#'He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days.'

[regopro]

[meryriana]

[stevecinematicuniverse]

Ryan Coogler's tribute to Chadwick Boseman:

“Before sharing my thoughts on the passing of the great Chadwick Boseman, I first offer my condolences to his family who meant so very much to him. To his wife, Simone, especially.

I inherited Marvel and the Russo Brothers’ casting choice of T’Challa. It is something that I will forever be grateful for. The first time I saw Chad’s performance as T’Challa, it was in an unfinished cut of ‘Captain America: Civil War.’ I was deciding whether or not directing ‘Black Panther’ was the right choice for me. I’ll never forget sitting in an editorial suite on the Disney lot and watching his scenes. His first with Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow, then with the South African cinema titan, John Kani, as T’Challa’s father, King T’Chaka. It was at that moment I knew I wanted to make this movie. After Scarlett’s character leaves them, Chad and John began conversing in a language I had never heard before. It sounded familiar, full of the same clicks and smacks that young black children would make in the States. The same clicks that we would often be chided for being disrespectful or improper. But, it had a musicality to it that felt ancient, powerful, and African.

In my meeting after watching the film, I asked Nate Moore, one of the producers of the film, about the language. ‘Did you guys make it up?’ Nate replied, ‘That’s Xhosa, John Kani’s native language. He and Chad decided to do the scene like that on set, and we rolled with it.’ I thought to myself, ‘He just learned lines in another language, that day?’ I couldn’t conceive how difficult that must have been, and even though I hadn’t met Chad, I was already in awe of his capacity as actor.

I learned later that there was much conversation over how T’Challa would sound in the film. The decision to have Xhosa be the official language of Wakanda was solidified by Chad, a native of South Carolina, because he was able to learn his lines in Xhosa, there on the spot. He also advocated for his character to speak with an African accent, so that he could present T’Challa to audiences as an African king, whose dialect had not been conquered by the West.

I finally met Chad in person in early 2016, once I signed onto the film. He snuck past journalists that were congregated for a press junket I was doing for ‘Creed,’ and met with me in the green room. We talked about our lives, my time playing football in college, and his time at Howard studying to be a director, about our collective vision for T’Challa and Wakanda. We spoke about the irony of how his former Howard classmate Ta-Nehisi Coates was writing T’Challa’s current arc with Marvel Comics. And how Chad knew Howard student Prince Jones, [whose] murder by a police officer inspired Coates’ memoir ‘Between the World and Me.’

I noticed then that Chad was an anomaly. He was calm. Assured. Constantly studying. But also kind, comforting, had the warmest laugh in the world, and eyes that [saw] much beyond his years, but could still sparkle like a child seeing something for the first time.

That was the first of many conversations. He was a special person. We would often speak about heritage and what it means to be African. When preparing for the film, he would ponder every decision, every choice, not just for how it would reflect on himself, but how those choices could reverberate. ‘They not ready for this, what we are doing...’ ‘This is “Star Wars,” this is “Lord of the Rings,” but for us ... and bigger!’ He would say this to me while we were struggling to finish a dramatic scene, stretching into double overtime. Or while he was covered in body paint, doing his own stunts. Or crashing into frigid water, and foam landing pads. I would nod and smile, but I didn’t believe him. I had no idea if the film would work. I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing. But I look back and realize that Chad knew something we all didn’t. He was playing the long game. All while putting in the work. And work he did.

He would come to auditions for supporting roles, which is not common for lead actors in big budget movies. He was there for several M’Baku auditions. In Winston Duke’s, he turned a chemistry read into a wrestling match. Winston broke his bracelet. In Letitia Wright’s audition for Shuri, she pierced his royal poise with her signature humor, and would bring about a smile to T’Challa’s face that was 100% Chad.

While filming the movie, we would meet at the office or at my rental home in Atlanta, to discuss lines and different ways to add depth to each scene. We talked costumes, military practices. He said to me, ‘Wakandans have to dance during the coronations. If they just stand there with spears, what separates them from Romans?’ In early drafts of the script, Eric Killmonger’s character would ask T’Challa to be buried in Wakanda. Chad challenged that and asked, ‘What if Killmonger asked to be buried somewhere else?’

Chad deeply valued his privacy, and I wasn’t privy to the details of his illness. After his family released their statement, I realized that he was living with his illness the entire time I knew him. Because he was a caretaker, a leader and a man of faith, dignity and pride, he shielded his collaborators from his suffering. He lived a beautiful life. And he made great art. Day after day, year after year. That was who he was. He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days. What an incredible mark he’s left for us.

I haven’t grieved a loss this acute before. I spent the last year preparing, imagining and writing words for him to say, that we weren’t destined to see. It leaves me broken knowing that I won’t be able to watch another close-up of him in the monitor again or walk up to him and ask for another take.

It hurts more to know that we can’t have another conversation, or FaceTime, or text message exchange. He would send vegetarian recipes and eating regimens for my family and me to follow during the pandemic. He would check in on me and my loved ones, even as he dealt with the scourge of cancer.

In African cultures we often refer to loved ones that have passed on as ancestors. Sometimes you are genetically related. Sometimes you are not. I had the privilege of directing scenes of Chad’s character, T’Challa, communicating with the ancestors of Wakanda. We were in Atlanta, in an abandoned warehouse with bluescreens and massive movie lights, but Chad’s performance made it feel real. I think it was because from the time that I met him, the ancestors spoke through him. It’s no secret to me now how he was able to skillfully portray some of our most notable ones. I had no doubt that he would live on and continue to bless us with more. But it is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence, that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us, until we meet again.”

#'He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days.' #😢😢😢 #'It is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence #that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us until we meet again.' #🙏🙏 #this was really beautifully written #chadwick boseman #ryan coogler #black panther #t'challa

[wakandaiscoming]

Ryan Coogler’s statement on Chadwick Boseman’s death has gutted me again. “He’s an ancestor now.”

Before sharing my thoughts on the passing of the great Chadwick Boseman, I first offer my condolences to his family who meant so very much to him. To his wife, Simone, especially.

I inherited Marvel and the Russo Brothers’ casting choice of T’Challa. It is something that I will forever be grateful for. The first time I saw Chad’s performance as T’Challa, it was in an unfinished cut of “Captain America: Civil War.” I was deciding whether or not directing “Black Panther” was the right choice for me. I’ll never forget, sitting in an editorial suite on the Disney Lot and watching his scenes. His first with Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow, then, with the South African cinema titan, John Kani as T’Challa’s father, King T’Chaka. It was at that moment I knew I wanted to make this movie. After Scarlett’s character leaves them, Chad and John began conversing in a language I had never heard before. It sounded familiar, full of the same clicks and smacks that young black children would make in the States. The same clicks that we would often be chided for being disrespectful or improper. But, it had a musicality to it that felt ancient, powerful, and African.

I learned later that there was much conversation over how T’Challa would sound in the film. The decision to have Xhosa be the official language of Wakanda was solidified by Chad, a native of South Carolina, because he was able to learn his lines in Xhosa, there on the spot. He also advocated for his character to speak with an African accent, so that he could present T’Challa to audiences as an African king, whose dialect had not been conquered by the West.

I finally met Chad in person in early 2016, once I signed onto the film. He snuck past journalists that were congregated for a press junket I was doing for CREED, and met with me in the green room. We talked about our lives, my time playing football in college, and his time at Howard studying to be a director, about our collective vision for T’Challa and Wakanda. We spoke about the irony of how his former Howard classmate Ta-Nehisi Coates was writing T’Challa’s current arc with Marvel Comics. And how Chad knew Howard student Prince Jones, who’s murder by a police officer inspired Coates’ memoir Between The World and Me.

I noticed then that Chad was an anomaly. He was calm. Assured. Constantly studying. But also kind, comforting, had the warmest laugh in the world, and eyes that seen much beyond his years, but could still sparkle like a child seeing something for the first time.

That was the first of many conversations. He was a special person. We would often speak about heritage and what it means to be African. When preparing for the film, he would ponder every decision, every choice, not just for how it would reflect on himself, but how those choices could reverberate. “They not ready for this, what we are doing…” “This is Star Wars, this is Lord of the Rings, but for us… and bigger!” He would say this to me while we were struggling to finish a dramatic scene, stretching into double overtime. Or while he was covered in body paint, doing his own stunts. Or crashing into frigid water, and foam landing pads. I would nod and smile, but I didn’t believe him. I had no idea if the film would work. I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing. But I look back and realize that Chad knew something we all didn’t. He was playing the long game. All while putting in the work. And work he did.

He would come to auditions for supporting roles, which is not common for lead actors in big budget movies. He was there for several M’Baku auditions. In Winston Duke’s, he turned a chemistry read into a wrestling match. Winston broke his bracelet. In Letitia Wright’s audition for Shuri, she pierced his royal poise with her signature humor, and would bring about a smile to T’Challa’s face that was 100% Chad.

While filming the movie, we would meet at the office or at my rental home in Atlanta, to discuss lines and different ways to add depth to each scene. We talked costumes, military practices. He said to me “Wakandans have to dance during the coronations. If they just stand there with spears, what separates them from Romans?” In early drafts of the script. Eric Killmonger’s character would ask T’Challa to be buried in Wakanda. Chad challenged that and asked, what if Killmonger asked to be buried somewhere else?

Chad deeply valued his privacy, and I wasn’t privy to the details of his illness. After his family released their statement, I realized that he was living with his illness the entire time I knew him. Because he was a caretaker, a leader, and a man of faith, dignity and pride, he shielded his collaborators from his suffering. He lived a beautiful life. And he made great art. Day after day, year after year. That was who he was. He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days. What an incredible mark he’s left for us.

I haven’t grieved a loss this acute before. I spent the last year preparing, imagining and writing words for him to say, that we weren’t destined to see. It leaves me broken knowing that I won’t be able to watch another close-up of him in the monitor again or walk up to him and ask for another take.

It hurts more to know that we can’t have another conversation, or facetime, or text message exchange. He would send vegetarian recipes and eating regimens for my family and me to follow during the pandemic. He would check in on me and my loved ones, even as he dealt with the scourge of cancer.

In African cultures we often refer to loved ones that have passed on as ancestors. Sometimes you are genetically related. Sometimes you are not. I had the privilege of directing scenes of Chad’s character, T’Challa, communicating with the ancestors of Wakanda. We were in Atlanta, in an abandoned warehouse, with bluescreens, and massive movie lights, but Chad’s performance made it feel real. I think it was because from the time that I met him, the ancestors spoke through him. It’s no secret to me now how he was able to skillfully portray some of our most notable ones. I had no doubt that he would live on and continue to bless us with more. But it is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence, that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us, until we meet again."

#ryan coogler #chadwick bosemen #black panther #marvel #t’Challa #creed #m’baku #winston duke #shuri #letitia wright #xhosa #john kani #prince jones #ta nehisi coates

[londonspirit]

“I inherited Marvel and the Russo Brothers’ casting choice of T’Challa. It is something that I will forever be grateful for. The first time I saw Chad’s performance as T’Challa, it was in an unfinished cut of CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR. I was deciding whether or not directing BLACK PANTHER was the right choice for me. I’ll never forget, sitting in an editorial suite on the Disney Lot and watching his scenes. His first with Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow, then, with the South African cinema titan, John Kani as T’Challa’s father, King T’Chaka. It was at that moment I knew I wanted to make this movie. After Scarlett’s character leaves them, Chad and John began conversing in a language I had never heard before. It sounded familiar, full of the same clicks and smacks that young black children would make in the States. The same clicks that we would often be chided for being disrespectful or improper. But, it had a musicality to it that felt ancient, powerful, and African.

In my meeting after watching the film, I asked Nate Moore, one of the producers of the film, about the language. “Did you guys make it up?” Nate replied, “that’s Xhosa, John Kani’s native language. He and Chad decided to do the scene like that on set, and we rolled with it.” I thought to myself. “He just learned lines in another language, that day?” I couldn’t conceive how difficult that must have been, and even though I hadn’t met Chad, I was already in awe of his capacity as actor.

I learned later that there was much conversation over how T’Challa would sound in the film. The decision to have Xhosa be the official language of Wakanda was solidified by Chad, a native of South Carolina, because he was able to learn his lines in Xhosa, there on the spot. He also advocated for his character to speak with an African accent, so that he could present T’Challa to audiences as an African king, whose dialect had not been conquered by the West.

I finally met Chad in person in early 2016, once I signed onto the film. He snuck past journalists that were congregated for a press junket I was doing for CREED, and met with me in the green room. We talked about our lives, my time playing football in college, and his time at Howard studying to be a director, about our collective vision for T’Challa and Wakanda. We spoke about the irony of how his former Howard classmate Ta-Nehisi Coates was writing T’Challa’s current arc with Marvel Comics. And how Chad knew Howard student Prince Jones, who’s murder by a police officer inspired Coates’ memoir Between The World and Me.

I noticed then that Chad was an anomaly. He was calm. Assured. Constantly studying. But also kind, comforting, had the warmest laugh in the world, and eyes that seen much beyond his years, but could still sparkle like a child seeing something for the first time.  

That was the first of many conversations. He was a special person. We would often speak about heritage and what it means to be African. When preparing for the film, he would ponder every decision, every choice, not just for how it would reflect on himself, but how those choices could reverberate. “They not ready for this, what we are doing…” “This is Star Wars, this is Lord of the Rings, but for us… and bigger!” He would say this to me while we were struggling to finish a dramatic scene, stretching into double overtime. Or while he was covered in body paint, doing his own stunts. Or crashing into frigid water, and foam landing pads. I would nod and smile, but I didn’t believe him. I had no idea if the film would work. I wasn’t sure I knew what I was doing. But I look back and realize that Chad knew something we all didn’t. He was playing the long game.  All while putting in the work. And work he did.

He would come to auditions for supporting roles, which is not common for lead actors in big budget movies. He was there for several M’Baku auditions. In Winston Duke’s, he turned a chemistry read into a wrestling match. Winston broke his bracelet. In Letitia Wright’s audition for Shuri, she pierced his royal poise with her signature humor, and would bring about a smile to T’Challa’s face that was 100% Chad.

While filming the movie, we would meet at the office or at my rental home in Atlanta, to discuss lines and different ways to add depth to each scene. We talked costumes, military practices. He said to me “Wakandans have to dance during the coronations. If they just stand there with spears, what separates them from Romans?” In early drafts of the script. Eric Killmonger’s character would ask T’Challa to be buried in Wakanda. Chad challenged that and asked, what if Killmonger asked to be buried somewhere else?

Chad deeply valued his privacy, and I wasn’t privy to the details of his illness. After his family released their statement, I realized that he was living with his illness the entire time I knew him. Because he was a caretaker, a leader, and a man of faith, dignity and pride, he shielded his collaborators from his suffering. He lived a beautiful life. And he made great art. Day after day, year after year. That was who he was. He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days. What an incredible mark he’s left for us.

I haven’t grieved a loss this acute before. I spent the last year preparing, imagining and writing words for him to say, that we weren’t destined to see. It leaves me broken knowing that I won’t be able to watch another close-up of him in the monitor again or walk up to him and ask for another take.

It hurts more to know that we can’t have another conversation, or facetime, or text message exchange. He would send vegetarian recipes and eating regimens for my family and me to follow during the pandemic.  He would check in on me and my loved ones, even as he dealt with the scourge of cancer.  

In African cultures we often refer to loved ones that have passed on as ancestors. Sometimes you are genetically related. Sometimes you are not. I had the privilege of directing scenes of Chad’s character, T’Challa, communicating with the ancestors of Wakanda. We were in Atlanta, in an abandoned warehouse, with bluescreens, and massive movie lights, but Chad’s performance made it feel real. I think it was because from the time that I met him, the ancestors spoke through him. It’s no secret to me now how he was able to skillfully portray some of our most notable ones. I had no doubt that he would live on and continue to bless us with more. But it is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence, that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us, until we meet again.”

#chadwick boseman #ryan coogler #and now I'm crying all over again #the impact that man had #and still has #going by the massive amount of love I see all over my social media #a tribute for a king

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer III: The Kabuki

Nono flipped her hair over her shoulder, applied her lipstick, and put on the final touch of her ensemble, a half face mask. She looked every bit like a medieval lady, save for the shortened skirt at the front of her dress that showed off how shapely her legs were in her dark red pumps. 

She looked over at the exhausted and distraught Carli who’d scarcely been able to perform at Takamagahara and ended up dropping clients out of anxiety. Those boys were really putting her through the wringer.

She smiled at the irony of it.

“Where are you going?” Carli asked her.

“I’ve actually got a date.”

Carli sat up in confusion. “Oh... have... I met him?”

“Yes, and no... anyway. Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be gone all night.” She grabbed her purse, ignoring Carli’s open mouthed expression.

Okay, maybe she liked messing with people just a little bit. The girl’s imagination was probably running wild. The recently bereaved Nono already moved on to the point of spending the night with a man in Tokyo?

The answer to that question, of course, was yes. But Carli could never imagine what the reality was. Things were never what they appeared when it came to her. She stepped into the back of the taxi to be driven to the historic Kabuki Theater.

Kabuki was usually the relic of the previous generations and the occasional tourist or school field trip. But not tonight. Tonight the audience was mostly women though some men were in attendance. The common denominator was that they were all under thirty like her.

When she presented her ticket and card to the doorman, he held up a hand. “Please wait here, Miss.” And then dialed a number. Another man came, wearing a black suit and a pin displaying the Chinese character for ‘ghost’ invited her inside.

Together, they walked up to a special box seat right next to the stage. There were refreshments and wine. She took her seat.

The ticket had come with an envelope and a calling card. It was made of heavy embossed cardstock and smelled of chrysanthemum. Black flowing inked lines sketched out a simple, yet beautiful drawing of a chrysanthemum on the front and on the back were written the characters ‘Ruri Kazama.’ It bore all the hallmarks of something personal and handmade.

The ticket provided the remainder of the invitation. There was no number, no other message.

She smiled. How different he was from Caesar.

The lights went down over the audience who immediately hushed. The title of the play was “An Ancient Tale, Retold.”

She’d never seen a Kabuki. She’d been to an opera so she had some idea about the old arts. She didn’t have anything against them. The music, the costumes and the stories were all very compelling. It was the atmosphere she found stifling. People spent hundreds of dollars to sit around and say they went to the opera. Most wouldn’t be able to even tell you who was on stage, what the songs were about, or their lyrics. Nono had no patience for such pretentiousness.

That’s why she was a little apprehensive. She wouldn’t be able to understand the Japanese and no matter how expert the performance, she wouldn’t be able to appreciate it.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. “Miss.”

One of the black suited Ghost Waiters handed her a small tablet. “As the lyrics are sung, the translation will appear here as well as any cultural references.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh! Thank you!”

He walked away and she sat up and looked over her shoulder. That man spoke perfect English! She leaned back in her chair, smiling and chuckling. “Okay, Mr. Kazama. You have my attention.”

A sound of a drum broke the silence. The curtain rose and a woman in white face make up stood head bowed, center stage.

She looked down at the lyrics

All happiness in the world is a flash in the shadow of the moon;

Loneliness and pain are often the only companions in the depths of hell.

The woman sang and slowly raised her head. She opened eyes that were painted red at the corners.

Much to Nono’s surprise, the information on the tablet said that this woman was actually Ruri Kazama. The performance was the tale of Izanagi and Izanami, a brother and sister who got married and created the Japanese pantheon of gods..

But Izanami would perish giving birth to the god of Volcanos and the heartbroken Izanagi would journey to the underworld to save her. She could return with him, but only if he promised not to look upon her underworld form. Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep that promise and lit a torch. He saw that she was a living corpse, eaten up by maggots.

The man fled without his wife. Ever since then, Izanami was an evil vengeful goddess who killed a thousand people every day, but Izanagi made sure that 1,500 babies were conceived every day.

Nono raised an eyebrow to that.

The next scene, Izanagi appeared to sing the praises of his three children: Amaterasu, Susano-O and Tsukiyomi. He ordered them to rule over the Kingdom of the Gods, Takamagahara.

While Izanagi sang and danced with his children, Izanami was behind a thin curtain on the stage, wailing in loneliness and abandonment, remembering how beautiful her life used to be and how her and her former husband first met and how beautiful things could have been.

“Okay...” Nono didn’t remember that being part of the tale. She leaned forward.

Ruri, as Izanami, danced and sang surrounded by the corpses of the dead while wearing a kimono typical of dead person at a funeral, according to the tablet. He was a tragic figure and sure enough, some of the people in the audience were openly weeping.

There was an intermission but no one got up and left the theater. They were all discussing what they had seen. This tale was old, and yet few had tried to perform it from the point of view of the dead Izanami.

The second half was the lively story of Susano-O in killing the 8-headed serpent Yamata-no-Orochi. A family of 8 daughters was left with only one after the snake had eaten one of their daughters every year. So Susano-O offered to kill it in exchange for their last remaining daught-.

Nono sighed. “Well, ... okay.”

So he turns her into a comb for safekeeping in his hair. He makes eight barrels of sake which the serpent drinks. After it’s drunk and asleep, he cuts off all the snake’s heads.

But Ruri doesn’t play the hero in this scene, either, he plays the eight headed dragon, resplendent in a scaly looking sequined robe. “If only Carli were here.”

Carli didn’t realize it, but Nono was at the performance of her ballet the night of her recruitment. She would love this.

But Nono was the only one enjoying this part of the performance. A strange murmuring had broken out in the crowd. The Battle was supposed to be epic and loud, but all the audience saw were women and children on stage.

Susano-O did his hero thing and dramatically cut into the ‘dragon’, red dye illustrating the flow of blood. In the end, Ruri Kazama fell to center stage as the dragon died.

It seemed that this would be the end of the tale, but it wasn’t. Susano-O knelt next to the fallen serpent and after a moment of silence, what appeared to be bright wings with sharpened feathers lifted from Ruri’s back and pierced the hero through the heart!

The audience gasped as fireworks sparked up from the stage! Susano-O tore off the robe of Ruri Kazama revealing a new blood red outfit underneath. as he quietly lay in the center stage.

Off stage a voice was singing.

“Weary, oh... Weary, oh

King of Ghostly Bone

The path ahead is indistinct

Looking back is useless

Broken, drenched in a sea of mercury

Face each other over the lonely city wall

As if to remember the heavy debt of gratitude of years past.

The hairs rose on Nono’s arms and her eyes widened. “Ruri... what is this?”

The audience was in ecstasy. The interpretation read out on the tablet. Turned out that the eight headed serpent was the goddess Izanami, returned from the underworld to exact her revenge for being abandoned by her husband. 

The whole play was sympathetic to her plight, so that when, in the end, the dragon kills the ‘hero of the story’ everyone is happy. The audience bought it, hook-line-and-sinker. Flowers were being thrown up on stage. People were congratulating him on his performance.

Nono put the tablet down.

“Ma’am?”

On a platter offered by the waiter was an envelope. Inside was an invitation to meet him backstage.

#Nono #Ruri Kazama

[themagiciansreccenter]

Five @ Five @thursdayeuclid

As a part of our author spotlight, we’ve asked each writer to highlight 5 fics and tell us a little about their experience writing (or reading) them.

Modified Aspect Ratio by @sabrinachill

Quentin flinches when party hats suddenly appear on all three of their heads - the pointy, cardboard kind, with elastic straps that bite into the soft underside of their chins. Crepe paper streamers float in the air and balloons drop from where a ceiling should be, drifting down to scatter across the white expanse that serves as a floor. Tiny multicolored fireworks explode into shapes like smiley-faces and stars, and a three-tiered cake coated in yellow and red icing pops into existence in a puff of flour, hovering to the monster’s right.

But the biggest decoration - and weirdest, by far - is the enormous blue neon sign with the words “Welcome to Hollywood!” strobing insistently against the white blankness.

The monster is now wearing a wizard costume, for some unknown reason, and bouncing up and down while clapping its hands and performing a horribly off-key rendition of “Party in the USA.”

“This is officially the worst party I’ve ever attended, including the one where we murdered a couple of gods,” Eliot mutters.

Quentin’s answering sigh is epic and professional-grade, containing all the exasperated resignation in the galaxy. “Why is it that everything that happens to us is always equal parts absurd and terrifying? I mean, I could accept regular old fear and tragedy, sure, whatever, everybody gets those. But it’s like the universe gets off on dicking us around.”

He wants to slump, all dramatic and defeated, but he’s still pinned in place by the monster’s powerful will, like a butterfly in a display case.

This has to be my favorite Queliot AU. It's patently ridiculous but just believable enough to really touch your heart. Which, honestly, is most of the show too. I laughed and cried reading this. It's amazing and unpredictable and goes places I would never have imagined.

to be unbroken or be brave again by @milominderbindered

After the fourth time it happens, Josh decides to go for it, and as they’re bathing in the sweaty afterglow, he asks Margo if she wants to go on a date.

Margo looks at him, up and down, and says, “No offence, Hoberman, but no.”

“Oh.”  Josh’s stomach sinks a bit.  He pulls up his pants and takes a joint out of his pocket.  “Okay, that’s chill too. Wanna smoke?”

“Oh, don’t look all sorry for yourself,” Margo says, rolling her eyes as she picks herself up from the bathroom floor and inspects her hair in the mirror.  “It’s nothing personal. You’re nice, the sex is good, whatever. But, listen. Eliot is my best friend, and he’s going through this incredibly shitty time right now.  Specifically to do with love.  It’s been a couple months since that Mike shit went down, but he’s still seriously messed up, and he’s my first priority, capiche?  I’m not gonna start dating someone and just leave him by himself half the time, or shove a bunch of lovey-dovey crap in his face.  No way. I’m not gonna date anyone until Eliot’s dating again, too.”

“Right,” says Josh, slowly, as he lights his joint and thinks about it.  “Not until he’s dating someone too. Got it.”

He thinks about the party raging downstairs, and about what he knows about Eliot.  Eliot’s had no problem hooking with guys recently, everyone knows that, but he’s not kept anyone around for more than a night.  He’s heard Margo calling it Eliot’s attachment freak-outs when he drops the guys as soon as they suggest sucking his dick more than once , which makes sense.  Except. Well, there’s that one first year, with the floppy hair and the Lord of the Rings t-shirt.  Eliot and the first year with the weird name haven’t hooked up, according to Josh’s well-informed rumour mill, but he certainly seems to be the only person other than Margo who Eliot’s remotely interested in spending time with when he’s not drunk.

There aren’t a lot of things in life Josh Hoberman has an excess of.  But he’s not hard up for money. He’s got a trust fund and a drug hustle.  And he’d spotted Eliot’s first year at the school noticeboard taking the number for a three-headed-dog walking ad, the other day.

So, just like that.  The threads tangle together.

So this is a 10 Things I Hate About You AU (which was itself a reimagining of Taming of the Shrew), and I'm living for it, just right off the bat. I love Hoberman wanting Margo so badly he goes to all this trouble. I love Quentin being morally compromised but just wanting to spend all his time with Eliot... I love it. This story deserved more attention. It made me laugh and 'aww' and have feelings, plus it's on the shorter side so you have no excuse not to read it.

we can kiss like real people do by VeryImportantDemon

“No offense,” Quentin began, squinting at the stranger, “but I don’t know you, um… Janet.”

“None taken,” the man said. “And my name’s not Janet, it’s Eliot. None of the names on these things are right, we just grab a nametag.”

“Oh,” Quentin said. He supposed that made sense. “But I still don’t know you.”

Eliot shrugged again, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips afterwards. Q tried to pretend like he wasn’t staring, but he and Eliot both knew that he was. “In that case, it can’t hurt to tell me, then,” he added.

“Why are you even here?” Quentin asked, stalling for time. Maybe the ridiculously attractive barista was on break and if Quentin talked long enough, that break would be up and he wouldn’t have to confess his embarrassing predicament.

“You’re sad and cute and I was bored,” Eliot said. “Now, spill.”

He was not to be deterred so Quentin didn’t have very long to dwell on the fact that he’d just been called cute. “I, um… I kind of lied to my dad,” he said.

“Ooo,” Eliot said, leaning forward. “Exciting. About what?”

“It’s not that exciting,” Quentin said. “I just… He’s worried I’m lonely and he keeps asking if I’ve met someone. I just told him I had a boyfriend once to get him to stop asking and now he wants to see a picture of us.”

“Mmhm,” Eliot said. “I think I’m following. Why didn’t you get that snack that was here earlier to take a pic with you?”

“I can’t,” Quentin said, wondering how his life had gotten to the point that he was having an impromptu therapy session with a barista. “That’s Penny. He’s my… Sort of friend? And he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Pity,” Eliot said. “This your phone?” he added, gesturing to the phone on the table.

“Yeah,” Quentin said. Before he said anything further, Eliot scooped it up, unlocked it with Quentin’s face, and then set about doing something Quentin couldn’t see. “Hey!” he protested. “That’s my phone!”

“I know,” Eliot said. He rose from his chair, crouched down beside Quentin, and flashed a mesmerizing smile. Quentin was sure he looked a little startled and confused in the selfie because he really was confused. Eliot moved fast. He tapped on Quentin’s phone for a few more seconds as he crossed the table and sat down in the chair he had previously occupied before tapping a few more times and sliding the phone back to Quentin. “There,” he said. “Problem solved.”

I am a complete sucker for fake dating, and this story has a delightful array of truly ridiculous fake dating tropes. Also, it has transgender Penny dating Margo, and as a trans man, I can only aspire to such absolute game. Well done, trans Penny. Godspeed you, good man. There's a scene where I was freaking out and very upset and the author had to reassure me in comments it would be okay, so I kept reading, and everything was lovely in the end.

The Honor of Your Presence by Page161of180

One of the first years-- Elliott (oh no, that is too confusing, even in his own internal monologue), ah, Todd doesn’t remember her name, not because he doesn’t care, but because there are two Emilies and an Emilia in the new class and he hasn’t quite sorted them out yet. Maybe he should ask them about their middle names?-- makes it halfway down the stairs, before coming to a dead stop at the sight of the PKC’s friendly neighborhood post-grad locked in a silent stare-off with a six-foot-something R-rated Disney prince in head-to-toe-- Todd’s pretty sure it’s brocade? It’s very shiny and kind of between mint and seafoam. Definitely a nice color, against pale skin and dark hair. Which Todd knows from dressing himself , not because he spends that much of his time thinking about-- Not that there’s anything wrong with--

Ha. Ha ha. What? Not the point.

Todd shakes his head frantically at Emily, Emily, or Emilia, and she gets the message, turning back up the stairs and retreating to the safety of her room. Todd wishes he could go with her. Not, like, with her , specifically; he’s more into Emily (other Emily? Or maybe she’s Emilia?), honestly. But, you know, away . Would be good. 

Neither Eliot nor Quentin seem to notice she was ever there.

Eliot has been staring at Quentin for one minute and forty-five seconds, Todd’s face going more ashen with each moment that slips away, when the former (still?) king finally says, “I’m sorry. What ?”

And if it were Todd facing down Eliot like that (not that it would be; why would he be dating Eliot? Crazy.), he would have basically just, become one with the carpet, because that only sounds like a question. It is very clearly, obviously a trap. But Quentin-- man . Quentin has always been, just, super brave. Way braver than you would probably expect from someone who’s all, sort of, pocket-sized and, um, no judgment but, not really all that good? At magic? Like, not bad-- definitely not bad! Just. Kind of normal and-- soft? If that makes sense? He just sort of always looks like he needs a hug. Which is maybe why Eliot basically always has at least one arm wrapped around him.

Not now, though. Now, Eliot has both arms down at his sides, hands dangerously still, while Quentin crosses his own over his chest and sets his jaw.

This is just one of the greatest fics I've ever read in any fandom, for any pairing, and it's hilarious and feelsy and I had to keep pausing when I was reading it just to sit with my emotions for a minute. I recommend it to absolutely anyone who likes Queliot at all.

Ask Me, I Won't Say No by @veganshailseitan

None of them linger too long in their booth after they collect the gift certificate that will almost cover their drinks for next week-

Wednesday Night Trivia Rule 2: Only Penny and Alice are allowed to handle the gift certificates because they are the only ones who won’t lose them.

-exchanging hugs and kisses on cheeks. He’s walking out of the bar while texting —a grave mistake he should have learned from by now, but he just has to let the sitter know he’s going to be late real quick— when he suddenly smacks into something solid, sending his phone clattering to the floor.

Something solid which oh, fuck happens to be a person.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the stranger says, despite the fact that Quentin should clearly be taking the blame here. 

He’s ducking to pick up his hopefully-not-shattered phone before he can even spare a glance at the person, “You’re fine, I wasn’t paying attention to-” he loses the sentence as he stands back up, looking up to a face he’s only seen from across the room “-you?”

His brief interaction with the enemy-

”I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Eliot. Waugh.”

“Um, yeah, I’ve seen you here before, hi. Quentin Coldwater.”

“Quentin Coldwater?” -sticks in Quentin’s mind for the next week. He’s excited for trivia. More excited than the usual eagerness for his night out of the house with grown-ups, and nervous for the first time since he could remember. Which is so dumb and shows Quentin how painfully out of practice he is at interacting with other human beings.

He and the guy —Eliot— had barely exchanged two sentences and he’s pretty sure one of them had just been Eliot making fun of his name. But then again, his type has always been the ones that pulled his pigtails on the playground —which, yeah super healthy there Quentin, way to go— except for Arielle.

And there it was: the surefire way to kill whatever ill-advised excitement he’d been holding onto for the night.

He’s early this week, for reasons he’s already overthinking, so he goes ahead and grabs their usual table. It’s his week to pick-

Wednesday Night Trivia Rule 1: The person in charge of choosing the team name will rotate on a weekly basis in alphabetical order. That week’s decider can only be overruled by a unanimous vote from the rest of the team (per the March 2018 addendum).

-so he lets the group chat know he’s there, checks them in with the Quizmaster as To Be Perfectly Queer, (because he’s at least self-aware at this point in his life) and heads to the bar, trying to focus on whether or not he wants to try the new local craft brew they were pushing this month-

And immediately runs into Eliot.

Thankfully not literally this time.

“Well, hello, Quentin.” Eliot looks as surprised to run into him as Q is, which is stupid on both their parts.

“Uh, Eliot. Hello. How are you?” just talk like a normal human, Quentin, Jesus.

Eliot smiles, sultry and so over the top that Quentin almost laughs, “Fraternizing with the enemy, are we? I’m sworn to hold our knowledge in secrecy, so don’t you dare try to seduce it out of me.”

Quentin does laugh at that, somehow put at ease by Eliot’s carefree flirtation, “I’ll try to restrain my charms. Scout’s honor.”

I actually -just- got around to reading this one and I liked it so much it made me squee out loud on a couple of occasions. It's hot, it's kidfic, it's sweet, and there's feelings and fluff and smut. Basically a ridiculous AU where Eliot and Quentin are on opposing pub trivia teams. However, that premise accounts for only a fraction of this story's considerable charms. I didn't expect to love it like I did--I did, in fact, expect to love it in a totally different way--and then it hooked me and dragged me panting and squirming through a smorgasbord of emotion. 

#the magicians rec center #five @ five #author spotlight #author spotlight: thursdayeuclid

[orphicdawn]

season three. summer of ‘85, before senior year, age seventeen.

chapter one. 

working at the cinema in the starcourt mall, caroline sees the boys and max sneaking into another r - rated movie. shaking her head, she goes over to scoop ahoy and scolds steve. “hey harrington, how many times are you going to let my little brother’s friends into movies they aren’t supposed to be in?” he tells her keep her voice down, but she just shrugs it off, “sorry you have to deal with him all the time now.”

caroline lets the boys, el, and max into the house while her mother goes to pick up dustin. “he will be so excited to see you guys,” she muses as she digs out his power controlled toys. waiting outside, she runs up to him and hugs him tight. “welcome home, dustpan man. it’s been too quiet without you.” once his friends surprise him, she leaves for work. 

she stops in at scoop ahoy to hear the tail - end of steve’s epic fail. “wow, steve. i remember you being more charming like a year ago.” setting down the exact change, she walks behind the counter and makes herself her favorite ice cream : one scoop of rocky road, and one scoop of cookie dough. “don’t let the children into another r - rated movie tonight. thanks, loser.”

chapter two.

dustin wakes her up the next day and begs her to take him to the mall to see steve. “right, i forget your strange friendship with that scooper.” caroline gets ready, and takes him to the mall with her. before she can stop him, dustin runs ahead to meet up with steve. finally catching up, she shakes her head at the sight of them reuniting. “okay losers, have fun. i’ll be over at the cinema if you need anything.” she waves to robin, “you have my permission to keep dustin in line.” 

 “what the hell does that mean?” she asks after she hears them recite the russian communication. dustin instantly moves to her side and pushes her out the door from the back. “hey, dustin what the hell?” he tries to tell her it’s nothing she needs to worry about, but eventually breaks and tells her that he intercepted russian communication, and robin translated it. “woah . . . cool, but that doesn’t make any sense.” she walks out with them as they suggest it’s code, and steve realizes it came from the mall itself. “why do we live in this crazy, nightmare town?” 

chapter three.

caroline is posted at the entrance of the cinema; which she’s using to spy people walking around the mall. she sees dustin and steve hiding behind a plant before they run off towards the escalator. suddenly she sees robin run out into the middle of the lower level. curious herself, she runs forward and meets them. “so what’s it mean?”

she ends up on top the roof alongside dustin, steve, and robin as they test out robin’s theory on the code. they barely escape when dustin and steve draw attention to them. “robin, i can’t believe you cracked it. that’s so awesome!” she pauses, “   ---   but also bad . . . evil russians and all.” 

chapter four. 

caroline shakes her head when dustin suggest getting into that room to find out what is in the boxes, “this is getting dangerous. maybe we need to call hopper.” the three of them immediately shoot down her idea and then robin returns with the blueprints of the mall. “yeah, so dustin isn’t going to fit,” she teases as she helps steve pull him out of the vent. 

caroline is completely against using erica to get into the room, but the rest of the group thinks it’ll be okay. as she is in the back room going over the data robin has collected, she sees steve. “hey, so we can’t call hopper, but telling a ten year old is okay?” he reassures her everything will be okay. as they are sitting on the roof waiting for erica to reach the room, she shakes her head. “operation child endangerment sounds right though.” 

“woah, woah. how about no one dies?” she says as dustin and steve argue. she grabs dustin’s shoulder when steve goes pull out the cylinder out. when the room shakes, she immedaitely turns to the doors. “we need to get out of here . . . NOW!” she grabs erica’s hand, and steps behind dustin ; erica pulls her hand away commenting how she isn’t a wimp. suddenly, the doors slam shut and room drops like an elevator. “we are so screwed! hopper sounds like a good idea now!” 

chapter five.

barely making it out of the elevator, caroline starts down the long corridor first. “come on. if we  don’t want to get caught, we need to start moving towards some kind of exit.” the rest of the group follows before she’s down speaking. she can’t believe they are stuck in this situation ; hawkins is turning into quite the shit show. caroline falls behind with dustin and steve as they theorize that the russians know something about the labs , demo - gods , and mind flayer. “i mean . . . nancy and jonathan helped out them. that news was everywhere for months. russians probably saw it.” 

as they reach the end of the corridor where all the russians are congregated. “jesus!” she whispers as she pushes everyone off to the side to hid behind the containers. “are we trying to be seen?” they quickly make it to the communications room where steve has to knock out a russian guard, and robin finds the control room where they are opening the gate back up. “you’ve got to be shitting me,” she looks to steve and dustin. “they are opening it. . . ” 

chapter six.

caroline doesn’t want to leave steve and robin, but she can’t send dustin and erica off on their own. “come on guys! we aren’t leaving you behind!” she is forced to go into the ventilation without them. “you’re going to be fine!” she motions for dustin and erica to be quiet and move forward. shit!  

she leans back against the vent walls as she listens to dustin and erica bicker over who is a nerd and who isn’t. “you guys, can we just keep moving. steve and robin are in serious danger. they will just kill them if they feel they won’t get anything out of them.”

dustin finds a way back to steve and robin and they are able to get them lose as they try to escape from the russians.

chapter seven.

sitting in the back of the little carrier van, she is already exhausted by the way steve and robin are acting. “yeah, doofus. i could have told you that they were drugged after riding back there with them.” she tries to help guide them out of the building, but they are too high to focus on one thing. dustin and erica help usher them into the side of the building when guards begin to chase after them again. “the cinema. come on!” she tugs steve and robin to forward as dustin and erica lead to the seats below. 

caroline moves back out into the cinema halls to keep watch for the russians and maybe get ahold of someone who can help them. she tries calling every single person who knows about the events from the last couple years, but she can’t get ahold of anyone. the byers, the wheelers, the sinclairs, hopper --- it’s like everyone vanished within the last twenty - four hours. erica and dustin show up saying they lost steve and robin. “great we lost our druggie friends, and i can’t get ahold of anyone in the party!” 

finding them in the bathroom, dustin tells them that they just need to walk out with a large crowd and they’ll go undetected. as they approach the exit, they find the russian guards waiting for them. robin slides down the center of the escalator and caroline pushes on everyone else to  follow --- going down last. they hide behind the great cookie stand.

the guards are taken out by the display car in starcourt. as the group reunites, everyone’s story comes together and starts to make some sense ; everyone has been experiencing the return of the mind flayer. “can we please call hopper now? he’ll be able to get the military here!” but suddenly el falls over as her leg is messed up very badly.

chapter eight.

“jonnathan are you serious? do you know what you’re doing?” she questions as he returns with a knife. everyone just stands by and lets him cut into her leg. caroline holds her el’s hand and whispers “it’ll be okay.” but el is strong enough to get the mind flayer beast out of her leg as hopper, joyce, and murray show up at the mall. “finally!” 

as the party formulates a plan to close the gate, and stop the chaos from spreading, caroline checks on steve and robin. “you guys feeling better? steve that looks really bad. way worse than the times with jonathan and billy.” they laugh a little, before being sent off to get dustin and erica to his radio transmitter to help navigate the adults. 

steve notices that starcourt’s lights are going crazy ; when dustin tries to connect with them they hear a loud roar over the walkie. “they need help!” caroline and robin run after steve as he races to the car to go back to starcourt to help get them out of there. “keep navigating, squirts! we’ll be back!”

as they pull into the parking lot, they see billy racing towards the party. steve picks up speed as he completely rams into the car to stop them. “holy shit . . .” caroline rushes over to the nancy’s car as she climbs in and ends up sitting on steve and robin’s legs. “jonathan drive faster! it’s coming!”

when dustin and suzy start singing over the walkie, caroline leans back and laughs. “jesus, dustin. . .i love my doofus brother.” 

the mind flayer starts to turn around, and jonathan quickly follows. “it must know that el isn’t in the car with us.” they arrive back at starcourt and attack the mind flayer using the fireworks that lucas grabbed earlier in the night. “stay here! i’m going down to get el.” caroline start down to the bottom floor to help el get away. she makes it down to her right as they run out of fireworks. she grabs el and pulls her back “come on, hon! we have to go.” she ends up next to mike and max as she ushers them to move  back ; she shields them with her body. 

the aftermath of the event is the hardest of them all. caroline tries her best to continue living a normal life by getting a new job as a waitress, but the loss of hopper takes a heavy toll on el, joyce, and the byers boys --- enough that joyce choses to move out of hawkins three months later which only has everyone else feeling the loss of their friends, and significant others. 

#* study : caroline henderson #** normal everything is flexible just basic outline for her during these events. so yep

[bestweb20sitelist]

Technology meets tradition: Kerala’s robotic leather puppets

New Post has been published on https://uspost.xyz/?p=34

Technology meets tradition: Kerala’s robotic leather puppets

Koonathara, Palakkad – A cool breeze, soulful prayer verses and eye-catching puppetry mesmerise the 25-plus audience sitting in chairs under the night sky of Koonathara, a village in Palakkad district in Kerala, India. They are a mix of locals and tourists from all over the world.

Tholpavakoothu (thol meaning leather, pava meaning puppet and koothu meaning play) is a form of shadow puppetry performed during events and festivals held in the temples dedicated to the goddesses Durga or Kaali. The artform is found only in Palakkad, Thrissur and neighbouring villages in Kerala.

Performed three to four times a month between January and May, a 42-foot-long special stage called koothumadam is set up in the temple premises. It displays mythological figures backlit by fire or lights behind a screen.

The festive air is palpable as a rhythmic drum beat begins and the performers emerge carrying a lighted lamp. Fireworks go off to announce the start of the performance and then, in total darkness except for the light of the lamp, a sense of calmness prevails.

A row of 21 wicks placed in coconut shells are lit behind the screen, made up of a white cloth stretched across the koothumadam, bordered by a black cloth.

Tholpavakoothu is based on Kamba Ramayana (the Tamil version of the epic Ramayana), which tells the story of the Hindu God Sri Rama from his birth to his coronation as the king of Ayodhya.

It is said that tholpavakoothu is performed to please the Goddess Bhadrakali, as she could not witness the slaying of the demon king Ravana by Rama, which is why an idol of the goddess is placed on a pedestal in front of the stage.

A view of the puppets from behind the screen [Photo courtesy of Sajeesh Pulavar]

About 160 puppets are used to represent the 70-odd characters of Kamba Ramayana, narrated in diction which is a mix of Malayalam and Tamil, with songs and poetry called Adalpattu.

Ten artists – the master puppeteer, singers, storytellers and other puppeteers – are highly skilled in the artform.

Sixty-two-year-old Lakshman Pulavar is one of them. He has been performing since he was a child, following in the footsteps of his father, grandfather, and those before them.

His family are the sole keepers of the 300-year-old artform, and have been performing it for eight generations.

The master puppeteer is called the “pulavan”, which derives from their family name Pulavar, meaning learned scholar.

The leather puppets, which are approximately 80cm in height, are made by Lakshman and his sons, with help from other family members. They are cut out from the hides of buffalo and deerskin, painted with vegetable dyes and fastened with sticks.

Manipulating them requires dexterity and concentration and is one of the most difficult parts of the performance, in which a total of 2,100 slokas (verses) and their meanings must also be memorised.

A performance team in front of a stage [Sajeesh Pulavar/Al Jazeera]

In total, the Pulavar family perform at 82 temples across Palakkad, with Lakshman and his sons responsible for 20 temples, and his brothers and cousins covering the rest.

The performance normally lasts for 21 days around the Pooram, the annual festival which falls in the first week of April, but can last even longer. The family also performs other shows in which different stories are told at events and functions around Palakkad. These performances are shorter, some lasting just 30 minutes, and require fewer artists.

“Artists have to undergo years of rigorous training before mastering this art form,” explains Lakshman, who is in the middle of training some students and holds a puppet in his hand as he speaks. “It took me a long time to recite all the verses verbatim,” he adds.

‘I love being a part of it’

The Harisree Kannan Tholpavakoothu Kalakendram at Koonathara is an institute dedicated to tholpavakoothu performances and is run by Lakshman and his sons, 31-year-old Sajeesh and 22-year-old Sajith.

The institute organises training sessions and summer camps to teach the artform, as well as how to make the puppets, training 10 to 20 adult students and 150 to 200 schoolchildren at any given time. They also conduct workshops for international students studying Indian culture. Since the pandemic, Sajeesh has been giving online classes using a makeshift stage in his house.

Lakshman Pulavar at a training session with his students [Sajeesh Pulavar/Al Jazeera]

“The drum beats and music add a sense of euphoria and excitement to the performance, and I love being a part of it,” says Sajith, his eyes sparkling as he speaks.

His brother Sajeesh left the village to study mechanical engineering and to work for an automobile firm, but soon returned to continue the family tradition.

“I have learnt the art of tholpavakoothu from my father and grandfather since the age of six and have been involved in this family tradition since my childhood,” he says.

Lakshman and his sons are passionate about the art form and dedicated to preserving it.

But since the COVID-19 pandemic began, the family has been struggling.

Due to restrictions, the duration of performances has been reduced from seven or eight hours a day to just four, and fewer people attend. During periods of lockdown, performances stop altogether. The lack of tourism in the past year has also meant smaller audiences.

Before the pandemic, they would make 150,000-200,000 rupees ($2,057-$2,744) a month for temple performances. Now they make 50,000-60,000 rupees ($686-$823) per month. But each show costs 20,000-35,000 rupees ($274-$480) to put on – and what is left from their earnings must be divided between the eight to 10 people involved in each production.

With fewer live performances, the Pulavars depend on online workshops to supplement their income. They have also started renting out their puppets, selling puppets to tourists and have even taken up farming. “We are cultivating rice to add to our income,” explains Lakshman.

Sajeesh Pulavar with a glove puppet [Sajeesh Pulavar/Al Jazeera]

Technology meets tradition

Another issue the family has encountered is a dwindling lack of interest in the art form among younger generations. But technology may be coming to the rescue in that regard.

Thrissur-based Inker Robotics is a tech startup founded in 2018 by 38-year-old Rahul Balachandran. It trains school and college students in automation and robotics, as well as developing robots to work in agriculture, industry and other areas.

A few years ago, after seeing the amount of work involved in manipulating the puppets, Rahul suggested the Pulavars try using robots to operate the puppets.

Sajeesh and Lakshman were instantly attracted to the idea, as they believed introducing something so modern to this traditional art form would attract more people to it.

“We were hoping to create awareness about preserving native traditions and culture,” Lakshman explains.

But as each robot would cost several hundred thousand rupees, they could not afford it.

Then, a few months ago, the District Heritage Museum in Palakkad, which hosts one of India’s largest collections of musical instruments, approached Sajeesh. It wanted to host a permanent tholpavakoothu puppet exhibit. Sajeesh saw an opportunity to use the robot-operated puppets and spoke to Rahul.

Together, they set about creating the first robot-operated puppet show. Sajeesh demonstrated the hand movements to Rahul and his team, who in turn wrote the code to synchronise the movements.

Testing the operation of robot puppetry at Inker Robotics [Photo courtesy of Rahul Balachandran]

“Sajeesh and I would brainstorm for hours with my team to bring out the best performance by the robots so that it reflects the original style of puppetry,” Rahul explains.

It took three months to complete.

It went on show for the first time in front of 100 people at the museum in February.

“People were amazed and excited to see the robot-operated puppet show as it was a new experience for them,” says Milton Francis, the director of the museum.

The puppets are programmed so that when a sensor detects the presence of a visitor it plays one of the stories from Kamba Ramayana, lasting between 30 minutes to two hours. It has been a huge hit since its installation and attracted large crowds before the most recent lockdown.

“The robot will be controlling the limb movements of the puppets which is the most difficult part,” says Sajeesh, adding: “It felt surreal seeing the robot manipulating the puppets, it was like a dream come true.”

Lakshman and Sajeesh Pulavar check out the exhibit at the museum [Photo courtesy of Sajeesh Pulavar]

Now they are considering new places in which to use the robots.

“We have used a prototype in the museum and are working on the product to install it at the Kochi airport which has a huge footfall,” says Rahul. “I am excited about the prospects of technology and its reach.”

But, despite the success of the robot-operated puppets, the Pulavars don’t want to lose the human touch and have decided to limit their use to stage performances while keeping the traditional hand-operated puppets for temple performances out of respect for the “beliefs and traditions of our elders”.

“We feel that such traditional art forms should be spread and taught to the younger generations, to see that they don’t go extinct,” says Lakshman.

[youngandhungryent]

Ryan Coogler & Danai Gurira Share Touching Tributes To Chadwick Boseman

Source: Vivien Killilea / Getty

The world is still processing the loss of Chadwick Boseman, but it’s clear that those who worked closely with that actor and had the privilege to call him a friend needed time to find the words to say goodbye.

No one in the world imagined that we would be talking about 43-year-old Chadwick Boseman in the past tense, but that’s 2020 for you. When his family used his social media accounts to inform the world of his passing, the globe was thrown for a loop. We were all shocked to learn our King T’Challa, who was battling stage III colon cancer, undergone multiple surgeries and numerous rounds of chemotherapy while bringing our heroes to life and still working on movies.

On Sunday (Aug.30), following his passing, both Black Panther’s director Ryan Coogler and his Boseman’s co-star in the record-breaking film, Danai Gurira, dropped touching tributes to the late actor.

In his touching tribute to Boseman released through The Hollywood Reporter, Coogler described taking the job to direct Black Panther and how his relationship with the actor quickly went from just being professional to a friendship.  He described Boseman as an “epic firework display,” stating he is an “ancestor now.”

“I noticed then that Chad was an anomaly. He was calm. Assured. Constantly studying. But also kind, comforting, had the warmest laugh in the world, and eyes that seen much beyond his years, but could still sparkle like a child seeing something for the first time.

Coogler revealed just like the rest of the world, he learned about Boseman’s battle with stage IV colon cancer Friday night (Aug.28).

“After his family released their statement, I realized that he was living with his illness the entire time I knew him. Because he was a caretaker, a leader, and a man of faith, dignity, and pride, he shielded his collaborators from his suffering. He lived a beautiful life. And he made great art. Day after day, year after year. That was who he was. He was an epic firework display. I will tell stories about being there for some of the brilliant sparks till the end of my days. What an incredible mark he’s left for us.”

Coogler closed out his statement by pointing out that he has “grieved a loss this acute before.”

“I haven’t grieved a loss this acute before. But it is with a heavy heart and a sense of deep gratitude to have ever been in his presence, that I have to reckon with the fact that Chad is an ancestor now. And I know that he will watch over us until we meet again.”

Danai Gurira, who plays his right-hand Okoye in Black Panther and leader of the powerful army of women, the Dora Milaje tasked with protecting the King and his family, opened up about Boseman’s passing. On Twitter, the actress began her tribute by asking, “How do you honor a king?” following that up with “Reeling from the loss of my colleague, my friend, my brother. Struggling for words. Nothing feels adequate.”

“I always marveled at how special Chadwick was. Such a pure-hearted, profoundly generous, regal, fun guy. My entire job as Okoye was to respect and protect a king. Honor his leadership. Chadwick made that job profoundly easy. He was the epitome of kindness, elegance, diligence, and grace. On many an occasion, I would think of how thankful I was that he was the leading man I was working closely with. A true class act. And so perfectly equipped to take on the responsibility of leading the franchise that changed everything for Black representation.”

pic.twitter.com/wzak5LB1pP

— Danai Gurira (@DanaiGurira) August 30, 2020

Boseman’s death was definitely a gut punch to us all. May he rest in power forever.

—

Photo: Vivien Killilea / Getty

source https://hiphopwired.com/903779/ryan-coogle-danai-gurira-chadwick-boseman/

#fucu #fucul #young and hungry ent #boss of bosses #instrumental type beat free

[racingtoaredlight]

On This Day...

On this day in 1986, Top Gun was released by Paramount Pictures. In that spirit, rather than wax poetic at length about what remains one of my favorite movies--especially for how re-watchable it is--I will instead just link to the post I did for July 4, three years ago in which I spent far too much time breaking apart every aspect of the movie. It was a truly inspired move by me to spend hours writing a post that went up on a day in which virtually no one was going to visit RTARL. That said, the comments, what few there were, were still more positive than those I received on the Pearl Harbor movie post. Going through this, I think it’s pretty clear why I only did three of these posts (the other one, besides Pearl Harbor, was Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves...which I refuse to link to because of how horrible the writing is). Anyways, a selection from my “Deconstructing: Top Gun” is after the jump.

“Today is the Fourth of July. There are Americans who will take the opportunity today to attempt to place themselves in a stifling meeting room in Carpenter Hall while a draft of the Declaration of Independence was voted on and agreed to by a body of wealthy, white male landowners. Then there are those that will purchase a case of Keystone Light, a handle of Bacardi, a liter of Cherry Coke, some fireworks, bland pre-formed hamburger patties and say “It’s time to grill because fuckin’ ‘Merica!” This post will borrow from a little of column A, and a little of column B.

There are a handful of movies from the 1980s that capture the zeitgeist of that decadent decade in a manner that is both enjoyable and relatively accurate from a sociological point of view. Wall Street, Ferris Bueller’s Day off (or any John Hughes movie for that matter), Weird Science, Ghost Busters, Adventures in Babysitting, Goonies, and Top Gun fulfill the role of 80s archetype handsomely. It is the last one mentioned that I wish to give the ‘Deconstructing…” treatment to today.

 Top Gun occupies an important role in my life. While I am not old enough to have experienced Top Gun in the theater—and this is an absolute shame given the achievements in sound, lighting, and cinematography which the movie can lay claim to—it is the first movie which I can recall it being a ‘big deal’ for a household to have purchased on VHS. Top Gun was the best-selling VHS of all time on the strength of its pre-orders alone. Sales of Ray Ban Aviators jumped 40% after the movie was released. My brother and I both became proud owners of faux fur trimmed leather jackets, complete with ridiculous, fake military patches. Sadly aviators were not made for the under 12 year old crowd at that point, otherwise we would have rocked those as well along with crisp white t-shirts (fortunately we did not develop an affinity for volleyball).

Ours were nowhere this good looking. Though we certainly thought they were at the time.

 I still own our copy from 1987 which includes the 30 second Pepsi spot ahead of time and I treasure it. To say that I love this movie, despite its inaccuracies, is to understate what love of cinema is. This movie is built upon the paradigms, tropes, jingoistic assumptions, and nationalistic predispositions that would later be manifested, could only be outrageously be manifested by the later concept of “Merica…fuck year” that grew out of post-9/11 American patriotism. It could also be said, accurately in my opinion, that Top Gun represented the first unapologetically militaristic film that gained widespread and even some critical acclaim in the post-Vietnam era. 1986 was, after all, the same year that Oliver Stone’s unflinching view of the Vietnam War, told from the point of view of a line infantryman, was released as ‘Platoon’; an epic war movie in its own right though clearly one which is diametrically different from Top Gun. In short, Top Gun was the pro-military, pro-American lifestyle movie which we had all been craving in one way since John Wayne’s ‘The Green Berets’ in 1968 and in yet another way since the sunset of World War II movies during the Korean War. It is the late Tony Scott’s gifts as a filmmaker that make Top Gun a positive, if overly idealized, symbol of 1980s America and which in turn make Top Gun an important exhibitor of 1980s Americana.

Though the point of this is not to analyze the effectiveness of cinematic skills, it must be said that the opening title cards followed by the low-light scenes aboard an aircraft carrier during flight operations (variously described to have been captured aboard the USS Enterprise, on which ship the action of the story takes place, the USS Ranger, and the USS Carl Vinson), are incredibly effective at introducing with an air of mystique the importance and the danger of flight operations aboard a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier. That the crewmen involved seem, at a distance albeit, to perform their duties with a laconic, matter-of-fact nature only underscores the attitude of the film that we are about to experience. This was, for many Americans, the introduction to the technical reality of naval aviation aboard an aircraft carrier and this reality, presented in such dramatic lighting and tones along with the amazing acts of man and machinery on display, make for a viscerally satisfying experience.

After this inspiring introductory sequence, we are foisted in media res to the activity of the carrier’s Combat Information Center (CIC). The CIC is, outside of the bridge, the center of command activity upon the carrier. This is the compartment on the ship into which all data—ship’s position, aircraft in flight, radar contacts—are fed and in which important decisions are made. One interesting omission of the movie which is worth bringing up now is the apparent lack of AWACS (Airborne Early Warning and Aircraft Control Systems). The E-2 Hawkeye, Navy’s primary platform for surveillance of radar threats that approach the Combat Air Patrol (CAP) around a carrier group, is never once mentioned or even referred to. All radar contacts are made and tracked from aboard ship and then radioed to the respective aircraft or detected by the aircraft themselves (sometimes, as will be seen later, in isolation of what the carrier can detect). The soundtrack provided, at this point, by Kenny Loggins distracts all but the most ardent followers of naval warfare from this.

A title shot, showing the carrier in profile, tells us that this is the “Present Day” in the Indian Ocean. I’ve always found the Indian Ocean to be an interesting point of geography to place this movie’s conflict zone. Early drafts of the script by Jack Cash had the movie taking place in Cuban airspace. This was rejected for various reasons by the Navy and the movie studio. Instead the Indian Ocean was selected. While the Navy has, in the Cold War and even post-Cold War period, maintained a carrier strike group in the Indian Ocean, the exact nature of the enemy being shadowed in this opening sequence, and again in the later sequences, is never mentioned. We only know that they are bad because they fly black jets with red stars on them (those of us who were born in the early 80s or earlier know that a red star means ‘Soviet’ or allied to the same; bad either way), and the pilots wear black helmets with darkened visors (the ‘they are hiding their faces so they must be bad’ trope in full force). There were certainly people in that part of the world who were not necessarily friendly to American interests (India was very iffy in their affiliations prior to the end of the Cold War), but the notion that we would might find ourselves in aerial combat with India or Pakistan is laughable now as it would have been then. Our enemies at the time resided in Southeast Asia, but I suppose that revisiting Vietnam only 11 years after its end would have been somewhat redundant given the success of the Rambo franchise.

“Clearly, I hate freedom and puppy dogs.”

We find our heroes, Maverick and Goose along with Cougar and Merlin, in two F-14 Tomcat fighters on a typical Combat Air Patrol (CAP). The CAP, whether flown by a small handful of aircraft on a radar picket mission or by dozens of aircraft in a combat zone, is something which has been standard practice for any carrier group to maintain since the advent of modern carrier operations during and immediately after the Second World War. I remember in middle school visiting the USS Lexington, by then a museum ship, in Corpus Christi, Texas. One of the guides haughtily informed us that our ideas of naval aviation and carrier operations, obviously misinformed by Top Gun and the somewhat later and underrated Flight of the Intruder, were incorrect; aircraft carriers do not launch only a handful of fighters at a time. When they launch their aircraft, they launch them all at once. Unfortunately my middle school mind was still in the formative stage and while I knew that what he was saying was not quite correct, I did not have the intellectual ability at that point in my life to say “Hey fuckface, you are completely misrepresenting the difference between an air strike and a Combat Air Patrol”. If only it were so, I might have affected so many minds at the USS Lexington Museum.

Back to the movie: because of the aforementioned anecdote, we now know that it is not unusual for a carrier group to only have a handful of fighters deployed. There is even a line in which one officer says to the principal from Back to the Future, whom I presume is the CAG (Commander Air Group, i.e. the most senior pilot aboard who isn’t the Captain or the Executive Officer…by Congressional mandate, aircraft carriers must have both a captain and an executive officer who are each qualified naval aviators)  that they—the carrier group—were not expecting any ‘visitors’ that day. So based on this we know that the carrier, identified earlier as the USS Enterprise, was not expecting any aggressors; thus the reason for the relatively small CAP of only a couple of fighters.

Some of these ‘visitors’ engage the CAP, probably for geopolitical reasons—not intending to fire, but certainly looking to make a statement—and Cougar immediately gets cornered by one while Maverick instantly gets ‘missile lock’ on one and scares him out of the area. Cougar’s aircraft is engaged in radar missile lock or “painted”—meaning that his F-14’s systems are telling him that the enemy aircraft has locked onto him with radar and is ready to fire—and he immediately loses his composure. Maverick’s subsequent remark, something to the effect of “He’s just trying to piss us off”, correlates well with the tactics of Soviet bloc nations during the Cold War; harass U.S. military aircraft and try to force a showdown in which the U.S. would appear the aggressor. This practice was so common during the Cold War that American aviators took pictures of their opponents and did things to ‘engage’ them without firing a shot. So, while the ‘international exchange’ by Maverick and Goose may have been a bit of Hollywood exaggeration, it absolutely has foundation in the truth.

  The next series of events revolves upon Maverick returning to the Enterprise while Cougar, the target of the last enemy MiG’s machinations, having completely lose his nerve and unable to fly his aircraft back to the carrier (not an uncommon occurrence actually). The part of this which beggars belief is Maverick’s sudden realization on final approach to the carrier that Cougar was in trouble and that he might need some assistance in landing. This is video of fighter landing in normal daylight conditions on an aircraft carrier; where in this do you think the pilot had the opportunity to consider the welfare of anyone but himself and his aircraft?

But, despite all of this, Maverick has jumped all four arresting wires and completed a ‘touch and go’ in order to help shepherd his friend back to the carrier. While the drama of Cougar’s inability to land properly is very real and is a testament to the daily pressures of naval aviation which we rarely, if ever, hear about, the dramatic tension caused by the fact that they are both low on fuel is made comical by the fact that every aircraft carrier had several refueling aircraft on board, including some in the air during landing operations just in case something like this exact situation with Cougar occurred. Granted air-to-air refueling isn’t easy, but it is easier than landing a 43,000 lb. aircraft on a heaving ship’s deck. Providing the possibility of an airborne lifeboat of sorts would certainly decrease the drama of the movie. And we can’t have that.

I am going to ignore, for now, the disciplinary issues with Maverick ignoring a direct order to return and land his aircraft, mainly because ignoring orders and ‘going against the grain’ or ‘flying by the seat of his pants’ is used by the filmmakers to enhance Maverick’s already burgeoning hero capacity (seeing someone give someone else the finger while inverted always enamored me to that person, granted my sample size may be restricted to this movie alone).  The approach by Cougar does accurately demonstrate just how difficult and terrifying the land approach to an aircraft carrier is. The voices you hear over this, added for dramatic effect but important nonetheless, are from the Landing Officers on a catwalk adjacent to the deck. These white-jacketed individuals seen earlier in the movie during the opening sequence are not desk jockeys who got a chance to breathe over the radio to pilots on a given day, but are in fact pilots themselves. It is customary in the U.S. Navy for pilots on their day off to stand in as Landing Officers to guide in, and grade, their fellow pilots on final approach. While it is not  immediately  clear which of the Enterprises’ four landing wires Cougar manages to snag, I think his approach could nonetheless be classified as ‘DNKH’ (‘Damn Near Killed Himself’). 

Moving along: Cougar turns in his wings to the CAG (once again, my presumption) and he (the CAG) is now required, unbeknownst to the viewers, to send Maverick and Goose to the Navy’s preeminent Fighter Weapons School: Top Gun (but, you already knew that from the title). What is amazing about this is that the CAG—who I am struggling not to call ‘Mr. Strickland’—offers positions in the Navy’s elite fighter training program to two guys (well, Maverick, but whatever) who just half an hour earlier defied a direct order of his. Article 90 of the U.S. Code of Military Justice states that it is a crime to willfully disobey a superior commissioned officer. Even if Maverick was to make the case that he did not willfully disobey, that he was in fact compelled to assist his fellow pilot and safeguard military hardware, he would still likely face some time with JAG lawyers and would likely not be given his ‘dreamshot’ simply because another pilot ‘ahead of him’ decided that that day’s events were enough for him and turned in his wings.

*sidenote: Merlin (Tim Robbins) gets treated pretty badly in this movie…Maverick and Goose are treated as a team, albeit with Maverick being the more talented of the two, while we don’t see Merlin again until Maverick conveniently needs a back-seater later in the movie. What was Merlin doing on Enterprise this whole time?

I will at this point address and dispose of the whole “Maverick is haunted by the legacy of his father” storyline. It’s an interesting storyline, one which underpins Maverick’s motivation throughout the movie, and it leads to a great payoff scene with Viper—played ably by Tom Skerritt and his amazing mustache—later in the movie. But for the purposes of this (since we’re already beyond 2,000 words) I’m not going to address it.

The introduction, by the inimitable Michael Ironside, to Top Gun does accurately illustrate the changing ratios in air combat victories by the U.S Navy aviators from Korea to the early stages of Vietnam. After Top Gun graduates began to flow back to their squadrons in and around Vietnam, the kill ratio did indeed increase from 2.5:1 to 12:1. This is a somewhat controversial figure which I will not examine further here, but suffice it to say that enough people were convinced by these figures to label the Navy Fighter Weapons School, or Top Gun, to be a success. It is at the tail end of this scene that we are introduced to Commander Mike Metcalf, callsign “Viper” (be honest, you all just read that in Michael Ironside’s voice). “Viper” is the actual call-sign of retired Rear Admiral Pete Pettigrew, who was both the primary technical advisor for the movie (along with the several others, some of whose callsigns are reflected in the movie and some whose are not) and is the “older man” that Kelly McGillis’s ‘Charlie’ is meeting with in the subsequent scene.

“I may not have a mustache, but I could still mess you up.”

The role of ‘Charlie’ is, despite what the chauvinist mind may think, based on an actual person. That said, it is difficult to imagine a military classroom being allowed to devolve, with a fellow instructor present, into the scene which follows. However, this is the first time in the movie in which reference is made to the MiG-28 (for those not familiar, MiG (short for Mikoyan-Gurevich) is and has been one of the primary aircraft design firms in Russia since the Second World War…though now is certainly also the time to mention that MiG aircraft, designated as the MiG-28 in the movie, have only ever received odd-numbered designations. This is also a great time to mention that Val Kilmer’s coughed ‘bullshit’ was completely ad-libbed and the reaction of the other cast members was genuine.

*sidenote: “Mighty Wings” is a pretty bitchin’ song and, in retrospect, a great way for Cheap Trick to keep their name in the spotlight in what was otherwise the doldrums of their career.

After the first flight-op, which Maverick and Goose successfully engage Jester (Michael Ironside) below the ‘hard deck’ of 10,000 feet, they are dressed down by Viper in his office. The seriousness of this is underscored immediately afterward when Goose (played by Anthony Edwards before he came the whiney Dr. Green on ‘ER’) jokes that he should look into being a truck driver and then again, later that night, when Goose visits Maverick in his dorm to say that he is worried now about whether they graduate at all. I do not have much to say about this other than what must already be obvious, but I do not think that the Navy is in the practice of constantly putting into challenging technical educational programs pilots who have a history of saying “fuck it, I’m doing this instead”. But here we are.

I guess, while we are on the subject of stating which aspects of a film we are not going to discuss, then I suppose now is the time to make it known that I’m not going to analyze the student-instructor relationship in the film other than to say that it was substituted into the movie in place of the original enlisted female sailor love interest because it was considered ‘more realistic’.

[cue sweaty volleyball match….really, volleyball in jeans? And then he puts on shoes and a leather jacket afterward and we are to believe that he doesn’t smell like a surfer’s asshole? Okay…

Fun fact: the elevator scene with Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis was a late add; it was shot so late in post production that Tom Cruise had noticeably longer hair and Kelly McGillis had to hide her own hair, now dyed brown for her next role, under a hat.

The very next scene has an exterior shot of the terminal and control tower at, presumably NAS Miramar, where we are about to meet Goose’s wife (the very young and vivacious Meg Ryan). But the brief shot outside the terminal shows at least four mint condition classic cars (one of which is a Chevy Bel Air).

This movie was filmed in 1985 and released in 1986. I accept that there were more ‘classic’ cars in existence in the 1980s than today, but for so many to be outside the terminal at a Naval Air Station…something doesn’t seem right. Seriously, draw a vertical line from the control tower in this picture straight down and tell me that the cars on the left have any business being there in a 1986 action movie.

There is, not long after this, an interlude in which Maverick succeeds in seducing Charlie and all is well within both of their worlds for a brief time. It is worth noting that the music which plays over this is by Berlin and it is both their most popular single and the song which tore them apart.

And no, I can longer hear that song or see this movie without picturing this either.

We have, at this point in the movie, arrived at the point where everything is right in the world of the protagonist and those closest to him. Maverick has successfully built a relationship with an intelligent and thoughtful female instructor, has cultivated a reputation as a brilliant if unpredictable pilot and wingman, and is poised to take the points lead in his Top Gun class. It’s at this point that during a flight-op Maverick allows his ambition to overtake his sensibility and the skills he has learned so far in order to try to take down the legendary Viper, who has unexpectedly joined the fray for the day. Maverick, awed by Viper’s reputation and possibly eager to seek his approval by engaging and defeating him in air combat, breaks off from covering Hollywood. The issue I have with this section of the movie is that Maverick is supposed to cover the six of Hollywood while he takes his shot on the aggressor and by breaking off he allows Hollywood to be somehow taken out by another aggressor. Hollywood is directly behind his target and, instead of taking a shot, he hectors Maverick not to abandon him to go after Viper….during which time Hollywood could have easily taken the shot and thus obviating the need for Maverick to cover him! Maverick not only fails to bag Viper, but he is also taken out by Jester who, inexplicably, has gotten out of the clutches of Hollywood…possibly because Hollywood had, instead of shooting Jester, had taken the time to read through a Restoration Hardware catalog, or something.

Because Maverick broke a tactical rule and did not profit by doing so—didn’t cover Hollywood and got taken out by Jester before he was able to get Viper—he is made to feel like a reckless asshole; your ‘loose cannon’ movie trope. Yet, there is a subtextual reference to the fact that if Maverick had succeeded in getting Viper, perhaps the sin of breaking off from his coverage of Hollywood would have been forgiven. It is difficult for me to believe that a school which teaches effective air combat tactics would, if a pilot ignored one aspect of them, be lauded for doing so if he was successful in his gambit; an example of the “Ends Justify the Means” Fallacy if there ever was one.

After a short period of self-reflection, we see Maverick and Goose having a night on the town with their significant others. I don’t have much to say about this scene other than to introduce the FAA rules on alcohol in relation to piloting an aircraft—8 hours bottle to throttle—and to point out that this particular bar, Kansas City BBQ, is still in operation in San Diego today, with a large amount of Top Gun memorabilia as I am certain most of you imagined.

*Charlie’s beach front house is still standing today, though if you scroll through the link above you’ll see it’s in less than ideal condition while the other vintage homes around it have been torn down for another ubiquitous ‘mixed retail/condo’ development.

  Next, we have the climactic Top Gun school scene. We know that because ‘Danger Zone’ is playing again. The pilots’ time at Top Gun is winding down and they are being presented with increasingly more complicated scenarios which they must deal with; they are often outnumbered. In this flight-op we experience Maverick being held up by another pilot again. This time it’s Iceman, despite being right on the tail of the aggressor, needing an absurdly long amount of time to line up the shot. Look, I understand that I am neither a civilian nor a military pilot and nor I have ever been and or will I ever be. But the notion that someone, who is directly in the ‘hip pocket’ of his target and cannot line up a freakin’ radar guided missile shot, especially the one pilot who is presented as like Maverick but more capable due to his personal discipline, is beyond belief for me. Then, asshole that he is, Iceman pulls off and lets Maverick run right through his jet wash.

The turbulence is extremely disruptive and causes both of the aircraft’s engines to flame out. Maverick cannot regain control or restart the engines and so he and Goose , with much difficulty, eject. This is the infamous ‘Goose Death Scene’. As the primary comic relief of the movie, it is of course upsetting to see this character depart. But the physics of his death, what appears to be a neck vertebrae fracture caused by his impact against the jettisoned canopy after ejection, are often in question. At least one online forum asserts that this Goose’s death was caused by a mechanical error of the ejection seat; that it ejected him a second too quickly. While I am not an aerospace engineer or an expert in physics, I do find it difficult to understand how an aircraft moving at hundreds of knots could have a recently ejected canopy floating above it long enough for a crewman to be ejected into it. Video seems to show this to be nearly impossible. Yet, here we are.

*Cool fact: when Maverick and Goose are floating in the ocean, waiting to be rescued, they seem to have, out of nowhere, an inflatable cradle keeping them above he waves. See the light gray, slightly puffy things which start the pilot’s chest and go back over his shoulder? Yep, that’s his built in, salt-water activated, life raft. Also a nice feature that they included the automatically deployed dye marker that would have come out upon landing in the water

Skipping ahead: Maverick stands before a Board of Inquiry which has investigated the events surrounding his crash. This is completely normal and the conclusions of the board are totally believable (said by a non-pilot) and so it is not unusual that Maverick would be immediately returned to flight status. I have no direct knowledge of this, but it seems to me that pilots who are assigned to the Navy’s elite fighter weapons school would also go through some manner of psychological evaluation. I am not saying that such an evaluation would have done much good for Maverick, this is after all a character who spurns authority and any attempt to analyze his psyche, but given his state of mind, I think it at least possible that a Navy psychologist might have suggested that he may be a head case still.

After some soul searching, Maverick has decided to stick with being a Navy pilot and not to resign his commission and become an United commuter pilot. The scene at the Top Gun graduation ceremony is amusingly reminiscent of a certain scene involving the view of the U.S. Navy’s white uniforms or ‘whites’ in another Tom Cruise movie six years later; A Few Good Men.

At the graduation ceremony/burgeoning frat party, Michael Ironside suddenly appears—with the voice of authority that only he can muster—and announces that some of the pilots present have to depart immediately and head to a ‘crisis situation’. The U.S. Navy in the 1980s was absolutely massive in both hardware and personnel as it sought to meet Secretary John Lehman’s (and by extension Ronald Reagan’s) goal of a 600 ship navy (for reference, the size of the current fleet is 290 ships). I realize that Top Gun trained pilots are the ‘best of the best’, but Top Gun has been at this point around for around fifteen years…..are there not pilots in the squadrons currently aboard the Enterprise capable of handling this situation in the Indian Ocean? And, if not, how in the blue fuck did those pilots make their way from San Diego across the Pacific to the Enterprise sailing somewhere in the Indian Ocean with 24 hours? I accept that the transportation abilities of our military are such that they could probably pick up and transport someone or a group of people across the globe in a matter of hours, but what exactly is so special about these pilots that they must be whisked across the Pacific Ocean—and, mind you, the International Dateline—to join a squadron, which would be one of at least four on the carrier, which is facing a ‘crisis situation’.  A commercial flight from Los Angeles to Singapore takes at least 18-19 hours. Putting that aside, or accepting that the military would be ready, willing, and able to transport a handful of Navy pilots across the globe to an aircraft carrier, are we now supposed to accept that they would be ready for combat? They are jet lagged and probably exhausted from travel. It’s no wonder that Maverick nearly cracks up in the following scene.

There is next the briefing scene on the carrier in the squadron Ready Room—I guess the other squadrons already had their briefing or were told, I can only assume, “Hey, you guys are off, go get some sun on deck”. It is here that we again come across the somewhat peculiar tactic of sending up a limit CAP (and of jet-lagged pilots no less….how do the other pilots who have been aboard ship the entire time feel? Have to imagine they are feeling somewhat insulted that a handful of pilots just in from the States are being entrusted with such an important mission).

Hollywood and Iceman are tasked with maintaining the CAP and preventing planes with the Exocet anti-ship missile—something which gave nightmares to British sailors during the Falklands War—from getting near enough to the carrier. One aspect of the flight deck operations we subsequently see and which I approve of is that a red-shirted deck crewman goes up to a missile mounted on an aircraft immediately prior to launch adjusts a switch/handle/toggle on it. This crewman was arming the missile and it is completely accurate to show him doing so immediately prior to the aircraft being launched. Such procedures are in place to prevent another catastrophic incident on the desk, something which Enterprise in particular has experience with.

Maverick is not among the primary flights for the CAP, but he is on ‘Alert 5’, meaning his aircraft is in a position to  be launched in less than five minutes upon receiving the order to launch. Once Hollywood and his mincing air combat techniques get his ass shot out of the sky, Maverick and—we discover—Merlin are launched. Maverick, however, is the only aircraft on Alert 5. The USS Enterprise had four catapults and there is considerable on the carrier that the fact that ‘both catapults are broken’ will prevent any aircraft from being launched. That just…doesn’t make any sense.

We are now at the scene that I have truly wanted to write about. Iceman is on his own against five enemy aircraft, or bogeys, and Maverick is on his way to assist him after being launched from his Alert 5 status. Maverick approaches the area, sees Iceman engulfed in a ‘fur ball’, and immediately disengages. This is met with considerable irritation and dismay amongst all involved; including Iceman. Maverick, holding with some random free hand that pilots must have, reflects midflight over Goose’s dog tags and, and after consideration, decides to reengage. Putting aside the fact that Maverick shoots down or assists in shooting down 4 of the bogies present, the fact that he initially disengaged would seem to be a violation of Article 99 of the Code of Military Justice.

I don’t care how successful a pilot someone is. If a pilot had, even initially, turn away in the face of the enemy, I am fairly certain that that would be an automatic court martial. Within the context of the character Maverick, it seems another trait in his unstable, ‘flies by the seat of his pants’ personality. Regardless of the end result, I do not see how some individuals in the Navy would not confront Maverick on his personal conduct and conduct before the enemy prior to his success. Shit, that’s happening now with a vetted Medal of Honor winner.

Based on his actions, I feel fairly certain that Maverick would have found himself before a Board of Inquiry again.

Oh, and the celebration on the aircraft carrier deck would have never happened.

All of this said, Top Gun is an amazing movie which captures a sensibility and moral feeling which the United States exhibited at the time in spades. It is a movie which set a tone and created a popular sensibility of military aviation in general and naval aviation in particular which is still alive and well to this day. Top Gun was created at a time when we ‘knew’ who the bad guys were and, perhaps more importantly, where they were. In this post-Cold War, post-9/11 world we all now inhabit, Top Gun I think represents a time when we were certain of who we were and what we represented, even if it is an exaggeration of all of those things.

Happy Fourth of July everyone!”

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#closing bell #on this day #top gun #long posts #military #navy #movies

[johnnyjoe11]

If there is one writer the NYTimes cannot afford to loose it has to be David Brooks. You may want to read this first but he says what I say, or have been trying to say for some time now. This ain’t about politics. This is an epic shift of something we can only grapple with to get a taste. Culture possibly. If it were about politics we should see a huge spike in suicide. Don’t run out and do that now. Much as the country is a national thriving institution, it has done its changing into and BY something other than politics. Its patently obvious that we have barely a smattering of equality be it economic or racial or religion. It should tell you something when you watch or listen to media and you hear a lot about war. But ask any American and he will tell you it doesn’t ‘feel’ like we are at war. Just like men who can’t feel their emotions. Actually we hardly even broach all the subjects that are represented by war. The litany of places with so many special forces and disparate weapons it boggles the mind. Whats left over bandwidth in media are emotionally dishonest and frightfully distasteful reality programs on TV both network and cable - talk about fake news. Our campuses full of illiberalism as we wallow in fake liberalism that is no less than half as corrupt as ambitious and treacherous conservatives. And let me add without sidestepping into the muck of political discourse,  Republicans are wantonly flailing in self pity without a name - denial. As if to secretly procreate with this coarse display liberals are trying to bury the past like a cat in a litter box that long ago was in need of sand. Some are trying to hold it - but come on- life is too short to to save it from the slings and arrows as the late bard put it. To me it feels like cliches have converged into a run on sentence. Its ugly and frightful but theres a glimmer and somehow its lighter altogether. What I mean to say is David is right and he is wrong at the same time. Place has no place as far as I am concerned. Its easily mistaken in its pure form for materialism. Which if I were a specialist could inform you without end is dying, but being reborn rather like the eclipse across America a couple days ago. For a few precious moments one can see a more accurate reality but the burn of constantly trying to change and alter what is going to be is unbroken in both senses of the word. Looking at the fiery plasma of a magnificent star without its internal chaos is grounding and metaphoric. Just as one cannot see oneself without being oneself - the sun cannot have a corona without destroying itself in the process. Son of a gun. So to speak. So it goes. So on and so on. Sons a bitch! The ancients tried to record this process as early as 5,000 years ago in Taoism we are told. But it was doomed to fail as holding on always has. What they eventually discovered- its all never ending change; even the transformation as ‘consciousness’ never stops being or imagining itself. To hold on is to deny that in a death grip that defies looking at itself because its too busy being itself. They threw turtle shells in the campfire as if to stop and interpret time and space by the broken and straight lines. Being in a particular place can only tell you that. Being that place is impossible and unavoidable at the same time. Its as if GPS were this satellite spawning  turtle shells that somehow move atoms in a handheld device that it reveals your existence. Time is married to space like the surprise of every fireworks as it explodes into your vision. You seem to get the rhythm as the color beats the booms- sound and light are different and dance to an ancient tune. Its the quality of that time that fascinates and creates even your own existence. So when David says nature is a place its wonderful. Going back to nature is wonderful. The Taoists did and were partly successful. Time has enveloped us once again and lifts us from our moorings. You can ‘spend’ your time looking for that space or you can ride the time of essence for what it is. When the ground is shaking beneath your feet and either the stars are flickering or the sun is blocked- you must yield to that very time and let grace peel off another layer; before but including birth and dying - where nothing and everything meet; it cannot be far. Even if it takes forever to get there. Nice writing David.

#united states

[christopherjdowdy]

A Stripping of the Altars

The kids should rename those schools something boisterous or interesting or weird, and Black artists should get to treat the empty spaces where the monuments were like a blank canvas for generations to come, taking turns, narrating the absence, correcting the decades of violent misremembrance. Radiant glass columns or great piles of broken chains or a mirror three stories high or fountains on top of fountains for a river of tears that little kids can play in, or an African drum so large and loud we can feel it in our feet when struck--anything.

These reconsecrations -- demolition, renaming, making anew -- are the concrete ways of converting, together, away from a lie.

Let me be clear.

As soon as he came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, Moses’ anger burned hot, and he threw the tablets from his hands and broke them at the foot of the mountain. He took the calf that they had made, burned it with fire, ground it to powder, scattered it on the water, and made the Israelites drink it.

Exodus 32: 19-20

There are the soles of feet turned up in that photo--the red circles at the heel and toes of the man sliding down off the trunk. Diagonal from his folded body are two socked feet exactly vertical, in line with the legs; black pants obscured from the knees up by the crowd into which that body is crashing head-first. Someone’s foot up is smack against the bumper of a pickup in the bottom right of the frame. Another man’s body is in full view, suspended a foot above the car, his head at a sickening angle, legs askew. There is dust and there are shoes in the road. The brake signals are dark.

What do you see?

“We condemn in the strongest possible terms this egregious display of hatred, bigotry, and violence. On many sides. On Many sides.”

Many sides.

No accidents there; no words fell to the ground. A distinct vision of the world is operating there. 

But there are other visions.

The day after the 2016 presidential election we held a town hall at the College to work through its consequences with our students. I have mentioned this before on here, I think. We have DACA students and we are an HBCU and the news was relevant to every one of them, their families, their cities. Of course being nineteen means half the time you think you are invincible no matter what. But one woman fainted. Anyway, one of our former trustees got up and said that this school made it through Reconstruction, that it made through the Civil Rights Movement, and that we would make it through this. It was an assurance, but it was not meant to put anyone at ease.

In 1916 ten thousand people burned Jesse Washington to death just across the Brazos from the College’s campus, when it was still in Waco. They convicted the editor of the College’s paper of libel for saying that George Fryer killed his wife, and not Washington, the Black man they had accused. They sold Washington’s fingers for souvenirs.

Moses said to Aaron, ‘What did this people do to you that you have brought so great a sin upon them?’ And Aaron said, ‘Do not let the anger of my lord burn hot; you know the people, that they are bent on evil. They said to me, “Make us gods, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” So I said to them, “Whoever has gold, take it off ”; so they gave it to me, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf!’

Exodus 32: 21-24

One of my friends was speaking at a rally last week, urging Dallas to take down its Confederate statues, to change the names on the roads and schools named after Klansmen. A little group was gathered to oppose the not-overwhelming crowd arguing for removal. My friend is an A.M.E. preacher. He talked about Mother Emmanuel and begged the City to move first before some tragedy engulfs us. The counter-protesters screamed their defenses of Robert E. Lee while he spoke; screamed defenses of their own families; interrupted him. He gave back their words, asked them to explain themselves, to imagine the fate of his family if Lee had accomplished his purposes. When our local glossy magazine wrote it up, they explained that the Confederate engaged while the Black preacher ignored interlocutors.

How to explain this?

All the principle Black people in the Birth of a Nation are played by white actors in blackface. Imaginary Black people, imaginary history. Amy Louise Wood has argued that the boundaries between the spectacle of Griffith’s epic and the spectacle of terror lynchings are porous; borrowing from each other and confirming a vernacular of controlled mayhem, all doing what always has been done at the spectacle of the altar: making a cosmos out of the brute world, making a place for you in it, if you will submit.

The false memory encoded by these statues and inscriptions on our streets and schools partakes of the same nature as the film because it tells the same story as the film: happy slaves, outside agitators, genteel planters, brave Confederate soldiers braver on return, lascivious Black rule, exploitative carpetbaggers. By the end of the film North and South are allied in rejecting Black misrule. All avoidable, if we simply could solve our problems without recourse to war. If we could have been more unified and understanding.  These are the elements of the Lost Cause that cohered to underwrite Jim Crow then and de facto apartheids now--to excuse it, to rationalize, to culturally approve it; to baptize it. This vision of the world is in competition with another one; of them, one allows you to see Robert E. Lee without seeing Allen Brooks, and that makes it a falsehood.

In its erasures of Black slaves, Black soldiers, and Black freedom, the shrines offer us a profane transubstantiation: the sublimation of racial terror into white victimhood. This inverted eucharist was the precise method used to engineer white social cohesion in the aftermath of civil conflict, as David Blight and others have argued, and as Josh Marshall so compactly noted this week.

Thus, all around the pedestal of these statues swirl the ghosts of history’s most successful campaign of racial terror, memorialized almost nowhere, re-encoded every time a Black girl is presumed to be much older, every time a Black man’s lack of deference is taken as a threat. The line from Robert E. Lee’s nobility to Tamir Rice’s lack of innocence is a straight one. It is a straight line.

The statues lie. The lie absolves, the lie makes natural; the lie gives you an alibi. It is as important forensically as grace, collectively speaking, and is in that sense the lie is a faith. And Birth of a Nation is a symbol of this faith, a creedal statement; its statues are shrines and reliquaries; its schools incantations.

Every statue and school that bears the name of a Confederate hero or a Klansman is a local instantiation of the inverted miracle that white violence has called into the world: cut a man and blame him for spilling blood on your carpet. Fire into a crowd and count the chaos as evidence that your strong hand is needed. Aaron, shrugging idiotically, claiming the calf sprang fully formed from the fire; as if natural, or a sacrament; as if the false god is not of his own making. To blame the people against whom whiteness commits violence for the existence of violence: this is the special blasphemy of our country’s besetting ideology.

So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, ‘I am innocent of this man’s blood; see to it yourselves.’

Matthew 27:24

As an undergraduate I learned about the letter of Gregory to Abbot Mellitus in 601 CE, passing instructions on to Augustine for the Christianization of England. Bede, the historian, tells us that no longer were they to crush or destroy pagan shrines, but they were to reconsecrate them. How big of an impact this really had is up for debate, but we do have Bath to show for it, and megaliths in churchyards; probably the Easter Bunny.

Either grind it to dust or give it a new name. That is what you do to the world that came before, if you are converted, if you come to see the cosmos as ordered differently.

I do not know just what to do next with the symbols of the confederacy; to erase them or to reconsecrate the spaces somehow, tangling up their destruction in the enactment of a new method of remembering and forgetting. Maybe it is not for me to know, but just to mourn, to add my voice to the mourning of this horror that points to the horror in our whole landscape. To think that our collective interventions on the landscape are neutral--any of them--that we can evade responsibility for what buildings we tear down or build or the lynchings we have not bothered to mark is to make Pilate’s mistake, which is to presume we can wash our hands of the cruelty that is present to us. It does not matter how hard you scrub. You are born to this stain. So it is to us to at least to make space for something new to grow. Kids, artists. I trust them with the reconsecration.

From a certain vantage point in lots of places where I grew up in Georgia you could see Stone Mountain in the distance, orienting you. We went to the laser show, the fireworks in the summer, lighting up the general’s faces while Elvis Presley sang the Medley. But I know what those generals mean and what that mountain was for, and we would lose nothing by wiping the statues off the face of that monolith. You can bring the whole thing down, turn it into a pit. I don’t know what comes next, but for now we can narrate the absence, bake the gravel into cakes. Nothing about Robert E. Lee’s full humanity keeps us from grinding Stone Mountain to grey sand and scattering it in our water, that we might repent in dust and ashes. I could still find my way home. We could.

#TakeEmDownDAL