#there's something SO intrinsically hurtful about helping your mother escape from her husband

[illithilit]

That moment when you realize that Mourndax is so flippant about everything bc ofc he is. Man's barely had any agency in his life under his parents' control, and he's less than five years removed from that. He hasn't exactly had time to learn how to make decisions of his own, and acting like you don't give a shit what the outcome is, or that you've simply changed your mind about it for no particular reason is a lot easier than admitting to still remembering how much the leash hurt when pulled on.

[schnees-and-schnugs]

I wrote a weird little Mastermind/vengeful!mama schnee musing idk if its any good lol

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Pristine snowflakes slowly floated down into her wine cup. She wondered if she opened her mouth up to sky, would it sooth the slight burning feeling that the alcohol left in her throat? No, she knew- besides she was already used to it. It was at least what she deserved for what she had done. Married the wrong man, had children that would grow to think of her as an ornament- pretty and striking at first, looked up to with eyes full of love and hungry for the kindness she held, but eventually forgotten and frozen, left tarnished and only to be remembered on timely intervals, used, and left alone again. But it was fair. She had left them and ceased to spark joy in their lives, caught up in a whirlwind of anger and guilt, but eventually settling in on the numbness that only the wine is generous enough to give her. 

But there was a new feeling.

It started in her chest, an uncomfortable feeling of burning warmth- no ice that bloomed. She couldn’t help but to remember how back when it all fell apart, she was surrounded by heat: anger, passion, frustration- but all that had puttered out leaving just emptiness for the coming years. That coldness wasn’t like this- it was a painful serene emotion that left her hopeless, merely the cold that came to inhabit the area above the ashes of her soul. However, this new feeling- the thin pinpricks of frostbite that ate at her around the same time she watched her young daughter leave for Beacon. She recalled when her oldest attended Atlas Academy and eventually found her way to the military. Through unsavory means, she remembered with a slight grin- her daughter had run away, entranced by images of grandeur and away from the tight fist of her father. She hadn’t felt the same pinpricks that time, she had thought her daughter was just an anomaly. Her eldest had always been a stern and temperamental girl- something she inherited from her father, she thought bitterly- not the makings of a charismatic CEO. 

But her youngest daughter was, for a lack of a better term, kinder. Had more of that charisma that would have attracted people to her organically if she didn’t have her family status. But why was she leaving? 

She wants to escape, a soft voice whispered at her from the back of her mind. You’re nothing to her anymore. Did you think she would wait for you forever? 

A tiny needle of ice pricked her heart.

She was used to rejection at this point. She understood that she has ceased to be of any importance to the lives of her family. But it would seem that this departure has woken up a tiny part of her that still yearned for the validation that every mother needs from their children.

But you stopped giving them the validation that they needed from you.

But he hurt me, she reasoned with herself. This guilt that she lives with, is that what he wants? For her to continue to torture herself in addiction until she drops dead? As she lay in her bed later she understands her cold anger that had awoken in her that day. He took everything away from her. He turned her into this. He was the reason that her eldest was gone and her other daughter is well on her way to disappearing.This company, this home, this legacy, it should all belong to her. Stolen, her life, her dreams, future, her children, her love. She hadn’t noticed that he had his hand firmly grasped onto the rug beneath her feet until he had pulled it out from under her, and she was on her back staring at the ceiling for years, wondering what had gone wrong. What she had done wrong.

But she hadn’t done anything wrong.

It was all her father’s fault for marrying her to a man who sang false love symphonies, her family’s fault for turning the other cheek in the name of the company, his fault for having the gall to take advantage of her all these years.

 And she would make him pay.

As she lay there, she the frozen pricks in her heart had a sense of urgency. She understood. No longer would she stand by and let him have the last laugh, holding her by her tail, watching her numb every jab with a sip of wine. She would take every word, every sneer and snap, and use it. Use it to ease him into her trap, guide him with whisperings of her newfound interest in the company and his little heir. She prayed to the heavens that her daughter would forgive her for this.

Weiss would never listen to word you say, she tells him one day. She’s not like you, she doesn't have what it takes to make those cruel decisions. 

What would you understand?, he snaps, but she knows he’s listening. He may be arrogant, but he’s smart. 

She has a temper. Like yours, I suppose, she goaded him. She didn’t want to appear cooperative, he would be suspicious. She wanted to be smug, to take those ice-y pricks in her chest and stick each and every one of them in his brain, rendering him her puppet. 

Weiss wouldn’t listen to me either, she thought. That’s why I have to do this.

Whitley... he’s much more easy-going, don’t you think?, she slurred this without even looking at him- feigning disinterest while the words burned her tongue. She hated to bring her son into this. He was so young, so easily hurt. The most eager to please. His wide doleful eyes he had once realizing that his mother would never be truly the same was a knife to her stomach for the longest time, only continuing to twist once those once kind, innocent eyes grew bitter and angry at all those around him. I guess we’re the same. He’ll listen to me. He’s... impressionable. She felt a twinge of guilt, but waived it away. He’ll be thanking her soon enough.

She could tell all the offhand words and slurred messages left holes in her husband’s once strong intention to form her daughter into the perfect heir. All it took was one big push, and she’ll get what she had been pushing for in the last year.

It came the night of the gala. She hadn’t bothered to go, but she had a hunch that something had happened. Doors slammed, angry words were exchanged, and she felt a thrill travel up her spine. She want it to be true, and hated herself for it. Weiss is better off without this family, anyways. Without this. 

She waited in her son’s room, knowing that at this late time he would be coming directly to bed. She wanted to hear it straight from him, to be the first to congratulate him before his father could. He entered the room, his face carefully empty of any emotion- a familiar expression. He started at the sight of her sitting at the window.

Welcome back, little meadow. Was the gala eventful? Of course she knew something had happened, she lived here long enough to know what the ever familiar tension felt like after another one of their family’s fights. 

And so he told her. About Weiss’ outburst, her father’s decision afterward to strip her of her title. She had to resist the urge to chuckle. She didn’t want to be cruel, but it seems that after her own words, the missed calls, and the ignored warnings, the gala was finally the straw that broke the camel's back. 

Finally, something was going right for once. 

She blinked out of her victorious reverie to find her son looking at her cautiously. She had made moves to rebuild their relationship over the last year, insuring his loyalty- but even he didn’t know the extent of how much she has invested in him. Nobody knew. It was her secret, her plan.

She touched his cheek. So you’re the heir now, hmm?  

He winced, father-

Lets not talk about him now. It’s only the two of us that matter, remember? Weiss is well on her way out the door and Winter is gone. It’s just the two of us. Nobody else could ever care for you the way I do.

He looked down. She knew that look. Doubt.

She pushed harder. He hurt me. It’s all his fault. Your loneliness, it’s all because of him. Our suffering will only continue if we listen to him. If we allow him to destroy us, my life will be for nothing. Your life. It will be different from now on- I will be here for you, always. Don’t doubt me. We have the upper hand now, you don’t need him anymore.

He only nodded, not saying a word. She left him to sleep, her future plants coming to fruition in her head. She couldn’t rely on Weiss to help her. Something had changed in her daughter while she was off in Beacon, a kind of intrinsic will formed in her that made her impervious to her father, and by extension, her mother. Pride swelled in her chest. Yes, her daughter would be fine after all. 

Concentrate! The company, that’s what I’m after. 

And Whitley is the key.

She would take back what was meant to be hers all these years.

She just needs to somehow get her son to the top quickly, even if that means she has to be the puppeteer pulling the strings.

To get rid of him, who took everything from her.

[chicagoindiecritics]

New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: MOVIE REVIEW: Becky

Photo courtesy of Keri Anderson and Quiver Distribution

BECKY— 3 STARS

The tale-of-the-tape of Becky is as preposterous as the promised twisted violence that follows. In one corner, you have the middle-aged comedian Kevin James taking a dare for his first “dramatic role” as the escaped Neo-Nazi criminal Dominick. He’s hulking, tatted-up, bearded, and armed with stern rhetoric and an itchy trigger finger.  In the other corner, you have the titular Millennial 13-year-old played by Lulu Wilson of The Haunting of Hill House. She’s angry, mournful over the passing of her mother, and, due to the home invasion circumstances than transpire, motivated for every hell-raising level of vindication possible. Before Bruce Buffer screams into a microphone, who do you got in this cutthroat clash that hits VOD June 5th?

To introduce this unlikely showdown in Becky, the slick editing of Alan Canant (Hellion) builds an establishing parallel between the two future opponents. A prison yard fight is spun against a bully’s skirmish in a school hallway. The ordered lineup of convicts mirrors the packed spacing of desks in a classroom. Her cutoff jeans and combat boot fashion choices figuratively match the ankle shackles being placed on him. They practically snarl into the confines of their respective transportation traps in the form of a minivan for her and a paddy wagon for him.

LESSON #1: BEING THE INSTIGATOR OR THE WITNESS— In the cross-stitch of this opening, inferences can be drawn for which characters act and which ones react. Both Becky and Dominick witness their settings with eerily similar emotionless indifference. He provides shivs for killings. She shoplifts without a care in the world. Who will bring the brouhaha and who will boil it? It’s damn fun to find out.

Becky is a passenger on a forced lake house vacation with her widower father Jeff (fellow funnyman Joel McHale, also playing it straight). He has also invited his future fiance Kayla (Amanda Brugel of The Handmaid’s Tale) and son Ty (Isaiah Rockcliffe). Meanwhile, Dominick, and a trio of his follows (former wrestler Robert Maillet and TV actors Ryan McDonald and James McDougall) orchestrate an escape and descend on the rustic getaway looking for a MacGuffin item (a trinket key Becky holds dear from her mother) that requires them to keep witnesses alive who may know where it is.

The anarchic and amusing part is Becky doesn’t have that need whatsoever. Like Kevin McAllister before her and with far deadlier intent, she’s on her home turf and will just f–king kill you for even thinking about harming her family, teenage innocence be damned. Once the fight for survival is on, the violent obstacle course of wild encounters and jarring kills written by The Devil to Pay husband-wife team of Lane and Ruckus Skye and the debuting Nick Harris takes over set to the pulsating and edgy electronic score of Nima Fakhrara (The Signal).

LESSON #2: ANGER CAN BE USEFUL— Jeff implores Becky that she “can’t be angry forever” for losing her mother to cancer and watching him find a new love. He adds “you can’t take things that aren’t yours” and “stop before someone gets hurt” warnings. His non-doting daughter’s icy answer while munching on her five-finger-discount gummy worm prize? “Obviously I can.” This is anger Becky is not letting go anytime soon, and it’s going to become mighty useful in her life for a few hours. Screw measly angst.

LESSON #3: THE LETHAL RESOURCEFULNESS OF SCHOOL SUPPLIES AND OUTDOOR EQUIPMENT— What does a kid have against hardened cons? Just a bunch of knick-knacks, art supplies, and garage junk. Want to see what ingenuity and injury this girl’s anger can apply to such items. Pull up a chair. At the same time, taste the salt grains that matches a line in the movie that states “sometimes someone does something so stupid you have to stop them and ask WTF.”

LESSON #4: GIRLS ARE MEAN— If you must know, “girls” and “grisly” share five common letters where the extra “y” stands for “yowzers.” Eventually, Becky self-declares going from “bad” to “horrid” in the face of her crisis. That bedazzled denim jacket and backpack over Becky’s shoulders might as well be hidden wings for the Angel of Death.

LESSON #5: KILLING IS A STAIN— Murdering kids is hard. Combine a kill-or-be-killed scenario with that pent-up anguish of Lesson #2 and you have a bloody barrage in Becky. The idyllic is broken by the insane. Violence seen is dark damage done on the mind and and heart. Violence committed is even worse. That is the height this movie rises too above simply a cheap slasher.

For most clicking play on Becky from Bushwick directors Jonathan Milott and Cary Murnion, they were likely drawn by Kevin James playing far against type. He embodies this intimidating menace decently considering the material. James doesn’t overplay the part as a loud screwloose, favoring maybe two too many sermon monologues instead. They work when they need to, though sometimes his snake oil carries too soft of pleasantries to be fully and fittingly evil. The real evil is cuter, louder, and shorter.

Lulu Wilson is frighteningly voracious. Appalling as the acts are, somewhere underneath that flaxen mop so often lit and framed by The Half of It and Light From Light cinematographer Greta Zozula lies a twinkle of creativity in Wilson. The actress out there roughing it with stunts even did her own art (now how about that) featured in the sets and credits of Becky. As Lulu Wilson poetically taunts “There was once a little girl…” before marking her quarry, we can only help but be impressed by the brazen energy. Well, this little girl chopped our feet off with the socks still on. No blowing was required.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#883)

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