#the fit is fire indeed. so is the Master (in a tragic way)

[aboveallarescuer]

#that happens even when the person isnt trying to argue that shes a mad queen/villain but that she has both 'good' and 'evil' in her#and is meant to fail#(e.g. that meta about how dany is a tragic shakespearean hero; which annoys me more bc it sounds convincing when you don't remember what#happened in the books very well...

Can you talk more about your problems with that essay? I thought that it sounded plausible... I don't want those things to happen to Daenerys, but I don't trust GRRM either.

Anon, thank you for this ask and sorry for the delayed answer. I was already planning to write several posts as a response to the arguments of “Daughter of Death: A Song of Ice and Fire’s Shakespearean Tragic Hero” (which you can read here), but I couldn't find the time or motivation for that lately, so thanks for giving me the opportunity to counter-argue it in a single answer. I tried to be brief by summarizing some of my notes and by linking to a lot of metas instead of repeating all of their points, but the response unfortunately ended up becoming long anyway.

In the context of that essay, Dany is considered a Shakespearean tragic hero because the writer thinks she fits five requirements: 1) Dany’s chapters contain supposedly deliberate references to Shakespearean plays; 2) Dany is “torn by an internal struggle”, namely peace versus violence or companionship versus rulership or home versus the Iron Throne, all of which also drive the external conflicts. Choosing the second options will lead to her demise; 3) prophecies and “influential accidents” - that is, events that “have roots in a character’s motivation”, as well as “the sense of ‘if only this had not happened’” - will “heighten and exaggerate [tragic flaws that] already [exist]” in Dany; 4) Dany will (according to the essayist’s speculations) take actions that produce “exceptional calamity” and her demise will be “her own choice and doing”; 5) Dany “[rose] high in position” and is “an exceptional being”, which sets her apart as a character that fits the mold of the Shakespearean tragedy because her reversal of fortune will highlight “the greatness and piteousness of humanity”.

I would argue that the points that the essayist made to justify how Dany supposedly fits these five requirements are all very skewed.

1) When it comes to requirement 1 (Dany’s chapters contain supposedly deliberate references to Shakespearean plays), the essayist is conveniently cherry-picking (as they often do throughout the meta). Bran Stark wants a dreamless sleep just like Dany: “Sweet, dreamless sleep, Bran thought.” (ACOK Bran I); “That night Bran prayed to his father’s gods for dreamless sleep.” (ACOK Bran II). Indeed, @marinabridgerton argues that that’s most likely tied to the fact that they’re the two characters most heavily associated with prophecies. Even Sansa is said to have a dreamless sleep: “Sometimes her sleep was leaden and dreamless, and she woke from it more tired than when she had closed her eyes” (AGOT Sansa VI). And yet, where are the essays about how these quotes are teaching the readership to interpret Bran’s and Sansa’s characters, storylines and trajectories based on Shakespearean tragedies?

2) When it comes to requirement 2 (Dany is “torn by an internal struggle”, namely peace versus violence or companionship versus rulership or home versus the Iron Throne, all of which also drive the external conflicts. Choosing the second options will lead to her demise), the essayist is right to point out that those dilemmas exist. However, they portray Dany’s struggles in a way that makes it seem that 1) there are “good” options (peace/companionship/home) and “bad” options (violence/rulership/Iron Throne) for Dany to take and that 2) choosing the latter ones will lead to Dany’s downfall. There is a lot to question about these assumptions.

2.1) When it comes to Dany’s conflict between peace versus violence, the essayist takes everything that Adam Feldman’s series of essays “Untangling the Meereenese Knot” says for granted when it shouldn’t be. I’m not going to delve into all the problems/inaccuracies/double standards with those essays. For our purposes here, it’s enough to say that they: 1) dichotomize Dany’s identity into mhysa and mother of dragons to argue that the former represents her desire for peace and the latter her violent impulses; 2) assert that the peace was real; 3) conclude that, by rejecting the peace, the Dany of ASOS is gone and from now on she’s going to be a very different person because she will have chosen to follow her violent impulses.

As already argued before, though, 1) Dany’s character can’t be dichotomized in that way because these facets - mhysa and mother of dragons - actually complement each other (as @yendany made clear in her most recent meta). Because Dany was the mother of dragons, she was able to act as mhysa way before she was hailed as such, which we see, for instance, when she kills the Astapori slave masters to free the Unsullied. Both of these identities manifest Dany’s fierceness when faced with great injustices. This is why, in ADWD, locking her dragon children prevented Dany from properly defending her human children… She needs to integrate both parts of her identity to be able to protect them. But Feldman couldn’t recognize that because 2) he accepts the peace deal that Dany made with the slavers as valid. Doing so would mean, however, ignoring the re-enslavement and suffering of thousands of marginalized people, which GRRM continually emphasizes in Dany's and Tyrion’s final ADWD chapters (read more about this here and here) to hammer home that the peace is false for prioritizing the slavers over them. Finally, 3) Dany is not a violent person nor does she have violent impulses. Feldman decontextualized the moments in which Dany uses violence from the standards of her time and place (read more about this here and here and here and here) to portray them in a more negative light than how they are actually meant to be viewed. Additionally, he conveniently left out all the moments in which Dany chooses to be merciful, from when she spares Yunkai and most of the Meereenese slavers (she didn’t do the same in Astapor because she was outnumbered and needed to protect her retinue) to when she doesn’t punish people who threaten or disrespect her to her face (such an envoy who spits at her face, a boy who tries to attack her, Xaro after he says he wishes he’d killed her), to give a few examples (read more about this in @rainhadaenerys's comprehensive meta). I would argue that Dany’s conflict is less about peace versus violence and more accurately about her tendency to be merciful versus her desire for justice (which, especially in the particular context she finds herself in, is unattainable without violence). In fact, I would go further and say that it’s distasteful to characterize Dany as someone “violent” or with “violent impulses” when, so far, she’s only used violence to a) defend and protect victims of (physical and systemic) violence and/or b) in circumstances in which her actions are no more problematic than those of any other leader of her world. And yet, the essayist portrays them as if they were (“To choose indiscriminate destruction over peace tends toward the evil”).

It’s also convenient that the essayist only talks about fire negatively (“Dany wields unmatched power that can “make or unmake at a word”—Dracarys—villages, armies and kingdoms”, “in the words of Maester Aemon, “Fire consumes.””) when it's also connected to life, rebirth, healing and enlightenment. And dracarys in particular is explicitly associated with freedom by the narrative while Dany frees the Unsullied (her decision, in turn, is associated with her future actions in the War for the Dawn). But acknowledging these things would make it harder to portray Dany as a Shakespearean tragic hero.

2.2) When it comes to Dany’s conflict between companionship and rulership … Again, the dilemma exists, but not in the way that the essayist presents it. What I mean is that they go out of their way to make it seem that Dany’s loneliness was the main factor driving her decisions, such as the liberation of the Unsullied (“She feels for the forced loneliness of the Unsullied, and it is loneliness that convinces her to commit violence in the plaza to free the slaves—just as it is in loneliness she chooses violence amidst the Dothraki Sea.”)... And not, y’know, her compassion and sense of justice (“Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”), which are rarely acknowledged in this essay even though it’s arguably the main aspect of Dany's characterization. Why does the essayist do that? Because, since they are arguing that Dany is a tragic hero, they need to present Dany’s loneliness both as the reason why she achieved greatness and as the reason that will lead to her demise when she (supposedly) starts distrusting people, closing herself off and choosing violence (“the moral conviction she feels for her abolitionist crusade is part of the greatness that is also her tragic trait [...] She feels for the forced loneliness of the Unsullied, and it is loneliness that convinces her to commit violence in the plaza to free the slaves—just as it is in loneliness she chooses violence amidst the Dothraki Sea.”). As I said, however, doing so requires downplaying Dany’s compassion, as well as ignoring the fact that she does not close herself off to people in ADWD, nor is there any sign that this was seeded as a serious issue for her in future books (especially considering that her governance is meant to be contrasted with Cersei, the character who actually does close herself off to people. But more on that below when I talk about why Dany doesn’t fit the essayist’s third requirement).

Also, singling out rulership in particular as a reason for Dany to feel alone is conveniently selective (“Returning to Westeros means ruling Westeros - and ruling means loneliness”). All the major characters have reasons to feel lonely and isolated in their society because GRRM chose to focus on the underdogs. Their social standings are already enough to make all of them feel alone. As he said, “Tyrion of course is a dwarf which has its own challenges. Dany is an exile, powerless, penniless, at the mercy of other people, and Jon is a bastard”. You can also throw in Arya for being a young girl struggling to adhere to gender norms and Bran for being a disabled child. And that is just one example… There are a myriad of reasons and situations for various characters to feel lonely and isolated, but the essayist specifically chose to talk about how rulership causes that for Dany. And, considering that the essayist thinks that Dany’s rulership -> growing isolation and loneliness -> her ultimate downfall, it really feels like they’re punishing Dany narratively for acquiring and wielding power. Which leads me to the next point...

2.3) When it comes to Dany’s conflict between home and the Iron Throne, I would argue that that’s not really a conflict. Dany (like any feudal leader) believes she needs to retake the Iron Throne to stay in her homeland just like the Starks believe they need to retake Winterfell to stay in their homeland. Whether Dany finds herself at home in Westeros or not is irrelevant to that fact. And yet, the essayist only presents the former as being in the wrong for fighting for her birthright. However, as it's been already explained before, the Starks’ claim to the North isn’t morally righteous. They only have dominance over the North because, for thousands of years, their ancestors fought against, drove away and killed most of its indigenous population (the Children of the Forest), as well as multiple families who were also vying for control over the region. With that in mind, Dany fighting for her birthright isn’t any more problematic than the Starks enjoying the lands and privileges obtained with conquest and bloodshed, as well as the labor of peasants. One could argue that GRRM may have a double standard against Dany in this case (though it's been argued before that he doesn't intend to present the Iron Throne as a source of greed and evil like how fandom presents it) because of the order of the events and depending on whether he holds Dany accountable for more problems for waging her war than the Starks for having done/doing essentially the same thing, but that’s not what the essayist is doing. Instead, they a) take for granted that Dany is doing the wrong thing for fighting for the Iron Throne ("To delay the call of the North and continue to divide an already weakened realm is to give into dark desires.") and b) center all their speculations about her eventual demise based on that belief.

Ultimately, I would argue that none of these three dilemmas - peace versus violence, companionship versus rulership, home versus the Iron Throne - come with easy answers. When it comes to the first conflict, it’s important that Dany prioritizes the lives of the slaves over the privileges of the masters, but that causes more war and bloodshed. When it comes to the second and the third conflicts, it’s worth noting that the first options (which the essayist presents as the “good” ones) are actually the selfish paths for Dany to take. After all, she would rather live a normal life with a husband (companionship) in the house with the red door (home) - “She would rather have drifted in the fragrant pool all day, eating iced fruit off silver trays and dreaming of a house with a red door, but a queen belongs to her people, not to herself”. But, as the quote shows, instead of choosing these selfish goals, Dany accepts the burden of rulership and the fight for the Iron Throne because of her duty towards her people and ancestors. And, while this path leads to war (either in Meereen or in Westeros, though the former is morally righteous and the latter, while not inherently justified, is not any more problematic than Robb fighting for Northern independence), power is also the means through which Dany can make changes that benefit the common people.

With all that said, it’s ironic that Dany fans are often accused of flattening her character or her choices when it’s actually her detractors or “neutrals” (like the essayist) who do so - they are dead set on portraying Dany’s available options as either “good” or “bad” and on speculating that choosing the latter ones will lead to her downfall, but the text actually gives her conflicts in which all the options have their pros and cons.

The essayist also makes a mistake that isn’t really up to interpretation or difference in opinions. They say that, in AGOT Daenerys III, “after admitting this difficult truth [that Viserys will never take back the Seven Kingdoms], Dany assumes the goal for herself (and at the time, her son)”. That is incorrect. In AGOT Daenerys V, moments before Viserys’s death, Dany says she would have allowed him to have the dragon eggs because “he is my brother … and my true king”. Jorah doesn’t think she should still acknowledge him as such, but she tells him that “he is all I have”. So no, Dany hadn’t assumed the goal for herself at that point, she only took over his campaign in her son's name (not hers) after Viserys's death. But the essayist needs to exaggerate Dany's ambition to justify her demise, since they speculate that “in that hurt and betrayal, all that will be left - she will think - is the crown”.

3) When it comes to requirement 3 (prophecies and “influential accidents” - that is, events that “have roots in a character’s motivation”, as well as “the sense of ‘if only this had not happened’” - will “heighten and exaggerate [tragic flaws that] already [exist]” in Dany), the problem is not in cherry-picking or in double standards against Dany, but rather in the essayist’s lack of knowledge about Dany’s characterization. It’s simply not true that Dany’s distrust of people grows to the point that she closes herself off to them. Instead, I would argue that Dany is actually portrayed as someone with a healthy distrust of people. We know from the books (1, 2, 3, 4) that she finds it unlikely that Barristan, Grey Worm or Missandei would ever betray her, but that she doesn’t think she can rely entirely upon Reznak, the Green Grace, the Shavepate, Hizdahr and Daario. Do Dany’s doubts about these people’s intentions lead her to, as the essayist says, “push people away”? No. Through almost all of ADWD, she (wrongly, though understandably) believes that "until [freedmen and former masters stand together, Meereen will know no peace". Accordingly, Dany is willing to listen to the counsel of all of her advisors (both the ones she trusts and the ones she distrusts) to ensure that she makes informed decisions. To give some examples:

Dany allows “well spoken and gently born” people (i.e., not the typical condition of most former slaves, who are glad that Dany freed them) to sell themselves into slavery and imposes a tax each time men chose to do so like how it happened in Astapor (ASOS Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with both Missandei and Daario.

Dany employs the Unsullied to ask the Blue Graces if someone showed up with a sword wound and to ask butchers and herdsmen who’s been gelding goats (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany chooses not to punish any noble in response to the murder of Stalwart Shield and only increases the amount of gold for whoever gives information about the Sons of the Harpy (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she agreed with Reznak and disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany gives up on banning the tokar and wears it herself (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she agreed with the Green Grace.

Dany (rightly) refuses to reopen the fighting pits for a while until she later relents in the name of the peace with the Meereenese nobles (ADWD Daenerys I, II, III, VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with Hizdahr, Reznak, the Green Grace and the Shavepate and agreed with Missandei.

Dany delays the choice of a husband until it becomes necessary later (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she disagreed with Reznak, the Shavepate and the Green Grace.

Dany chooses to pay the shepherds for the animals that they say their dragons ate (ADWD Daenerys I). By making this decision, she disagreed with Reznak.

Dany pays Hazzea’s father the blood price (i.e., one hundred times the worth of a lamb) for her death, lays her bones to rest in the Temple of the Graces and promises to pay for his children each year so they shall not want (ADWD Daenerys II). By making this decision, she disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany allows the Shavepate to torture the wineseller and his daughters for information about the Sons (ADWD Daenerys II). By making this decision, she agreed with the Shavepate.

Dany imposes a blood tax on the noble families to pay for a new watch led by the Shavepate, takes the gold and the stores of food of any nobleman who wishes to leave the city and keeps two children from each pyramid as hostages instead of letting the nobles go unpunished after nine freedmen were killed by the Sons (ADWD Daenerys II). By making this decision, she agreed with the Shavepate and disagreed with Reznak.

Dany has Barristan and Groleo and his captains and sailors to inspect Xaro’s ships (ADWD Daenerys III). By making this decision, she agreed with Barristan.

Dany chooses not to go to Westeros despite being offered ships to do so (ADWD Daenerys III). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany doesn’t kill her child hostages despite the Sons’ ongoing attacks (ADWD Daenerys IV). By making this decision, she agreed with the Green Grace and disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany agrees to marry Hizdahr if he’s able to give her ninety days of peace in Meereen (ADWD Daenerys IV). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr, the Green Grace and Reznak and disagreed with the Shavepate, Barristan, Missandei and Daario.

Dany refuses to gather the masters and kill them indiscriminately (ADWD Daenerys IV). By making this decision, she disagreed with Daario.

Dany doesn’t allow the Shavepate to continue his tortures due to their unreliable results (ADWD Daenerys V). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr and disagreed with the Shavepate.

Dany refuses to use her dragons in battle (ADWD Daenerys V). By making this decision, she agreed with Reznak.

Dany decides not to take the field against Yunkai (ADWD Daenerys V). By making this decision, she agreed with the Shavepate and disagreed with Barristan.

Dany brings the food to the Astapori refugees instead of sending someone else to do it (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with Reznak, the Shavepate and Barristan.

Dany burns the dead among the Astapori refugees, bathes an old man and shames her men into helping her (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany refuses to allow Hizdahr’s mother and sisters to inspect her womb and to wash Hizdahr’s feet before he washes hers (ADWD Daeneerys VI). By making this decision, she disagreed with the Green Grace and Reznak.

Dany decides to marry Hizdahr by Ghiscari rites and to wear a white tokar fringed with pearls (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with the Green Grace and Reznak.

Dany allows Hizdahr to reopen the fighting pits (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr, the Green Grace and Reznak.

Dany goes along with a peace agreement with the Yunkish slavers in which she’ll let Yunkai and Astapor reinstall slavery if they leave Meereen intact (ADWD Daenerys VI). By making this decision, she agreed with Hizdahr.

Dany holds court in order to, among other reasons, meet the Westerosi men that came over from the Windblown (ADWD Daenerys VII). By making this decision, she agreed with Daario.

Dany doesn’t accept Quentyn’s marriage proposal because she doesn’t want to abandon her people (ADWD Daenerys VII). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany doesn’t ride a horse in a tokar to meet Hizdahr (ADWD Daenerys VII). By making this decision, she agreed with Missandei.

Dany decides not to sound out the Company of the Cats (even though she wanted to) because Barristan says he's untrustworthy (ADWD Daenerys VIII). By making this decision, she agreed with Barristan.

Dany attends the reopening of the pits (ADWD Daenerys IX). By making this decision, she disagreed with Missandei.

Dany allows the Brazen Beasts to guard her because she wants to show that she trusts them so that her people can trust them as well (ADWD Daenerys IX). By making this decision, she disagreed with Barristan.

Dany prevents Tyrion and Penny from fighting against lions with wooden swords. By making this decision, she disagreed with Hizdahr.

I didn’t include all of Dany’s decisions because she makes many of them on her own and/or without someone explicitly supporting them or opposing them (in fact, many of the ones above were made without any advisor giving her their feedback, but I listed them if they’re seen agreeing or disagreeing with her onpage anyway). That being said, note that Reznak is the one that Dany is most suspicious of (because he perfectly fits the description of one of the treasoners), but that five of her decisions follow his recommendations, in contrast to Barristan (the knight who she actually trusts and who keeps all her secrets) only having his advice followed twice. Also note that Dany “trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr”, but she agreed with the former three times and disagreed with him eight times, in contrast to having agreed with the latter four times and disagreed with him twice. The list clearly shows that Dany listens to everyone’s feedback (including from people she distrusts), considers it carefully, makes her own decisions and handles dissent extremely well. Her actions reflect her own words (“A queen must listen to all. [...] One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found”, “It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone”).

There is, however, one character who is seen only listening to people who agree with her and who distrusts and closes herself off to almost everyone - Cersei Lannister. And it’s especially worth noting that Cersei is meant to be “directly contrasted” with Dany, that the author was “doing point and counterpoint” with them and that each of them is meant to show “a different approach to how a woman would rule in a male dominated, medieval-inspired fantasy world”. In other words, Dany and Cersei are narrative foils, but Cersei’s traits are being transferred to Dany in this essay.

Also, I could just as easily create an entire narrative about how Sansa will end up closing herself off to people based on what we see on canon. She thought she could trust Joffrey, but she ultimately couldn’t. She thought she could trust Cersei, but she ultimately couldn’t. She trusted Sandor, but he left her. She tried to trust the Tyrells, but they ultimately disposed of her after she was no longer necessary. She tried to rely on Dontos, but he was a disappointment and was ultimately murdered. She doesn’t trust Littlefinger, but she needs to stick to his side because she has no better option. She considered telling the Vale lords her identity, but she doesn’t trust them. All of this feeds into Sansa’s distrust of others and will lead to tragic consequences. Indeed, as Sansa herself says, "In life, the monsters win". I bet that the essayist would find this whole speculation biased considering that they favor Sansa's character. But then, why is only Dany singled out as the one who is going to meet her demise even though it’s made clear that she continues to trust people through and through?

The essayist needs to say that Dany starts distrusting people to an unhealthy degree (“As Dany gains more power, [...] her focus on the treasons causes her to push people away, widening the gap between rulership and companionship”; ”The more power she gains, the greater her isolation and likely her fear of betrayal. The fear of betrayal is, of course, human. But GRRM has stated that he likes to turn dramatic situations up to 11, which is necessary to create the Shakespearean tragic hero. Dany’s fear must be larger than life.”), as well as to judge her campaign to take back the Seven Kingdoms based on double standards (“Dany’s great sin within the story’s moral order will have been focusing on the war for Westeros against Aegon VI before she turns to the enemy of the North”) compared to the Starks. If they didn’t do so, there wouldn’t be a reason to justify Dany’s demise. If they didn’t do so, the entire speculation that she’s a Shakespearean tragic hero falls apart. But saying that something is true doesn’t necessarily make it true, you need to provide the textual evidence (which they barely do … They assume that the reader will take almost everything they say for granted. After all, since there’s a prophecy foretelling that Dany will be betrayed three times, of course she’s going to distrust people way too much from now on).

There’s also another aspect of Dany’s relationship with prophecies that the essayist portrays inaccurately. They say that “the effect of this prophecy on Daenerys is multifaceted” for “[promising] greatness” (which, along with the also inaccurate statement that “part of Dany’s pursuit of the Iron Throne is born from a sense of destiny”, implies that Dany wants to be great or that she thinks of herself as great, none of which are true) and pushing her “further from the people who surround her”. I already questioned the latter statement, and the former is inaccurate too. After all, Dany has doubts that there are men in Westeros waiting for the Targaryens to return. The birth of the dragons has to do with the fact that Dany was able to put two and two together with clues from dragon dreams and Mirri's words, not because she thinks she's exceptional. Dany is not really sure that the red comet was meant for her. She followed its direction because the other paths weren't reliable and, even in Qarth, she's unsure that it was meant to guide her to success. Then she never thinks about it again. I'd expect otherwise from someone who thinks they're exceptional. Dany is surprised when told by Quaithe that she's the reason why magic is increasing in the world and never thinks or brags about it after their interaction. I'd expect otherwise from someone who thinks they're exceptional. Dany doesn't think she won any victories in the House of the Undying, she credits Drogon for burning the Undying Ones. She only allows Jhiqui to add a bell to the end of her braid because "the Dothraki would esteem her all the more for a few bells in her hair". Dany refuses to sit on the throne inside the Great Pyramid's audience chamber and chooses to sit on a simple ebony bench that the Meereenese think does "not befit a queen". Dany refuses the offer to have a statue in her image to replace the bronze harpy in the Plaza of Purification. I'd expect otherwise from someone who thinks they're exceptional. Dany is highly self-critical and, later in ADWD, thinks that she "was as clean as she was ever going to be" after taking a bath because she holds herself accountable for the upcoming slaughter in the opening of the fighting pits. I'd expect different from someone that thinks they're exceptional. Dany doesn’t think that the people who came to the reopening of the pits wanted to see her - “it was my floppy ears they cheered, not me”. I'd expect different from someone that thinks they're exceptional. Most of Dany's titles (the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Mhysa, Azor Ahai, etc) are given to her by other people, they're not self-proclaimed (not that there's a problem if they were, I'm only saying it to reiterate that Dany doesn't think she's exceptional). The ones that she assumes on her own are the ones that anyone who believes in birthright (i.e., everyone in her time and place, regardless of family, regardless of whether they're Targaryens) would assume.

4) When it comes to requirement 4 (Dany will (according to the essayist’s speculations) take actions that produce “exceptional calamity” and her demise will be “her own choice and doing”) … Well, we now enter the realm of speculation. It’s not impossible that Dany “will feel like a villain to the Westerosi, as she burns their villages and crops ahead of a hard winter” in the future. The problem here, once again, is in the double standards. Look at the way the essayist describes the likely reascendance of the Starks in the upcoming books - “With the death of “good” characters like Ned, the injury of innocents and moments such as the Red Wedding, ASOIAF as a story is not concerned with justice. But as the story progresses, we see that the way Ned ruled his people and raised his children contrasts with characters like Tywin and his methods. Much of the North seems to continue to rally behind the idea of the Starks, some with less “honorable” methods than others, while Tywin’s legacy begins to fall apart. Like in Shakespeare’s tragic world, there appears to be an order that arcs towards a higher idea of goodness that instills a dramatic satisfaction”. Like I said above when I questioned requirement 2, the Starks’ claim to the North is no more justified than Dany’s to the Seven Kingdoms. They have the advantage of having had their rule normalized throughout the thousands of years they ruled the North, but it doesn’t change the fact that, because they’re feudal lords, they still maintain a system rigged in favor of the nobles that promotes social inequality and extreme lack of social mobility. It doesn’t change the fact that there's no righteous form of feudalism. But only Dany is criticized in that sense by the essayist - “By nature, power breeds inequality, when one party has the ability to decide the fate of another. That inequality creates distance. As a queen Dany wields absolute power over the rest of her subjects and her court”. Which is pretty infuriating not only because the Starks are also morally grey in the sense that the essayist describes, but also because GRRM specifically mentioned that Daenerys is the ruler "who wants equality for everyone, she wants to be at the same level as her people". Additionally, if Ned left a legacy that motivated his people to fight against his enemies, so did Dany with the former slaves. But the essayist needs to ignore all of that to paint Dany as a Shakespearean tragic hero.

Even if we don’t take into account what TWOIAF reveals about the Starks’ ancestors, the main story itself often paints House Stark’s actions in a negative light. We see a peasant spitting at the mention of the Starks and saying that things were better with King Aerys II in power. We're told that Northmen looking for Jaime on Edmure’s orders burned a village called Sallydance and were guilty of rape and murder. It’s no wonder that the High Sparrow mentions the wolves along with the lions as threats to the septas. Also, thousands of soldiers died indirectly because of Robb’s decisions, as well as lots of people who remained north and became vulnerable to raping and pillaging due to his inability to hold Winterfell. And finally, when winter comes, the smallfolk will be affected by the actions of the northmen, who (like Dany might do in the future) already helped to disrupt the harvest and to leave the continent short on food. And yet, why is their future success framed as “an order that arcs towards a higher idea of goodness”? Why is Dany the only one who is said to be “giv[ing] into dark desires” by “divid[ing] an already weakened realm” when the Starks (framed as the heroes in the essay) did the same thing? This double standard gets infuriating when one remembers that Dany is the one fighting a war in the name of the disenfranchised (even though she is not connected to them by blood or lands or oath of fealty and doesn’t gain anything by helping them), while the Starks are (and will be, if they want to retake Winterfell) fighting a war because of personal injury (which, sympathetic as it may be, doesn’t justify the damage that they caused to the smallfolk). It gets even more infuriating when, as @rakharo pointed out to me, one remembers that, while Dany is trying to right the wrongs of the Valyrians by ending slavery in Slaver’s Bay, none of the Starks have acknowledged, much less tried to make amends for injustices perpetrated by the First Men against the Children of the Forest. It gets even more infuriating when one remembers that Aegon the Conqueror united Westeros in preparation for the War for the Dawn (something that GRRM himself confirmed), while the Starks’ ancestors conquered the North solely because of their greed. That's why Dany’s story can’t be effective as a tragedy: she’d be punished for starting to do what everyone else was doing after doing more than almost everyone else was doing.

5) When it comes to requirement 5 (Dany “[rose] high in position” and is “an exceptional being”, which sets her apart as a character that fits the mold of the Shakespearean tragedy because her reversal of fortune will highlight “the greatness and piteousness of humanity”), again, we’re in the realm of speculation. But there are some things to question as well. First, the essayist validates the criticisms that Dany “too easily ascends to a position of power” by using them as proof that she’s a tragic character. But that’s not really true, which becomes clear with a few comparisons: the Starks lost their father, mother and older brother throughout the story because of the Lannisters, which Dany also did; but her losses go beyond them: she also lost another brother, her first husband and her first child. The Starks had their direwolves given to them, Dany had to use her intuition and then literally walk into a fire to birth her dragons. Aegon the Conqueror used dragons to take Westeros, Dany conquered three cities without barely using hers. Jon Snow’s conflict in ADWD involves conciliating the Free Folk and the Night’s Watch after he makes decisions favoring the former group, while Dany’s involves conciliating the freedmen and the slavers after she makes decisions favoring the former group, which has a worldwide impact; Jon’s conflict has relatively low stakes (because it hasn’t involved the Others so far), Dany’s conflict leads to “half the world” wanting her dead. As these examples show, Dany suffered more losses than the Starks. Dany had to do a lot more than the Starks to find her animal companions. Dany became a conqueror primarily because of her military strategies and resourcefulness without relying on dragonfire like her ancestor. Dany faced greater opposition than her male counterpart Jon so far. As we can see, gaining power and retaining it has not been easy for Dany at all. Every single one of her accomplishments has been earned. But it sure is interesting that Dany’s supposed future tragedies must stem from her actions, but that her victories aren’t given the proper credit and acknowledged as being a result of what she also did as well.

And then the essayist declares something even more inaccurate: that Dany “overcame each obstacle that came her way” and that “Robb and Jon paid for their mistakes while Dany did not” (which, to the essayist, is evidence that “Dany’s fall is meant to stand in contrast as something grander than just one slip-up”).

First of all, Dany clearly did not overcome every obstacle that came her way. Saying so means ignoring all of her ADWD storyline (and it’s funny how Dany's detractors go from saying that she’s overpowered and hasn’t suffered consequences to accusing her of being a bad ruler precisely because she dealt with the negative consequences of her choices, lol). To recap, Dany had an indirect part in the wars outside Meereen because she left the Yunkish slavers’ wealth intact, which leads to terrible consequences - multiple city-states and sellsword companies joining forces against her, Astapor’s fall, the pale mare’s outbreak, the emergence of refugees from Astapor outside her city and the upcoming Battle of Fire. Dany had an indirect role in the wars inside Meereen because she left most of the Meereenese slavers alive with most of their wealth intact, which leads to terrible consequences - the Sons of the Harpy’s attacks and dozens of freedmen’s deaths. Additionally, Dany had an indirect role in Hazzea’s death because Drogon was allowed to roam freely and she had no way to train him or her brothers. All these problems culminate in Dany agreeing with a peace deal that, as already explained here, was inherently unjust for prioritizing the slavers over the freedmen. Dany had to learn that, as much as she wants peace and to plant trees, there are situations in which she can’t be merciful because violence really is the only way to achieve justice for the disenfranchised. (On the flip side, that’s one of the reasons why I’m critical of the theory that Dany accidentally burns King’s Landing. When she was merciful, as I just listed, great tragedies occurred (which is fine, it was a realistic exploration of what happens when you abolish slavery and try to do good). When she used fire and blood, great tragedies will occur too? Even though she would be acting just like the Starks or any other feudal lord by fighting for her birthright? The theory narratively punishes Dany in a way that it doesn't do with the Starks, which is why it's no wonder that it was created by someone with Stark/Stannis biases. Additionally, it validates the common belief that Dany is only meant to be a wartime queen, even though she’s already showed that she’s a good peacetime ruler.)

Second, is dying the only way to pay for one’s mistakes (considering that only Robb and Jon are listed as examples of characters who did)? I don’t think so. Consider Sansa. Didn’t she pay for the mistake of going to Cersei to tell her of Ned’s plan? I would say she did. I would say the author agrees - “Sansa was the least sympathetic of the Starks in the first book; she has become more sympathetic, partly because she comes to accept responsibility for her part in her father's death”. Similarly, Dany had to accept her indirect responsibility for the tragedies that I just listed (Hazzea, forgive me; No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry.; “I should’ve gone to Astapor. [...] I am the queen. It was my place to know.”; “What kind of mother has no milk to feed her children?”). I would argue that Dany and Sansa both paid for her mistakes, which were acknowledged, made them suffer and influenced their character developments. But the essayist needs to say that Dany didn’t pay for them (or that she had an easy rise to power) to help to paint her as a Shakespearean tragic hero.

6) Now that the essayist’s five requirements have all been questioned, I would also like to mention positive prophecies and speculations related to Dany that are never brought up in this essay.

First, Dany is AA/PTWP/SWMTW. That was heavily foreshadowed (read more about it here) and built up to and, if it doesn’t happen, it frankly would be bad writing. After all, haven’t readers praised GRRM for the foreshadowing of Ned’s death (e.g., a stag having killed the mother direwolf in the beginning of AGOT)? Haven’t readers praised GRRM for the foreshadowing of the Red Wedding (which we see from Tyrion’s to Theon’s to Dany’s chapters)? And yet, the essayist thinks that Dany’s death will cause “the forces [to] become more even, making victory less sure, or the Others surpass the side of the living in strength” and that “the White Walkers gain Drogon, becoming one-on-one but with the White Walkers having the larger dragon.”

Second, Dany and Bran both have dreams in AGOT leading up to their magical awakening. Bran needs to fly to escape from the “cold” of the darkness below, while Dany needs to run from the “icy breath behind”. Both of these dreams culminate with Bran and Dany learning to fly and accepting their magical destinies, which will be important in the War for the Dawn. And yet, the essayist thinks that “by understanding that the concept of warmth is tied to companionship, we can understand that the cold, “icy breath” must represent the opposite: loneliness” to justify Dany’s demise. Instead, it's clear (especially considering the parallels with Bran) that "icy breath" is an allusion to the Others. But they can't acknowledge that Dany will have a crucial role in the War for the Dawn, otherwise their entire speculation falls apart.

Third, Quaithe was presented as the third of the three Qartheen envoys (after Pyat Pree and Xaro) that came to find Dany in Vaes Tolorro, which heavily implies that she breaks the norm and is the one person that Dany can trust. And yet, the essayist takes for granted that Quaithe’s “narrative connection to betrayal is already established”.

Fourth, Dany might as well be the prophesied betrayer, not the one who’s betrayed by three people (after all, she’s already been betrayed by more than three people - Jorah, Mirri, Pyat Pree, Xaro, Brown Ben, the person that gave her the poisoned locusts, etc). It would fit with the pattern of Dany being an active participant in the prophecies rather than a passive one (e.g. Dany is AA/PTWP, not the one who gives birth to the AA/PTWP or the one who dies as a sacrifice to AA/PTWP) even though, at first, the readership is expected to think otherwise. And yet, the essayist takes for granted that Dany will be betrayed because otherwise their entire speculation falls apart.

Fifth, Dany is foreshadowed to have a positive relationship with Jon because “the blue flower” from the “wall of ice” filled the air with “sweetness”. And yet, the essayist needs to say that Dany "[will push] Jon away [...] from fear of betrayal and hurt” and from worries that he might be a “usurper” (nevermind that they are mischaracterizing Dany as someone overfocused on retaking the Iron Throne and who closes herself off due to prophecies, none of which are not true, as I already showed above) because otherwise their entire speculation falls apart.

7) Finally, I would also like to ask: what’s the point of giving Dany a storyline like this? Not only because it would be unearned due to the double standards and the changes that would have to occur in her characterization, but also because Dany has a special place in the narrative. She is 1) one of the two women (along with Asha) claiming power in her own right and the only one that we actually got to see rule, 2) one of three Chosen Ones (along with Bran and Jon) and the only female one, 3) one of two POV revolutionaries (along with Jon) and the only female one (and the one whose storyline arguably has the most political messages since she’s fighting against human slavery), 4) one of two POV female rulers (along with Cersei) and the only one who’s been depicted as competent (because she subverts the Good Princess Evil Queen dichotomy), 5) one of two Targaryen conquerors (three, if Young Griff does indeed take Westeros) and the only female one - “Aegon the Conqueror with teats”, 6) the only major mother who isn’t sure to be doomed and/or hasn’t gone mad, 7) one of two Targaryen queens regnant (along with Rhaenyra) and the only remaining Targaryen woman who gets to have power after a long line of Targaryen women - Rhaenyra herself, but also Rhaena, Aerea, Rhaella, Daenerys (Alysanne’s daughter), Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was, Baela, Rhaena of Pentos, Daena - who were disempowered. GRRM already has a terrible history with female leaders in particular. If he causes the downfall of another one (especially one who is also one of the five main protagonists) for such unearned reasons like the ones that the essayist laid out, there would also be sexist implications. It would make the only she-king that we saw wielding power onpage overly defined by violence and destruction in a way kings don't have to be depending on their actions, it makes the only competent POV female ruler look incompetent in comparison to the other POV male rulers and it makes her conquest a disaster while the other male Targaryen conqueror (two, if Young Griff takes Westeros) gets to succeed. And yet, death by childbirth is the only speculation that the essayist calls out as problematic (“death by childbirth is a uniquely biologically female phenomenon and would be punishing Daenerys for her sexuality”).

8) What I find insidious about essays like this one is that they pretend to be unbiased (I do not argue for the death of Daenerys as a judgement on her ethical/moral goodness as a character nor of the world she inhabits. I argue it on the strength of her characterization and story, that she should be able to encompass such intensity and greatness as to be considered as complex as all these other single-name headliners in literature.) even though they really aren't. To recap, the essayist portrays Dany as someone with "violent" impulses even though she's a merciful person in general, accepts the peace deal with the slavers as valid even though it prioritizes the slavers' privileges over the lives of marginalized people, only talks about the negative connotations of fire, downplays Dany's compassion and sense of justice, argues that Dany is losing her ability to trust others even though she isn't, says that Dany is negatively affected by promises of greatness even though she isn't, argues that Dany had an easy rise to power and didn't pay for her mistakes even though she did, paints Dany's campaign to take the Iron Throne in a negative light without doing the same with the Starks having dominance over the North and ignores Dany's foreshadowing as AA/PTWP, as well as her special place in the narrative. So it’s not that Dany stans are unable to accept Dany’s mistakes and flaws, it’s that people who dislike her can’t understand her characterization or acknowledge the double standards against her or accept her particular place in the story. At the end of the day, an essay like this one is no better than jonsa metas mindlessly hating on Dany because, just like them, as @semperty and @niniane17 made clear, it also creates speculations with the intent of making Dany self-destruct and become irrelevant to pave the way for their preferred characters. The only difference is that it's more successful at appearing "neutral" to someone who doesn't remember what happened in the books very well, especially because Dany has become a polarizing character for a variety of reasons and it's easy to buy into the Appeal to Moderation fallacy.

Also, as I said before, the fact that these Twitter 'neutrals' all misunderstand Dany's characterization, downplay her struggles and judge her by different standards actually makes me somewhat hopeful that she's getting a better ending, because how can their speculations come true if they don't know Dany at all? But then, it's hard to trust GRRM.

[characterclasses]

Classing Avatar: The Last Airbender

Long ago, all four nations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked. Roll for initiative! 

Avatar: TLA is a world populated with rich, developed characters. So much so, in fact, that I’ve actually decided to class ten characters from the series. So flameo hotman, this is going to be a long one!

1. Aang

Let’s start with an easy one. Aang is so obviously a Way of the Four Elements Monk that it hurts. The kid grew up in a monastery, calls himself a monk numerous times, and the whole plot of the show revolves around him learning how to master the four elements. In fact, given how ubiquitous bending is in the show, it’s amazing that more characters aren’t monks as well. 

2. Sokka

Well, not Sokka, the meat-and-sarcasm guy. Sokka may not be a bender, but that’s never stopped him from stepping up and trying his best to protect what he loves, whether that be by defending his village from a Fire Nation raid with just a boomerang, or leading entire armies into battles that he strategized. Sokka might look like the token normal guy, but he’s a versatile and powerful warrior, which is why I’ve classed him as a fighter. Sokka isn’t just brawn though, he’s brains too. The guy is very intelligent (though somewhat low in wisdom, at least at first), and thirsts for new knowledge and scientific discoveries. Sokka is a Battle Master, someone who is learned not just in ancient battle arts, but academic fields as well, sometimes even obtaining artisan knowledge. Seems pretty fitting for the guy who helped invent the hot air balloon, no?

3. Katara

Katara may be a bender, but she’s not exactly a monk. Katara is a pretty spiritual person, especially after directly coming into contact with Tui and La (and Yue) in the first season. She’s also a powerful and dangerous combatant to go up against. This, along with the fact that she’s the healer of the Gaang, is why I classed Katara a cleric. Her mastery over waterbending makes her a Tempest cleric, as she reveres spirits of the sea and sky. Katara, even more than characters like Aang or Azula, is able to best embody the ferocity of a storm.

4. Azula

Speaking of Azula, this tragic, fourteen-year-old sociopath is an interesting character to class. Azula has power, and a lot of it. As a firebending prodigy, Azula’s devastating power comes naturally to her, which is why she can be best classed as a sorcerer. Her royal Fire Nation lineage makes Azula a shoo-in for the Draconic Bloodline background, too, which adds an extra layer of irony to the whole thing when you consider exactly what it was that her family did to the dragons, who they perceived as threats to their bending supremacy.   

5. Zuko

Of course, Azula isn’t the only heir to the Fire Nation, which is where her older brother Zuko comes in. Zuko is the perfect example of a redemption arc done right, so it’s no surprise that his character needs a bit more of a complicated classing to match his nuanced characterization. Like his sister, Zuko started out as a Draconic Bloodline sorcerer (in fact, it’s heavily implied that he wouldn’t have lived if he hadn't been one). But Zuko doesn’t have the innate raw power that Azula does, and to his father’s great disappointment, didn’t seem to level up nearly as quickly. After his exile, Zuko found himself with both the time and the necessity to hone his other great skill - his swords. It was at this point that Zuko began multiclassing into a rogue, specifically a Swashbuckler. This usually bombastic class may seem like an odd choice for the awkward, angry prince, but Zuko’s talents with his twin swords and his flair for the dramatic (think of the Blue Spirit persona!) actually makes Swashbuckler a pretty good fit. After his defeat at the North Pole necessitated going into hiding, Zuko began relying less and less on his firebending and more on his rogue skills to get by. It isn’t really until the middle of the third season, when he and Aang meet and learn from the dragons, that Zuko finally starts taking levels in sorcerer once again, and he grows into a bender who is more than capable of matching up with his sister. 

6. Mai

It’s no surprise that taciturn, deadly Mai is also a rogue, though not the kind that you might think. Mai is not, contrary to Azula’s beliefs, the perfect Assassin. Mai might be great with her throwing knives, but she also excels in blending quietly into the background, gaining all the information she needs until it’s time to strike, whether that be with her blades or with a well-placed word. She’s also not above seeing which way the wind is blowing and switching sides to protect herself and the people she cares about. Mai is a Mastermind to be sure, and while she’s a great ally to have, this makes her an even more formidable enemy to face. 

7. Ty Lee

Ty Lee however, is surprisingly not a rogue. This bubbly, acrobatic Fire Nation girl is a sneaky, underestimated fighter, but she’s also a childhood friend of a princess that an away to join a circus, of all things. Ty Lee’s style of combat is rooted in performance, and her performance is her combat, which is why I’ve classed her as a College of Swords Bard. College of Swords works well for Ty Lee precisely because she isn’t a bender and doesn’t use magic to achieve her results. Despite not actually using swords, Ty Lee certainly meets the criteria in terms of being a born entertainer who achieves her results both on stage and in the battlefield through daring feats of prowess and skill. 

8. Suki 

Ty Lee may have ended the series as a Kyoshi Warrior, but Suki was born one, and it shows. Everything Suki does is to protect her people and uphold the ideals of Avatar Kyoshi. This devotion to Kyoshi, both the island and the historical, near-mythic figure, makes Suki an excellent paladin. With her Oath of Devotion, Suki is determined to uphold the ideals of law, justice, and order that the history and culture of her people represent, and spirits help anyone who stands in her way. 

9. Toph

So Toph is a tough character to class, which I’m sure is something that would delight her to no end. At the end of the day though, Toph’s gleeful chaotic nature and unconventional bending make her a very unusual warlock. Like all benders, Toph’s power may be innate, but the Blind Bandit took a very unusual route to hone her skills. Toph learned bending directly from the badgermoles, the first earthbender in millennia to do so. The badgermoles gifted Toph not just with bending mastery, but with a form of “sight” with which she could independently navigate the world around her, and in this way act as her patrons. As creatures of legend that hold secrets long forgotten by mankind, the badgermoles act as a sort of benevolent Archfey equivalent, making Toph a very powerful warlock indeed.   

10. Iroh 

If Aang and his friends are the prototypical young protagonists out to save the world, then Iroh is the beloved archetype of the war-weary old adventurer who still has some tricks up his sleeves. Like Aang, Iroh is a monk, albeit a very different kind. While Iroh has a ton of raw power, he prefers to be subtle, letting enemies and allies alike underestimate him until it’s time to act. Even when he does strike, his foes don’t quite seem to grasp the full implication of what’s happening. Carefully choosing his actions like movements on a Pai Sho board, Iroh is a true White Lotus, a perfect example of The Way of the Drunken Master. He uses his facade of a tea-obsessed, doddering old man to feign incompetence and play the part of the fool in order to achieve his true goals, whether that be directing his young nephew towards the right path in life, or secretly working to bring balance back to the world. 

[padawanlost]

If you had to estimate, how much responsibility would you place upon Palpatine in Anakin’s fall? I would like to say everything would turn out happy and healthy if he didn’t exist but that’s just wishful thinking I guess.

I’d say 90%. Look, we can talk all we want about how people in Anakin’s life failed to provide him the help he so desperately needed but the truth remains that none of them pushed him into the dark side. Only Palpatine. Did the Jedi failed Anakin? Yes, but they never pushed into becoming a Sith. That’s on Palpatine. 

 “Look out there, Anakin. A trillion beings on this planet alone—in the galaxy as a whole, uncounted quadrillions—and of them all, I have chosen you, Anakin Skywalker, to be the heir to my power. To all that I am.” “But that’s not … that’s not the prophecy. That’s not the prophecy of the chosen one …” “Is this such a problem for you? Is not your quest to find a way to overturn prophecy?” Palpatine leaned close, smiling, warm and kindly. “Anakin, do you think the Sith did not know of this prophecy? Do you think we would simply sleep while it came to pass?” “You mean—” “This is what you must understand. This Jedi submission to fate … this is not the way of the Sith, Anakin. This is not my way. This is not your way. It has never been. It need never be.” You’re drowning. “I am not …,” you hear yourself say, “… on your side. I am not evil.” “Who said anything about evil? I am bringing peace to the galaxy. Is that evil? I am offering you the power to save Padmé. Is that evil? Have I attacked you? Drugged you? Are you being tortured? My boy, I am asking you. I am asking you to do the right thing. Turn your back on treason. On all those who would harm the Republic. I’m asking you to do exactly what you have sworn to do: bring peace and justice to the galaxy. And save Padmé, of course—haven’t you sworn to protect her, too …?” “I—but—I—” Words will not fit themselves into the answers you need. If only Obi-Wan were here—Obi-Wan would know what to say. What to do. Obi-Wan could handle this. Right now, you know you can’t. “I—I’ll turn you over to the Jedi Council—they’ll know what to do—” [...] “Well, of course I hope you’re correct, Anakin. You’ll forgive me if I don’t share your blind loyalty to your comrades. I suppose it does indeed come down, in the end, to a question of loyalty,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s what you must ask yourself, my boy. Whether your loyalty is to the Jedi, or to the Republic.” “It’s not—it’s not like that—” Palpatine lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps not. Perhaps it’s simply a question of whether you love Obi-Wan Kenobi more than you love your wife.” There is no more searching for words. There are no longer words at all. “Take your time. Meditate on it. I will still be here when you decide.” Inside your head, there is only fire. Around your heart, the dragon whispers that all things die. This is how it feels to be Anakin Skywalker, right now. [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

Anakin experienced darkness in life because of the tragic events in his life – poverty, violence, grief, etc – but he never considered joining the dark side before Palpatine offered the  opportunity. And, even then, Anakin’s initial reaction was to completely reject. One could even argue that, despite years of manipulation, Anakin’s didn’t join Palpatine because he wanted to be a Sith. He did because he wanted to save Padmé, he did believe he was going to use Palpatine’s knowledge for his own purpose. Even when Anakin was at his most desperate trying to save Padmé’s life his main goal was to become a Jedi Master to gain access to the Order’s library. Going dark side didn’t even cross his mind. we know that despite everything that went wrong in Anakin’s life he never sought the dark side. He only joined after Palpatine manipulated him into thinking it was his only option. So if we remove Palpatine from the equation (and don’t replace him with anyone else tempting and manipulating him) Anakin doesn’t go dark side. 

Palpatine had somehow seen into his secret heart, and had chosen to offer him the one thing he most desired in all the galaxy. He didn’t care about the Council, not really—that was a childish dream. He didn’t need the Council. He didn’t need recognition, and he didn’t need respect. What he needed was the rank itself. All that mattered was Mastery. All that mattered was Padmé. This was a gift beyond gifts: as a Master, he could access those forbidden holocrons in the restricted vault. He could find a way to save her from his dream …[Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

The other 10% belongs to Anakin’s circumstance that also influences his decisions. If Anakin had not been traumatized and emotionally neglected than even with Palpatine influence he probably would’ve made better choices. 

Palpatine explored all the pain and trauma in Anakin’s life to gain his trust, manipulate him and turn him into a Sith. So, Anakin’s fall was an uneven mix of trauma and manipulation. But the manipulation takes a much bigger percentage because without it he wouldn’t have fallen at all.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 14: SCOURGE

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......Huh?

Oh, hello there! My name's Lutrudis, pleased to meet you. Judging from that look of surprise on your face however, it's evident that you weren't looking for ME per say... What's that? You want to know what this is? Right, of course, my apologies.

Well, this is a mini-series belonging to... ahem, my creator, in which he goes into slightly more detail about his thoughts on the villains in Sonic's history, and why he thinks they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). Usually he gives his stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. He also stresses that these are just his own personal thoughts, and that whether you agree or disagree, you're free to share your own thoughts and opinions.

Unfortunately, as you may have gathered, it seems he's a bit occupied for today, and is thus unable to do a review... is what I WOULD be saying if he didn't let me cover for him! That's right boys and girls, I'll be filling in for him today, by doing a little review of my own! Please forgive me if I prattle on for extended periods, but I sincerely hope my efforts in assessing the Wrong'un of the Week are of the utmost quality. Truth be told, it's kind of nerve-wracking, but I'm happy to give it my all for you guys. ❤️

So then, let's carry on with the show, shall we? Welcome to a new edition of Sweet or... Sour. Welcome to Sweet or Sour. Yes indeed, heh heh... (Is the creator's language normally this gratuitous? I hope Cream hasn't seen his posts...)

Anyhow, for today's review... well, this is quite interesting. Normally the creator prefers to keep his reviews focused on game-centric villains, but I guess he made an exception with this one. Today, we'll be directing our attention to a notorious copycat of our blue hero in the Archie continuity, and legendary connoisseur of 70's fashion: Scourge the Hedgehog.

The Gist: Once upon a time, in the land of comics, there was a world known by all as Mobius. But there was also a parallel dimension called Anti-Mobius, or as it would later become known as, Moebius... one E makes all the difference, apparently. Anyway, in this dimension, everyone and everything that existed in Mobius had an identical equivalent in Anti-Mobius, but things operated a bit differently, in the sense that they were largely the opposite of what we were familiar with.

Putting aside the rather disturbing implication that this world might not have had any real will or independence if it existed purely to do the opposite of what Mobius did, this meant that it had a Sonic the Hedgehog of its very own, as well as a father to that Sonic. Sadly though, this Sonic's father was not that kind to him. In fact, he was said to be a rather poor excuse for a father, as evidenced by how he didn't give his son enough attention, and... oh, that's it.

How awful.

I'd say his choice of attire is the real crime presented here.

Anti-Mobius in its original form experienced a period of Great Peace, but alas, it was not to last. It soon became a shadow of its former glory, which seemed prophetic in hindsight, as it was by this time that this world's Sonic the Hedgehog - Evil Sonic - murdered his own father in cold blood, and then threw his world's incarnation of King Maximilian Acorn into the Zone of Silence. He quickly became a dictator to the people of Anti-Mobius, with his only immediate opposition coming in the form of the kindhearted counterpart to Dr. Ivo Robotnik... or should that be Dr. Julian Robotnik, in this continuity...? Hmm, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore...

Naturally, the laws of the universe saw fit to correct this wrong. Just as water is wet, and fire is hot, Sonic gives evildoers a right kicking. And lo and behold, our magnificent hero did eventually meet his evil duplicate. The two were evenly matched in speed, but the good-natured Sonic triumphed regardless, possibly because he had more wittiness on his person.

Pictured: Quality banter.

Evil Sonic later brought along the rest of his gang to aid him, who predictably mirrored Sonic's own band of Freedom Fighters. They were just as much of a match for our heroes, which is a polite way of saying they weren't. You really shouldn't expect anything exquisite when they looked like this.

Maybe you should call your group something else then...

These parlor games went on for a while, with the status quo never truly changing. But then, after one final showdown with Sonic, the evil Robotnik of Mobius kicked the bucket, which among other things, inspired ANOTHER Robotnik to fill the void. This Robo-Robotnik took Evil Sonic along with him to commit many acts of dastardly intent, an act of generosity that proved to be tragically undermined by Evil Sonic getting caught and trapped by different people time and time again, to the point where even his old gang had long replaced him with a new leader. He did go on to escape the grasp of one Zonic the Zone Cop... only to later get arrested again by the same guy. So far, so adorably incompetent, right?

Still, he did bust out once more, and he proceeded to turn the overall universe into a glorified soap drama by pulling the moves on numerous ladies in Mobius, which in true Evil Sonic style, achieved precisely nothing of merit. Even after he briefly teamed up with Rouge the Bat, his luck persisted in not manifesting. But things were about to get even worse... for us. On a meta level, if you know what I mean.

After one final botched attempt at pointless thievery, with the Master Emerald being the prime target in this particular case, Evil Sonic's attempt to gain himself a super form was halted midway with great force by none other than Locke, the notorious father and attempted microwave murderer of Knuckles the Echidna. Rather than kill him however, all this did was change his fur to green, and leave him with some hardcore scars.

He promptly renamed himself Scourge. Because he's a real SCOURGE to good ideas, har har.

New kid in town, do not steal.

With his first act of villainy as a new man tattering to pieces due to foolishly invoking the wrath of Shadow the Hedgehog, he soon crossed paths with Dr. Finitevus, an albino echidna who otherwise looked exactly like Knuckles (good heavens, how many of these can one muster?), and spent some time on his side by aiding a new gang of lovely gentlemen called the Destructix. Together, these functioning psychopaths committed more mindless evil.

He also managed to swoon over Fiona Fox to his side, a miraculous modicum of success considering you need some sort of charm to be able to do that, of which Scourge has shown nil. I'm hardly an expert on dishing out romantic advice, but I'm willing to bet there's plenty of superior fish in the sea, Fiona...

How about “Oh my god, did I seriously die to THESE losers?”

Eventually, Scourge and Fiona broke away from Finitevus' allegiance after the deadly and boring Enerjak was unleashed on Mobius. He returned to Anti-Mobius, and it turned out that any repairs made since the last time he was king didn't amount to anything substantial, because he went and conquered the entire land all over again. Rechristening his old gang as the Suppression Squad, he continued Being Evil™ some more, until the aforementioned Suppression Squad betrayed him for constantly being abhorrent to them, which led to him being stuck with Rosy the Rascal for a while, yet another shameful derivative of a close friend.

In his last days, at long last, he finally achieved a super form with the power of an Anarchy Beryl... only to get soundly thrashed once again, get thrown in prison, and then just when it seemed he'd be back in business, he got wiped out by the Genesis Wave. Tch, Mondays, am I right?

As you can tell from my words alone, let alone in an extremely abridged format, he did a fair amount over the years... and yet at the same time, when you really think about it, he ultimately did so very little.

Oh, and there was also a Metal Scourge at one point. I'm aware that the man who made him has never been all there in the head, but I still find myself questioning why he saw fit to go through with this nonsense.

I shouldn't need to say this, but that's a disgrace to the hostile Eggman robot that I know and detest.

The Design: Well, he started off as a Sonic, so it's to be expected that he'd look exactly like the lovable goof. Since this was ~Evil~ Sonic though, he was determined to remind us at all times that Grease was in fact the word.

~You're the one I don't want, you're not the one for, no-ho-ho, honey~

Then he turned green, and... yeah, he turned green. All I can say, really.

Please excuse me, I'm utterly beside myself with amazement.

It doesn't quite strike the imaginative chords, needless to say. And neither does his super state, which... I'm sorry, it's not normally my cup of tea to chide others for their appearance, but just look at this tripe for a moment.

No, I don't think I will.

When you combine his already ridiculous self with black eyes and a tiara... what exactly is the intent here? Am I supposed to be intimidated by this display?

Keep this between us if you can, but personally, I'm more intimidated by staircases than I am by this fiend.

The Personality: You would think that since a Sonic is a Sonic, Scourge would share a lot of his personality with our Sonic. And that is true... in the most superficial sense possible.

Sure, he's jovial, cocky, and prone to moments of overconfidence, which is enough to sound very familiar to us on paper. Beyond that however, that's all they really have in common beside their appearance. In every other category, you could argue that Scourge is the exact opposite of Sonic.

For instance, whereas Sonic is supremely loyal to his friends (trust me, I’m grateful to know!), Scourge treats his gang like fetid garbage, and that's when he's not outright abandoning them, neglecting them, and putting them in danger. Likewise, whereas Sonic is a blue bundle of bravery no matter the odds, Scourge is a poor little chicken when the going gets tough, despite all his ramblings about being Sonic's full potential.

This means that for all the acclaim he receives as Sonic's evil doppelganger... he shares very few similarities with who he's replicating. He's barely any different from all the other ruffians that Sonic faces, so what point is there to him being a Sonic at all? If he had a different name and design entirely, what would honestly be lost in translation?

But then, maybe he would just become Mephiles the Dark instead.

Or Mimic the Octopus instead.

Or Eggman Nega instead.

Or Ken Penders instead.

Or... sheesh, they all kind of blend together after a while, don’t they?

The Execution: If my general tone has thus far not been enough of an obvious indication, I do not rank Scourge with any particular favouritism when it comes to Sonic's rogue gallery.

Mind you, ANYONE who threatens our world and tries to kill my friends is nothing but rancid at their core, and as long as they remain unrepentant, I would never support any of them. Asking me which dangerous maniac is “the best” is like asking me which sewage stinks the least, after all. But even I can understand that there's a right way to do bad, and a wrong way to do bad. Scourge, Evil Sonic, whatever you wish to call him, falls squarely into the latter category.

How I'd love to shove an arrow up His Majesty's rear end.

First of all, his motivations were poorly structured, and that's putting it tactfully. Most of the time, we're led to assume that he does evil for no other reason than because it's evil, so we're already not looking at masterpiece material. But as it turns out, as I mentioned way earlier on, he grew resentful of his father for not giving him as much attention as he felt he deserved.

So when he killed his dear old dad, and went on to do everything else to bitterly stick it to his dad's memory, we're supposed to... sympathise...? Understand his point of view, perhaps...?

Well, I dare say I'll be sticking my nose up to THAT presumption, because there is no pathos to be had here. None at all. It's just a selfish brat becoming a violent and murderous selfish brat, and nothing more. By doing everything for evil's sake, intertwined with this sorry excuse of a tragic backstory, it's as if he's trying to have the best of both villainous worlds, without understanding what makes either of them work.

Secondly, for what little success that Scourge actually had to his name, few of them were by his own hand so to speak. As much as it pains me to give Dr. Eggman even a veneer of kudos, it does require mentioning that for all of the doctor's contemptible attributes, he truly is single-handedly responsible for a great majority of his own... achievements, if you wish to call them such. By contrast, this stinker rarely worked for his moments, instead often relying solely on others to get anything done efficiently, whether it be Fiona, Finitevus, his gangs, or the Anarchy Beryl. Without them, Scourge was always nothing.

Thirdly, as mentioned, he failed to fulfill even the basic concept of what Sonic would be like if he became evil, since he has virtually nothing in common with the hero he's trying so desperately to present himself as the corrupted counterpart to. While I'd obviously prefer not to entertain the mere notion of an evil Sonic anyways, since I know deep in my heart that he would never go down that path, I know him well enough to reasonably assume that even if he did lose his way, he would still be recognisable in some capacity, since there are countless aspects to his personality that remain so... inherent to how his mind operates.

I guess what I'm saying is that if an evil Sonic came to be, he would exist as a darker mirror of how Sonic actually is, and not... something that is not at all like Sonic beyond the physical.

What's the matter? Not used to a horse seeing you for what you really are?

Finally, remember when I said he was considerably more cowardly than Sonic? I wasn't simply referring to life or death battles and similar heat of the moment situations. Even when the scenario is of lower intensity, when the odds are completely in his favor at that, Scourge proves himself to be what Sonic isn't. Remember when he broke into the house of Sonic's father, with the intent to intimidate and kill said father... only to be scolded into submission by him? We're expected to believe this guy is a big baddie who ranks high in threat level, yet getting a telling off is sufficient enough to shoo him away?

If only Eggman was this easy to deal with...

Now granted, it's to my understanding that all of Scourge's failings are occasionally explained as him being a parody character. But, and correct me if I'm wrong here... aren't parodies supposed to be, you know, parodic, even if done subtly? As opposed to being played completely straight with no trace of irony, which is exactly how Scourge was portrayed throughout the entire duration of the comic's run, with no exceptions whatsoever?

Despite how often the comic insisted otherwise, and despite how often he received it, Scourge was not a villain who warranted importance. He was not a master planner, or a legendary conquerer, or a malevolent force of nature. He was bottom of the barrel, a wannabe at best, who thought he was made for bigger stripes, but remained little more than a walking pile of fresh manure, with nothing to show for it till the very end. His credibility was often alluded to, and handed to him, but never in any stretch was it properly earned. A punk who occasionally got lucky is hardly worth the rank of arch-fiend, in my humble opinion. He was a disgrace who simply had the luxury of wearing Sonic's skin to mask his shortcomings, and I can’t say I’m crestfallen to see him go.

And quite frankly, anyone who impersonates Sonic in the first place reeks to high heaven anyway. To think this trash heap thought he could ever compare in the slightest to my darling... Oh goodness, did I say that out loud?

Lutrudis Gives Scourge a: Thumbs Down!

[myakkoh]

set me free (and let me be in your arms)

(Read on Ao3 here!)

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His hands are shaking. Dark eyes briefly follows his movements, the loud hum of the lightsaber echoing in his ears as the voice in his head grows louder, grows unbearable easy to bear. Fox knows his duty, knows what he must do, so why can’t he move?

“Traitor,” Fox rasps, the blaster in his hands shaking along with him. Tries to aim, but it hurts and hurts and hurts-

Green illuminates the Jedi’s face, familiar unfamiliar eyes watching him carefully, clouded with an emotion he knows he doesn’t know. The silence is only broken when Kolar speaks, something raw in his voice. “Drop your blaster, Fox. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Traitor, he thinks, and his head hurts and he doesn’t know why. He has gotten his orders, has seen Kolar move towards the Chancellor with his lightsaber ignited, with the intent to kill. Fake, fake, fake, you wouldn’t lie to me, why- “Jedi General Agen Kolar, you have tried to assassinate the Chancellor, but you have failed,” Fox says, the words like ashes on his tongue.

Kolar’s face steels, the grip on the lightsaber tightening. His voice doesn’t waver, doesn’t even stutter when the Jedi takes a step forward. There’s only purpose in his movements. “Fox. Move. Now,” Kolar tells him, a warning in his words. Something throbs in his head, lets him take in a shaky breath, like there’s something wrong here, but there is.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, Agen, help me-

“Fox. Move,” the Jedi repeats, and it sounds like his voice is breaking like the delicate glasses that he’s seen the Senators try to use. But it’s not breaking, but his heart is squeezing tightly and it hurts and all he wants to do is to scream-

“The Republic will be safe from the hands of you Jedi scum,” is all Fox says.

The Chancellor laughs darkly behind him, the man’s words a tangled mess in his ears as he tries to aim towards Kolar’s hearts. A quick death, he promises himself as the Jedi’s eyes narrow towards him. The lightsaber still doesn’t move.

The understanding look Agen gave him when he explained what he’s trapped in, the smirk when Agen dragged him towards him as they jumped down from a building, he remembers, remembers the soft look when they ride up to the Chancellor’s office, the gentle movements of his hands when they saved Fives from his repeating doom-

Fox meets Kolar’s eyes, and softly says, “Die, Jedi scum.”

He fires his blaster. Kolar doesn’t move from his position, but the lightsaber deflects the shot towards the wall, leaves a smouldering black hole of smoke there. The slight tilt of the Jedi’s head makes him want to reach for him stab him. There’s no hesitation as Kolar meets his gaze, doesn’t look away and it takes his breath away.

Agen, please, please, get out, get out of here, I don’t- I can’t-

“Fox.” It’s not a question, just a flat statement of his name as Kolar stares at him. The lightsaber shorts out, as Kolar clips it to his belt and assumes a neutral position. “I won’t harm you.”

“Jedi fool,” the Chancellor hisses from behind him. “He knows what his duty is.”

He knows what his duty is, but his heart hurts and he can’t breathe and all he wants is relief from that. His eyes seem to be blurring, but Fox keeps his blaster aimed towards the traitor, who takes a couple of steps forward. No, he tells himself firmly as he pulls the trigger again. He will not allow the Jedi to lay a hand on the Chancellor.

Kolar moves to the side, but nearly stumbles when the shot hits his shoulder. A grimace tears itself across the Jedi’s face before it’s wiped away and replaced with a look of determination. A hand presses against the wound, and he can see the bright red colour of blood coming away, the way Kolar doesn’t flinch at the sight. A slow blink of dark eyes before Fox aims his blaster again.

Another shot to the same shoulder, but Agen Kolar keeps moving towards him, if not but slower. Panic flares inside of him as his hands continue to shake when he fires again, only to miss Kolar’s arm and hit the wall instead. The wound on the Jedi’s shoulder is slowly bleeding, drips to the floor in a trail of crimson red, but Kolar keeps walking like it doesn’t bother him.

Agen-

“Why won’t you die, traitor?” Fox demands, his voice cracking to his horror, and his head hurts like those words are wrong, but they’re right and the Chancellor is right so why-

“You told me to live,” Kolar answers quietly, with certainty and stops right in front of him. He can’t move, nor can he hear the Chancellor from behind him as he stares at the familiar eyes of Kolar. His breath hitches, stops when the barrel of his blaster hits Kolar’s chest, his hands still shaking.

It’s Kolar’s words that seem to be making his eyes blurring with tears. Fox doesn’t even know why he’s crying. Doesn’t know what to say when- “You can kill me right now.”

“Traitor,” is all Fox can say with a trembling voice as he tries to pull the trigger, but he can’t. Is this a Jedi trick? he wonders as dark eyes seem to peer deep into his soul. If it is, then he wants to run, escape. To get out of it as fast of possible, but the tightening of his chest is easing and he can breathe easier.

A warm hand gently grasps his own hands, while something removes the blaster from the grip of his hands. Fox can see black dotted tattoos swirling across the bridge of Kolar’s nose, up and around his horns, and it steals his breath away again. Red is still dripping from Kolar’s shoulder, but Kolar doesn’t pay any heed to it, only to look down at Fox with a soft look.

A familiar soft look, the same look Agen gave him when they were heading towards the Chancellor’s office. He wants, he wants it to be true, wants it so, so much, Agen, just run-

“Trust me,” Kolar murmurs, bends down to press his forehead against his, and he’s shaking, gasping and-

It’s suddenly clear. His head is suddenly clear.

“A-Agen?” Fox asks, his voice weak, Agen only letting out a grunt of acknowledgement. Order 66, he thinks, feels a claw raking down his spine as he thinks about it. He nearly killed one of his jetii. The realization is one of horror and terror, and that he was ready to kill Agen with no remorse. “You- you have to go and run- the Jedi Council needs to know about this-!”

Agen doesn’t say anything, only tugging Fox to lean against his chest as he stares at the one behind them. The Chancellor wanted him to murder Agen, and- Fives was right, Fives was right that the Chancellor was going to kill him, and it’s horrifying. They’ve all trusted him. How did no one see this? Because the Chancellor has everyone wrapped around his fingers, he realizes with his blood running cold.

One word against them, and he and Agen can be killed.

“Well, I didn’t expect this turnout of events,” Palpatine says coolly, and he can feel Agen tightening his grip on him. Levels his eyes towards the Chancellor and he holds onto Agen’s robes, still shaking. Palpatine’s posture is one of arrogance and certainty, warm blue eyes bleeding into cold yellow ones. “What did you do to him to gain this result, Master Kolar?”

“He trusted me.” A plain and simple statement, a hard truth that only Agen can express this bluntly but- it’s true. Somehow, Fox managed to place his trust in Agen, and it allowed him to be free of the control over him.

Palpatine only sneers, his hands rising to reveal crackles of lightning dancing between fingertips. “Defective, then,” is all the Chancellor says and aims his hands at them. “I will have to kill both of you, then. Such a tragic death for two heroes who tried to prevent the assassination of the Chancellor. A fitting end for both of you indeed.”

Fox sucks in a breath as the lightning heads towards them, as if it’s in slow motion. Turns around swiftly, roughly pushing Agen back away from him as he feels something wrap around him. It makes him scream, the heat in his veins, the excruciating pain that seems to be echoing across every part of his body. Makes his eyes fall tight right after seeing the look of horror that briefly passes Agen’s face.

He feels himself fall, and-

Everything goes dark.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #455

Top Ten Comedy Sidekicks

Ha, LOL, ROFL, guffaw, snort. Comedy, eh? You’ve got to love it, unless you somehow fall through a timewarp into a late-seventies working men’s club in Blackburn and you find yourself choking to death on second-hand smoke, mother-in-law jokes, and a simmering undercurrent of racist violence. Good times!

Anyway, it’s fairly common that even in the most serious of narratives and with the most serious of protagonists, we need a little chuckle very now and again (nobody tell Zack Snyder – actually, no, scratch that, somebody definitely tell Zack Snyder). It lightens the load, makes the world more nuanced and realistic, and even makes the truly dark moments stand out all the stronger. Most films have a bit of a joke every once in a while (and, of course, Shakespeare’s tragedies are full of comic characters or bits of business), and one very common trope is the Comedy Sidekick.

What is a Comedy Sidekick? Well, it’s a supporting character who offers comic relief, basically. sometimes this can be obviously discernible – Luis in Ant-Man, for example, may function as a plot engine from time to time, but has little in the way of actual character development and is mostly there to be funny whilst the heroes do hero stuff. Sometimes it’s harder to define; I mean, are either of the Blues Brothers a comedy sidekick? Arguably Jake is the lead and Elwood is a bit more of a “turn” (he’s almost eternally deadpan and unemotional), but I’d never say one was inherently funnier or “straighter” than the other. And the you get onto films like Aladdin: sure, Aladdin himself is obviously the protagonist, and there’s an argument to be made that the Genie is a comic relief supporting character, but I feel in this case he’s far too integral to the plot, played by a significantly more famous actor, and really just dominates the film to the extent that he becomes the de facto lead (see also: Captain Jack Sparrow). Again, in Men in Black, Will Smith’s J is clearly the “funny” one, but Smith is also the bigger star and the audience entry point; plus, Tommy Lee Jones is hilarious as the deadpan K. So it’s not as simple as it may first appear.

Anyway, the ten in this list are ones I define as definitely being supporting characters. They may be big characters, in terms of plot or development, but they’re definitely there in support of another protagonist. And whilst they may be fully-rounded characters with their own arcs, their primary function is to be funny; they’re the ones who deliver the comedy lines back to the main character, or crack a joke at the end of a serious bit.

Right, I think that’s my usual ridiculous caveats out of the way. Now let’s make ‘em laugh.

Baldrick (Tony Robinson, Blackadder series, 1983-99): Baldrick is one of the supreme comic idiots in all of fiction. Serving as a perfect foil to Blackadder, he is not only supremely stupid but also his niceness and naiveté serves to undercut his master’s wickedness; plus his idiocy is often the undoing of Blackadder’s villainous plans. But he is also charmingly fully-rounded, oblivious to his own stupidity, possessed of “cunning plans”, and with a great love of turnips. A phenomenal turn from Robinson.

Sir John Falstaff (various plays by William Shakespeare, from 1597): is it cheating to include as significant and iconic a literary figure as Falstaff? Feels a bit like it, especially as he's practically a lead (and, indeed, becomes one in Merry Wives). But really he’s the archetype: a supremely vain and self-serving comic foil, but one with vast hidden depths as he’s keenly aware of his own frailties and the inevitable end of his good times with Prince Hal.

Father Dougal McGuire (Ardal O’Hanlon, Father Ted 1995-98): in many ways he’s a slightly watered-down version of Baldrick’s comic idiot; but Dougal is, if anything, even stupider, and less self-aware. He’s like a perfect idiot, a beautiful naïve fool, a supreme man-child with his Masters of the Universe duvet. And he’s divine, just incredibly hilarious throughout; and, like Baldrick, serves as the perfect foil for his more duplicitous and cynical elder.

Donkey (Eddie Murphy, Shrek, 2001): animated sidekicks are very often the comic relief, and I’d argue that Murphy’s Donkey is as good as they come. I actually think Murphy’s prior turn as Mushu in Mulan is probably the better character, but Donkey is just a comic force of nature, a creature who exists only to make everything dafter and funnier. It allowed Murphy a chance to go all-out in a way he hadn’t on screen for quite some time, and it was something we’d rarely seen in animation (arguably only Robin Williams’ Genie is in the same ballpark). Plus, he actually is a good friend to Shrek, bringing out his better nature. Well done, Eddie!

Danny Butterman (Nick Frost, Hot Fuzz, 2007): another of those characters who really skirts the edges of “supporting comic relief” and is really a deuteragonist. But I feel like most of Frost’s characters in his partnerships with Simon Pegg are, essentially, supportive; Pegg is almost always the lead. In this film, despite Danny having some great development and functioning almost as a romantic partner for Pegg’s Nick Angel, he’s usually presented as a beautiful comic foil, his folksy, slobby demeanour contrasting perfectly with Angel’s straitlaced professionalism. And – for the second film in a row – he gets a tremendous C-bomb.

Luis (Michael Peña, Ant-Man, 2015): another comic fool, Luis is the silly, charming, endearing, loveable thorn in the side of Paul Rudd’s Scott Lang. He’s daft, yeah, and comes across as a bit dim, but his permanently-smiling demeanour means we just keep on loving him, even when we can see how annoying he would be. but what cements his position is his rapid-fire OTT explanations, and how the movie presents them; pieces of comedic joy in the MCU.

Cosmo Brown (Donald O’Connor, Singin’ in the Rain, 1952): Singin’ is one of those great Golden Age movies full of witty dialogue (as well as great songs, natch), and by its nature Gene Kelly is the lead and therefore straight man, whereas O’Connor’s Cosmo can be wackier and funnier, and in doing so get to the truth of what his friend is feeling. But what really gets him in this list is his performance of “Make ‘Em Laugh”, running up walls like he’s in The Matrix or something, and feeling like a Bugs Bunny cartoon brought to life.

Silent Bob (Kevin Smith, View Askiewniverse, from 1994): I guess you could argue that both Bob and his less-silent colleague Jay are, as a twosome, the comedy sidekicks in whichever films they’re in (apart from the two they headline, I guess); but if you take the pair on their own, I’d say Bob is the comic of the duo. Yeah, it’s Jay who’s the mile-a-minute loudmouth, cracking jokes and being explosively filthy. But who really gets the laughs? For my money it’s Smith’s perfectly-judged expressions, punctuating the pomposity or reinforcing the eccentricity of whatever Jay’s on about. And then every now and again he gets to speak, and delivers a great one-liner (“no ticket!”) or serious, heartfelt monologue (cf. Chasing Amy).

Semmi (Arsenio Hall, Coming to America, 1988): Semmi is supposed to be a loyal and devoted servant to Prince Akeem, and he is, I guess; but he’s also a true friend. Akeem’s quest to find love in New York is genuine, and despite the film’s high joke quantity, Eddie Murphy has to be relatively restrained in his lead role. Hall’s Semmi, on the other hand, gets to be acerbic, throwing shade and barbs at his lord, questing their quest and seeking his own share of wealth and, well, women. And we all love his line “you sweat from a baboon’s balls”.

Dory (Ellen DeGeneres, Finding Nemo, 2003): as discussed above, comedy cartoon sidekicks are a cinematic staple. They’re not often female, however, and even more rare is a female character who gets to be both funnier and seemingly dumber/goofier than the lead. Of course, Dory is full of pathos, a borderline tragic character whose chronic memory loss has a dreadful impact on her day-to-day life. It’s her sunny optimism (“just keep swimming!”) that makes her endearing more than her humour, however; and, of course, it’s this optimism that begins to chip away at Marlin’s (Albert Brooks’) flinty suit of armour. Funny, warm, makes our hero a better person, but can be a little bit sad – perfect comedy sidekick.

There are two that I’m annoyed that I couldn’t fit in so I'll mention them here: Carrie Fisher in When Harry Met Sally and Danny Kaye in White Christmas. In the former case, whilst Fisher’s Marie is hilarious throughout, and definitely comic relief when put alongside the relatively straight Sally, the fact that everyone, really, gets a lot of funny lines in what is a consistently funny film kinda knocked her down the rankings a little bit, even though I feel bad about it, because everything is always better if Carrie FIsher is in it, including these lists. Kaye’s Phil Davis in White Christmas absolutely steals that film from Bing Crosby, with fast-paced witty wordplay and some supreme physical comedy, and the running gag about how he saved the life of Crosby’s Bob Wallace is golden. But, I dunno, he just kept slipping down the list, despite being my favourite thing in that film. Sorry, Danny.

[cawolters]

✷ Babes in the Well ✷ (Liar Alliance snippet)

Good day to you! It’s been a minute, but here I am with a little thing that I think you guys might think will be a neat read.

It’s a little snippet of a scene I wrote between charming young King Deria and my newly hatched/refined character, gloomy necromantic Hinrich. 

(Hinrich is a Mask btw, a sort of ambassador to the Kings of the ten kingdoms in the empire.)

Where: Tall Castle at the beginning of book two

Who: Deria is talking

What: He’s wandering the Chalice Room, looking at paintings and thinking about magic when he’s interrupted by a gloomy apparition. 

WC: 1800

Themes: Ghost magic, politcal intrigue, secret coup!!

Is it gay?

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Well. Yes, on multiple levels, but not explicit in this scene.

Unfortunately. 

Plot needs pages too.

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✴ BLUE FLAG ✴

What a delightful day it was indeed. The sunlight in the mountains cast its gentle overcast glare over the hills as afternoon clouds drifted slowly over the subtly rising and falling hills deep down, down, in the valley, below my childhood home, Tall Castle.

The patterns of shy light and then sporadic sharp beams, raying out of the heavens and touching a little cottage outside the village, was more enchanting than magic.

Or, I would have thought that before I had seen the gold coin eyes of the Blade by the Empress’ side. Ah, and then her flat pieces of dull ebony to contrast his. They had been standing so close and then she had laughed. I saw it, a flower blooming in the deep dark night.

Magic indeed.  

I drifted away from the massive window and toward the far end of the grand chambers of the vacant Chalice Room . My father had called it the Chalice Room because of the grand ornamented stone goblets that ran along the walls on either side of a wide aisle, making an elongated space where politics could merge or divide in its rift.

It was here all the meets with the kingdoms were held. In the middle was the round stone table, large enough and fit for Kings and just a moment ago it had been stuffed with every inch of the continent. The Ten Kings, or, rather our four border kingdoms that could come to us within a week, had gathered here in the tallest of castles, but to what end?

I wondered.

My eyes followed the walls. Paintings, taller than two able men on top of each other’s shoulders, were hung between the lit oil-chalices. King after King draped in deep rich velvets, queens and offspring, squeezed into gilded frames. More often than not, there were more than seven people stacked together in dim rooms and posing.

As I walked, their lifelike eyes followed me. Even my own green gaze, almost hidden behind the black sorrow veil that honored my late father, seemed eager to stalk me through the fabric on my stroll. It would stay like that for five years, covered with black silk to grieve The Great Fifth King. The Wall To The North. Praise in his name.

My face twitched, entirely involuntary, and I quickened my pace for the next two paintings until I got where I had wanted to go.

I stopped at the end of the aisle and came closer to the portrait, larger still than the rest and looking almost empty as there were only three people in the dim light of a dark background. 

Kōrudo, The Cold. The Emperor.

Ohtani, The Sun Smile. 

His lovely tragic wife that looked like she had never smiled in a hundred years, and now she never would. And then, there, holding her mother’s hand; their little daughter. 

Empress Shiroin. The Pure One.

I almost laughed out loud at the nickname.

I had seen this portrait many a time of course. I had admired that oddity of the first girl to be born in the imperial line for a thousand years, but now that I had seen her in person, had had her presence just a breath away from mine, I never imagined an artist to be so wrong about a face.

The portrait looked like her, the likeness was there, no doubt, but he had caught her wrong. The artist’s hand must have begged him to dot those two fictive pearls of oil-white in her black gaze, add that tint of pink life on her cheeks and erase some of that hatred that blazed out of her face like the cutting rays of sun in my valley.

She had only been five when the painting had come into creation, so small a human, but in truth not looking like a human at all. Despite the artist’s efforts.

“Have you fallen in love?”

The quiet voice behind me, slightly distorted into more whispery voices speaking simultaneously, sent my heart racing and made me whip my head over my shoulder. 

When I immediately spotted the menacing cloaked figure of Hinrich, standing in the middle of the Chalice Room, appeared out of thin air, my stomach did a small flip as unease hit it.

His cloak moved as if under water, wavering around his ankles and framing his pale face irregularly. Hinrich’s mass was see-through. An undead ghost. The Mask of Kaiserhof.

I sighed dramatically in a smile, suppressing the urge to flee, and turned back to the painting. My eyes once more seeking Shiroin’s pits.

“Yes always, and with everyone. It’s not a sporadic occurrence it’s a chronic condition. You should adapt my philosophies, Hinrich, then perhaps you wouldn’t look like a wraith who wants to crawl down a well and haunt it.”

Though I had my back to him, I could sense the Mask had glided closer while I talked. His presence had changed the temperature of the room.

“My philosophies are my own, they don’t need outside pollution. And wells are only haunted by dead whore-babes. Not men. I fish for them when my work demands bones and rotting flesh.” He said, quietly, the wisp of a voice far away and carried to my castle with death magic.

By the Gods he was a creepy sort of errand boy. We had been dealing with each other since the Empress had first vanished and I had almost gotten used to it by now, his unsettling being and ghoul magic, but admittedly not totally.

“Gone to the Gods through a wet hole.” I joked lightly, “what an enchanting way to depart this world. Out the way we came in, and frequently visits, no?”

He wasn’t actually a ghost of course. I would not have had the stomach to engage if he had been dead.

When I turned, his mouth was sour, disgust crinkling one side of his straight nose sitting on his translucent face.  

“If you’re talking about sticking your cock in somewhere, it better be the Empress.” The light in the room did not fall on him, and he cast no shadow.

“Now now, Hinrich, manners. I am still a King after all.”

“Not my King.” He was a statue, staring at me and pissing me right in the face without a flinch. Then he added:

“Did she comply to the marriage?”

I threw my head back in a loud laugh. The Chalice Room made it sound like a roar.

“Comply?! Good Sir, Have you met her?”

Hinrich’s expression told me that he hadn’t and that he had no interest of ever doing so. All he wanted was his master’s orders carried out. He was an unsettling figure, but a good lapdog, to the right lap.

“If you cannot deliver, we will recruit one of the others. Errin’s King is unwed too.”

“Are you threatening me with ‘The sickling from the swamps’? I have the wall, the army, the looks and I am what they call a ‘team player’. I’m a quality bargain.” I smiled wider and tilted my head, “Besides. If you just wanted an unwed King to lock down the Empress with a ring, or stick something still up her dress, why not use your own?”

I knew exactly why. I was dealing a friendly blow, aimed right up under Hinrich’s arm at the only spot I knew he was truly sore.

“Hm, why hasn’t Eckhart apparition joined us here at Tall Castle to seduce the Grand Empress?”

In a blink his ghost was nose to nose with me. Hinrich wasn’t actually dead. His young, able, body was alive and well in Kaiserhof, but his spirit, tainted and twisted as it were, was right here with me. And though he was not haunting me, the illusion of terror, in that moment, was rather convincing.

I gulped.

Hinrich could not touch me, I had tested that when I had thrown a book at him the first time he came to me, but he was freezing my blood.

“Never take my King’s name in your dirty mouth.” His warning was slow and hateful.

There was a long pause where I could only see his sunken in eyes and feel the ice.

I slowly wet my lips with the tip of my tongue. My bones were shaking.

“Are we about to share our first kiss?” I whispered.

Another pause slid by, in which Hinrich processed my third joke of the day. Then he drifted backwards. Not amused at all.  

“Deria, the quick. You think you are so smart,” his gaze darkened “but you know nothing. Make her say yes. Force her to be your ring.” The word ‘ring’ was a quiet bark his mouth.

“Force her? And how would I do that. Let me tell you, she almost stabbed me twice already, I’m sure she’s eager to actually spear me through my throat the third time I give her an excuse.”

Heinrich didn’t hesitate.

“Use the war.”

My smile fell.

“… Retract my forces? Then the empire loses two thirds of the world army.”

The Mask didn’t blink and he didn’t answer.

“But… Then the war is not ours. The Elsalvians could win, we don’t know their numbers with utmost certainty. Hinrich, people would die -A lot of people, my people your people, everyone! And mine are the first to meet the doomsday fire on our doorstep.” I ran a hand through my curls. “It- it’s the thousand year war, by the Gods! I won’t risk all of humankind for a coup at puts me at the top. I am not starved for a power that comes at that price.”

“Do what you have to.”

“You’re not hearing me, I can’t agree-“ I started but Hinrich interrupted me.

“It’s a threat. The Grand Empress will have to take you as her ring, for the sake of the empire. She will fold. Use the war.” Hinrich drifted backwards, his cloak soaring and floating in water that wasn’t there.

“And if she says no? She’s not striking me as a humanitarian.” I bit. I was getting angry now.

“This will happen whether you want it to or not. You cannot stop it.” His strange hissing voice was fading, the winter cold was becoming more tolerable.

I gaped at him in disbelief before I found my reply.

“Maybe I can stop you. I could expose your little illegal spells to the worlds, the other kingdoms, and then you’d be burned before the rooster is crowing on the last day of this week.”

His face scrunched up as he snarled.

“Try, and you will know what true horror looks like.”

I opened my mouth but closed it again.

“That’s right. Do what you have to do. Or we will, King Deria.”

My name hung in the air for a moment and then the Mask was gone. Disappeared and dissolved like a drop of ink in the running river.

I stared at the spot Hinrich had just been. Contemplating how I was a mouse between two mountain lion. He had had a point. If I declined, they would stage their coup around me, shut me out and keep me in the dark while they worked their sorcery to manipulate the fate of the world.

My hands became fists of their own as I strode out of the Chalice Room.

“Fucking magic.”

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-Ciao-

[aerisdraws]

Under the snow moon

Big thank you to my guild Mistspread [FOOLS] for hosting a wonderful full moon tarot night guild event. Special thank you to @lesbiancharr​ for being an excellent photographer and the card reader! Thanks to all those who read this story and provided feedback. 

The wind howled outside the mouth of the cave, occasionally triggering an eerie hum that echoed through the tunnel. Snowflakes swirled at a breakneck pace — the blizzard was picking up, and it was going to be a long night.

Solvi prowled along the cold rocky walls, her footsteps soundlessly landing in Sahar’s, the snow leopard that preceded her. Sahar’s spotted silver coat blended almost seamlessly with the surroundings as the feline cautiously stepped forward. There were ice imps in this cave, and while they were only a minor threat, they remained a nuisance. Best to avoid them, particularly as they attacked in swarms. Together they quietly traced the outline of the underground system.

The pair had initially entered the cave seeking shelter, but as they wandered deeper, the soft sound of voices bounced off the walls. Solvi could make out both male and female voices, so it couldn’t be Svanir, and they lacked the rich timbre of Kodan. As they snuck closer to the source, it sounded like... a party?

Solvi rounded the corner, bow in hand with a notched arrow, ready to get the drop on hostiles. Sahar crouched low, bracing to pounce. A large room came into view, carved into the belly of the mountain, and the occupants were revealed. 

To say it was a party was an overstatement, but it was a merry band of... she couldn’t quite tell. There were many sylvari — surely they’d freeze in this arctic weather? — and a handful of humans, as well as a number of charr. The last were not a big surprise, considering the proximity of the charr tribelands to norn territory, but these didn’t look like legion soldiers. 

“Relax,” she whispered to Sahar. Solvi stowed her bow. These people were unlikely to pick a fight, and they’d likely be more inclined to share the warmth of their fire with her if she approached them in a friendly manner. She considered removing her mask, but decided that she’d rather not run the risk of being recognised. Not everyone was a friend.

Now that she was out of the blizzard and had a chance to warm up, the snow that peppered her hair and clothing started to melt. Her skin seemed to steam in the glowing light of the fire — a sight not uncommon with norn, nature’s most efficient furnaces. She waved at the group as she approached them. Most were in animated, enthusiastic conversation. Another, more broody type, sat in the corner of the room. Solvi caught a few words. Something about murder, killing and the Pit... None of my business. Perhaps she’d approach the cheerier group first. 

As soon as she made it within the circle of strangers, a peculiar-looking pink-clad charr padded her way towards the red haired huntress. The chard’s soft white muzzle filled Solvi’s field of vision, sniffing the giantess’s person. 

“You have a strange energy! Would you like me to do a reading for you?” the white charr asked. 

Solvi looked at them with a quizzical expression. “A... reading?” Strange gathering indeed. 

The stranger nodded. “With my cards. You’re norn, aren’t you? Do you follow a Spirit?”

“I do,” the huntress replied. She glanced at Sahar, who had begun to pace around the charr, picking up her scent. Solvi’s green eyes darted back to the stranger. “My chosen totem is Wolf. He guides me when I need it most.” The crackling fire flickered for an instant, the silhouettes of the cave’s occupants dancing against the rock face.

The charr nodded knowingly, their friendly demeanour slowly putting Solvi at ease. “My cards offer guidance too – except that instead of calling to a Spirit, they use magic. Sit down, make yourself comfortable,” said the feline, waving to the warmth of the fire. “Do you have a question you would like answered?”

Solvi stepped forward and settled herself down beside the kind stranger. Sahar did not need to be told to relax, as soon as her companion had sat down the snow leopard curled up beside her, muzzle towards the flames. Solvi knew that Sahar was keeping a keen eye and ear on the crowd, despite her restful appearance. Comfortable and steadily warming up, Solvi took a moment to ponder. She had many questions, though most, she knew, could not be answered – yet. Her duties as commander had led her to making many grey decisions, of which their integrity was ambiguous. What did the ranger want to know? What could these cards answer? Could Trahearne have survived? What would he have done? No, there’s no use in torturing yourself over that again… and there’s no point in wondering if this struggle against the dragons will ever end. Surely there was something she could think of that didn’t awaken feelings of frustration. She wanted to know about something close to her heart, something almost forgotten. Solvi’s eyes twinkled as the question surfaced from the depths of her memory, a wisp of hope, loss, and love. She looked to the charr.

“There is something that weighs on my mind. A long time ago, I… I lost my pack.” Solvi furrowed her brow, trying to remember. She was so young when her parents had left her and her brother in Hoelbrak. The details were lost, like the horizon in a snowstorm. “I would like to know… if it is still worth looking for them, and if your cards can show me where to go.” She suppressed the urge to shift uncomfortably. It’s only memories. They won’t hurt you.

The question was asked. The charr revealed a deck of cards in their paw, padded digits gently grasping it. “I’ll shuffle the cards now. While I do it, focus on sending your energy towards me. When the cards are ready, I will draw them for you.” Solvi nodded, locks of red hair falling from her braid and sticking to her face as the snow melted. She closed her eyes, bringing her mind to stillness. Soon she felt the soft hum of energy that connected her to her snow leopard, but rather than following that thread, she searched for another. On her journey to become a soulbeast she’d learned that all things were connected, living and dead. Solvi found another hum, a different frequency that felt like the charr beside her. The norn focused on that lead, and tried to convey her emotions across the energy. Feelings of confusion, grief, and unshaken but dwindling hope. In her mind’s eye she saw herself, young and small and vulnerable, clawing in rage at the Wolf shaman that delivered her the news. The body of a child was too small to contain such enormous emotions, and even now as a fully grown norn, Solvi could barely fit the grief back into the small box she’d hidden away deep in her soul.

Inhale, exhale. The cards were drawn, sharp claws handling them with the delicacy of a feather. Ace of cups, seven of cups reversed, knight of cups. What they showed meant nothing to Solvi, but it only took the space of two breaths for the charr to understand.

Solvi’s interrogator cocked her head to the side curiously. Solvi noticed her four ears pricking as the charr interpreted the cards. “Could you tell me some more about your pack?” she asked, whiskers twitching. “How many were there, why did they go?”

“There were three in my pack, but only two were lost.” Solvi thought of her brother, with whom she had not spoken in… Spirits, it’s been many winters. Though Wolf taught her pack was her brothers and sisters, she could not help but feel guilt for the way she’d left things with her true brother. “I was only a pup when they left. It was for…” How do I explain that they left to forge their legend? “… work. They sailed south, and vanished. The trip was meant take only a few months, but when a year passed I was told the ship on which they sailed was… lost at sea.” Solvi was thankful for the mask that covered her face from the nose down. Though it could not hide the storm in her eyes, it did hide her clenched jaw. She swallowed the waves of emotion that threatened to burst her cool façade. It felt odd, talking to a stranger about something so personal. Perhaps that’s what made it easier: there was no judgement. The thoughts of an unknown person weighed less than the thoughts of people she cared about. The edge in her voice softened. “Over the years they’ve found some signs of it. Bits and pieces washing up on the shore, but no crew made it back.”

“Oh! The cups is a more clarified suit with that in mind…” pink eyes peered over each picture, seemingly unfazed by the tragic nature of the story. “The ace of cups, a crow looks into a cup overflowing with water – in the background, a crow holding a sun falls down. The aces are usually almost divine gifts: great potentials and opportunities.” The charr pondered, claw gently tapping the second card. “The seven of cups reversed. Upside down it’s the image of a crow surrounded by cups of different things, some good, some bad. She’s lost – shrouded and stuck in opportunity.” The claw traced the outline of the final card. “And then the knight of cups. He has mastered flying alongside a white horse as they journey along.”

The pair exchanged a glance. “So I think, overall what these cards are saying is… the seven of cups is clearly your crew, right? They must be adrift somewhere – trapped or lost or maybe even scattered.” The charr hummed. “It’s reversed, so they are kind of trapped by a ring of possibilities… mist world waters. It’s not an issue of having a way out, it’s… finding the right one for them.” Solvi saw the picture drawn by the reader in her mind: her parents, caught somewhere in-between worlds, the ship surrounded by fog. The reading continued. “You also have the ace of cups, which is overflowing with potential. I think this is you and your goals. The crow falling with the sun in the background symbolises the falling of your pack. You’re looking into the cup back on them and trying to find them in the waters.”

Obscure inner truths were revealed, knowledge untapped now bathed in light. While the answer remained elusive, Solvi saw new ideas in the charr’s words. What stood out to her the most was the presence of this black bird in each card. She reached a gloved finger and pointed at the corvid. “This looks like Raven. He encourages thinking out of the box, and this is certainly an unusual method. Maybe Raven has some guidance for me, and I’ve simply been asking the wrong questions.”

A smile drew its way along the stranger’s muzzle. “Maybe you should go as the crow flies,” they said with humour.

Solvi laughed, enchanted by these cards and their reader. “You’re clever and wise. Thank you for this reading. May the Spirits guide your hand when you next seek the counsel of the cards. What is your name?”

The charr seemed surprised. “Vetrius, uh…” they paused for a moment and glanced at the cards. “Pathreader.” Vetrius smiled. “I am sure our paths will cross again.”

Solvi returned the smile, though it was hidden under the mask. “I have no doubt it will, Vetrius Pathreader. Come, Sahar” she said, and the snow leopard came to its feet, stretching its spine. Solvi rose, her own legs feeling stiff from sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours. Most of the eclectic group of people had left. The blizzard must have blown itself out. The norn brought two fingertips to her left cheekbone, touching the green tattoo just under her eye, and then turned her hand for her palm to face Vet. Her own way of saying ‘I see you’. “Thank you, again. Take care in this snow.”

With that, Sahar took the lead once more, guiding the pair out of the depths of the mountain. The wind had settled, and the night had cleared to reveal the full moon casting her silver light across the snowy ranges.

[mccoys-killer-queen]

Here it is- this week’s playlist (1/31)

My attempt at a so called “radio show” where I recommend 10 songs to everyone. Take it or leave it, I’ll still do this either way lmao.

This week I gotta start off with some of my more obvious picks. There’s gonna be a lot of feel-good songs, as this is my first time doing this, and wanna start off strong. Plus, most of my all time favorites are feel-good songs.

Links to the songs are provided!

1.) I Don’t Want To Lose You- REO Speedwagon (1988) Okay, let’s get these guys out of the way first. As you all probably know by now, I’m the biggest sucker for REO on the planet, and I do believe I know I am the entirety of their fandom on this website. Some of the first music I ever remember hearing was by these guys, and even though you’re all probably sick of me talking about them, give this quick song a try to start things off. It’s super strong, and it BOPS- PERIOD. Today I had to pick up my sister and had this blasted the whole way there. This one is the leading song off of REO’s 1988 greatest hits album, and was made/included as a bonus track for it..

2.) Rockin’ Into the Night- 38 Special (1979) I feel like this list would be incomplete without including the first song I can recall ever listening to. My mother would normally drive me and my sisters to wherever she went when I was a toddler, and she’d always play her CDs in the car. One in particular that was circulated a lot was her 20th Century Masters: 38 Special disc. It was played so often that little me in the car seat behind her had it glued to the inside of my brain so early in life. I can’t say why I remember this song in particular as the “first one ever”, but I probably think it’s because of the over enunciated and consistent line of stressed syllables in the chorus. That ROCK-IN-IN-TO-THE-NIGHT just sounded like pure gibberish to a 3 year old. I guess it fascinated me somehow.

3.) Roll Away the Stone- Mott the Hoople (1973)

So far on this list, I’ve only included songs from my distant past. This song, I’ve only gotten into within the past two years (and that goes for Mott in general), so to me, it’s still a song from my very recent present. This is by far my favorite Mott song, cos it’s just so joyful, hopeful and fun (not to mention it has a nice, bright, mellow, catchy 70s vibe. Kind of half-hippie, if you will). That opening riff is undeniable. I feel like you guys will like this song apart from the others on this list- it gives off some energy that I feel will fit a lot of people I know on here. This song is definitely the odd man out on this week’s list.

4.) Sad Songs (Say So Much)- Elton John (1984) Ah, Elton. How do you pick only one song by him? I only picked this one because it was probably the only good thing that came out of my first job. I worked at a department store, and heard the same 50 songs EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. I’d never heard of this when I started working there, but in due time, it was just about the only thing I had to look forward to every day in that job besides going home. It’s a real 80′s-sounding anthem about “suffering enough to write it down” in which he and Bernie really capture the universal feeling of shoveling sad songs into your ongoing dumpster fire of sadness.

5.) Shakin’- Eddie Money (1982)

I was deeply hurt by this wonderful man’s passing in September of 2019, and still find it hard to believe. I grew up on some of Eddie’s hits and hardly ever knew it until very recent years, and, like many, I wish he had more time with us. It’s songs like this one that act like a cage and trap the memory of any wonderful time, making Eddie still very much alive. This song was definitely my summer anthem of last year, and I feel like upon listening to it, y’all will suddenly feel like it’s a hot summer evening, you’re in love, and you’re heading out for a good drive. Eddie’s music lets the good times roll, indeed.

6.) My Kinda Lover- Billy Squier (1981) I know my followers really like The Dirt, and I watched it again this week, so I had to include one of the few non-Crue songs from the movie. This song was used when Vince is singing at the pool party, and the Crue guys meet him. This is one of those songs where when I willingly listened to it for the first time, I went “wait, that’s THIS song??” Of course I’ve heard this before, but I never knew the name of it, or who it was by. It’s such a swinging, confident, bold, happy song about sticking with your lover because you just can’t see yourself doing anything else. Fucking adorable, and catchy as all fuck. Probably in my top 3 out of everything on this list. Someone on this site recently said that Billy Squier deserves more love on here- and I AGREE.

7.) Urgent- Foreigner (1981) This song doesn’t just bop, or bang, but it grooves. That sax just hits you in the best spot, the bass is just uGh- so good, and I can’t stop myself from busting a move at least a little bit whenever this comes on. Yes, this song is very horny, but it does it so so poetically, maturely, and it does it in all seriousness. This seriousness, I feel, is partly because it’s about a relationship between two people that is purely for the passion, but both parties believe that their lust for each other is always of the utmost urgency. What a topic for a song! Great song about a bad relationship.

8.) Photograph- Def Leppard (1983) Duh. Of course Leppard was gonna come in here sooner or later. And I know, I’m starting off with a cliche Leppard song, but this one also just so happens to be my second most favorite song of all time. A fast-paced, tragic anthem of being in love with a photograph because the real person is either dead or not real. Maybe it hits a little too close to home, being in the classic rock fandom and all, but you can’t deny that this song just SLAMS in every way imaginable. Booming guitars, earth-shattering drums, tragic lyrics, and every time Joe screams in this, I just fall in love even more. Not to mention the backing vocals are to DIE for.

9.) Hammer to Fall- Queen (1984) Also duh. You want a song that gives off Queen’s Big Dick Energy? Here ya go. I personally never heard of this song until I saw Bohemian Rhapsody in theaters, but boy, am I glad I did. This is one of those Queen songs where you can clearly say “boy, this ROCKS”. Definitely one of Queen’s more mature songs, but in the best of ways. They just scream it flat out for you, “What the hell we fighting for?!” For me, Roger’s drums are the best part of this one. Hits a huge crowd through lyrics as well as the huge rock and roll energy it gives off. Truly a Live Aid-worthy song.

10.) Only the Young- Journey (1985) I’m ending this list with this song because it really gets my excitement up a lot. Every time that intro hits me, I just feel like sprinting up a fucking mountain, across a huge bridge, or through a wide open space. This one really makes me feel like I’m running to something that I’m really excited about, or heading on an exciting adventure. It gives off that 80s energy of having more power to the youth of the generation, talking about how they’re a “generation waiting for dawn”, even after the “golden age” that preceded them that they’re expected to live up to. They’re also called brave because they have to live through the promises and lies that they “dare to tell”. In a time with so much hate towards the younger generations, I think it’s important to remember an empowering song like this. Get that excitement up, take pride in your young generation- “the bold and the strong”- and go sprint up a fucking mountain. This one’s also the first track off Journey’s 1988 greatest hits album.

Even if you take the time to listen to one of these songs, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed!

[diveronarpg]

In fair Verona, our tale begins with TOMAS SABELLO, who is THIRTY years old. He is often called TROILUS and is NEUTRAL. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.

He was born into a house of HATE. He was born into a house of hate and he was the sacrificial lamb that was to absolve all the anger that resided there. A coquettish mother who chased after love without a thought for how fickle it tends to be. A debonair father who only knew to love the fire of his anger and the way it made his blood sing. What a pair they made – with his mother’s multiplicity of illicit affairs and his father’s penchant for causing rather volatile scenes. When he was born – with his warm brown eyes, peals of INNOCENT laughter, and hair black as the night sky – they had believed themselves to be absolved of their cravings for drama and hormonal infatuation with one another. The moment they held him in their arms, they thought that God had finally granted them the KEY to love. Imagine their disappointment when her eyes began to wander towards the nurse and his teeth began to grind. Imagine their disappointment when, as their beloved son grew older, the apple of the eye began to rot, as all things do, as all things are meant to. But still, they clung to one another like blood clings to a knife, two sinners dragging their child through their self-made hell. Poor, TRAGICboy, for he knew no better than to do as they did – to love wildly and without restraint, and to destroy it in the next moment, broken hearts littering his Armani-scented wake. He was a boy in love with love, but only knew how to ruin it and ruin it well.

What he did know how to cultivate, however, was fanaticism and obsessive adoration. He discovered his affinity for acting when he was young, changing from one character to another upon Rome’s stage as easily as he changed from one LOVER to the next, leaving both the audience and his multitude of admirer’s wanting more, craving him. Through the many characters he took on, he was able to become a prince of tragedy, a feckless knight, an orphan with no parents to ruin him with their vices. And each time, more grew to love him and that impassioned glint in his eyes, for he was a work of ART of his own making, a statue of David that was not exiled to a pedestal – no, he was to be looked at, he was to be touched, and, above all, he was to be LOVED. Through the many roles he took on and the many souls that fell at his feet, he was able to make the world his, his face plastered on the screen and on playbills, his name harkened by photographers and devotees alike each time he stepped into the streets of Rome. It made no sense to him, with all those who laid flowers at his every step, why anyone would begrudge him for the glory that was duly his. Yet, they did, and they made it known by pressing a gun to his back and a knife to his neck. FEAR struck his heart and held it captive. Death pressed a kiss to his neck where the blade was meant to be. He could feel the brush of His scythe, ready to reap in his soul.

By the by he was able to acquire the services of a man who promised protection, but it would require a trip to Verona to meet him. A city that was murmured about uneasily within Rome’s more esteemed circles, those who spoke of the goings-on there often times draped in jewelry and armed with guns and bullets. With little decorum Tomas informed his family of his departure, informing his despairing fans that this was nothing more than a sabbatical, a means of gathering MUSE and INSPIRATION in the cobblestone streets of Verona overflowing with art, culture, and blood. And he had not been wrong, for, within the city he only BLOSSOMED, with the people he felt as if he were invigorated, practically heady with the torrent of inspiration that swept him up in its unforgiving tides. The muses themselves had descended from their Olympic thrones and fulfilled his prayers within the jewel of Italy. Little did he know that God saw fit to grant him what had long been denied – love. He found it within the face of a beloved woman far too good for the company that she kept, far too beautiful to be anything less than something angelically DIVINE. It hung there at the corners of her gaze whenever she laughed, stars falling from her lips whenever she did so.

It was a WHIRLWIND romance. All who watched envied them for the happiness that they were to be promised. Paintings, lyrics, and poems were weapons in his hands, ones he utilized more effectively than a blade in an assassin’s – which Verona seemed to harbor in abundance. Celeste was helpless to them all, a dove caged by his onslaught of affection. Tools of love were far easier for Tomas to wield than that of iron and steel. But when the words ‘I do’ fell from the tip of his tongue, he had not intended expected to wed the entirety of Verona. He had not known that he had wed himself to the war – for that is what he did, what the Montagues had expected him to do when, before GOD, he had promised himself to Celeste. But what they had not intended was for this man, with his affinity for breaking hearts, to break theirs by denying them his services and leverage. Tomas Sabello was a man that played the game of love and war far better than they had anticipated – and it was his turn to move his queen and declare victory over the city that thought it would do as it always did: destroy him. No, this aficionado of adoration was to teach them all what he already knew – he was a master of HEARTS, and he was to have all of theirs.

CELESTE DUVAL: Wife. The light of his life, the moon of his skies – there was no one more blessed than he, for he had what everyone spends their whole life trying to acquire. He has glory, wealth, adoration, and – above all – a beautiful wife who is perfection incarnate. In all honesty, he thought that he would never be worthy of a woman like Celeste, her wit and steel more formidable than he could ever hope to approach. And yet Fate dictated that he should be so lucky, and he knows better than to question the alignment of the stars. On their wedding day he had asked, truly, for only one thing: that she remain faithful to him. However, for some reason or another, he finds himself doubting the authenticity of her affections and her oath to fulfill those words. Not because he is insecure, no, but because when he studies the pictures that they take together, the notes that she leaves him, the small things she does for him and around him – there is something disingenuous, something that the devil on his shoulder exploits. This is not Rome, though, no, this is Verona. And the truth always comes out, before long.

PAOLA DAMASCO: Old friend. Their history is long and full of adventure, but, more importantly, it is full of affection. Tomas had never had much luck with true friends, they came in short supply when it came to the more elite circles of society – what with the backstabbing, politics, and gossip – so genuine companionship was something rare indeed. Yet he was able to find it as a child, in the form of a pick-pocket who wasn’t too good at her job. When he met her he knew that she was capable of making him better and a grappling hook onto which he could cling to the semblance of sanity in the midst of an unforgiving world. The plights of the world had been difficult for him to fight off, yet it was always better when he had someone to fight against it with. But now the setting had changed and this city was far more difficult to reign in than Rome. Now, more than ever, he needed this compass of a girl at his side. Together, they do as they did as children – fight the demons that tried to tear them apart.

ROMAN MONTAGUE: Charlatan. Tomas is quite practiced at donning a facade, on looking farces in the face and convincing others that they are something true. It is the life of an actor, after all, so the Sabello heir is familiar with discerning the worthy from the inane. Unfortunately for Roman Montague, Tomas has deemed him to be the latter, a man unfit of the crown that everyone seems intent to place upon his head. For reasons unknown to him, Celeste seems to be a part of that entourage that he surrounds himself with, sycophants and yes-men, blind to the fact that their princeling will never be worthy of the role that he has been cast for. Though the two men run in the same circles, Tomas knows this to be an unshakeable truth: his head shall never bow and his knee will never bend to a man that he deems unworthy.  And who is more unworthy than a man who hasn’t earned his crown?

JULIANA CAPULET: Secret. For the sake of his wife, he tries not to be seen on the other side of the Adige, where those with Montague affiliations are less than welcome. But he can’t help it after finding the muse of his dreams, the one who has a way of throwing him into frenzies of inspiration. With her gentle smile and bashful ways, he finds it difficult to imagine how a flower such as she – with petals so gentle and pure – has managed to flourish in a city where blood flows more freely than wine. The two of them met at the Twelfth Night Museum, rain falling outside so as to chase away any but the most avid of admirers of classical art, which meant that those who came to worship at the altar of masterpieces were the only ones to be found within the ages walls of the building. He had offered her shivering – and slightly rain-soaked – form his coat and that had been that. Her smile had won him. Her mind had kept him. And she seems intent on never letting him go. Though he is slow to admit it, he is beginning to discover that so is he. What a dangerous thing in war, to have something precious to lose – and to have that person be the “enemy”.

Tomas is portrayed by HENRY GOLDING and was written by ROSEY. He is currently TAKEN by LINA.

[hsrw101]

Super Smash Bros. Roster Wishlist: The Legend of Zelda Representatives

Hoo boy, if there is one franchise that is big enough to rival Mario that is indeed Zelda. Though when it comes to Smash Bros. funny enough, the last time they had a new representative was Toon Link replacing Young Link back in Brawl. And considering the long line of popular and iconic characters its kinda shocking nobody else was brought into the last game. But since this is all speculation in good fun, here are my personal choices and hopefuls:

1. Impa

This caretaker of Princess Zelda has certainly been making a name for herself ever since Skyward Sword and Hyrule Warriors. She could work as a skilled warrior with her giant aquatic sword and flaming spears for quick and precise attacks. Plus thanks to the latter, if Impa gets in she can be effective as Sheik, not as fast but hits harder.

2. Skull Kid

Back in my early days of this franchise, the Skull Kid has been one of my wishes since the N64 Zelda games are the ones that got me into the series, and the Skull Kid with Majora’s Mask has been very popular for his tragic back story and just how dangerous he is, making him a memorable Zelda villain in my book. For gameplay, won’t be much on attacks but I can see him working best as a trap master since he loves to mess with others, and for his final smash? Easy, BRINGING DOWN THE MOON!!

3. Midna

Sidekicks come and go in the Zelda series and some are infamous to most such as Navi and Fi. But Midna? Forget about it, she took the Zelda community by STORM with her appearance in Twilight Princess. Easily cementing her as a fan favourite for her snark, mystery, sympathetic story and overall likability. Like with Impa, her potential can be utilized from Hyrule Warriors as she rides a twili wolf as she charges through her opponents and uses the wolf to bite and scratch while she uses her hair to grab opponents and use it for heavy attacks.

4. Toon Zelda/ Tetra

This one is kind of an odd duck pending on what happens in Smash for Switch. Fans would know in Melee and Brawl Zelda is able to transform into Sheik and vice versa, but since Smash 4 got rid of transformations due to technicalities, they made the 2 separate. So pending on whether or not Toon Zelda will transform or not, these 2 get the same number since they’re literally the same character. Toon Zelda I assume would work the same as Zelda but can move a bit faster and perform her spells faster but with a little less kick, while Tetra would be quicker as she relies on her gun and cutlass to deliver some quick combos to make up for her lack of brute strength.

5. Linkle

Have you all noticed that I mentioned Hyrule Warriors a lot in this list? Well here’s more! Pending on if they plan to have any references of this spin off in Smash, the one original character I’d like to see is the female version of Link, Linkle. Already she’s a huge departure from the silent Hylian as she would rely more on speed for on ground and air combos with her twin crossbows and usage of pegasus boots where she would move like Sanji on her opponents.

Honourable Mentions: Young Link

I’ll throw the Melee community a bone here for as much as I don’t think Young Link will ever come back since Toon Link uses his moves now, if Young Link were to get in...and like before, Hyrule Warriors gives him more variety. Specifically with the Fierce Deity’s Mask, while his regular moves would have to be tweaked like what they did for Roy, the Fierce Deity would be a perfect Final Smash for Young Link as he would gain extra speed and power for a few minutes and slash anyone who gets in his way.

Volga

Another original character from Hyrule Warriors like Linkle, this one would be an interesting choice as he would be more of a berserker. He could charge in and do heavy damage but at the cost of his own health and little defense. Making him an aggressive glass canon, plus we don’t see any fighters using spears at all in Smash.

Champions (Daruk, Mipha, Revali and Urbosa)

While certainly popular in their own right since the release of Breath of the Wild, its kinda hard to imagine them as fighters for this game in my opinion. I know to my friends the popular choice would be Urbosa (the Gerudo), but aside from the cutscenes, it would be kinda hard to think of moves for them that would make them unique but instead just make them either generic or clones of other characters...BUT there is one way I know they can fit in. Make them Zelda’s new final smash. Characters like Luigi and Kirby were given new final smashes so if Zelda has her BOTW look in the game, let Sheik keep the light Arrow final Smash and instead Zelda would summon them for help. With Revali blowing opponents into the air then firing arrows, followed by Mipha striking with her trident, Urbosa delivering multiple slashes with her sword, then finally Daruk would bring down the hammer with his stone club and smashes anyone caught to the ground! And yeah I know it would be similar to adding Chrom as Robin’s final smash but it would still be a visual spectacle! Plus ensuring that even in a grand battle like Smash Bros, these 4 brave champions would protect Princess Zelda with their lives.

[a-bittersweet-life]

Creative Inspiration: Sculpting Time, Essays on the Films of Andrei Tarkovsky

Sculpting Time, “a major retrospective of all seven films by the true master of cinema,” presents a collection of essays that examine the films of Andrei Tarkovsky and offer captivating and refreshing insights into the impact and significance of Tarkovsky’s filmmaking career: One of world’s most visionary, celebrated and influential filmmakers, Andrei Tarkovsky made just seven features before his tragically early death at the age of 54. Characterized by metaphysical and spiritual explorations of the human condition, each film is an artistic masterpiece of extraordinary visual beauty and stand as enduring classics of world cinema.

Ivan’s Childhood

by Lanre Bakare, Deputy Arts Editor of Guardian US

Andrei Tarkovsky's debut feature Ivan's Childhood (aka My Name Is Ivan) was described by the Guardian’s Philip French as “one of the great movies about the horrors of the second world war.” Based on a short story by Vladimir Bogomolov and shot in the damp bleakness of Belarus' Pripet Marshes, it's an account of the travails of the titular 12-year-old boy, who is used as a scout by the Soviets after his parents are killed by the Nazis.

Tarkovsky described Ivan--played by the unnervingly accomplished Kolya Burlaiev--as “a character created and absorbed by war,” someone whose life was in constant conflict. And it is. Apart from the strangely arresting opening scenes of him playing on a beach, Ivan and the older officers caring for him--Captain Kholin, Lieutenant Galtsev, and Corporal Katasonych--his war is presented as a never ending cycle of daily nightmares and nightly terrors where he's haunted by what has befallen him. When he plays, it's to act out the fantasy of avenging his parents, while his school yard is the war soaked marsh that surrounds the action.

The soldiers aren't fit to be parents either (there's a vague idea he might live with Katasonych after the war), and continue to use him as a scout even after his predecessors young bodies are hung from trees by the Germans. Tarkovsky said he “wanted to see the grave changes which war makes in the life of a man, in this case a very young one.”

The film introduced Tarkovsky as a director who took imagery and cinematic vividness, which was called “utterly personal and surprisingly spiritual, even transcendent” by the New Yorker, to new levels. Flashbacks to Ivan's Childhood aren't simply a way to fill in the blanks and to explain his actions, they're opportunities to put the camera where it usually doesn't venture and create moments that weren't just calling cards but a blueprint for one of cinema's most iconoclastic careers.

The horrifying well scene, when Ivan falls into the watering hole, is cinema as fever dream, while Kholin kissing the army nurse Masha as he holds her over a trench in a forest of birch trees is as beautiful as the aforementioned well scene is harrowing. As a Soviet film, Ivan's Childhood took a divergent course by placing the individual front and center. The war, although always lurking in the background, is the setting for a young boy's tragedy, one which drags the soldiers in too and forces them to contemplate their decision to keep a young child near conflict.

While other Soviet second world war films, such as The Ballad of a Soldier, captured the world that revolves around conflict--romantic or otherwise--Ivan’s Childhood forces viewers to confront the horror without flinching and in a manner never before seen.

Andrei Rublev

by Sophie Monks Kaufman, Contributing Editor at Little White Lies

Religion is no longer the heart of social life, but in 1966 Andrei Tarkovsky used the semi-biographical, medieval setting of Russian icon-painter Andrei Rublev to express a worldly Christianity that encompasses everyone, even non-believers.

Rublev (played by the craggily handsome Anatoly Solonitsyn) is an artist, a monk and a wanderer. The film is a chronicle of what he sees over a period of 24 years marshalled into eight parts. There are long sequences in which a first-time viewer may struggle to understand a scene’s significance to the overall story. This doesn’t matter. The atmosphere transmits more than any sub-plot, character or exchange. What seems like a challenging runtime contains nothing extraneous, but this is only clear in retrospect, when you cast your eye back over the meticulously crafted landscape. All that happens in the film contributes to the spirit of the artist. All that he has witnessed and endured years to him, hours to the viewer, give rise to a payoff that is as pure an illustration of redemption as anything I have ever seen. But what exactly came before? What do you watch when you watch the film?

It’s hard to write calmly or clearly about a work of filmic art which has a perspective that binds the tiny and the tremendous in endless symbiosis. Tarkovsky depicts the difficult labor that serious industry requires (the last hour shows the building of a large bronze bell), but the whole is concerned with the shape of life--showing in long gracefully shot sequences, Andrei’s encounters with naked pagans, violent royals, dogs, horses, men, women, and children.

The most infamous fact about Andrei Rublev is that you see a horse (which Tarkovsky bought from an abattoir) killed on screen. During battle, the noble beast collapses down a flight of wooden stairs, then lands on a spear--its fall caused by a bullet fired out of sight. The scene lasts less than ten seconds. The sacrifice was for a flicker of celluloid. This anecdote is indicative of the whole, grave procession, which took six years to realize. Everything is rooted in preparation that spans way beyond the film world. Everything is in black and white until it meaningfully attains color. The breadth and depth of natural vistas are so spectacular that it’s sometimes hard to concentrate on foreground conversations, although each wagging tongue is an extension of each character’s soul.

Andrei Rublev’s main stress is over his own moral value and the fate of the Russian people. There are countless faces in this film, all lingered over lovingly, whether on screen for seconds or hours. Andrei Rublev (the film and the man within the film) is about love. Not earthly love, and certainly not sexual love, but a type of fraternal kinship that finds release from personal burdens by sinking into the mud to comfort another. Andrei Rublev (the film and the man within the film) is also about the point at which, after years of bearing witness in a state of speechless despair, hope, wisdom, and talent alchemize to create an enduring work of art.

Solaris

by Jemma Desai, Founder of I Am Dora, Film Program Manager at British Council and BFI London Film Festival Programmer

Andrei Tarkovsky famously described his filmmaking as “sculpting in time.” As cinephile video essayist Kogonada reminds us in the excellent Auteur in Space, in Solaris this sculpture leads us wondering where his meaning might lie: “He [Tarkovsky] will spend five minutes following a man in a ordinary car traveling along the highway and less than two minutes showing his main character traveling through space.”

So how do we understand the meaning of Tarkovsky’s Solaris after it has been sculpted through the perspective of another passage of time: all the way to 2016? Is it the ultimate science-fiction film, an inner space epic of magnificent proportions, or an anachronism that has become pastiche of cinematic futures?Is it not about the future, or space at all and rather, about universality, the past, and memory? Is it, as writer Philip Lopate has beautifully described, about “falling in love with ghosts...the inability of the male to protect the female, the multiple disguises or ‘resurrections’ of the loved one, the inevitability of repeating past mistakes.”

A series of macho face-offs mark its journey to audiences now. Tarkovsky’s film is based on polish author Stanisław Lem’s novel of the same name. Lem famously had had little love for Tarkovsky’s elliptical version of his novel, resenting his infidelity to the source material (a complaint he later repeated on release of Steven Soderbergh’s remake in 2002). Tarkovsky later regretted any fidelity to Lem at all saying: “The rockets and space stations--required by Lem’s novel--were interesting to construct; but it seems to me now that the idea of the film would have stood out more vividly and boldly had we managed to dispense with these things altogether.”

Deeply embedded in any contemporary cineaste’s reception of Tarkovsky’s inner space epic is another takedown by Tarkovsky. Namely his criticism of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) “for being too enamored by the spectacle of the genre, for being too exotic, too immaculate” and his explicit disdain for the concept of genre in general and the West’s take on science-fiction in particular.

Some decades later, in 2009 when director Lars von Trier made what film publication Variety called his “big fat art-film fart,” Antichrist, the review from its premiere press screening in Cannes reported catcalls and boos which were particularly loud when the credits revealed a dedication to Tarkovsky.

Reading back in time had the audience of international film critics equated a reverence to Tarkovsky as a sign of the ultimate pretension? Or had Von Trier committed the ultimate sacrilege to a great Soviet martyr who had famously struggled to make the “anti-spectacle,” the “anti-2001,” the “anti-Antichrist?”

With all this macho jeering, it might be easy to think there is nothing in Solaris, or indeed in Tarkovsky, for the female spectators. At a screening of Solaris I once attended, a discussion took place afterwards on the influence of Tarkovsky and him as a “filmmaker’s filmmaker.” A question from the audience asked the panel’s thoughts on why Tarkovsky’s was so often cited by male directors as an influence. From Von Trier to Carlos Reygadas, Terrence Malick to Alexander Sokurov. Was there something that made the films resonate more meaningfully with men rather than women? It seems fascinating to think about this question now and see if the rise of feminist film theory in the years since the film was produced might have added another dimension to the meanings the film might have today.

In addition to contextualizing assumptions and myths around Tarkovsky’s isolation and difficulties with Soviet authorities, Philip Lopate also unpicks our go-to cinematic references when we watch Solaris today. Lopate cites Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1956) as a better comparative text than Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey. For him, the powerful driver in the film is protagonist Kris’ guilt and grief at his wife Hari’s past suicide. On Solaris, these emotions conjure up another Hari, an apparition, seen only through the gaze of Kris’ desperation “to do anything to hold onto [an image of] her, even knowing she isn’t real.”

Lopate’s comparison to Vertigo gains special relevance when we realize that the same year Solaris was produced (1972), feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey began work on her seminal text Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema (later published in 1975), where she explored the idea of the male gaze in cinema, famously unpicking this gaze through her reading of Vertigo.

The ideas in Mulvey’s text--now over 40 years old, and expanded on by many wonderful scholars of both sexes over the years--are my guide map when making my way to Solaris today. This map shows the landmarks of patriarchal critical acclaim as well trod pathways, and invites me on a less travelled path. The monument to meaning at the end of this pathway in here is Natasha Bondarchuk’s extraordinary performance as Hari: one that has gained some extraordinary resonance when in 2010 Bondarchuk revealed she had an affair with director Tarkovsky during the shoot, and attempted suicide when they split in 1972.

So when you go on the journey to Solaris, take this map with you. Make like Tarkovsky and sculpt in time to mold your perspective. Make your way through the multiple gazes on Hari, and Bondarchuck, to see them both for yourself.

Mirror

by Michael Pattison, Critic

In Mirror, Andrei Tarkovsky’s legacy for unforgettable imagery finds its purest form. This intensely autobiographical work, which channels the filmmaker’s childhood memories as well as his father’s own memoirs, is structured as a dreamlike mood poem, progressing by means of associative leaps rather than a strict cause and effect logic. It helps to unshackle the images, affording them a freedom to work as standalone compositions.

For Tarkovsky, these images held deeply personal meanings, rooted to his family history as well as culturally specific notions of Russian identity. But in their startling simplicity, such images have repeatedly proven to be profoundly relatable and endlessly moving for a broad range of filmmakers and cinephiles. In Sight & Sound’s most recent “best ever films” poll, Mirror was voted 19th by critics and ninth by other directors.

The painterly compositions presented in Tarkovsky’s most challenging and rewarding film may defy explanation in narrative terms: a burning barn watched on from a family home, a woman levitating from her bed as she sleeps, a fingerprint shrinking from a tabletop. Though powerful and absorbing in themselves, such moments are only enriched by their juxtaposition. Tarkovsky weaves through this fabric in such a way that opposites don’t so much collide as merge: peacetime and war, the domestic and the social, the past and the far past.

Otherwise ordinary scenes, such as a wind gliding through trees, become strangely haunting, as if the elements are being controlled. Tarkovsky knew that the magic of memories was that they’re always half-fabricated, distorted, allowed to blur into one another like a thick soup. We are guided through this by a masterfully imaginative, rhythmically precise soundscape, in which voiceover utterances of “Papa” and “Mama” act like punctuation marks that glue the emotional meaning of the work together. Likewise, we must adjust to the inexplicable switches between sepia and color--as if this too is part of the magic.

Tarkovsky’s longstanding reputation for slow, single-take sequences is both deserved and reductive. While it’s certainly true that the Russian director has inspired whole waves of filmmakers with scenes of notable duration, he also understood as well as anyone how to mix things up. Mirror, which came at the midpoint of his career, might be approached today as the summation of two conflicting styles that run through the master’s work: complex, drawn-out long takes on the one hand, and exhilarating montage on the other.

Indeed, some of the images in Mirror are all the more beautiful for being so fleeting. And while many of them unfold in slow motion, the film itself never feels slow. Though he helped legitimize a form of filmmaking that was free from the pressure to constantly advance story, Tarkovsky grasped that brevity was the true soul of poetry. Maximizing their visceral impact, he cuts his slow-motion scenes short at the very moment they jerk to dramatic life. As when a bird crashes through a window, for instance, or when another takes flight from the hand of a dying man.

Stalker

by Chal Ravens, Writer for Fact Magazine and The Wire

Stalker contains just under 17 minutes of music--a tiny fraction of the film’s 160-minute runtime--yet its otherworldly atmosphere and subtle science-fiction twist rest on Andrei Tarkovsky and composer Eduard Artemyev’s extraordinary handling of sound. Long, disorienting sections of near-silence, echoes of classical music in the clatter of passing trains, a locomotive rhythm dissolving into eerie electronic drones--nothing is quite what it seems when you enter the Zone.

Even at the end of his career, Tarkovsky had conflicting ideas about the purpose of music in cinema. In his book Sculpting in Time, published just before his death in 1986, he emphasized how “important and precious” music had been to his films, but admitted: “In my heart of hearts I don’t believe films need music at all.” In Stalker, he attempted to resolve this contradiction, showing how the barest use of sound could be even more expressive than an emotive musical score. He directed Artemyev not to write music but to use sound to create “states and conditions” establishing the Zone’s atmosphere of unreality. Watching the film, our suspicions are raised through subtle changes--a distant river suddenly becomes audible, beckoning our three travelers, or we hear a breeze but notice the grass isn’t swaying. The laws of physics do not seem to apply in this strange territory.

Artemyev, one of Russia’s pioneers of electronic music, used the British-made Synthi 100 synthesizer to build on this alien mood. Stalker’s short musical score, first heard in the opening titles, places the long, airy drones of the Synthi 100 under a flute and an Iranian stringed instrument called a tar. This suggestion of Eastern music (particularly Indian classical music, where a tanpura provides a continuous harmonic drone underneath a sitar’s melody) adds to the sense of dislocation--we’re a long way from the sepia-toned Russian town where we first encounter the Stalker.

Artemyev’s electronic scores (including those for Solaris and Mirror) added to a wave of synthesizer-based soundtracks in the 1970s, particularly in sci-fi and horror, where their unfamiliar tones helped establish worlds where normal rules do not apply, as in A Clockwork Orange, The Exorcist, Suspiria and the sound design of Alien, released the same year as Stalker. Tarkovsky believed electronic music had huge potential for cinema, as it could remain indistinct and indefinable, working subtly at the edge of our awareness: “The moment we hear what it is, and realize that it’s being constructed, electronic music dies.”

In Stalker he further loosens our grasp on reality by hiding fragments of famous classical pieces (”La Marseillaise,” Bach’s “Tannhäuser Overture,” Ravel’s “Bolero” and Beethoven’s “Ninth Symphony”) in the din of passing trains, like the everyday illusion of hearing a familiar song under the noise of a locomotive. Just as the experience of mishearing a melody shows that what we perceive as reality is always colored by our perception, so we might suspect that, in their quest for the Room, the Stalker, Writer, and Professor are really searching for themselves. On their long journey into the Zone, the rhythmic clanking of the motorized trolley dissolves into synthesized drones and metallic echoes. The camera ignores the moving wheels and much of the passing scenery, instead panning between the travelers’ faces; we seem to enter their very thoughts as they cross into the unknown. Their journey is not merely a physical effort, but a mental transformation. Tarkovsky and Artemyev’s achievement is to erase the distinction between the physical world and our inner lives.

Nostalgia

by Carmen Gray, Film Critic/Journalist

Andrei Tarkovsky made Nostalgia in Italy toward the end of a career cut short by his death from cancer. It was the first feature he made abroad, and its culturally alienated protagonist can be seen as a mirror of his own deep homesickness and longing for Russia. Tarkovsky had forged his career under the Soviet regime, but had bitterly struggled to avoid having his work suppressed by a bureaucratic studio system tasked with realizing the state’s view of cinema as a propaganda tool to indoctrinate the masses with heroic communist ideals. He alarmed the authorities with his highly intuitive, personal, and poetic approach to directing. His films, which all deal with spiritual crisis, tend towards a dream logic, incorporating visually stunning imagery with fragments of memory in a manner that defies simple, set interpretation. He did not overtly identify as a political dissident, but he found the pressure exerted by the state on his ability to create with unhampered authenticity so taxing that after going to Italy in 1982 to shoot his sixth feature, he announced he wouldn’t return. The Soviet authorities actively prevented Nostalgia from winning the prestigious Palme d’Or at Cannes. This obstruction only strengthened Tarkovsky’s resolve not to go back to his beloved homeland, even though his young son was there and not permitted to leave.

Tarkovsky had made autobiographical work before, his 1975 masterpiece Mirror being essentially a weave of childhood recollections set into the wider context of Russia’s tumultuous history. The fictional story of Nostalgia, which he dedicated to his mother, holds clear parallels to his own predicament of self-imposed exile. A Russian writer, also named Andrei and played by Oleg Yankovsky, has travelled to Italy to research compatriot 18th-century serf composer Pavel Sosnovsky. Andrei is suffering in the throes of a profound sense of displacement. The companionship and declared affection of his beautiful interpreter Eugenia (Domiziana Giordano) only serves as an additional strain. The tension between creative freedom and ancestral belonging troubles his thoughts and is an irreconcilable problem echoed in the fate of Sosnovsky, who had felt compelled to return to Russia despite knowing he would be enslaved again. There, he had turned to drink before committing suicide.

Tarkovsky often used rain and crackling fire in his work to create oneiric, mystically charged worlds teeming with the elemental grandeur of nature. Nostalgia plays out in ruins flooded with water with dripping walls in which indoors and outside merge; in the eerie haze of a steaming Tuscan spa; in a pool in which Andrei attempts to walk from one end to the other without letting a candle extinguish. This last act is called for by local Domenico (Erland Josephson), who may be martyr or madman and who makes an extreme stand against the catastrophic state of the modern world. A final iconic image shows Andrei lying with his dog in front of a Russian dacha, nestled inside an Italian cathedral. Tarkovsky once claimed, after all, that Russians are fatally attached to their roots.

The Sacrifice

by Tom Seymour, Editor of British Journal of Photography and Journalist

In May 1986, a month after the Chernobyl disaster, The Sacrifice won the Grand Prix at Cannes. Andrei Tarkovsky, at the age of 54, could not accept the award. He was in Paris, battling lung cancer.

The prize was collected by his son, Andrei Jr. The Soviets had waited until the recalcitrant genius was beyond cure before granting his children permission to stray beyond the Iron Curtain. Back in Russia, the award went unreported by the state media.

Tarkovsky died, in exile, later that year. And so The Sacrifice, this Dostoyevskian epic of apocalyptic grandeur, can be seen as his final farewell.

Ingmar Bergman once said: “Tarkovsky for me is the greatest director, the one who invented a new language, true to the nature of film, as it captures life as a reflection, life as a dream.”

The Sacrifice seems to be the Andrei's way of returning Bergman's compliment. It was shot in the summer of 1985, on the Swedish island of Gotland (the Swedish military denied Tarkovsky access to Bergman's island of Fårö). Employing, to large effect, the Swedish language, Tarkovsky also used two of Bergman's veterans--the cinematographer Sven Nykvist, and the actor Erland Josephson. In the vein of Bergman, the film asks questions of Biblical proportions to frame a midlife crises. The Vatican includes The Sacrifice as one of 45 “great religious films,” yet it is essentially a story about a rather dysfunctional birthday party.

Josephson plays Alexander, a writer and academic of unflinching sincerity whom tells us, in an opening monologue, of humanity’s great moral failings in the authoritarian age of nuclear arms. “Humanity is on a dangerous road,” he says. “We are living like savages.”

Quite a way to kick off one’s birthday. We meet him in his remote, spartan home on the banks of the sea, joined by his wife Adelaide (Susan Fleetwood), her teenage daughter Martha (Filippa Franzén), and their young son (Tommy Kjellqvist), referred to only as Little Man, and whom cannot speak. Two housemaids hover in the background, and he is visited by two friends whose provenance remains uncertain.

The roll of thunder is heard in the skies overhead, and then the thunderous shudder of military aircraft passing by. We hear mysterious cries, faraway in the night. Then a voice on the radio intones with words that shake the party; a nuclear holocaust is imminent, the world is about to end. Only a deal with God, an anti-Faustian-pact, holds the chance of salvation.

In One Day in the Life of Andrei Arsenevich, a documentary about Tarkovsky from another cult cineaste, the late French director Chris Marker, we are given access to quiet, revertant footage of the great man brought low with sickness, greeting his family after years apart. Marker's film contextualizes this with, seven months hence, backstage filming of The Sacrifice. Such sunlit, shimmery footage of Tarkovsky--already ill, exactingly and, in his own way, joyously planning the film's climatic end--is a lovely foil to this weighty, portentous film.

For it is possible to read The Sacrifice as a metaphor for Tarkovsky’s own state of being. Six years earlier, he seemed to foretell the Chernobyl disaster with Stalker, which takes place in an abandoned, desolate expanse called The Zone. Tarkovsky, his wife Larisa Tarkovskaya and Anatoli Solonitsyn, the lead actor in Stalker, all died from a comparable type of lung cancer (Vladimir Sharun, the film’s sound designer, claimed the director and cast were exposed to lethal carcinogens by the production’s proximity to a chemical plant). When he shot The Sacrifice, he must have known the end was in sight.

In the opening act of The Sacrifice, Alexander helps his son plant a tree by the sea. Without speaking, the small boy listens to his father’s instructions--if the tree is watered, every day, it will become something larger than ourselves. It will outlast us, and in that act, a small part of the world will change.

And so, in the final moments of The Sacrifice, we see Little Man, now a bit bigger, carefully watering the sapling, still fragile but steadily growing, winding its roots into the earth.

What a way to sign off. That maybe, in the act of dedicating oneself to small tasks, in the embrace of sacrifice, we might find our chance to build a legacy.

[imagine-loki]

Mr. Laufeyson's Ward

TITLE: Mr. Laufeyson’s Ward

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12

AUTHOR: goddessofmischief

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are living in the late 1800’s and your parents pass away due to a tragic accident. Leaving you an orphan, you are sent to a miserable orphanage. Then, a mysterious and harsh man named Loki visits the orphanage and takes you on as his ward. He brings you to his crumbling mansion in the English countryside, where you face his cruel intentions, and eventually discover that you care for him much more than you’d like to admit.

RATING: T

Pleasant days followed our return to Heathcote, which was especially due to the many activities that we found ourselves engaged in. We had made it back home just in time for the May Day picnic, a tradition that was long standing in the county and was held on an expanse of land near the village. Children joyously romped around while wrapping the Maypole, as the adults looked on with delight.

My master sat on a fold up chair near the back of the crowd, solitarily surveying the scene through his dark sunglasses. He was dressed all in black, and contrasted with the light spring colors that everyone else was wearing. I, on the other hand, wore my lightest frock, as it was quite a mild day, which was tastefully patterned with navy pinstripes.

For the event, I had volunteered to hand out various foods and treats that many of the women in the village had made for the occasion, and had therefore been on my feet the entire morning. Even though I was by no means an efficient cook, I had even lent a hand to assist Mrs. Cunningham in baking an assortment of pastries.

“Care for a biscuit, sir?” I approached Mr. Laufeyson from his side, which was why he hadn’t immediately noticed my position besides him. “Ah, why yes, that would be lovely.” I lowered the platter that I held and he eagerly took three biscuits that he immediately began to devour. I laughed at his ravenous behavior. “Haven’t the others been coming by to feed you?” “No, I am afraid not. I believe the other women had been avoiding this section of the field. I think they are terrified of me.” He chuckled. I grinned. “Well I don’t necessarily blame them. Despite your good looks, you are rather intimidating to the average onlooker.”

He completely disregarded the fact that I openly called him intimidating, and instead remarked on the initial portion of my previous statement. “You find me handsome then, Victoria?” “Oh… uh. Yes. I do.” I sighed with relief for managing to get this out. “Now, come with me. There is plenty of food and I won’t have you hungry.” I held out my hand to him to help him up from his seat. He smirked at my evident nervousness from being confronted with such a question, and I inwardly scolded myself for becoming such a blubbering mess before him. I led him across the field to a small tent in which all of the food was stored.

Gathering a plate, I personally went around and filled it with whatever he wished. He asked me if I would return to his seat with him, as he had a blanket besides his chair that I could sit on. He insisted that I had worked enough for today, and I couldn’t help but agree with him. I thought it would be nice to rest my feet for a bit.

Settled upon the blanket at his side, I patiently waited until he was done eating to speak to him. The jolly children had kept my attention occupied in the meantime, even though their carefree and exuberant installed a slight sense of despondency within me, as I had never behaved in such a manner when I was their age. “I don’t mean to pry, sir,” I finally said, after he took the remaining bite of his pudding. “But many people are talking about an exciting matter that pertains to you.” “And what may that matter be?” He turned towards me with a smile, peering attentively at me through his dark sunglasses. “Your engagement… to Lavinia.”

His look suddenly became grim and he remained silent, lowering the empty plate onto the ground besides his chair. I regretted my words at once, but I continued, as there was no way of ignoring the subject now. “You see, there have been rumors that you have already bought her wedding ring.” “Yes. It is true that I have purchased a ring.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone. I averted my eyes out onto the merry crowd, agonized to hear that the rumors were indeed true. He proceeded to talk about the ring’s value. “Do you think my bride shall be pleased to hear of its high value, and how it came from a prestigious jeweler in London?” “I think she should be more thankful for the man who has bequeathed it to her, rather than for any precious stones that may lie upon her finger.” “Beautiful things come at a high price.” “Not necessarily.“ I mumbled.

He reached out and lightly grasped my chin, compelling me to direct my attention onto him. “Your countenance has changed. What is it? Are you depressed?” When I shoved his hand away and didn’t respond, he grew rather enraged at my dubiousness. “I demand you tell me what is bothering you.” “She will send me away once you are married. She told me so, on the night of her ball.” I admitted. “Ha!” He blurted out in disdain. “And you think I would allow that?” “Even if you prohibited her from doing so, I would eventually leave on my own accord once I turned of age. I don’t think I could continue to live at Heathcote if I were to become nothing to you. You will have Lavinia, and a family of your own to raise, and you’ll eventually forget that I am even there.” “Stop this at once, Victoria!”

People turned around on their plaid picnic blankets and lawn chairs, and even some of the members of the small ensemble of local musicians had faltered and momentarily ceased to play at the sudden eruption of his shouts. His chest was heaving with agitation, yet he said nothing more, and I knew that it was best for me to depart from the scene to escape from further public humiliation. "I promise to be back at Heathcote later this evening, but I insist that you don’t come looking for me in the meantime!” "Victoria, I’m sorry, wait!” But I was already gone.

Although the avowal that I had made to him that early morning on the moors a few weeks ago had not been a solemn promise, it had indeed felt like one. I had told him that I would never run away from him again: that he would never have to witness again the sight of my fleeing figure. My feet felt as though they were being weighed down by this realization; as though the wild earth was leaching up and holding me down, the mossy, overgrown tendrils wrapping around my feet to try to prevent me from going any further. Nevertheless, I kept going.

I diverted from the path leading back to Heathcote, and buried myself in a isolated site of dense, high grass. My tears came freely as my heart ached over the thought of departing from Heathcote, and from him.

Perhaps Agnes had been right to ask me such a question. Perhaps I did have deeper feelings for my master. But the thought of love frightened me, for it was as foreign to me as the barren deserts of Arabia. I had grown up in a cold, loveless environment that had made me hardheaded and self-reliant by the age of six. Besides at the orphanage, and perhaps with old Grandma Mae at her charming beach home in Brighton, I never had been given the opportunity to develop a loving relationship with another.

But now, the only man I cared for was to be married to someone who’s aim was to separate me from him. With their union, I would once again be disregarded, cast aside. And although I will inwardly suffer, and I would never open my heart to anyone else again, I would silently accept my fate and move on.

I remained undisturbed in the grass for the rest of the afternoon, fully reclined against the soft earth and looking into the slightly overcast sky overhead. The grass swayed with the wind, occasionally lowering enough to brush against and tickle the side of my face. It wasn’t until the sun began to set further in the sky that I decided I would return.

Trudging through the front door, I found Elsie was right inside sweeping the foyer and occasionally dusting where ever she saw fit. “The master is in his study, Victoria, and has been rather distraught all afternoon.” She said upon noticing my presence. “That is what I expected. Thank you for informing me anyway, Elsie.” I began to head towards the west wing to return to my room. She stopped me. “Won’t you go to him?” “No. I don’t think that would be a smart thing to do. Can you please tell Mrs. Cunningham to bring my supper to my room this evening?” She seemed saddened by my decision to withdraw to my room, but obliged to my request. “Of course, miss. ”

The night passed as it had on my first days in Yorkshire: the two of us avoiding each other, as we each attempted to decipher who was to blame. I had dinner in my room and retired early, but I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned restlessly in my bed, as a vague sense of guilt plagued me. Perhaps I should have gone to him and had tried resolve the discord that had sprung between us, as Elsie had suggested. I shouldn’t have acted so impulsively as to conclude what he meant to do with me after he was married.

I got up and fastened my dressing gown around myself, as I wished to discuss my feelings with him even though it was already way past midnight. I felt that the longer I waited to confront the matter, the more the wound would fester and putrefy.

I searched in the darkness for the matches in the compartment of my nightstand and lit the nearest candlestick on my dresser. Heading towards the main portion of the house, as I would have to cross the foyer to get to my master’s room, I immediately sensed that there was somebody in the front parlour room: a room that had typically never been in use until recently, as Mr. Laufeyson had begun to invite his tenants to Heathcote to converse with them, instead of at the village pub.

From my place in the foyer, I could see the warm glow of a crackling fire on the bleak stone walls, and I could also hear someone pacing about. I was just about the turn the corner onto the small corridor that led to this room when three loud knocks were delivered onto the front door.

I quickly, and noiselessly, scurried back to the foyer and hid behind a tall grandfather clock. Blowing out my candle, the darkness shrouded me and enabled me to discreetly peek out from behind my hiding spot, which gave me a clear view of the entrance. Footsteps loomed nearer and nearer until my master, who held a candlestick of his own, came into view before the large oak front door. He opened it without delay, as if he had been expecting this visitor so late at night, and I at once had to cover my mouth to suppress the gasp that escaped me at that moment from resonating throughout the grand hall.

Standing before my master in the doorway was the same cloaked visitor that Dickon had once spoken about witnessing. Golden tresses wildly spilled from underneath the shrouded figure, who’s form I was unable to make out at first as its cloak mingled with the darkness from outside. I shouldn’t have been entirely surprised by my master’s female visitor, as, after all, I inwardly could tell he was no monk, and celibacy was not of his nature.

I continued to look onwards, but when the figure took a step inside, a wave of relief overcame me. It was then that I understood that Dickon had been very drunk that evening after all. The figure’s massive and mighty build was undoubtedly male, and the booming voice that followed his entry inside only served to prove this further.

“Brother!” He shouted gleefully as he clapped his hand onto my master’s shoulder, who visibly winced at the contact. “How have you been faring?” He asked kindly, as he lifted the hood off of him and his entire physiognomy manifested before me. A gentle smile relaxed the otherworldly features of his face that were significantly accentuated by his glimmering hair. I was more taken aback, however, by the discovery that he was a brother to my master than to the aura of unearthliness that encompassed his entire presence. No wonder Dickon said that the visitor’s hair looked like it belonged to a goddess.

“Won’t you lower your voice, you oaf?! I don’t need you waking up the entire household!” Mr. Laufeyson growled viciously. It was not to be a happy reunion for the two brothers, so it would seem. Nevertheless, his brother blithely replied: “It’s nice to see you too!”

With a groan Mr. Laufeyson began to walk back in the direction of the parlour room and I stayed behind for a moment before tiptoeing down the corridor and positioning myself right outside the room. “I wish I was visiting you with happier news.” confessed Mr. Laufeyson’s brother, who did not resemble my master in the slightest. “What is the old man unpleased with now?” My master groaned. “I thought that by moving so far away and staying out of trouble would finally set his mind at ease.” “Oh, father is highly content with your actions as of late, yet there is something else that we are all concerned with. We are on the brink of war, Loki.” War? I wondered where Mr. Laufeyson was from that was possibly on the verge of war. Perhaps France? No… despite that they have been in quite a few wars in recent years, and that my master was evidently fluent in the language, it did not seem probable.

“And you come to me for help?” I could visibly picture the sarcasm visibly affixed to his features as he said this. His sly smirk, and how he would lean back in the chair with an air of insincere interest. “I thought I told you that I no longer wished to participate in such matters of the realm.” The realm? What did he mean? “Yes, but we need your help. You’re talented on the battlefield brother. Please, I need you to return with me now.” Silence ensued, as my master was ruminating over what was to be done. “No, that’s too soon. I have to settle things. Inform Heimdall that I will leave on my own in a few hours.”

There seemed to be an unspoken agreement made between the two of them, as no more comments were audibly conveyed. They had gotten up quickly, and I, as a result, became trapped. There was no other way to leave the corridor but the one passageway leading up to the front door, and, as I had not moved soon enough, I had no where to go unless I had wished to confront them both directly.

I remained huddled against the cold wall, hoping that I would be undetected by their passing. They crossed the threshold into the hallway and continued to walk further away, until my master paused and looked behind him. The rays of the candlestick that he was holding illuminated my transfixed presence and his eyes coolly surveyed me. His brother was also about to turn around when he entreated him to move forward and saw him to the door without another word passing between them.

I remained fixed in my spot until he returned, awaiting for him to scold me for eavesdropping on his private conversation. However, when he did come back to me, his countenance beamed a sympathetic smile. His hand took up mine, and a warmness emanated off of his palm, proving that he had just been near the fire. “I was worried about you, Victoria. Come by the fire with me. You’re cold.”

I wordlessly followed him inside and sat down at the armchair that he directed me to. He placed a blanket over me and kneeled down on the floor at my side. His hands once again encompassed mine, his thumb agilely gliding across my knuckles. “I’m sorry for running away like that, sir.” I admitted. “Shh. It’s alright, my dear.” He spoke softly. “Let’s just remain silent for awhile.” The embers sputtered in the grate as the wood shifted and was further consumed by the flames. My eyes did not withdraw from his in the moments that passed, and I felt that we both would hold on to this scene that we shared when he would be gone.

“You’re leaving.” I finally acknowledged. “Yes, I’m afraid. Only for a few days, however.” A few days? Why was he so confident that he would return unscathed by the war? We once again grew silent until he reached into his jacket pocket, as he was still wearing the same suit that he had on at the picnic earlier that afternoon. “I want you to hold on to something dear to me while I’m gone. Something that I cherish, and hold close to my own heart.” He was quite right in saying he kept it close to his heart, as he took something out of his left upper pocket.

It was a square object wrapped in a burgundy cloth and he quickly placed it into my own hands. I looked upon the veiled object with curiosity, tracing my fingers around its round edges at first. Then, I slowly removed the silky cloth to find that I held a daguerreotype case in my hand. Unlatching the case, I opened it and discovered that it was the same one of myself that I had seen in his study those many days ago. I goggled at the sad girl that looked back at me, with her neat childish bangs and fancy high neck bodice covered in frills and lace.

I finally had the opportunity to address a matter that had been plaguing my mind for months. “Where ever did you get this, sir?” “It was presented to me when I took on the role of guardianship… your father always kept it on his person, and it was found at the scene of the accident completely intact.” “And you always keep it with you?” I inquired, while still looking down upon the likeness of a girl I once knew. A girl that I no longer was. “Yes. It serves as a memento of the promise I made to your father. One that I shall always keep.” He cupped my cheek, and I affectionately looked up and into his eyes before leaning into his hand.

But then, I suddenly stood up and took a step away from my master, standing directly in front of the warm and comforting fire. At that moment, I recalled what I had said to Agnes just a few nights before. “He is my guardian and I believe that is all he shall ever be.” If I truly believed this, then why had a deep sense of affection suffuse my heart when I had discovered that he held the portraiture of me in his pocket at all times? Or when he had cupped my cheek? Why did I wish to hold onto him and beg him not to leave me?

The truth was that I had moved away from him as I became startked by my own emotions. Never before did I feel this sense of endearment and concern for someone else.

I sealed the daguerreotype back up and rewrapped it in the cloth before crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I wish to go back to my room.” “Of course. I shall guide you there.” He responded directly, showing no concern whatsoever in regards to how I had just retracted from him. Only our footsteps marked our passage to my room in the west wing, as a subdued silence had fallen upon both of us. When we had reached the door, and I had entered without saying anything to him, he admitted himself inside and shut the door behind him.

I was already sitting on my bed when he came back to me. He placed the candlestick on my nightstand, right next to where I had placed the daguerreotype, before seating himself at my side. I barely acknowledged him, for my eyes were fixated on the warm, wavering flame of the candle. A particular candle that would mark my master’s departure, and his absence, when finally extinguished. “You look pained, my dear, ” He postulated. “Please, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“I-I can’t bear the thought of loosing you, sir.” I croaked, thinking it was best to get this out then to have it remain inside me. My anguish for what was to come felt as if a malignancy was gradually withering my heart.

He didn’t respond verbally at once, but placed his arm around my shoulders. “I’m here for you now, and I shall be forevermore.” He placed a kiss onto my head, and yet I pushed him away as I was angered by the falsity of his words. “How can you say that? You don’t know what is to happen to you in war!” My master chuckled lightly. “I have been in many battles before, Victoria, and I have come out of them just fine. I doubt this will be any different.” “Well I believe that your pride is overly dangerous and misleading, sir. One can’t control what Providence has mapped out for them.” He grinned slyly at the spiritual essence of my words, but when he noticed the tears in my eyes, he frowned. “Oh, my Victoria, don’t you fret. I shall return to you. Now, let’s get you into bed.”

“Won’t you stay until I fall asleep?” I whispered, gazing up at him with hooded eyes once I was underneath the sheets. He had once again pulled over a chair to sit besides the bed. “Yes, I promise I shall not leave your side until I must.” I smiled faintly, and as my eyes began to close I felt his hand lower onto mine, which was settled palm upright besides my pillow. My fingers enclosed tightly around his hand: an expression of goodbye, as I could not possibly tell him so with words.

And, upon awakening the next morning, the fingers of that same hand furled inwardly, hoping to once again meet his touch. But all I grasped at was the cool, desolate air. It was as though I had encompassed the hand of an intangible ghost.

[firefloodrestoration-blog]

Fire And Water Damage Restoration Companies

Fire and flood restoration necessary to completely restore your home

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Insurance companies, for the most part, don't cover particular topographical occasions, for example, landslides, typhoons, seismic tremors, and floods. Insurance companies are quite specific in their meaning of what established flooding. That thin definition determines that flooding is a flood of a natural waterway, for example, a lake or a sea. Get your flood damage insurance claims effectively. 

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A fire and water damage restoration organization can come in and appropriately survey what should be done to get you in the groove again. They understand what inquiries to pose and how to continue with the cleanup and restoration methodology. With an expert, you can breathe a sigh of relief, realizing that they will take care of business rapidly, proficiently, and accurately. The flood damage cleans up experts that can give guidance, understanding, and can even help with handy perspectives, for example, insurance administrative work. 

Fire and water damage restoration companies have priceless experience and information. They understand that each fire is one of a kind; in this way, the cleanup process must be custom fitted to suit the specific needs of that particular fire. The sort of house materials included, the measure of damage that was caused, and even how the fire was put out are significant perspectives that decide the best possible game-plan for a restoration expert. 

The motivation behind forensic cleaning services is to expel any natural material from a wrongdoing or injury scene and reestablish it to a decent condition. Doing so securely frequently requires particular hardware and information that the healthy populace doesn't have. This article will investigate forensic cleaning further and assist you with picking a judicial cleaning organization that you can trust. 

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[groundbreaking-science]

1.2 Life, the World, and Genki

After the initial handwaving and poetry in my descriptions, I’ll now demonstrate the world through the sense of ki. Ki has an intensity (a brightness) and a “ki-signature.” As you may guess given the term, a ki-signature is the unique pattern a particular life form’s ki possesses. A ki-senser can use this to distinguish between individuals. Life forms of the same species will have an underlying common pattern to their ki, although life forms with greater sentience like humans will have that reflected in a greater signature complexity. Therefore plants as a whole will appear more similar in signature than individual humans.

The river valley near Central City in optical light and ki.

To illustrate my point I have provided some imagery of a landscape, both in the visual and as understood through ki. 

Disappointingly this is a mere approximation to what is experienced. The sense of ki extends beyond a visual understanding and impacts all the conscious senses, memory retrieval and beyond. A fair number of non-ki-users may experience something like this already; synaesthesia. In this condition one sensory experience triggers another in a predicable fashion. This could be the hearing of music accompanied by dancing colours, or names causing the synaesthete to taste strong flavours. It is thought to be caused by cross-wiring between sensory-processing regions in the brain. As I have been a ki-user since a young age my brain developed its own understanding of ki as an explicit internal sense, with minor contributions of the other senses that I can approximate as a synaesthetic experience. For ki-users coming into the ability later in life the experience will very much truly overlap with the other senses as the brain attempts to process the new information. Despite those caveats I have done my best to put the world on paper.

The scene depicted above is one of my own scribbles of the river valleys to the east of the Central Steppes. My vantage point is known to us as “The Spot”. Many children have secret hideaways from their parents and this is the view from my daughter Pan’s and her close friend Bra’s. For most families the clubhouse is in the woods out-back or the park nearby, not six timezones away. That sounds like an alarming lapse of parenting I know, but our families have a different definition of keeping safe. No cell phone was necessary to check on them; they promised to never conceal their ki-signatures so we could find them should we need to. Honestly, I was more worried for the wildlife than the girls. I’ve labelled various ki-signatures in the image to help explain the world as seen by myself and my friends and family.

1) Where there are plants there is ki. The ki of a plant, like all life forms, exists within and extends faintly around the plant. This external extension of ki is known as an aura. Meadows then, like those pictured, are picturesque seas to walk through; the higher the grass the more misty the glow. The ki isn’t bright enough to obscure a person by any means - one would not be invisible in ki in a corn field - but the ki adds a fun hum to the scene. My memories of picnics include a faint, lively glow around my family from the grass and trees surrounding us.

You’ll notice the heather, purple in the first image, is a similar colour in ki to the grass. Whilst grass and heather are different species and have a distinguishable ki-signature, it is individuality and sentience-induced complexity that “colour” ki further. In ki then these plants are, compared to animals and people, very similar. Sadly, flowers themselves are part of the same plant so do not have a different ki-signature; your other senses then will have to help you experience the beauty in a flower. There are no trees in the image (the trees all secluding The Spot and mountains behind me) but their ki works in a similar fashion, with a glow in the tree and an aura around the trunk and leaves. Ki is not impacted by the wind by any great deal, and so a tree swaying in a breeze leaves a very faint after-image of ki behind it. As you can imagine, willow trees in summer are hypnotic.

The ki signature of a willow tree. The curtain of branches exists in ki, too.

2) Looking down, the ribbon of water through the landscape is strikingly bright. One can see why bodies of water were thought to have a life of their own. Rivers are full of life themselves, but even after removing the fish and other animals the water itself glows faintly still with ki. Rivers have their own ki signatures that changes throughout the year. With familiarity one can even identify a river by the water’s signature. 

Older teachings say bubbles in the water create the ki as a type of breath. This seemingly logical idea developed before the invention of microscopes introduced an alternate explanation. The truth is yes, ki is generated in the river, but by small, simple protozoa, algae and bacteria instead of bubbles. Conversely, bubbly but clean tap water has no ki signature. The old masters did note that boiled water was indeed without ki, but they explained this as either the fire itself overwhelming and killing the ki, or the metal of the boiling pot destroying it. To support their theory, ki-users sought out water made hot without fire or metal to see if it contained ki. Surprisingly, you can find examples. The volcanic hot springs on Bunbuku Island contain life in water that fits this description, seemingly supporting the old masters’ argument. We now know the creatures in these waters are extremophiles, a fascinating group of organisms that are able to survive in high temperatures, extremes of acidity or alkalinity, and possibly the harsh environment of space itself.

Here’s another unbelievable story - I’d have to cover the events at some point so may as well start here, and I apologise for the exposition. When I was four I was kidnapped and forced to fend for myself in the Break Wastelands for six months. It was there I learnt to read ki as a survival skill to find food, avoid predators and crucially, to find clean water.

For those with long memories they may remember the brief overthrowing of King Furry some fifty years ago by a man named Piccolo. My father (Son Goku) and his friends thankfully prevented the destruction of West City, but Piccolo’s defeat was not forgotten by his son of the same name. The son became a self-appointed rival to my father, and the final of the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai became a battle of one-sided vengeance. Much to the younger Piccolo’s irritation my father won that fight, too. Piccolo didn’t fulfil his wish of revenge until a number of years later when my then estranged uncle kidnapped me. Seizing the fortuitous situation and my father’s willingness to sacrifice his life to overpower my then stronger uncle, Piccolo killed them both and became my new kidnapper. His eventual goal was a convoluted act of dramatic irony, I suppose, attempting to train me to eventually kill my father on his eventual resurrection a year later. …I’m guessing claiming people can come back to life will lose me a few readers, even with official records of it happening across cities in the past decades. I implore the sceptical, then, to take this as a fantastical story and concentrate on my point. But be warned, my stories do get stranger.

I don’t remember much from this jaunt to the Wastelands, being so young. I do know it took a few weeks for me to get used to sleeping outside and catching my own food. Whilst an Earthling through birth, Piccolo’s ancestors are from the planet Namek. He taught me how to find clean water through ki-sense - water being the only sustenance he required and thus skilled in finding. Drinking contaminated water can mean life or death in or out of the wild, and it is an ability I’ve passed on to all the kids. They’ve known how to find and purify their own water since they were small. Detecting the glow of bacteria in the water and what’s tolerable is a fun exercise that I hope wouldn’t take you too much trial and error to learn. Although, maybe my definition of fun is a little warped.

(I didn’t take to the ways of evil life, by the way. It didn’t much suit our Piccolo in the end either, and our family has kidnapped him in return. To this day Pan often uses her childhood name for him, Uncle Piccoyo.)

3) The visual sky is a beautiful display of colour - not just the blues but the warm palette of dusk and dawn to that peaceful black of night. The sky has huge personality. In ki however, it seems all but nothing. The air itself does contain bacterial life, and there are fluctuations by time of day and in clouds, or subtle differences over land and sea, but nothing as easily discernible and enthralling as the sunset. Or so it would appear.

I didn’t notice the ki of the air around us until I left Earth as a child for the first time, travelling to planet Namek with family friends. Leaving the atmosphere was the strangest sensation, a strong sense of solitude rushing towards me and a cacophony retreating behind. 

There’s a fitting story back from when the world was thought to be at the centre of the Universe. The Moon, planets, Sun and other stars circled the Earth, embedded on rotating spheres. Philosophers said these spheres made the most beautiful, heavenly music as they danced. Tragically though we would never know the melody; having been on the Earth our entire lives and listening to the song constantly, we would believe the song to be silence. I wouldn’t learn the ‘music of the spheres’ story for a number of years but, as we left the planet and I felt that envelope of ki fall behind me, that was the first time I could appreciate the song of the sphere I lived on. Needless to say planet Namek’s song was completely different, the ki in the air feeling like a soup in its unfamiliarity. With that in mind I can understand why the highest masters thought the Earth itself was imbued with ki, even if they had not experienced looking back at the Earth from space themselves.

4) The faint sky is punctuated by bird life. Sometimes invisible above low clouds or due to their height, their movement across the sky is detectable either way in ki. Concentrating on birds is an education in ki. A bird before song, swells with ki in anticipation and sparkles in time with its warbles. This is very much guidance we should take on the importance of breath in encouraging ki to flow around the body.

A murmuration of starlings with ki. Arrows indicate direction of movement. The ki appears like that from one organism rather than a flock.

Flocks of thousands of birds like starlings are called murmurations and are a beautiful sight late-winter, dancing in unison and creating mesmerising shapes across the sky. The same beauty exists in their ki. The birds have an aura like all life, and it’s easy to see in a murmuration why aura are useful. The shifts in direction of the birds are preceded moments before by waves of ki across the flock. Subtle nudges in ki are created as the birds attempt to maintain distance from each other and this influences the transient shapes created, allowing the murmuration to appear as a connected whole. Aura between people can work in a similar fashion, and I will delve into the details within a future section.

5) In the real image a herd of animals were not visible, well-hidden in the tall meadow grass. You could probably walk straight past them, none-the-wiser. But in ki they stand out as though they weren’t camouflaged at all. Hiding from a ki-senser is extremely difficult, although we shall cover a technique developed on Earth makes this possible. In my time in the wilderness I had to learn how to hunt to eat. Sensing the ki of animals who thought they were safely hidden from predators gave me the element of surprise in my hunts. It does feel like cheating and I did feel guilty, but hunger wins out.

Those who are able to suppress their ki completely can hide fully amongst grasses such as these. I’ve had to do this myself in many a life-or-death situation. At least, in those scrapes I was more aware of the predator’s capabilities than the hares I caught ever were. Whilst when painting I could not see the creatures with this ki signature, we do know aura typically reflect the size of the life form and the aura’s intensity falls away faster than an inverse-square from the body. Therefore it was possible for me to tell from miles away, without even recognising the ki signature of the animals, that the individuals of the herd were the size of large dogs. They were indeed small deer and, so Bra told me, the same herd that has roamed the valley for over a decade.

part two/two previous first contents

[welanabananaworld]

The Great Dictator and the voice of (in)humanity

     Once upon a time in Tomania was a very short man with a dodgy moustache who dreamt to rule the world and populate it with innocent blonde cherubs with big blue eyes. To make this dream come true, Hynkel, fervent defender of the lofty ideology of  pure race, needs to erase the greedy creatures with hooked noses from the magical land of Tomania, that is the Jews. In this fairy tale, everything seems to be proceeding as planned until the day an amnesic Jewish barber, bearing an uncanny likeness to Hynkel, comes back to his barbershop in the Jewish ghetto. 

From the very beginning, Chaplin sets the tone of his film by barely denying the direct reference to Hitler and his regime in order to better prepare his audience to the oncoming satire, hence the fictitious countries of Tomania and Bacteria, the laughable substitute names (Herr Garbitsch/Garbage, Adenoïd, Napaloni) and the following note: « Any resemblance between Hynkel the dictator and the Jewish barber is purely co-incidental. » Here, the satire genre is meant to show the absurdity of such a character’s ideals and fantasies. Without underestimating the tragic consequences of Nazi ideology, Chaplin wishes to desacralize Hynkel/Hitler by making fun of his vices and shortcomings in order to reveal who he truly is: a ridiculous self-centered maniac who took advantage of the economic crisis and desperate people of his country following the First World War. The scene which epitomizes the most Chaplin’s mastering of political satire is surely the scene of Hynkel’s public speech.

Known for his expressive bodily gesture, infuriated speeches and harsh German accent, Hitler’s behavior and outer appearance are easy targets for caricature and are used as such by Chaplin. But for the very first time in his career as a director, Charlie Chaplin performs a caricature using the evocative power of the voice. This is indicative of the major stakes involved in the making of such a film. Released right during the Second World War (1940), The Great Dictator is not just a first talking film but a historically significant one which resonated with the international political climate of the time, that is the rise of Fascism in Europe, and contributed to the Allied propaganda as a self-consciously political statement. The narrative role of the voice here is not only to characterize Hynkel’s oratory style but also and most importantly to explore what it is exactly that makes him terrifying and mesmerizing. Is it his gestures? His facial features? His looks? Or else his general attitude? Probably a bit of all that. But if one pays closer attention to the way Hynkel’s voice is portrayed throughout the film, one cannot but notice that the voice plays an even more crucial part in the creation of his persona. 

Following the press titles about Hynkel’s rise to power, the first thing the dramatic male voice over announces is the suppression of free speech in Tomania in order to better emphasize Hynkel’s monopoly in this matter, thus already conveying the idea of a voice so powerful that it silences, even crushes all the others: « […] and only the voice of Hynkel was heard. » No wonder that what comes next is Hynkel’s public speech. Surrounded by a ridiculous number of microphones of all sorts, Hynkel starts speaking in an imperative tone. His face is severe and his movements frenetic. Facing the camera, Hynkel creates a sense of urgency in the audience by speaking loudly and ferociously, by reproducing a harsh diction and also, by adopting an authoritative bodily gesture. His brusque arm movements slice to the air like a sword and his fist clenches in a threatening way in order to give weight to his clearly hateful speech. Hateful and threatening it must be as even the microphones back off under Hynkel’s enraged snorts and roars during his vitriolic diatribe against the « Juden ». One of them literally bents backwards while the other spins around itself in response to Hynkel’s furious spits.

In truth, the satirical dimension of the speech originates less from Hynkel’s extreme bodily gesture, Chaplin flawlessly imitating Hitler in that regard, than the director’s skillful manipulation of his voice. Indeed, the comical devices that fuel the satire target mainly Hynkel’s voice. By fiercely insisting on each word he says, Hynkel is always on the edge of choking, as if he was choked by his own hatred. This results in a very comical situation where his coughing becomes an extension of his speech through its rhythm and intonations. Exaggeration, words repetition, funny sounds (especially the German « ü » and « str », the sound « z »), and wild intonations are all comical devices meant to ridicule him. As it turns out, Hynkel’s speech is nothing but absolute gibberish, « a series of fits and starts, of coughs, splutters, and sibilants, with occasional identifiable words like Wiener schnitzel and sauerkraut. » Chaplin purposely invented a fake language inspired by a mock German for this film to reinforce his caricature. 

This stylistic bias goes hand in hand with the partial translation given by the English interpreter; « partial » because not faithful to the original speech. While Hynkel blathers his long speech in front of the crowd, using an emphatic and sensationalist tone, the interpreter simply summarizes in a few words, which does create a narrative gap whose satirical power arises from his euphemistic wordings, blandly impassive tone and brief translations: « Herr Hynkel just said: yesterday Tomania was down but today she has risen », « His excellency has just referred to the Jewish people. » It is obvious that he said well more than that. Those comments reinforce the ideas of censorship and suppression of free speech under Hynkel’s regime. The interpreter is expected to embellish the speech (« Democracy is fragrant. Liberty is odious. Freedom of speech is objectable », whereas Hynkel says « stinks ») and minimize its racist insinuations. One of the reasons why it is so funny is because Chaplin counteracts our expectations as spectators. After such a tense speech, one expects the same length and emphatic tone, if not the exact translation, even if Hynkel’s snorting, spitting and threatening movements are enough to convey his hatred. The same kind of speech discrepancy is to be noted later in the film when Hynkel dictates a letter to his secretary. The more he speaks, the less she writes and vice versa. It is as if language itself offered some sort of resistance. The interpreter’s only faithful translations happen when Hynkel glorifies Tomania and when he describes what is seen on the screen, which is utterly irrelevant: Hynkel tightening his belt, Hynkel addressing himself to Herring and Garbitsch. The satire’s climax is when the interpreter asserts Hynkel’s good intentions: « In conclusion, the Phooey remarks that for the rest of the world he has nothing but peace in his heart. »

On further consideration, without his powerful voice, Hynkel would not be credible gesticulating the way he does. As a matter of fact, « Hitler […] was known for his speeches, but looked ridiculous in silent newsreels, where his exaggerated mannerisms played more to laughs », as Bilge Ebiri points out in his article published online on Vulture in December 19, 2014. That’s why Hynkel’s speech is reduced to a mere German-sounding gibberish: to better emphasize his ridiculous gesticulation. Similarly, the ghetto scene, in which the Jewish barber keeps pace with the dictator’s voice coming through loudspeakers, supports this idea by staging a disembodied voice amplified by the technical device of loudspeakers. It is precisely because it is disembodied that the voice has a stronger effect. 

While Hynkel’s speech demonstrates a pure exercice of political criticism openly intended to shame the fascist dictator and his regime, the final speech delivered by the barber, Hynkel’s doppelgänger, works as a mirror scene whose aim is to fire back by spreading a message of hope, freedom and peace. 

Through a series of circumstances, the Jewish barber, fully dressed as Hynkel, ends up being mistaken for the dictator and asked to speak publicly on the occasion of the invasion of Osterlich. Everyone is waiting for him. The terrified barber, having no other choice but to try to impersonate Hynkel and give a speech, goes up the stairs as if he was going to the gallows, hence the solemn and fateful drum roll. Herr Garbitsch precedes the barber on stage to declare that « democracy, liberty and equality » are to be abolished as they « stand in the way of action » and are only « words to fool the people. » He states that Jews and any other non-aryen people are inferior and thus enemies of the nation. Contrary to Hynkel’s speech, Herr Garbitsch’s is not meant to be funny. For the first time in the film, this bloodcurdling speech is meant to reflect and reveal the Nazi ideology in all its ruthlessness and dreadful disenfranchisement of an entire population.

Outraged by these words of despair, hatred and servitude, but struck by Schultz’s evocation of « hope », the barber gets behind the microphones, transcended by the obviousness of what he is about to say. The music which goes with the sudden awareness displays an enchanted, almost-divine melody which associates this awareness to an epiphany. The gentle, airy tones of the violins convey an idea of appeasement but also something of universal that goes beyond the troubles of the present time. This music foreshadows in itself the tone of the barber’s oncoming speech. Completely stunned, the barber stands, humble, before the crowd and starts an impassioned plea for brotherhood, goodwill, democracy and unity. After slowly starting his speech, the barber gets quickly engrossed in what he is saying until reaching the culminating point at which he calls upon the solidarity of his fellow citizens to restore faith in humanity. 

The situation is critical. There is no room for mockery, satire or comical lags. Based upon a Manichean view and the rhetorical device of antithesis to achieve a contrasting effect, the barber’s plea against dictatorship is made of three major parts. The first statement is idealistic. It dismisses the very notion of conquest in the form of enslavement while promoting the notions of diversity and peace between communities. The second statement crushes this ideal world by listing the vicious traps people got into. It blames the greediness of men for what is happening and points out the excesses of human progress: « We have developed speed but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives us abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical, our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. » The barber goes on by revealing what should be the positive counterpart of those achievements, that is more humanity and understanding. As for the last part of the barber’s speech, its purpose is to give hope and faith in human nature despite this moral crisis, ensuring its transient nature. In an inspiring moment, the barber urges people to rise against oppression, to remain united, to fight against adversity and for their dignity long gone under a dehumanising system. This speech is a universal plea in favor of human emotions and sensibility. The barber appeals to people to maintain their humanity. Chaplin structures the barber’s speech around the notions of humanisation and dehumanisation. Humanisation implies a « world of reason », « a world where science and progress » are means to achieve happiness, not to destroy it; whereas dehumanisation implies brutality, enslavement, tyranny, alienation and mental conditioning, whose the repetition of the word « machine ». To make his point, Chaplin opposes the « machine man », devoid of any sense of morality and freedom of thought, to human being, who is the only future of mankind. The machines must serve the people to do good and not dictate their behavior and thinking. That’s why Chaplin, mirroring the dictator’s speech, backfires on him by using the radio system in the right way this time: to reach out to million of people around the world and spread a message of hope: « The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men, cries out for universal brotherhood, for the unity of us all. » With this speech, the barber makes himself the voice of humanity. 

The barber’s speech still resonates with today’s society, thus reinforcing its universal reach. In his six-minute song Iron Sky (2014), Paolo Nutini, a Scottish soul rock singer and musician, literary quotes a whole episode of it. After two verses and two refrains, Paolo Nutini stops singing and gives way to the recognizable barber’s voice that is heard with background instrumental music (electric guitar and cymbals). Like a dreamy parenthesis within the song, this homage works as a poetical addition to it, giving more strength and depth to the story it tells. Though set in a totally different political context and interpreted in multiple ways, the sample here seems to refer to the alienating dimension of our modern society that tends to replace human beings by machines to reduce labour costs and optimize efficiency: 

« The world throws up new meanings for that one every day, but it's mainly that man-versus-machine thing. You know: you go into WH Smith these days and they steer you to the electronic checkout. I always think: 'Why so calm?' Don't you realize that thing that doesn't have a family to feed is going to have your job? » (Paolo Nutini from The Independent)

Normally, eloquence is one of the dictator’s most powerful weapons but in Chaplin’s rewriting, language challenges arbitrary power, hence the language mismatches, fake German, substitute names, and voice effects. By comically turning against the dictator his own tools, Chaplin undermines the credibility    of such a character’s persona and questions the very essence of his tyrannical power. The voice of inhumanity is supplanted by the voice of humanity which, unlike the unintelligible German-sounding language, is clear, straightforward and sensible.