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girl4music · 3 years

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BUFFY REWATCH - S05E09 - Listening To Fear

JOYCE: "Buffy, uh, I'm gonna ask you something, a-and if I'm, if I'm being crazy you just tell me, okay?"

BUFFY: "You got it."

JOYCE: "The other day... well, actually, I'm, I'm not sure when, the days seem to all bleed together..."

BUFFY: "It's not important."

JOYCE: "No, I guess it isn't. I do know I was... pretty out of it, and I had... not-not a dream... exactly, more like I had this... knowledge, i-it just came to me like... truth, you know?

*Buffy frowns*

Even though it didn't seem... possible, even though I shouldn't even think such things."

BUFFY: "What?"

JOYCE: "That Dawn...

*Buffy looks very startled*

She's not... mine, is she?"

*Buffy stares at her mom, then looks down. She comes to a decision and looks Joyce in the eye*

BUFFY: "No."

*Joyce absorbs this for a moment*

JOYCE: "She's... she does belong to us, though."

BUFFY: "Yes, she does."

JOYCE: "And she's important. To the world. Precious.

*Buffy nods*

As precious as you are to me.

*Buffy smiles and nods again. Joyce nods back*

Then we have to take care of her. Buffy, promise me. If anything happens, if I don't come through this-"

BUFFY: "Mom-"

JOYCE: "No, listen to me. No matter what she is, she still feels like my daughter. I have to know that you'll take care of her, that you'll keep her safe. That you'll love her like I love you."

BUFFY: "I promise."

JOYCE: "Good. Good."

*They hug*

Ah... The sanity we can only come to when we're feeling and being insane. I know it well... given my personal experiences with almost being diagnosed with a mental illness.

Even though there is a significant Willow and Tara scene I could talk about, there actually really isn't much that I can say about it that I haven't already said elsewhere. So again, this episode recap is going to be about other characters instead.

I have a question though to start off with that you guys could probably answer. It seems the show writers are paralleling Joyce's brain tumor with Glory's brain sucked victims in that the Queller demon goes after Joyce as well as the victims and in the way both the victims and Joyce seem to be aware of Dawn being the Key. So my question is, does that mean what's manifested Joyce's brain tumour was caused by supernatural causes as opposed to natural causes? I was under the impression that Joyce developed the tumour naturally - as any human can. I get that Glory hasn't sucked her brain but given how they keep correlating Joyce's arc with that of the whole plot line of Glory sucking out people's brains... They seem to be making the statement in the writing that even natural causes of mental illness aren't entirely natural. Or rather - are entirely natural - but we don't have all the information as to what we consider as a conscious collective what is natural VS what is supernatural.

And see,...I bring this scene up in this episode recap because I have a theory on this subject. You could even say a well-reasoned and analyzed hypothesis that dates as far back as my childhood. And this theory is that perhaps we do not have all the information on mental illnesses medically/clinically in that they're not just illnesses. I was actually talking about this with @surreal-wanderer yesterday in the DMs. It's not that I don't believe mental illness exists - I absolutely do. It's just that I don't always think it's an illness as such. Some are, I definetly believe that. But others I think are just huge misunderstandings or misinterpretations of the human psyche based on not having all of the information on the human experience, and specifically that what goes on in the mind is not always individuated from what goes on in reality - or rather what we percieve as to what goes on purely subjectively but agree on as a majority. Because we do know to be true, scientifically, that we do not percieve the physical world in it's natural state. We percieve it through the channels of our physical senses - and that of all the information and activity that goes on in the brain to which our senses recieve and react to. That is a scientific truth. What isn't is how far that actually goes in truth. We can only guess that. Interpret it based on what we think makes the most sense to us - and as I said - what we agree on to be truth as a collective.

So this scene with Joyce and Buffy talking about the true nature of Dawn makes me question as to whether it's Joyce's brain tumour that gives her access to information that is actually true - and therefore cannot be just an illness but also some type of insight into what the "non-mentally ill" cannot percieve of. Because if you've noticed, only the mental patients recognize Dawn for what she actually is - the Key - when seemingly "sane" people cannot... Apart from Joyce - who is suffering with symptoms of "insanity" because of her brain tumor. And I guess the question I'm really asking you guys regarding Joyce's arc and what the writers seem to be implying by it, as well as the plot line with Glory, is whether the experience of "insanity" is a symptom of what is only believed to be an illness, or is it an unintentional look-in to what goes on in "reality" beyond "sane" human perception? Is it really just a chemical imbalance of the brain or something more? Something we aren't yet aware of in our scientific studies of the correlations between the true nature of reality and the true nature of the human.

Read this carefully and ponder before you try to answer. I don't want immediate reactive responses triggered entirely by emotion - that's always the worst thing to happen in discussions of this matter. It's why they never really get anywhere in concluding anything. Because people can't seem to leave their egos behind to assess said subject rationally and calmly. Take your time thinking it over - and then respond.

#buffy the vampire slayer #listening to fear #buffy summers #joyce summers #dawn summers #mental illness #episode recap #buffy rewatch

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night-unfurls-its-splendour · 4 years

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The Critique of Manners, Part II

~Or~

A Candid Review of ITV's Emma (1997)

Disclaimer: I do know that both this and the Miramax version were released in 1996, but to avoid confusion, I refer to this one as the “1997 Emma” in reference to the US release date.

The bones of this review were written some six years ago after my initial viewing. I’ve watched it three or four times since then, two very recently (Within the past year). I’d started to soften on it in the most recent watch. So many people love it so much I thought surely maybe I’m just crazy or even wrong; until I found this blog post from 2008 (a year before my favorite version was released) that hit on almost EVERY SINGLE thing that skeeved me out about this version when I first watched it.

Like my previous review of Emma. (2020), I’ll be covering the cast and overall handling of the script in comparison with what I know from reading the book. I will also be commenting on my thoughts about the costumes (Whether they are attractive or accurate, or both, or neither) which will be a bit more in depth than it was for the 2020 version, and this will set a pattern for the costumes section going forward.

Directed by Diarmuid Lawrence with screenwriting by Andrew Davies (Or should I say “Written by Andrew Davies with direction by Diarmuid Lawrence”?), this version was a fan-favorite among Janeites for many years for … well, reasons I’ve never been entirely certain of. I’ve read the book twice through and referenced pertinent passages MANY times besides, and really I don’t see what they’re raving about.

Let’s dive in.

Cast & Characterization

I’d known about this adaptation for a while, but I held off on watching it, largely for one reason: my apprehension about Mark Strong playing Mr. Knightley.

I was concerned because when I watched this I had already seen Mark Strong as Sir John Conroy in The Young Victoria and as Lord Blackwood in Sherlock Holmes, both very unpleasant characters. But there have been several occasions when I expressed displeasure with casting choices only to eat my words when I actually watched the movie. So I entered into watching this with an optimistic outlook, sure that Mark and Kate would surprise me with brilliant performances. And I would like to say that they did, but that would be an untruth.

My biggest fear about Mark Strong playing Mr. Knightley was that his rebuking of Emma was going to be a watered down version of ‘RAAAWWWRRR’ that I was familiar with, specifically because of The Young Victoria. It’s very hard for me to see Mark Strong point his finger in Emily Blunt’s face and shout at her, and then watch him do the same thing with Kate Beckinsale (only somewhat less aggressively) and expect to feel all warm and fuzzy about their romance. I expected that to be a tall order. And it was. Whenever he raises his voice, the right side of his face pulls up into a snarl. Now since it does this no matter what role he’s playing I’m guessing that’s just how his face is. It’s not his fault really and it’s almost certainly unintentional, but I’ve seen that snarl before and it does NOT belong on Mr. Knightley’s face.

Don’t ever think I don’t LOVE Kate Beckinsale, and I don’t necessarily think that my problems with this interpretation of Emma are her fault; these things very rarely fall on the shoulders of the actual actors, but those of the screenwriters and directors who guide them. However – and I am aware that this might sound a bit harsh – I would say that at points, Kate Beckinsale’s performance in this movie (In my opinion) barely outstrips community theatre or even very good high school drama club level acting. It seems to me that there’s burden on her here to sound historical or period. This lends to this interpretation of Emma feeling at once both cold and childish (more on that later.)

Her best moments are when she runs into Jane as Jane is leaving Donwell and when she speaks with Robert Martin at the end of the film. I always like scenes where Emma tacitly apologizes to Mr. Martin, and her feeling when she invites him to Donwell is Kate’s finest moment in this movie.

I found Raymond Coulthard’s Frank Churchill insignificant at first, but on repeat viewings I really started to hate him. I don’t think Austen intended Frank’s caddishness (to use more modern vernacular I’d say he’s an utter “Douche”) to be quite this obvious on first glance. He’s a creep in this version and Raymond Coulthard is just not at all attractive to me, from his big nose to his little shark teeth.

Olivia Williams was a good, even great, Jane Fairfax, and in my opinion does a much better job of portraying Jane’s vexation than, say, Polly Walker did (more on that next time), while still quietly looking like she’d like to arm-bar Frank rather than take his vulgar teasing lying down.

She also has the distinction of being the only Jane Fairfax who’s singing REALLY blows Emma’s out of the water, and I like that all of the songs she sings are in languages other than English (primarily Italian I think?). This achieves the double whammy of showing how much more accomplished she is than Emma by emphasizing that not only does Jane sing and play better, but she knows languages too.

Samantha Morton is a superb actress whom I love and I was sort of appalled at how she looks in this movie. Is she dying of a wasting illness? She looks like a gust of wind will carry her away, although since she looked the same in the 1997 Jane Eyre (In which she played the title role under similarly appalling direction) perhaps that was just her look that year?

Dominic Rowan, as Mr. Elton, is… there’s a perfect word to describe it and I just can’t think of it right now. Like every other young man in this movie (other than Robert Martin) he’s got this feeling of skeeviness to me but it’s more than that. It’s a dweebie-ness as well. This is so dissatisfactory to me because Mr. Elton is supposed to have every appearance of charm and agreeableness, with his only obvious fault being his over-eagerness to ingratiate himself to Emma and some rather vulgar locker-room type talk about marrying for fortune. He’s just so… (I’ve hit upon it now after some discussion with my sister) dingy. He looks less like a “very handsome young man” who “knows the value of a good income” and more like the kind of guy that scrubs up okay, but still you can tell from the rumple of his clothes and the pizzaroni odor wafting from him that he lives in his mom’s basement.

The shining star for me in this production was Alistair Petrie as Robert Martin. I love him as an actor and especially after watching him in Cranford, I think he was an excellent choice for Harriet’s Mr. Martin.

Davies wrote the character to be a little more romantic (Actually buying Anne Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest, where originally Mr. Martin was supposed to forget to – something Emma uses as a mark against him to prove how he will age into an “gross vulgar old farmer” who is “obsessed with profit and loss”.)

I especially like an inserted scene where Mr. Martin, working in his field, sees a distressed Jane Fairfax from afar as she is walking home (I think from Donwell). I thought it drew an interesting parallel between two emotionally wronged characters that otherwise would have no interaction.

What’s with Mrs. Elton (Lucy Robinson)? I don’t think nearly enough people question this. I’ve seen it explained away as her being from Bristol and trying to make herself sound more hoity-toity to hide the fact that she’s New Money. I’m not positive on what a Bristol accent sounds like (For that is where Augusta Hawkins is from) but… this sounds like an American trying to sound posh. At some points she almost sounds Texan. It’s all very confusing, because the actress is British.

Prunella Scales lists among her achievements being an outstanding actress and comedienne, as well as bringing into the world Samuel West, one of my all time favourite British screen crushes. She's probably best known for her work on Fawlty Towers, so its interesting to see her range as much less inscrutable Miss Bates. Her performance is by the book, but so much more engaging than Constance Chapman's 1972 offering, although i find her perhaps a shade too placid. She lacks a certain nervousness that I associate with the character (for more information, see my previous review.)

As for Bernard Hepton as Mr. Woodhouse, I can only say I. Didn’t. Like. Him. I have every consciousness of this being a personal bias. I have seen him play too many insufferable characters in too many things to like him as Emma’s lovable if tiresome father. This isn’t a knock on him or his performance; his reaction to Mrs. Elton is some great subtle visual comedy, this is just a me thing.

Another one of the better characterizations, though a relatively small role, is John Knightley. Played by Guy Henry, he is shown to be a good father, and an “Gentleman-like man”, with just the right blend of good humor and caustic comments.

Sets & Surroundings

I’d never paid MUCH attention to or questioned the houses and interiors used for estates in Austen adaptations until the 2020 version of Emma used such ridiculously lavish houses for relatively provincial gentry it forced me to sit up and pay attention. I think the houses used in this version are mostly suitable.

The part of Donwell Abbey’s exterior is played by Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire. The Key words for Donwell from the text are “rambling and irregular” and while perhaps not as big as the Former Claremont House (Which, it is believed, was Austen’s inspiration for Donwell Abbey) it definitely is a suitable architectural style and situation and furthermore, having been purchased in the 19th century by a glove manufacturer and having been up to that point left in a little bit of a state of disrepair, fits the “neglect of prospect” Austen describes as well. Its interiors are a cobble-work of the Great Hall at Broughton Castle (Oxfordshire), various rooms at Stanway House (Gloucestershire), and the Strawberry beds at Thame Park (Oxfordshire)

(Top, left – Sudeley Castle; Bottom left – Trafalgar Park; Right – Dorney Court)

Trafalgar Park in Wiltshire and its interiors (a minty sage-green drawing-room fitting in perfectly with the mint-chocolate – primarily chocolate – color palette of the production) played the role of the Woodhouse’s home, Hartfield. A typical Georgian style house in red brick, I believe is consistent with Austen’s description of a “well built, modern house”.

Dorney Court in Buckinghamshire was used for Randalls, Mr. Weston’s recently purchased estate. It’s a Tudor style red brick house and it looks pretty on the mark from the front facade, but I think it’s still too big for a “small estate” with only two guest rooms (Although there’s no panic about the snow in this version – perhaps because it’s already snowing when they set out.)

My biggest problem is the lighting of this movie. I understand natural lighting and I LOVE it when you can even it out – but it is so dark in the evening scenes that it adds to the colorlessness of an already colorless production.

Fashion

Oh Jenny Beavan. You are a well-respected costume designer with good reason. However, I know that most of these costumes are rentals, but why is every-fucking-thing in this movie a shade of brown, beige or green?

As you can see, a rich tapestry of brown and beige. And this isn’t selective. this is (just about) every day-wear outfit in the movie (barring repeats and a few exceptions that I’ll give mention to below.)

Emma’s outerwear is brought to you by Hershey’s Chocolate. Also I’m not certain but I think that her light brown redingote is the same one as Elinor’s in the 1995 Sense and Sensibility? If anyone can confirm, drop it in the comments.

Perhaps the evening wear will be more colorful?

Barely – Mrs. Weston in a brownish orange; Mrs. John Knightley in an orange-ish brown; Emma gets a dark blue? Or is that just the wintery glow from the window on a dark green velvet? Green (either so dark it’s almost black, or washed-out mint) appears to be the only color Emma is allowed to wear other than brown or ivory/white. Even her gown for the Crown Inn Ball (upper right) is an underwhelming and rather dingy ivory. The champagne number she wears for Christmas at Randalls is not only lack-lustre, but also sports what I’m now calling a “Bridgerton Bust” (where the Empire waist comes up too high, with the seam apparently resting across her bust rather than under it.)

The pink frock (seen properly only from the back) on Mrs. Weston is as close to real color as a main character gets in this production, and can be recognized as one of Jane Bennet’s dresses from the previous year’s Pride and Prejudice.

Even Jane Fairfax doesn’t get a break. Rather than putting her in Jane Fairfax Blue ™ (honestly, Jane Fairfax being costumed in blue is so consistent at this point Crayola should just name a crayon in her honor - this is gonna come back in future reviews) she gets a black-green evening number with no trim at all, and a succession of what the Ladies over at Frock Flicks like to call the “Dumpy Regency Little White Dress”, or drab gray-blues.

Some of the background dancers in the Crown Inn Ball scene get to wear pink! Why not put Harriet in a nice pink frock for this scene?! Why is this so difficult?!

Strawberry picking at Donwell is the only time main characters are consistently wearing identifiable colors that aren’t brown or green: Mrs. Weston in pink, Miss Bates in (oddly the most colorful dress of them all) a nice refreshing lavender blue; Jane gets grey/blue and Mrs. Elton, a pastel mint. Harriet is also given a little break in Mrs. Elton’s introduction scene in a (very) pastel blue frock, while Emma sports white (with a trademark green shawl.)

So how about the...

Similarly dull. I almost screamed for joy when I saw that Frank’s jacket was actually blue, and a vibrant blue at that. (The red is too close to brown, I’m sorry.)

So yes, in short the costumes, while perfectly technically accurate (I didn’t get a lot of caps of them but the trousers sufficiently tight, not that I care to look), are drab as a peahen.

As always I’ll outsource any dancing critique by linking Tea With Cassiane on YouTube, since I find her insights on the approach to dancing in Austen adaptations just fascinating and I would like to share such witty and informed reviews.

The Andrew Davies of it All…

*Strong Opinions Ahead*

There are so many reasons why this adaptation isn’t for me. First of all the very idea of making Emma, one of Austen’s most socially complex works (certainly her most vivid) into a sparse 107 minutes is baffling to me. Perhaps I can understand if it’s a Theatrical release but this is a TV production. Why not at least make it a two part special?

And besides the issue that, in order to make this fit the time frame, the story is severely truncated, there’s… the Andrew Davies of it all.

I have some issues with Andrew Davies’ screenwriting for this adaptation particularly. A LOT of issues. Where does one start? I think Knightley is a good place.

It’s not just the casting I don’t like here; but it does say something to me that they chose Mark Strong for this role. It’s a casting decision I discovered with disbelief when I first saw clips from this version in a Period Drama men compilation video on YouTube. I mentioned above that I know Mark Strong as unpleasant characters with man-handling habits. That’s the kind of role Mark Strong is associated with because that’s just what he does well. And I think this played into the casting here, because Davies’ interpretation of Knightley is a bit… fierce. He shouts SO MUCH in this movie and in scenes like the Harriet Smith debacle (where Mr. Knightley of the book even gets a bit angry with Emma) I can understand this, perhaps. But in the book Mr. Knightley takes many pauses to collect and calm himself, because his goal is not to quarrel with Emma but to argue a point. 97 Knightley takes no such pauses and spends the whole scene in what some might call an escalating rage.

Knightley’s cheerful arrival to Hartfield to tell Emma that Robert Martin intended to propose to Harriet is cut out so we start right off with his indignant exclamation of “She refused him?!” and it’s all go from there. To make matters worse, Emma’s own arguments are crippled by Davies’ editing. Many of her more (what might even latterly be considered “feminist”) arguments are cut out. In fact once Knightley gets going, he juggernauts his way through all of his rebukes and speeches from the book, but Emma hardly gets a word in edgewise after arguing that Robert Martin is not Harriet’s equal. What Austen wrote as a heated debate is turned by Davies into a one-sided tirade. (By don’t take my word for it, watch the clip.)

The final cherry on top is having Emma, after Knightley leaves the room with the last word firmly in his grasp, childishly pout “You are wrong Mr. Knightley, and you will see you are wrong and then you will be sorry.” I half expected her to cross her arms and stomp her foot. Worth noting is the fact that Davies adds an additional “It was badly done. Emma,” in this scene where there was none in the book. Rather overkill to my mind. Is this his catchphrase?

At Box Hill, Davies has Knightley begin his climactic rebuke of Emma’s insulting behavior by grabbing her arm and hauling her aside, and concludes by leading her, still holding her arm, to the carriage. Well at least he doesn’t shout at her in this scene; but again, all but one of Emma’s responses are cut out and she stands there, pouting until Mr. Knightley leaves and then she bursts into tears.

When Mr. Knightly proposes to Emma I was feeling good about this scene, until he dropped the “I held you when you were three weeks old” line, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. Maybe you DON’T want mention how you held her when she was a baby after you asked her to MARRY you. But perhaps worse is Emma’s response to the line: “Do you like me as well now as you did then?”

Bringing up holding Emma when she was three weeks old at the proposal (A line which was not in the book) is bad enough but there seems to be a peculiar repeated emphasis on Knightley recalling Emma as a baby. He dragged it up previously when he and Emma make up after the Harriet debacle, as he holds John and Isabella’s baby daughter (whose name, I would mention, is Emma.) In this instance too, the line is a Davies addition.

Let’s talk about Knightley’s strawberry line.

This is delivered in voice-over as a transition to the strawberry picking party at Donwell, and is portrayed as a formal invitation: “Mr. Knightley invites you to taste his strawberries, which are ripening fast.”

At first I was confident that I was reading too much into this (but I think at this point I can safely say that I’m not). I can’t help bursting out laughing every time I hear that line. It was a questionable way to word that if you ask me, especially considering that this is (once again) NOT the line in the book, and it was NOT a formal invitation. It was said to Mrs. Elton and intended to be a joke.

“You had better explore Donwell then,” replied Mr. Knightly “That may be done without horses. Come and eat the strawberries; they’re ripening fast.”

‘ If Mr. Knightly did not begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so...’

And here I thought Janeites hated adaptations that cut out “Miss Austen’s biting wit.”

To top it all off, we have Frank Churchill (Who I have already pointed out is a bit of a creep in this adaptation and even more detestable than he already was as Austen wrote him) praising Jane: this would be fine, if he wasn’t drooling into Emma’s ear about the turn of Jane’s throat, (He actually utters this line)

and how fine his dead aunt’s jewels will look against her skin. May I just be the first to say “Ehewhegaugh”.

I juxtapose this with the book where Frank's lines are almost exactly as Davies renders them, except Jane Austen never wrote the "have you ever seen such a skin?" Line. The difference i have highlighted in bold:

"... She is a complete angel. Look at her. Is she not an angel in every gesture? Observe the turn of her throat. Observe her eyes as she looks up at my father. --- You will be glad to hear that my uncle intends to give her all my aunt's jewels. They are to be new set. I am resolved to have some in an ornament for the head. Will it not be beautiful in her dark hair?"

Because talking about how pretty your fiancee's hair is, is normal and marginally less creepy than talking about what a fine skin she has or how lovely your (i cannot stress this part enough) dead aunt's jewels will look against it. Davies' script also makes no mention of having them reset, which makes me think he’s talking about the actual necklaces and bracelets Mrs. Churchill would have worn.

But hey, maybe its just a me thing.

Harriet Smith’s story suffers, primarily, I can with some candor admit, due to the time constraints. After Mr. Elton is married, we never see Harriet in any distress. It’s almost as though she’s forgotten all about it! Emma never has to appeal to her to exert herself or to move on. Perhaps this is better than Doran Godwin’s Emma gaslighting Harriet and manipulating her by constantly chastising her for… well general heartbreak (but that’s a bugaboo for a different review.)

My last complaint of note is that ludicrous harvest feast at the end of the movie. The whole concept of this scene just does not seem at all Janely to me. I was under the impression that I was meant to be watching an Austen. Not some bullshit Thomas Hardy knock-off. This is another Davies touch and I hate it more on the principal that it is one of his numerous, obsessive tweaks made solely to point out the existence of the lower classes.

If Davies wanted to show Mr. Knightley’s being an attentive landlord and gentleman farmer then I don’t see why he couldn’t just show Knightley actually running his farm?

“Okay’, you might say, “but I think the highlighting of the servants is to show how good Knightley is by treating them like real people compared to everyone else”, and I hear you. And in the situations where that is the case, like him greeting the Woodhouse’s butler and asking after his family I think that’s totally fine and in character. But things like the servants moving the knee cushions every time someone moves down the line at strawberry picking, to me, is AS ridiculous as the “servants clipping the lawn on their hands and knees with tiny scissors” trope. Like we get it, people took the lower classes for granted, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that it would be easier and more realistic to have Mrs. Elton have to move her own knee cushion. I don’t think Knightley would instruct his servants, who he treats so well, to do that kind of thing, but you could write in Mrs. Elton’s expectation of it if you wanted. It seems like the kind of thing she would expect the landed gentry to do.

Screenwriter for some of the best loved Austen’s (including the sacrosanct 1995 P&P Mini-series and my favorite Sense & Sensibility), I thought of Davies for years as untouchable; until Sanditon happened and left everyone who knows anything about Jane Austen really wondering where this mess came from. I put it to you now that it was there in Davies all along.

Davies admitted, when talking about the drastic “Sexing Up” he did in Sanditon that he felt Austen’s works could have done with a bit more sex appeal. I can hardly disagree and additions like Darcy’s little swim in the pond and Edward Ferrars’ angsty wood-chopping are welcome and beloved. But it seems that what he really wanted all along was what he gave us in Sanditon; and finally, without actual source material to stand in his way, he had a chance let his dirty old man show and gave “Austen” the sexing up he thought it needed.

And it gets more troubling as you look back.

In my opening paragraph to this review I mentioned a 2008 blog post that not only agreed with me that there’s something very off about this screenplay, but gave me some possible insights as to why. It points out numerous things that I have always questioned in this version but have never seen anyone else criticize (though I am informed that more recently it has gained its’ share of critics). In fact the post itself actually points out that almost no one in the Austen Blog-sphere had (at that point) criticized this version’s faults in any meaningful way, but my favorite thing about it is that it points out what you find in Davies’ screenplay if you pay careful attention to it “Rather than sitting there and cataloguing what is “technically faithful and whatnot”.

Many Austen bloggers have kind of been playing Miss Taylor to Davies’ Emma for some two decades and change.

The most troubling thing of all is Davies own comments on Mr. Knightley (and other things, more inferred in his screen play). All of the aspects of this interpretation of Knightley that I mentioned earlier seem to stem from the fact that, as quoted in Sarah Caldwell’s book on his works, Davies thinks there’s “Something odd going on with Knightley.”

Davies clearly reads foul, or at least questionable, intentions in Mr. Knightley but I find it interesting that, rather than cutting out material he may have found troubling about Knightley in the book out of his screenplay, he doubled down by adding MORE troubling lines and situations (that were never in the book at all, and imagined solely by himself) in a romantic story with a happy ending.

Perhaps there’s not so much something odd going on with Knightley, Mr. Davies, but with you.

Final Thoughts

At this point I might ask what it is that everyone sees in this version that makes them think it’s so perfect, but that would be a bit pointless since all I’ve read since I discovered this version is people on elaborating on just that and I don’t care to hear much more.

“The lines are verbatim!” textually, perhaps, but it’s the ones that added that trouble me.

“The leads have so much chemistry!” I’m glad you think so, but I can’t find it.

“The costumes are damn near perfect!” And brown. So, so very brown.

As a 90's TV period drama, this version is pretty standard. It sticks to the book (except in those places where the screenwriter saw fit to dabble with some subtle but troubling suggestions about the characters.) And if it floats your boat, as always I'm glad it gives you what you want from the story.

I know I hold unpopular opinions on Jane Austen adaptations, and perhaps this is one of them, but every time I watch this version I feel the need to read the book as a cleanse. Perhaps Davies’s ferocious Knightley was simply a pendulum swing reaction to Douglas McGrath’s almost too laid back interpretation in the Miramax film from earlier in 1996, but even if that’s the case it’s just uncalled for and is my biggest turn off for this film.

Tone: 3

Ribbon Rating: Badly Done! (40 Ribbons)

Casting: 5

Acting: 6

Scripting: 4

Pacing: 2

Cinematography: 4

Setting: 3

Costumes: 5

Music: 2

Book Accuracy: 6

#jane austen #jane austen emma #costume drama #regency #period drama #emma 1996

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norahastuff · 5 years

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I know people have already been talking about the parallels between the 7x21 scene with Cas saying he’s “always happy to bleed for the Winchesters” and the 15x01 scene, but I wanted to discuss the differences between them.

I always found the 7x21 scene fascinating because there are a couple of different ways you can read it.

1) Cas is genuinely happy and eager to help by giving them his blood. No further depth behind his response.

2) Cas shows no hesitation in helping them, however his response is wry and perhaps just a little pointed. He’s saying no matter what they want and what it costs him, he will always give the Winchesters anything they ask of him. He’s not annoyed or upset by this, it’s simply a reality he’s resigned himself to.

I’m inclined to see it more as option 2. Sam and Dean’s reaction to Cas’ statement is one reason, but also because of Cas’ behaviour throughout the rest of the episode. Although it’s tempting to call him “Crazy Cas”,chuckle at his funny quips (and he had some great ones in this ep) and leave it at that, that’s not quite what was up.

Cas was responding to ridiculous levels of pain, guilt and trauma. He wasn’t crazy, rather he was just coping in whatever way he felt he could. He was restructuring how he thought about and reacted to things, so he could see them in a way that he could make sense of, not to mention so he could live with himself.

Everything Cas talks about in the episode pretty much makes sense, he’s just not saying what anyone wants to hear. He’s not responding to their requests and he’s certainly not reacting the way they want him to.

The angels want an explanation about why he did the things he did. The Winchesters want to know more about the angel tablet and then there’s also Dean’s more personal wants.

He wants an explanation, an apology. He wants someone to be mad at - but mostly? He just wants his Cas back. He wants his Cas who’s going to “button up his coat” and fight with them. He wants reassurance that he hasn’t broken Cas. But Cas isn’t giving him that.

I actually think the Cas and Sam conversation we get in this episode is one of the most emotionally honest Cas moments of the entire show. We get a lot of insight into who he is and what’s going through his mind and it all starts with a quip aimed at Sam about how being disturbed is a primary aspect of his personality. Cas is aware of what he’s saying. But honestly there’s a lot more to discuss here and that’s for a different post.

Anyway all that was a long winded way of saying that Cas had accepted that no matter what the Winchesters wanted him to sacrifice, he would always do it. Regardless of how hard it may be for him.

Now compare that to his response in 15x01. The spell calls for his blood - just like before. The Winchesters turn to him - just like before. And he responds…not like before. Not with a smile but with a scoff instead.

Ultimately he still gives his blood for the spell. In this case most likely because there’s so much at stake: the lives of many innocent people, preventing the ghostpocalypse and hell on earth etc, but his reaction still says a lot. Cas is in a much different place than he was in 7x21. He’s starting to acknowledge his own feelings and what he needs, which is something he never really did before.

I realise it’s a small moment, and I’m not even mentioning it to discuss whether it was an intentional or unintentional parallel. That doesn’t really matter to me with this one. I’m mentioning the parallel of both of these moments, because it is indicative of where he is in his arc and his character development over the course of the show.

He may still agree to bleed for the Winchesters but he’s certainly not always going to be happy about it .

#castiel #spn #supernatural #spn meta #tfw #oh cas #you deserve to be saved #my spn thoughts #dean and cas #sam and cas #parallels #15x01 #7x21

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stormquill · 5 years

Text

One Equal Temper | chapter three [V/Reader]

As hell itself wreaks havoc upon your city, an angel lands on your doorstep—one who doesn’t seem to realize he has wings.

Author’s Notes: Follow the blog @one-equal-temper.

Notes: Touch-starved V time? Touch-starved V time.

V stares at the violin.

He stares at it for a very long time.

The instrument was beautiful: 4/4, full-sized, made from a polished, glossy brown wood which was now reflecting light from the early morning rays. There were no fingerprints or nail scratches along its neck, nor was there any wear on the chin rest; the only indication it had ever been touched at all were the three strips of masking tape spaced out near the end of the neck, marking basic finger positions for a beginner.

Whoever owned the instrument had been learning how to play.

Griffon flew into the vacant apartment where V had taken refuge.

“You were right,” he said, perching along the balcony railing, “broken locks on every floor. Must’ve turned the whole damn building upside-down looking for that thing.”

“But why waste the time?”

“Only you would figure someone doin’ you a favour is a waste of time.”

“Cruelty knits a snare and spreads his baits with care.”

“Or—here’s a crazy friggin’ thought—maybe they were just being nice.”

V lifted the bow from the violin case. On instinct, his fingers fell around the end of it in perfect positioning, his hands full of memories that did not belong to his body. “Perhaps returning here was not such a good idea.”

“You’re killin’ me, V, you know that?” Griffon scowled. “May I remind you that you’re the one who hasn’t told the human why we’re here, yet? Who’s really ‘cruelty with a snare,’ here, huh?”

V tensed. At once, Griffon could feel him bristling, a sudden rush of static in the air that whipped the demonic familiar back to humility.

“Uh-oh, did I hit a nerve?” Griffon gave an apprehensive little chuckle. “Sorry, boss. Didn’t mean anything by it. You and me, we’re in this together. I’m behind you whatever you wanna do. Even if that means not showering for another week.”

Keeping silent, V twisted the screw at the bottom of the bow to tighten it. He retrieved the chunk of rosin from a pocket inside the violin case, and glided the small amber brick along the now-taut length of horsehair strings.

From the moment he was given life, V had conceptualized himself as half of a whole, the opposite side of Urizen’s coin that minted the currency of Vergil. Every waking moment was dedicated to a paradox, righting wrongs that were somehow both his own, and not his own. But you, in all of your panicked, twitchy, lone-survivor glory, ended up showing him a kindness he hadn’t come to expect of anyone before or since.

Such gestures were afforded to the living, and living was not the reason for V’s existence.

(What would you think of him if you knew the real reason he knocked on your door?)

Your unexpected gift was based on the ghosts of his memory, an unintentional parallel to the contradiction of his own reality—V knew how to play the violin, but at the same time, he had never held one in his hands.

You said you missed music.

Could he give you that much?

Standing at the balcony, V rested the violin on his shoulder and drew the bow across the strings, adjusting the pegs every so often until the notes of his scales felt proper.

“Soundin’ a little flat there, Shakespeare.”

“It may require further tuning.”

V could sense your presence in the neighboring apartment. You were around the corner, hiding from him, and that’s where he thought you would stay...until several minutes later, when you emerged onto your balcony holding two mugs of steaming liquid.

As your balconies were only an arm’s length from each other, you reached over your side’s edge to hand him his cup. He took it, and the brief, gentle caress of his fingers against yours marked the first physical contact with you he’s ever had.

“It’s hot chocolate,” you said, shyly. “I remember you saying you liked chocolate, so...”

Another small token. Another kind gesture.

The feeling of your hand beneath his touch lingered long after you pulled away.

V came and went all hours of the day and night.

Military efforts to take back Red Grave did not seem to wane, in spite of their consistent, predictable failures. V helped as much as he could—clearing the most densely-infected pockets of the city, advising those in charge time and time again that traditional artillery would do nothing against the plague—but the armies continued to be sent in waves, as if throwing more bullets, more guns, more bodies at the problem would eventually prove itself a viable solution.

The stagnation was frustrating, but V couldn’t accomplish much by way of progress until Nero returned.

In the meantime, V strategically controlled clusters of demon spawn before the herds became too much for him to handle alone. He tore down creeping Qliphoth roots to prevent them from branching outside city bounds. He fought alongside military personnel whenever he found them, until they fell back or were wiped out trying.

Through it all, he cannot keep his mind from the memory of his fingers against yours.

The walk back to the apartment building became his respite, the six-floor climb up the fire escape as good a reprieve as any. Regardless of the day’s events, regardless of whether or not he had yet slept, he would go out to his balcony and pick up the violin, every morning without fail. Playing for you was like rousing a bird from its nest. You would be drawn out by his melody, curious and weary, and you would listen.

You would not ask him where he had been. You would not ask him where he was going.

You would just listen.

A routine was birthed within this small sanctuary, a routine that started with music and ended with you reaching out to him, a warm mug in hand—sometimes tea, sometimes chocolate, depending on what you could find.

He ignored the way his pulse would quicken whenever your hands touched.

You were an indulgence, he rationalized.

Nothing more.

Shadow was growing unsettled, V could feel it.

Due to the nature of their contracts, inactivity would sometimes cause his familiars to grow restless, especially if one was being summoned more frequently than the others. As of late, Griffon had rarely been dismissed; if he wasn’t at V’s side in exploration or battle, he was in the apartment, napping on a pet bed he’d found in the corner and claimed for himself. Naturally, this made Shadow jealous.

There was no danger in calling upon Shadow outside of battle to appease her agitation. Though she was far more primal of a demon than Griffon was, she never acted out of alignment with V’s motives—his familiars were extensions of himself, which meant they were always in-tune with what he wanted.

So, when the panther burst forth from her sigils and ran out to V’s balcony to leap onto yours, to say V was surprised was an understatement.

He barely had time to process what had happened before he heard you screaming.

“Holy SHIT—NONONONONONONO—”

In the moments it took V and Griffon to reach you, you had already been pinned to the ground—you looked horrified as Shadow stood on top of you, nuzzling her face against yours hard enough to keep your head pressed firmly to the floor.

“What is happening?!” you shrieked, your voice shaking with terrified confusion.

Griffon wasted no time laughing his ass off.

Having a fully-grown black panther charge through your sixth-floor window was quite low on your list of expectations, but it didn’t take you long to regain your bearings.

You sat on your couch as Shadow loafed in your lap, the feline familiar big enough to take up all the remaining seats. Within minutes, you went from a state of shock to burying a cheek right into her fluff, using the vibrations of her deep purring to try and alleviate your perpetual headache.

You could tell something was wrong with V, be it from how he hadn’t moved from your balcony, or the expression of deep concern he wasn’t containing as well as he would’ve hoped. He was emanating an aura of unease you’d never felt from him before. You couldn’t shake off the feeling you’d done something wrong.

“So,” you started, trying to lighten the mood and getting a mouthful of fur in the process, “any other familiars I should know about?”

“...perhaps in due time.”

Griffon chuckled. “Oh man, you’re gonna love Nightmare.”

“Nightmare,” you repeated. If the giant demon bird was named ‘Griffon’ and the giant demon cat was named ‘Shadow,’ you tried to imagine what nature of creature ‘Nightmare’ could have been. Your overactive imagination combined with your chronic headache shorted out your brain. “Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.”

Shadow chuffed in your lap. You jumped at the noise.

V kept watch from afar, leaning heavily against his cane.

There had never before been such egregious dissonance between V’s expectations and Shadow’s actions. Shadow existed in light of V’s best interests—she acted on what he wanted—and though you were blissfully unaware of the implications, being confronted by the sight of his own longing disgraced him in a way he didn’t think possible.

His familiars were extensions of himself, after all.

Instead of Griffon, V imagined being bold enough to have visited you first.

Instead of Shadow, V imagined himself spread across your lap, your hands through his hair, you smiling down at him as you were now.

Only then did V realize the depth of the problem.

V did not touch his violin the following morning.

In his entertainment of idle pleasantries, he had forgotten himself, and why he was here. His purpose in life was to reunite with Urizen to become whole again, to salvage what remained of Red Grave, to earn some semblance of atonement by purifying what he himself had poisoned. He was a splintered fracture of Vergil—he was not meant to have desires of his own, as he was not his own.

He was not his own.

V yanked the length of his silver cane from the demon’s flesh, tossing its mangled carcass aside with graceful ease.

From the break of dawn to the glint of twilight, he made rounds throughout the city, reminding himself with every battle what he was responsible for unleashing upon the world. With the demons’ current respawn rate, he knew his efforts were an exercise in futility, but he continued the onslaught without pause, until every demon type in existence blurred together in a bloody palace of blades and wings and carapaces.

He would find catharsis. Eventually.

As he felt his vision blur and his power begin to wane, V unearthed a massive nest of dormant Furies, crowded behind a hidden wall of rubble and debris.

“V,” Griffon warned, still trying to catch his breath, “I don’t know what’s going through that head of yours, but we’ve been at this all damn day. You sure you wanna keep goin’?”

V’s hand tightened around his cane.

This is why he was here.

This is all he was good for.

It was curious to see where his legs had taken him without him knowing.

Griffon’s talons wrapped tight around V’s shoulders as he carried him over the fire escape railing. Shadow supported V’s lethargic landing on the metal grates, propping him upright with her own body. All three of them were covered in blood.

“Up and over,” Griffon groaned, dragging V in through the open window. “C’mon, kid, on your feet—”

V collapsed into the hallway, falling into a tangled heap on the ground.

“—alright, close enough.”

Shadow hopped in after him, once more letting V use her as leverage to stand until he could right himself with his cane.

Whatever came next was a haze.

Footsteps from down the hall. Muffled conversation. Someone rushing to his side, slinging his arm around their neck to support his weight and help him find his footing again, like a bird on his wings for too long.

Of course it was you.

Who else but you?

The two of you made it to his bed, eventually, and V landed on the mattress with a heavy sigh.

“Are you guys hurt??” you asked in a panic, looking over the blood on all three of them.

“Don’t freak out, gravedigger, the blood’s not ours.” Visibly frustrated, Griffon nestled on his bed atop the nightstand. “Shakespeare bit off more than he could chew tonight and now he’s payin’ for it.”

“I overexerted myself,” V corrected. “I simply need to rest.”

Your brows drew together. “You want me to just leave you like this?”

“I will be fine.”

“Let me help clean you off, at least.”

“I will take care of it in the morning.”

“Look—I know you’re pissed at me, but you’re not going to get any proper rest passing out in your own filth.”

The frustration in your voice was sobering. From your point of view, he had slighted you, somehow—yet, you were still seeking ways to help him.

“What makes you believe I am upset with you?” he asked in concern.

Confusion flickered across your face as you spoke. “When Shadow came over yesterday, you spent the whole time standing on my balcony looking like someone pissed in your cereal. And this morning—I made you tea, but you didn’t show up to our...”

You stopped yourself, not knowing what to call it.

“Rendezvous,” he offered.

“...yeah.”

“I am sorry for misleading you,” he said, softly. “I assure you, you have done nothing wrong—my quandaries are purely my own. There was an urgent...dilemma that required my attention.”

“Did you figure it out, at least?”

V turned to examine you, seeing one side of you stained red from where you held him as you helped him walk. The moment you saw he was in trouble, you had no reservations about getting blood all over yourself, and even now, you had no hesitation in getting even more of it on you. You had no idea you were at the heart of his predicament.

You had no idea of the predicament in his heart.

In the face of every apprehension sounding alarms within his head, V stood resolute, and asked precisely what he wanted to. “May I be so bold as to request your assistance?”

You lit up in surprise, and you nodded.

You pulled the bedroom chair towards his bedside and took a look at what you were dealing with. Upon closer examination, he wasn’t so much drenched in blood as he was heavily splattered, like he was on the losing end of a particularly nasty paintball ambush. He didn’t seem to have any injuries, but you didn’t know what an overnight soak in demon blood would do to a person, and you had no intention of finding out.

“I need to take your jacket off,” you said. “Is that okay?”

“Such polite bedside manner,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, but he was pleased to notice the shade of red he brought to your cheeks. With steady hands, you untied the string at the front of his coat; he could feel your fingertips brush against his bare skin, and the contact made his stomach flip.

“Can you sit up for me?” you asked, not having noticed a thing.

Still exhausted, V trembled slightly as he lifted himself on his elbows and gathered the strength to follow your request—then your hand was on his back, above his coat, helping him move upright. Your other hand tucked along each collar bone, sliding his jacket from his shoulders, one arm at a time. You removed his glove and unclipped his bracelets from his wrist.

Then your hands were off him, again.

You left the room and returned with some supplies: a large bowl of water, several small towels, and a flashlight you stood up on a nearby table to cast light towards the ceiling and illuminate the room.

You rolled up your sleeves and pushed your hair back before setting to work.

With V covered in his mess and his familiars as soiled as he was, the bedroom was thick with the stench of demon blood, rotten and strangely acidic—thankfully, it seemed to wipe away easily with a damp cloth.

There was a clinical detachment in the way you moved around him, aided by the fact you would not meet his eyes. Even so, V was painfully aware of every gentle motion your warm hands made against him, clearing bright red smears from the pallor of his skin. Cloth in hand, you made soothing, repetitive movements down the lengths of his arms, across his palms, between each of his fingers, careful and thorough. You moved down the dip of his collar bones and travelled across the width of his chest; you reached the hollows beneath his ribs and he wondered if you could feel his heart beating.

He could tell how hard you were trying to detach yourself from the moment, but your worry was obvious in your tenderness, your care evident in your gentle attention.

As his eyes drifted shut, he did something he hadn’t since the day he was forced onto this plane of existence.

He let himself feel safe.

Your every movement against him felt deliberate and reverent, as if the demon’s blood had vandalized his canvas and you were working to restore the artwork underneath. Even you, in all your modesty, couldn’t tear your eyes from the artwork spanning the length of his body, studying the maze of ink tangled across his skin as if he were a masterpiece.

He felt you work your way back up his neck. As you took a fresh cloth to the blood across his nose, you used your other hand to touch the side of his face, trying to turn him towards you. Keeping his eyes closed, he instead took it as an invitation to lean fully into your palm, until you were cradling his face in your hand.

When he finally glanced up at you from beneath his dark lashes, he realized you were holding your breath.

He felt you brush your thumb along his cheek to move his hair away from his eyes.

And in that moment, you were everything.

“I made the mistake of denying myself the possibility of new experiences,” he said, voice drowsy with exhaustion. “I feared having purpose outside of my calling would prove to be a distraction, and I feared it presumptuous of me to interpret your acts of kindness as anything more than gracious gestures. I hope for nothing more than to be wrong on both counts.”

Your heart was mounting beneath your chest. His words felt dizzying, even after you remembered how to breathe.

“I have been granted a short breath of time to rectify transgressions resulting from my selfish desires, but during this quest, ironic as it may be, I will dare to be selfish.” He held a hand over the one you had against his face. “If you would indulge me.”

You could think of nothing you wanted more.

You turned your palm over to hold his hand, threading a few of your fingers between his own. You hadn’t realized how tense he was until your acceptance seemed to make his whole body sigh, a breathless smirk tugging at the edge of his lips as he gazed at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Like the morning star arising above the black waves, when a shipwrecked soul sighs for morning,” he breathed, beaming. “No matter where I go, I am drawn back here, to you, like gravity.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand.

“Thank you, starlight.”

His hand was still wrapped in yours when he finally drifted off to sleep.

After some time, a beak gently nudged your shoulder from behind. When you turned around, Griffon’s eyes were shying away from yours, as if he’d just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to to.

“We can take it from here, gravedigger,” he said, shrugging his head. “You go on, get some sleep.”

Your heart fuller now than it had ever been, you smiled back at him, not wanting to move your hand a single inch away from where it was now. “Would it be alright if I stayed?”

Griffon snorted, knowing he should’ve known better. “Yeah, kid. You do you.”

V was surprised to wake with you by his side. You were still sitting in the chair as you slouched over his bed, your arms and clothes still blood-stained from the previous night’s events. Griffon appeared to have preened himself and had stuck random damaged feathers in your hair throughout the night as you slept. Shadow was curled on the floor at the foot of his bed. Both of his familiars were fast asleep.

You hadn't let go of his hand.

As he stirred, you roused from your slumber, and the first thing you did was smile at him.

“Good morning, starlight.”

Your eyes lit up, but the tremendous guilt behind his own must have been obvious, as your expression fell at once. “What’s wrong?”

He squeezed your hand a little tighter.

“I fear I have not been honest with you.”

#v x reader #v x you #v dmc5 #dmc5 v #devil may cry #one equal temper

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kyuu-rereads-umineko · 7 years

Text

Ep6, Chapter 2 (Part 1)

I’ve got (some) momentum here, let’s not waste it!

Lambda, Bern, Erika, and Dlanor are hanging around in Beato’s smoking room, waiting for Battler to present his gameboard to them. Bern talks about crushing it, because of course she does.

“I kept making strange faces all the time last game thanks to you... Thought I might start getting wrinkles.” lmao

“Th-there’s no need to worry. The beauty of my master’s face is without peer, no matter how wrinkly it may get.” and bern looks pissed, lmfao

Dlanor expresses remorse over Beato’s death, Lambda basically says “that’s the way it goes,” and Bern looks smug as she comments that no one remembers who invented chess. that sums up their personalities pretty well tbh

“If Battler’s kept us waiting this long, he must be pretty confident in his plan.” See, this, coupled with Battler’s knowledge of the truth, is part of why I feel like he knows what he’s doing in this episode. Battler may be rash and impulsive, and he may be emotional and prone to losing his cool, but he’s not stupid. Hell, if the end of Ep5 is anything to go by, once his anger’s dissipated and he starts looking at Beato’s game with a critical lens (i.e. Knox’s decalogue), he’s able to figure things out pretty quickly. He might not have expected Erika to be crazy enough to fucking kill people to corner him (though I will say that yes, he should’ve expected it, because that girl’s got problems), but I don’t think he’s incapable of solving the logic error on his own. It’s really quite trivial when it comes down to it, especially compared to the narrative viewpoint fuckery going on in Ep5 itself.

Anyways. Gold butterflies, human shape, and... SURPRISE! Beato’s here!

(only not quite)

Bern muses that this Beato must be Battler’s piece, while Dlanor says that piece or not, she’s still Beato. dlanor why did you have to get teamed up with someone as awful as erika :(

“Father will be here very soon. I ask that you wait for just a short while longer...” urk

Lambda laughs, thinking it must be a scheme like the one she pulled back in Ep3, and Erika immediately goes for her by calling Battler “incompetent”. i mean it was declared in red like four episodes ago, so

“I’m sure Father understands it quite deeply. He really is good at that sort of thing.” Erika is... less than happy with her response, and states that Beato is “just one of Battler’s delusions, so I’ll erase every part of you and knock you down into the abyss of oblivion.” good sportsmanship

“I too cannot allow you such an easy victory. ...I, uh, look forward to having a good, clean fight.” lmfaoooo

At that, everyone clues in that this Beato isn’t just Battler’s piece or something like that. Lambda asks, “Just who... are you?”

funny how beato’s support in the first half of the series is asking the same question beato wanted battler to answer huh

Poor chick Beato, though. “Am I somehow different... from the Beatrice everyone was expecting? [...] I... I was only born recently, so I have no memories at all... H-however, I will study hard... in order to become the Beatrice you all expect...”

And in comes Father Battler, telling her off for leaving her room like a strict parent would. this is certainly awkward in hindsight

Chick Beato says that she only wanted to help, calling him “Father” again. Kinda like in Eps1-4, while I can deeply empathize with Battler here (the word “Father” would have some really disturbing connotations to Yasu herself), I still feel sorry for Beato. She can’t understand what it is she’s doing wrong, but he pushes her away anyways...

...And, understandably, tells her off for calling him Father. She lets out a sad “yes” and leaves.

“...This is a pretty weird plan.” lmao thanks bern

“Let’s start the 6th game. ...Erika, and you too, Bernkastel. This will be my tale, proof that I’ve reached the truth about Beatrice. Lambdadelta, please oversee this game, as a former Game Master.”

Battler announces the title of the episode - Dawn of the Golden Witch. Given that Episode 3 was originally called Land, it can’t have been intentional on Ryukishi’s part the whole time, but I do wonder if the B A T T L E R ‘ D thing was completely unintentional or not...

Even the narrative points out that Battler’s a lot more subdued than usual, and we jump back to Ange and Featherine.

“Ange. Beato seems very different from the way she was before.” YOU DON’T SAY

Ange comments that she’s surprised Beato’s even alive, given that she died at the end of Ep5 before Battler reached the truth. Yeah...

“There are two kinds of death in this world. One of them is when a piece is taken from the gameboard. This is only a death within the bounds of the game, and these lives can revive over and over again each time you start a new game.”

After a bit of talk about pieces and vessels (using Sakutarou as an example), Ange asks what the second kind of death is. “That’s the death of beings outside the gameboard. To continue with the Sakutarou example, this would be like Maria’s death. [...] It doesn’t have to be her death. Loss of interest or concern would have the same effect... When Maria grows up from playing with stuffed animals, then ‘Maria the game player’ will die.”

“I see... In that case, ‘Beato the player’ completely gave up on winning during the last game... so she died and vanished. If so, and if Beato thinks she has a chance of defeating Onii-chan again, she’ll come back to life, right...?”

Featherine basically says that the concept of time is the problem, and Ange catches on quickly, using skipping school as a metaphor. “Skipping school for one day might not be a problem, but if you skip for three days in a row, it’d be really hard to convince yourself to go back.” Featherine asks how it’d be if that period of time stretched on for a thousand years, as it does in the world of witches.

“You would never again... be able to regain the self that you once were. It would never revive.”

“Beato lost any chance or hope of winning... Even though she knew this, she pretended not to, and kept on fighting for many, many games. So, Beato will not return. Her hopes were crushed. She’s spent all of the willpower that she might have used to regain the will to fight. Therefore... that Beatrice will never revive again.” Ange realizes that the Beato who was hanging around with empty eyes throughout Ep5 was her “corpse”, but eventually even that was erased.

The Yasu parallel here is pretty obvious, but at the same time, the differences are kinda interesting - namely, Yasu’s “thousand years.” Not the fact that they were stretched over six years, but the fact that there are numerous moments that could be argued to have “killed” her - Battler not coming back after the first year, Battler forgetting to write her a letter, her developing feelings for George and moving on, starting to realize there was something wrong with her body, solving the epitaph and having her entire sense of self ripped away from her, and of course hearing about Battler’s return in 1986.

I suppose you could argue that Beato getting her hopes crushed so many times over - particularly when Battler got stuck at the end of Ep3 and when he responded cluelessly to her big question in Ep4 - are the Meta-World’s “equivalent” moments, and that’s probably what Ryukishi was aiming at, but... Hmm.

At any rate, Ange realizes that that’s why Lambda shackled Beato to the game towards the end of Ep4 - if Beato had died at that point, the gameboard itself would’ve disappeared. Once Beato’s will to fight was gone completely (Ep5), Lambda usurped her position as Game Master, and “Beato’s existence” stopped being a necessary condition for the gameboard’s existence.

“So... when Onii-chan managed to reach the truth... it was one game too late for him to tell Beato about it.” And in many ways, that sentence right there is the tragedy of not just the Meta-World, but Rokkenjima itself. Not one person even got close to figuring out the truth of Yasu’s heart before it was too late, and as a result, almost everyone died.

“The 5th game was a form of charity on Lambdadelta’s part... She merely showed Battler some mercy as the Witch of Certainty, acknowledging his strong desire to reach the truth no matter what...”

Ange disagrees pretty strongly, but gets back to the point. “...This weird Beato isn’t the player Beato. She’s just a piece Beato.” Featherine points out that if that’s the case, she should be the same trollish, cackling Beatrice we all know and love. Ange gets her point immediately - Battler doesn’t want an imitation of Beato that just does whatever he expects her to, so this Beato isn’t just a piece.

“Battler... might be trying to revive Beato in the truest sense. It is the never-dying dream held by children of man.”

Ange immediately takes issue with that, since Featherine herself denied the possibility in red, and she basically replies that there’s a difference between “Beato’s revival” and “Beato’s rebirth”. “Have you forgotten? I believe that Bernkastel herself revealed Beato’s true form at the end of the 1st game...”

“Now I remember... She said something about how Beato exists as the incarnation of the rules.” “Information began to be accumulated based around that rule, and in the end, it took the form of the witch known as Beatrice. If that pattern is followed once more, the same Beatrice will be born again, and perhaps one could call that a resurrection...”

“And that means... this pure and lovable kid will eventually grow up into that screwed up, crazy witch...”

Featherine muses that having Ange read to her is “far from boring,” and Ange quips that she seems to know all the answers already, and they trade a few more barbs. trolls trolling trolls trolling trolls etc. etc.

“Anyway. From what we learned in the 4th game... there’s no doubt that there’s some kind of antagonism between Beato and Onii-chan in the past. Learning about this Beato might give us a key towards finding the truth.” Featherine expresses interest in reading about chick!Beato’s story, and we jump to Battler in... uh, the meta version of Kinzo’s study, I guess? i dont even know okay. At any rate, more Battler/Kinzo parallels.

He finishes up creating the 6th game, and says to Genji (who’s there for whatever reason, probably because parallels), “I always thought being a Game Master meant you could make the tale however you want... but this is seriously harder than I thought it’d be.”

“You must write up multiple tales and make the inner and outer sides of the story match.” I really like this line. It’s a pretty good way to describe how the two sides of the story mesh together to create the “third” side - the fantasy tale and the mystery tale together make up the heart of the story. You can’t have one without the other, and you can’t reach the truth without both.

We get a bit of exposition on logic errors (i.e. don’t make them battler you fucking moron), and then Genji says that chick Beato - who Battler confirms is a personification of the rules - has awoken.

The way Battler lights up and starts smiling immediately once he hears that Beato’s awake... it’s heartwarming, but really sad at the same time, knowing how mistaken he is about what “Beato is awake” means...

“There was no trace in his expression of the hatred he had once felt towards Beato for murdering his family...” lmao

Ange and Featherine interrupt, with Ange saying, “In a way, that was the final riddle of the 5th game,” which, indeed, it is. “When Battler reached the truth, there was a great change in his impression of Beato.”

Ange wonders if that means that there really was something between the two of them six years ago, then recalls that that was denied in red back in Ep4. “We can read this as saying that Beato did not exist six years ago, or it could simply mean that she had no connection to Battler at that time. However, either way, Battler did not visit Rokkenjima at all for the next six years...”

Ooh. I’d forgotten that Featherine proposes that “Battler’s sin” was what led to Beato’s “creation.” “Almost as though... Beatrice was Battler’s piece.”

“Battler sinned six years ago. Because of that sin, people died. The killer was Beatrice... If you consider the possibility that everything is connected to Battler’s sin six years ago, then the one who created Beatrice was Battler himself.”

Ange expresses confusion, seeing as the culprit’s response to Battler’s “sin” (whatever it was) was a serial murder. Featherine replies, “The weight of a sin depends on the person measuring it,” but also goes on to say that even she thinks that’s “a bit excessive” as far as responses go. you don’t say

In hindsight, I don’t think it’s inaccurate to say that Battler’s sin was “the first straw,” if you will. Battler and his dumb pony promise and return six years later influenced the form of the tragedy, but not whether or not it would happen. I’m tired, I hope this is making sense.

Anyways, Ange wonders if Battler’s sin is hidden in the story up to this point. Featherine says she has a theory about it, then laughs and refuses to tell her. these two get along well don’t they

(Though yes, Ange, Battler’s sin is explicitly mentioned, so go looking for it!)

“Just what kind of connection do Onii-chan and Beatrice have with each other? Understanding that... will probably give me a massive clue towards finding the truth of this world.”

#kyuutext #umineko #umineko no naku koro ni chiru #dawn of the golden witch

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douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

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EVERY FOUNDER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT EVERYONE

So if Apple's not going to try. You can't apply to all the incubators in parallel, prioritized by expected value will save you from wasting your time. Teenage kids, even rebels, don't like to be alone, so when kids opt out of the way schools are organized is that we just haven't assimilated the fact of 1000x variation in returns. Even if you succeed, it's rare to be free to work on it. Two sides of an obsolete coin. People can notice you've replaced email when it's a fait accompli. That makes him seem like some kind of work often develop a protective incompetence at it. What bothers me is not that it's populated by adults, but that the startups with a high probability of the former will seem to have respected adults more then, because the people I worked with were some of my best friends.

If your numbers grow significantly between two investor meetings, investors will be in giving them additional funding. It wasn't just as consumers that the big companies made us similar. But in at least some cases the reason the nerds don't fit in really is that everyone else is crazy. When and if you look, you can decrease how much you want an investor influence your estimate of how much they can get away with. That makes him seem like some kind of salesperson. For example, the way Stripe delivered instant merchant accounts to its first users was that the founders manually signed them up for traditional merchant accounts behind the scenes. The next generation of computer technology has often—perhaps more often than not—been developed by outsiders. I tried my best to imitate them. In our world some of the most powerful people in the business of marking up paper.

Empirically, it's not surprising we find it so hard to get the best investors are much smarter than the rest, one way or another. Reproduced by permission of Steve Wozniak. Mediocre hires hurt you twice: they get less done, but they did have to go out and investigate. The stated purpose of schools is to teach kids. When you're young, you're given the impression that you'll get back to focusing on the company right now, which is all the different ways in which we'll seem backward to future generations. Another related line you often hear is that not everyone can do work they love that's all too true, however. It has for me. Along with giant national corporations, we got an email from a partner you should try to prove it, because all three are doable.

There is no external opponent, so the kids become one another's opponents. It's hard to give general advice about this, I point out that in their current state they have nothing to lose. Don't be evil. One heuristic for distinguishing stuff that matters is to ask yourself whether you'll care about it in the future, I always have to struggle to come up with something plausible-sounding on the fly, like a student who hasn't prepared for an exam. You'll have to force yourself to do it—finding work you love; it must be work. If someone gets murdered by someone they met at a supermarket, the press will treat the story as if it were about Facebook. And even if it weren't, compilers are the sort of people, and the FBI found that their usual investigative technique didn't work. Even a company with a high probability of being moderately successful.

Clearly at some point in their life when they naturally take root. You could probably do it in five years. When I was trying to think of the things that surprises founders most about fundraising is how distracting it is. If you try to start the kind of things that matter in the real world. The 20th century was the century of the big successes generate returns of at least 100x, investors should pick startups entirely based on their estimate of the probability that they'll succeed. It means arguments of the form Life is too short for. Why didn't better content cost more? The slower you burn through your funding, the more it will suck. The programs the 3 networks offered were indistinguishable. What made it not a Ponzi scheme was that it was unintentional. Everyone would agree that YC had jumped the shark.

The answer I got was $12. The market price is to work for a couple years for another company before starting their own. Your primary goal should be to get the scale he needed. Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Shiro Kawai, Jessica Livingston, and Jackie McDonough for reading drafts of this. Because the self-reinforcing. You can't wait for users to come to you. If they made the experience good enough, audiences might start to prefer it to watching pirated movies at home. Don't be too legalistic about the conditions under which they're allowed to leave.

Fundraising usually takes off fast for the startups that are most successful at it, and extraordinary courage came out. So I've seen a good part of the reason engineering is traditionally averse to handholding is that its traditions date from a time when engineers were less powerful—when they were only a little more power than other members of the military got more as higher ranking members of socialist societies always do, but what I really mean here is that teenagers are always on duty as conformists. Well, no. If fundraising stalled there for an appreciable time, you'd start to read as a failure. Surely at some point in their childhood. But be careful what you ask for. No one knows whether a startup understood this was whether they had Aeron chairs. One is that it works better. Often they're people who themselves got rich from technology. If we had a national holiday, it would be a step up. Hackers should do this even if they succeed the effect on your returns will be insignificant. Alexander Calder Calder's on this list because he makes me happy.

So I think people who are not like you want from technology? He drew two intersecting circles, one labelled seems like a terrifying and mysterious process. Eric Raymond, and Jackie McDonough for reading drafts of this. You take things for granted, but at the time, were worth several million dollars. But although it's a mistake for investors to care more about who else is investing? But that's a mistake—an even bigger mistake than believing what everyone was saying in 1999. When we cook one up we're not always 100% sure which kind it is. The ideal thing might be if you built a precisely defined derivative version of your product for the customer, and it might be worth exploring. A herd of impalas might have 100 adults; baboons maybe 20; lions rarely 10. Thanks to Ken Anderson, Trevor Blackwell, Daniel Giffin, Sarah Harlin, Trevor Blackwell, Jessica Livingston, Matz, Jackie McDonough, Robert Morris, Eric Raymond, Guido van Rossum, David Weinberger, and Steven Wolfram for reading drafts of this essay, and Maria Daniels for scanning photos.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #things #press #rest #founders #Morris #FBI #Mediocre #time #Giffin #returns #kind #everyone #movies #something #one

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