#stone age because of uncanny valley

[archivist-the-knight]

i truly do love speculative biology for fantasy, like if i sat down and actually put time into it i could make a series exploring how different fantasy races would work. but it would genuinely be so long with me just explaining how i'd think the worldbuilding would work it's crazy

[kanalaure]

✨ for the unusual headcanon?

✨ - Worldbuilding or background story elements.

the older an elf lives the more rarely they leave their elven community, or whatever place they've chosen as their own. not because they physically can't, but after...... mm, let's say roughly five thousand years of life other beings (men, dwarves, hobbits. i dont think this would bother the ents too much though) can start to feel that age in the air around them. it unnerves them to see someone walking around who looks between twenty-three and thirty years old but emanates the same feeling of incredible age you'd associate with the mountains or very old cities (or, more likely, the ruins of very old cities), and understandably the elves in question don't like being stared at by the entire local community, who are experiencing the uncanny valley effect en masse

galadriel and celeborn, both grown before the sun and moon were crafted, carry their years in their eyes and cast their accumulated wisdom around themselves like fine, delicately embroidered shawls

maglor, alone, wears his years like a net of stones set atop his shoulders. he is older than the cliff faces that border the sea he strides besides, and feels like it too

unusual headcanons ask game here

[thesinglesjukebox]

BILLY JOEL - "TURN THE LIGHTS BACK ON"

The theme narrows a little, maybe...

[4.15]

Hannah Jocelyn: The first Melodyne’d word of this song -- P L E A S E -- had me worried. This is the latest in a series of '70s and '80s rockers coming back one last time, normally with Post Malone's producer Andrew Watt at the helm. The results can either be pleasant, like the Rolling Stones' Lady Gaga collaboration "Sweet Sounds of Heaven", or abysmal, like Elton John's horribly edited "Always Love You." But Watt's not here; behind the boards instead is industry songwriter Freddy Wexler, a Billy Joel fanboy who convinced the artist to release music again. If the song sounds a lot like "Piano Man" and "Summer, Highland Falls," repeated listens reveal it's not just a cheap nostalgia grab. It sounds exactly like a new Billy Joel song should in 2024, P L E A S E aside, with a tasteful build and some grandiose but lovely lyrics: “Pride sticks out its tongue/laughs at the portrait that we’ve become/Stuck in a frame, unable to change.” Joel occupies a weird place in pop culture -- not as acclaimed as Dylan or Springsteen, but more thoughtful and introspective than the Eagles or anyone else in his imagined supergroup. With "Turn the Lights Back On," it all makes sense. He invented an archetype now filled by musicians like Adele post-21 or even Hozier: pop songwriters with enough depth to earn them a devout following even if they’re not critics' favorites. The liner notes reveal more connections. Eclectic producer Emile Haynie drops in to provide some additional production, the same way he did on "Hello" almost a decade ago, and the song is mixed by Adele's engineer Tom Elmhirst. It's an effective repositioning of Joel not as a "33-hit-wonder", not as a poet, but as one of the great pop balladeers and craftsmen. And my dad loves it, which is all that really matters. [7]

Alfred Soto: Despite the co-writers and a video whose nostalgia bid is as, ah, shameless as Paul McCartney's last year, "Turn the Lights Back On" sounds like any generic thing that might've appeared on Storm Front or The Bridge. Which is the point. [4]

Aaron Bergstrom: A direct descendant of Elton John's far superior "This Train Don't Stop There Anymore," as underlined by their similar music video treatments. While Joel was able to use cutting-edge AI technology to de-age himself in his video, Sir Elton had to make do with the tools available to him back in 2001, which is to say, Justin Timberlake. (Both AI and Timberlake are now trying to make their own music, with limited success.) [5]

Ian Mathers: Get the fuck outta here with this uncanny valley "AI" CGI shit. I'm not shocked boomers would cling to yet another way to deny they're old as fuck now -- it'll happen to all of us, I'm sure -- but it's still repugnant. Despite Joel being away for years, god knows you still hear the hits, so I'm kind of shocked that his voice seems to have lost most of its distinctive timbre. If you'd played me this blind I don't think I could have told you the singer, although the voice would have felt weirdly familiar. And look, respect to the man's undeniable achievements in his craft (which even haters should admit he takes pretty damn seriously) and especially stardom/mass popularity, but partly given the characterlessness to his performance here, my answer to "did I wait too long, to turn the lights back on?" is... yeah, you kinda did. I don't think the reason I loved the ABBA comeback singles and not this is just because I like ABBA and don't care for Billy Joel; I genuinely think they did a better job on playing off their context than he does here. [5]

TA Inskeep: I'd like to keep them off, please.  [1]

Isabel Cole: Billy Joel was one of the few artists my whole family could agree on during long trips in the car; my first concert was his dual tour with Elton John at Madison Square Garden. So on the one hand, the sheer nostalgic sentiment aroused in me by the thought of Billy going back to songwriting after all these years is real, and powerful. On the other, I know whereof I speak when I say that even assessed by the generous lens of someone who was once a 13-year-old girl glad to name Songs in the Attic as her favorite album, this is mid-level Billy at best. Lyrically, so much of his appeal has always been his willingness to indulge—in shamelessness, in sentiment, in spite, in just being kind of an asshole—but this song is too busy wrestling ponderously with its own existence to have that kind of fun; musically, it’s just “I’ve Loved These Days” but not as good. [4]

Rachel Saywitz: It's good, for a budget store "Piano Man."  [5]

Dave Moore: The best thing I can say for this lugubrious comeback ballad, loosely patterned on vintage Billy Joel and a dollop of "Hey Jude," is that it technically clocks in at under four minutes. The worst thing I can say about it is that I am not yet convinced the vocals aren't BillyJoelAI, though it does sound like him really playing the piano (derogatory). [3]

Daniel Montesinos-Donaghy: God, what a trudge — the type of pianoman mewls I thought every Joel song would be as an uneducated youth. But then I heard "Movin' Out," and what a fuckin' joint! (Fun fact: I think a quick browse of Billy Joel's biggest hits has taught me "Movin' Out" is, uh, the only BJ jam I like. Sorry.) [3]

Katherine St. Asaph: I dislike the term "overproduced" in criticism; it's often a way to sneer at pop without having to say something so gauche. But when you have a swelling string section -- a mercilessly effective cheat code to make a listener moved -- and yet that listener cannot be moved because she can't fucking hear it over everything else in the arrangement, your song is overproduced. When you autotune everything about your singer's voice except the notes that he actually flubbed, your song is -- well, not overproduced exactly, but produced poorly. Can't imagine how I'd feel if I were even a Billy Joel fan! One singular point because I learned something: it's not just the de-aging "AI" (scare quotes), Billy Joel really did look kinda like Harry Styles back then. (Harry Styles would probably love to remake this. It would still be a [1]). [1]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: This absolutely shouldn't work on me. I, of sound mind and body and possessing no strong relationship with the music of Billy Joel, ought not to have any reaction to this at all. It's a Billy Joel song that is once again about the romance between the performer and the audience, hitting all the marks he last hit 30 years ago. If nearly everything else he's done leaves me inert, then this should do the same. Yet something about its twilight glory, the way Joel puts himself through his own paces, moves me nonetheless.  [6]

Brad Shoup: I know I'm not the first person to interpret this as a metaphor for Joel's relationship with the public. For me, he's always been a sort of pop midpoint, and I've never been able to budge him. Everything he's ever done has been... fine: the bangers always fuck up somewhere, the groaners are never that embarrassing. So leaving things off with "The River of Dreams" (my favorite) wouldn't have been a bad way to go. This is confident schlock. The snare smacks like a worn copy of "Bridge Over Troubled Water"; he does a little "Piano Man" twirl before the orchestra goes for broke. I don't think he waited too long; I think this song was within him the whole time, for better or worse. [5]

Nortey Dowuona: I understand the hatred. For us, being smooth and easy on the ears is a crime. To refuse the challenges that push the artform of popular music and music culture, or worse, to fight them tooth and nail, is enough to make you an enemy in our eyes. But I do understand the actual reason to simply play to the middle of the road: to connect with everyone since you have learned, possibly later or earlier, we are a rare and bold breed, despite the infighting, backbiting and slimy behavior I will not detail here. Billy Joel has waited long enough -- he at the height of his popularity was despised and condemned, a figurehead for the stultifying demands of white yuppiedom. Unfortunately he was wrong; the fire was started, and will never stop. We, as a far more revered and loved writer said, made our choice as a species, and it's just a question of how long it takes to play out. Billy once wrote of New York being destroyed and its citizens fleeing like rats to Miami, reminiscing over their glory days. But now in 2024, New York refuses to go away. Our mayor, as Wiki and MIKE said, is a cop, and millions are homeless and starving, struggling to keep afloat and trying not to crumble every time a blank, greasy-faced kid with worn-out clothes playing with a iPhone 14 who could afford to give you $5 shakes his head to ignore you. I understand the hatred. But I can't feel it because the hatred feels pointless, empty, a target for those old timers who have fled the sinking ship and their ancestors who only know to despise the old place from stories and memories. He might've waited too long to turn the lights back once since the wires have rotted and the bulbs are broken, but not because the city is empty. It's full of your fanboys and their grandchildren, who now feel the sour bitterness that drove you to flee and cannot choose any other feeling. It's not too late -- it's never too late. [5]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[thehomelybadger]

So I finally saw Goncharov (1973) dir. Martin Scorsese

I finally saw Goncharov, and I really can’t recommend it enough.

For those who only know me for my fanfiction stuff, I went to school for film and mostly watched a lot of westerns, as well as being hired to make a documentary about a few tribes in northern Ontario - mostly for government money. Working in media wasn’t really for me, but I like to use the stuff I learned to analyse the hell out of modern media as well as look pretentious in front of my wife.

But enough about me, let’s talk about this modern piece of art.

Goncharov isn’t going to be anyone’s best Scorsese film - far from it, despite its loaded cast and reliance on cinematography tricks that are far older than the medium they used to shoot it - more on that in a second - but I think its weak script and honestly lackluster artistic direction are going to be what tanks it. Everything Scorsese has produced after The Departed (2006) has been this insane quality of moving far too quickly to take a breath, and going back to an old classic like Goncharov really knocks your legs out from under you. This isn’t modern day Scorsese, this is oldschool Scorsese who hadn’t found his sea legs yet, still trying to captain the ship. There are some hints of what’s to come - the long stairway shot that rotates 360 degrees horizontally before doing it again vertically as Morgan walks up the stone stairway has the skeleton of the Copa Cabana shot, or instance - but we never get peak Scorsese here, and I think casual moviegoers will be disappointed by that if they’re familiar with his library.

While Robert De Niro clearly shines as the browbeaten, thick eyebrowed Morgan Laslettria, I think the entire cast really brings their A game. Pacino plays Shar Knight with a serious gravitas (he also has the quote of the film - “Charov my Gon, Goncharov!”) but has a few scenes where he feels like he’s trying to destroy the set and everyone behind it. Harvey Keitel, despite top billing, is in very little of the film - I counted four scenes, not including the two where he’s voicing the animated bicycle that comes to deliver Morgan’s daily orange juice. The standout performance for me, however, was The Wiggles making a surprise appearance on what appeared to be a green screen, and them having to watch Anthony slowly succumb to bullet wounds was a truly moving sequence.

Finally, let’s talk about the film theory behind Goncharov, and it really depends on which version you watch - the Animator’s Cut or the Director’s Cut. Famously, Goncharov never made it past the initial theatrical release - explaining its scarcity - but when you watch the Animator’s Cut I really feel like you can see where they reshot De Niro and Pacino’s scenes exactly within Scorsese’s original vision. What I think is fantastic about the Animator’s Cut version is that it's mostly a flex on the old reel style cinema but pulled off in the modern digital age. Part of the problem of digital productions is that you lose some of the 'noise' that permeates old reel movies and gives them their vibrancy and places them, in the viewers' mind, solidly in a specific mindset - a mindset in which you are able to let your brain be engaged in the film because its closer to your imagination of real life.  Digital looks too real - the reason uncanny valley is a real thing that exists in our wold is because the brain sees something that looks real enough despite knowing its fake, and thus pulls you out of it or forces you to reckon with the fact that it isn't real. So digital needs noise added back in - or 'scuffed' - in order to recapture that effect that reel had naturally. Goncharov being shot on both platforms really makes it scuffy and noisy. I really think that was brilliant about this version.

As for the plot - I won’t give any of it away. Try to get a copy at your local blockbuster, or find a rip of it - Goncharov needs to be seen to be believed, and the last thirty minutes and five minute Wiggles musical credits sequence is truly a work of art.

[the-thimble]

Healing is such a strange thing because there is an inherent part of being alive that seeks to immortalize pain with fear. This part of us is as old as everything. It is the part of us that survives. It is the part of us that lives on in our blood and our bones and moves from birth to birth imprinted on us forever. It is the part of us that fears the woods, the darkness, and the unknown. The legacy of fear stands at odds with healing because fear has kept us alive. Fear has transmuted our molecules since the earth could bare life, each shape we took, better at outlasting its previous form. Fear has entwined itself with life as our inalienable birthright to aide in the preservation of self.

The monarch butterfly, during its annual migration south, redirects its path over Lake Superior. This baffled scientists for ages until they discovered that their path takes them around a mountain that hasn't existed for millenia.

So tell me, how do you not understand?

How do you not feel it, too?

Generational trauma isn't just systemic. It exists as we exist and teaches us how to survive this world.

When you see people fighting for their rights you say the injustices they bring to you in their hands, recipts as long as history spilling forth covered in blood, from just a few generations prior or even less is not relevant any longer.

Your fear of those who do not look like you is just an uncanny valley. Your fear of the unknown is why the woods and those who have learned to exist within it have been pushed aside so that you could destroy it and turn it into something you knew. Your fear of failing to propagate your species and those who hold the power to create life being able to choose a different mate has lead you to create a world that they cannot navigate as easily without your say. Your fear of those who might exist in a way that you do not understand have lead to a history of atrocities so that you might continue to do what man has always done- seek to control what you do not understand so that you may live without fear. Their fear of death at your hands, however, is a canyon that has been eroding for generations. You have been shown time and time again that there is nothing to fear. They have tried to become known to you, and you have thwarted their efforts.

Your atrocities have been laid at your feet so that you might understand and you have remained willfully blind.

They lament in the streets, their bellowing cries calling them together to mourn those they have lost and continue to lose and you have remained willfully deaf.

And now that their gutteral wailing has shifted to deafening anger and the recipts of what you have done have turned to stones, you stand in the mess that you have created and try to paint yourself the victim, but you forget that when people desire change more than they value their lives, that is the bed of revolution. You've put a price on their heads, and their sons and daughters heads. They would rather die for their freedom than survive the rest of their days in the prison you've convinced them to settle for all this time.

We are the generational curse breakers.

You are the mountain we have learned to fly around.

We see how much easier our paths would be if you did not stand in our way and we are opening our eyes to this truth.

It may be in our nature to fly around you, but you've grown too large for us to survive the trip.

We have reclaimed our right to survive as long as life has existed and this obstacle is no different.

We will remember it in our blood and in our bones.

We will heal and the fight within us will lay dormant until the next giant blocks out the sun.

Your end is inevitable. Our survival is constant.

And so, you see, fear is not removed from healing, but facing that fear may serve as a catalyst for change. As death and decay are an extant form of life, fear and pain are an extant form of survival.

We can take what is in us and what has destroyed those who left this legacy and grow from it the fruits of change.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Hm, I figured that she'd claim to be friends with Uncanny Valley and/or Sparrow since they're closer in age.

Tbh Lila claims to be friends with everyone. Jagged Stone is obviously a lot older and Lila claims to he close to him.

No one knows how old LB and CN really are so they could just be short adults. Clara Nightingale seems older than the cast (early 20s maybe?), and she's a popular lie.

Maybe Lila initially claims to be friends with Sparrow and Uncanny Valley, but it morphs into "Knight Owl actually chose me as Sparrow first, but I declined because back then I still wanted to travel! I couldn't tie myself to New York! So I suggested the next best option!".

[thenewnio]

The Statement of Randolph Carter

I repeat to you, gentlemen, that your inquisition is fruitless. Detain me here forever if you will; confine or execute me if you must have a victim to propitiate the illusion you call justice; but I can say no more than I have said already. Everything that I can remember, I have told with perfect candour. Nothing has been distorted or concealed, and if anything remains vague, it is only because of the dark cloud which has come over my mind—that cloud and the nebulous nature of the horrors which brought it upon me.

Again I say, I do not know what has become of Harley Warren; though I think—almost hope—that he is in peaceful oblivion, if there be anywhere so blessed a thing. It is true that I have for five years been his closest friend, and a partial sharer of his terrible researches into the unknown. I will not deny, though my memory is uncertain and indistinct, that this witness of yours may have seen us together as he says, on the Gainesville pike, walking toward Big Cypress Swamp, at half past eleven on that awful night. That we bore electric lanterns, spades, and a curious coil of wire with attached instruments, I will even affirm; for these things all played a part in the single hideous scene which remains burned into my shaken recollection. But of what followed, and of the reason I was found alone and dazed on the edge of the swamp next morning, I must insist that I know nothing save what I have told you over and over again. You say to me that there is nothing in the swamp or near it which could form the setting of that frightful episode. I reply that I know nothing beyond what I saw. Vision or nightmare it may have been—vision or nightmare I fervently hope it was—yet it is all that my mind retains of what took place in those shocking hours after we left the sight of men. And why Harley Warren did not return, he or his shade—or some nameless thing I cannot describe—alone can tell.

As I have said before, the weird studies of Harley Warren were well known to me, and to some extent shared by me. Of his vast collection of strange, rare books on forbidden subjects I have read all that are written in the languages of which I am master; but these are few as compared with those in languages I cannot understand. Most, I believe, are in Arabic; and the fiend-inspired book which brought on the end—the book which he carried in his pocket out of the world—was written in characters whose like I never saw elsewhere. Warren would never tell me just what was in that book. As to the nature of our studies—must I say again that I no longer retain full comprehension? It seems to me rather merciful that I do not, for they were terrible studies, which I pursued more through reluctant fascination than through actual inclination. Warren always dominated me, and sometimes I feared him. I remember how I shuddered at his facial expression on the night before the awful happening, when he talked so incessantly of his theory, why certain corpses never decay, but rest firm and fat in their tombs for a thousand years. But I do not fear him now, for I suspect that he has known horrors beyond my ken. Now I fear for him.

Once more I say that I have no clear idea of our object on that night. Certainly, it had much to do with something in the book which Warren carried with him—that ancient book in undecipherable characters which had come to him from India a month before—but I swear I do not know what it was that we expected to find. Your witness says he saw us at half past eleven on the Gainesville pike, headed for Big Cypress Swamp. This is probably true, but I have no distinct memory of it. The picture seared into my soul is of one scene only, and the hour must have been long after midnight; for a waning crescent moon was high in the vaporous heavens.

The place was an ancient cemetery; so ancient that I trembled at the manifold signs of immemorial years. It was in a deep, damp hollow, overgrown with rank grass, moss, and curious creeping weeds, and filled with a vague stench which my idle fancy associated absurdly with rotting stone. On every hand were the signs of neglect and decrepitude, and I seemed haunted by the notion that Warren and I were the first living creatures to invade a lethal silence of centuries. Over the valley’s rim a wan, waning crescent moon peered through the noisome vapours that seemed to emanate from unheard-of catacombs, and by its feeble, wavering beams I could distinguish a repellent array of antique slabs, urns, cenotaphs, and mausolean facades; all crumbling, moss-grown, and moisture-stained, and partly concealed by the gross luxuriance of the unhealthy vegetation. My first vivid impression of my own presence in this terrible necropolis concerns the act of pausing with Warren before a certain half-obliterated sepulchre, and of throwing down some burdens which we seemed to have been carrying. I now observed that I had with me an electric lantern and two spades, whilst my companion was supplied with a similar lantern and a portable telephone outfit. No word was uttered, for the spot and the task seemed known to us; and without delay we seized our spades and commenced to clear away the grass, weeds, and drifted earth from the flat, archaic mortuary. After uncovering the entire surface, which consisted of three immense granite slabs, we stepped back some distance to survey the charnel scene; and Warren appeared to make some mental calculations. Then he returned to the sepulchre, and using his spade as a lever, sought to pry up the slab lying nearest to a stony ruin which may have been a monument in its day. He did not succeed, and motioned to me to come to his assistance. Finally our combined strength loosened the stone, which we raised and tipped to one side.

The removal of the slab revealed a black aperture, from which rushed an effluence of miasmal gases so nauseous that we started back in horror. After an interval, however, we approached the pit again, and found the exhalations less unbearable. Our lanterns disclosed the top of a flight of stone steps, dripping with some detestable ichor of the inner earth, and bordered by moist walls encrusted with nitre. And now for the first time my memory records verbal discourse, Warren addressing me at length in his mellow tenor voice; a voice singularly unperturbed by our awesome surroundings.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you to stay on the surface,” he said, “but it would be a crime to let anyone with your frail nerves go down there. You can’t imagine, even from what you have read and from what I’ve told you, the things I shall have to see and do. It’s fiendish work, Carter, and I doubt if any man without ironclad sensibilities could ever see it through and come up alive and sane. I don’t wish to offend you, and heaven knows I’d be glad enough to have you with me; but the responsibility is in a certain sense mine, and I couldn’t drag a bundle of nerves like you down to probable death or madness. I tell you, you can’t imagine what the thing is really like! But I promise to keep you informed over the telephone of every move—you see I’ve enough wire here to reach to the centre of the earth and back!”

I can still hear, in memory, those coolly spoken words; and I can still remember my remonstrances. I seemed desperately anxious to accompany my friend into those sepulchral depths, yet he proved inflexibly obdurate. At one time he threatened to abandon the expedition if I remained insistent; a threat which proved effective, since he alone held the key to the thing. All this I can still remember, though I no longer know what manner of thing we sought. After he had secured my reluctant acquiescence in his design, Warren picked up the reel of wire and adjusted the instruments. At his nod I took one of the latter and seated myself upon an aged, discoloured gravestone close by the newly uncovered aperture. Then he shook my hand, shouldered the coil of wire, and disappeared within that indescribable ossuary. For a moment I kept sight of the glow of his lantern, and heard the rustle of the wire as he laid it down after him; but the glow soon disappeared abruptly, as if a turn in the stone staircase had been encountered, and the sound died away almost as quickly. I was alone, yet bound to the unknown depths by those magic strands whose insulated surface lay green beneath the struggling beams of that waning crescent moon.

In the lone silence of that hoary and deserted city of the dead, my mind conceived the most ghastly phantasies and illusions; and the grotesque shrines and monoliths seemed to assume a hideous personality—a half-sentience. Amorphous shadows seemed to lurk in the darker recesses of the weed-choked hollow and to flit as in some blasphemous ceremonial procession past the portals of the mouldering tombs in the hillside; shadows which could not have been cast by that pallid, peering crescent moon. I constantly consulted my watch by the light of my electric lantern, and listened with feverish anxiety at the receiver of the telephone; but for more than a quarter of an hour heard nothing. Then a faint clicking came from the instrument, and I called down to my friend in a tense voice. Apprehensive as I was, I was nevertheless unprepared for the words which came up from that uncanny vault in accents more alarmed and quivering than any I had heard before from Harley Warren. He who had so calmly left me a little while previously, now called from below in a shaky whisper more portentous than the loudest shriek:

“God! If you could see what I am seeing!”

I could not answer. Speechless, I could only wait. Then came the frenzied tones again:

“Carter, it’s terrible—monstrous—unbelievable!”

This time my voice did not fail me, and I poured into the transmitter a flood of excited questions. Terrified, I continued to repeat, “Warren, what is it? What is it?”

Once more came the voice of my friend, still hoarse with fear, and now apparently tinged with despair:

“I can’t tell you, Carter! It’s too utterly beyond thought—I dare not tell you—no man could know it and live—Great God! I never dreamed of THIS!” Stillness again, save for my now incoherent torrent of shuddering inquiry. Then the voice of Warren in a pitch of wilder consternation:

“Carter! for the love of God, put back the slab and get out of this if you can! Quick!—leave everything else and make for the outside—it’s your only chance! Do as I say, and don’t ask me to explain!”

I heard, yet was able only to repeat my frantic questions. Around me were the tombs and the darkness and the shadows; below me, some peril beyond the radius of the human imagination. But my friend was in greater danger than I, and through my fear I felt a vague resentment that he should deem me capable of deserting him under such circumstances. More clicking, and after a pause a piteous cry from Warren:

“Beat it! For God’s sake, put back the slab and beat it, Carter!”

Something in the boyish slang of my evidently stricken companion unleashed my faculties. I formed and shouted a resolution, “Warren, brace up! I’m coming down!” But at this offer the tone of my auditor changed to a scream of utter despair:

“Don’t! You can’t understand! It’s too late—and my own fault. Put back the slab and run—there’s nothing else you or anyone can do now!” The tone changed again, this time acquiring a softer quality, as of hopeless resignation. Yet it remained tense through anxiety for me.

“Quick—before it’s too late!” I tried not to heed him; tried to break through the paralysis which held me, and to fulfil my vow to rush down to his aid. But his next whisper found me still held inert in the chains of stark horror.

“Carter—hurry! It’s no use—you must go—better one than two—the slab—” A pause, more clicking, then the faint voice of Warren:

“Nearly over now—don’t make it harder—cover up those damned steps and run for your life—you’re losing time— So long, Carter—won’t see you again.” Here Warren’s whisper swelled into a cry; a cry that gradually rose to a shriek fraught with all the horror of the ages—

“Curse these hellish things—legions— My God! Beat it! Beat it! Beat it!”

After that was silence. I know not how many interminable aeons I sat stupefied; whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into that telephone. Over and over again through those aeons I whispered and muttered, called, shouted, and screamed, “Warren! Warren! Answer me—are you there?”

And then there came to me the crowning horror of all—the unbelievable, unthinkable, almost unmentionable thing. I have said that aeons seemed to elapse after Warren shrieked forth his last despairing warning, and that only my own cries now broke the hideous silence. But after a while there was a further clicking in the receiver, and I strained my ears to listen. Again I called down, “Warren, are you there?”, and in answer heard the thing which has brought this cloud over my mind. I do not try, gentlemen, to account for that thing—that voice—nor can I venture to describe it in detail, since the first words took away my consciousness and created a mental blank which reaches to the time of my awakening in the hospital. Shall I say that the voice was deep; hollow; gelatinous; remote; unearthly; inhuman; disembodied? What shall I say? It was the end of my experience, and is the end of my story. I heard it, and knew no more. Heard it as I sat petrified in that unknown cemetery in the hollow, amidst the crumbling stones and the falling tombs, the rank vegetation and the miasmal vapours. Heard it well up from the innermost depths of that damnable open sepulchre as I watched amorphous, necrophagous shadows dance beneath an accursed waning moon. And this is what it said:

“YOU FOOL, WARREN IS DEAD!”

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Lost Souls: Story 5

Breaking Point and a Step Forward

Summary: Merlin finally pushes Jim too far and Jim makes a friend.

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@twistedmashup I hear it was your birthday yesterday! So since I’m still blaming you for starting this AU: have a chapter!

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(Chapter warnings: Abuse and brief suicidal ideation)

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

Eli watched with bated breath as the small green creepers swarmed up the side of the building like grotesque frogs. He couldn’t believe his luck. All his previous attempts to spot them had only captured images of blurs and distant blobs on his camera, but this…

Eli’s hands shook as he lifted leveled his phone and a snapped a picture. Unfortunately he had forgotten to turn off the shutter sound. The creatures stiffened and started looking around at the click. One of them started sniffing the air and moving in his direction. Eli quickly covered his mouth and ducked down behind the bush.

Stupid!

This was exactly the kind of amateur mistake that got people killed in horror movies.

A sniffing noise was getting rapidly closer. It was just on the other side of the bush. It paused and he heard a raspy murmur that wasn’t human or animal.

He should probably run.

Before he could formulate a plan any farther than that, something wrapped around his waist and he was airborne.

He let out a shriek and the night burst into a cacophony of noise as the creepers came pouring over the bushes.

Fortunately whatever was carrying him was staying well ahead of them. Eli managed to twist around enough to see what was holding him and squeaked.

It was a big blue creeper, one of the stone ones. It had tusks and horns and a glowing suit of armor.

The creeper tightened its grip on him and jumped. All the air left Eli’s lungs.  He didn’t get a chance to even try to suck in a breath before they touched down on a tree branch and the creeper was leaping again.

Eli whimpered as they shot from one perch to the next, only pausing long enough for his rescuer… or kidnapper?... to gather itself for another leap.

By the time they finally stopped, he was feeling sick. Eli leaned over and retched, losing the whole of his dinner on the ground behind the dumpster they were crouching behind.

“Sorry,” A quiet rumbling voice said.

Eli jumped and then his eyes widened with surprise as he realized it was the creeper that had spoken.

“You can talk… I mean you know English?” Eli asked forgetting his fear in the excitement of new discovery.

The creeper blinked and leaned back slightly, nose wrinkling as it stared at him. It was actually surprisingly humanoid, now that he got a chance to get a good look at it. Almost in an uncanny valley way, but not quite.

“…yes,” It said finally. “Why wouldn’t I be able to?”

“I’ve only been able to get close enough to hear the green creepers before,” Eli exclaimed. He was talking to an actual creeper! This was so cool! “They aren’t able to talk far as I can tell.”

“Creepers? Do you mean the goblins?”

“Is that what they are?!”

The armored creeper stared at him, before shaking its head.

“Come on, you need to go home. It’s not safe here.”

“But… but I have so many questions.” Eli stared at it pleadingly.

The creeper eyed him again.

“I can answer some on the way to your house…”

~~~~

Jim wasn’t sure what to think of the strange teenager he rescued from the goblin pack.

Despite almost being eaten and despite Jim being some sort of half-human, half-troll, monster, the gangly black-haired human -Who had at some point introduced himself as Elijah Pepperjack (“but everyone calls me Eli”)- was positively glowing with enthusiasm as he peppered Jim with questions.

Bemusement at the entire situation caused Jim to answer far more of them than he was really supposed to.

Eventually they reached the human’s house.

“You have keys right?” Jim asked, because there wouldn’t be much point in rescuing him only to leave him trapped outside his home.

Eli nodded and then dug around in his pocket for a moment before producing the aforementioned keys.

“Good,” Jim said. He gave him what he hoped was a firm authoritative stare. “Please don’t go out in the dark. I might not always be in time to save you. Have a good night.”

Jim turned toward the bushes and bent his legs, preparing to leap into the nearest tree.

“Wait!”

Jim paused and glanced back.

“I… I um…” Eli stammered. “I was wondering if you wanted to stay and like watch a movie or something?”

The Trollhunter blinked, it was one thing to accept a walk home from a creature that had protected him but to invite a troll into his house? Did Elijah Pepperjack have no self-preservation instincts?

Jim should have said no then. He’d already interacted with the human far more than he should. He glanced toward the woods and then toward the house. His ears flicked. Why was he still hesitating?

“My mom’s not home, so no one will see you,” Eli continued, looking up at him with wide pleading brown eyes.

Meaning he wouldn’t be showing himself to any new humans.

Jim wavered. It had been years since he’d gotten to watch a movie or do any normal human things. Merlin was out, so he didn’t really have to worry about when he arrived back at the cave.

He tapped his fingers against his thigh. His armor clinked.

But Arcadia…

Arcadia would be fine for a little. He had been close enough to the end of his patrol to see that Eli had been the only human about outside right now.

“Sure,” He said slowly.

Yeah he could work with this. He was making sure that Eli, the only human crazy enough to wander Arcadia at night, was staying indoors. That was totally doing his job, right?

“Really?!”

Jim’s lips twitched into an involuntary smile. Eli looked like he had been he’d been given a trip to Santa’s workshop for Christmas and just found out it was the real deal.

“Yeah, just tonight.”

One night wouldn’t hurt anything.

~~~~

“So this is where you’ve been disappearing to.”

Jim froze.

Merlin was standing in the shadows of the tree with his arms folded. His lips were drawn into a thin line.

Immediately a wave of guilt washed over him. He had only meant to hang out with Eli once but then… well… He’d had fun and Eli had had fun and he’d been invited back… and it would have been rude to refuse so he’d agreed to meet again … and that second visit had turned into a third and a fourth and…

And now he was here.

“Are...  are you mad at me?” Jim asked carefully.

Merlin sighed. He pressed the tips of his fingers to his forehead and rubbed them in circles like he had a headache.

“I’m not mad just disappointed.” He sounded it too.

Jim flinched, ears pressing down.

Merlin turned away.

“Come,” He said. “We’re going home.”

He disappeared far into the darkness of the woods and, after a quick glance back at the house behind him, Jim followed.

~

The walk back to the caves occurred in relative silence. Honestly Jim wished Merlin would just yell at him or something. As it was, the calm emotionless expression on his mentor’s face left him tense and anxious.

“You know what you’ve done wrong,” Merlin stated when they were back in their abode.

“Yes,” Jim said, hanging his head slightly. “I showed myself to a human.”

Merlin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A simple slip up is one thing, but you repeatedly visited this human.”

“…But he already knows about me and is keeping it secret,” Jim said softly. “You’re always busy and I…” He hesitated. “It’s nice to have someone to spend time with.”

Merlin huffed.

“You have your training and Snip.” The cat in question opened an eye at the mention of her name. “If that isn’t enough you can always go to Trollmarket, I’m sure they can find you something to do.”

Jim’s ears pressed against the side of his head. There was certainly always something for him to do at Trollmarket, Bagdwella at least made sure of that, but they didn’t really like or trust him there. He remembered how they had first reacted to him and despite pretending otherwise he heard the whispers.

Abomination.

They had to test him with a gaggletack to make sure he wasn’t a changeling before they’d even allow him to roam free. He’d barely been able to hide his flinch when the iron horseshoe had burned his skin, causing his magic to buzz anxiously as it tried to make him shift but couldn’t since his normal form was halfway between his other two. The trainers he’d been assigned where nice enough but…

“It’s just nice to have someone my age…”

Merlin stood up. The metal feet on his chair shrieked as they grated on the stone floor. Jim flinched at the sound.

“Come,” He said sharply and the half-troll quickly obeyed.

Merlin led him to the large cave that served as their training room. Jim stood stiffly in front of the door as the wizard shuffled around in a pile of props.

“Hmm… Ah yes! Here it is.”

He pulled out a straw dummy and set it in the middle of the room.

“So you want to spend time with this… Elijah Pepperjack,” Merlin said. Jim twitched in surprise. How long had Merlin known about his visits to have found Eli’s full name? “I’ve warned you before that it’s too dangerous but it seems I should expect you to go against my advice anyway.”

Jim opened his mouth to protest but stopped when Merlin kept speaking.

“If you want to persist in this… this dalliance I suppose I can’t stop you, but I must make sure you know what you are getting into.”

He turned to the side and gestured.

“Let’s pretend that this training dummy is your human friend.”

Merlin raised his hand and Excalibur materialized in it. The lights of the crystals glinted off the blade and his armor casting motes of light on the floor.

“Defend him from me.”

“What?!”

“Come Trollhunter, show me how well you can protect someone.”

With that Merlin lunged with his sword toward the training dummy. Jim felt his adrenaline surge as he managed to just barely summon his armor in the nick of time. He threw Daylight, deflecting Excalibur and buying him enough time to get between Merlin and Eli… the training dummy.

The wizard didn’t wait for him to recover his sword and lunged forward slicing at Jim with rapid two-handed strokes. Jim was still somewhat off guard and couldn’t rally his concentration enough to resummon Daylight. He managed to call his shield and held it up to fend off the blows and tried to push Merlin back.

“Come,” Merlin snarled impatiently at him. “I’ve trained you better than this.”

Merlin caught the shield with one of his arm-blades. The next stoke of his sword hit the amulet. Jim staggered, disoriented, as the blue light flickered. Murmurs of distant voices whispered in his ears and his armor vanished. Merlin took advantage and dealt a fast two handed stroke against him. He cried out as it cut into his arm.

Excalibur’s magic burned and Jim dropped to his knees clutching at the wound with a pained snarl.

Too late he recognized the distraction. He forced himself to his feet in a panic, pulling his hand away from to wound to summon Daylight…

And stopped.

Excalibur was sticking out from the chest of the training dummy.

Jim stared blankly at it.

“See?” Merlin said.

He strode over to the dummy and pulled the sword out with a sharp tug, spilling straw across the floor.

“If that had been a human, he would have been dead,” Merlin continued in his lecture tone. “Ours is not world for mere humans. Do you think your enemies will hold back on you? Do you think they won’t hesitate to use friends against you?”

Jim shook his head. His voice seemed to have shriveled into a lump in his throat. His arm throbbed. He glanced down at it and saw a drop of blood trickle off the side of his arm fall onto the floor.

It felt like a vice was closing in on his ribcage.

He wanted to leave.

“Do you understand?” Merlin was asking.

“Yes,” Jim said quietly, voice barely audible. “May I go?”

“You may,” Merlin said. He sounded closer.

Jim flinched slightly when his… mentor laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I know this seems harsh, but I really do have your best interests in mind,” The man said softly. “The Trollhunter has always worked alone. It’s better that way. Now go take care of yourself.”

Jim listened silently, eyes still on the floor, as Merlin left the room.

The moment he was sure the wizard was really gone, he bolted for the door to the outside.

~

Jim wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up in a dumpster but he didn’t particularly care. It was in a secluded part of town, there was no humans, no trolls, and no Merlin there.

The reek of the trash was subdued in the gentle patter of the rain and the light from the lone streetlamp barely reached him here.

He curled into himself and started shaking. He didn’t have any real words for what he was feeling but it felt like hurt and emptiness and a blade lodged in his chest all at once.

He wanted other people to be safe, he really did. But idea of continuing to fight alone until he returned to dust or stone… or whatever a half-creature like him became… felt so… so pointless. It wasn’t just Merlin being against him being friends with Eli. It was Kanjigar’s death, and his mom being gone and Trollmarket’s cold reaction to his appearance and… and…

A pained sob tore itself out of his chest.

It hurt.

He just wanted it to be done.

He just wanted to rest.

The sound of footsteps jerked him out of his misery and he looked up to see a mop of red hair, now drenched with rainwater, and a familiar pair of blue eyes staring at him.

They widened as they met his.

Nemesis, champion of Morganna, seemed every bit as shocked to see him as he did her.

~~~~

~

~~~~

Jim shifts slightly and the branch creaks under him. From his current position he can see through the widow of Elijah Pepperjack without the human spotting him. The teenager is currently sitting at his desk chewing on a pencil as he stares down at a book with furrowed brow. The warm light from his window stops just short of where Jim’s dark fingernails dig into the bark beneath him.

He shouldn’t even be here. He knows better than to ignore Merlin’s warnings. The wizard already has too many variables to deal with without Jim adding his own willfulness to the mix. Anyway, he’s really only looking out for Jim.

Jim knows that but…

But when he’d ran into Nemesis, he’d been ready to let her kill him. He’d seen her familiar face above him and been almost relieved. It wasn’t like he really had anything to live for after all.

And yet…

She hadn’t even tried. She had invited him to sit with her and patched the cut on his arm with an uncharacteristic gentleness. He hadn’t known what to do.

Then –in what was probably his most foolish decision ever- he’d asked her for advice.

She’d given it.

So here he is, contemplating the value of friendship based on the advice from an enemy.

Jim sighs and runs a hand over his face, ignoring the faint rasp of stone on stone.

This is insane. He should just leave. He’ll be putting Elijah in danger. There’s no way he can make sure that the human is always safe, not with the whole of Arcadia to protect.

He stands up and starts to turn away, but the warm glow of from the bedroom window draws him back.

“Do what's good for you, or you're not good for anybody,” Nemesis’ voice echoes in his memory.

The sincerity that he’d seen in her eyes causes a pang of something (something painful but almost sweet) to form in his heart. He just wants something outside of his duty… a chance to be someone outside of the Trollhunter. To be Jim again.

Can’t he be selfish just this once?

~~~~

Eli sits at his desk trying to work on his homework. He can’t focus. He’s been reading the same paragraph for the last hour but still isn’t sure what it says.

He makes a frustrated sound and throws himself back in his chair. It balances precariously on two legs as he shoves his glasses up and scrubs at his eyes.

“You’re losing it, Pepperjack,” He says reproachfully to himself. “Why would someone that cool want to be your friend anyway?”

“Eli!”

Eli looks up to see a blue face and glowing eyes staring in his window. He lets out a high pitched scream and topples over backwards.

“Eli! Are you all right?” His mom calls from downstairs.

“I’m fine!” He yells back. “Just tipped over my chair.”

“Again? You need to be more careful!”

Eli blushes but scrambles to his feet and quickly lunges forward to open his window.

“You came back!” He says, a hesitant, excited smile forming on his face as the blue creeper…. No, troll, he reminds himself… climbs into his room. He did come back. It had been weeks, Eli had started to think that he wasn’t going to.

“Yeah,” the Trollhunter says slowly.

He looks uncertain. His eyes dart from side to side before he turns around and closes the window behind him. He then closes the blinds for good measure.

“What… are you doing?” Eli asks hesitantly.

He’s never behaved this way before.

“We need to talk,” The Trollhunter says and Eli’s heart immediately plummets to his toes.

That phrase never leads to anything good.

“Wha… What do you want to talk about?” Eli’s voice sounds small.

He’d known that this whole thing was too good to last. Cool monster heroes like the Trollhunter weren’t the sort of people to be friends with nerdy nobodies like Eli.

The troll doesn’t seem to notice his hesitance. He picks up one of Eli’s model flying saucers and turns it around in his hands before putting it back and sitting cross-legged on Eli’s bed.

“You should sit down too.”

Eli obeys, the feeling of dread growing in his chest. The Trollhunter opens his mouth and Eli braces himself.

“I want to be friends,” He says, brows furrowed and expression grim.

Eli’s brain derails.

“Y-you do? But why…”

The expression and statement don’t really match.

“I need to explain some things first, so you know what you’re getting into,” He continues. “Then you can decide if you want to be friends.”

“Of course I want to…”

He is silenced by a sharp look.

“I told you when we first met that I was tasked with protecting Arcadia, right?”

Eli nods quietly. He certainly won’t be forgetting that meeting soon.

“There are a lot of people who aren’t particularly happy about that. In fact they would do anything… use anyone… to get to me…”

The troll looks down at his hand for a moment before clenching it into a fist. A soft growl rumbles from his throat, causing Eli to jump.

“If you decide to be friends with me… if anyone finds out… you, and your family, will be in danger. Do you understand?”

He continues going on to detail exactly what changelings and goblins and Bular are capable of. It was something he told Eli back when they first met and he was trying to discourage him from studying the supernatural. He sounds for all the world as if he’s trying to drive Eli off and he’s not entirely unsuccessful –the idea of putting his mom in danger doesn’t sit well with Eli- but as he’s talking the troll starts to slowly curl in on himself. His gaze drafts downward to study his clenched hand. He looks scared and lost.

“…Merlin thinks it’s a bad idea,” The Trollhunter is saying. His ears press low against the sides of his head.

Eli takes a deep breath and forcibly swallows down the lump in his throat.

“hey…” He tries to get the troll’s attention, but he isn’t quite loud enough. “Hey!”

The troll flinches and looks up.

“You said it was my choice if I wanted to be your friend right?” Eli asks.

The troll nods.

“I… I admit all this stuff sounds scary,” He says and his voice is shaking. Honestly he’s never been able to stand up to Steve let alone a monster like Bular but… “But it sounds like you’re lonely and I don’t really have any friends either and…” His voice cracks and he coughs a little and squares his shoulders. “And I want to try. You said a Trollhunter never gives up right?”

The troll nods again slowly.

“So if the problem is me being in danger then maybe...”

Eli hesitates thinking for a moment before an idea comes to him.

“Maybe you could teach me to defend myself! Then you won’t have to worry about always being there to protect me.

And maybe he could help out in protecting Arcadia. Eli thinks that sounds really cool, but he decides not to say anything yet on that. He doubts the Trollhunter will accept his help.

The troll’s blue eyes widen for a moment and then a hesitant smile forms across his face.

“That’s… that’s a good idea.” His shoulders relax slightly and his ears are back up. “That way I won’t have to worry as much about you investigating something and getting into trouble either.”

He gives Eli a hopeful look.

“So you really would do this?”

“Yes.” Eli says. He’s feeling a little cheesy so he holds out his hand. “Let’s be friends, Trollhunter.”

The troll cocks his head but takes the hand and squeezes it. His eyes study Eli’s face for a moment.

“Jim…” He says softly. “My name’s James Lake, but friends call me Jim,”

“Cool, I’m Eli,” Eli says and then blushes, rubbing at his hair. “Buuuut… you already knew that…”

The Trollhunter… Jim… (Eli’s new friend!) chuckles at that.

“Don’t worry about it.” He pauses, a serious look flickering across his face. “Though for future reference, you really shouldn’t just give your name to unfamiliar magical beings.”

“Why’s that?” Eli asks.

“For one thing, it makes it easy for other people to find your house… but in the right hands… well a name can be a weapon. Fae and some witches can use names to control people.”

“Oh,” Eli says with a shiver. “Is that why you didn’t tell me your name at first.”

Jim nods.

A warm feeling appears in his chest. That means that Jim trusts him.

“Thanks for telling me then,” He says.

“Thank-you for inviting me in,” Jim responds, sincerity shining in his eyes. “You don’t know how much it means to me.”    

~~~~

~~~~

Author Notes:

This is really the center-point of the plot. It happens before and after the events of the first chapter. I was going to do the two parts of this chapter separate but I decided I wanted to keep them together. (Partially because I didn't want to leave Jim in the dumpster.)

Merlin doesn't realize just how far he pushed Jim. In his attempts to do things "for the greater good", he's completely lost sight of the importance of individual people's feelings and needs (Aside from his own).

It was a good thing that Jim met Barbara in the circumstances he did and when he did. If he had met her in battle, he would have ended up being killed. A large part of winning fights is wanting to win and well... Jim had stopped caring. That said things get better for Jim.

I haven't quite decided what part of the story I want to work on next but we'll see. I'll probably do a chapter in the past again. Let me know what you think about the way I'm jumping back and forth between the past and present.

[girlbookwrm]

Avengers: Age of Art Movie? ART?? MOVIE

DAY ONE

the title for this chapter of the Mighty Pre-Endgame Rewatch comes from the fact that Joss Whedon apparently said, of Age of Ultron: 

“I was trying to make a little art movie. Which is actually, a pretty shitty thing to do to a studio that gives you a lot of money.”

which??? ok?????

so we went into this looking for Joss Whedon’s Art Movie

It’s worth noting before we get into this that I’m a fan of a lot of things Joss Whedon has done over the years, as much as I give him crap sometimes, and actually, I don’t know that I hate this movie as much as is common. I enjoyed it more than I remember enjoying it in the past? I go back and forth. I saw it in theaters and was like “actually I like this it’s pretty ok” and then I saw it again like “OH NO THIS IS AWFUL” and then again like “OH NO IT’S EVEN WORSE THAN I REMEMBER” and now I’m watching it again like “actually......” and I think it’s that the quality is very. uneven? 

it is also worth noting that it took us TWO DAYS to watch this because we kept having to pause the movie  in order to GO OFF which meant that this 2 hour 22 minute movie took us like SIX HOURS to watch. at first it was just me and The Roommate @goteamwin but on Day Two the Gal Pal @pegasuschick joined us.

anyway on with the rewatch (day one)

I STILL MISS THE OLD MARVEL LOGO! SO MUCH!

So the opening shot of this movie is from the twins’ POV and this was the first point that we paused the movie to fully Go Off because goddamn

can you imagine how much better this battle scene would be from the twins’ pov?

like: there’s all these explosions and shaky cam and a monster roaring and you’re like “oh god is it aliens? it must be aliens? and these soldiers dying everywhere and the city is getting destroyed etc etc

and then you realize it’s not aliens, it’s not HYDRA, it’s not some terrible overpowered terrorists

it’s the Avengers.

now THAT would be an art film

anyway back to the rewatch

Steve Rogers: IT IS 2015, I AM NINETY SEVEN YEARS OLD AND I AM STILL FIGHTING NAZIS I AM T I R E D

this is all looking real fake it has not aged well and it wasn’t that great to start with

“they’re the avengers” he said, sounding so confused and so so tired

aaaaaand here we paused the movie AGAIN to talk for twenty minutes, mostly about how if this whole “”’”art movie”’’’’’’’ had been shot from the Twins perspective, that would have been a better set up for Civil War and also super interesting

“We are here to help” why is the Iron Legion speaking Very American English in an eastern? european? city

Old Man Dad Clint

there’s two weirdly different movies happening here and they do not sit well together: like, a dark spooky serious one and a quippy Joss Whedon action movie

and don’t get me wrong, one of my favorite things about Joss Whedon is how he uses humor to really give his sad moments Extra Punch he’s a master of that

but this is just jarring

“please be a secret door please be a secret door” followed by the world’s tiniest and most adorable “~yay~” is the most endearing thing Tony has ever done in his life I would die for him

The Problem Is Not Brucetasha. 

THE PROBLEM is that the BruceTasha dynamic doesn’t just come out of left field, it comes from a different sport entirely. it comes from another planet. 

I think there’s potential for an interesting dynamic here but we get ZERO buildup to it

like in the last movie, Natasha is scared of the Hulk, like, literally shaking in shock TERRIFIED of the Hulk, but we see nothing of her deciding to run directly at the thing that scares her most

and we get ZERO explanation of like -- Natasha likes Bruce AND the Hulk, and Bruce AND the Hulk both like Natasha and that’s an interesting dynamic too, but we get NONE OF THAT

it’s very frustrating

also, where does Wanda’s horror movie aesthetic go? is it the same place her accent goes?

Tony’s dream sequence is... p badly shot, given that it’s his driving motivation for THE REST OF THE SERIES

Me: this is weirdly shot, right?

The Roommate, A Professional: Yes. *in a very fancy voice:* ~From a cinematic perspective~ 

Me: *starts cracking up*

The Roommate: But seriously, they’ve gone for a weirdly wide angle in this very emotional moment and it would make more sense to do tight shots here, but--

Me: *still cracking up*

The Roommate: really?

Me: ~from a cinematic perspective~ trolololol

AND LITERALLY HERE IS WHERE WE GET THE TITLE CARD. THAT’S HOW LONG, SPIRITUALLY, THIS OPENING IS.

Why was Bruce NOT expecting a Code Green? like? It’s HYDRA, of COURSE they’re gonna pull out all the stops??

We get like two minutes of Thor&Steve&Tony being bros, for the purpose of exposition here, and then the party sequence, and literally the rest of the movie is them all arguing with each other

and we stopped the movie again to talk for ten minutes about how much more Impactful AVENGERS: CIVIL WAR would be if we had even one (1) movie of the Avengers actually being a team

this is exactly why it took us two days to watch this movie

“Uh, actually, he's the boss. I just pay for everything, and design everything and make everyone look cooler.”

And again, we stopped the movie (seriously, it’s our own fault this took so long to watch) because LET’S UNPACK THIS

TONY PAYS FOR EVERYTHING?

TONY MAKES ALL THEIR SHIT?

TONY DOES THEIR DESIGN WORK?

AND LET US NOT FORGET THAT SHIELD RECENTLY FELL APART

WHICH MEANS THAT THIS IS STARK INDUSTRIES PRESENTS: the avengers

and that is A L A R M I N G

legally speaking

and also morally speaking

like goddamn. 

no wonder ppl freak out about it? let’s jump on THAT for CW

(also, when we recapped this for the Gal Pal’s benefit on Day Two, she pointed out that Tony puts his name on everything and he probably got that from his daddy -- like in TFA, they’re doing this experiment for the Army but LITERALLY EVERY PIECE OF EQUIPMENT has the Stark Industries tag on it

Steve probably has the SI logo tattooed on his ass

he doesn’t know it

tony knows it 

and wishes he didn’t)

all that aside, this is an A+ On Point Steve and i Strongly Disagree with anyone who says that Joss Whedon doesn’t get Steve Rogers.

Like, we very clearly get three distinct Steves in this movie -- we get Captain America, Captain Rogers, and Steve, and they’re all a little different but they’re also all perfectly executed and they’re all STEVE. eg:

the look that he gives Maria, like english please and then after her explanation he says “well they’re going to show up again.” - Captain Rogers.

“Right. What kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them to protect their country” - Steve

“They are.” - Captain America

let’s just. let’s just acknowledge that Thanos had a stone. in his possession. and he gave it away. to L O K I.

“I'm going to live forever” 

ah geeze he actually is tho

*CLINT FEELS*

They talk about AI like it’s this Great Forbidden Thing, and the Roommate looks at me with the Tiredest Eyes

Everyone is working on artificial intelligence, she says.

e v e r y o n e

seriously “the man was not meant to meddle medley” is a very impressive tongue twister that Tony definitely practiced in the mirror that morning

but it’s also nonsense

the military, corporations, academia, everyone -- everyone is working on AI.

Ultron: What is this. What is this, please.

The Roommate: Me. Every morning.

Also, it’s worth noting that when Ultron goes through all the files on the Avengers and shit, he looks at Steve AT LEAST twice. 

The Roommate: To be fair, so would I.

RIGHT RHODES IS THE REAL HERO OF THIS FILM

“Where are the ladies,” said Maria Hill, a Known Lesbian. 

Sam and Steve’s whole everything is A+ Great, as usual

Rhodey’s face after everyone laughs at the “Boom, you looking for this” line is just

*kissy chef fingers*

and then this happens

the “flirting”

this is the weirdest “flirting” i have ever seen

it’s like the uncanny valley of cute flirting

it’s like they’re both actors pretending to be characters who are acting out something they’ve only ever seen in film

why is it like this

“What Are Your Intentions Towards My Daughter?” - Steve Rogers

no I kid

Captain America said that

Steve said “as maybe the world’s leading authority on “waiting too long”, don’t.”

and then suddenly they’re all teens hanging out in their dad’s basement

honestly this scene is the best scene in the movie, possibly the franchise, and it’s well worth all the bullshit we’ve put up with so far.

let’s also take a moment to pour one out for both Steve and Thor’s #looks in this scene because

goddamn

Steve and that blue button down

Thor and his hoe v-neck + pop collar maroon jacket

much fashion very hnnnngh

like it takes WORK to make these two look better with their shirts ON but you did it, AoU costume department. You Did It.

Also, James Spader as Ultron is just

i love it

gurl u r LEAKING

u CHOSE this body

u could have taken any iron legion body, you probably could’ve taken a SUIT if you wanted but instead you’re here in this janky ass leaking melty faced body with wires hanging every which way and the arms and legs on backwards

you are such a drama queen

truly his father’s son

so when Tony pulls out JARVIS’ broken corpse, how were they all supposed to know this was JARVIS? do they all get to meet Jarvis at some point? like at what point was Captain America introduced to the holograph representation of JARVIS’ “body” that he just IMMEDIATELY knows that this abstract yellow humpty dumpty is JARVIS

Team Dr. Cho Was Underutilized 2k15

Tony laughing because he’s about to be in so much trouble is very much a #mood

We can bust arms dealers all the live long day, but, that up there? That's...that's the end game.

I’m just going to present this bad phone picture of my notes because I feel like it does a better job summing up how I feel about this line:

remember when Wanda had an accent?

I’d say “good times” but I’m not sure they really were

seriously the Maximoffs have a great origin story this should’ve been theirs and Clint’s movie that would’ve been better

God Bless The AoU Costume Department

I have no idea what happened in this scene because of Steve’s smedium shirt

and that said he has to compete, visually, with Cobie Smulders in a sheath dress, and he does so with effortless grace

*distinguished golf clapping*

I actually really like the set up of Wakanda and Vibranium here it’s just nice and it gives all the background we need without really feeling like exposition and it reveals character dynamic between steve and tony it’s just nice is all

SALVAGE YARD AFRICAN COAST

Andy Serkis giving 112% AS USUAL

So Ultron steps into this scene like

and tbh it is a sexy leg good work Ultron

“I’M NOT MY DAD” -Ultron, definitely in Denial

Pietro talking to Tony in this scene like Tony was personally there when the bomb blew up his family and almost killed him and his sister

he wasn’t

u r drax in this scenario, and Tony is Ronan

he doesn’t remember ur family, dude

“pretending you could live without a war”

are we just going to ignore that Ultron gets inside Steve’s head right here right now and then Wanda exacerbates that 200%

and Steve just decides “yup that sounds right”

“i guess I’ll just be at war for the rest of my unnaturally long long life”

is anyone? going to talk about that? bring it up to him maybe?

no? 

coooooool coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool

i just ~love~ (and by love i mean HATE) that natasha romanoff (A SPY) decided to upgrade her suit (HER BLACK STEALTH SUIT) with glowing (GLOWING!) stripes

much stealth very in character wow 

(negative 200 points costume department what the hell)

pietro don’t hit senior citizens that’s rude

these dreams are actually totally fascinating and I really like them don’t @ me they’re great

“I Am Mighty.”

“only the breakable ones. You are made of marble”

“We can go home. Imagine it”

aaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“Natasha, I could really use a lullaby”

natasha isn’t here right now please leave a message after the beepbeep

this is such a fucking nightmare, could be a callback to that opening fight scene IF IT SUCKED LESS

Tony. Your green son has a special need. maybe instead of trying to turn him back into Bruce, you should try to accommodate his needs. because he’s special.

Clint MacDonald Had A Farm

“These are... Smaller agents.”

“Sorry For Barging In.”

Captain America is here from the 40s and Ready To Apologize

Thor’s Extremely Dramatic Exit

Steve: looks at the house

(very softly in the background, Peggy’s “we can go home.”)

The Roommate: nuuuuuuuuuuuuuu steve don’t think thaaaaaaaat

I honestly love Old Dad Clint. *shrug* sorry not sorry

and now we’re here. at That Scene. 

YOU KNOW WHICH ONE.

it makes no FUCKING sense for EITHER OF THEM to be having THIS CONVERSATION at THIS TIME. SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK.

Honestly, the only way this makes sense is if Bruce and Nat are both ace af and think the other one is allo af 

just two hopeless asexual babies, adorably in love with each other

both of them awkwardly being like “BUT. YOU WANT THE SEX. RIGHT?” 

and neither of them realizing that the other one also does not want the sex

that’s the only way the scene makes any kind of sense. If Natasha is putting on a performance and Bruce is too and neither of them realize that the other is putting on a performance

BUT EVEN THAT DOES NOT EXPLAIN WHY NATASHA FEELS THE NEED TO BRING UP HER UTERUS

LIKE

THERE’S NO NEED FOR IT IN THIS CONVERSATION

AND THE WAY SHE BRINGS IT UP IS B I Z A R R E 

and when i saw it in theaters, I was like “oh clearly this scene is missing some important dialogue that clarifies that Nat doesn’t mean she’s a monster for not being able to have kids.

BUT I WAS WRONG.

UGH ANYWAY MOVING ON.

god bless the AoU costume department for Steve in a Smedium shirt and Dad Jeans. A+ work i can almost forgive you for putting glowing neon on Nat’s stealth suit

but honestly the whole rest of this movie is worth it this one interaction:

Tony: Isn't that the mission? Isn't that the "why" we fight, so we can end the fight, so we get to go home?

Steve:

Captain America: *externally* something something end a war something something people die something something

Steve: *internally* I SWEAR TO FUCK IF ONE MORE PERSON TELLS ME THEY WANT TO GO HOME, IMMA MCFREAKING LOSE IT.

YOU WANT TO GO HOME?? Y O U WANT TO GO HOME??? B I T C H

oh hey Tony ur dad is here

“watched my friends die” ok but 

a) are you and Steve friends?

b) if this has been eating at you, why wasn’t it shot better ~from a cinematic perspective~ and why don’t we get more of you being haunted by it and less of you talking about reinstating prima nocta

Actually this is a good time to talk for a hot second about Why We Don’t Hate AoU As Much As Some:

it’s very hard to judge AoU as a standalone film

because a lot of the things it does best are not standalone

it does a good job setting the stage for Civil War

it does a good job foreshadowing Infinity War and Endgame 

and on that note, it’s actually hard to judge it without having seen Endgame

it does a BAD job setting up the Avengers as a cohesive unit that works well together

it does a BAD job building the BruceNat dynamic

it does a BAD job making us believe that the Avengers are actually friends and not just coworkers who tolerate each other and sometimes hang out and drunkenly try to pick up thor’s hammer

that isn’t friendship, actually. you know what friendship is? look at Steve and Sam talking about Important Things That Matter, look at Tony and Rhodes’ dynamic. those are friendships.

anyway

The Roommate says it feels like AoU skipped some steps. Like, Avengers (2012) brought us in at the ground floor of this building and then we got shoved into one of those really fast elevators and dumped directly into some game changer meeting happening on floor 44 and then it kicked us directly out the window to our deaths

i’m maybe elaborating slightly upon what she said

the point is that AoU is not a good movie because it’s not a good standalone movie

the character dynamics aren’t Bad or Wrong they’re just not properly built up to. 

It feels like we missed a movie

maybe there’s an alternate universe where we got an Avengers 2 that made sense, and this is actually Avengers 3

maybe we just need to find Joss Whedon’s secret file of fanfiction and then everything that happened in this movie will make sense

ALL THAT SAID, THIS IS WHERE WE STOPPED THE MOVIE ON DAY ONE AND MY FINGERS ARE TIRED SO THIS IS WHERE I’M STOPPING TOO. AGE OF ART MOVIE DAY 2 WILL BE UP WHEN I FIND THE ENERGY TO DO THAT.

[jkottke]

Highlights from The Fifth Season by N.K. Jemisin

The Fifth Season is the first book in the Broken Earth trilogy of fantasy/science fiction novels by N.K. Jemisin. Each book in the trilogy won the Hugo Award for best novel the year after its release. It took me awhile to get into, but once I was hooked the book went pretty quickly. Here are the passages I highlighted on my Kindle for one reason or another. (See past book highlights.)

Note: This ebook didn't have real page numbers, only Kindle location markers. Sorry about that.

Further note: I've been reading Kindle books checked out from my local library via Libby. It's been challenging because the loan period is typically not long enough for how slowly I read. But I did discover that you can view your notes and highlights for all of your Kindle books, including expired ones, so I don't need to worry about exporting them before my loan ends.

Location 52 (I like the obviousness of the opening lines):

Let's start with the end of the world, why don't we? Get it over with and move on to more interesting things.

Location 102:

There is an art to smiling in a way that others will believe. It is always important to include the eyes; otherwise, people will know you hate them.

Location 208 (see Addressing Climate Change Is Not About Saving the Planet):

When we say "the world has ended," it's usually a lie, because the planet is just fine.

Location 1,161:

The people we love are the ones who hurt us the most, after all."

Location 1,488 (saving this for the next time someone argues about the "natural order of things" or similar bullshit):

Survival doesn't mean rightness. I could kill you right now, but that wouldn't make me a better person for doing so."

Location 2,061 (on surviving in the immediate aftermath of loss):

So you must stay Essun, and Essun will have to make do with the broken bits of herself that Jija has left behind. You'll jigsaw them together however you can, caulk in the odd bits with willpower wherever they don't quite fit, ignore the occasional sounds of grinding and cracking. As long as nothing important breaks, right? You'll get by. You have no choice.

Location 2,298 (emphasis mine):

Once Damaya would have protested the unfairness of such judgments. The children of the Fulcrum are all different: different ages, different colors, different shapes. Some speak Sanze-mat with different accents, having originated from different parts of the world. One girl has sharp teeth because it is her race's custom to file them; another boy has no penis, though he stuffs a sock into his underwear after every shower; another girl has rarely had regular meals and wolfs down every one like she's still starving. (The instructors keep finding food hidden in and around her bed. They make her eat it, all of it, in front of them, even if it makes her sick.) One cannot reasonably expect sameness out of so much difference, and it makes no sense for Damaya to be judged by the behavior of children who share nothing save the curse of orogeny with her.

Location 2,311:

The world is not fair, and sometimes it makes no sense.

Location 2,703:

"Home is people," she says to Asael, softly. Asael blinks. "Home is what you take with you, not what you leave behind."

Location 3,359 (the uncanny valley of hyper-graceful motion):

The stone eater's arm rises, so steadily that the motion surpasses graceful and edges into unnatural.

Location 3,546:

Friends do not exist. The Fulcrum is not a school. Grits are not children. Orogenes are not people. Weapons have no need of friends.

Location 4,155 (out of context this is weird but it made me lol):

Did you need a dick -- any dick, even my mediocre, boring one -- that bad?"

Location 4,314:

We are creatures born of heat and pressure and grinding, ceaseless movement. To be still is to be... not alive.

Location 4,369:

She loves her son. But that doesn't mean she wants to spend every hour of every rusting day in his presence.

Location 4,446 (ISO an affection dihedron):

They can't stand sex with each other directly, but vicariously it's amazing. And what do they even call this? It's not a threesome, or a love triangle. It's a two-and-a-half-some, an affection dihedron.

Fewer highlights than usual...lots of plot = fewer highlights, I think. I enjoyed reading this book, but it also didn't propel me right into the next book in the series (unlike The Three-Body Problem). Maybe in a month or two?

[quality-street-rat]

The Clown!

How Clowns Have Become Scary

Matthew Burgess

Part One

Clowns, jesters, fools, and other such figures have existed since the days of ancient Egypt. Rome had figures known as Stupidus, and fifth-dynasty Egypt had pygmy clowns. Through the centuries, all clowns had and have one powerful connection; that of misrule, excess, and the unpredictable. They mimic and ridicule, they riddle and tease. They perform over-the-top, crazy antics. They cause mayhem and enjoy it, usurping law and order with unhinged slapstick. However, clowns are just one historical monster that can bring terror to people. Studying monsters brings understanding of the past and the present and shows a great deal of human nature.  

Part Two

The word monster has roots in Latin, and the root words mean to warn. Stone Age humans had monsters of their own, and massive biblical monsters haunted other early humans. The idea of the Devil breaks off into other concepts such as demonic possession, witches, and the Antichrist. Jeffery Jerome Cohen posits that “The Monster Always Escapes.” What he means by this is that no monster is ever really killed or gotten rid of. The death or disappearance of one monster either makes room for a new one or provides an opportunity for the original monster to return with a new face. However, every time the monster returns, its meaning will change based on what is happening in society at that time. No monster ever really dies.  

A monster might be new to some people. For example, if Pennywise the Clown only appears every twenty-seven years, then he is new to the people who are children when he comes back. If an urban legend is forgotten because it is no longer relevant, then when the situation is the same in the future, the urban legend will re-surface. As Poole says in Monsters in America, (page 22) “History is horror.” This also refers to the situation out of which a monster is born. Before the Salem Witch Trials, people were less concerned with piety. Some social switch flipped, and suddenly everyone was obsessed with finding the evil and unworthy in their society.  

There are several other theories that help understand monsters through history and are key concepts that aid in studying them. A few that stand out are integral to monster culture. The monster is never just what it appears to be. It is a representation of some fear or desire that people experience. The monster defies classification, which also means that they clash with the concept of binaries and logic. Monsters in general are made of things that are distinctly “other,” or outliers to the idea of “normal.” They invite the removal of moral dimensions and make excuses for eradication of the “other.”  Monsters are warnings, are representations of both fear and desire, are harbingers of the transitional future. These all tell the story of history and, more specifically, American history. Poole says “The American past...is a haunted house. Ghosts rattle their chains throughout its corridors, under its furniture, and in its small attic places. The historian must resurrect monsters in order to pull history’s victims out of...’the mud of oblivion.’ The historian’s task is necromancy, and it gives us nightmares.” (Monsters in America, Page 24)

Part 3

When my mother was eleven years old, her parents sat her down to watch the original IT movie. She tells me that she had nightmares and trouble sleeping for at least a month afterwards. When I was growing up, clowns were not mentioned. My siblings and I knew that clowns existed because there was a friendly clown named Pooky that we saw once a year at my father’s annual work party. Until I was twelve or thirteen Pooky was the only reference for the word “clown” that I had. After that, I started learning world history and learned about clowns in the context of circuses. To me they were silly people who wore polka dots and colorful wigs, and who painted their faces with the intention to entertain. The concept of the scary clown wasn’t even a shred of an idea to me until later.  

When I was fifteen I started going to school for the first time. I suddenly had access to the internet and began absorbing every piece of pop culture that I could possibly handle. The trailers for the new IT movie were just starting to come out, and people were reporting scary clown sightings all over the country. I personally was not then and am not now scared of clowns. However, I could see that people were terrified of them and that fascinated me. I was more interested in the intentions of the people behind the masks than the unexpected presence of them. Fast forward to 2018, and I started watching American Horror Story. Seasons four and six heavily featured clowns as something scary. There was Twisty the Clown with his terrifying blown off mouth and tendency to kidnap children and attempt to entertain them, and there was the cult who wore clown masks and intimidated Sarah Paulson’s character. The cult was more effective than not because of the character’s coulrophobia, or fear of clowns. 1 Around the same time I watched the movie Suicide Squad, and became similarly fascinated with the character of the Joker. I started doing research and found that Jared Leto’s Joker was not the first one. There was a theory that proposed that there were three different Jokers, regardless of actor or illustrator. One, the thief and killer. Two, the silly one who had no real reason to perform any of his evil deeds, known as the “Clown Prince of Crime.” Third, the homicidal maniac.  

As I’ve said, I am not afraid of clowns. But the reason why people are afraid of them enthrall me. Firstly, clowns are allowed to say things that the rest of us can’t. They dress up their words as jokes, but they can say the most shocking and inappropriate things. They can challenge those in power with no consequences. Second, humans inherit fear. Studies done in Georgia and Canada show that fear of a thing can be passed down through a family line. For example, if a parent was mauled by a tiger, and then had a child and disappeared, the child would be frightened if they saw a tiger. Also, the face paint of a clown elicits the same response as the uncanny valley. Clowns were first thought to be scary in the late 1940’s and 1950’s. Clowns worked very closely with children. Adults began to get paranoid about these clowns, grown men, abusing their children. Maybe some were, but the majority merely wanted to make the children laugh and smile. The adults started to tell their children to avoid the clowns. Later in the 80’s, slasher films were on the rise. Moviemakers were making anything into killers. Audrey the plant, cute little gremlins, worms, blobs, and clowns. Stephen King’s IT was written and released during this time. Since then, many scary clowns have existed. The Joker, Harley Quinn the Harlequin, Pennywise, Twisty, the Jigsaw puppet, the Terrifier. These all serve as a cultural lens to help explain social changes.  

Part 4

The monster of the clown resonates with me because the idea of the scary clown is so wide-spread and can now be passed off as an “everyone knows that” statement. The why fascinates me. Clowns represent the both the fear of truth and the fear of lies. Clowns can say the unsayable and topple those in power with the truth. On the other hand, their fixed grins and otherwise blank faces are the embodiment of a lie, because you can’t tell who they are behind the mask.  

From the earliest days of human history, there was some form of a clown. The clowns always had something to represent, and they always came back. To look at another point of view, most clowns were simple entertainers turned into frighteners by people who wanted to dispose of them. However, the clowns that were actually scary (Pennywise, Jigsaw, etc.) were warnings of what might happen if you mess with the truth. Pennywise changes form; he is the embodiment of lies. Jigsaw is transparent about his intentions; he is the cold, hard, bitter truth.  

The sometimes-maudlin behavior of clowns invites sympathy. It suggests that maybe they are simply misunderstood, that maybe they deserve to be loved. However, they always snap back with something unexpected. It is a general consensus in the monster-f**ker community that clown-f**kers are the lowest of the low. However, if I may loosely quote one of my online followers on the subject: “...Sir Pennywise is a shnack.” Unfortunately, the spelling is a direct quote. I cannot pretend to know why people are attracted to clowns, Pennywise especially, but they are and there’s unfortunately nothing to be done about it.  

Putting aside peoples’ attraction to clowns, to close this thought I’d like to quote Derek Kilmer in saying “the stories we tell say something about us.” Clowns may not be everyone’s fear. However, the culture we as people created also created clowns and the fear of them.  

Part 5

Studying monsters can be a useful endeavor. History of America is the history of monsters. Therefore, if you study monsters, you study America. From the dehumanization of Native Americans by the Pilgrims to the fascination with aliens today, monsters have shaped America and been shaped by American society. This theory is called Reciprocal Determination. Instead of one thing causing another, two things cause each other. America’s society has been shaped by witches, by vampires, by zombies, by clowns. And society has, in return, created the monsters it claims to hate so much. People care about monsters. We created them, as they create us.  

Clowns represent America’s relationship with truth. Depending on the kind of clown and when it appears, we can determine how Americans deal with lies. Early in the century, clowns were more jovial and friendly. People were complacent with letting bad things get swept under the rug. Harsh truths and cruel facts were ignored and glossed over. Abused spouses and homosexual relationships along with literal genocide and corrupt leadership had people looking the other way, because they were more concerned with image than anything else. But as time went on, people became less concerned with image and more concerned with truth. There are of course those who still value image over truth, but they are the minority. Corrupt leaders cannot hide anymore. LGBT+ folk can finally openly live their truth. Abuse is not tolerated. But at the same time, the clowns are getting scarier. Some people might say that this is simply correlation and not causation, and that is also a valid view, but I believe that it is, without a doubt, causation.  

Monsters teach us not only our history, but who we are. They tell us the truth behind our lies. They challenge the master narrative and demonstrate impermanent borders between morality, truth, fear, and desire.  

Footnotes

1 This phobia was also featured in the long-running show Supernatural, however in that show it’s played for humor.

[copperbadge]

Infinity War: A Review As Long As The Movie Itself

Okay, so I saw Infinity War a second time and most of my thoughts were unchanged plus I had one cool new one, and I have had a lot more sleep now than I had in the early part of the week. So I think now I’m good to talk about it. 

This is mostly a series of observations rather than a coherent review. Spoilers, very obviously, below the cut. If you are on mobile and can’t see a cut below before a massive wall of text, please scroll fast if you don’t want to be spoiled. 

1. I mentioned this before but this movie does feel like a series of video game cut scenes. Part of that is visual -- more than any other MCU movie, there are times when Infinity War is an animated film. There are a lot of moments where it’s just straight-up CGI with maybe Josh Brolin’s eyeballs. The two most noticeable ones are Thanos waking up with the soul stone and Thanos and Iron Man fighting on Titan, probably because Thanos is, uh, he’s not always very convincingly animated and the new model for Iron Man is a bit on the uncanny-valley side (the head in particular is weird). 

But also, there is so much to cram into the movie that every scene has to dump a lot of info pretty quickly. Which is not necessarily bad -- they do it very deftly -- but it means we get a series of tastes rather than a good main course. We get hints of where Steve, Sam, Wanda, and Natasha have been, but no real information, and it’s treated as if it’s basically irrelevant. We see Wanda and Vision in a secret-romance situation, but we never really see anything about why their relationship works or how they got there. The same with Peter and Gamora. There’s been bedrock laid down for these relationships in previous films, but there’s no building on that bedrock. And when you get to non-romantic relationships that gets even thinner because it’s difficult to no-homo a male friendship in the time allotted and 90% of the characters in these movies are male so there’s a shitload of relationships that fall by the wayside. 

I had some interesting conversations about how Peter Parker’s death scene was really dramatic and carried a ton of impact for Tony, and that’s good, but that is a scene I think Bucky and Steve should also have gotten and couldn’t because the no-homo in a very obviously parent-child relationship is much easier to convey. (Also because of a later point I’ll get to, see 10, where Tony and Peter in the Death Scene have to stand in for literally every other relationship.) 

2. A thirtysomething heterosexual white boy mad about his girlfriend doomed half the universe. Peter Quill’s lack of self-control indirectly caused the death of trillions when he punched Thanos, and that’s all I could think about during that scene. It’s so funny and so unfunny at the same time, because while it’s a (perhaps unintended) commentary on a lot of recent mass violence in America I am 100% sure that he will not suffer consequences for it. I mean, yes, he’s dead as a consequence, but LBR he’s not staying dead and when he’s back alive again he will suffer no ill will from anyone lasting longer than five minutes of Tony yelling, maybe. 

Also, I get that Thanos is big and strong but surely cutting his arm off would have been faster than pulling the glove off. I would imagine there are all kinds of arguments against it (he can still control it if his hand’s still in it, cutting his arm off would wake him, etc), but I’m pretty sure “narrative necessity” is the top one. 

3. I’m uncomfortable with all the Holocaust-y blown-to-ash imagery in the Death Scene following hard on the heels of, and then being followed itself by, a bunch of scenes that really seem to want to make us sympathize with the person who caused it, including one where he walks on water. (I can already hear people saying “It’s dust not ash” and that’s a conversation people can have if they want but in a moment that Gamora explicitly describes as a genocide in which trillions of people die because of a so-called lack of resources, which was, you know, a real Hitler talking point in the thirties, I’m not only reading it as ash, I’m reading it as a very specific kind of ash, and that’s not gonna change.) 

There is so much time spent on trying to make Thanos sympathetic in this movie. I get that they want him to come off as if he believes he’s the hero, because that’s basic good-villain writing 101. But less sympathy for the devil could have allowed room for the actual heroes to get some more character development. Thanos is so ludicrously over-powered by the time we meet him that I don’t really give a shit why he does what he does, and if the story IS a commentary on the brutality of genocide, then like, we don’t really want to be sympathizing with the guy committing it.

But because of all this, what I am hoping for in part two is a real hardcore demonstration of how evil he truly is to balance how sympathetic they tried to play him here. We see hints of his monstrosity under a veil of self-assumed virtue in this movie, occasionally. There’s the torture of Nebula, of course, and Eitri’s hands are also evidence. We have enough to see that he’s not just a crusader, he’s also able and eager to torment and maim. So I’m hopeful for more of that and less of his Purple Man’s Burden in part two. 

Related to this is a scene where Thanos says one thing that I think is really vital to his monstrosity, though I doubt this was intentional: he says it will be an objective genocide, “Rich and poor alike.” Really, we know that wealth causes excess consumption and hoarding of resources; you don’t have to kill half the population to balance its resources. You just have to kill the richest. However you feel about capitalism or wealth accumulation, whether you think killing the rich is justifiable, if you’re going to just slaughter a bunch of people in order to fix shit, you slaughter fewer for a much higher ROI if you slaughter the rich. That’s just....accounting. And the fact that Thanos doesn’t acknowledge this says to me that at the end of the day he wants the power of life and death, and he has no justification for it. But the problem is that I don’t believe the writers examined that line themselves or even thought of it, which makes me worried about whether we will get an expression of Thanos’s evil without a justification of his actions in part two. 

4. I’ve never seen Peter Dinklage in anything other than this, and after seeing the film for the first time I asked a friend, “IS he a terrible actor in everything? I didn’t think so, people seem to like him, but he’s dreadful in this.” The second time round, it was pointed out to me that they’re artificially slowing his voice, which makes him seem ludicrously overacted. Sorry, Peter Dinklage, I misjudged you, and this movie done wrong by you. 

5. Normally I don’t fully enjoy Rocket in the Guardians movies because there’s just a lot of him and the 2-3 jokes (what is he, he likes to murder, he’s a jerk) get old fast. I enjoyed him in this, because he got what I feel is the appropriate amount of screen time vis a vis the rest of the movie, and also Bucky picking him up was super funny. 

6. Bucky’s face when he sees the arm and asks where the fight is, weep loudly if you agree. Sebastian Stan can say more with his face than some actors can with a full on monologue. Also I am writing a fanfic about Bucky’s time on a Wakandan farm, working title: “My Dumb Goats.”

7. Literally nobody saw Sam Wilson die and I’m circulating a petition about it. Come on, at least give him a witness. Fuck. I think Sam’s death actually hit me the hardest because there wasn’t even anyone there to say goodbye to him. 

8. I gasped when Red Skull pulled his cowl down, oh my Jesus what a moment.

9. The first time I saw Captain America: Winter Soldier, when Bucky stood up without the mask, a woman behind me said, “Oh my god, it’s his BEST FRIEND,” with amazement in her voice. Watching Infinity War, when Gamora started going off about how Thanos doesn’t love anything, the guy in the seat next to me said, “Oh no, IT’S YOU.” I sometimes really enjoy going to movies surrounded by people who aren’t in fandom and don’t read subtext as quickly as fandom does. 

10. Here’s my new theory that is maybe not new and has been super obvious to everyone else forever. Preface: it’s not that I didn’t know Iron Man is in a shitload of the Marvel movies, or that I didn’t find that significant. We know that “I am Iron Man” is frequently considered the start of the MCU timeline even though Steve Rogers was the first avenger, and the first Iron Man film is iconic within the MCU (though they have never gone back to it for visual or thematic inspiration which is frustrating). 

But it seems really evident now, having seen part one of two and having seen Tony Stark in it, that not only is this “his” film in many ways, but the MCU to date is Tony Stark’s saga. Maybe I’m just slow to pick this up, but when he says Thanos has been in his head for six years, it was an indicator -- inadequate, see my Cut Scene theory, but still, it made me realize -- that the Avengers films and even many of the character films post-Avengers (Civil War and Homecoming, most obviously) are the story of Tony’s struggle with the shadow of Thanos up through his face-to-face confrontation with him. 

Like, we’ve seen that it’s something Tony grapples with, but I hadn’t realized that grappling was the entire point. In Age of Ultron, Ultron actually become a macguffin, he becomes a secondary indicator of Tony’s obsession with Thanos rather than a villain in his own right, which almost makes me want to watch that movie again even though I hated it. The vision of death and destruction Wanda gives Tony is Thanos-driven, and all his actions in every film post-Avengers are motivated by his fear of and antipathy for Thanos, even if he doesn’t yet know his name or face. And this is why Strange gives up the Time stone to save Tony, because that one win in fourteen million losses depends on Tony Stark. 

This is also why Peter Parker and Tony get a lot of time to bicker like family about nothing in particular throughout this film, leading up to the one true dramatic death scene in the Death Scene -- because for time’s sake they could really only pick one death to fully engage with, and it had to be the one affecting Tony, and we had to see them bonding to see WHY it affected Tony. He’s got to be the one to end Thanos, one way or another, and will likely be some form of uniting factor among the surviving heroes in the climax of part two. Which, I have a significant level of admiration for how deftly that process has taken place, even if I know that it will 99% likely lead to Tony’s permadeath in part two. 

It also makes me wonder about RDJ’s guiding hand in these films. I’m given to understand that even on movies where he’s not producer he often brings in his own script doctors to ensure he’s getting the best possible role he can get. I wonder if he and Kevin Feige had some kind of offer-you-can’t-refuse meeting once it became evident that the franchise was going to really come together as a single, if heavily branching, narrative. It also makes me wonder how much of the “RDJ is the Godfather of the Marvel Universe” we’ve seen in recent media is a talking point the actors were given in their press-interview briefing packets. 

11. Okay in the credits at one point it says “Character from Arrested Development courtesy of 20th Century Fox.” What....is up with that? What character? I don’t watch the show. 

12. SUPER EXCITED FOR CAROL DANVERS IN A GENERAL SENSE AND ALSO SEVERAL SPECIFIC SENSES. 

So those are my thoughts. Go ye and engage with them, I guess. :D

Did you enjoy this review or find it insightful? Consider buying me a buttery tub of popcorn at my Ko-Fi or via my Paypal!

[ryanmeft]

What We Want from The Elder Scrolls VI

Because I am now old and need comfort food, I decided to get the remaster of Skyrim, which isn’t really all that remastered. And it’s still fun. But after the better part of a decade and numerous advancements made, both by Bethesda and others, it’s lost a little something.

Since the sixth Elder Scrolls game is still a giant question mark all around and is at least several years out, this seems like a good time to highlight what we, and by we I mean I but really we because I’m always right, would like to see in the next installment. While Bethesda hopefully has some all-new tricks up their sleeves, this list is mostly ideas from games released since that should make their way into Tamriel.

Construction

Minecraft originally released only one week after Skyrim. You might be aware that it has since gone on to dominate all life in the universe. It has left traditional games scrambling to catch up with the world of user-created content, which Bethesda attempted to do in Fallout 4 by letting you tinker with settlements. This more or less dominated my time in that world. When I did tear myself away to do a mission, I fretted over whether my settlers were safe. Still, it was a work in progress: you couldn’t build a whole new settlement from scratch, and your control over them was limited. In TES6, I want to see this taken to the extreme. I want an entire region of the world, perhaps one previously devastated by war, which I can reshape into my image as though I were like unto a god. I want to be able to make Ryanistan the newest province of Tamriel. Being able to buy a house isn’t enough. I want to birth a world. Business-wise, surely the prospect of selling new materials as micro-transactions is enough to get the bean-counters on board with this. 

Deeper Relationship Mechanics

Fallout 4 had better and more interesting companions to follow you around the wasteland than previous Bethesda games, but your interactions with them were only marginally more varied than those in Skyrim. Gameplay-wise, they still functioned as a bullet sponge and a place to store your crap. In a time when people are expecting less and less of the Uncanny Valley to show in their games, this is probably already a priority of Bethesda’s. Some suggestions: make them fully customizable and upgradeable. Make them essentially their own character, perhaps with unique skills and perks only they can learn. Being able to switch control between them and your avatar (and possibly have the way people interact with you change accordingly) would be, like, boss and stuff. The ability to have more than one recruited permanently, doing stuff around town as they did in Fallout when not adventuring with you, would make them feel like actual friends and not just A.I. And of course, having friendship and romantic options with them that change based on your behavior would seal the deal. Basically, I’d like to see the kind of cool, varied characters present in Fallout 4 mixed with the depth of interaction of a Bioware game.

Actually Affecting the World

If there’s one big thing that feels missing in Skyrim after having spent time with games like Dragon Age: Inquisition, Mass Effect and Fallout 4, it’s the idea that you as the main character have an actual impact on the world. In DA:I, you became a ruler and could pass judgement, and your actions all fed back into the overall war. In Fallout 4, it was actually impossible to complete all the quests, because at some point you had to choose between multiple antagonistic factions, and there was no going back. By comparison, the only decision of any significance you have to make in Skyrim is who to side with in a Civil War, and not only does it have no bearing on the outcome of the main story, but the effects on the world are minimal. No matter what you do, it’s still the same old Skyrim. Having to choose between multiple factions, and having that choice bear real consequences for the world, would make you feel like you had some agency and weren’t just a pair of arms for hire to whoever wants you. One possibility is to give you greater impact in the world the more influential you become. For example, instead of climbing the ranks at the Mages Guild yielding only some gameplay rewards and dialogue changes, have it grant your character a say in the politics of the world, one that shows in the ending.

Multiple Regions

This one is pretty simple. Skyrim is a beautiful vision of a viking wonderland, but after bopping around in the multi-cultural Elder Scrolls Online for a while, it’s hard to go back to one type of place. A single player game probably wouldn’t support the dozen-plus regions the online version can offer, but having a few choices would be nice.

Cooler Abilities

A big part of the appeal of RPGs is that they let you do cool stuff with weapons, magic and armor. In this regard, TES has always been kind of lacking when stacked up against its peers; I doubt anyone would tell you combat is their favorite part of the series. In addition to oft-requested improvements like a third-person mode that isn’t f’ed in the A and encounters that actually require strategy, a wider variety of abilities that are easier to integrate into combat would be great. I want to be able, with enough effort, to summon fists of stone and make my character levitate, or customize my sword to shoot lightning when I swing it. I want enemies to have a brain among them so that these new powers are actually useful. The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild is great inspiration to look to for this. Basically, I want combat to be something I look forward to, and not something I begrudgingly put up with to see what’s on top of that mountain.

Survival Mode

This isn’t something I actually use myself, but it’s a feature I know has a pretty serious following in Fallout and the brutal Roguelike genre, as well as the Dark Souls series. Even Zelda got in on the action a bit with the last entry, factoring the environment into your exploration. One way to advance this beyond the way it’s now done would be to give us a sliding scale instead of simply two options. That way, people who want a little risk in their exploration could get it, as could people who want none at all or the whole always-about-to-die experience.

Quick Hits:

More Varied Voices: I forgot just how many re-used voices there are in Skyrim. It’s a bit of an immersion breaker.

Better Inventory System: Including manually sorting stored items and a “store all” option.

Clothes Not Tied To Your Armor: For the fashionistas among us.

A Good Story: I understand the whole “choices” angle, but the low-fantasy theme seems a bit outdated now.

Oblivion and Skyrim were two of the greatest games of their generation, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say Skyrim perfected the formula rather than significantly evolving it. At the time, the five-year wait felt like an eternity. It’s already been longer than that since Skyrim hit, and all indications are that at least a decade and likely two console generations will pass before we actually get to play TES6. With even the Zelda franchise embracing radical changes, we can only hope that in addition to the things we want from already existing games, Bethesda is set to give us something that’s worth the wait.

[cargopantsman]

Rambling on About Liminal Spaces - a draft

A recent post triggered some embryonic thoughts on liminal spaces, and here’s where I’m going to try and get them to something of at least a stage of fetal thoughts.

The term “liminality” was coined in the field of anthropology by Arnold van Gennep back in 1909 while studying rites of passage in small, tribal communities. The term “liminal” stemming from the Latin for “threshold” or “entrance,” denotes that the experience of liminality is an in-between/transitional event. This is where we get our term “preliminary” and the less often used “postliminary.”

While the term may have been coined in relation to specific rites involving an individual, for instance, leaving childhood and being initiated into the society as an adult, or a rite for an active adult entering a stage of retirement, modern usage of the term is predominantly associated less with periods of change within one’s life stages and more with spaces where things feel “off.” The common examples typically involving big box mega-stores, particularly 24-hour facilities sometime around the “witching hour.” Being in a Wal-Mart at 2am is indeed an awkward experience. A Target, even in a busy afternoon, can feel like a different dimension. Other examples being lone gas stations in the middle of nowhere. Truck stops that are more like small villages dropped on an open stretch of expressway. The gigantic mall with only three small stores, one department store and a Taco John’s still operating. The second-run movie theatre on the outskirts of a college town.

The contrast brought up in the original post was that these are typically high-traffic areas that we stumble upon in empty situations, so that the lack of human activity would be what makes it seem off. While in many of these instances one could rest comfortably in that conclusion, there are enough outliers in things that count as liminal spaces that drove me to ponder on this a bit more. A gas station in the middle of the desert isn’t necessarily strange because we expect high activity and see none, rather the opposite that in a large expanse of nothing we have a little bit of “something.” It’s an oasis. Similarly would be the ramshackle motel with half functioning lights inviting you to rest from an encompassing dark emptiness.

Two things popped into my head within moments of recognizing these differences; wayside shrines and cathedrals.

First point is that irresponsible leap of logic to link an empty Home Depot to, say, Chartres Cathedral. Our civilized human brain decries a Wal-Mart as a bastion of corporate evil and greed, abusing workers from point of production all the way to point of sale. While valid from a moral/ethical judgment standpoint, there is something that I think resonates with us on a monkey-brain level. It would be a fair assessment to say that many of us live our day-to-day lives in rather confined conditions. Our homes, whether a house, condo, or apartment are made of small rooms each sectioned off and filled with clutter and knick-knacks of various purpose from utilitarian to aesthetic to “where did this even come from?”. Our jobs may well put us in cramped stores, cubicles, offices, or vehicles. But a big-box store late at night is wide open, with aisles stretching on, that lacking a rush of a crowd would seem like miles. The vaulted ceilings of a Gothic cathedral have taken on the form of corrugated steel roofs interspersed with, instead of chandeliers, fluorescent fixtures that hum and drone on like a choir chanting an infinite AUM. Our personal bubbles can relax. All objects are neatly arrayed and organized (within reason for any retail establishment). There is nothing pressing in on us physically. The cacophany of daily life is absent. There is a stillness that we do not experience very often in the outside world.

The monkey-brain, that psychological architecture with a foundation laid a million and a half years ago that was awestruck by vast chambers in caves that our ancestors sanctified with images of all sorts of beasts, responds to this. The random flickering of torches replaced by steady 60Hz pulses of light that we can sometimes see if we aren’t paying attention to it. The monkey-brain that was driven to erect stones in large circles to carve out a certain space in an even larger field responds to this, the columns of basalt replaced by a ring of clearance signage. The monkey-brain that crafted its mythology into stain-glass windows responds to this, the iconography of age now being displayed on a wall of flat-screen televisions.

While our civilized brains rebel at the forced participation in late-stage capitalist consumerism, a quiet mega-store gives us a sense of peace and our needs are fulfilled, at least on a material, practical level.

Similarly, the neon lit rest stop on a highway 100 miles from anything is a wayside shrine, a holy grotto. As we travel through the wilderness we find a place of respite, of recuperation. An oasis with some level of hospitality that you won’t find in the plains or steppes or mesas. Two fuel pumps and a shack with an assortment of snacks is the modern grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes. A resting point on a pilgrimage. A familiarity jutting out of a foreign world. A comforting reminder of what you are used to that makes you homesick. The cheap roadside motel that exists in an uncanny valley of imitating home, pantomiming domesticity. You can rest, but you are not home. In fact, you are only reminded of how far from home you are.

So I have compared Wal-Mart to a temple, rest stops to shrines. I have no doubt that anyone reading this could at this point discount me as a madman. But as I let these thoughts rattle and ramble around the neurons, I can vividly see these examples as sacred spaces, not by any innate virtue of the locales or management of these places, but merely by what they can represent to a generation that, on the whole is surviving in a world that is lacking in community driven social order, religion, and mythology. Based solely on casual observation, not necessarily ardent research, I see a world that is starving in spiritual terms. The past few generations, at least in America, have been failed by any given form of Christianity, which I will use as my example here based on the fact that it is supposed to be the dominant religion in the USA, and that I can’t in good faith try to account for how Judaism or Islam fares within their respective communities. (Though I would hazard they fare far better than Christianity given that they HAVE respective communities based both on matters of faith as well as cultural and ethnic commonalities among their members.)

The connotation, that Rorschach first response, that I think a lot of people have to the term Christianity is “straight whites.” And straight whites are starting to become the minority, insofar as more POC are starting to gain not just demographic prominence, but even prominence in media. And also that, as society starts to come to terms with non-binary and non-hetero genders and sexualities, the straight aspect is beginning to, publicly, decline. And Christianity, generally speaking, does not want to adapt to this at all. Many members of the Millennial generation and whatever arbitrary name for this newest generation has come up can very well be triggered by a church. That crucifix comes to mind and instead of any reflection on the sacrifice of a savior figure, all that can come to mind are recollections of discrimination, shame, punishment, etc., etc. I don’t think it a coincidence that since the days of Stonewall there has been marked increase in the interest of pagan studies (again, a conclusion based on casual observations, not ardent research. I work for a living, sadly). But it makes for this sound bite, that polytheism has grown along with polyamory. (I really do think it clever, let me have this.)

What do these conclusions sketch out? A people scrambling around, digging into ancient cultures and mythologies, some of which had been pronounced dead centuries ago, resurrecting deities in a hope that they’ll have power still. And many individuals find these deities and find they still have power. Others find not deities but practices, philosophies. Witchcraft, whether by Wicca or any other name, is ambiguous when it comes to naming any powers. The strength there is indeed in flexibility, in working with core concepts of mythological and spiritual thinking. Westerners still try to come to grips with Hindu and Buddhist philosophies, but that’s another can of worms. Short version being that there are individuals each finding their own sources of spiritual refreshment, but finding it very difficult to form communities. For the sake of an attempt at brevity I’ll just leave this point as no one in our generation(s) can just head down to the park district every Wednesday night and talk about how awesome Odin is. So while on an individual level we can survive spiritually, it is very difficult to get any kind of social validation of our spiritual accomplishments (which has historically been important for a society of individuals).

But what does this have to do with liminal spaces? What, pray tell CargoPantsMan, are you getting at?

Let’s go back to the anthropological use of liminality; a threshold, a ritual in-between experience. What is a ritual? It is a ceremony. It is a choreographed experience relating to a relevant myth. The purpose of a ritual being to put one in a mindset in accord with mythological thinking, with a mindset open to a transcendent experience. A ritual is meant to take you out of your day to day, domestic routines (rituals) and put you outside of all that “reality,” to put you in the company of your god(s)(esses)(ess). A ritual can be ecstatic, with the pounding of drums and yelling and singing and dancing and jumping, whether you’re on the savannah with the Massai or in an abandoned warehouse with ravers. A ritual can be boring, with sitting crossed-legged thinking about nothing or staring out on the ocean, where your daydreams spin out and in the complete absence of any outside stimuli you stumble upon god.

Our day-to-day lives, with their errands and economic concerns and social obligations and politics and so on are, in this sense preliminary. They are on this side of “the threshold.” A ritual is “liminary,” it is the threshold, the doorway to eternity, the gods, the powers. A ritual, and the temples and shrines and open air plains and stone circles which host rituals, are all doorways and pathways to a “postliminary” experience of the soul. To, for a moment, experience eternity, to realize and relive a spiritual slice of the infinite, the transcendent. To fast-charge our battery. Being human though, having a physical presence that needs to be fed, cleaned, cared for, we cannot stay there long. All rituals have a close, where we are to leave the way we came in and return to our “preliminary” lives, but changed! Having learned something, realized something, with new energy and fulfillment.

“When people sing, I dance. I enter the earth. I go in at a place like a place where people drink water. I travel a long way, very far. When I emerge, I am already climbing. I’m climbing threads. I climb one and leave it, then I climb another one. Then I leave it, and I climb another. When you arrive at God’s place, you make yourself small. You come in small to God’s place. You do what you have to do there. Then you return to where everyone is. You come and come and come and finally you enter your body again. All the people who have stayed behind are waiting for you. They fear you. You enter, enter the earth, and you return to enter the skin of your body. And you say A-a-i-i-e-e That is the sound of your return to your body. Then you begin to sing. The ntum-masters are there around. They take hold of your head and blow about the sides of your face. This is how you manage to be alive again. Friends, if they don’t do that to you, you die. You just die and are dead. Friends, this is what it does, this ntum that I do, this ntum here that I dance.” - From a description of a !Kung bushmen ceremony.

The liminal spaces that we experience these days. Those unsettling places and times where everything seems just a little off. The roadside diner, the dead mall, the quiet mega-store. These are places with heavy domestic associations of familiarity, safety, supplication of the means of our physical survival, yet they have tenuous similarities with sacred spaces from our collective past. Each has echoes that our primitive minds resonate with. Subtle aspects that bring about a “nostaglia of the soul.”

These liminal spaces ARE doorways, they ARE thresholds.

Except they open to a brick wall.

And that’s why we panic.

[littlewalken]

Art rant

They seriously need to make the PBS show How Art Made the World and especially the episode more human than Human easy to watch on line. If more people understood how we are hard wired to accept different representations of the human body, as long as they aren't uncanny valley, and have been making human forms with big eyes, long legs, squishy butt cheeks, and giant tiddies forever.

What are some of the oldest sculptures of the human form ever found? All those tiny stone age 'Venus' figurines. They're pregnant/fat with soft round bodies and there's no doubt they're meant to be a human.

They aren't meant to be realistic or a beauty standard you're meant to achieve, they're a celebration of what the artist loves about the female body.

All those Greek and Roman statues with their impossibly long shins and lack of tail bones have small junk because that was part of their society's vision of the ideal male form. How many of their female statues have soft round torsos instead of flat stomachs?

No one bitches the statue of David's hands and feet are too big.

Why are you spending your energy complaining about the size of the ta-tas on a piece of artwork made by someone who likes to draw big 'uns?

And do you think it's fine for the Egyptians to draw furries because they're historical, or actual depictions of 'aliens', but shit on modern furry art?

Did you ever see the cave painting of The Sorcerer? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Sorcerer_(cave_art) One of the oldest depictions of a human being in the world and the dude's dressed up as a deer.

And animation, how much of that started with big expressive eyes and giant heads? How many ancient statues look like that? You ever try to make an image of a person? You ever try to sculpt/carve one? You ever see instruction books about that and how they say most beginners make flat faces with big eyes at first?

If it's a feature you like and you want to emphasize and exaggerate it people will accept it as a representation of a human being. We're just like that.

[atthevogue]

“Tony de Peltrie” (1985)

The basics: Wikipedia

Opened: A landmark piece of computer animation, the Canadian short was part of the 19th Annual Tournee of Animation anthology that showed at the Vogue Theater in March and April of 1986.

Also on the bill: At least one Saturday in April, it was programmed in the 9:00 slot after Chris Marker’s Akira Kurosawa documentary A.K. and Woody Allen’s Sleeper, and before a midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead, which sounds to me like a very good eight-hour day at the movies. Otherwise, you could have had a less perfect day seeing it play after Haskell Wexler’s forgotten Nicaragua war movie Latino and the equally forgotten Gene Hackman/Ann-Margaret romantic drama Twice in a Lifetime.

What did the paper say? ★★★1/2 from the Courier-Journal film critic Dudley Saunders. Saunders described the Tournee as “a specialized event that shows signs of moving into the movie mainstream,” correctly presaging the renaissance in feature-length animation in the 1990s generally and Pixar specifically, whose Luxo, Jr. short was released that same year. Of Tony, Saunders singles it out as “one of the most technologically advanced,” and that it featured “some delightful music from Marie Bastien.” He then throws his hands up: "Computers were used in this Canadian entry. Don’t ask how.” Saunders was long-time film critic for the C-J’s afternoon counterpart, the Louisville Times, throughout the 1960s, ‘70s and ‘80s. In the late 1980s, he would co-found Louisville’s free alternative weekly, the Louisville Eccentric Observer.

What was I doing? I was six and hypothetically could have seen an unrated animation festival, though I'd have been a little bit too young to have fully appreciated it. Although, who knows, I’m sure I was watching four hours of cartoons a day at the time, so maybe my taste was really catholic.

How do I see it in 2018? It’s on YouTube.

A four-hour-a-day diet of cartoons was probably on the lower end for most of my peers. I grew up during what I believe is commonly known as the Garbage Age of Animation, which you can trace roughly from The Aristocrats in 1970 to The Little Mermaid (or The Simpsons) in 1989. The quantity of animation was high, and the quality was low. Those twenty years were a wasteland for Disney, and even though I have fond memories of a lot of those movies, like The Black Cauldron, they’re a pretty bleak bunch compared to what was sitting in those legendary Disney vaults, waiting patiently to be released on home video.

Other than low-quality Disney releases, the 1980s were highlighted mostly by the post-’70s crap was being churned out of the Hanna-Barbera laboratories. Either that, or nutrition-free Saturday morning toy commercials like The Smurfs and G.I. Joe. Of course there’s also Don Bluth, whose work is kind of brilliant, but whose odd feature-length movies seem very out-of-step with the times. Don Bluth movies seem now like baroque Disney alternatives for weird, dispossessed kids who didn’t yet realize they were weird and dispossessed. (Something like The Secret of NIMH is like Jodorowsky compared to, say, 101 Dalmatians.) Most of the bright spots of those years were produced under the patronage of the saint of 1980s suburbia, Steven Spielberg. An American Tale or Tiny Toon Adventures aren’t regarded today as auteurist masterpieces of animation (or are they?), but they were really smart and imaginative if you were nine years old. Still, the idea that cartoons might be sophisticated enough to be enjoyed by non-stoned adults was probably very alien concept in 1985.

In the midst of all of this, though, scattered throughout the world were a bunch of programmers and animators working out the next regime. Within ten years of Tony de Peltrie, Pixar’s Toy Story would be the first feature-length CGI animated movie, and within another ten years, traditional hand-drawn animation, at least for blockbuster commercial purposes, would be effectively dead. That went for both kids and their parents. Animation, like comic books, would take on a new sophistication and levels of respectability in the coming decades.

I love it when you read an old newspaper review with the benefit of hindsight, and find that the critic has gotten it right in predicting how things may play out in years to come. That’s why I was excited to read in Saunders’ review of the Tournee that he suspected animation as an artform was showing “signs of moving into the movie mainstream.” His sense of confusion (or wonder, or some combination) at the computer-generated aspects is charming in retrospect, too.

Tony de Peltrie is a landmark in computer-generated animation, but its lineage doesn’t really travel through the Pixar line at all (even though John Lassetter himself served on the award panel for the film festival where it was first shown, and predicted it’d be regarded as a landmark piece of animation). The children of the 1970s and ‘80s grew up to revere the golden era of Pixar movies as adults, and the general consensus is that not only are they great technical accomplishments, but works of great emotional resonance.

As much of an outlier as it makes me: I just don’t know. I haven’t really thought so. I think most Pixar movies are really, really sappy in the most obvious way possible. The oldest ones look to me as creaky as all those rotoscoped Ralph Bakshi cartoons of the ‘70s. Which is fine, technology is one thing -- most silent movies look pretty creaky, too -- but the underlying of armature of refined Disney sap that supports the whole structure strains to the point of collapse after a time or two.

Film critic Emily Yoshida said it best on Twitter: she noted, when Incredibles 2 came out, she’d recently re-watched the first Incredibles and was shocked at how crude it looked. "The technoligization of animation will not do individual works favors over time,” she wrote. “The wet hair effect in INCREDIBLES, which I remember everyone being so excited about, felt like holding a first generation iPod. Which is how these movies have trained people to watch them on a visual level...as technology.” There’s something here that I think Yoshida is alluding to about Pixar movies that is very Silicon Valley-ish in the way they’re consumed, almost as status symbols, or as luxury products. This is true nearly across all sectors of the tech industry now, but it’s particularly evident with animation.

One of my favorite movie events of the year is when the Landmark theaters here in Minneapolis play the Oscar-nominated animated shorts at the beginning of the year. Every year, it’s the same: you’ll get a collection of fascinating experiments from all over the world, some digitally rendered, some hand-drawn. They don’t always work, and some of them are really bad, but there’s always such a breadth of styles, emotions and narratives that I’m always engaged and delighted. They remind you that, in animation, you can do anything you want. You can go anywhere, try everything, show anything a person can imagine. Seeing the animated shorts every year, more than anything else, gets me so excited about what movies can be.

And then, in the middle of the program, there’s invariably some big gooey, sentimental mush from Pixar. Not all of them are bad, and some are quite nicely done, but for the most part, it’s cute anthropomorphized animals or objects or kids placed in cute, emotionally manipulative situations. I usually go refill my Diet Coke or take a bathroom break during the Pixar sequence.

Yeah, yeah, I know. What kind of monster hates Pixar? 

I don’t hate Pixar, and I like most of the pre-Cars 2 features just fine. The best parts of Toy Story and Up and Wall-E are as good as people say they are. But when you take the reputation that Pixar has had for innovation and developing exciting new filmmaking technology in the past 25 years, and compare it to the reality, there’s an enormous gap. And it drives me nuts, because if this is supposed to be the best American animation has to offer in terms of innovation and emotional engagement, it's not very inspiring. Especially placed alongside the sorts of animated shorts that come out of independent studios elsewhere in the U.S., or Japan, or France, or Canada. 

Which brings us to Tony de Peltrie, created in Montreal by four French-Canadian animators, and supported in part by the National Film Board of Canada, who would continue to nurture and support animation projects in Canada through the twenty-first century. A huge part of the enjoyment -- and for me, there was an enormous amount of enjoyment in watching Tony de Peltrie -- is seeing this entirely new way of telling stories and conveying images appear in front of you for the first time. Maybe it’s because I have clear memories of a world without contemporary CGI, but I still find this enormous sense of wonder in what’s happening as Tony is onscreen. I still remember very clearly seeing the early landmarks of computer-aided graphics, and being almost overwhelmed with a sense of awe -- Tron, Star Trek IV, Jurassic Park. Tony feels a bit like that, even after so many superior technical accomplishments that followed.

Tony de Peltrie doesn’t have much of a plot. A washed-up French-Canadian entertainer recounts his past glories as he sits at the piano and plays, and then slowly dissolves over a few minutes into an amorphous, impressionistic void. (Part of the joke, I think, is using such cutting-edge technology to tell the story of a white leather shoe-clad artist whose work has become very unfashionable by the 1980s.) It’s really just a monologue. The content could be conveyed using a live actor, or traditional hand-drawn animation.  

But Tony looks so odd, just sitting on the edge of the Uncanny Valley, dangling those white leather shoes into the void. Part of the appeal is that, while Tony’s monologue is so human and delivered in such an off-the-cuff way, you’re appreciating the challenge of having the technology match the humanity. Tony’s chin and eyes and fingers are exaggerated, like a caricature, but there’s such a sense of warmth underneath the chilliness of the computer-rendered surfaces. Though it’s wistful and charming, you wouldn’t necessarily call it a landmark in storytelling -- again, it’s just a monologue, and not an unfamiliar one -- but it is a technological landmark in showing that the computer animation could be used to humane ends. It’d be just as easy to make Tony fly through space or kill robots or whatever else. But instead, you get an old, well-worn story that slowly eases out of the ordinary into the surreal, and happens so gradually you lose yourself in a sort of trance.

As Yoshida wrote, technoligization of animation doesn’t do individual works favors over time. To that end, something like Tony can’t be de-coupled from its impressive but outdated graphics. These landmarks tend to be more admired than watched -- to the extent that it’s remembered at all, it’s as a piece of technology, and not as a piece of craft or storytelling.

Still, Tony is the ancestor of every badly rendered straight-to-Netflix animated talking-animals feature cluttering up your queue, but he’s also the ancestor of any experiment that tries to apply computer-generated imagery to ways of storytelling. In that sense, he has as much in common with Emily in World of Tomorrow as he does with Boss Baby, a common ancestor to any computer-generated human-like figure with a story. When Tony dissolves into silver fragments at the end of the short, it’s as if those pieces flew out into the world, through the copper wires that connect the world’s animation studios and personal computers, and are now present everywhere. He’s like a ghost that haunts the present. I feel that watching it now, and I imagine audiences sitting at the Vogue in 1986 might have felt a stirring of something similar.