#that their feelings and motivations are ernest

[raviollies]

did theta turn/got turned into a fey like blythe or was she like already born as a cool ass skull nature green hag already?

In true tragic fashion...she was turned just like her a long time ago. The nature of abuse is often cyclical, and I am drawing from experience of the older generation inflicting the same abuse they suffered onto the young generation due to the belief that it's the "right way."

At one point Theta also was a High Elf, who became a hexblood and later a green hag. It was many centuries ago, and she most likely does not even recall what her elven life was like. Perhaps it's the curse of her being a fae for so long, perhaps it's just how her mind learned to cope with it--- but she is of the opinion that the hag that turned her was correct. That she turned out to be an incredibly powerful witch, and now it's her turn to guide another woman, just like she was guided long ago. And in time, Blythe will understand it too. And when the time comes, she will guide someone else.

[jayballoon]

I just finished the Layton's Mystery Detective Agency anime and, I gotta say, it's incredibly superior compared to what the game did wtf. Almost every character in the main cast is more polished (to an extent ofc, it was a kiddy anime) and even most of the cases that were adapted from the game were funnier and more interesting.

Everyone was splendid, loved Kat's cheerfulness and determination. And at least they told us a lot more about her relationship with Hershel and her desire to reunite with him, unlike the game 💀

Sad that the PL community is more game-focused. Cus YouTube is plagued of videos of people ranting about how shitty LMJ was (and pretending that it's an impopular take) while nobody ever gives love to the anime interpretation of Lady Layton.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

i AM. giving hugo a beard

[bookpublisher1]

Overcoming Writer's Block

Overcoming Writer's Block: Strategies and Inspiration from Fellow Authors

Writer's block is the dreaded nemesis of authors, a seemingly insurmountable barrier that can strike at any stage of the creative process. It's the moments when inspiration feels elusive, words refuse to flow, and the blank page taunts you. Every writer, from beginners to seasoned professionals, has experienced it. But the good news is that it's not an unbeatable foe. In this blog, we'll explore strategies and find inspiration from fellow authors to overcome writer's block and reignite your creative spark.

Understanding Writer's Block

Writer's block is often misunderstood as a singular, monolithic entity. In reality, it comes in various forms and can be triggered by different factors. Some common manifestations of writer's block include:

1. Blank Page Syndrome: You sit down to write, but the blank page stares back at you, devoid of words or ideas.

2. Self-Doubt: Insecurities about your writing abilities can paralyze your creativity. You second-guess every word you put on paper.

3. Stagnation: You feel stuck in your story, unable to progress or find a way forward.

4. Lack of Ideas: You may have a concept or outline, but the well of ideas has run dry, leaving you without a clear direction.

5. Perfectionism: The quest for perfection in your writing can lead to an overwhelming fear of making mistakes, stifling your progress. Here are few tips on How To Overcome The Fear Of Rejection As A Writer

Strategies to Overcome Writer's Block

1. Start Writing, Any Writing: The most important step to overcome writer's block is to write. Anything. It could be a journal entry, a random thought, or a few lines of unrelated text. The act of writing, regardless of the content, can help break the mental barriers.

2. Set Realistic Goals: Instead of aiming to write a thousand words in one sitting, set achievable, smaller goals. Tell yourself you'll write for 15 minutes or just one paragraph. The sense of accomplishment when you meet these goals can motivate you to continue.

3. Change Your Writing Environment: Sometimes, a change in scenery can do wonders. If you usually write at your desk, try writing outdoors, in a café, or even in a different room. New surroundings can stimulate creativity.

4. Writing Prompts: Writing prompts are a fantastic way to jumpstart your creative thinking. They provide a topic or a starting point to get your creative juices flowing. Many websites and books offer an array of writing prompts to choose from.

5. Exercise and Mindfulness: Physical activity and mindfulness practices, such as meditation or yoga, can help clear your mind and reduce stress. A fresh, relaxed mind is more likely to overcome writer's block.

6. Read and Research: Sometimes, reading a book, article, or research related to your topic can reignite your passion and ideas. It exposes you to new perspectives and can provide the spark you need to continue writing. Few more tips on becoming Productive Writer

Inspiration from Fellow Authors

One of the most reassuring aspects of writer's block is that you're not alone. Fellow authors have been there, struggled through it, and emerged victorious. Let's take inspiration from their experiences and advice:

1. Margaret Atwood: The renowned author of "The Handmaid's Tale" suggests that writer's block often stems from a lack of motivation, which can be solved by setting and meeting small, manageable goals. She says, "If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word."

2. J.K. Rowling: The creator of the "Harry Potter" series acknowledges that writer's block is a common issue even for prolific authors. She advises writers to avoid self-criticism during the first draft and just get the words on paper.

3. Ernest Hemingway: Hemingway believed in stopping at a point where you still know what will happen next in your writing, so you can easily pick up where you left off. This tactic can prevent the feeling of stagnation and fear of the unknown.

4. Stephen King: The author of numerous bestsellers advocates for consistency. He says, "Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration; the rest of us just get up and go to work." Establishing a daily writing routine can be a powerful weapon against writer's block.

5. Maya Angelou: The late poet and author emphasized the importance of showing up to write regularly. She advised, "What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks 'the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat,' ... I must write it down."

Seek Support from Writing Communities

If you're still battling writer's block despite trying various strategies, consider reaching out to writing communities. Fellow authors can provide encouragement, feedback, and inspiration. Joining writing groups, participating in writing challenges, or attending workshops can connect you with like-minded individuals who understand your struggles.

Moreover, sharing your experiences with fellow authors can be liberating. It reminds you that writer's block is a common affliction and not a testament to your abilities. It's a temporary roadblock, not an insurmountable obstacle.

In Conclusion

Writer's block is a formidable adversary, but it can be defeated with determination and the right strategies. Understanding its different forms, setting realistic goals, changing your writing environment, using prompts, and practicing mindfulness are effective tactics to overcome it.

Draw inspiration from accomplished authors who have faced writer's block and emerged victorious. Their experiences and advice can serve as beacons of hope during your own writing struggles.

Remember, writing communities are there to support you. Sharing your challenges and triumphs with fellow authors can provide the motivation and encouragement needed to break through writer's block and continue on your creative journey. Writer's block is not the end of your story; it's just one more obstacle to overcome on your path to becoming a successful writer.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Have you ever shared your thoughts on the romance in Killers of the Flower Moon?

There was a viral tweet a few days ago discussing how the emphasis on the marriage was borne out of Scorsese learning that Ernest insisted until his dying that that he really loved her, and Mollie’s real-life descendants also telling him they too believe that they were truly in love.

I went into a bit of a rabbit hole reading interviews with the cast and the IRL descendants and it was so disturbing and tragic (like Ernest really did learn to speak Osage, which was apparently highly unusual for white spouses). It’s also interesting to me that neither of Mollie’s sister had children with their white husbands, but she had three with Ernest. Like theirs was sincere relationship, and not one primarily because of mutual convenience. (Yet he also named his youngest daughter after her aunt, who he helped murder.)

I’ve seen pushback to the romantic relationship in the movie (“that’s not love,” “love isn’t abuse”), which is understandable, but also IMO a bit simple and naive/childish? I guess it kind of depends on whether one thinks love is inherently good, which I don’t think it is.

Anyway, I thought the film’s depiction of Mollie/Ernest was fascinating and devastating. I thought Lily and Leo had fantastic chemistry too.

I think Ernest did love her (or believed that he did), yet his love was worthless because it didn’t protect her or make him do the right thing. I thought Scorsese was basically asserting that love actually cannot “redeem” anyone or overcome evil/greed/bigotry.

I agree with your assessment on Scorsese's intent with that relationship, for sure, and I think that there is an understandable desire to categorize feelings and relationships into one thing or the other. When it comes from the Osage today (not that there's a universal "Osage take" on this movie, but I've seen a couple Osage critics go "that was not a relationship with any love in it"), I think that's a large part of healing, and I get where it comes from, and I respect it. I think that there is sometimes a need, not a universal need, when you have experienced trauma and abuse, to put certain feelings into boxes. It's self-protective. And I speak from experience, right? I've been processing emotional abuse from someone I loved for years, and it has only been fairly recently that I've been able to unravel the relationship in a way that isn't "this person must not have loved me because otherwise how could he treat me that way".

When it comes from random twitcrits, I think it's more indicative of not only that, but some larger issues that we're dealing with societally. I think we often try to "science-ify" or pathologize feelings in a way that we really can't. Because if we can say "this person did this thing, that means they're incapable of love", "abusive behavior of any kind means that person does not ever love you", "this disorder means this person can't love", it's easier to feel like we're capable of safeguarding ourselves from threats. If we can identify it, we can protect ourselves, and when someone does X, Y, and Z, we can identify them as a wholly malevolent force and predict their behavior and prescribe behaviors in terms of how to react to them.

Personally? I think it's a lot more complicated than that. In terms of Ernest and Mollie in particular, a lot of what people who have a more personal understanding of that situation seem to say, as you've pointed out, they appear to have been in love. Now, I don't think anyone can know what was going on for Mollie except Mollie, and Ernest obviously had reason to claim he was in love with her whether or not he was. Their descendants cannot look at it clear-eyed. All of his behavior could have many motivations.

The thing is, though, that it's absolutely possible to love someone be horrible to them. HORRIBLE. Because humans are capable of being many things at once, and compartmentalization is SO real. To me, it seems impossible to say that every abusive individual, even every monstrous individual, carried no love ever for people... even the people they hurt. And it also seems to assume a lot about what we can divine about people without living in their minds.

I also think that it challenges us on several fronts. First off--we can think someone is absolutely evil and that, in a world where the law can be trusted, would deserve a fate like death (to be clear: I'm anti-death penalty, but I understand the desire to punish certain people to that extent)... But how much does it shake our sense of morality and our justness when we admit that those people are capable of love? I mean, it doesn't for me, but I think it does for many. You want to be able to say "there is nothing good in this person" because it's just easier to accept. It is much, much more horrifying to think "this person is evil and also can love" versus "this person is evil". To be evil is human, but the way our societal morality is structured makes many feel otherwise; but nobody would argue that to love is human. So acknowledging that someone can love in any way humanizes these evil individuals in a way that is DEEPLY uncomfortable.

Because, as you said, it does separate this idea of love from goodness. Love is not inherently good, it's not inherently healthy, and it's not inherently ENOUGH. Someone can genuinely love you. But why does them loving you automatically mean that they love you MORE than their greed, MORE than their desire to destroy, MORE than their wrath? There's nothing in the bylaws of love that says so. That's just a romantic concept we've put onto all types of love, imo.

ALSO: perhaps scarier is the idea that someone can love and can also murder, and abuse, and do heinous things. So how can we identify a dangerous person? If someone like Ernest really loved Mollie, then someone like your dad could also be capable of murder. Someone like your husband could be capable of abuse. It's kind of a terrifying thing to think of, because I think that a lot of people like to live in this world of "Well, that would never happen to me/I would recognize the signs". Not always out of a sense of superiority, but because it feels SAFER and more comforting to think that you would pick up on these aberrant behaviors, desires, whatever.

I always think about what my mom used to say to me--"I am 99.9999999999% sure that X person would never do X thing, but you have to leave that sliver of space for them doing it". And you DO. Because if you don't, then if that thing happens, you may not catch it. That incredible, bulletproof confidence? Leads to scenarios in which you fail to recognize or even live in denial of what's going on around you.

So.... we're left to live with that sliver of ambiguity. And humans often do not like ambiguity. You live in the ambiguity that technically, someone can betray everything you think you know about them; and you live in the ambiguity that someone that hurt you horribly could also have had genuine love for you, and it wasn't healthy, and it wasn't good, and it wasn't ENOUGH, but it was there. I've lived in that second thing, and it is hard. And I've also been the person who would swear 100% that I could trust someone, only to be proven wrong.

This doesn't mean that you can't love and trust and believe in people. It just means that life is really about BELIEVING in people, and not ever knowing 100% where their mind is, what the future holds, what they'll do. I think that now more than ever, that makes people feel so unstable.

This is all very theoretical and long-winded, but yeah. I think that is what Scorsese was trying to get across. That love can exist in bad relationships and horrible people, and it's not always redemptive, and it's not always enough, and it cannot stand up to the kind of avarice and bigotry that we saw in Killers. And isn't that horrifying? Isn't it scary?

[wellofdean]

Thinking more about this gifset from ep 12x09, The Future, and just want to say a thing about what the word 'subtext' means, because it sometimes feels like what people think it means and what it actually means are not aligned.

So, as a starting point, subtext is defined as "the implied meaning or underlying message of a narrative that is not stated directly. It is the unexpressed thought, feeling, or emotional throughline that lies beneath the text."

The scene in the gifset linked above rife with subtext, and it's really very obvious. But first, there are several layers to the text. There's the visual: Sam looking concerned, Dean working on Cas's truck. There's also the context of the other events in the episode. In brief: Cas returns to the bunker after being out of touch for so long that Dean was worried, and angry with him; Cas tried to return the mixtape Dean gave him and Dean refused to accept it; Cas tells Dean he feels like he just keeps failing and Dean stresses that they need to work together; Cas 'plays him' and steals the Colt from under his pillow; Dean threatens to 'kick his feathered ass' but notably does not follow through. Right before this scene Dean throws Cas the keys to the Impala like it's a totally automatic for him to do (it's not!), only to have Kelly drive off with his Baby, and with Cas.

Here's the transcript:

Sam: How did this happen? Dean: ( Scoffs ) What? The lying? The Heaven plan? Or the fact that I'm working on this stupid truck? Sam: No, I mean, what's wrong with Cas? Dean: Well, he hasn't exactly had a banner year. I mean, think about it. Between Lucifer... (huffs out a breath) ...killing Billie, Ramiel, everything's been blowing up in his face... And he's so desperate for a win right now, he can't even see straight. Go ahead and give it a try. (Engine starts)

So the text of this scene is a combination of what we see, the context in the episode, the wider context of the show and relationships, and the lines.

Here are some examples of the subtext in this scene:

Dean has given some thought to how Cas is feeling.

Dean understands that people make questionable decisions when they are feeling down and defeated.

Dean has been there, and done that.

Dean sympathizes and empathizes with Cas.

Dean's frustrated, but Cas is still family to him.

Dean cares about Cas and wants to help him.

Sam does not quite know what to make of Cas's behavior.

Sam knows that Dean will know better than he does what is motivating Cas to do what he is doing.

Dean is emotionally closer to Cas than Sam is.

Sam relies on Dean's reaction to Cas's recent actions to know how to react himself.

Dean wants Sam to understand and sympathize with Cas, and not judge him too harshly.

There is much more one could add to this, but nothing I've said above is the least bit controversial; it's nothing more than a basic understanding of the content of the text, and it is very clearly communicated. Understanding these things in this scene is not rocket science, and everything I mentioned above is indisputably there as unspoken but clear emotional throughline in the text.

Subtext is not a mysterious puzzle, or a ghost floating around in a text that is invented out of the audience's desires, it is the actual emotional force and content of it. Ernest Hemingway is a long way from being my favourite writer, but he was, nevertheless, a heavyweight champion of subtext. He called it the 'iceberg theory,' or 'theory of omission': the text (words themselves) present only a small part of what is happening in it, but it is important to note that subtext is part of the text like the unseen part of an iceberg is part of an iceberg. A text without subtext would be very boring indeed, and would leave nothing for our minds to do when we process it. It's difficult to imagine any narrative text that doesn't have it.

I think that a lot of the time we say things like: I want Destiel to be explicit, not 'just subtext', but look at what is communicated via subtext above! Virtually everything that's important about the scene! Subtext is not imaginary thing the reader adds, it is part of the intent of the text, and Destiel is more explicit than this in the text in a lot of ways because it is the bones the text is hanging on -- it may not be spoken, but it is part of the structure of the text, and that's because of things like the way Ruby and Sam's story parallels Dean and Cas in season 4, or the way Dean's entire motivation in purgatory is Cas, and when he gets back from purgatory, he can think of little else, or the way Cas very obviously parallels Colette in the MOC arc and there is no Abel, or the entire widower arc, or the fact that main emotional arc of season 15 is Cas and Dean's break up, reconciliation, Cas's confession and finally Dean's despair and willingness to just die in the final episode. There's a lot of that that simply doesn't make any sense without Destiel as a structural element in the narrative.

There are so many ways in which the whole story is BUILT AROUND the assumption that Cas is Dean's strongest bond and partner, and around how important Cas is to Dean's emotional life, which is why I think it's often more accurate to say that Destiel is CONTEXT, because it's actually the reason why we understand the subtext of so many scenes and arcs in the story.

The fact that Cas loves Dean is not subtext, it is explicitly stated, and the fact that Dean loves Cas is not explictly stated, but it is present in the text at so many levels, that to call it 'just subtext' or imagine that it is some kind of unacknowledged, unavowed ghost in the narrative is not accurate. There is no way to understand a thing like Dean's devastated face at Castiel's pyre, or why Castiel leaving in season 15 feels like a divorce without it. Destiel is the emotional force of it, and moreover, it's the part of the iceberg you can't see because it's underwater, but it is fucking there, and IT WILL FUCK YOU UP.

[mightydyke]

Thinking about Elizabeth... how Caroline Frankenstein catches scarlet fever from her which causes Caroline to die and how she gave William the miniature of Caroline which was seen as the motive for his murder. Imagine her feelings of guilt, of helplessness. Imagine being that teenager, ill with scarlet fever and feeling powerless, and the grief after she finds out the woman who took her in has died. That girl in the forest desperately searching for the child who's like her brother but she feels responsible for him like a mother after Caroline dies.

Elizabeth not seeing Victor for six years, after it was Caroline's dying wish that they should look after each other, feeling left behind and abandoned and powerless to make him come home. Her defending Justine to a court, pleading for her best friends life but unable to do anything.

A big part of her character is her helplessness, her passivity, but Victor is an unreliable narrator, how passive is she really? She stands up in court to defend Justine, but she can't change the verdict. She tries to exert power, but she has none.

After Caroline dies, she still hangs over Elizabeth like a shadow. She's an ideal symbol of femininity, self-sacrificing to the point that she dies from catching Elizabeth's fever whilst looking after her. Caroline was looked after by Alphonse Frankenstein when she was young and vulnerable after her father's death, clearly paralleling Elizabeth, who was taken in by the family after her mother dies and her father abandons her in the 1818 version, and saved by the family from a life of poverty in the 1832 version. After Caroline's death, Elizabeth takes care of the two younger brothers and Justine, taking on the mother role. Justine is also said to mimic Caroline's behaviour. In this close, insular family, the weight of the responsibility and expectations Elizabeth has to live up to.

It's Caroline who wishes on her deathbed that Elizabeth and Victor should be married. It's a miniature of Caroline that is seen as the motive for Williams murder. Just thinking of Caroline as a standard Elizabeth has to live up to and a symbol of her guilt.

In this society, women are powerless. The only purpose Elizabeth has is to have children, which she probably wants due to having nothing else to do, but she never even has children with Victor, only raises Caroline's children and Justine, all of whom die by the end of the book except Ernest. These children who call her "cousin" but see her first as a sister, then as a mother figure. Her slightly incestous relationship with Victor, the insular Frankenstein family, her being mother and sister at the same time, she must feel so mixed up and helpless. Victor thinks he's got it bad, the real tragedy here is Elizabeth.

[jacquelynlscott]

✍️  How to Develop a Writing Routine

If you’re first getting started as a writer, a writing routine can help you establish a habit of writing regularly, improving your productivity and creativity. Writing routines can also help you stay motivated and focused on your work.

📅 The Basics of a Writing Routine

Writing routines are different for every person, and what works for one person might not work for another. You might have to play around and try different things to find what works for you.

Here are some tips to help you establish a writing routine:

Set clear goals. Define your writing goals, whether writing for a set amount of time per day or writing a certain number of words, etc. Having clear goals will provide direction and motivation for your routine.

Determine your optimal writing time. Identify the time of day when you feel most energized, focused, and creative. It could be early morning, late at night, or any other time that works best for you. Choose a time slot that you can consistently dedicate to your writing practice and schedule those blocks of time in a calendar. Treat this time as a non-negotiable appointment.

Create a conducive writing environment. Designate a space that is conducive to writing. It could be a quiet corner in your home, a local coffee shop, or a library. Eliminate distractions as much as possible and set up your writing area with the necessary tools and resources to support your writing process.

Start with manageable commitments. Begin with small, achievable writing goals to build momentum. For example, commit to writing for 15 minutes daily or a specific number of words. As you develop consistency, you can gradually increase the duration or intensity of your writing sessions.

Develop rituals or triggers. Establish rituals or triggers that signal the start of your writing routine. It could be making tea, listening to a particular song, or reading a few pages of a book. These cues help condition your mind to transition into the writing mode and enhance focus.

Experiment and adapt. Be flexible and willing to adjust your routine as needed. If your chosen writing time or location is not working optimally, try different approaches until you find what suits you best. Experiment with different techniques, such as freewriting, outlining, or brainstorming, to discover what enhances your productivity and creativity.

Hold yourself accountable. Find accountability measures that work for you. It could involve sharing your writing goals with a writing partner or joining a writing group where you can regularly discuss your progress. Alternatively, you can use productivity apps or tools that track your writing time or word count.

Read more: The Different Types of Editing

⭐  The Routines of Famous Authors

If you’re struggling to come up with ideas for your writing routine, try borrowing practices from some authors you might know:

Ernest Hemmingway

“When I am working on a book or a story I write every morning as soon after first light as possible. There is no one to disturb you and it is cool or cold and you come to your work and warm as you write. You read what you have written and, as you always stop when you know what is going to happen next, you go on from there. You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day when you hit it again. You have started at six in the morning, say, and may go on until noon or be through before that. When you stop you are as empty, and at the same time never empty but filling, as when you have made love to someone you love. Nothing can hurt you, nothing can happen, nothing means anything until the next day when you do it again. It is the wait until the next day that is hard to get through.”

Kurt Vonnegut

“I awake at 5:30, work until 8:00, eat breakfast at home, work until 10:00, walk a few blocks into town, do errands, go to the nearby municipal swimming pool, which I have all to myself, and swim for half an hour, return home at 11:45, read the mail, eat lunch at noon. In the afternoon I do schoolwork, either teach or prepare. When I get home from school at about 5:30, I numb my twanging intellect with several belts of Scotch and water ($5.00/fifth at the State Liquor store, the only liquor store in town. There are loads of bars, though.), cook supper, read and listen to jazz (lots of good music on the radio here), slip off to sleep at ten. I do pushups and sit ups all the time, and feel as though I am getting lean and sinewy, but maybe not.”

Stephen King

“I sit down, from 8:00 to 8:30, somewhere within that half hour every morning. I have my vitamin pill and my music, sit in the same seat, and the papers are all arranged in the same places…The cumulative purpose of doing these things the same way every day seems to be a way of saying to the mind, you’re going to be dreaming soon.”

Alice Munro

“I write every morning, seven days a week. I write starting about eight o’clock and finish around eleven….I am so compulsive that I have a quota of pages. I’m also compulsive now about how much I walk every day….Three miles every day, so if I know I’m going to miss a day, I have to make it up. I watched my father go through this same thing. You protect yourself by thinking if you have all these rituals and routines then nothing can get you.”

[soul-controller]

Patreon Update (April ‘23)

Hello there everyone, hope anyone reading this is doing well. I totally meant to post this last Friday, but things have been super hectic and I completely blanked on it. Sorry about that!

Thank you for all of the support and love that you’ve given the Influencing the Influencer series and Dad, Be Careful What You Wish For over the last month! Those stories were really fun for me to make so it’s nice to pull them from the Patreon vault and see that y’all enjoy them as well.

Speaking of Patreon, here’s a summary of the stories I released there last month. If any of the following stories intrigue you, please feel free to click on the title so you can sign up for the appropriate tier to read it!

 Finally In Front Of The Camera

This vault story was originally released in March 2022 for the Clarke tier. After a year of exclusivity, it's now become a $5 story.

For years, obese 76-year-old Ernest had been constantly bullied by his staff and the arrogant actors he worked with for his appearance. Although there weren't many actors he enjoyed working with, he loathed nothing more than having to work with the egotistical bully that is Frank Grillo. After an accidental electrocution causes them to swap bodies though, Ernest is eager to give the man some much deserved revenge and ridicule...

Tags: Body Swap, Humiliation, Actors, Muscle Growth, Weight Gain

Revenge of the Nerd (Part II)

For Britney Farmer, there's nothing worse than getting her weekend plans ruined... especially when the interruption comes from her pathetic class partner Mitchell. Despite her annoyance, she still opts to come to Mitchell's apartment so she can make her way to the evening's frat party. Unfortunately for her, Mitchell has a plan for revenge that will end up making her more at home with the frat...

Tags: Female to Male, Gender Change, Muscle Growth, Revenge

Sauna Swap (Part II)

While stuck in the sauna with his client, Alek is momentarily unaware of the fact that their bodies are slowly turning into each other. Upon the appearance of a hefty gut rather than his defined abs though, the personal trainer rushes to escape and figure out what's happening him as he continues to change...

Tags: Body Swap, Age Progression, Weight Gain, Muscle Theft

The Leader of Talokan (Part I)

Eager to have a tropical vacation far away from his quaint town, Henry opts to travel to Mexico upon getting an incredible deal at a five-star resort. Halfway into his trip though, the man finds himself in the middle of a battle between the Mexican army and a slew of blue-skinned warriors named the Talokanil. Upon getting caught watching the battle occur, the warriors hold the man hostage before forcing him to drink a special potion that change his body in more than one way...

In case anyone is confused - this is a story set in the MCU where Henry finds himself turning into the primary antagonist of the newest Black Panther film. Part two will follow the aftermath of Henry's transformation as it leads directly into the events of the movie.

Tags: Muscle Growth, Racial Change, Superhero, Marvel, Fan Fiction

The Body Shop (Part III)

Upon accepting Theo's offer to fully test out the female bodysuit, Peter finds himself  desperate to take things to the next level. Along with this, Theo's true motives behind his assistance with Peter is revealed.

This is the final part of this smutty trilogy.

Tags: Bodysuit, Gender Change, Male to Female, Mental Change, Reality Shift

[letmerambleplease]

Hey everyone! This is my first time doing this but in the following lines I’ll try very hard to convince you to watch a movie. ^^ (Yeah this isn't a balanced review of the movie, more like me just gushing about it) The name is « Sweet Smell of Success » and it’s is really underrated. However, when I went on twitter the other day, I did see that it still gets some love there which makes me very happy! You can rent it on amazon prime.

Ok but first things first. I‘m not a native english speaker so please excuse any mistakes! Also… and this is pretty important, I feel like I need to give trigger warnings because the movie deals with some heavy themes, like abusive relation ships, self harm, questionable sexual situations (sorry don’t know how to describe it) and probably more stuff that you should be midful of when watching it. It is not very explicit though in my opinion, so you won’t see any blood for example on screen. Furthermore (haha I’m trying to remember fancy words from english class ^^‘) I really love the characters as characters, that does not mean I condone any of their actions obviously.

Ok! With all of that out oft he way let’s begin!

Sweet Smell of Success is a film noir drama released in 1957, directed by Alexander Mackendrick. It is based on a nouvelette « Cosmopolitan » by Ernest Lehman and in the main roles are starring Burt Lancaster, Tony Curtis, Susan Harrison, and Martin Milner.

The movie is about a press agent named Sidney Falco (dope name btw) who works under the very powerful colomnist  J.J. Hunsecker. J.J.‘s sister Susie Hunsecker is in a relationship with a man J.J. deems unworthy, which is why he wants Sidney to get them to break up. He himself does not want to ruin his relationship with his sister, who is already getting wary of him. 

I will try to stay spoiler free for this first section. Later on I want to talk about more of my personal viewing experience and will probably get into Spoilers, but I’ll warn you then.

I would like to start by talking about the acting and the characters. The actors are all great but stand outs for me are Tony Curtis who plays Sidney and Burt Lancaster who plays J.J.. Even though the charcters are both very manipulative and horrible people, the two actors play them very differently, which makes it super fun to watch. Sidney is always on his feet and you can practically see how many gears in his head are turning to devise a new scheme. Tony Curtis portrays this very well through nervous gestures and facial expressions. He is also very good at showing Sidneys deceptive side and his charme. The movie establishes his motivation in the very first minutes, which is great because everything he does comes back to a desire to find financial and social success. To achieve his goals Sidney does not really care about anyone, however he is very nice to most people, in case they could be useful later. There are always a lot of people greeting him when he comes into a bar and he himself even says that he is basically keeping up appearances 24/7.

J.J. on the other hand is very calm and seems threatening even in seemingly normal conversations. In stark contrast to Sidney he does not seem that occupied with being nice and keeping appearances because he can get away with it. He doesn’t need to appease someone, peoply try to appease him.

The movie is very interesting because it portrays different kinds of power struggles and power dynamics. From a first glance it seems like J.J. is basically at the top. He is very influencial, super intimidating (like damn, I would be very scared of him in real life) and commands every conversation he is in. But inspite of all of that he still has his limitations. One of his biggest limitations is his sister Susie herself. I think she is the only person he at least tries to keep a friendly relatinship with, while also controlling every aspect of her life. I think he knows that when she decides to leave that he can’t really do anything about it, so he pressures her into staying by intimidating her, while also trying to not push her over the edge. And at the end their whole dynamic switches, which leaves him standing quietly and kind of in a crouching position behind a door. It is a little difficult to explain tob e honest and if you are someone who watched the film let me know what you think.

Another thing is that, while Sidney definitly ranks beneath him in the power pyramid if you will, he still needs him to accomplish his goals. Because as I said before Sidney is very cunning and fast to not only devise a plan but to execute it as well.

There is a lot more to say about the characters and their dynamics however I’ll stop here for now to talk a little bit about how the movie structures it scenes.

Most oft he time the Movie follows Sidney and his schemes, and there are just some scenes here and there with him missing. And it is so much fun to see scenes building on each other, while his plans get more complicated. And to be honest at least for me there never is a dull moment. Because the movie is very good at making even little scenes matter later.

Maybe I can give you an example. These scenes are mostly there to show how Sidney works and acts, so they primarily exist to characterize him and I think they are very cool. So, Sidney goes to J.J.’s Column (I think) where he visits some kind of secretary who has information on what will be printed in the next issue. He flirts with her a little (again showing how charming he can be) however she already knows that he only wants information and tells him about a comedian without existing press agent who will be featured in the paper under the headline « Funniest man in New York » or something similar like that. That scene alone is fine, however it gets really cool when he later meets said comedian. He obvously wants to get hired so he tells the Comedian that he has connections that can get the comedian into J.J.‘s paper (which is a big deal). He then proceeds to fake a phone call with J.J. (It’s hilarious because he just calls his own secretary who hangs up confused about what he is talking about). He pretends to suggest an article about the comedian and even uses the same Headline he found out about earlier. After that he goes back tot he comedian, knowing fully well that the article will be published the next day. And later in the movie the comedian comes back to hire him. (At that point he get’s ignored though, because Sidney has bigger plans). Like, Sidney is awful, sexist, racist, manipulative and overall pretty bad but it is a real delight to see what plans he comes up with.

I want to also mention the visuals of the movie. Because they are gorgeous! The movie is in black and white which I did not like for a long time because I thought it made everything look washed out and kind of dull. However the contrast in Sweet Smell of Succes is very nice! There are bright highlights and deep shadows and the lighting is often used to convey a specific athmosphere. For example when half of the face of a character is completly covered in shadows. Another neat example is how the glasses of J.J. cast some sharp shadows on his face to make him seem more menacing. A lot of it is shot at nighttime in New York, where are a lot of lights, which makes a very cool backdrop.

It is also very cool how each indovidual shot subconsciously tells us something about the relationships between the characters. J.J. is often sitting but takes still more space up in the frame to show his dominance of a scene. Or sometimes the focus of the camera shifts slightly away from a conversation that is happening in the foreground to show Sidney in the back, because he orchestrated the situation.

In general the movie is full of cool, little things and tricks. That is in the script and the visuals. In one of my favourite scenes (not because oft he content but because of how it was shot) Susies Love interest gets surroundet by corrupt police men and before anything happens it cuts tot he drums oft the Jazz band that is playing in the club he just left. Our mind automatically makes the connection that he was beaten up pretty badly, without even seeing it.

Why is all of this important? Well, as someone who likes to watch movie reviews on Youtube I feel like a criticism I hear a lot is that a movie treats ist viewers like they are too dumb to understand subliminal messages and thus becomes boring or even insulting. It is also just a lot more fun to watch a movie that does not take you out of the story wit exposition and instead let’s you figure stuff out for yourself.

This all may sound like Sweet Smell of Success is a movie without a lot of taking. But that is very far from the truth. I would actually say that the dialogue is one of its biggest strengths! Not only informs you a lot about the characters, it also includes some of the coolest lines I have heard in any media. The lines  „Cat’s In The Bag … ” and “. . . And The Bag’s In The River” even served as episode titles for a show I also love very much : Breaking Bad. Side note, Sweet Smell of Sucess is also one of the favourite movies of the creator of Breaking Bad. Haha maybe that’s a more convincing argument to watch it that anything I could say. Anyways, the dialogue is also great at referencing itself at later points and creating awesome foreshadowing. 

I also want to talk about the music very briefly. I think the soundtrack fits the story and overal vibe of the setting perfectly. A cool little easter egg is that the Band of which Susies Love interest Steve is a part of is also the band who made the soundtrack fort he movie.

Just for fun I want to talk about my first viewing experience, which might include Spoilers. Maybe you can watch the movie first and come back later to compare your experience to mine. However the movie does not get ruined through Spoilers. I watched it a few times already and noticed something cool and new almost every time.

 For a little bit of context : I actully only watched the movie because I already liked Tony Curtis. By chance I caught Operation Petticoat on TV. And to be completly honest I just thought he was very handsome, so with nothing better to do I started to watch more movies he starred in. I did not expect to find one of my favourite movies of all time XD So I started watching and the first thing I noticed was that it was interesting to start the movie with the main character already stressed and angry. I feel like normally we get so see the characters in their „normal „ state, which get’s disrupted by an inciting incident. Sweet Smell of Success throws you right in the action though. On second thought, stressed and angry might me Sidneys default state…

Something to know is that a lot of the audience back when the movie was released did not like that Tony Curtis portayed such a scheming character. They expected him tob e a nice guy like he was in pretty much all of his other movies. And the funny thing is, I did too. It took me soooo long to finally realize that Sidney was just not meant to be a nice character. I think in one of his first scenes he even says „I‘m not a good person“ or something along those lines. For an explanation: A lot of the movie was very difficult for me to understand in english, partly because I just didn’t know the words they were using and partly because Sweet Smell of Succes’s story line is not that simple. So fort he majority oft he film I sat there a little confused but still intrigued. And then came the scene in which Sidney tries to persuade a woman into sleeping with a man for his own gain and clearly against her wishes. And I was like „???? that is not ok Sidney! How am I supposed to root for you now? Is this a 50’s thing? Did they think back then something like that was ok?“. And then later when he plants the drugs on Steve I thought for sure he would go back and save him from the police, as a redeeming moment. And when he didn’t it finally occured to me that we weren’t supposed to root for Sidney in the first place. And that is when the movie got super interesting. Because Susie pretty much finds out that Sidney and J.J. were behind the assault of her Lover (though it is a little ambiguous). And she and Sidney meet up in her and J.J.‘s apartement and honestly my heart beat so fast while watching this scene! Because you really don’t know what will happen. If there is a happy end for the main character, that would not be really a happy end, because the main character is a selfish, horrible person.

*Major Spoiler incoming* At the end Susie tries to jump of her balcony, however Sidney is barly able to rescues her. She is obviously very distraught by the whole situation and just in that Moment J.J. comes back home. As I said before the movie is not always very clear with what is going on inside of the minds of the characters however this is how I understood the ending: Sidney got a message from J.J. which ordered him to come to his apartement, however when he arrives J.J. is not there… just Susie. I am pretty sure she called him there to make it seem like he was directly responsible for her death. This way she would have taken revenge on Sidney and J.J. simultaniously, while also escaping her current seemingly hopeless living condition. And I guess this ending would have worked, however it would have been pretty dark. I love happy endings and I think the actual ending is as close as you can get to one with a movie like this. The dialogue is very well written, especially at the end. It is honestly a little to difficult to summerize all the nuances, because there are a lot of lies and truths that are made out to be lies and so on. I think you’ll need to see it for yourself.

I love the ending because it seems like every character gets what they deserve (except for Steve, poor guy is in the hospital) Sidney told Susie the truths about their schemes, which made J.J. turn on him and send a corrupt cop after him. Not only gets he beat up and who knows what happens after that but also are the chances of him achieving the goal he chased after the whole movie : finding succes, pretty much down to zero. Susie finally breaks free from her brother and goes to her boyfriend. I am really glad she did not need to die but instead gets to have a better future, symbolized by a ray of light she walks into in her last scene. You could say that J.J. gets of a little to light, however it is stated that Susie is the only family he has and that he cares for her (though in a crontrolling way). And with her breaking free from him he lost the only human connection he actually wanted in his life. At any rate it feels like a very satisfying conclusion to me.

[dreamy-selkie]

Love’s Sweet Words

Synopsis: For Nerida, a second time’s the charm… or is it third? Regardless, today is the day she tells Ernest how she feels- and hopes for the best. AN: Got the motivation to get out of a writer's block, but I didn't realize that this was at least six pages long! But it's worth it,

~~~

The Oldtown Lodge, Nerida had visited this apartment complex frequently since the arrival of her friend and writer, Ernest. Sapphire blues looked to the sign, then down to her hand holding what looked to be a heart knot; slightly old and as she would tell you had seen a heartbreak or two.

The pinkette could hear Arlo's voice ringing in the back of her head, still clear as the day he rejected her; “You're a kind woman Nerida, and I appreciate your honesty, but I am afraid I can't return the feeling. Wait! Promise me you don't throw that heart knot away, and you give it to someone that will love you just as much.”

Then she could hear Owen's words of encouragement; “You'll only end up with regret if you keep holding it off; I hate to see you live with that kind of guilt… You'll do fine, and I'm positive Ernest loves you just as much.”

And finally Amirah's; “I have faith in you Nerida, and if he rejects you come to me- we can have an impromptu girls night out, buuut I have a feeling he won't, call it a hunch.”

With a nod Nerida put away the heart knot in her satchel and, as she let out a deep breath, walked through the door; the bell above chiming its own ‘welcome’. Her fingers instinctively combed through pink locks to ease any upcoming anxiety as she made her way to the first door of the hall, a ball of hesitation finding its way into her gut… ‘No, I have to do this, I HAVE to!’ And just like that, Nerida took her left knuckle to the door and gently knocked on the door.

*knock knock*

Nerida took a step back and adjusted the left side of her fringe as not a second later the door knob began to turn before the door was opened on the other side.

“Oh Nerida, hey! Come on in!” Ernest greeted with a smile, opening the door wide enough to let his florist friend in, “I take it you found some time to drop by?”

“Of course”, Nerida chirped happily as she took a seat on the comfy chair by his desk, the anxiety in her gut quelled for a time being, “you know I always try to find the time to. Unless”, she placed her hand to her chest in a joking gesture as she added in a similar manner, “you’re too busy!”

“Perish the thought!” Ernest returned the humor, which earned a soft chuckle out of her- oh how he wishes he can hear that self same laugh every day. Finally the blonde walked over and rested his forearms on the back of his chair; even now he's still impressed by her handiwork. “So”, he said in amusement, “if I had to make a guess you want to drag me out of my stuffy apartment and out to dinner, how on the dot am I?”

Immediately Nerida could feel her cheeks and ears heat up from the close proximity, long after the two went into what was once Logan's hideout; still she tried to play it cool. “Well, that too.”, she mustered out with a slight stutter.

That sentence caught Ernest's interest, raising a brow as if asking what else.

“Oh, uh…” Her sapphire blues glanced over to the door, unable to keep eye contact- ‘Peach have mercy!’ she mentally cried, “I fixed that tram cart up after the geeglers broke that wire, I was wondering if we can go there and see the sunset.”

“I remember, it was nice of you to do something for Rian and Dan-bi's anniversary.” He remembered overhearing that convo between Arvio and Rian while he was out and about, just happened to heard it all passing by By The Stairs; honestly it's still wild for Ernest to meet someone who is not only a florist, but one who took up being a builder for this dusty old town. Oh right, Nerida's still waiting on an answer; with a smile and nod he answered “Sounds like a good idea, sure.”

Nerida looked back to him, a smile of relief present as she got up with a clap of her hands “Great!”, she chirped happily, “Shall we be off then? I got my pay not long ago, so this is my treat.”.

“Lets.” And with that Ernest followed her out, making sure the door is locked before leaving the lodge. Poor Ernest tried to keep up when Nerida would take shortcuts to get to the Blue Moon Saloon, if he had known better he would have thought she was also a Civil Corps member with how nimble she was. Finally he caught up with his companion to the door, catching his breath as he caught her with an apologetic look. “Next time let's just walk to the tram cart, alright?”

Nerida can give him a soft nod and a ‘yes’ before she opens the door for him, “Gentlemen first?”.

This earned a heart laugh out of Ernest as he shook his head, “You go on ahead, I got the door.” Earning a thank you the blond followed right behind before closing the door and walking over to take a seat right across.

“Well well” Owen walked on over with a knowing grin on his face, “I thought I was going to welcome a nice-looking couple, but imagine my surprise to see it’s only you two.”

“O- Owen, please!” Nerida waved frantically out of embarrassment, her cheeks and ears burning red, earning a hearty laugh out of the Blue Moon Saloon owner; the poor florist hung her head in shame as she mumbled “Telesis please give me strength…”

All the while Ernest got himself a good laugh, he had always thought she was adorable when she got flustered- reminded him of the day the two talked about diamonds and stars, and even now… never once did he think he would find someone that gets his writing like she can.

“Ernest, are you ready to order?”

“Oh?” He gave his pink-haired companion a nod, “Could you order the food today? Sorry, I just had a flash of inspiration.”

“Of course, it’s no trouble at all.” Nerida gave him a reassuring smile as she placed the order but as Owen took down note he mumbled something just loud enough for her to hear, resulting in a flustered face and whining his name; all she could do at this point was watch him chuckle and walk away, briefly sighing in defeat as she looked to Ernest. “So,” she broke the temporary silence, “how’s your article going?”

“It’s a going”, the novelist propped his chin on the palm of his hand, “but at least it gets the bills paid. But enough about me,” his attention became full-on and curious, “I want to know more about you.” The last sentence earned a surprised blink and without skipping a beat replied before she could ask, “I’ve told you a lot about me, and don’t get me wrong- I don’t mind it and you seem like a good listener, but for as long as we known each other I feel like I hardly know anything about you. So, you said you came from Portia right?”

Blindsided by this Nerida obliged as she nodded in response; “Yes, it was built over the ruins of Dubei, though the Church of Light there isn’t as accepting of technology as Sandrock is.” Her gaze went to the table, fidgeting the silverware with her hands, “before they came into Portia our only means of attraction were the ruins and Martha’s Bakery.”

“Really? Just those two?” Seeing her nod gave Ernest quite a culture shock; he was aware that they’re not as advanced as say Vega 5, but he wasn’t aware of the extent of it.

“But-” Nerida interjected quickly, “Thanks to the builder Portia managed to have more attractions, some of them I think you might really like! Maybe one day when I go over there to visit Mom, Alice and Jack, you can come along with me- I, I mean, if you’re fine with it.”

“I would love to, traveling around would also give me some inspiration for any future novels.” Ernest nodded in thanks, reclining against the back of the sofa with crossed arms, “Lets see what else… Oh right”, he leaned forward with interest, “are you, or were you, a part of the Civil Corps? I can’t help but notice how fast and nimble you were when we hung out.”

Silence fell on her, there was an air of hesitation as she looked down once more, “I was.” It was all she could muster out, her hand subconsciously placed onto the black-colored sleeve on her right arm, “but I didn’t make it past graduation.”

Ernest could tell he hit a touchy subject just by the change in her demeanor, the tone of her voice, he couldn't help but feel guilty bringing it up. “Hey, I’m sorry if I brought up something touchy,” the novelist reached out his hand to hers, gently placing his hand on the top of her left like if she were made of porcelain and his voice just as soft, “you can tell me when you’re more comfortable, alright?”. Diamonds and stars, he can see them shine in her eyes as if he was staring at the night sky itself and for a brief moment, between that moment and her eyes softening with a ‘thank you’, he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat.

“Here’s your food.” Owen’s voice cut in, a brow raised as Ernest pulled his hand away in lightning speed and noticing how both their cheeks were a reddish hue.

“S- Sorry, we- uh”, Nerida rubbed her sleeve-covered arm as she couldn’t bring herself to look at either one, “We were just- ha- having a chat.”

“Oh, well don’t mind me- I didn’t interrupt your ‘chat’.” The sly remark earned him a flustered florist calling his name a little too loud, Owen couldn’t help but laugh heartily and patted her shoulder. “Well you two enjoy your meal.’ And with a small wave to Ernest the saloon owner took his leave back to the front.

Nerida couldn’t help but hide her face with her hands, mumbling incoherently from “Am I that obvious?” to “Telesis, please help me get through the day.” and so on and so forth, only side-eyeing Ernest when she heard him chuckle.

“Sorry, sorry”, Ernest chuckled all the while getting his fork for a slice of cold cactus, “Come on, the sooner we eat the sooner we get to the tram cart.” The small reassurance earned him a nod; had Nerida always been this cute when flustered?

~*~

“Come on Ernest, we’ll lose sunlight!” Nerida waved to Ernest from up the stone-carved steps, once again having to sprint up them and leaving him behind; she only realized it when the novelist looked out of breath from playing catch-up. “Oh, s- sorry, I forgot I was supposed to not leave you behind again.”

“No- No it’s fine”, The blonde let out a chuckle as he straightened himself out, “I’ve been needing to do some exercise anyway, something to do with writer’s block and all.” The duo resumed, this time Nerida keeping her pace slow enough for him to keep track until they arrived at their destination, his greenish-colored eyes examining the wire that was fixed up after the Geegler attack. “For someone who’s been a builder for not even a year, you did quite a good job.”

“Ah, Thank you.” Nerida couldn’t help but feel a little proud as Ernest hopped on, “I made sure that the wire wouldn’t break on Rian and Dan-bi, I don’t know what I would do with myself otherwise.” She took note of Ernest offering his hand to help her hop on, accepting it with a pink hue on her cheeks that could rival the color of her hair.

“But it paid off in the end, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah it did.”

The tram soon began to move along the wire, only to stop at a certain spot for the two looked over the side as the sun began to set; the view looked like a painting coming to life- hues of reds and gold radiating with streaks of purple to encapsulate the coming of nightfall, the sun looking like it was ready to welcome a sleepful night when it slowly reach to the outline.

“Oh wow…” Nerida whispered, her eyes fixated on the view and yet- almost could not bring herself to blink away, “What a view, this must be what they must have seen, too.”

“Yeah,” Ernest’s reply was just as awed as hers, yet he was unaware of his pink-haired companion looking over at him, “I’m not going to lie, this is giving me an idea for my novel.”

While Ernest mulled over an idea for his book, Nerida was just as entranced with how the light of the sun silhouetted his outline- almost as if he was radiating that glow himself. ‘Oh right!’ she nearly forgot the one reason why she brought him here to begin with; putting her arms behind her back as she fetched her heart knot from the satchel, it’s now or never. Already Nerida could feel her anxiety creeping in, possible good and worse scenarios playing in the back of her mind as she gulped. “Ernest?”

“Yeah?” As he turned his head to her he could tell something was off; hands behind her back and averting his gaze- he was starting to worry if she’s feeling sick. Before he could ask however, she cut him off:

“Could you… hold out your hand please?”

His hand? What for? He obliged anyways, holding out his right hand as Nerida quickly placed the last thing he would expect; a heart knot- a little old and worn out, how long had she been holding onto this for? Words left him as he looked between her and the gift in his hand. Was this her plan all this time? “Wait, does- does this mean you like me?”

Finally Nerida glanced at him, cheeks as flushed red as it could, as she smiled and replied, “I’ve always have.” Her hands collapsed onto each other as she waited for a response, by then the tram began to move again but her mind was too distracted by the ever-growing anxiety the longer Ernest took to respond; the color on her face growing paler and paler while mentally trying to find any and every excuse she could think of. “Y- You don’t have to say yes or no right now” she stuttered, “I- I mean I won’t cry if you say no.”, then lied, “ah- That- that is to say–”

“In my travels, even in all my stories,” Ernest held the heart knot against him, his voice mixed with relief and elate, “this is the luckiest tale I’ve encountered.”. Finally his gaze met hers, immediately he could tell she was trying to understand what he meant, “What I meant to say is, I love you too!” His smile turned to concern as he saw tears pricking out of her eyes, and quickly pocketed away the heart knot. “H- Hey, it’s okay- I didn’t mean to make you upset I–”

“N- No, it’s not you,” Nerida cut him off, her hands trying to dry away the tears as the tram came to a halt near the end of the line, “It’s just- I was scared of messing up again, that you would say no, too. But I’m just”, she didn’t mean to pour her heart out but she was just as relieved that everything on her mind became unfiltered, “I’m happy.” Without second thoughts she embraced him unaware of how tight her hug was, “Thank you… thank you…!”

At first Ernest was stunned and the sudden hug was enough to snap him back, however he let out a sigh and returned the gesture as he comforted the sobbing woman; not paying mind to the tram delivering them to the other side, this time as a couple.

[themosleyreview]

The Mosley Review: Killers of the Flower Moon

Capitalism is one of the core founding motivations in the creation of America and of the American Dream. Its a way of business that can make the poorest of men and women rich beyond their wildest dreams, but there is a side of that philosophy that is kept in the shadows. Capitalism sometimes brings out the best in genuinely good hearted people, but the majority are as crooked as they come. Its a beast that drives good men and woman to greed and unspeakable evils that are usually buried by powerful organizations and social clubs. This was especially rampant during the oil rush that led to many murders of Native American tribes and families all in the name of prosperity and industry. It's a tragic true story that is rarely told and what's especially rare is seeing those responsible being held accountable for their crimes. That's what this film does to an uncompromising degree. You get to see first hand the dirty negotiation tactics and how the slippery snake element of business effects the lives of many. It was brutal, somber, gangster, and exactly what I expected for the veteran filmmaker to showcase.

Leonardo DiCaprio delivers a stellar and somewhat restrained performance as Ernest Burkhart. He starts off as a good hearted man that has seen the horrors of World War 1 and I liked that he wasn't overly expressive about that. He was shy in the beginning and like many others during that time, he got the taste of money and that's when changed. He did have a big heart though, but it was greed that slowly poisoned him. Scott Shepherd was great and somewhat creepy as his younger brother Byron. I was always on edge once he was on screen as the plot went along. He was always there for Ernest, but he was definitely one of the dirtiest characters. Robert De Niro was excellent and charming as his uncle, William King Hale. He was always at the heart of the town and was a "man of the people". De Niro delivers that trademark wicked charm as he gets you to trust him. When he shows heartbreak, its underlined with a bit of unsettling delight as his plans begin to come to fruition and it makes him one of the despicable characters of the film. Lily Gladstone was out of this world as the wife of Ernest, Mollie Burkhart. The determination to raise her family while wanting to continue to keep her sisters close was truly interesting to watch. The amount of heartbreak and descent into despair was tough to watch and all too real. It was a testiment to her immeasurable skill as an actress. Jesse Plemons is fantastic as you'd expect as BOI agent, Tom White. The moment he shows up on screen, the tension for the villains of the story begins and he delivers a light hearted performance that is quick to be neutral in expressing an frustration. I loved how he calculated and figured out everything happening to the Osage people.

The score by the late Robbie Robertson was outstanding and was a driving force of the story. The opening piece as we get off the train with Ernest really set the tone of chaotic yet steady. He underscored the more dreary moments and helped elevate the few moments of justice. Its definitely going down in my book as one of the best film scores of the year. The tone of the film was consistent throughout and that was a reason why I say it was a good film to see, but not something I see myself just watching again. The message was clear and heartbreaking. The only problem I had is that the story perspective went from the Osage people to gradually increasing the focus on the white settlers. It never really felt balanced and that was something I felt was a missed opportunity. Overall, it still was a great story that needed to be told and it was handled by a master storyteller. Even with the 3 and a half hour runtime, I didn't feel it dragged once which is very rare. Let me know what you thought of the film or my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

[exquisitecorpsehq]

first, i just want to thank each and every applicant so much for applying. there was truly not a single bad app and all of you put such thought and care into your characters that it was truly so difficult to choose! without further ado, meet the whitmouth visual arts class of 2008!

THE HEAD is deckname levanter, written by seb!

I’m completely obsessed with Deckname. His conflicting relationship with Ernest comes through so well, as does his position as de facto leader of the group. Writing blurbs for his feelings on every other skeleton was absolutely not required but really helped get across his role as their leader and his feelings about them as individuals and as a group. His path to philanthropy in adulthood makes so much sense, as does his feeling of disconnect from it. “Deckname decides he’s going to break Ernest Hastings”, I clapped, I cheered.

THE HEART is natacha sanon, written by diaz!

Natacha’s tenderness and love for the cohort comes across so strongly! Her trying to keep in some sort of touch over the years, only to be overwhelmed 15 years later by a need to see them all again was so sweet! It was such a lovely touch to include her trying to empathize with Ernest and understand what would have made him so cruel. I also loved the inclusion of her adult self’s conflict about Ernest’s death and the way she’s coping with it. “The distance made her true wish impossible: to hug each one of them, to feel their body altogether, to make the hug last more than one minute, so by the end she could ask a pleading: please, come, let’s settle, let’s end this, let’s start again, it is time to live free.” She’s so sweet!

THE EYES is desmond harper, written by mickey!

Mondi’s obsession with perfection and tendency to view every aspect of life as a competition come through so clearly. The golden cage his parents built for him and the fact that he continues to build it for himself coupled with the repeated references to architectural constructs are just *chef’s kiss*. I love his reasoning for returning being that he wants to get his autonomy back. “they weren’t given the building blocks to assemble a road that wasn’t their own, like you” just encapsulates this character so well. Instructed to build his own cage and now he can’t stop.

THE EARS is philomena harper, written by nos!

Phil’s progression from the girl in the shadows to the girl who is eager to get any amount of attention to someone who is actually trying to be in control of her own life is great. I love that her motivation for returning is mostly spite, mostly a desire to show how far she’s come and be recognized for it. “Phil feels useful; she tells herself this is the same as being loved” is devastating but paints such a clear picture of Phil’s desire for love, affection, etc. and her inability to get it in more healthy ways.

THE HANDS is isabella darling, written by asbury!

I absolutely adore the way you structured this around pieces of art she’s made in reverse chronological order. It paints a picture of a woman desperate to be always moving, always trying to keep herself distracted. The repeated motif of the shaking hands and then the reveal that that started after Ernest’s death? Incredible. “Hastings would have called it contrived and said you could do better. It’s one of your favorite pieces.” is great. He’s still in her mind because of course, but she’s also working against the internalized commentary.

THE LEGS is eden togashi, written by cam!

Eden is a fascinating character. The way he views suffering, punishment, and pain are exquisite. I love that this person who has spent their whole life running, thinking they’re running towards something, has kind of hit a wall. He’s sort of the extreme of someone who peaked in school and that makes his desire to return all the more believable. “and he's always liked pain. all of his cohort are sort of like a dagger in the stomach, an intensity of feeling he can't forget, an infection left to fester. how better to feel for once than ripping the bandage right off?” encapsulates these feelings perfectly.

THE NERVES is jude takea, written by bel!

Jude is so sweet and the anxiety that defines their life is palpable throughout, especially the bit about his sister’s wedding. Speaking of which, their connection to their sister is so sweet and her being a Whitmouth dance student and encouraging Jude to apply is a great touch. “on the acknowledgements page you even spare a line for professor hastings — he may not have been your biggest fan, but he did teach you how to weather even the harshest of storms. you’re sorry he didn’t get to see the ways you’ve continued to grow despite his assertion that you never would” is just so great! Acknowledging Ernest in such a public way while still having that private secret and that vague element of spite to it, like you said I’d never do this but here I am! Such a special moment to me.

THE HIPS is parker st. luke, written by wolf!

Parker’s background as an ignored child shipped off to be out of her parents' hair leads so well into her tendency to be attention grabbing. I loved the details you included in their connections, with the distrust of the Heart’s altruism, the guilt they feel for confiding in the Hands, the inspiration that the Plexus was to her. “They had an eye for that sort of thing— the monsters. They don't go bump in the night, they're old creepy men who can't take the word no for an answer” was a line that really compelled me and your inclusion of her artistic inspirations/art style was a great touch!

THE PLEXUS is moon cho, written by gisele!

Moon is so cool, I want to watch her grindhouse-esque expressionist videos so badly! I think the inclusion of her alcoholism and the fact that she was blackout the night of Ernest’s death is going to be a fascinating addition to the plot and a complication for all of them. The reunion coinciding with her marriage going south is a great impetus for her to return to Whitmouth. “Being constantly shot down by Ernest eventually wore her down and she still worked hard but... the natural fire she had inside of her... it was starting to go out. It was starting to weigh on her... more than she let on to her friends.” made me so sad! Her passion being ground down by Ernest is so devastating!

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

CHAPTER VII.

On my return, I found the following letter from my father:—

"My dear Victor,

"You have probably waited impatiently for a letter to fix the date of your return to us; and I was at first tempted to write only a few lines, merely mentioning the day on which I should expect you. But that would be a cruel kindness, and I dare not do it. What would be your surprise, my son, when you expected a happy and glad welcome, to behold, on the contrary, tears and wretchedness? And how, Victor, can I relate our misfortune? Absence cannot have rendered you callous to our joys and griefs; and how shall I inflict pain on my long absent son? I wish to prepare you for the woful news, but I know it is impossible; even now your eye skims over the page, to seek the words which are to convey to you the horrible tidings.

"William is dead!—that sweet child, whose smiles delighted and warmed my heart, who was so gentle, yet so gay! Victor, he is murdered!

"I will not attempt to console you; but will simply relate the circumstances of the transaction.

"Last Thursday (May 7th), I, my niece, and your two brothers, went to walk in Plainpalais. The evening was warm and serene, and we prolonged our walk farther than usual. It was already dusk before we thought of returning; and then we discovered that William and Ernest, who had gone on before, were not to be found. We accordingly rested on a seat until they should return. Presently Ernest came, and enquired if we had seen his brother: he said, that he had been playing with him, that William had run away to hide himself, and that he vainly sought for him, and afterwards waited for him a long time, but that he did not return.

"This account rather alarmed us, and we continued to search for him until night fell, when Elizabeth conjectured that he might have returned to the house. He was not there. We returned again, with torches; for I could not rest, when I thought that my sweet boy had lost himself, and was exposed to all the damps and dews of night; Elizabeth also suffered extreme anguish. About five in the morning I discovered my lovely boy, whom the night before I had seen blooming and active in health, stretched on the grass livid and motionless: the print of the murderer's finger was on his neck.

"He was conveyed home, and the anguish that was visible in my countenance betrayed the secret to Elizabeth. She was very earnest to see the corpse. At first I attempted to prevent her; but she persisted, and entering the room where it lay, hastily examined the neck of the victim, and clasping her hands exclaimed, 'O God! I have murdered my darling child!'

"She fainted, and was restored with extreme difficulty. When she again lived, it was only to weep and sigh. She told me, that that same evening William had teased her to let him wear a very valuable miniature that she possessed of your mother. This picture is gone, and was doubtless the temptation which urged the murderer to the deed. We have no trace of him at present, although our exertions to discover him are unremitted; but they will not restore my beloved William!

"Come, dearest Victor; you alone can console Elizabeth. She weeps continually, and accuses herself unjustly as the cause of his death; her words pierce my heart. We are all unhappy; but will not that be an additional motive for you, my son, to return and be our comforter? Your dear mother! Alas, Victor! I now say, Thank God she did not live to witness the cruel, miserable death of her youngest darling!

"Come, Victor; not brooding thoughts of vengeance against the assassin, but with feelings of peace and gentleness, that will heal, instead of festering, the wounds of our minds. Enter the house of mourning, my friend, but with kindness and affection for those who love you, and not with hatred for your enemies.

"Your affectionate and afflicted father,

"Alphonse Frankenstein.

"Geneva, May 12th, 17—."

Clerval, who had watched my countenance as I read this letter, was surprised to observe the despair that succeeded to the joy I at first expressed on receiving news from my friends. I threw the letter on the table, and covered my face with my hands.

"My dear Frankenstein," exclaimed Henry, when he perceived me weep with bitterness, "are you always to be unhappy? My dear friend, what has happened?"

I motioned to him to take up the letter, while I walked up and down the room in the extremest agitation. Tears also gushed from the eyes of Clerval, as he read the account of my misfortune.

"I can offer you no consolation, my friend," said he; "your disaster is irreparable. What do you intend to do?"

"To go instantly to Geneva: come with me, Henry, to order the horses."

During our walk, Clerval endeavoured to say a few words of consolation; he could only express his heart-felt sympathy. "Poor William!" said he, "dear lovely child, he now sleeps with his angel mother! Who that had seen him bright and joyous in his young beauty, but must weep over his untimely loss! To die so miserably; to feel the murderer's grasp! How much more a murderer, that could destroy such radiant innocence! Poor little fellow! one only consolation have we; his friends mourn and weep, but he is at rest. The pang is over, his sufferings are at an end for ever. A sod covers his gentle form, and he knows no pain. He can no longer be a subject for pity; we must reserve that for his miserable survivors."

Clerval spoke thus as we hurried through the streets; the words impressed themselves on my mind, and I remembered them afterwards in solitude. But now, as soon as the horses arrived, I hurried into a cabriolet, and bade farewell to my friend.

My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed to console and sympathise with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I drew near my native town, I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind. I passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly six years. How altered every thing might be during that time! One sudden and desolating change had taken place; but a thousand little circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations, which, although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive. Fear overcame me; I dared not advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble, although I was unable to define them.

I remained two days at Lausanne, in this painful state of mind. I contemplated the lake: the waters were placid; all around was calm; and the snowy mountains, "the palaces of nature," were not changed. By degrees the calm and heavenly scene restored me, and I continued my journey towards Geneva.

The road ran by the side of the lake, which became narrower as I approached my native town. I discovered more distinctly the black sides of Jura, and the bright summit of Mont Blanc. I wept like a child. "Dear mountains! my own beautiful lake! how do you welcome your wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?"

I fear, my friend, that I shall render myself tedious by dwelling on these preliminary circumstances; but they were days of comparative happiness, and I think of them with pleasure. My country, my beloved country! who but a native can tell the delight I took in again beholding thy streams, thy mountains, and, more than all, thy lovely lake!

Yet, as I drew nearer home, grief and fear again overcame me. Night also closed around; and when I could hardly see the dark mountains, I felt still more gloomily. The picture appeared a vast and dim scene of evil, and I foresaw obscurely that I was destined to become the most wretched of human beings. Alas! I prophesied truly, and failed only in one single circumstance, that in all the misery I imagined and dreaded, I did not conceive the hundredth part of the anguish I was destined to endure.

It was completely dark when I arrived in the environs of Geneva; the gates of the town were already shut; and I was obliged to pass the night at Secheron, a village at the distance of half a league from the city. The sky was serene; and, as I was unable to rest, I resolved to visit the spot where my poor William had been murdered. As I could not pass through the town, I was obliged to cross the lake in a boat to arrive at Plainpalais. During this short voyage I saw the lightnings playing on the summit of Mont Blanc in the most beautiful figures. The storm appeared to approach rapidly; and, on landing, I ascended a low hill, that I might observe its progress. It advanced; the heavens were clouded, and I soon felt the rain coming slowly in large drops, but its violence quickly increased.

I quitted my seat, and walked on, although the darkness and storm increased every minute, and the thunder burst with a terrific crash over my head. It was echoed from Salêve, the Juras, and the Alps of Savoy; vivid flashes of lightning dazzled my eyes, illuminating the lake, making it appear like a vast sheet of fire; then for an instant every thing seemed of a pitchy darkness, until the eye recovered itself from the preceding flash. The storm, as is often the case in Switzerland, appeared at once in various parts of the heavens. The most violent storm hung exactly north of the town, over that part of the lake which lies between the promontory of Belrive and the village of Copêt. Another storm enlightened Jura with faint flashes; and another darkened and sometimes disclosed the Môle, a peaked mountain to the east of the lake.

While I watched the tempest, so beautiful yet terrific, I wandered on with a hasty step. This noble war in the sky elevated my spirits; I clasped my hands, and exclaimed aloud, "William, dear angel! this is thy funeral, this thy dirge!" As I said these words, I perceived in the gloom a figure which stole from behind a clump of trees near me; I stood fixed, gazing intently: I could not be mistaken. A flash of lightning illuminated the object, and discovered its shape plainly to me; its gigantic stature, and the deformity of its aspect, more hideous than belongs to humanity, instantly informed me that it was the wretch, the filthy dæmon, to whom I had given life. What did he there? Could he be (I shuddered at the conception) the murderer of my brother? No sooner did that idea cross my imagination, than I became convinced of its truth; my teeth chattered, and I was forced to lean against a tree for support. The figure passed me quickly, and I lost it in the gloom. Nothing in human shape could have destroyed that fair child. He was the murderer! I could not doubt it. The mere presence of the idea was an irresistible proof of the fact. I thought of pursuing the devil; but it would have been in vain, for another flash discovered him to me hanging among the rocks of the nearly perpendicular ascent of Mont Salêve, a hill that bounds Plainpalais on the south. He soon reached the summit, and disappeared.

I remained motionless. The thunder ceased; but the rain still continued, and the scene was enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. I revolved in my mind the events which I had until now sought to forget: the whole train of my progress towards the creation; the appearance of the work of my own hands alive at my bedside; its departure. Two years had now nearly elapsed since the night on which he first received life; and was this his first crime? Alas! I had turned loose into the world a depraved wretch, whose delight was in carnage and misery; had he not murdered my brother?

No one can conceive the anguish I suffered during the remainder of the night, which I spent, cold and wet, in the open air. But I did not feel the inconvenience of the weather; my imagination was busy in scenes of evil and despair. I considered the being whom I had cast among mankind, and endowed with the will and power to effect purposes of horror, such as the deed which he had now done, nearly in the light of my own vampire, my own spirit let loose from the grave, and forced to destroy all that was dear to me.

Day dawned; and I directed my steps towards the town. The gates were open, and I hastened to my father's house. My first thought was to discover what I knew of the murderer, and cause instant pursuit to be made. But I paused when I reflected on the story that I had to tell. A being whom I myself had formed, and endued with life, had met me at midnight among the precipices of an inaccessible mountain. I remembered also the nervous fever with which I had been seized just at the time that I dated my creation, and which would give an air of delirium to a tale otherwise so utterly improbable. I well knew that if any other had communicated such a relation to me, I should have looked upon it as the ravings of insanity. Besides, the strange nature of the animal would elude all pursuit, even if I were so far credited as to persuade my relatives to commence it. And then of what use would be pursuit? Who could arrest a creature capable of scaling the overhanging sides of Mont Salêve? These reflections determined me, and I resolved to remain silent.

It was about five in the morning when I entered my father's house. I told the servants not to disturb the family, and went into the library to attend their usual hour of rising.

Six years had elapsed, passed as a dream but for one indelible trace, and I stood in the same place where I had last embraced my father before my departure for Ingolstadt. Beloved and venerable parent! He still remained to me. I gazed on the picture of my mother, which stood over the mantel-piece. It was an historical subject, painted at my father's desire, and represented Caroline Beaufort in an agony of despair, kneeling by the coffin of her dead father. Her garb was rustic, and her cheek pale; but there was an air of dignity and beauty, that hardly permitted the sentiment of pity. Below this picture was a miniature of William; and my tears flowed when I looked upon it. While I was thus engaged, Ernest entered: he had heard me arrive, and hastened to welcome me. He expressed a sorrowful delight to see me: "Welcome, my dearest Victor," said he. "Ah! I wish you had come three months ago, and then you would have found us all joyous and delighted. You come to us now to share a misery which nothing can alleviate; yet your presence will, I hope, revive our father, who seems sinking under his misfortune; and your persuasions will induce poor Elizabeth to cease her vain and tormenting self-accusations.—Poor William! he was our darling and our pride!"

Tears, unrestrained, fell from my brother's eyes; a sense of mortal agony crept over my frame. Before, I had only imagined the wretchedness of my desolated home; the reality came on me as a new, and a not less terrible, disaster. I tried to calm Ernest; I enquired more minutely concerning my father, and her I named my cousin.

"She most of all," said Ernest, "requires consolation; she accused herself of having caused the death of my brother, and that made her very wretched. But since the murderer has been discovered—"

"The murderer discovered! Good God! how can that be? who could attempt to pursue him? It is impossible; one might as well try to overtake the winds, or confine a mountain-stream with a straw. I saw him too; he was free last night!"

"I do not know what you mean," replied my brother, in accents of wonder, "but to us the discovery we have made completes our misery. No one would believe it at first; and even now Elizabeth will not be convinced, notwithstanding all the evidence. Indeed, who would credit that Justine Moritz, who was so amiable, and fond of all the family, could suddenly become capable of so frightful, so appalling a crime?"

"Justine Moritz! Poor, poor girl, is she the accused? But it is wrongfully; every one knows that; no one believes it, surely, Ernest?"

"No one did at first; but several circumstances came out, that have almost forced conviction upon us; and her own behaviour has been so confused, as to add to the evidence of facts a weight that, I fear, leaves no hope for doubt. But she will be tried to-day, and you will then hear all."

He related that, the morning on which the murder of poor William had been discovered, Justine had been taken ill, and confined to her bed for several days. During this interval, one of the servants, happening to examine the apparel she had worn on the night of the murder, had discovered in her pocket the picture of my mother, which had been judged to be the temptation of the murderer. The servant instantly showed it to one of the others, who, without saying a word to any of the family, went to a magistrate; and, upon their deposition, Justine was apprehended. On being charged with the fact, the poor girl confirmed the suspicion in a great measure by her extreme confusion of manner.

This was a strange tale, but it did not shake my faith; and I replied earnestly, "You are all mistaken; I know the murderer. Justine, poor, good Justine, is innocent."

At that instant my father entered. I saw unhappiness deeply impressed on his countenance, but he endeavoured to welcome me cheerfully; and, after we had exchanged our mournful greeting, would have introduced some other topic than that of our disaster, had not Ernest exclaimed, "Good God, papa! Victor says that he knows who was the murderer of poor William."

"We do also, unfortunately," replied my father; "for indeed I had rather have been for ever ignorant than have discovered so much depravity and ingratitude in one I valued so highly."

"My dear father, you are mistaken; Justine is innocent."

"If she is, God forbid that she should suffer as guilty. She is to be tried to-day, and I hope, I sincerely hope, that she will be acquitted."

This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced in my own mind that Justine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder. I had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be brought forward strong enough to convict her. My tale was not one to announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist, except I, the creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance which I had let loose upon the world?

We were soon joined by Elizabeth. Time had altered her since I last beheld her; it had endowed her with loveliness surpassing the beauty of her childish years. There was the same candour, the same vivacity, but it was allied to an expression more full of sensibility and intellect. She welcomed me with the greatest affection. "Your arrival, my dear cousin," said she, "fills me with hope. You perhaps will find some means to justify my poor guiltless Justine. Alas! who is safe, if she be convicted of crime? I rely on her innocence as certainly as I do upon my own. Our misfortune is doubly hard to us; we have not only lost that lovely darling boy, but this poor girl, whom I sincerely love, is to be torn away by even a worse fate. If she is condemned, I never shall know joy more. But she will not, I am sure she will not; and then I shall be happy again, even after the sad death of my little William."

"She is innocent, my Elizabeth," said I, "and that shall be proved; fear nothing, but let your spirits be cheered by the assurance of her acquittal."

"How kind and generous you are! every one else believes in her guilt, and that made me wretched, for I knew that it was impossible: and to see every one else prejudiced in so deadly a manner rendered me hopeless and despairing." She wept.

"Dearest niece," said my father, "dry your tears. If she is, as you believe, innocent, rely on the justice of our laws, and the activity with which I shall prevent the slightest shadow of partiality."

[allieatthemovies]

Movie Review: The Killer is One of 13 (1973) d. Javier Aguirre - 2.5 / 5 Stars

Going all the way back to movies like The Thin Man and After the Thin Man and as recent as movies like Knives Out, I just have a soft spot for the “large group of people stuck in a location together and accused of murder” trope. It’s not something I ever really thought much about, but watching this it occurred to me I like these sorts of mysteries a lot - no matter how contrived they might be. This movie falls neatly into that category.

The Killer is One of 13 is by no means the best of its kind, but is serviceable enough if you find yourself in need of something new. The film centers around the character Lisa who brings together a group of thirteen people she believes may have killed her husband, Carlos, two years prior. She disguises this inquiry as a reunion weekend and accuses her guests while they sit around the dinner table the first night. This... genre, i suppose, of mystery / horror inherently comes with a lot of talking - exposition is a key factor - and this movie exposits excessively. For me, I enjoyed the barbed accusations and meandering theories postulated in every scene about Carlos’ murder, but even I will admit it does start to drag at times. There’s very little variation to the scenes, very little movement. The scenes at the dinner table are either wide shots of people looking around confused and offended or tight headshots that cut back and forth between the characters speaking. This applies to most of the movie and the lack of energy from the characters and cinematography hurt it in the long run.

The plot itself is suitably convoluted to this type of story. Theories are proposed and abandoned, character flaws are revealed only to go nowhere. It all serves to steer the audience away from the real motivation. But with so many branching possibilities proposed it becomes a little disappointing how few of them actually come into play by the climax, and for all the talking and theorizing the climax comes extremely abruptly. There isn’t a single death until around the 60 minute mark of this 90 minute movie, but once they start they happen in quick succession. The kills themselves are adequate, but not particularly memorable. When the false killer is revealed - five minutes before the end of the movie no less - it’s frustrating because we, as the audience, know this cannot possibly be the killer. The reveal of the actual killer doesn’t offer a satisfying “a ha!” moment, but rather more of an exasperated sigh moment. It’s not really set up well enough despite the exorbitant amount of exposition, it’s cliche, and half the dinner guests have already left the estate.

So the plot itself leaves much to be desired, but the characters can be interesting and most of the actors still manage to pull off decent performances. These sorts of movies always rely heavily on the interplay of character relationships, and I did enjoy watching the lines drawn between each of them. The standout character was Lisa’s aunt, Bertha. She’s the manipulative and doting mother of Lisa’s cousin who displays a sharper mind than most of the dinner guests and has the air an older femme fatale. In between emasculating her son her efforts to uncover the killer are equal parts the most disturbingly earnest and engaging. I also felt for Guillermo who was probably the most sympathetic and believable dinner guests of the thirteen. The discovery of his wife’s infidelity is probably the most engaging of the subplots threaded throughout the film. Everyone else plays their parts well for as one note as they are: Harry is suitably unlikable as the playboy, Arlen is serviceably awkward, the wives are all perfectly catty, Elena is just naive enough, Henry the Butler buttles expertly, and Ernest feels like he was written only as an excuse to hire Paul Naschy.

It’s the character dynamics that really save this from being a complete slog for me. While it will never be high on my list of recommendations, if it ever is, I can’t say I regret watching it or didn’t enjoy it in parts. I’ll probably revisit it once in a blue moon when I’m going through my movies and trying to remember if I liked it or not.

[just-the-cool-page]

The Piper at

the Gates of Dawn

Fifty five years ago, the Floyd embarked on their journey in ernest with their first full-length album. Syd Barrett, their original front man, lyricist and composer, and admittedly the most camera-friendly of the bunch. He would also prove to be the most vulnerable of the band, soon spiraling into mental illness, at least partly due to excess use of hallucinogens. Figuratively or literally, Syd got them on stage and into the light. He was their light. And ever after his departure, the Floyd have voiced their gratitude for that light pushing them into growing success. Whether comprised of regret, remorse, or just sorrow, they never seem to have lost sight of the cost Syd paid, presumably not at their urging. But it must be (or have been for a long time) a kind of psychological survivors' guilt. Syd didn't die of an overdose like other beautiful artists. Nor was he abandoned really. His descent into madness made him genuinely impossible to work with. Original management for the Floyd even chose to keep Barrett over them! Barrett and Pink Floyd were equally productive through 1970. The band even supported production of his studio albums, particularly David Gilmour, Syd's "replacement." Ever since, Gilmour's heart and character has matched his looks, that of a lion, and not the madman. (He would later discover and support Kate Bush in launching her remarkable career in music.)

After a few albums of more collaborative work, with Waters often at the helm, Gilmour would "right their ship" with the Meddle album and set their course for more cohesive works. Collaborative work continued with a more balanced feel, but with Waters (more honed than tamed by Gilmour) soon regaining control of concept, composition and lyrics. Even when delving into matters of mental disturbance on The Dark Side of the Moon, the band itself wasn't going insane. Complete balance was achieved between daring concepts, musical and lyrical composition, and mastery of production. Highly narrative, visual, and heavy with sound-scaping, listening to Dark Side is more akin to watching a Kubrick film in 70mm on the big screen with surround sound. Plainly, Gilmour's calm influence on the band was a healthy one and not heavy-handed. Collaboration was at its strongest. Coherence and sobriety were no longer the enemy.

Emboldened by the band's heartiness though, Waters' control went over the deep end, culminating, quite ironically, with his mega-opus, the Wall. The album is arguably all about rooting out the fascism of the ego, perhaps overcoming narcissism. Confronting this most massive of rock-star downfalls was, in the real-life making of the album, precisely what Roger was failing to do. Like any intoxicated megalomania-addict, he was blind to his destructive behavior, exactly like the character dubbed "Pink" on the album and in the fully realized Alan Parker film. Pink transforms into the neo-nazi-inspired tyrant, "Hammer."

Having spent his credibility with the band, he essentially achieved destruction of (that iteration of) Pink Floyd, just as Pink/Hammer achieves destruction of himself/ his life/ psyche/ marriage.

Any number of unconscious motivations or desires could have been at work:

To return to the careless, chaotic days of the late '60s.

To destroy the band that he felt "held him back," like the wife who's abandoned in the film.

To destroy the band as if he were some twisted angel of mercy.

There's an even darker parallel and hubris to note. WWII themes pervade The Wall, especially in the film. The fascism, battlefields (internal as well), and even factory/ death-camps. Waters sooner or later became aware that he broke up the band and made the excuse that its time had come, that it was a necessary sacrifice to complete the important work, to artistically fully render "his struggle." "Sacrifice" is bizarrely the translation of "holocaust." Sacrificing others, or sacrificing on others behalf (a mental gymnastic of rationalization), is a vile concept. Sacrificing others for a presumed "greater good" is explicitly the basis of nazism/fascism. Using the ends to justify the means was presumably what Waters was trying dismantle.

It is bewildering, forty-two years later, how accomplished The Wall was--and still is. It has a deep anti-fascism message on a deeply mental and psychological level. Yet his herculean efforts were intensely damaging. Pink Floyd did survive, but many believe they suffered too critical a loss to fully recover, and far less due to Waters' departure itself than to the destructive and traumatic nature of it.

Pink Floyd has seemed a bit timid ever since. A song here and there has stood out, but the raw power was long-gone for decades. And at this point, are they honestly the same band with only one remaining original member? Nick Mason is a terrifically talented drummer, however, so somewhat ironically, Nick Mason's Sucerful of Secrets (his offshoot) has, in four years, out-performed the last twenty-four years of Pink Floyd's own live output.