacation thing wrong." "Sorry- should I go get a tan on top of my apartment building?" She wanted to laugh but she was serious. He was jaunty as ever, but he didn't seem to be looking any better since the party. The spaces under his cheekbones were hollowing, standing out too much on his lean babyface. On topic, she wasn't sure vampires would want him at all. "Is all this worrying you?" She asked. "You can be honest." He averted his eyes, evasive. It was the manner he always did when she was broaching sensitive topics without adequate warning. She barreled ahead, anyways. This was about her own worries just as much as his. "...Between this and the move-in thing we talked about, I don't want you making rash decisions just because you're worried. And not for the right reasons." The misdirect he could handle. "Right reasons? Adria...I'm always going to be worried. But that's going to happen whether you're fighting boogeymen or pickpockets." He said. "You're doing great work out there. There's no way I want out of it, or to be across the city while you do it. We're a team still, even if we're no longer matching." She snorted. "We were never matching." "Even if I don't get to play with your transponder anymore." "You weren’t supposed to do that either-!" "You're no fun." The evening devolved in to pleasant, familiar bickering. The stress from work melted away, and the next morning it became clear her home life and work life had a funny way of staying in sync. There was a breakthrough. After locals caught police presence in the area, more came forward. There were plenty of people willing to corroborate the deceased was insane (and not in the right-all-along way), but a few recounted strange activity that morning. He closed up merely a half hour after open, denying the lunch rush. Regulars were peeved but chalked it up to his usual antics until around noon when the upstairs neighbor’s dogs started barking. She insisted her chihuahuas were well behaved, special, wonderful angels who would never make a fuss unless something was wrong. It was easy to assume she was also crazy until a peek through the building's air system where the dogs were barking left a trail. The vents tunneled directly to his kitchen. From there, there was new residue to work with. Not human, and not natural. Adria headed back to the office to type up her report. She left the long soliloquies exalting inbred teacups dogs out of evidence, but the rest looked promising. Jazzed from the progress, she hadn't noticed Ian materialize at her desk. "Hey-o." "Hello," She parroted, not paying him any mind. He knew her too well to be offended. Amused, he waved a hand between her face and the screen until she docked back on Earth. "I said, Hey-o~!" "Oh- OH, Ian! Hi." "Someone's invested." He peered at her screen. It was split between photographs of gore, and what looked like sparkly powdered sugar down the ventilation system. "Neat. Has anyone told you that you type loud, by the way? Really loud?" "I've heard that before." Her seat twisted. She opened her palms for a kit-kat. He always snatched one every time he passed the receptionist's candy bowl. "Did you come over here to file a noise complaint?" "No. Not today." He tossed it. She caught it, flawlessly. "I was actually wondering if you got anywhere with the Victory Spire case?" "...Victory Spire?" "The casino?" She had heard him the first time but it wasn't registering. The case, as far as it concerned the police department, had been tossed out. There wasn't any evidence of missing persons or undead activity. Camera footage was flimsy at best. It was one of the first files put before them when the unit began, and seemed to be nothing more than people rallying against recently turned gambling legislation, and finding any reason at all to disparage it. Calling it paranormal was topical, and a red herring. "No?" She hesitated. Perplexed, Ian looked down at his paper. Adria never felt the urge to snoop more than she did now. Ian was dealing with his own workplace drama, extending from the fuzzy lines of where monster rights began and end, and nullifying actual evidence by acting too hasty at a scene. His interest in what's on her plate was unwarranted, much less cases she made up last night. "Huh." He rubbed his chin. "Okay. I must be confusing it with last night's Buffy marathon." "Must be..." He shrugged it off. "Oh well. Catch you later, alright?" "...Seeya." Following that weird encounter, Adria hit the brakes. Shutting it down her computer, she threw her on jacket and tore out of the building. She was a cop, but today had no problem breaking the speed limit. This time, to Demetrius' place. She racked her brain at every stop light. The pounding radio was shut off so she could think clearly, but it always came back to one conclusion. There was no situation she could come up with where he'd be in the same room with Ian. Or text. Or communicate at all unless a call to Adria's office accidentally misdirected, and even then she was sure Demetrius would over-act or hang up the phone. Them shooting the shit about case files wasn't feasible. But an office error wasn't making sense either. She had to ask. Where her newfound detective skills benefited her ability to lie, Demetri's exemplary talent stagnated. She knew- knew- she'd be able to tell. This would happen after a quick pit stop. She decided to surprise him. And by surprise, she did it in the general way police officers know how which is with an unannounced police raid. She didn't have a warrant, but she did have take-out. "Deme!" She bumped her hip into the door. It swung shut behind her, leaving her to waddle into his sleek bachelor pad with arms full of pretentious salads and deli sandwiches. To her immediate alarm, his apartment was dark. At first, it didn’t look like anyone was home until a confused 'Adria?' piped from the next room. He wandered out into the hall, bewildered and fixing his tie expertly without looking. While she knew he could do it blindfolded and handcuffed (lord knows she couldn't get one of those undone on her own, this coming from awkward experience), doing it in the dark habitually was...odd. "Uhhhh," She dropped the bags onto the dining table. "Did you miss your power bill? Is that why you've been crashing at my place?" He snorted, flicking on the lights one by one. "What brings you by?" "I had another bad day at work," She lied into dinner. Amazingly, it helped when caught off-guard. "Thought I’d spoil us to get over it. Also I didn’t want to cook." "Ohhh…” He cringed. "Unfortunately I just ate...Mind if I pop it into the 'fridge?" Adria was skeptical. It hadn't truly occurred to her until he said that, but from this angle, it looked like he hadn't eaten in ages. She usually knew when he riding the latest diet trend. More often than not, she was dragged into it herself, but that wasn't the case here. "Not at all..." He dipped into the kitchen. Time fleeting, she shot to her feet. Normally she was comfortable enough at his place to do whatever she wanted, whenever, but today was cloak-and-dagger. If her gut was speaking to her before, it was screaming now. Something was wrong. What exactly it was? Adria didn't know. She was going off zero probable cause, only the certainty she'd find her answers tonight. With that in mind she stalked down the hall, bounding towards his room. That felt like the right place to search, but she didn't manage to get that far. She stopped at the bathroom. It was dark. Those lights were off (of course) but what seized her attention was the mirror. It was veiled. A towel, tossed over the glass. This was weird in most contexts, immeasurably disconcerting in this one. Shooting one paranoid glance behind her, she pared a corner. Slow. Dread eased her movements to a crawl as reminders from every horror film said she'd regret what she found underneath- Nothing. The towel anticlimactically dropped to the sink. Underneath was a mirror. Just a mirror. She leaned in, scrutinizing her reflection like she'd find discrepancies with a squint. The Adria staring back at her moved as she did, at the right time, and the right way. The mirror itself behaved like any hunk of glass should, if not ever-so-slightly more flattering than what you'd get at IKEA. She opened her mouth to ask, this investigation taking bizarre, silly turn but as she did, Deme passed. "Adria?" She strangled a scream. Reflexes yanked on her nerves to slam the door just as he checked his room. "Oh, jeez." He muffled from the opposite side. "You scared me-!" She slid down the door. Words failed her. It had been a glimpse. A split second of him passing the glass, but it was enough for adrenaline to kick it into high-gear. That wasn't Deme. It was more reminiscent of a medical diagram. One of the nervous system, in the graphics that looks like spaghetti noodles trailing back to the brain. Similar, but on crack. Instead his skin puckered around the lines. Fat, discolored veins breaching the flesh, wiring into his face. His eyes were black masses, darkness for the ducts to filter into. "You okay??" She kept both hands fastened over her mouth, hitting the lock with her elbow. He was out there acting normal. The concern in his voice sounded so painfully real that if she had missed it, she could've gone the whole night none-the-wiser. Was she supposed to forget what she saw? How was she going to get out? Could she be convincing talking to her infected boyfriend? She couldn't. God, she knew she couldn’t. Her stomach revolted at the thought- those lines were ridged like grubs. Unable to summon the courage to reply, she tried to think rationally. She had her phone with her. Meaning, she had Martina. She wasn't the best at opening these conversations, but frankly clarity wasn’t on her mind. [7:36] Check your cousin in a mirror. She sent, ominous. Martina replied back as one would when issued that esoteric request. [7:37] What?? [7:37] Do it. Just do it. Silence. She nervously fidgeted as Demetri's concern continued through the door. "Adria...? Do you need anything? Meds?" "N-no!" She stressed. "I'm fine!" "Are you sure?" "Positive!!" Outside, Demetrius seemed to be catching on. What that meant only spelled out more trouble for her. "Oh- don't mind the mirror thing! They were doing roofing renovations." "Makes sense!" She called back. It totally did not. She diverted attention to her screen. It vibrated with the response. [7:41] Oh my god. what do I do?? whats wrong with him??!! [7:41] Don't do anything yet. Don't overreact either. I'm going to call Moreau STAT. With that, she exited the bathroom like a SWAT drill. Deme watched her whiz past. Had he been any closer, he'd have been hockey checked through the wall. "Uh-?!" "On call!" She said, rushing through the front. Gun belt was snatched at last possible second. "With what??" "More gambling vampires!" The door slammed. She shuffled down the hall like her life depended on it. For all she knew, it did. Moreau was on the other line before the elevator was down one floor. "I need you to look something up for me." The next call was to Martina. - - After one very brief and distressing phone call, her ex-office mate was corralled into a hotel. Following what they'd seen, it didn't feel safe to go home. It didn't stop the reminders, though. Deme's texts went unanswered. She sent his calls straight to voicemail, and after enough of them she smothered her phone completely. Martina hadn't stopped rambling, frantically trying to articulate what she saw in her baby cousin. "Angel looked like- like- a monster. Those things? I saw them move-! Like a hose, when you switch the water on-" Martina hadn't made the transfer over to the new department. She felt her skills were best spent against humanity's worst, so dragging her into this mess hit Adria with an intense wave of guilt. But after what Moreau said? There was nowhere else to turn. "I know. Deme too." "How-??" "Moreau thinks it's something called the Amazonian Saginata. It only develops in males." Her fists tightened on the wheel, composure paper-thin. "It takes over the body's nervous system post being ingested." Martina retched. "Ingested?" "Y-yes. They operate off the host's memory, making them mostly undetectable because they have all the information. But they're parasitic in nature, and they're kind of like bees, with hive-mind." "What?" She reeled. "How do we fix it? Can we fix it?" "Yes. With salt." "Salt? What do you mean salt?" "Salt is actually repellent for a lot of these things. Witches, demons, spirits-" She chewed her lip. In Ashwater she had it on hand at all times. In Modena, she’d need to pick the habit back up. "So we need it blessed?!" Adria had asked the same thing. "...No actually. just regular salt." Martina's horror shifted to confusion. "I think...Demetrius knows the most. We start with him." - - - They were armed as much as they could be with a condiment: four tins of Morton Salt shoved into Martina's purse, with half a can dissolved in a water bottle. Resolve steeled, Adria finally returned Demetri's call. "Sorry for everything. I got in over my head." "Are you serious? That's your excuse?" He fumed. She had to hold the cell away from her ear. "I was worried sick! I couldn't even get two words out of you! Or a text? What, were they right outside my door?!" She stifled a shudder. Martina was silently chanting 'ew ew ew' passenger side in her cruiser. The last thing they wanted to hear was how much a bug wearing her boyfriend was missing her. "I know. Listen, I'm sorry, but you know my job! I'm heading back to your place now. Or are you at mine?" "Still at mine," He heaved a sigh. Adria recognized it as same one he had at the hospital- angry, but relieved. It was almost impressive if not viscerally disgusting. “Okay. I’ll be there in five.” "I'll leave the light on for you." He derisively joked. "...Thanks." The call dropped. The ladies issued themselves a terse pep talk after parking. Their plan of action was foggy, but this was Deme they were talking about. A seatbelt's won a fight before. Two trained officers of the law could handle it. Maybe with a little struggle, but it'd be a piece of cake. They hoped. There wasn't a plan B. Outside his apartment, Martina stood off to the side. Her purse was readily accessible over her shoulder while Adria's anxious expression took center-stage at the peephole. She knocked and waited. There was a short shuffle from within before he opened up. "I hope you don't mind I brought Martina over.” Adria breached the threshold. “She was called to the scene with m-" Everyone froze at the characteristic click of a gun. "I do, actually." From around the corner, a familiar face stepped out. His gun was aimed directly to Adria's forehead. "Ian?!" "Drop your weapons." He ordered. Then, pointedly to Martina. "And knives." "I mean really, Adria?" Demetrius rubbed his eyes. "I thought this was going to be private. Weren’t you the one having issues about our personal lives on screen?" "You invited Ian!" She balked. Ian gestured for them to step inside. His sight never left Adria's head, and her mind wasn’t forgetting his range scores. The man was a bonafide sharpshooter, and his quick draw was unparalleled. He whipped his pistol, a nonverbal cue to get on their knees. Both complied. Adria tried to think, her train of thought shooting off into five different directions. If she got close enough for a gut punch, she could disarm him. If one of them distracted, the other could tackle him. If- Demetrius caught on before Ian. His face split into a smirk as he took a leisurely step backward, thunking right against Ian's barrel. "Little warning~ Deme may need this, but I don't." Adria paled. The pistol was point blank. She was willing to risk a bullet, but not in Deme. Martina swore under her breath, but Ian-parasite was already looking done from the melodrama. "Do we have you listening now?" "Yes..." She resigned. "Good, because we're only going to ask once.” Deme said. “Me and this asshole here? We're here on an assignment. You-" "I'm not an asshole," Ian frowned. Demetri paused his manifesto. "Yes. I know you're not. But you know how it is-" he vaguely gestured his head, like it was an obvious reference. Ian seemed to understand, pensive. "...Yeah, I do think you're an asshole too." “Great.” Adria was about to lose her goddamn mind. "ENOUGH bonding!" She shouted. "What do you want?!" "Right. So here's the deal. We want your unit to dissolve." "You're poking into dangerous territory and destroying our ecosystem." "Which I doubt you care about, since you decided you owned the place. Kill all the locals, and where does that leave us?" He asked, waiting for answers from his audience. "That's right- preying on your citizens. Guess what? We don’t want them either. We’re fine working with immortal folk. But scare them all out of town and what do you get?" Deme lifted his button-down. His ribs underneath were looking ghastly. Layered over it, Adria imagined what it'd look like in a mirror, fleshy valves waving between his bones. "Say, how much longer do you think this one’s got?" "We can't do that..." She whispered. Suddenly it was coming together. Demetri's espionage, Ian's detrimental rookie mistakes. They were working in tandem to discredit the branch. "It's not in our power." "You hear that? She says she can't." "That's unfortunate." "You know that decision comes from people a lot higher up!” She argued. “We need time-!" "Now that's an excuse. This kind of thing? It doesn't need time." He said, disappointed. "We can try to do this procedurally. Or we can destroy the agents one by one. Your choice." Martina and Adria looked to eachother but weren't going to be given time for counsel. "It’s eaaasy. Make the calls, babe." Demetri winked. "Fine!! Okay, fine." She said. "I will quit. Right now. If Ian quits too, that will only leave two agents..." Demetri's brows lifted, encouraged. "-You can’t run a whole unit off two, and they aren't going to find replacements that quick. They'll shut down the department, especially with how things have been going lately. No one has to die." "Oh? Is this true?" He looked to his consprator. Ian nodded, taking this news just as well. "Yeah. Sounds solid." Three were on the same page. The forth- "NO!" Martina shot up. Ian's aim instinctively drew to her, treating her as hostile. "This is terrorism! Do you think the city is always going to buckle under? Just because a couple of bug-guys scare us?!" "Martina-" Adria begged. "Don't ‘Martina’ me! I can't believe you! Giving up like this!" Adria flinched. Shame was already eating her up from the inside. It didn't need echoed in real time. Seeing this, Deme was compelled to move forward, but restrained himself. Fortunately, Ian took pity too. Without any physical gesture or decree, the priest received the motion to go swipe the girls' guns off the floor. The cop hoisted Adria off the ground. Martina’s eyes darted between the three of them. "What? No! What are you doing with her?" "Getting this over with," relented Ian. "You can chat her ear off later." “What?! Bring her back!” Ignoring her, they absconded to his porch. The glass shut behind them. Martina shifted back to the priest, lip curled. "You're disgusting," She spit. "Even my cousin? A child? What are you doing with him?!" Deme fiddled with the pistol, disinterested. This wasn't the same issue as the one he practiced with in Ashwater. His already stunted learning curve was further impeded. "Well we don't control who joins us. I thought that was obvious." "What does that mean?" "It's random." He looked up. "Who knows how many more of us are out there? And how many more there will be? Don't bother guilting Adria, by the way. This was going to happen regardless." Deep down he couldn't shake the impulse to protect. Martina wouldn't see it that way, just like he didn't see her ankles move. Her toes touched ground, poised for a runner's start. "It's not like we wanted to do this, you know." He went on. "We just have to. Give us credit." She would- Depends if this worked or not. Meanwhile on the porch, Adria dialed. "Hello, Chief Brian, uh. Sir." She stilted, shivering in Modena's night air. "This is Detective Kyriakoulopoulos." It was 11 PM. By some miracle, she got ahold of the police commissioner. Ian loomed. His demeanor relaxed into a easy but attentive lounge against the wall. No code words were going to be used. He knew them all, making this conversation tricky. She kept that in mind, but she wasn’t out to convince. Just buy time. "I don't mean to call you this late, but I need to discuss my employment. The MPI-..." She watched Ian's weapon. His gun was trained to her lower stomach for a long and painful death, but otherwise he played it casual. He was ready to take the phone, standing idle to toss in his own resignation for convenience. Before she got to the good part, a disruption triggered in his head. He pivoted. Alert, his arms swept to the apartment. He shot a round through the glass. Her eardrums threatened to shatter with the door. A mere second prior, Martina had tackled Demetrius. He wasn't as skilled as his partner. The priest's trigger finger pulled, but he neglected to remember the safety. The gun ticked, but she had him grounded before he knew what was going on. His counter fizzled, as one expert maneuver had him flipped onto his stomach, with an arm contorted behind him. "SHIT- hey! IAN, HEY-" Ian was synced with incredible precision. He was operating through drapes but the blind shot was enough to rattle both women. "Enough!" He warned, cloth billowing. "Let him go or I'll kill him!" Martina flinched. The bullet pierced the wall, and though it was random, it was one too close for comfort. This wasn’t going to plan, but one thing they went over in the car was that the parasites were capable of seeing through multiple sets of eyes: Demetri's, and Ian's. One point of view was wriggling under a petite woman, and the other was ripping down curtains to put her in his crosshairs. No one was watching at Adria. She dropped her phone. In the same movement, she ripped the cuffs off her belt, and slammed them onto Ian's wrist. He fired one more wild shot before Adria nailed him in the gut. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling while he went down. Before his weight took her with him, she shouldered him into the banister and locked him there. His other hand was free, the armed one. He swung. His wild arc struck Adria across the face and the force knocked her back into the door frame. She held back a cry as shards of glass embedded into to her skin, shredding her palms. His focus left Adria to turn back to Martina. Her head was staring perfidiously down the sights of his glock. That took priority. “NO!” One well aimed kick to his knee caps fixed that. Ian buckled, howling in pain as his pistol hurtled to the asphalt. It narrowly missed a pedestrian. He was disarmed, but it wasn't enough. In what looked like the shutdown of his sensory systems, he forgot his busted kneecap to pulverize his wrist instead. It jerked like a jackhammer, showing no signs he'd hesitate to break every tiny bone in his hands. Out of options, Adria struggled to her feet to deliver a violent uppercut to his jaw. One shot, and he was out like a light. Demetrius didn't put up enough of a fight to merit the formality.  - - - In an extraordinarily sensational newsbreak since its inception, the MPI resulted in an investigation of its own. All male attendants were called into the station and screened. The state never had to issue warrants based on a endo-corporeal parasite infection before, but there was no time like the present. It'd be the first of many arrests to break records. Meanwhile the culpable catering team was triangulated, tracked, and charged. Guilty parties were arrested (and dissolved, literally) while victims were admitted into the hospital. Modena's most menacing epidemic since tuberculosis was easily treated with limb restraints and a routine saline drip. It worked like a charm. The purging stage of detox was as gross as one could figure. Vomiting bugs was literally Adria's worst nightmare. While she loved and supported Demetrius to death, after their attempt at self-medicating went south, she did so from a distance. He wasn't technically awake so she refused to feel guilty. The detective relied on the staff to update her on his progress, and when he no longer hissing at the idea of S O D I U M, they gave him the all-clear. He stabilized in a state of disorientation. His brief was carried out in the most euphemistic, unrevolting manner possible. It wasn't pretty, but he got the picture. All he had to hear was 'bugs.’ He knew Adria was worrying herself into hyperdrive, and that made his own anxiety take a back seat. Their golden rule was only one person could be a wreck at any given time in this relationship, so when she walked in he put on his best game face. Her eyes widened, surprised. A few hours in the PCU did wonders. While still on the frail side, he looked so much better. (Adria didn’t, but it wasn’t nothing a few stitches couldn’t fix.) "My hero~" He cooed. She resisted the urge to use her compact. That bug had worked her over too well this past week. Consider her faith shaken. "Do you remember anything?" That was her cop voice. Amused, he tilted his head. "All of it." "All of it?" "Yup. Or at least I think I do." Demetrius punched a button. The backside of his bed levitated him up to a seated position. "It's weird, actually. More like a surreal dream. Well, nightmare, I guess." "You guess?" "Yeah. Nightmare. I don't enjoy have bugs wiggling around in my intestines but I didn't think that needed said." She'd taken a seat on the edge. Unsatisfied, he cinched her closer by the waist. "Why? Does this mean you're not going to tell me about your day anymore?~" "I certainly have good reason not to." She pouted. She wasn’t upset with him. Her apprehension wouldn’t last, just like the weirdness didn't. Already the were falling back into their normal rhythm- but that was the whole problem, wasn't it! She couldn't tell what was or wasn't him! And with that considered, one detail had been troubling. Gnawing at her, since this whole damn situation came to light. "So...did you mean that whole moving in thing?" "Hm?" "It offered- uh. Maybe nevermind...” "...Moving in together?” He offered. Her facade instantly crumbled, leaving evasion in its wake. Maybe a little disappointment. He was quick to remedy, “No. No, I meant that.  It didn't get that out of nowhere...” “Yeah...?” “I mean. I was going to ask, but.” He sank. “I going to find the right way to do it.” And it decided for him, in the exact opposite way. He had hoped she'd forget about it. It would've been easier. A reset maybe, so he could pitch it again with flair in mind. But before he could suggest- "I accept." She dropped into his chest. Burying her face, she squeezed him so tight his vital signs monitor went off the charts. (It was actually from the dislodged IV, but both liked the romantic idea better.) He grinned, petting the back of her head and letting his eyes drift shut. Perhaps it was easy for him to say, but everything turned out pretty okay. Most of it would be on her to fix. Later. For right now, this. "You know..." He murmured into her hair. "I might have bug breath, but are you sure you don't want a kiss commemorate?" Her response was muffled into his gown. "No."

[filmstruck]

PRÊT-À-PORTER (’94): Is It Pretty the Way It Is? By Nathaniel Thompson

Going to the movies in the 1990s was… strange. With big studios starting to really exercise a chokehold over what theaters were showing on screens across the country, there was still a bright light as indie films were also finding surprising ways of getting into mainstream theaters by utilizing strategies that are almost alien compared to the way things are now. Of course, the line between indie and studio was blurry, especially in cases like Fine Line, but it was exciting to have international prestige films popping up all over the place. One of the biggest shocks came in 1992 with THE PLAYER, a major comeback film for Robert Altman with seemingly every big name in Hollywood appearing somewhere in the frame over the course of this124-minute tale of murder and entitlement in Tinseltown. Altman had been considered unemployable by Hollywood at that point; his last bona fide theatrical feature was the poorly received BEYOND THERAPY (’87), followed by the brilliant TV miniseries TANNER ’88 (’88, of course) and the BBC miniseries VINCENT & THEO (’90), which was contorted into a theatrical feature after its run on television. (Those latter two and a fine selection of other Altman films are all available for viewing on FilmStruck and The Criterion Channel.) The funny thing is everyone still respected Altman; he just wasn’t considered bankable after a string of big-budget flops.

So, Fine Line (a division of New Line, now a division of Warner Bros.) had a big hit with THE PLAYER, and they followed it up right away with another all-star arthouse project, SHORT CUTS (’93). Adapted from a selection of deeply acidic, unsettling short stories by Raymond Carver, it turned out to be an epic, three-hour snapshot of Angelenos that was just as unflattering as his previous critique of Hollywood. By this point it was also obvious that Altman’s tone had changed; the man who had mounted a string of modest but technically innovative theatrical adaptations throughout the 1980s was now painting on a much larger, broader canvas, closer to the approach of his classic NASHVILLE (’75) but with an attitude that people often read as misanthropic or even downright hateful about humanity. Whether that’s the case is up for debate as a look at these films in context feels to me more like sad-eyed humanism with a heavy streak of dark comedy, but that’s up to each viewer’s personal taste.

It was inevitable that the big gorilla on the indie film scene, Miramax, would want in on the Altman action after his return to grace, so they jumped at the chance for another ambitious portrait of a glamorous lifestyle packed to the gills with famous faces: PRÊT-À-PORTER (’94), an unprecedented peek at the fashion industry, shot on location in Paris with a multitude of real-life haute couture personalities captured in their natural environment. It also had the selling points of Julia Roberts, one of the biggest movie stars in the world at the time and a bit of an Altman vet after a pivotal moment in THE PLAYER, and a reunion of Italian cinema icons Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni, including a reprise of their famous striptease scene from Vittorio De Sica’s YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW (’63). What could go wrong?

Well, for one thing there was that title. American moviegoers were perceived as deeply afraid of titles they didn’t understand, most laughably when the James Bond film LICENCE REVOKED had to change its title to LICENCE TO KILL (’89) because, according to marketers, the average U.S. citizen had no idea what “revoked” meant. Likewise, for its American release, Altman’s film was retitled READY TO WEAR, for obvious reasons. When the film opened, anticipation was high… and then people hated it. With a passion. This wasn’t a fun, fizzy jaunt to Paris with lots of high fashion eye candy. Instead it turned out to be a dark, strange, cynical barrage of overlapping storylines, united by the visual motif of characters stepping in doggie doo and climaxing in a sneering middle finger on the catwalk orchestrated by Anouk Aimée’s fashion designer and prompting a reaction of pure disgust from the glamour-worshiping American reporter Kitty Potter (Kim Basinger). Critics turned on Altman in droves during the film’s Christmas opening in America, and it left theaters far more quickly than the director’s last two films.

However, it’s a film that really sticks with you. The lack of a streamlined narrative isn’t an issue here as Altman goes for a full environmental immersion, showing how art and commerce can create a deeply dysfunctional but fascinating atmosphere that can bring out the worst and the wackiest sides of human nature. There’s a constant tension between the sleek Panavision visuals (no one uses widescreen quite like Altman) and the roiling nastiness inside the characters, and for some reason the same barbed tactic of those prior two films really hit a raw nerve here. 

The film was better received overseas where its tonal oddities didn’t seem quite so jarring, and despite its jaded view of superficiality, there’s no denying that there’s a vast amount of pleasure in just observing the insane roster of names you can see all in one place: Jean-Pierre Cassel, Forest Whitaker, Lauren Bacall, Tim Robbins, Jean Rochefort, Sally Kellerman, Richard E. Grant, Danny Aiello, Lily Taylor, Stephen Rea, Lyle Lovett, Tracey Ullman, Teri Garr and even Pedro Almodóvar muse/fashion staple, Rossy De Palma. It’s like someone took every 1990s American indie film and threw them in a blender with all of France’s biggest stars, which means that the film now plays like a priceless time capsule, capturing a point in cinema history that can’t possibly be replicated. 

It’s up for debate whether this nostalgia has softened the film’s sharp bite over the years, especially since several of the beloved actors appearing on screen are no longer with us (not to mention Altman himself). It certainly isn’t a film that’s gone soft at its core, there’s something to be said for its poisonous beauty and the way it refuses to let an entire industry get a free pass just because their famous and, of course, oh so pretty.

[aion-rsa]

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier’s Contessa Val Started Out as a Different Character

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This Falcon and the Winter Soldier article contains spoilers.

One of the most surprising reveals from Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier was the introduction of Seinfeld and Veep star (and all-around comic legend) Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Contessa Valentina Allegra de la Fontaine, also known in the Marvel comic book canon as Madame Hydra.

While it remains to be seen how faithful the character will be to her comic book origins and narratives, it’s clear from the start that the Contessa (Val for short) is a schemer and string-puller who has leverage in some very high places.

In episode five, right after John Walker (Wyatt Russell) is stripped of his Captain America title and drummed out of the service entirely for publicly killing a Flag-Smasher, she approaches him immediately afterwards and suggests he take her call when it comes.

And in the show’s finale, she oversees John — his blood now coursing with super-soldier serum — suiting up as U.S. Agent, his moniker in the comics as well. It’s made pretty clear that Val has plans for John, while the Marvel Cinematic Universe has plans for Val to return as well.

What makes this even more intriguing is that, according to TFATWS head writer Malcolm Spellman, the character that approached John did not start out as the Contessa.

“That character existed before she was Val,” Spellman reveals. “And then, as we were building out the story, someone from Marvel says, ‘Wouldn’t it be awesome if this was the Contessa?’”

When asked specifically if the first version of the character was someone else from the comics or a character original to the series, Spellman doesn’t, uh, spell it out directly. “Initially, before she became Val, she was a very similar character who was shady,” he says. “Was she CIA? Was she connected to S.H.I.E.L.D.? We didn’t know who she was. She was this mysterious character who has plans for John Walker. And then she just came to life when someone said, ‘What about making her Val?’”

This kind of jibes with a recent report in Vanity Fair that suggested the Contessa was originally slated to make her debut in the next Marvel theatrical film, Black Widow. While she may still be in that movie, the constant reshuffling of its release date (from May 2020 to last fall to, finally, this July) gave the Marvel brain trust an opportunity to introduce the character earlier via TFATWS.

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Spellman says that Val’s debut on the series is just one example of how Marvel bends its own bigger picture narrative needs to the story that its individual creators are already telling (most people assume it’s actually the opposite): “Marvel will, first and foremost, ask you to create what you want to create,” he insists. “And they’re working right there side by side with you. They build the connectivity to the MCU after you build the purest version of your story. Then they see what would naturally fit.”

He cites another example of the same approach from the show: “Madripoor,” he explains. “We created this crazy city based on a real place. There’s a real city where there’s a block of restaurants lined up where you can eat endangered species. There’s open gun bazaars. We knew we wanted to send them to a place like that for the story. Once we had that naturally in the story, the idea comes to make it Madripoor, and everyone geeks out because we know what it means.”

We suspect we’ll be seeing more of both the Contessa and Madripoor as the MCU moves forward (according to a new article from EW, Louis-Dreyfus is “game for it”), but in the meantime, both remain illustrations of how Marvel continues its uncanny success at crafting stories that general audiences can enjoy, while seasoning them with characters and references that fans “geek out” over.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier is streaming on Disney+.

The post The Falcon and the Winter Soldier’s Contessa Val Started Out as a Different Character appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[vileart]

Burrowing Dramaturgy: Andy Edwards @ Tron

 In Burrows

A new performance in BSL and spoken word, created by Andy Edwards, presenting at Tron Theatre on March 23rd and 24th. 

credits: Julia Bauer

The performance frames the act of description through a series of choreographies, investigating the relationship between spoken language, sign and meaning, and exploring perspective and how we engage with the world around us. In Burrows will be accompanied by a number of guest performances. Musician Blair Coron will perform a composition developed especially for the event. Petre Dobre and Adriana Navarro will present the short performance Words, who needs them?  What was the inspiration for this performance?

In Burrows began as a short piece, first performed at Only Skin’s SCRATCH back in October 2016. In the work I would describe an image to the audience, an image that was placed onstage so that they couldn’t see it, in 1500 words. What inspired this performance was a desire to make the easiest piece of work I could possibly make, that offered the maximum amount to the audience it could while carrying with it as little as possible. So it made sense to work with an audiences imaginations. Then I also wanted a piece of work I could just turn up and do, make up on the spot, so it made sense to play with improvisation.

The method of improvisation I employ was developed as part of the ground, the highest point a duet of text and dance I performed with Paul Hughes at a couple of festivals during 2015. Initially it very strongly drew from (or, less charitably, stole) Tim Etchell’s solo practice but since then it has departed considerably, and I’ve improvised poetry across a wider range of contexts, developing my own particular set of enquiries. Those enquires are primarily linguistic – I’m interested in how language works.

When offered to present In Burrows at Tron I was posed with the problem of how to take a very solid short work and evolve it into something three times the length, without just dragging it out. I’d been curious about working with a British Sign Language interpreter for a while, largely out of a desire to make my work more accessible to an audience I’d previously not made any work for and also because I was curious about the language itself. Placing Amy Cheskin into the work has been brilliant. A simple act that has produced lots of tensions, questions, that have driven the work forward.  Thinking about translation, interpretation and the fuzzy areas in

between has given the project a new lease of life – and certainly inspired me to push forward with it. Rehearsals are thundering along and we’re both pretty buzzed by how fascinating language is, and how it intersects – both producing and being produced by – what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, how you’re trying to position yourself to others and the world around you.

Is performance still a good space for the public discussion of ideas?

It is a good launch-pad for the public discussion of ideas – and then, that discussion, happens after the performance has taken place. Any good discourse is advanced by someone making a claim about something, and then other people assessing that claim. Me saying that I think this gives you something to react off of.

The way I go about making performance is to think that each performance I make is an act of making a claim about something, taking up a position, and that by taking up a position I’m inviting others to observe, discuss and criticise that position. That’s the basic task that I’m up to – trying to hold someone’s attention long enough for them to know what it is I’m claiming but with a relaxed enough grip so that they can react to it. And then things that I’m doing are hugely informed by the ideas I’ve previously discussed that have led me up to this point.

I think that’s why art in general is a good space for the public discussion of ideas – because it is often people making statements about the world that have a smaller impact on that world. That isn’t to say that impact is negligible. Not at all. Or that it doesn’t have a significant impact on the world. It most definitely does – and that isn’t always a positive one. But there’s something both flimsy and robust about art that means the stakes are low enough so that we can discuss it but that also our discussion of it won’t kill the thing stone dead. So yes, in that sense, it’s has the potential to be a great space to discuss ideas.

That’s all potential though, because if only a small segment of people can access the space in which the discussion takes place then it won’t be much of a discussion at all. So, it depends on what the performance is, where it is being held and who is allowed in.

How did you become interested in making performance?

I’m not particularly sure. I came about it the long way around and avoided it for a while, in part due to a certain type of pressure applied to me when I was younger, and in part due to being scared that I’d be totally rubbish at it. As a teenager I found acting, with characters and lines and arcs, such a release for a build up of emotions I’d not learnt how to deal with. I did a GCSE, then A-Level, in drama. Then fell in with the theatre crowd at University – after a brief attempt to avoid doing it – then did a masters – after another brief attempt to avoid doing it – and since then I continually flip flop between wanting to knock Shakespeare off his perch and “getting a job in a bank”, forgetting of course that getting a job in a bank is probably quite difficult / the banks might not be particularly in desperate need of my services.

Is there any particular approach to the making of the show?

Me and Amy work in a manner where the creative responsibility is a little imbalanced. Given Amy is a translator, that’s a really necessary thing for her to do her job, but it leads to the interesting tension where if the work is crap it isn’t her fault, it’s mine. So it is interesting how labour divides up as a result of that. The pattern is that we meet once a week and for three hours throw things about, try something and note what happens. Then I’ll go away and write something, some notes, a script, or whatever – and then we’ll come back together again and throw what’s left together again. So we move forward like that – and it’s going super well I think.

Thinking about our general approach, we spend a lot of time asking what the audience will be getting from the work, and how audiences with different abilities will receive the work differently. The work will be accessible to a range of audiences including those who are D/deaf, hard of hearing, partially sighted or blind, with integrated BSL interpretation and audio description. This desire to make a piece of work that offers a rich theatrical experience to these audiences informs a lot of decisions we make. Rather than to offer one blanket experience of the work, we’re curious as to what we can offer each of these specific audiences in turn. The work, as a whole, is concerned with a very specific relationship to each and every one of its audience members. It’ll be a bit different for everyone, given that a lot of it will take place inside their heads.

Does the show fit with your usual productions?

While I’ve performed my work before, most recently as part of Andy Arnold’s group show NOWHERE during Take Me Somewhere 2017, I am more commonly found as a playwright. Typically I write text for others, in a ‘New Writing’ context, whereas for In Burrows I’m speaking text that has never been written down.

There’s a thread that runs through all this work though, which is about being in control of language. That sentence sounds a bit gross, reading it back. With In Burrows I’m making that process more explicit to the audience then if I were to write a play, which I’d typically do out of sight.

So while it will look very different to a lot of my other work, I think the underlying mechanics are fundamentally the same.

What do you hope that the audience will experience?

The dramaturg for In Burrows, Paul Hughes, wrote this note to me after a development weekend: “I’m looking at a photograph by Andy Goldsworthy currently on display in the Glasgow Gallery of Modern Art: a line of upturned leaves placed on dense patch of bracken, the stark white undersides standing out from the vivid green of the forest. It doesn’t impress the viewer in how it has acquired huge or rare or precious materials, or on how many people the artist holds in their command, or even in how it has hoodwinked and mocked the institution that houses it. No sustained physical commitment was required to produce this; in fact, the action so simple that we can imagine the exact steps with which it was undertaken. The gesture points towards the artist themself as much as any material circumstance or image.

Is this an alchemical transformation? Do we perceive the artist as a magician, effortlessly transforming reality around them? This can only be determined on a case-by-case basis, depending on the individual viewer’s tastes, affiliations and readiness to go along with the trick. What’s more clear is the particular sense of romance, of the poetic, within the artist: of the ways in which they read charm and delight in the world around them. Perhaps in this work - and obviously I’m talking about In Burrows too - the artist is inviting us to briefly see the world through their eyes - not as a way to seduce us, but to share with us a way in which we might allow ourselves to be seduced. We stand before an intimate proposition; the individual’s un/abashed offer of their very personal relationship to beauty”

So perhaps that sums it up, perhaps it doesn’t. I’m wanting the audience to have the experience of observing something very personal to themselves, namely their relationship to language, memory, imagination and image. It’ll be small, quiet, and hopefully full of stuff for them to latch on to and play with.

Both In Burrows and Words, Who Needs Them? have been created for the enjoyment of hearing, hard-of-hearing and D/deaf audiences. In Burrows also features integrated audio description for blind or partially sighted audiences. from the vileblog http://ift.tt/2ohvYuv

[randomnameless]

Chapter 7 - Darna to Alster!

Seliph finally finishes this Naga forsaken map and says good bye to the Desert.

RETCONS RETCONS WHO WANTS RETCONS?

(joking, FE4 happened before FE5 so FE5 is the retcon game but)

Ares wants to talk to his friend - the reason why he turned blue to begin with 

but an idiot is here, blocking the doors.

so the only thing he can do in this situation, since he’s grey and can’t move, is talk to the guy.

don’t ask that

no “it is I, Ares the Black Knight”? Vengeance leaves no place to theatrics.

uh... yeah? Siggy couldn’t kill Eldie even if he wanted, he didn’t have the stats for that!

Poor Graine. Here you see miscommunication at its finest, granted, given how Eldie ignored his wife/son to run to his sister’s side and Siggy’s help, I understand why Grainne never got the true side of the story. Her version, and I believe the version of most Agustrians is “Siggy led an invasion in Agustria, Eldie died while defending his homeland and his King” which isn’t that far from reality actually! I love how Ares calls his mother “noble” and not just, my mother. Seliph is of course completely clueless, no one bothered him to keep him in touch with the Augstrian campaign - Aidean what were you doing?

uh... well, i’m sure they hold no hard feelings against each other because they were knights and knights simply do what they’re told, if they hate someone it’s the king who orders them to fight, but Eldie wasn’t totally happy at Siggy’s invasion/occupation. Hopefully Siggy went all “i’m just listening to orders i’m trying to write a letter to Azmur don’t worry” and Eldie believed him. If Chagall wasn’t such a douche the blame could be shared, but hey, we have the most perfect scapegoat so let us all blame Chagall, it makes the Augustrian campaign less catastrophic.

haha Seliph doesn’t understand a thing, Ares is the son of dad’s friend so we can be friends, right? It’s still kind of insensitive to call Ares’ lifelong grudge a “misunderstanding”, OTOH it’s clever because Seliph isn’t calling Ares’ “noble” mother a liar to his face!

Genealogy of the Holy War : sons must pay for the grudges of their fathers? S

Subverted here, Ares drops his grudge. If only we could have asked Brian or even Scipio to do the same :) But their dads had ugly sprites, so they couldn’t be Siggy’s friends so we don’t give figs about them :)

Not totally subverted though, Ares still has doubts and will murder Seliph if he lied.

i cringe a little at this line from Seliph tbh, the fate of the world resides on your shoulders (lel) because you’re the only Naga alive (lelel) F!Lewyn said so, and you’re willing to die just to please Ares? Seliph no :’(

hey you know what you could have met him when you were 3 weeks old if Eldie wasn’t such a douche and didn’t ignore his son and wife. During the occupation he could have sent them to say “hello” to Siggy and his family (or invited them at his place) before Chagall became a douche, but no, Eldie never gave a crap about his family - save for Raquie.

Once he is finished with Seliph Ares pushes him and runs to find his true friend

Here she is! He worries about her, how cute.

:’(

Ares apologises and calls himself a fool, poor Ares. And Lene confesses that she isn’t alright but she still trusted him even after he made himself a fool with that “killing Seliph” nonsense.

Daw! Why IS didn’t give them any lover convo?

Of course he won’t! He will take you home to Agustry! and then you’ll be eaten alive by the agustrian court

“are you the guy Ares wanted to kill?”

“Ares told me about you, he said “move imbecile i have to rescue Lene” when i tried to talk to him earlier”

No dancers in Isaach? 

i don’t know if that would be the word i’d use. Seliph is flustered seeing scantily clad women. Granted, any scantily clad woman would have been captured in Dozel!Isaach so...

and now for the retcon: Raquie’s children!

“who are you random knight?”

what are you talking about? Wait you didn’t knew you had a bro? But in FE5...

that’s understandable - save the part where Lewyn only tells you now that you have a sibling but fig that guy.

off screen, crawling after Shanan and Oifey because they said they could only carry one child and that one child was Seliph

hoho, so Nanna’s Leonster born, it fits with the timeline. The thing that doesn’t is Nanna still ignoring she has a bro :’(

is it me or FE4!Nanna seems to miss Raquie more than FE5!Nanna?

??? I thought you said you didn’t know you had a bro and now Raquie told you she left to meet him in Isaach??

Poor Nanna, she waited to see her, she had no mother figure during all those years

only kaga knows

she took her horse and fled with her horse in the desert with figging sand and it’s not like Quan did the same mistake but no 

meanwhile, two cousins chat

at least - well yeah at least because he had to backtrack to Darna and it took around 15 turns or something (thanks Naga for Lana’s warp staff)

prelude indeed, since Arvis hired Travant and co to assist in his coup

bad Leif, you forget how Travant first set your home in flames and only afterwards Blume arrived. You were sleeping during Finn’s history time or what?!

“my knight Finn” sounds... not strange, but I can’t see FE5!Leif calling Finn “his knight”. Finn is his father figure, he is Finn, not a knight. Heck I doubt FE5!Leif would even call Carrion and co “his knights”. August/Dorias would.

this is so... well, not strange because in FE5 Leif says retaking Leonster was his dream (Finn’s dream) but before chapter 6 he was happy living as a peasant in Fiana with his sisters (and Jugdral’s best mom) killing pirates. Maybe that’s not something you can tell to your kingly cousin, so it’s better to say that he wanted to fight since the beginning...

pff would you have helped against Raydrick when he stoned Eyvel - i mean when Dorias and co tried their multiple attempts at murdering Blume in his sleep? I don’t think so but it’s something Seliph has to say. He doesn’t have to apologise per se but... Well, the way Leif told his story we could think we should be berating Seliph/Siggy for the BBQ’s aftermath that impacted Leonster - in that regard Seliph HAS to apologise.

but this vision, of course, throws Travant in the “ignored” trashcan.

But Leif quickly apologises, it wasn’t his intention to put the blame on Seliph. It’s squarely his fault. RIP Dorias :’( (well Miranda has to share the blame too)

?? Of course he was worthy of being dubbed a knight of Nova he was a crusader. But Leif bragging about being the son of Quan? Heck, that’s something Finn/Dorias would say “don’t lose hope prince you’re the son of quan”, the words of support Ced shared with him when he was down! FE4!Leif is so... confident and assertive, it’s super... weird considering my only Leif experience was FE5!Leif.

It’s so weird that I don’t recall FE5!Leif saying something like that, or reclaiming himself of Quan’s legacy even once. 

“Marty, Othin, pack your things we’re going with Seliph now. Lifis too.”

“But Lord Leif, we’re returning to Fiana now” “don’t you dare i said we’re leaving.” Haha, restoring honor to Granvalle? It’s not about stopping the child hunts and stopping Loptyr’s resurrection? this is so un - FE5!Leif - like! remember the guy who screamed about honor and glory? he would have said those lines!

uh... sure, Quan helped Siggy a lot. And given how Quan died for/because/ during his quest to help Siggy, their deaths are linked.

OMG OMG OMG SOMEONE REMEMBERS

Indeed, but i can’t totally ignore the fact that maybe Ethlyn, even if she wasn’t a Chalpy anymore, wanted to restore her “birth” house’s name clean too, and was also worried about her dad - who didn’t even mention her but that’s how we roll in Jugdral daughters are worthless.

Again, Seliph apologises. Not for Leonster’s fate, but for Quan and Ethlyn on the behalf of his dad.

yes, the stories August told me said that Siggy manage to pierce Arvis’ plans before everyone else! He was a wise man!

As do I? What about “don’t hate the people, only the evil in their hearts?” “oh fig it”. 

pff hahaha if only you knew what were your dads’ last wishes! it was only about restoring chalphy’s good name!

he already said he was going to lend you his scrubs!

“damn that new blade shoots beams of light it’s so cool!”

“I GAVE YOU THOSE RIBBONS!” “hilda did and told me to hang myself with them it’s not a kindness”

hey look, it’s the imperial princess!

“Fear me else I’ll tell everything to daddy and he will Valflame you to oblivion”

because...

“THE MYSTELTAINN CRAVES THE BLOOD OF MEN”

but i thought Julius wanted to throw his party there? You can’t just rewarp in it, it’d be lame!

Wow no mercy for Blume? But yeah, per Aidean’s history lesson, when a baron escapes he will return to piss you off again until you kill him.

it could have been helped if we put men to block the exits, re you really a strategist? or maybe Blume just rewarped when Ares was busy screaming his finishing line for the finishing blow...

??? They’re happier than the Isaachians you fred from Danan’s rule? I honestly can’t believe it.

a real hope, not a joke like Leif’s failed attempts^^

yeah, they’re all stronger than you. Even your wife Larcei!

“have you seen that kid with Leif’s group? She can steal stuff with a magical staff!”

“just as planned and if you don’t i have a backup plan involving a minor character with naga blood”

lol Julia isn’t part of any plan.

[newyorktheater]

Fans can add another reason to be disappointed with Game of Thrones. NBC executives are now claiming they killed Hair Live, which they had planned to broadcast yesterday, when HBO announced GOT’s finale would be aired on the same day. Rather then reschedule Hair, they used this as an excuse to drop it. “The bigger, broader, four quadrant, family-friendly musicals are the ones that work,” NBC Entertainment chairman George Cheeks told Ad Week. “Four quadrant” is TV exec-speak for the four major audience niches: both male and female, and over- and under-25.

  The Week in New York Theater Awards

2019 Drama League Awards:Bryan Cranston, Hadestown, The Ferryman…

Hadestown Amber Gray Patrick Page Reeve Carney on Broadway 2019

2019 Chita Rivera Awards: Hadestown, Alice by Heart, Ephraim Sykes….

The Lilly Awards The 10th annual Lilly Awards, which honor the work of women in the American theater, gave awards to: Jayne Houdyshell (presented by Laurie Metcalf), LaTanya Richardson, Dawn Landes for her work on the new musical Row, Masi Asare, Gretchen Cryer and Nancy Ford, Eliana Pipes for her play Dreamhouse, Julia Cho and Oliver Butler. The evening ended with Shaina Taub’s tribute to Liz Swados, and plays by women artists given out as party favors. Marsha Norman announced that the Lillys will start to publish theater writing from multiple points of view to reduce the “tyranny” of the current limited critical voices

The Roger Rees Awards for Excellence in Student Performance: Best Actress – Ekele Ukegbu, Elmont Memorial High School (Nassau Country), for the role of Aida in Aida. Best Actor – Jeremy Fuentes, Archbishop Stepinac High School (Westchester County) for the role of Calogera in A Bronx Tale.

Up Next: The Obies (tonight!), Drama Desk Awards, the Tonys (2019 New York Theater Awards Calendar and Guide)

The Week in New York Theater Reviews

The Pink Unicorn

The story that Tony winner Alice Ripley tells in this one-woman show – of an unsophisticated mother named Trisha Lee in the small Texas town of Sparktown who becomes woke after her child Jolene comes out to her as genderqueer  – is inspired by playwright Elise Forier Edie’s own experience with her child’s similar announcement at the age of 12.  Edie wrote “The Pink Unicorn” in 2011, and has performed it herself to some acclaim since 2013 around the country.

But Trisha Lee differs significantly from Edie herself….

Happy Talk

From the moment Susan Sarandon makes her entrance in Jesse Eisenberg’s latest play, it is clear her character Lorraine is extravagantly self-absorbed to the point of delusion….It would be easy to find humor in Lorraine’s vanity and even in her contempt, and to assume that the play will be a comedy…But Happy Talkis an ironic title for a play that winds up far closer to horror than comedy. Whatever pleasures come from the fine acting by a starry cast in this New Group production directed by Scott Elliott,  Happy Talkis ultimately a sour and off-putting play

Enter Laughing

Comedian Carl Reiner called his comic novel Enter Laughing, because that is the first stage direction that his 17-year-old main character is given, at his first ever-audition, and he makes a hilarious hash of it.

Reiner wrote his semi-autobiographical novel at the peak of his popularity in the 1950s, recalling his frustrating and sidesplitting effort to break into show business as a teenager from the Bronx in the 1930s.

Reiner is now 97 – even his son Rob Reiner is now a name for nostalgists — so it shouldn’t be too surprising that there is an old-fashioned feel to the musical comedy adapted from Reiner’s novel

Original Sound Review: When Is It Musical Inspiration, and When Theft?

Did George Harrison steal from The Chiffons?…he “My Sweet Lord” vs. “He’s So Fine” case is just the most famous of a whole slew of accusations of musical plagiarism… that can serve as background to “Original Sound,” an original play by Adam Seidel..In its own low-key entertaining way, “Original Sound” forces you to think not just about the music business, but about the nature of the creative process.

Ismenia Mendes as Lady Macbeth and Isabelle Fuhrman as Macbeth

Mac Beth: 7 Schoolgirls Put On Shakespeare’s Tragedy

At the end of “Mac Beth,” Macduff severs Macbeth’s head and then she takes a selfie of it, posing with two of her fellow murderous teenage girls, all dressed in parochial school uniforms.

This is one of the cleverest moments in Erica Schmidt’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s tragedy,  produced by Red Bull Theater at the Lucille Lortel, in which seven actresses portray schoolgirls who are putting on “Macbeth” in the middle of an empty lot.

Then She Fell: Rachel I. Berman (as Alice)

Jason Tam as Epic

Red Hills, 2018 Sifiso Mabena and the moon

Cafe Play

The Best Immersive Theater Companies in New York

  The Week in New York Theater News

Stephen Sondheim and Jason Robert Brown will perform together with Katrina Lenk in an evening of songs and stories with two pianos and an orchestra at Town Hall June 24, to mark Brown’s 50th SubCulture performance 

Lincoln Center’s revival of My Fair Lady will close at the Vivian Beaumont Theater July 7, having played a total of 548 performances (39 previews and 509 performances It will launch a national tour in December.

Its national tour was postponed last year. Now, as promised, @BATtheMusicalNY, inspired by Meat Loaf’s hit album, is coming to NYC after all — to @NYCityCenter Aug 1 – Sept 8 pic.twitter.com/U648z1spk2

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) May 15, 2019

David Byrne’s @americanutopia coming to Bway’s @hudsonbway Oct 4,2019 – Jan 19, 2020. Opens Oct 20. The theatrical concert features songs from @DBtodomundo‘s 2018 American Utopia album + songs from #TalkingHeads & his solo career. Pre-Bway run in Boston’s @EmColonial Sept 11-28 pic.twitter.com/d6nXP4qt5B

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) May 17, 2019

Fleet Week Follies, Waterwell, the theater company that presented “Blueprint Specials” on board the battleship, is offering a day of music, food and family activities on May 26th, with hosts Andrew Rannells and Celia Keenan-Bolger inspired by the legacy of the Stage Door Canteen, at National Sawdust in Brooklyn.

  Broadway in the Boros

Noon to 1 p.m., free!

  Chicago production of Hamilton will close Jan. 5, 2020, having played 1,365 performances to some 2.8 million people & grossing hundreds of millions of $. Why is it closing? Strategy, as @ChrisJonesTrib explains. (e.g. don’t want to sell discount tix)https://t.co/dHxnppTU1Y

— New York Theater (@NewYorkTheater) May 16, 2019

Glenda Jackson

  Why To Kill A Mockingbird didn’t get a Tony nomination for best play maybe.

Solving the 6 Biggest Mysteries of This Broadway Season

An abbreviated version of the answers Michael Paulson got..

Is the sidewalk scene in “Network” performed live? Yes

Where does Aunt Maggie of The Ferryman go when she’s far away? I think about death a lot

How tall is that guy in “Hadestown”? Timothy Hughes is 6’7″

What’s it like to dance in a wheelchair? “It’s a little like being on ice,” says Ali Stroker, in the cast of Oklahoma!, “because the movement is more fluid than when people are walking and running.”

How does the male star of “Tootsie” sing like a woman? Lots of practice.

Is the debate in “What the Constitution Means to Me” scripted or improvised? A little bit of both.

Game of Thrones vs Hair Live. David Byrne On Broadway, Bat Out of Hell Off. More Awards! #Stageworthy News of the Week Fans can add another reason to be disappointed with Game of Thrones. NBC executives are now claiming they killed Hair Live, which they had planned to broadcast yesterday, when HBO announced GOT's finale would be aired on the same day.

[aion-rsa]

What Would a Queen’s Gambit Musical Look Like?

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Some ideas are too good to be constrained to merely one medium. Such is the case with Walter Tevis’s 1983 novel The Queen’s Gambit. After starting its life on the page, the story of chess prodigy Beth Harmon moved to television with a seven-episode Netflix adaptation starring the ethereal Anya Taylor-Joy.

Now that Netflix’s The Queen’s Gambit is racking up awards (with a presumable Emmy sweep still to come) it’s time for the story to enter into yet another medium. Deadline reported today that entertainment company Level Forward has acquired the theatrical stage rights to the novel. That’s right: The Queen’s Gambit is about to be a play…and a musical no less. 

“It is a privilege for Level Forward to lead the charge of bringing The Queen’s Gambit to the stage through the beloved and enduring craft of musical theater,” Level Forward CEO Adrienne Becker and Producer Julia Dunetz said in a statement. “Told through a brave and fresh point of view, audiences are already sharing in the friendship and fortitude of the story’s inspiring women who energize and sustain Beth Harmon’s journey and ultimate triumph. The story is a siren call amidst our contemporary struggles for gender and racial equity, and we’re looking forward to moving the project forward.”

Read more

TV

The Queen’s Gambit is Reportedly Netflix’s Most-Watched Limited Series Ever

By Alec Bojalad

TV

The Queen’s Gambit: Why ’60s Retro Feels So Fresh in 2020

By David Crow

Though no further details of The Queen’s Gambit musical have been announced, that doesn’t mean we can’t get started on speculating what it might include. In fact, let’s not speculate at all – let’s just write the whole darn thing! The story of Beth Harmon is dramatically resonant and offers up many emotional moments where she and the people around her could burst into song. 

Using the Netflix miniseries as a guide, here are some songs we want to hear in The Queen’s Gambit musical. 

White Moves First

The curtains rise and we see a chessboard with life-size chess pieces, Harry Potter-style. Soon we realize that the chess pieces are the chorus, dressed in black and white, and they begin to sing a highly energetic tune about chess. At first the song seems to be a primer on the rules of the game for the audience, but when delved into deeper, it’s telling the story of Beth Harmon’s life in full. Beth arrives onstage at song’s end and the pieces rush off, leaving her alone on an empty chessboard.

Mr. Shaibel’s Game

The chessboard set has been subtly changed to resemble the orphanage, with the basement of said orphanage off to stage left. After some expository dialogue between two orphanage workers reveals Beth situation, Beth is sent off to the basement where she meets Mr. Shaibel.

The song that follows is a lively, yet restrained two-hander where Beth learns to love chess. In fact, many of the songs in this musical will be duets, replicating the experience of two individuals playing chess. The end of the song, however, will find Beth quickly dispatching the local high school chess club’s entire team as the music intensifies 

Little Green Pills

“Little Green Pills” will be the jazziest number yet. The music will be brassy and relentlessly upbeat, belying the song’s grim subject matter as Beth becomes hopelessly addicted to the pills at a young age. The chorus returns for this one and are joined by many orphanage staff and Beth’s friend Jolene.

Apple Pi Club

Beth is adopted by Alma and Allston Wheatley. She attends school for the first time and is introduced to the Mean Girls-esque Apple Pi Club. The song that follows will introduce the titular club and reveal how out of place she feels away from the chessboard

Kentucky State Championship 

Thankfully the chessboard and chorus return to the stage here! “Kentucky State Championship” is our first of very many chess bangers. Both Townes and Harry Beltik are introduced here via song. The upbeat energy is interrupted for only a brief reprise of “Little Green Pills�� as Beth reloads on the pills before the final match against Beltik, which she wins.

Orphans

Things slow down for “Orphans.” After Allston leaves the family, Alma and Beth musically bond over being orphans in their own way. 

Viva Las Vegas

Though in the series, Beth heads off to Cincinnati for a tournament after the Kentucky State Championship, we’re speeding things up a bit here. “Viva Las Vegas” will naturally take on the bombast of a Las Vegas showtune. This is where we’re introduced to Benny Watts, and more importantly: Benny Watts’ motif. Since the Benny is always “on”, this song will feature a subtle ticking clock throughout all of its runtime. 

Offbeat Opening

That ticking clock abruptly stops during “Offbeat Opening.” This is our first introduction to Russian grandmaster Borgov. The song covers Beth’s first matchup against Borgov and is composed almost entirely on piano. It sounds Tchaikovsky-esque, After Borgov’s offbeat opening move, Beth’s internal monologue runs through all the remaining possible moves before she loses. At the end of the song, Beth discovers that Alma has died of hepatitis, exacerbated by drinking. 

Little Green Pills (Reprise)

Little Green Pills returns but is a half beat slower as Beth spirals from her loss to Borgov and introduces alcohol into the mix of her addictions.

New Circle Road

“New Circle Road” is the big, show-stopping number at the end of Act I. This song begins slowly by flashing back to the accident on New Circle Road that killed her mom. Beth recaps the moments of her life that led her to this moment and resolves to become a better, stronger person and chess player as the figures from act one and chorus support her. 

End of Act I

Shadows on the Ceiling

The first song for Act II introduces one of the more interesting visual elements from the Netflix series: the hallucinatory ceiling chessboard. The act opens open on a chessboard stage again but then light cast on the upper wall of the stage reveals a rooftop chessboard. The chorus provides an update on Beth’s story. Beth then arrives near song’s end to acknowledge the chess pieces on the ceiling.

Love and Chess

This is a duet between Harry Beltik and Beth. Just as in the show, Harry arrives at Beth’s house to provide her with all of his chess knowledge. The song will follow their burgeoning relationship, and the devastation that Harry feels when he discovers that Beth will always love chess more than him. 

Speed Chess

Benny’s clockwork motif returns in earnest as he and Beth reunite over a series of speed chess games. The tempo of the song continues to accelerate to the very end where Beth finally wins a game of speed chess and the music stops.

Offbeat Morning

After “Speed Chess” we flash forward to the scene that The Queen’s Gambit miniseries opens with – Beth’s rough morning leading to her second match against Borgov. The song has the same piano theme with Beth’s internal monologue signing along. After she loses miserably, she heads back to Kentucky and Jolene delivers the news that Mr. Shaibel has died. 

Mr. Shaibel’s Game (Reprise)

While the first “Mr. Shaibel’s Game” song was jaunty. This will be a slower, mournful affair. An adult Beth slowly sings along with the shade of Mr. Shaibel and begins to heal from all her trauma. 

The Queen of Moscow

This song opens with voiceover of newspaper headlines and newscasters singing about Beth Harmon’s dominance in the Moscow Invitational. Beth dispatches a series of competitors once again, culminating in a fun song and dance with Luchenko. 

The Queen’s Gambit

The beginning of the final match. Beth is assured and confident now and the music reflects it. The Tchaikovsky-esque Borgov motif is accompanied by a full orchestra and both Beth and Borgov are singing.

Adjournment

Mid-song, Borgov calls for an adjournment and everything goes dark for 10 seconds.

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Endgame

The grand finale of the show! Everyone (even the dead characters) returns to cheer Beth on as she closes out Borgov. This full orchestra number incorporates motifs from many other songs and ends with Beth triumphant. Just as in the TV series, the theatrical production will end with Beth heading outside and playing some street chess games in Moscow.

The post What Would a Queen’s Gambit Musical Look Like? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[aion-rsa]

The Godfather Coda: Will The Death of Michael Corleone Fix Part III?

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“Friends, our business together is done,” Al Pacino’s mob family patriarch says in the official trailer for Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. And  Francis Ford Coppola hopes the new conclusion to the mafia saga takes care of all family business. For the 30th anniversary of The Godfather: Part III, the director and screenwriter will release a new edit and restoration of the final film of The Godfather trilogy.  

The Godfather: Part III was nominated for seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director. Goodfellas, released that same year, only got six nominations. Neither won Best Picture. Before that The Godfather III had been one of the most anticipated films of all time, but wound up being one of the most maligned theatrical releases.

It has become shorthand to describe cinematic disappointment. Coppola had delivered Paramount Pictures two major motion picture achievements, which the director had to fight to maintain his creative control. Made on a $6 million budget and completed ahead of schedule, The Godfather was the first film in history to take in a million bucks a day. It was nominated for 11 Oscars and won three. The Godfather: Part II was the first movie sequel to win the Academy Award for Best Picture. The studio would eventually reward the director by further limiting his ability to complete his vision.

Paramount wanted Coppola to continue the epic immigrant family saga in time for a Christmas 1990 theatrical release. Once Coppola and the novel’s author Mario Puzo sent in the completed screenplay, written under a rushed deadline, the studio told the director to have the final cut ready in one year. As Marlon Brando’s Vito Corleone asked funeral director Amerigo Bonasera in the opening scene of The Godfather, “What did I ever do to make you treat me with such disrespect?”

Paramount Pictures might have thought Coppola deserved the shoddy treatment. The box office promise Coppola brought the studio in the 1970s petered out in the 1980s as films like One from the Heart, Rumble Fish, The Cotton Club, Gardens of Stone, and Tucker: A Man and His Dream all failed to score with mass audiences. Even the success of Peggy Sue Got Married failed to win Paramount over to Coppola’s side. At one point, the studio approached Sylvester Stallone to direct Godfather III.

Compounding the troubled production, casting problems led to rushed replacements. Robert Duvall balked at reprising his role as consigliere Tom Hagen after he heard how much Pacino was getting paid. Winona Ryder dropped out of the film after her first day of shooting, citing nervous exhaustion. The director cast his daughter Sofia Coppola, as Mary, the daughter of Michael Corleone and Kay Adam.

But Coppola wasn’t powerful enough to command more time to do the post-production editing required. When Coppola first offered the final installment of The Godfather Trilogy, he titled it “The Death of Michael Corleone.” Made 16 years after The Godfather: Part II, Paramount did not like the title, and was not too happy with his original ending.

He’s had 30 years since then.

“The film’s meticulously restored picture and sound, under the supervision of American Zoetrope and Paramount Pictures, includes a new beginning and ending, as well as changes to scenes, shots, and music cues,” according to the trailer’s official synopsis. “The resulting project reflects author Mario Puzo and Coppola’s original intentions of The Godfather: Part III, and delivers, in the words of Coppola, ‘a more appropriate conclusion to The Godfather and The Godfather: Part II.’”

But can it? You may as well ask if the Corleone family could ever go legit. The Godfather films are about the American Dream, but Don Vito’s offspring suffer night terrors. Michael Corleone never gets revenge, but the proper ending may fulfill his destiny. Coppola won’t be able to bring Tom Hagen into the frames, and George Hamilton is no Robert Duvall.

And what about Sofia Coppola’s lifeless death scene? If Coppola cuts her one word, “dad?” her death might have meaning. His daughter was not an actress, but Coppola reasoned she was the real thing: a 19-year-old Italian girl and the daughter of a respected, powerful man. Was it a case of nepotism? Laura San Giacomo and Linda Fiorentino were considered for the role when Ryder had to pull out, but production was already behind schedule. The role of Mary Corleone was coveted, Julia Roberts was considered for it, and Madonna lobbied for it. Sofia has gone on to distinguish herself as a director, but her father has never heard the end of it.

For Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone, Coppola and his production company American Zoetrope worked with Paramount’s restoration team, searching through 300 cartons of negative for over 50 original takes to replace lower resolution opticals in the original negative. In the featurette, Coppola says he re-edited the film to bring new life to it, changing some of the sequences, and the musical cues. He’s also said in interviews his new cut will justify casting his daughter.

For a reputedly unmemorable film, The Godfather: Part III is filled with unforgettable scenes, and performances. A massacre in Atlantic City is executed via helicopter; Andy García, as Sonny Corleone’s illegitimate son Vincent Mancini, bites the ear off Joe Mantegna’s Joey Zasa; Talia Shire’s Connie Corleone kills Eli Wallach’s Don Altobello with cannoli. The last half hour may be Coppola’s most ambitious sequences in film. The Vatican conspiracy subplot, which doesn’t quite come together in the film, may even be easier to untangle, given the new edits.

The Godfather Part III had its world premiere on Dec. 20, 1990 at the Academy Theater in Beverly Hills. Pauline Kael, reviewing it for The New Yorker, said it was a “public humiliation,” but that was because she was comparing it to the first two films. Roger Ebert ranked it higher than The Godfather Part II, and The Los Angeles Times called it “one of the best American movies of the year.” So it’s not so much a case of it being a bad film, it’s just not a great film.

Editing is a mysterious art, and it could even be conceivable Coppola might transform Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone into a cinematic experience on par with its predecessors by rearranging the original footage. When Paramount brought Coppola on for the original film, they wanted him to make a quick and cheap gangster picture out of a bestselling book. He changed cinema. Will he rewrite history again? The saga continues.

Mario Puzo’s The Godfather, Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone will get a limited theatrical release on Dec. 4. It will be available on Blu-ray and digital on Dec. 8.

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