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iigorr · 4 months

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕺𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖆

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ ★⋆ ┊ . ˚ ˚★

𝓟𝓵𝓸𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮

Act 1

The Phantom, a mystery man in a mask, haunts the Paris Opera House, the setting for the story. The Phantom becomes fixated on Christine Daaé, a gifted and attractive young vocalist, whom we meet in the first act. Christine receives guidance from the Phantom, who teaches her how to sing and insists that she be given the lead role in the opera. As romantic tensions forms between Christine, the Phantom, and the attractive young aristocrat Raoul as the narrative progresses. The Phantom controls the actions of those taking place in the opera house in the first act, using his power to make sure Christine succeeds on stage. wearing a mask to hide his deformed face. As the characters' fates get closer and closer together, the suspense rises.

Act 2

The Phantom's fixation with Christine grows more intense in the second act, setting off a sequence of dramatic occurrences. In the story, the dark and sad backstory of the enigmatic antagonist is explored as Raoul tries to free Christine from the Phantom's grasp. The magnificent Paris Opera House serves as the setting for the pivotal meeting between Christine, Raoul, and the Phantom. The drama that is playing out revolves around the themes of love, tragedy, and the fallout from obsession. The human side of the Phantom is exposed in the second act, which also tackles the inner struggle of the character and the intricacies of the connections between them. In the end, "The Phantom of the Opera" is an enthralling story set in the opulent and enigmatic Paris Opera House, about love, passion, and the frightening results of unbridled desire.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

General thoughts

Even before seeing the show live I was obsessed with the music, especially the soundtrack of the "Phantom of the Opera" movie starring Emmy Rossum, Although it might not be everyones cup of tea I always thought her singing voice was lovely, so delicate when it needs to be but at the same time strong and potent (obviously there is a difference in singing live and in studio, so not to compare a recording with a live performance of other actresses). However it was especially exciting to see the show live since Ramin Karimloo was wearing the role of the phantom once again, as this is one of his most praised roles, I was not left unimpressed, on stage he gives the impression of a commanding aura, always drawing the viewers attention.

I had the fortune of viewing a show with a live orchestra (which is not always granted) which was just amazing, I don't think that there are any words that can actually describe Lloyd Webber's musicality. As I said before I am a big fan of the music in itself of this show, from the starting riff of the organ that shakes the entire theatre to the more delicate of melodies the music is a treat to the ears.

If I had to choose a favourite scene I would be divided between the starting sequence, with the rotating scenography, it was honestly simply mesmerising to watch. But I also harbour great love for the masquerade scene, seeing all the different ball gowns and curated costumes as golden confetti soar inside the theatre is an amazing imagery.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Commentary and small analysis

As we all know one of the main themes of the show is 'Unrequited love', from the character of the phantom towards Christine. There is a major difference as to how the two characters view each other, The phantom sees Christine as his muse, his own to display, his own to control. These controlling tendencies emerge especially after the return of Raoul into Christine's life, although throughout the play between the Phantom and Christine there is never an element that explicitly state that their relationship is romantic, the Phantom perceives it as so, and as such demands a level of commitment from Christine similar to the one of a relationship between partners, leading him to believe that Christine betrayed him by choosing Raoul.

Christine instead views the Phantom as an 'angel', as a guiding figure perhaps. It is debatable as to what Christine's feelings towards the Phantom were, some might say they were romantic, others might say platonic, another interpretation could be that Christine's feelings towards the Phantom were ones of attachment, a need of stability. I believe the way her character is interpreted deeply changes the message of the show, as it changes the different dynamics of the characters.

One of my favourite symbols inside the show is the phantoms mask. It is a way in which the Phantom is able to put a barrier between a world that fears and despises him and his biggest vulnerability. The mask acts as a way to keep composure, and as soon as Christine removes it he looses it. This act of anger shows desperation perhaps, desperation to be able to blend in, wanting to hide his differences and put on a "mask" of normality. Another detail that I live is the colour in itself, a candid white that tries to be as invisible as possible against his face, The colour white often represents purity, by putting a white mask over his face he is perhaps trying to "purify" his image.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

#the phantom of the opera #erik phantom #christine daae #musical theatre #musicals #theory

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herousanimarum-moved · 6 years

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it’s a fudgin tag dump

#Artwork Sewn From Memories || ((images))#Battle Songs on the March || ((music))#Burn the Evidence || ((tbd))#Battle Records: Lloyd || ((headcanons))#Battle Records: Linus || ((headcanons))#Words & Actions: Lloyd || ((musing))#Words & Actions: Linus || ((musing))#Pleasing to the Eye: Lloyd || ((aesthetic))#Pleasing to the Eye: Linus || ((aesthetic))

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boom-fanfic-a-latta · 3 years

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Hajimete No Oto (The First Sound)

Your first sound...For me, this is mine

(MikuWeapon AU)

—

Part 1 • 2

—

The four Golden Weapons of Spinjitzu. Each powerful alone, but together, their power was so great that no one could wield all at once.

But beneath the glittering exterior, there was something more than just the elements they channelled. There was something greater.

Because together...they held a soul.

A soul waiting to be born, to awaken.

Waiting…

...to make their first sound.

—

Lord Garmadon stood at the mouth of the Golden Peaks, overlooking the molten pool below. The weapons in his hands were resonating, humming with an energy greater than before. Something inside the instruments of power was stirring, awakened by the return to their source.

“The Golden Peaks, birthplace of the Golden Weapons…” he mused to himself, staring down into the liquid gold past the ledge he was on. “What secrets are waiting to be unearthed here?”

The hum of the weapons was growing, almost too much for him to keep holding on. It was almost musical in a way, making the very air buzz as they started to glow, pulling away from him as if attracted to a magnet.

Garmadon watched in silence as an orb of the molten metal formed around the four weapons, swirling around and around as the glow became blinding.

Until finally, there was a burst of pure golden light that nearly knocked him and the assembled Serpentine behind him off of their feet.

Hajimete no oto wa nandeshita ka?

A voice rang out, unfamiliar and youthful, singing brightly.

Anata no hajimete no oto wa...

The orb of golden light was descending, fading to reveal a figure cloaked in the same glow the weapons had had, elemental energy sparkling around them as they sang.

Watashi ni totte wa kore ga sou

As she sang. The figure alighted on the ledge in front of Garmadon, her eyes closed as the light faded around her, revealing her to be a girl of about 16. Clad in a blue and pink stylized schoolgirl’s uniform trimmed with gold, her long cyan hair held back in twintails.

Dakara ima ureshikute

At that, her song stopped, and she opened her eyes, looking around in evident confusion.

Garmadon could hear the Serpentine murmuring behind him, just as confused by this as he felt.

“Is that a girl?”

“The weaponsss, they were a person?”

“Thisss isss not expected...”

“What doesss thisss mean?”

“QUIET!” The master of destruction glared at the snakes, shutting them up instantly. That being taken care of, he turned back to the mysterious girl, approaching her cautiously.

“Who are you?” he asked, trying not to startle her. She was obviously just as lost as everyone else, from the look on her face.

Hesitantly, the girl met his gaze.

“...Miku,” she finally said, her voice still having a slightly electronic tone to it like when she had been singing. “My name is Hatsune Miku.”

“Miku...it is very nice to meet you. My name is Garmadon. So...do you know why you are here, Miku?”

She shook her head. “No...do you?”

“I do not know either, sadly. But perhaps together, we could find that out...if you are okay with that?”

Miku’s face seemed to light up. “Yes,” she said with a smile, “I...that would be...sankyu, Garmadon.”

Her word of thanks seem accented, but in an endearing way.

“Then let’s help you get comfortable.” Garmadon could sense the snake warriors’ confusion at his actions, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Evil may run through his veins, but that didn’t define him. And the one thing that could overpower that venom was his instincts as a father.

And this lost girl from out of nowhere seemed to need that most of all right now. A father.

‘I hope that Lloyd will be okay with having a new sister,’ he chuckled to himself.

#ninjago #ninjago au #mikuweapon au #hatsune miku #vocaloid #mint writes stuff #I freaking wrote a thing #the song is hajimete no oto #aka the first sound #I thought it fit pretty well #SoundCloud

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razzle-zazzle · 4 years

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1109 Words; To Breathe Life into the World; First Realm

“Cole!”

Kai looked up at Jay’s shout, only to freeze at what he saw.

“I could use a little help here!” Cole called out, from where he was held tightly in the talons of a swiftly ascending dragon.

Too late, Kai sprung into action, trying to get the dragon’s attention. But the fireball he launched couldn’t arc high enough.

Zane grabbed Kai’s arm, drawing the red ninja’s attention to the approaching dragon hunters, eager for revenge.

“There’s nothing we can do right now.” Zane said quietly. “We can only hope that Cole will be alright.”

Kai looked back to the sky, where the wind dragon was rapidly disappearing into the clouds. Zane was right. Cole would have to take care of himself for now.

“Don’t you dare die on us, idiot.” Kai muttered towards the sky. He turned to the dragon hunters, fists aflame. “Don’t you dare die.”

+=+=+=+=+

Cole yawned, surprised to still be in the air.

Well, in the talons of a wind dragon flying through the air, but that was hardly any difference.

If Cole was still afraid of dragons, he’d probably be shitting himself right now. But he wasn’t.

Mostly.

Okay, maybe he was a little scared, but given that he was currently being held in the talons of what he figured was a predatory animal, much like a scared bunny, Cole felt he had a right to be a little afraid.

Not that he was afraid like a scared bunny, mind you, but he was a little nervous.

Cole yawned again, deciding to focus his tired eyes on the sunrise at the horizon. Sure, it was pretty, but had they really been flying all night?

Fuck, Cole was tired. If he weren’t at risk of falling to his death he might have even fallen asleep.

Suddenly, the dragon holding him took a dive.

Cole would be lying if he said he didn’t scream.

And then Cole saw it. A massive mountain, riddled with caves and plateaus. A cacophony of dragon cries sounded off as Cole’s entourage approached, the sound near deafening as the largest dragon Cole had seen—the Firstbourne—touched down on one of the cliffs.

One moment, Cole was in the claws of a hovering wind dragon. The next, he was being deposited roughly on the stone outcropping, right in front of Firstbourne.

Disoriented from the sudden drop, Cole pushed himself up. Firstbourne roared, silencing the cacophony for a moment.

Cole took a moment to look out over the edge.

“Oh wow.” He said softly. There were so many dragons. Too many for Cole to count.

Which probably didn’t bode well for Cole.

Firstbourne growled, catching Cole’s attention. He turned around to find her face barely a foot away.

Right. Giant dragon.

Cole laughed nervously.

Firstbourne huffed, nudging Cole with her snout. He fell backwards.

“Please don’t eat me.” Cole scooted backwards.

Firstbourne blinked owlishly. “Why would I eat my own child?”

Cole froze. “Your what?”

In lieu of an explanation, Firstbourne grabbed Cole with her paw, carrying him into the cave behind her.

Well, at least he wasn’t in danger of falling off a cliff anymore.

“Um, are you gonna explain what you meant by ‘your child’? At all?”

Firstbourne set Cole down, before bringing her face to him. Considering Cole was barely the size of her head, this made Cole more uneasy than anything else.

“Do you not realize?” She hummed, and Cole took a moment to wonder how he could understand her, only to dismiss it.

“Realize what?”

Firstbourne blinked. “That you’re my son. Or at least, his reincarnation.”

Cole sputtered. “Excuse me, what?”

“I mean,” Firstbourne said, “I think it’s rather obvious.” She poked Cole with her claw. “You have his scent,” another poke, “His eyes,” a third poke, “His voice,” she nudged him with her snout, “You even look almost exactly like him.”

Cole sat down slowly, processing. “H o w.”

Firstbourne gave Cole a look. “Surely you’re familiar with him. He created his own realm when—well, that’s not important—he created his own realm. I believe it’s currently known as ‘Ninjago’.”

Cole stared. “No.”

“No?”

He stood up and started pacing. “No. There’s no way. That’s not possible. If anyone would be the First Spinjitsu Master’s goddamn reincarnation, it’d be Lloyd. Not me. There’s no way. I can’t possibly be—”

“You are.” Firstbourne interjected. She picked Cole up again. “Did you never feel it? Did you never feel as if you were meant for something bigger?”

“I—” Cole didn’t have a response. Yeah, he’d once felt that, but he was pretty sure that that was about his role as a ninja. Not this. “But—but I can’t—”

Firstbourne set him down. “Maybe I’m dumping too much on you at once.” she mused, “Maybe I should have waited until you were older?”

Okay, Cole didn’t like the sound of that. Mostly because it implied that he would be staying here, which he couldn’t really afford.

“Okay, so you think I’m your son, and I guess that’s fine and dandy, but I really need to be going now.” Cole began to move towards the opening of the cave, only to be stopped by Firstbourne’s wing.

“What? Where are you going?” Gently, she pushed him back, grabbing him with her talons. “You can’t go anywhere. You’re too young.”

Lifting Cole up, Firstbourne brought him over to a ledge he hadn’t noticed before. It was small, with ridges set along the edge like walls. It was high enough that Cole couldn’t just jump down from it, but low enough that Firstbourne would still be able to see him. Gently, she set him down in the bedding that filled half the space, cooing softly all the while.

“Hatchlings need to stay in the nest.” She said, as if it were obvious.

Cole glared. “But I’m not a hatchling!” He protested.

Firstbourne blinked owlishly. “But you obviously are.” She set her claws next to Cole, counting off on her other paw. “You’re tiny—”

“Tiny?”

“—Loud—”

“Hey!”

“—and squishy.” She concluded, poking Cole gently.

Cole flushed. “I am not—”

“You’re a hatchling.” Firstbourne declared. “And hatchlings stay in the nest.”

Cole climbed onto one of the ridges, earth power building in his chest. “I can take care of myself!” He protested, summoning a staircase down.

But nothing happened.

Firstbourne watched, amused, as Cole tried and failed again to summon his earth powers.

“Why isn’t this working?” He asked aloud.

“Because you’re a hatchling.” Firstbourne said, pushing Cole back into the nest. She tapped the ridges with her claw, prompting them to grow inwards, effectively trapping Cole.

“And hatchlings,” Firstbourne crooned, as Cole’s heart plummeted,

“Stay in the nest.”

#ninjago #lego ninjago #cole ninjago #firstbourne ninjago #to breathe life into the world #zaz writes #kai ninjago #jay walker #zane julien #firstbourne is acting on like 70% instinct here #but to be fair cole is acting a bit childish #though he is just finding out he's the reincarnation of the fsm #so he's got a bit to process #well #sort of #he's still in denial #this was also very fun to write #especially the interactions between cole and firstbourne

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evil-lloyd · 4 years

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Found this old draft I wrote about my AU with my oc. Idk if I still like that oc or not but I thought it was pretty well written so I decided to share it with y’all. (Includes Oc/Lloyd ship)

Note: My oc was sealed away for 300 years in a magical dimension but time moves incredibly slowly there so she is roughly the same age as Lloyd. Also she tends to ask Zane questions on everything since he seems to know so much,and Zane is happy to help.

Also I don’t hate Kai by any means,he’s just protective over his lil bro and doesn’t want him to get hurt 💖

Also also idek remember most of the story of my character so

_________

“Lloyd.”

Lloyd doesn’t look up from his task,he continues to dry the dishes. Kai knows he hates dish duty,that really he’s doing it so he can avoid Kai without making it look obvious.

But he can’t hide from Kai. He knows him too well after all.

“Lloyd.” Kai tries again. “You can ignore me all you want,but we both know what’s happening. I may not be the best at maths or science,but I know a thing or two about love.”

Lloyd straightens his back. “I’m not ignoring you Kai. I’m just doing the dishes.” He says in with a false calmness to his voice. He must have got it from Zane Kai muses,after all something’s bound to rub off on him considering how long he’s spent around the ninja.

“Well can you pause your dish duty and talk to me?” He doesn’t point out how Lloyd skimmed over everything else. He didn’t deny anything either.

It’s worse than he thought.

“Fine.” Lloyd turns around and wipes his wet hands on the apron around his waist. “What exactly is the issue here?”

“The issue,” Kai starts “is that you’ve been spending more and more time with that... thing.” (Thing? Girl? Kai isn’t sure what it is regardless of its feminine appearance)

Lloyd crosses his arms. “First of all- it’s not a Thing. It’s a she. She’s a girl Kai,as human as I am. Secondly- Of course I’m spending time with her. I have a limited amount of time to convince her not to obliterate our world. Its world saving stuff.”

“Uh huh. World saving stuff? Well Mister World Saver,if you really are putting yourself under so much strain to convince her,then why don’t we try to find a way to defeat her in the meantime? Maybe you won’t have to convince her at all and we can just seal her away again.”

Something twitches in Lloyd’s faux cool expression. Anger he thinks.

“Why? So she can rot alone for another 300 years until some other guy comes along and frees her again. Except this time there’s no chance of reformation because last time she agreed to something of that nature she got betrayed and locked away?!” Lloyd’s voice raises on the last few words and they both pause to check out to the living area.

The team had decided to all play video games in the living area. Currently Jay and Cole we’re competing in some fighting game. The rest were situated on the couches,Nya cheering Jay on from the armrest beside him and Zane sitting on a nearby sofa next to the Girl. He’s explaining something to her in a hushed tone,both of them staring at the screen in front of them. The girl in question looks focused,nodding every once in a while. Pixal,who is sitting on the seat beside Zane seems to chime in every once in a while. Kai takes note of how Lloyd’s eyes linger on Her for a moment longer than the others and how they soften slightly before they return to look at him.

“Why are you being so cruel?” Lloyd hisses. Kai reels back.

“Cruel?” He hisses back. “Cruel?! I’m only trying to protect you from the heartbreak Lloyd because that-“ he gestures to where She sits “can’t love. Maybe it’ll say it does,to gain your trust long enough so it can carry out its plan-“

“What plan Kai?!” Lloyd looks pissed now. “If you didn’t realize it,she doesn’t need a plan to stop us. She could kill us all if she wanted to and you know it. You act as if I’ve never been blinded by love before,it was my heart harumi broke. Not yours.”

“How do you know that?Did you even try? Or did you just make some stupid deal like you could really convince something that’s literally made of darkness that the world isn’t that bad and it’ll just... oh I don’t know,agree?!”

“For the last time Kai. She’s not an It. She’s a she. She’s half human. She’s still a person with a history,with emotions and ideas and beliefs. You seem to forget that my father is the Evil Lord Garmadon. By your logic I guess I’m an ‘it’ too!”

Kai throws his hands up in the air. “That literally doesn’t make sense! Garmadon is not the same as literal Darkness! And that’s besides the point anyways,my point is-

“Save it Kai. Nothing you can say will change my mind. She deserves the right to experience the world. “ Lloyd looks to the side and sighs. “Just...give her a chance..please?”

Kai stares at him for a few seconds before looking back out into the living room. This could go horribly wrong. That thing could betray them all and destroy the world..but at the same time if Lloyd’s right and they seal her away again then..

Kai sighs. “Fine. But the moment I get even an inkling that things are going to go wrong I’m taking action. Got it?”

Lloyd smiles gently. Kai knows he hates arguing with anyone in the team. “Thanks Kai”

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lego #lloyd garmadon #ninjago jay #ninjago cole #ninjago zane #ninjago kai #ninjago garmadon #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago oc #lloyd/oc #oni lloyd

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tophatsnap · 6 years

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Come Away From the Edge

Hi guys!

This is in response to the below prompt:

“Christine gets drunk some how and Erik has to take care of her but, she's being real emotional. Thanks!”

So, this one takes place at the Masquerade after cosplaying Erik whooshes away and Raoul chases after him.

Phanty belongs to Leroux and Lloyd Webber.

I couldn’t believe he had just left me! Raoul had promised to be my guide and guardian… those were his own words! He had promised to protect me and yet the first chance he has to exact his own revenge, he leaves me without a second thought.

For that matter I couldn’t believe both of them had just left…

The Phantom too... was that what he was? It felt so strange calling him that. Although I couldn’t really call him my Angel anymore. Not now that I knew the truth. Now that I knew he was no Angel.

Although, terrified as I was by his actions, seeing him again after so many months… meeting his gaze made me feel…

Oh, it hardly mattered.

I stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony. The balconies of the Garnier weren’t open to visitors for the duration of the Masquerade, but many people had left after the incident so I didn’t think it would matter all that much. Those that were left all stayed away from me, no doubt everyone had seen The Phantom approach me. God only knew what they thought… No doubt they will fabricate the rest.

I needed air. I needed time to think. I took another sip of my drink. It was my third since Raoul had left, and since he left…

I was becoming inebriated, but it was New Year’s Eve, was it not? I was by myself on New Year’s Eve and I no longer had a strict vocal coach to tell me what I could or could not drink… What a mess it all was.

I wondered where Raoul had disappeared to. I didn’t want either of them hurt, but I had no way of knowing or controlling any of it, that just made me want to drink more. I finished the rest of what was in my glass and walked back inside.

“Miss… Miss Daae.”

I spun around. It was Andre.

“You shouldn’t be on the balcony, Miss Daae.” He peered around me. I got the feeling he was checking to see whether or not I was alone… “It isn’t safe.”

Hardly in the mood for a discussion, I nodded and made to move past him.

“le Vicomte…” He began. “Is he…”

“I do not know.” I shot tersely. I heard him following me.

“A-About what happened…” He caught up and stood before me. “With the Opera Ghost.”

“It has nothing to do with me!”

I hadn’t meant to yell, but it felt good. A few people turned and looked, which made Andre back away. The last thing he wanted was another scene.

“Christine…” Meg approached me from behind. “Christine are you alright?” She turned me around to face her.

“No Meg. I am not.” I replied. I was far from it, but I hoped she wouldn’t ask why for I hadn’t a clue where to start.

She simply stared at me for a moment before pulling me into an embrace. It was the first time I had seen her tonight. It was the first time I had seen her in a while. With everything going on it felt as though I hardly saw her at all. And I needed her. I needed my friend.

“Well… you look beautiful, Christine.” She offered. I smiled, knowing that it was Meg’s way of attempting to lighten the mood.

“Can we go somewhere quiet?” I asked. She nodded.

“A balcony?”

“No, no.” I replied, recalling my exchange with Andre. “Somewhere else quiet.”

She thought for a moment before pulling me toward the bar.

“I have an idea.” She said, slipping one of the bottles into her dress and pulling me up the stairs.

“Where are we going?”

“The roof.” She smiled.

The roof.

I hadn’t been there since the night Raoul had told me he loved me. The night after the murder…

I felt sick.

“Are you sure…”

“No one will bother us there.” Meg interjected. “It will be cold but we can borrow some old cloaks from wardrobe on the way.” That part was a good idea. Once a production was done with the costumes were never used again; simply thrown into one of the spaces above the stage. I’d always thought it to be a terrible waste.

“Meg… where is your…”

I cut myself off mid-sentence as I almost tripped up the stairs. I was going to ask where her mother was, but after that moment It was forgotten for the rest of the night.

“Christine! What happened?” Meg laughed. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” I replied, now laughing also. “Just a little too much wine I expect.”

“Oh.” She mused, taking my arm as we began our ascent. “Well, it is New Year’s Eve!”

Once on the roof we sat together near the entrance; a place the snow had not yet reached. It was cold, but we were warm together. Meg didn’t ask where I’d been. She didn’t ask about Raoul or The Opera Ghost, we simply talked as we used to; gossip, trivial discussions about where we wanted to be or what we wanted to do on the weekend.

With Meg I was almost able to forget everything that was going on in my life… everything that had gone wrong. We took turns taking sips from her stolen bottle of wine and having never drunk more than a glass at a time, it was beginning to affect me. We must have talked for an hour at least before we realized that we had almost finished the bottle.

“Just wait here, Christine.” She began, slowly standing up. “I’ll go and get some more.”

“Alright.” I smiled. I would have offered to join her but I wasn’t sure I could have handled all those stairs in my state if I had. “Be careful on the stairs.” I giggled. “Don’t be long!”

“I won’t!” She said, pulling the door open and disappearing inside.

A few minutes after she left I decided to stand up too. I picked up my skirts and walked to the edge of the roof. The snow had stopped momentarily and I wanted to see the sky. My father and I had always looked to the skies in Winter. I’d almost forgotten that…

Suddenly, overcome by the sort of faux-emotion only associated with inebriation I began to weep. I’d never missed my father more than at that moment.

I raised my wine bottle, preparing to take another sip…not that I needed one… when a voice sounded behind me.

“Christine.”

The voice was warm, gentle… but I knew to whom it belonged.

I spun around to see his figure lurking in the shadow of the doorway Meg had just entered.

“What happened.” He said. More a statement than a question.

“What are you doing here…” I managed.

“Are you alright.” He persisted, unmoving from where he stood.

“No…” I answered honestly. “What are you doing here?”

Silence for a moment.

“I’m often here.” He said. “If you wish, I can leave.”

“No!” I shot abruptly. I wasn’t sure why I’d said it.

He paused before stepping toward me slightly.

“Christine, I would never hurt you.”

Part of me knew that…

I nodded.

“Where is Raoul?” I asked. Suddenly remembering when I’d last seen him. “Is he alright.”

I heard him scoff.

“I am unsure of his whereabouts.” He began. “…But he is unharmed.”

I nodded.

“He came after me, Christine.”

“And so you have the right to harm someone if they come after you?” I shot. I’d never spoken to him like this before…

“Are you intoxicated?” He asked, evading my question. “Come away from the edge.”

“Not that it has anything to do with you!” I spat, pointing at him with the wine bottle in hand.

“It has everything to do with me! I am your teacher and…”

“Teacher?” I laughed. “You threw that away three months ago when you murdered Buquet!”

“Christine, I am sorry! I know that it drove you away! Every waking second I rue that night!” He walked close enough for me to see that he was still in his Red Death costume. I could make out even less of his face than usual. It was hard enough to try and make out what he was thinking but now it was impossible!

“I did not mean to frighten you!” He continued. “I didn’t mean to ruin what we had but you did not know the kind of man he was!”

“I don’t know what kind of man you are!” I gestured to him again before taking a step backward only to find that there was nothing behind me. My arms flailed for a moment but before I had time to realise that I was about to fall, The Phantom was beside me, holding me in his arms.

“Christine…” He breathed over me. “You must be more careful!”

“I almost fell...” I gasped, clinging onto his arms. “I almost fell.”

“Yes.”

“You saved me.”

We stood up together.

“Yes.” He repeated. He looked down before taking a deep breath and taking his hand in mine.

“Please. Allow me the chance.”

I looked up at him.

“Let me show you what kind of man I am.”

#poto #tpoto #phantomoftheopera #phantom of the opera #phanty prompts #writing prompt #fanfic #phanfic #gaston leroux #andrew lloyd webber #christine daae #erik #palais garnier #meg giry #tophatsnap

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chicagoindiecritics · 5 years

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: VINTAGE REVIEW: The Untouchables

(Image: vanityfair.com)

THIS RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW AND ANALYSIS WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED ON SEPTEMBER 19, 2019 FOR 25YL AS PART OF THEIR BRIAN DE PALMA TRIBUTE AND RETROSPECTIVE SERIES.

THE UNTOUCHABLES— 4 STARS

At the turn of the late 1980s, lauded filmmaker Brian De Palma needed a commercial win, the kind of score that filled his bank account and raised his cache to make more of his own artistic interests. He got that in 1987 with The Untouchables, a pet project of producer Art Linson who loved the gangland folklore possible with Paramount’s full rights to the characters. Buoyed by a 50% female audience dared into a violent picture, the film returned triple its budget after what would be the 6th highest debut of the year. Featuring all the director’s bells and whistles singing a new tune, The Untouchables returned bankability and creative acclaim to the career New Yorker.

For The Untouchables, De Palma came to the writer’s turf of The Windy City to update and redefine the tropes of gangster film “The Chicago Way.” Bounding with all of the swagger and toughness of David Mamet’s script, The Untouchables amplifies and dramatizes the Prohibition takedown efforts of famed U.S. Treasury agent Eliot Ness against Chicago Outfit leader Al Capone previously serialized by the 1957 television program starring Robert Stack. Kevin Costner was the reluctant final pick for the lead from the pool of Miami Vice’s Don Johnson, a busy Mel Gibson, and a declining Mickey Rourke to play the lawmen pitted against De Palma’s insisted choice and transformed muse Robert De Niro, and all his peccadillos, as the worshiped crime lord.

With steep dramatic license for silver screen flair, the movie Hollywoodizes the story of the diligent crusader Ness coming to City of Broad Shoulders and getting the tutelage of a brash pair of those in the form of an aging Irish beat cop named Jimmy Malone, played by screen legend Sean Connery in his lone Academy Award-winning role despite what an Empire magazine poll voted as the worst movie accent of all-time. Mamet and De Palma condense the historical Primary Ten into a composite squad of four when Ness and Malone recruit rookie sharpshooter George Stone (Andy Garcia, getting to play a hero after being the heavy in Hal Ashby’s 8 Million Ways to Die) and elevate D.C. bookworm agent Oscar Wallace (the welcome amount of comic relief from Charles Martin Smith). Looming next to De Niro is an army of ne’er-do-well underlings covered with overcoats, fedoras, and Tommy guns led by his Outfit #2 Frank Nitti (Pale Rider’s Billy Drago, after Garcia was approached and moved to Stone).

Playwright hitmaker David Mamet showers these actors with outstanding lines, from long rants to rapid-fire conversation. While he may revise a heap of history, Mamet and his “Mamet Speak” give these actors steak to chew on and De Palma tension to shoot. Even with Connery’s rough accent brimming all over and Costner’s genteel baseline, there’s still not a clunker moment of line delivery all movie. All of it sizzles with cigar smoke mixing with spent gunpowder and lament and heroism teeter-totter strides with the moody and brassy pomp of Ennio Morricone’s top-shelf score.

The high style and period detail are on display in all areas of the movie’s big and clean production values. Many people go straight to the sleek and Oscar-nominated Giorgio Armani threads from costume designer Marilyn Vance (quite a step up from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off) and they would be keenly right to be impressed. Surfaces like costuming and the equally Oscar-nominated production designs of Amadeus’s Patrizia von Brandenstein, comedy specialist William A. Elliot comedy specialist, and Disney live-action veteran Hal Gausman drape, bath, and decorate pulpy antiquity out of the genuine Chicago locations.

From this Chicagaoan’s eyes, Eric Schwab, De Palma’s longtime location scout and manager (and a future second unit director on six of the man’s films), outdid himself with the rich finds and recreations that sought lurid decadence. From Roosevelt University standing in as the notorious Lexington Hotel, Frank Lloyd Wright’s The Rookery used as police headquarters on historic La Salle Street, the Tiffany Dome of the Chicago Cultural Center (and original city library) to those climactic Union Station steps and every church steeple in between, Chicago has rarely look better or more ominous.

Furthermore, the cinematographer and editors are part of what makes Brian De Palma and The Untouchables look so damn good and pop with visual storytelling. That success comes from successful and extensive collaboration. Cinematographer Stephen H. Burum would go on to work with the director for eight films. Editors Bill Pankow and Gerald G. Greenburg add nine and five trips, respectively, with De Palma to that teamwork tally. For more detail, Burum was highlighted by a nice interview piece in American Cinematographer for his work on The Untouchables last year. One fun fact is that the studio quickly talked him out of shooting in black-and-white. Be glad he was because the color always pops. The outstanding widescreen framing from Burum and the suspenseful sense of pacing from Pankow and Greenburg sharpen and highlight De Palma’s entertaining and engaging moves.

And those chops! As for what we’re celebrating here on 25YL, the real talent is Brian De Palma and his endlessly studied and glorified filmmaking prowess and visual trademarks. His tricks of the trade are applied to a ballsy, dramatic adventure that bleeds buckets of crimson underneath all those aforementioned surfaces. Let’s talk angles first.

In many establishing shots, including catching street signs and the high angle zooming straight down from an opening card of history notes to a character introduction of De Niro’s Capone getting pampered and nicked in a barber’s chair, De Palma uses canted angles. De Palma and Burum also enjoyed low angles that highlight height or the towering setting, like the Tiffany Dome presiding over the wide spectre looking up to Capone later. One stellar example of viewing location is the creeper sequence of Malone’s home invasion, where the low angle and the POV steps set up tension and surprise.

The most celebrated clinical example of angles comes from the “di-opt” split focus used during the blood oath church scene between Malone and Ness with that great “Chicago way” proverb. A half convex glass, one part near-sighted and one part far-sighted, kept both the two heroes in focus as well as the lofty and gorgeous church ceiling behind them. The stillness and depth of that scene, boosted by Mamet’s words and the mettle of the performances, are a very good foil to the pace of the rest of the picture.

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The next visual feast of De Palma’s craft from the film are the movements. The amount of slow-sweeping pans and tracking shots of precise choreography are impressively mind-boggling. Long takes rule as the average shot length of The Untouchables is 5.7 seconds, a stout eternity by today’s thriller standards. Capone’s stalking baseball bat table circle monologue has a few cutaways for potential swing victim identification, but the circular pan from the low angle is gorgeous for both the hulking fear and finery on display. Even a shorter sequence like the Steadicam use following Wallace escorting a witness through the police hallways to his grave ending in the elevator are a long single-take marvel.

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The piece-de-resistance of editing and motion married together is the movie’s storied gunfight climax set on lobby steps of Chicago’s Union Station. It’s a scene De Palma reduced from a moving train sequence for budget and shot on the fly in substitution. Out of necessity, De Palma mixed a source of homage, the Odessa Steps sequence from Sergei Eisenstein’s The Battleship Potemkin, to create his own holdout sequence where hurdles block the protagonists’ path for a necessary task. This classic scene also presents the best use of De Palma’s penchant for occasional slow-motion while amping up the sound work of the intersecting chess pieces. Pankow and Greenburg’s editing assistance really shines. Replica or note to Eisenstein, the result is brilliant and better than what some big-budget train chase would have been. De Palma would get that checkbook-busting chance again in Mission: Impossible nearly a decade later.

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History and popularity have been kind to Brian De Palma’s crime movie achievement. The American Film Institute nominated the movie in five categories (Movies, Thrills, Hero, Villain, Film Score, and Gangster Film) during its “100 Years” series last decade. Then and now, The Untouchables earned a city’s pride and spurred new popularity to the Capone legend. Its success also fueled a star’s rise (Costner), secured another’s lasting legacy (Connery), and reminded audiences just how sharply talented its steward was. Once the end credits hit and Morricone plays us all out, you can also feel Brian De Palma channeling tough-guy Jimmy Malone with a “here endeth the lesson.” The hitmaker never lost his edge.

LOGO DESIGNED BY MEENTS ILLUSTRATED (#827)

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themockingcrows · 7 years

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Movie Marathon Musings

Day 1 of @johndaveweek.

Written for/inspired by a piece of art by Stribird [X]

AO3 mirror: [X] This fic is SFW.

What was meant to be a movie night, a night for best bros being bros, turns awkward fast when John begins to realize just how much his mind wanders when Dave falls asleep against him in the middle of a Lord of the Rings marathon. Has he been not noticing things that were directly in front of him..? Or is he imagining things that aren't there to begin with?

It was supposed to be a movie night. A normal, standard, bro hangout time filled with action sequences, awesome music and way too much junk food. John had been promised nachos and popcorn, sodas, and acting out the sequences he and Dave knew word for word by heart, because really what the fuck else happens when two people know the same movies so well and are in the same room together for this many hours? Admit it, it totally happens.

It was supposed to be all that, at least. But it wasn't.

By the time they'd finished The Fellowship Of The Ring, half the snacks were gone and the all too familiar lazy cozy feeling started to sink into their bones. That strange, hypnotic sensation that came with movie marathons like this, brains slowing down to run more like background noise than anything active, everything on auto-pilot. A robbery could happen in that stage and the pair would probably look up and tell the perpetrator to be quiet and maybe turn the flashlight off to keep the nice dim atmosphere going.

Dave got up and yawned, stretching as he shook his arms and then his legs out to wake his limbs back up, and went to put the next movie in.

“Hey, don't tell me you're tired already,” John said, changing his own position to sit more upright once again, having spent the last hour of the movie laying on his side slumped against the edge of the sofa. He was fairly sure he could make out circles under Dave's eyes.. but then again, shades make everything look a little shadowed and he usually had trouble sleeping. Maybe it was catching up to him during the hypnotic drone of hobbits and magic.

“Me? Tired? Nah, man, I'm relaxed. I'm in this for the long haul. We can watch the other three movies after we finish these ones if you still feel up to it. Maybe order a pizza, make fun of Cucumberdick, take shots every time someone's Extra.”

“Dave, you'll kill me if we do that. Alcohol poisoning is a thing, Dave, my liver will sue.”

After ensuring everything was set and the completed movie was put back safely in its case, Dave returned to take a seat beside John and slouched back against the cushions, just close enough for their upper arms to touch. Warm, casual proximity. It was something John loved about hanging out with Dave, that connection feeling. It always made him feel so warm..

“Let it sue, then. Or we could be doing juice shots or something else cheap considering how many fuckin' hours of movies there are to sit through. Or if you REALLY want a great idea, we can attach somethin' dumb to the screen and take a dab of hot sauce every time a character lines up with it just right.”

“That's a WORSE idea, though!”

“Worse, or better.”

“Worse, I literally just said that, WORSE!”

“You say that now, but you'll come to understand my genius later and regret shit talkin' me about it,”Dave declared as he reached for the remote and flopped back again, lifting his feet to prop them up on the coffee table in a clear spot.

“Your genius is chock full of half baked ideas and bullshit,” John said, punching his friend's upper arm with maybe enough force to sting before settling on the cushions again when no immediate counter attack seemed coming his way. “And hot sauce.” ..Huh. Maybe Dave actually WAS tired. Most he'd done was sway with the pressure and smirk at him.

“Sounds like good ideas if they're bullshit to you and coated in hot sauce. Spicy wing challenge this bitch: we do nothin' except what I say for 24 hours, no questions asked. Hope you like Vegas, John, it'll be a hell of an experience,” Dave said as he found his way through the menu and set up the subtitles, voice a little quieter but still plenty clear.

“No. In fact, hell no. That's the worst idea ever, Dave, we'd probably wake up the next day in ugly suits in a heart shaped tub, married and surrounded by Elvis impersonators offering us fancy crepes,” John said, sticking his tongue out. Why the hell had his mind jumped that direction? Well. Wasn't that what normally happened during Vegas blackouts with best friends? Get sloppy drunk together, want to be together forever, and run off to get married then wake up to the results and scramble for an annulment? It was all over movies and stuff as the most common trope, had to happen at least ONCE in a while.

“Aw, John, you proposing? Does it have to be crepes, can the accumulated Elvii in our presence offer like. I dunno, a burrito as big as my head instead? Everything's bigger in Vegas, hook me up, let me eat well during my honeymoon at least.”

“I'm no-!”

“At least I know how you feel now, even if it involves some ugly ass suits. Remind me during Spicy Wing Challenge Dave Day to get us something decent to wear before getting' smashed so we at least can avoid the fate that is being forever immortalized on film in Dumb and Dumber-esque suits, oh Lloyd to my Harry.”

“Oh shut up, it was just the first thing that came to mind,” John huffed, reaching his foot up to thwack the side of Dave's calf before setting again with a pout firmly on his lips as the opening sequence finished and the rest of the movie began to filter into the dim lighting of the room just like before to lull them back to peace. Dave snorted, slapped loosely at him with his far hand, then went still to watch the screen. It's why they were here, after all: watch the movies like a ritual, eat way too much junk food, have some chill bro time.

Till Dave fell asleep.

John saw the struggle happening on screen at the same time as he saw it happening on Dave's face, lips going slack and head drooping forward a few times in a row, only to be jerked upright as he startled awake. Enough times of this, of swaying in place with fatigue, and Dave eventually leaned towards the only other source of warmth on the couch: right snug against John's side. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, not by a long shot. A lot of movie marathons involved a Dave nap for some reason, just like clockwork, to the point where John sometimes wondered if part of the reason he wanted to do super long marathons was so he could get some good sleep in with the help of his roped in buddy.

It was.. kind of hard to not stare, John found. The flickering lights from the screen painted Dave's pale hair with different colors, catching the highlights and turning pastel for brief mmoments before going brighter than white and back again. It highlighted the hollows of his cheeks, the edges of his lips, and even the flash of his lashes behind his shades. Like this, limp and mouth half open to softly breathe, it was hard for John to picture anything other than the word 'beautiful'. What the fuck, even his guy friends were pretty, he was surrounded by beautiful people, what the fuuuuuuuuck.

Dave shifted as John stared at him, cuddling a bit closer and heaving a soft sigh out his nose as his lips closed a fraction. Yep. Still pretty. Still nearly-but-not-quite snoring. Still curled up against him like he was renting property on John's torso. Still... ...Still..

..Fuck.

What John had said jokingly about Vegas earlier was flickering in his mind like wildfire, and he wanted to scream. Namely, what would Dave look like in a suit. No. John knew what he'd look like in a suit, he owned two and looked like a completely different person when he was wearing them, his mind was wondering how he'd look in a suit crammed in an empty heart shaped tub, sleeping off a hangover perfumed by cologne and cocktails. Would he be cuddled close like this against John's body, breathing soft, completely trusting and relaxed? Would the hand resting on his own stomach be sporting a wedding band the right size, or would it be ridiculously over sized for his slim hands? Would he rush to get an annulment soon as he was coherent?

… What if he didn't? What if that was just A Thing?

John hissed a soft breath and shook his head, looking to the screen as if he'd been electrocuted. Wow, holy shit, he'd been in a daze for probably fifteen minutes if he remembered the movie right. Or was it twenty? Twenty fucking minutes daydreaming about being married to his hot friend in Vega-

WHOA, WOW, NO, WAIT, HOLD THE FUCK UP. John could hear brakes slamming on, tires skidding, and he was only half certain it was inside his own mind for how loud it was. His heart hammered and warmth his his cheeks, making him thankful that not only was Dave asleep, but that he wouldn't have to ever explain the weird as hell progression his thoughts were taking all at once. He'd thought Dave was pretty. Beautiful, even. Aesthetically pleasing. Totally different connotation than hot. DIFFERENT. D. I . F. F. E. R. E. N. T. Somehow.

Though. ..Being perfectly honest, he was hot. It was weird to think that about your best bro though, right? It was weird to think that about any of his friends even if it was true, and John knew better than to say it, but it didn't stop the obvious from being obvious. Or the obvious from being nestled beside him like a cat in sunlight, warm and just enough weight to feel substantial.

...Could he put his arm around him? Would that be weird? It'd be weird, wouldn't it. Why did he want to put his arm around him. Oh. Yes, because he was sleeping and it'd suck if he fell or rolled off the couch somehow, right? No. Because he was pressing against John's arm awkwardly and making it numb? Maybe. Yeah, that might be it, that sounded plausible, right? Biting his lower lip, John carefully wiggled his arm and lifted it, letting Dave drop an inch so he was flat against his ribs. In his daze, Dave briefly startled with a soft “Mhh?” but didn't wake fully, letting his body seek the more direct warmth, planting his face against the side of John's t-shirt and beginning to slowly breathe again.

Another soft, barely there sound came from Dave. A satisfied “Nnn..” on a particularly long, slow exhale, and John felt his heart clench tight as a fist in his chest as his stomach flipped. Fuck. Danger. Danger, danger, danger, he was hearing the claxon in his head but couldn't stop his mind from wandering. The adventure unfolding on screen, familiar as wonderful as it was, wasn't nearly as interesting as the short guy nested on the sofa with him. John held his breath as he lowered his hand slowly, the Mission Impossible theme trying to invade his thoughts, and settled his palm on his friend's hip.

No complaints, no shuffling. If anything, Dave seemed.. happy? Maybe it was just the extra security feeling of being held at play, John couldn't even begin to guess. Hell, he couldn't begin to breathe properly anymore. This was a lot to be coming to terms with for a guy, especially while war was being waged about six feet away to epic music.

John's best friend was hot, and he was acutely aware of it. John's hot best friend, Dave, was fast asleep under his arm like it was his second home, and his hand was on his hip like it belonged there. Said hot best friend, who happens to look amazing in a suit, would probably look great at a wedding in Vegas. Preferably hooked on John's arm and looking excited instead of absolutely shitfaced drunk. He looked great when he smiled, and John loved making him laugh specifically to get that crooked quirk of his lips to explode into a full blown laugh as often as he could. The sound made his own spirits lift like clouds, made him feel giddy, made his chest ache an-

..Oh.

Oh, god, was that what this was? Was that was a crush was? It was, right? John had felt the patter in his chest a few times in his life, but never quite like this: where it felt so good it hurt. Was this a crush on Dave?

Fuck, how long had this been happening? John's mind raced and his pulse picked up, warmth spreading sharply down his neck as the flush grew more and more intense. Fuck. FUCK, THIS WAS TOTALLY A FUCKING CRUSH, WHY DID HE NEVER NOTICE THAT?! He slapped his own forehead with his free hand and stifled a strangled screech of frustration best he could, squirming in place, trying to not kick his legs to avoid jostling the sleeper against his side too much.

John 'My Emotional Processing Skills Are Equivalent To Windows Explorer' Egbert had struck again, and he wanted to crawl into a pit and die. Years. Literal years. Years worth of interactions, of feeling that tug in his chest, that ache when he heard Dave had brief relationships that hadn't quite worked out that wasn't anywhere near the sensation of feeling happy for your friend being happy. Fucking. Years. YEARS of missing his own point, smiling, and carrying on while his heart was on fire.

Had anyone noticed? Was he giving off some kind of signal? ...Had DAVE ever tried to put off a signal? Did Dave know? Oh, fuck, did Dave know and think he knew and he DIDN'T know so he didn-

“...Oh. Shit,” Dave mumbled, shifting under John's arm and pushing himself to sit upright, rubbing at his face and yawning. “Fuck. Sorry, man, your supreme coziness struck again. You're gonna start chargin' by the hour soon, huh.” His accent was a bit thicker whenever he was sleepy, slow and sweet like syrup over top the rough crags of sleepiness. When John didn't respond to him, he looked up in confusion, wondering if the movie marathon had claimed a second victim. If so, it was DEFINITELY time for a snack break, maybe a quick jog to the store for a few energy drinks.

John was red. Unbelievably red in the face, from his cheeks to his ears to his neck down past the front dip of his t-shirt. He was all but radiating heat, expression startled, lips parted as if he'd tried to shriek and failed.

“..Uh. John? Yo. John. Earth to John, you alright?” Dave asked, brows furrowing. “You feeling sick or something?”

At a loss for words and unable to explain things let alone control himself perfectly, John let out the strangled shriek of a squeal he'd tried to contain earlier, completely in line with his own thoughts as he tossed his head back on the couch cushions, rolled his body, and let his legs flail over Dave's like an extension of the sofa as he covered his face. This was going to take a lot of explaining, he could already feel it.

..With any luck, Dave would enjoy hearing it all, though, rambly and confusing as it was. It was apparently a long time coming, and he could only hope Dave not only understood, but was interested in figuring out just how many signs he'd missed.

“What, finally pop a boner 'cause someone hot as me was sleeping on you?” Dave asked, lips lifting in his usual smirk as he shifted his position to follow where John had rolled, climbing on him without a second's hesitation, too familiar with John by that point to second guess the action. “Or do you pop'em all the time and only now got busted?”

“It's. ..Fuck. You wouldn't understand. I don't understand! I don't understand a goddamn thing apparently, but here we are! And here you are! And me! And us! An-”

“How about you take a breath and try to tell me clear as you can, a'ight?” Dave said, dropping down so his chin was rested on his folded hands, peering at John from atop his chest. “From the beginning.”

“It might.. take a while.”

“I can handle it. You're comfortable.”

“You're not helping!”

“Sure I am. I'm keepin' you from jumping up and running around like a chicken with your head cut off so you can talk about what's making you scream. What'd I miss between falling asleep and waking up,” Dave insisted. “Inquiring minds wanna know, John.”

“I just. ..I was remembering things and felt really stupid, so don't mind me,” John insisted, waving his hand as if to dispel any further curiosity. “I realized I'd not caught on to something obvious, realized how long it's been that way, and wanted to kick myself and then you woke up so it was. ..Yeah.”

“What, finally figured out I was hitting on you?”

“No, I wa- what. What?”

Dave quirked a brow and stared at him. “...Seriously? Not even a hint? A'ight, I guess scrap that then, what were yo-”

“No! No, don't scrap it, I just don't get what you mean!” John said hurriedly, uncovering his face to stare up at Dave. “When were you hitting on me? I didn't know you were at any point, when were you?”

“When wasn't I. Holy shit, am I that bad at passing on the message or are you just really bad at answering the other end of the line?” Dave asked, brows furrowing as he let his head roll to the side.

“This! This is what I was screaming about! Just. Not the hitting on me thing, I didn't know that, I was-. I'm. I mean, I didn't. ...I didn't know,” John admitted. “I just thought you were being my best friend.”

Dave groaned a bit.

“I AM your best friend, you douche. I always wanna be your best friend, I don't want that to stop. I just thought, hey, we get along great and we're already always together so. ..Why not combined them, y'know? Maybe that might work as a bit more, and as a fallback we'd still be best bros,” Dave said. He wondered if that was part of the reason his other attempts at dating hadn't really gone so well: there just wasn't as much in common as with John, wasn't that urge to stick next to him, to see what kinds of plans they could make together for maximum fun. He could see a Vegas wedding happening between them earlier when John made that joke, and it hadn't made his stomach drop in terror or worry.

Being married to his best friend in the world? Sign him the fuck up. Take all the stress and worry and confusion out of things, just roll along in that same well oiled flow he and John had after years of being partners in crime.

“..Okay. So. I know I literally just said that I didn't notice any of this, and I'm kicking myself for not realizing shit for actual full years, but I'm gonna go ahead and ask. Are you being serious right now, o-”

“YES. Fuck, John, throw me a bone here. I'm being serious, we are having this conversation right now, this is a thing that is happening to you, this is me projecting my intent as loud and clear as I functionally can without catching on fire from removing my cloak of irony and sarcasm for this long,” Dave said. “..What do you say, man?”

“I say. ...I say you're pinching my spleen, move your elbow.”

“JOHN.”

“Okay! Geeze, trying to deflect stress with a joke not recommended, got it, John said, lifting his hands immediately. “I uh. ..I guess? We kinda are together all the time anyway, what would even change?” He hadn't officially dated anyone before, but from seeing his friends and people around him there weren't usually that many changes.

“Nope. We'd basically be the exact same as usual. Hang out, go places together, chill a lot, talk. Same old same old. There'd just be more reason to do this,” Dave said, scooting his body forward on John's torso to press their lips together for a brief moment. Again, John froze, eyes widening, face scarlet as highlighted by the movie still droning on nearby, mouth opening and closing a few slow times like a fish. Short circuit: achieved.

“... I'll let ya think on it,” Dave said, amused. “Though, that'd probably require another sample, huh,” he reasoned, dipping down again for another kiss, holding it longer this time.

While John eventually agreed out loud to giving the dating thing a try, it took the rest of the film's length worth of samples to help convince him it was a fantastic idea, with a promise of more after a snack break. After all: there was more movie to get through and keep awake during.

Easy.

#johndaveweek #johndave #john egbert #dave strider #homestuck #pepsicola #hammertime #my fic

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theboogeyman-blog1 · 7 years

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REALLY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES. repost , don’t reblog! tag 10! good luck! TAGGED. stolen from @bloodbaptised TAGGING. @formother and those who really want to attempt to flesh out their muses!!

BASICS.

FULL NAME : Michael Audrey Myers. NICKNAME : Michael, Shape, Mikey. AGE : Twenty-one in his main verse. BIRTHDAY : October 19, 1957. ETHNIC GROUP : Caucasian. NATIONALITY : American. LANGUAGE / S : Understands English. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Asexual with an inclination towards females. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Aromantic. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Relationship-less. CLASS : Middle class until containment in Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, technically in poverty upon escape. HOME TOWN / AREA : Haddonfield, Illinois. CURRENT HOME : Haddonfield, Illinois. PROFESSION : N/A. Serial murderer and escaped mental patient.

PHYSICAL.

HAIR : Brown and overgrown, slightly curly at the ends. It was dirty blonde when he was a boy. EYES : Like large, shining obsidian stones on his pale and empty face. Full lashes. NOSE : Average length and width, slightly turns up at the tip. Almost button-like. FACE : Surprisingly youthful, nearly angelic. Slightly round, lack of wrinkles or laugh lines from lack of expression. LIPS : Near thin. Very gentle curves on the Cupid’s Bow. Pale pink. COMPLEXION : Pale, unblemished and unmarked. BLEMISHES : Nothing visible. SCARS : Verse dependent. No scars in his main verse but covered in burns after the explosion at the hospital. TATTOOS : Verse dependent. None in main verse, but in the Cult verse he wears the symbol of thorn on the inside of his wrist. HEIGHT : 6'0″. WEIGHT : 168 lbs. BUILD : Average, but mildly lanky. Possesses much more strength than what meets the eye. FEATURES : Pale skin and smooth, unblemished features. Blank expression and deep black eyes that stare. ALLERGIES : N/A. USUAL HAIR STYLE : Very much unkempt. Tangled and unbrushed. How it falls is how he wears it. USUAL FACE LOOK : Smooth and unfettered as a blanket of fresh snow or a blank sheet of paper. His eyes don’t seem to focus. They seem to stare past you and far into the future---or far into the past. USUAL CLOTHING : Blue mechanic’s coveralls and work boots. On his head is a white mask that shields his face, expressionless and intimidating. He does not like to remove it.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S : None. The closest thing that arouses anything remotely like fear in Michael is the exposure of his face. He is not the evil entity he tries so hard to be when his youthful, cute face prevents him from being as scary. Plus, that mask has become an integral part of his personal identity. Without it he can function (assuming that he himself made the choice to remove it), but when it’s taken from him he experiences a sensation akin to panic. ASPIRATION / S : To recreate again and again the events that preceded his incarceration: the murder of family members reminiscent of his murder of his elder sister, Judith. POSITIVE TRAITS : Tenacious, resourceful, clever (in ways) NEGATIVE TRAITS : Remorseless, withdrawn, deceitful, bears grudges, murderous, blase, cunning, dangerous, manipulative, obsessive, unemotional, MBTI : ISTP-A: The Virtuoso ZODIAC : Libra. TEMPERAMENT : Choleric. SOUL TYPE / S : Hunter. ANIMALS : Hunts much like a cougar does. VICE HABIT / S : Murder, holding grudges. FAITH : The Myers family went to church every Sunday but Michael never believed in God. No faith. GHOSTS ? : Does not want to think about it. AFTERLIFE ? : Does not care to think about it. REINCARNATION ? : No. ALIENS ? : Does not care. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : None. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Technically he is in poverty. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : No. EDUCATION LEVEL : Kindergarten.

FAMILY.

FATHER : Peter Myers. MOTHER : Edith Myers. SIBLINGS : Judith Margaret Myers (elder), Cynthia Myers (renamed Laurie Strode, younger) EXTENDED FAMILY : Jamie Lloyd (niece), Steven Lloyd (son/grandnephew), John Tate (nephew) NAME MEANING / S : Michael: “Who is like God?”/”He who is closest to God.” Audrey: Drawn from “noble” and “strength.” HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Michael’s name is EXTREMELY biblical.

FAVOURITES.

BOOK : None. MOVIE : None. 5 SONGS : He has none. However, these songs remind me of him. ( x x ) DEITY : Verse dependent. Forced to worship the Entity in Dead by Daylight. HOLIDAY : Halloween, the only time when he is truly active. MONTH : October. SEASON : Autumn. PLACE : His home on Lampkin Lane in Haddonfield, Illinois. WEATHER : Cloud cover darkening the night sky. Cool, crisp air that just nips at the skin. SOUND : The radio from outside a window, carefree prattle of teenagers who are unaware of his presence, their anxious calling when they hear a sound when they think they’re alone, their shrieks when he plunges his knife into their young, supple flesh, the snapping of bones, the splatter of blood. SCENT / S : Gentle wafts of floral shampoo that trail his obsession. TASTE / S : The metallic hint of blood in his mouth, candy. FEEL / S : Control, the charge of following someone without their knowing, their desperate grasps at him as he seizes them. ANIMAL / S : Has no favorite animal. NUMBER : Seventeen--the age of both of his sisters when he makes attempts on both of their lives. COLOUR : Red for the blood that he spills, black for the shadows that provide him shelter.

EXTRA.

TALENTS : Hunting, he is very adept at following his prey without alerting their attention until he wishes for himself to be noticed. Inducing fear into the hearts of those surrounding him. Misleading those who associate themselves with him. Lacking any kind of humanity or decency that would sway his warpath. BAD AT : Communicating, as he cannot and/or will not say a word to a single soul. Taking care of himself, as he cannot manage to feed himself regularly or to bathe himself or tend to his own injuries. TURN ONS : Fear of him. Watching, watching, watching. TURN OFFS : Intimacy. HOBBIES : Drawing pictures in crayon, writing his elder sister’s name on them. TROPES : Face of an Angel; Mind of a Demon, Creepy Child, Humanoid Abomination, Malevolent Masked Man, Silent Antagonist, The Stoic, Super Strength, The Voiceless. AESTHETIC TAGS : Knives, gore, masks, graveyards, urban neighborhoods, Halloween, trick or treat, jack-o-lanterns. GPOY QUOTES : ".........”

FC INFO.

MAIN FC / S : I haven’t done extensive research on faceclaims for adult Michael because I see no situation where he would remove his mask for anyone so I will stick to his faceclaim in the first movie for now-- Tony Moran. ALT FC / S : Tyler Mane. OLDER FC / S : Don Shanks. YOUNGER FC / S : Noah Wiseman. VOICE CLAIM / S : None. GENDERBENT FC / S : None.

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : Well, Michael already has several movies made all about him but there are a lot of things that I’d like to see in the one coming out next year. First of all, I would love it if they would scratch the ideas of Michael being tied to a cult and being the puppet of a cult because I believe that Michael’s actions are completely of his own free will. I would also love to see some of Michael’s time in Smith’s Grove and Dr. Loomis’s struggle to bring Michael out of himself. I would love to see the little boy before the event on Halloween 1963 and how he acted around his family. I want to see Michael stalking and murdering people that have no connection to him whatsoever. I believe it would be much scarier that way. Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : I would keep elements of the original Halloween soundtrack because they’ve come to resemble Michael’s screen presence so much. I’d like to thicken the orchestration. Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I’ve been obsessed with Dead by Daylight since its release and I was kind of like ????? when they announced that they were going to release Michael as a playable character in the game bc honestly it just reads as jealousy that Friday the 13th is already doing so much better than it, and oh my GOD. I honestly hated Michael so much when he was first released into the game because he is ridiculous to play against. It is so fucking hard to get away from him. Like my hatred for him was unholy. But then I started to watch the movies on a whim and??? I loved him?? My murder sON. Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A4: I really love the aesthetic of the old slasher movies and I love horror movies in general. I told myself that I was going to see all of the movies of all the original slashers and Michael was the one that I picked up first. What I really found attractive about his character at first is how inhuman he is and how terrifying the situation is. He has complete control. And plus, I’m a sucker for a scary man in a mask. Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I hate that it’s implied in the sixth movie that he raped his teenage niece. Michael is a god awful living organism and I know that he isn’t morally above doing something like that, but I really can’t see him doing something like that. I can’t see him developing any kind of substantial arousal about anyone on that level. Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : I suppose that we’re both reserved. Beyond this, we don’t really have anything in common. Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Michael would fucking stab me in a heartbeat lmaO. I would be trying to mother him and he would be like NOPE. Not having it. He doesn’t feel anything about me and he doesn’t feel anything about anyone tbh, but I don’t think he’d appreciate my attempts to take care of him. Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : Laurie Strode, Jamie Lloyd, Dr. Loomis, Judith Myers, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Pennywise the Clown, Jason Voorhees, Nea Karlsson, Trapper, Hillbilly, Meg Thomas, Dwight Fairfield, the Entity. Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Watching the Halloween movies, listening to dark, ambient music, rock music, or looking at aesthetic pictures of suburban neighborhoods at night and Halloween. Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : SO LONG. Like a month omf

#🔪 | ᴘᴀᴛɪᴇɴᴛ ɴᴏᴛᴇs ( about. )#🔪 | ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴠɪʟ ɪs ɢᴏɴᴇ ( ooc. )#[ tfw u have to describe michael's face in detail ]#[ and all you can think is ]#[ pretty boy pretty boy pretty boy ]

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gospelmusic · 4 years

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Perry Lahaie - Him mp3

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Christian music singer/songwriter and morning drive-time radio host Perry LaHaie has released a new full-length album, Him. Him is available now on all platforms worldwide. "This new project has been a long time in the making," LaHaie acknowledges. "But the long process has been God's way of creating something more beautiful and compelling. This 10-song collection of original songs and reimagined hymns tells the grand, epic story of God. It's a story that began in the heart of God: the 'love story about a brave Prince who leaves his palace, his throne, everything, to rescue the ones he loves,' as author Sally Lloyd Jones puts it. And a commission for those rescued to speed the day that C.S. Lewis describes as 'the beginning of the real story... which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.'" (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); The project launches with the driving call-to-action anthem, "Cast Yourself In," with its invitation to abandon yourself to the raging river of God, and be swept away by it to bring living water to the nations. LaHaie's reimagined version of the world's most beloved hymn, "Amazing Grace (Send Me)," remains faithful to John Newton's original vision, but with a compelling twist as LaHaie urges listeners to share God's amazing grace throughout the nations. The anthem segues seamlessly into the original song, "O Mystery of Mysteries." The song takes on special meaning for LaHaie, as his daughter Kali and son Taylor collaborated in its creation. "Because of their input, the song became something I could never have created on my own," LaHaie muses. "I believe Jesus worked through us to create and express the beauty of our Lord's great mission to bring the Kingdom of God from heaven to the Earth." LaHaie returns again to another great hymn, the anthem of joy and worship, "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing," that includes a new chorus that envisions the day when a number no one can count is crying: "Jesus is Lord!" "Solid Rock" continues the progression of setting old gems in new settings, as LaHaie allows the revelation of Christ's redemptive power to wash over the music. When mountains fall and planets break, on Christ alone I'll stand, he exults in the song. "The idea for 'Solid Rock' was birthed during Sunday morning worship while we were singing Jennie Lee Riddle's 'Revelation Song.' I thought the chord progression of the song would work with the melody of 'Solid Rock.' I was so moved by how it changed the whole tone of the hymn. After all creation is undone and then remade, I will still be standing on Christ the solid rock who took my judgment day for me," LaHaie declares. "Rock of Ages" continues LaHaie's awe-evoking re-imaging of classic hymns. On this beautiful worship anthem, he shifts the focus from the plea of a single sinner for the Rock of Ages 'cleft for me,' to a heart's cry for the redemption of the whole world. Not just me, bleeding Lamb, let mercy flow throughout every land, LaHaie entreats. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); Originally written by Charlotte Elliott in 1835, "Just As I Am," emerged as one of the most familiar hymns in the world after it became the signature invitation song at Billy Graham Crusades. The song has lost none of its potency after nearly two centuries, yet LaHaie's reimagined version imbues this come-to-the cross hymn with new life and a new chorus that adds exclamation points to the timeless verses. "God Is Working His Purpose Out" is perhaps less familiar to contemporary listeners, but no less powerful for its obscurity. Dedicated to those who weep for the nations waiting to hear the message of new life in Jesus, LaHaie's son Taylor is credited with breathing new life into this hymn. This song anticipates the day "when the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea," and it's a call to hasten that day by bringing the message of new life in Jesus to those still waiting to hear. John Newton's contemporary and frequent collaborator, William Cowper, penned the evocative hymn, "There Is A Fountain." LaHaie takes Cowper's image of the life-giving flow of Christ's blood and expands it to a rushing river that flows to the nations--a river that will keep rushing until every nation cries, Worthy is the Lamb! LaHaie perfectly bookends that song with the wistful carol, "O Come O Come Emmanuel (How Long)," the debut single from Him. Far from being just another Christmas song, LaHaie's embellished version aches with the longing for Christ's long awaited return. The songwriter also collaborated with emerging filmmaker Aaron Harris to create the yearning lyric music video version of the song. "How do you visually communicate our longing and the longing of all creation for Jesus to come again?" LaHaie ponders. "How do you communicate visually a prayer that cries out, "Jesus! How long till you come again make everything right? How long till you make good on your promise to sweep away every tear, every sorrow, every injustice, even death itself forever?" Those were my questions when I considered creating a lyric video for "O Come O Come Emmanuel (How Long)." God used emerging filmmaker Aaron Harris to answer those questions." Fans can view the video online at youtube.com/watch?v=JJq9GzYodYg. Collectively, the ten-song album of original songs and reimagined hymns that make up Him tells the story of God--of His great rescue plan to bring His love to every tribe, tongue, and language on the planet, to rescue all creation from sin and death through the cross, the resurrection, and Christ's second coming. It offers an impassioned appeal to bring this good news to those who have never heard it, including over 1,000 Muslim people groups that are still waiting for the gospel. The project was helmed by Grammy-winning engineer and producer Andy Hunt, and features Nashville players Jared Kneale (drums), Matt Melton (bass), Matt Stanfield (keys), Nathan Dugger (guitars), and Buckley Miller (engineer). Joining LaHaie with songwriting and additional background vocals were his adult children, Kali Joy and Taylor. "It was hard to give up the singer/songwriter part of me to do Him," LaHaie admits. "There was some pride that had to be surrendered. But that surrender led to God working something new in me--an album of reimagined hymns of amazing grace with new choruses and bridges that call us to take His grace to the world."

Currently, the "Him" album by Perry Lahaie is only available on digital stores.

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Are You a Classical Music lover, our classical music page, contains the best of classical songs, composed and written by composers like G. F Handel, Bach, Joseph Haydn, etc. As you listen to your best gospel song, you may also want to get some more insight and knowledge about the word of God, from eBooks written by God's servants, or you may want to learn something new or build yourself up in some way. Then our eBook Page is the right place to look. (adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({}); You may be in need of entertainment, and probably want to watch a video too. We understand that as well. You can get entertaining video downloads from our video downloads page.

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silhouettes1881-blog · 5 years

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Growing up, my mother read many books to her children. This is one of my favorite memories. Among those books was the classic tale Heidi. While most people know this story in its abridged form, or in the stripped-down film versions from Hollywood, this story is a wonderful tale of redemption. The grace of God is apparent throughout and Heidi eventually finds relationship with God through her interaction with two Godly “grandmothers.” Despite her initial rejection of God for not answering her prayers according to her own timetable, Heidi comes to trust that God will work everything perfectly in His time.

After a period of separation from her beloved grandfather, she returns home to him full of the knowledge that God has her best interest at heart. Eager to share this newfound treasure with the one she loves most, she reads her grandfather the tale of the Prodigal Son. She explains that many times we are like the Prodigal, who turns to his own way and finds ruin. Her grandfather responds by saying:

“And if it once is so, it is so always; no one can go back, and he whom God has forgotten, is forgotten forever.”

“Oh, no grandfather, we can go back, for grandmamma told me so, and so it was in the beautiful tale in my book…” (Spyri 204).

Heidi goes on to explain the love of the Father as the Prodigal returns with his words of penitence and humility. She notices her grandfather is grave and thoughtful, and soon takes herself to bed, leaving him to his musings. Later that night, unbeknownst to her, he whispers these words in prayer: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee and am not worthy to be called thy son” (Spyri 207). Later the next day after many unexpected and out-of-character actions on the part of her grandfather, Heidi remarks that she never saw him like that before; he gets “nicer and nicer”. He responds with the statement “Well, yes, Heidi, I am happier today than I deserve, happier than I had thought possible; it is good to be at peace with God and man! God was good to me when He sent you to my hut” (211).

Just as the father of the Prodigal Son waited anxiously for the return of his son, so God waits with open arms for us to turn to Him through His revealed redemption, Jesus Christ. In acceptance of His provision, we find restoration with the Father, and we understand what His plan was all along. In a paraphrase of John 1:12-13 we read a simple but inspiring summation of the Gospel: “For anyone who says yes to Jesus, for anyone who believes what Jesus said, for anyone who will just reach out to take it, then God will give them this wonderful gift: to be born into a whole new life, to be who they really are, who God always made them to be - their own true selves - God’s dear child” (Lloyd-Jones 351).

Works Cited

Lloyd-Jones, Sally, and Jago. The Jesus storybook Bible: every story whispers his name.

Spyri, Johanna. Heidi. Childrens Classics, 1986.

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tophatsnap · 7 years

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A Monster Stared Back

What if the mob had never reached Erik's home?

Hi guys. I know I haven’t finished my other things, but I started another thing.. Let me know what you think. It’s just a one shot for the moment. Phanty belongs to Leroux & Lloyd Webber

She had placed the ring in my palm. Her two small hands had closed over my own for a single, precious moment; her touch was soft, tender- something I had seldom experienced. It was one of the few times she had willingly touched me, and we both seemed to pause slightly at the foreign sensation. A final barrier was broken between us as her hands touched mine.

The hands belonging to a man; just a man. Not a ghost, Phantom or specter.

I walked to the bank of the lake and watched her disappear from sight. I do not know what possessed me to do so. Perhaps I was a glutton for my own agony. My chest tightened as I saw her turn back briefly. Our eyes met for a second or two, and then she looked forward once more. Something I would never be able to do.

My fingers still closed around the ring she had given me, I sat down, allowing the tears to freely fall now that Christine was not around to see them. My home had never felt so empty- the oppressive silence was almost too much to bear. How had I lived like this for so long?

The silence was strange tonight though, given everything that had happened above ground. I would have expected some callers by now; the mob, the authorities… or both. Standing up and stashing the ring in my pocket, I waded once more into the murky water before me and peered as far as I could through the tunnel.

Nothing… Not a sound. No yells of impending doom, no distant flashes of light to signify torches approaching… nothing at all. My home was difficult to find, I had made it so, but after all the chaos and destruction I had caused, I was sure that someone would have found me on hatred or revenge alone.

Perhaps Madame Giry had drawn them away, or perhaps she had set her daughter the task. Part of me was relieved by the idea that I would be able to stay where I was and wallow in the grief that was suffocating me with each passing minute, that at least I would have my routine and security… my safety, but the other part told me that I needed to leave… one way or the other. I had either to submit myself to the mob, or the authorities and whatever they had in store, or I had to take my future into my own hands and walk away. Walk away from it all. Whatever that meant…

Everything in this Opera house would now remind me of Christine, the way I had treated her and the person… the monster I had become in the end.

Unceremoniously wiping my nose with my sleeve, I waded back to the shore. I bent down and picked up her veil, placing it back on the mannequin. It used to sit atop the mannequin’s head comfortably, but now it seemed so out of place. It did not belong there anymore. It belonged with Christine.

I decided to leave the portcullis up. For whoever found me in the end deserved the right to justice or revenge... they seemed interchangeable now. What did I have to live for now? I still had my music, but Christine was my music. She was my muse, and for the last few years, she and music had gone hand in hand in my mind. How was I to separate the two?

Another day passed.

Another day of agony…

Finally, I changed out of what was left of my Don Juan Triumphant costume. I couldn’t care less what I wore, but what I did not need was another constant reminder of that night- my home and memories, my face… they were enough. To my disgust, in spite of everything, for the last two days, part of me had expected her to return. To have changed her mind, to have forgiven me… but I knew that I did not deserve forgiveness. I hated how weak I had become because of her. I knew that if she showed her face, I would accept her with open arms and I loathed myself for it.

I hadn’t sought out food since before the night of Don Juan. I hadn’t bathed. I hadn’t even been brave enough to face a mirror. But I hardly felt the pain of hunger, I hardly felt the grime on my body even though prior to this I was exceedingly fastidious with my cleanliness. I found that even though at the root of everything was my appearance, for the first time I hardly cared how I looked.

I hardly cared how I felt save for the ache in my chest and sickness in my stomach that had not left since she had…

The time dragged, and I felt each agonizing second tick by. I wanted to be sick. I wanted to physically hurt so that I could feel something other than this never-ending torment. The sickening thought that she might return, that still… Still she might change her mind…

I was still expecting someone to pay me a visit and make it easy for me; take my life. Take the life that I should never have been given, and since birth have not deserved. But no one came.

I did not know what was happening above ground. It was likely that the Opera had closed for repairs following the damage I had done- if it was to be salvaged at all. I had not yet seen the damage for myself. At this stage I was not leaving my home, but for all I knew, that option might not remain. I could be buried under rubble and not even be aware of it. Entrapped forever in the building I loved so much. A tomb for a corpse; fitting.

Not knowing what else to do, I poured a large glass of wine and drank it all. I poured another and did the same. I approached one of the mirrors that bordered my home and for the first time in days, stared into it.

A monster stared back.

Just as my mother had said it would all those years ago.

Stay away from mirrors, Erik. Or the monster inside will get you!

Well, she was right. The monster had gotten me after all. What was staring back at me was no man. If there ever was a human being in that reflection, he was all but gone now.

All of a sudden I found that the monster was smiling back at me. What was humorous? Who knew. Perhaps the monster was mad. Soon both the monster and I began to laugh together and seemingly minutes passed.

The laugher turned to pain and soon I couldn’t stop the grief from showing itself. I heaved and wept, falling against the mirror- staring back at what I knew was myself.

This face. I was tired of it. It had taken everything from me.

I threw my fists into the glass, each punch sending shards flying out in all directions. It was beautiful, and now I could no longer see the face that had destroyed my life before it had even begun. Feeling slightly better about things, I took a deep breath and poured another glass of wine. I felt nothing as the blood ran down my fingers and onto the ground below.

I moved to the next mirror and repeated the process, beginning to smile again as the alcohol took charge of my actions and I no longer needed to think.

I walked back up to where my wine bottle sat and poured another glass… or half glass. Apparently I had finished the bottle. Picking up the glass and attempting to drink it as I made my way down the stairs to my desk, I lost my footing, slipping on a shard of glass. My wine fell from my hand, and in an attempt to gain balance with the other leg, I twisted my ankle and went tumbling unceremoniously to the floor.

I cringed as my ankle screamed with pain. What had I done? I wasn’t usually this light headed after a single bottle of wine, but my emotions were running high, and I had not eaten for several days now.

I hadn’t wanted to leave, but now I truly couldn’t. I laughed again at the situation I was in, but there was no one around to hear it, and the silence that engulfed my voice made me feel pathetic. I attempted to sit up, only to feel a sharp burn in my side as I did so. I looked down to see that there was a patch of red on my shirt. I lifted it to see that a piece of glass had in fact sliced my side open as I’d fallen. Fantastic. At least it didn’t look too deep.

With a cringe, I sat up. I yelled as I pulled myself to my feet. I truly could not put any weight on my right foot. It would prove troublesome If I did actually need to abscond from my home at any point. Thankfully, seemingly, both the mob and the authorities had given up on me that night. Although, it hardly mattered whether they had or not. What I was doing was not living, and so perhaps it would be alright if they took my life after all. No one else wanted it and I was certainly indifferent at the present time.

Knowing that I should at least elevate my ankle, but neglecting to do so out of spite for myself, I sat at my organ. Not playing, just staring at the keys. I placed my bloodied hands atop them, the keys turning from white to red as I smoothed my fingers over them.

I sat sprawled across my organ, on the verge of sleep when I heard the voice.

“Angel.”

I lifted my head, squinting into the darkness. I must have been dreaming, or perhaps I was still inebriated. No, I couldn’t be. It had been hours and the headache that now plagued me on top of everything else told me that the fun was over, and that now I had to pay for all that I had consumed and the speed with which I had done so. I lay back down, settling into my awkward sitting position, one that had no doubt spoiled my back over time, and closed my eyes.

“Angel. It’s me.”

That voice again. It was her. I sat up again, slowly turning around where I sat to see Christine standing at the bottom of the stairs I had fallen down. She was looking down at the detritus surrounding her; shards of glass, wine stains, other stains… her gaze shifted to mine as I turned. My first reaction was to go to her. For she had returned, and for the last 3 days or so that was all I’d been able to think about. But I calmed myself; my true persona took hold once more once I realized that she had left me. When I had released her, she had not thought twice about leaving with her boy and she had likely only returned out of some sense of pity or duty to her conscience.

“I can see that.” I finally spoke.

She flinched slightly at my cold words.

There was silence as I glared at her.

“Are you alright?” She asked. If it had not been so dark, she might’ve been able to see that I was not, in fact, alright. It was visible that I had not slept, nor eaten, and that I was bleeding from more than one injury.

“Why are you here?” I spoke softly, ignoring her question.

She stepped closer, perhaps taking my question as an invitation.

“Don’t.” I said, turning from her slightly. I still hadn’t replaced my mask, and a harsh word or stare from her in the state I was in, would crush me.

She stopped walking.

“I had to see you.”

“How kind of you.” I quipped. It had been snide, yes, but I didn’t care.

“Angel, please.” She began. “I had to see that you were alright… After we left… I was worried that the mob…”

“You can’t have been too worried, though.” I replied darkly, cutting her off. “It has been two days.” It was a childish argument, and I regretted allowing her to see that I was affected by her in the slightest…

“I know.” She said, looking down. “It was the soonest I could get away.”

Yes, with your marriage planning, I suppose you were quite busy.

I remained silent. She was being guarded too, but why?

“Angel, what happened here?”

“I fail to see how that is any of your concern, Christine.”

“It is of my concern!” She spoke, stepping forward again. This was the first time she had raised her voice to me.

“In what way?” I argued. “You have seen what you came here to. I am alive, if you could call it that. Let your conscience be sated with that, and leave this where it is. Your priorities were made clear to me on Thursday night.” I looked down. She remained silent.

“I let you leave.” I began again, my voice softer. “You did not need to return. You should not be here.”

My last words were spoken in sincerity. I wanted her with me more than anything, but I had let her leave because I saw that love was not about selfish yearning, but instead, selflessness. I wished her to be happy above all else, above myself. How was she to achieve that If she was still with me? The man who had kidnapped and entrapped her? I felt ill the more I thought of it.

“Well is this how you wish to leave things?” She argued. I looked up.

“We already left things, Christine. I’m sorry, but if you have come here for some sort of closure, I do not know what to tell you. You are free to leave and enjoy your life… I meant that when I said it.” I wasn’t being snide. I hadn’t the energy for that anymore. “Please, go.”

“I will go, but I don’t wish to leave things like this. Not after everything.”

“Please, Christine.” I spoke. Couldn’t she see that her mere presence was torturing me? Taunting me with promises of something that I could not have, that did not want me…

“Angel…” She began.

“Please. Stop calling me that. We both know that it is no longer appropriate.”

“And what is appropriate?” She asked

“…Erik.” I said, almost a whisper. “My name is Erik.”

There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke.

“Well, Erik. Would it be alright If I stayed for a few moments?”

I stared at her, though I was sure she could not see all of my face. Only a few candles were lit by this point, and all that she had with her was a dull lamp. I wished for her to say. I wanted it more than anything. It would be torturous, but she had asked to stay, how could I refuse?

“You may do as you please.” I said coldly.

“Thank you.”

She approached me slowly, awkwardly…

“I will find you a chair.” I said. Though, as soon as I stood up and put my weight on my right foot, pain shot through me and I fell back onto my organ, holding it for support.

“Are you alright?” She cried. I could not stop her from approaching now, nor could I move away. All I could do was cover my face, and so I did so.

“What happened to you?” She asked, moving closer. “Oh… your hands… you’re bleeding!”

“Yes.”

Indeed, I was. It had not really bothered me until I had seen the pieces of glass sticking out of my skin, and now it was beginning to sting.

“Let me help you.” She reached out for the hand that was leaning on the organ, giving me balance. I pulled away, almost falling again.

“Don’t touch me.” I said. I hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh, but I couldn’t let her in. Not when I was already in so much pain at the thought of losing her. I yearned for her touch, and yet I knew it would be the end of me… “I can do it myself.”

“What happened?” She asked again.

I did not respond. Instead, I stood up and limped to the bedroom she had once slept in. She followed me as I entered and sat on the edge, bending down to retrieve my bespoke first aid kit from underneath it.

“What is that?” She enquired, staring at the small box I had in my hands.

“You need not worry.” I said curtly.

“There is no need to be rude to me.”

No, there wasn’t. If I didn’t want her around, I needed to tell her. But I did… oh, how I did.

“I apologize.” I said. “But you do not need to be here, nor do you need to witness this. You should leave.”

With that, she stood up and left the room. I stared after her. Was that it? Had she left? Without so much as a goodbye? Perhaps it was for the best. I set the box down and lit some of the candles in the bedroom. I needed to see what I was doing. I was not particularly fond of living, but I did not wish to die from infection. I had come close before and It was not pleasant.

The light in the room made me more comfortable. It hadn’t before, but now, I felt less alone. I could pretend that everything was as it had been before Thursday; before Don Juan Triumphant.

I stood up, ready to limp to the kitchen in search of a bowl and some water to wash out my wounds, and Christine entered the room, standing before me just inside the door way. My hand flew to my face.

“I thought you’d left.” I said,

“No.” She said, now only two feet from me. She was intoxicating. “I went to find these.” I looked down at what she was holding out; my mask and wig. Could it be that she wanted me to feel comfortable? “You shouldn’t have to hide your face in your own home, but I thought these would make you feel more at ease.”

I took them, turning my back to her to put them on. I did indeed feel more at ease. I had not worn a mask since she had ripped it off me on stage… I turned back to her, smoothing my wig back in an attempt to look more presentable. Though, I hadn’t shaved in days and I likely looked like death due to lack of sleep.

“Thank you.” I said, my voice low, not wanting to give away too much. In truth I was amazed by the gesture. Did my comfort mean that much to her, or did she want my face covered for her own benefit? I tried not to think about it.

“You’re welcome… Erik.” She said. My name sounded beautiful on her tongue. “Now please, let me help you, and then if you still wish it, I will leave.”

Avoiding eye contact with her, I nodded.

“Water.” I spoke. “I will need a bowl of water.”

“Alright.” She smiled guardedly, before leaving the room again.

When she returned I was sitting on the side of the bed once more, tweezers in hand. She set the bowl on the ground before kneeling before me, watching my hands intently. It made me nervous. I don’t know if it was her or the pain that was making my hands shake but it was making things very difficult. As soon as the tweezers came in contact with a piece of glass I yelled in pain, refraining from cursing aloud.

“Allow me.” She offered, reaching for the tweezers.

“No!” I growled. “I can look after myself, Christine!”

“Let me help you!” She retorted.

“Why!”

“I am not going to sit here and watch you put yourself through pain! Now, give me the tweezers!”

I was stunned. Who was this woman? Before I could say anything she had taken them from me and held out her hand.

Slowly, I offered her one of mine, and as soon as our palms touched, I felt weak. Her hand was warm and soft. Suddenly, the pain was gone. How was I to live without this feeling now that I knew what it felt like?

“Thank you.” She said sternly.

We did not speak as she gently removed the shards from one hand, and washed it in water. I handed her the iodine without a word and she poured it over my hand. It stung horribly, but as Christine wiped the excess blood away and gently bandaged me, I could not help but stare at her. She was so gentle with me after all I had done. I did not deserve this. I offered her my other hand without her needing to ask, and she offered a small smile in return. She was so beautiful.

She repeated the process in silence. She had asked numerous times what had happened, and I had neglected to answer. Why was I making her suffer when she was offering nothing but kindness?

“The mirrors.” I stated awkwardly once she had finished.

She looked up.

“You asked what had happened.” I added.

“The mirrors.” She began. “I just pulled pieces of them out of your flesh, therefore I gathered as much.”

Was that sarcasm? I stared at her- unused to being spoken to like this, I remained silent.

“The real question is why.” She spoke.

“I don’t have an answer for that.” I said. She nodded again.

“I see.” She said. “And what of that?” She gestured to the patch of blood on my shirt.

“It’s nothing.”

“Just like your hands?” She smirked.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because you cannot help yourself.”

“I can. And if that is why you are here, you may leave.”

“I am not leaving until I know that you are alright.”

“But why do you care?!”

“Because it is who I am! You once meant a lot to me. You were there for me when no one else was, and you did more for me than anyone could hope to understand. Over the past few months you turned into something else but I know that the real you is still in there somewhere! And that is who I am helping! Are you satisfied with that!?”

No, I wasn’t. Not at all.

“You don’t know the real me.” I began, continuing the argument.

“And neither do you! You have become so disconnected with yourself that you had to pause when I asked what your name was!”

I did not expect this from Christine and I was in no mood for an argument.

“I am the Phantom, Christine. Whether you like it or not, that is who I am now, and that is who you are helping.”

“…And if I asked you to be someone different? If I asked you to be Erik?”

I paused, looking down at my bandaged hands. I would do anything for her, be whoever she wanted me to be- perhaps she knew that.

I sighed.

“I don’t know how to be that person anymore.”

“You do.”

I had been the Phantom for so long that Erik had not mattered- he had not been needed. But perhaps the only way to keep Christine around was to find him again.

“Now, am I sitting before the Phantom tonight?” Christine continued. “Was it the Phantom’s wounds I just dressed?”

I shook my head slightly.

Christine nodded in response.

“Alright.” She said. My eyes met hers briefly. I could not hold her gaze for long, not like I used to. Not when I was feeling so powerless. “Can I see your side? I’d like to see if there is glass in there. The only way you’d be able to do that yourself is if you used a mirror- and you don’t have any of those left.”

The girl had made an attempt at humor. I smirked slightly. Thankfully, she hadn’t seen it.

“Lie back.” She said. I did as she instructed. Unfortunately, the cut was fairly high up, across my ribs. I watched her carefully as I lifted my shirt, just enough for her to see the wound. She seemed nervous, and I saw her take a deep breath. Was she… blushing?

I had several scars littering my torso that I did not want her to see and question. But apart from that, it was improper. I was already feeling self-conscious, so when she took hold of my shirt and pulled it around further I stopped her.

“Stop.”

“Ang… Erik. I have to see the wound.” She seemed annoyed.

“You could see it. I pulled my shirt up high enough.”

“You need to hold it up higher if I’m to clean it for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to see this.”

“Erik, I lived in the theatre for many years. I have seen a man’s chest before. Please, relax.”

It wasn’t that. I wasn’t ashamed of my scars as I was my face, but I didn’t want the questions… the pity… I’d suffered enough of that tonight.

“Please.” She added. “Don’t fight me on everything.”

I looked at her sweet face. How could I deny her? I would just have to explain myself- something I loathed doing.

I took a deep breath.

“Scars.” I spoke, my voice low. “I have scars I do not wish for you to see.”

“Everyone has scars.”

“Not like this.” Indeed, not many people had been whipped, cut, and burned for entertainment. “I have cared for myself many times before, Christine. And I have survived. Please. Tell me if there is any glass that you can see, and I will do the rest.”

She sighed, but thankfully she did not question what I said.

“There was no glass.”

I nodded.

She handed me a cloth soaked in iodine, and I cleaned my own wound. It stung terribly- but I could tell from the pain that I would not need stitches.

Though, my ankle throbbed, and I made the mistake of glancing down at it.

“Your ankle?” She asked. “What did you do?”

“I twisted it when I fell. But please, you need not…”

But she was already at the foot of the bed.

“Which one is it? Your right?”

“Christine please. Really. You don’t need to.”

The last thing I wanted was her inspecting my foot. In my life people had seldom touched me with good intent. No one had ever touched my feet, I didn’t want to subject her to that. Also, it felt strangely intimate, and it would be incredibly awkward. I didn’t want that.

When she touched my boot, pain shot through me. I clenched the sheets and groaned.

“I’m sorry.” She asked apologetically. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“We have to get it off before the swelling gets worse.”

I knew it to be the case, though, I did not want her involved.

She touched my boot again, this time more gently. She slowly unlaced it and pulled it off.

“Christine, no. Just leave it. Please.”

“It looks quite swollen.” She said, ignoring me. She began to remove my sock.

“Stop. You shouldn’t.” I said, pulling away from her. Though the movement that pulling away caused me was excruciating.

“Why not?” She asked, a smile coming to her lips. “Ticklish?”

Was I?

God, I hadn’t even thought of that.

Surely she wouldn’t…

She wouldn’t dare…

Not while I was in pain.

Not ever!

Why was she still here!?

I frowned at her, unimpressed with what she had suggested.

“No. You just…”

She watched me struggle for words.

You shouldn’t have to do this to someone who treated you so poorly.

“It-It makes me uncomfortable.” I finally said.

“Erik, for the last time. I am going to help you. Now stop fussing, please. You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be!”

She pulled off the sock and inspected my ankle. I looked away and closed my eyes, not wanting to see her expression. This was too strange. The situation was surreal; I didn’t like feeling this human. This vulnerable. But I didn’t have a choice. The girl was determined.

“It’s swollen and bruised.” She said. I opened my eyes and looked down. It was indeed. It looked awful. “I don’t know much about injuries unfortunately, but I have rolled my ankle once or twice while dancing.”

I knew she had. I had seen it each time it had happened and it had taken every ounce of strength not to go to her and pick her up.

“I have had injuries that have looked similar to this.” She said. “Does it feel broken?”

“No.” I stated. I just wanted this to end. She gently took my foot in her hand, slowly turning it to the side to inspect the other side of the ankle. Having never been touched there, my skin was sensitive. It felt heavenly. I closed my eyes, guiltily enjoying the feeling of her soft skin against mine.

“It looks worse on the inside.” She said. I opened my eyes again. “I’ll wrap it for you.”

“No, you don’t…”

“You cannot do it yourself, Erik.” She said, clearly annoyed with me.

She gently wrapped my ankle. Each time her skin came in contact with mine, a jolt of pleasure shot through me. She couldn’t be here anymore. I could not bear it. Christine placed a cushion beneath my foot and walked nearer to me, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You’ll need to stay off it for a few days.” She said. “And you should change your shirt. The last thing you need is an infection.”

I nodded, deciding it was best not to argue with her. She was not the Christine I remembered.

“Will you be leaving now?” I asked. “I am quite capable, Christine. Despite what you may think. You should feel free to leave.”

“I do feel free to leave.”

I stared at her. What was she trying to say?

“Do you wish for me to leave?”

Of course I didn’t.

“It is not up to me.” I answered strategically.

“It is a simple question, Erik. Requiring a simple answer.”

How had Christine Daae changed in such a short amount of time? Perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t really known her at all…

What I had suffered was demeaning. I was not accustomed to accepting help; being treated like I was incompetent, like a child. But never had anyone helped me as Christine had, and if it meant her staying around for just a little while longer, I would accept it.

“No, Christine. I do not wish for you to leave…”

#poto #phantom of the opera #phanfic #fanfic #2004 phantom #erik #christine daae #andrew lloyd webber #gaston leroux #tophatsnap #a monster stared back

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chicagoindiecritics · 4 years

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New from Jeff York on The Establishing Shot: “CATS”, QUITE SIMPLY, IS A DOG

If you saw the trailer, you had a good idea of just how badly conceived the filmed adaptation of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical CATS was going to be. But after seeing the 110-minute, $95 million mess, bad is too small of a word. This film is a dog.

Seldom has an adaptation been as blundered at every level as this one. One could readily list a hundred mistakes in it, and I’m sure the makers of those “Everything Wrong With” videos on YouTube will go to town in exactly that way. Me? I’ll list nine, an appropriate number given the number of lives felines are supposed to have. This CATS, however, and all of its screw-ups, arrives in the cineplex DOA.

1.) The source material has aged badly

When he wrote the musical in 1981, Webber kept faithfully true to the T.S. Eliot source material – the book of poems entitled “Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats.” Eliot’s musings about felines were equally nonsensical and whimsical. He coined the term “Jellicle cat” to signify scruffy, black and white cats, which he had a fondness for. By the time you’ve heard the cast sing that gibberish word for the hundredth time, you’ll wish he had just used a term like “domesticated cat” or “pet.” The lyrics sound creaky, dated, and not particularly charming or funny, like a lot of Eliot’s misguided take on cats. (Cats aren’t supposed to drink milk or dream, for example. Need I go on?) The odd poetry really doesn’t play in 2019, especially when the one song that is crystal clear in meaning and intent is a new song written by Taylor Swift for this adaptation. There’s quaint, and then there’s irritating and worn, and too much of the jellicleness falls into the latter category here.

2.) The look of the cat/human hybrids is ugly and inconsistent

The form-fitting fur costumes for the big screen accentuate human anatomy more than suggest our four-legged friends. The film is supposed to be family-friendly, but the look of the characters is far too sexualized, too Dr. Moreau. Rebel Wilson’s Jennyanydots portrayal is the most egregious, as she rubs her loins and holds her tail between her legs as if it’s an erection. Why they simply didn’t ape the stage costumes is a puzzler as John Napier’s award-winning designs mixed dancewear with tasteful fur trimming and some human clothing, but nothing about it conjured the feel of a “furry” fetishist.

Also, the attempts to look like real cats are inconsistent. Sure, the ears move, as do the whiskers, but what good is any of that when all the cats have human hands and feet, and often left flesh-colored at that. Couldn’t such appendages have been painted or covered with gloves or socks? And why aren’t any of the cats’ noses painted here? Cats’ noses are pink, brown, and almost always a different color than the yap surrounding them. To a cat lover, it’s inexplicable.

3.) The special effects aren’t very special

The cat dancers here do a lot of wonderfully slinky moves, just like they did on stage, but the movie wants them to be able to leap about too and that requires wirework. Granted, the wires were removed in post-production, but when the dancers jump high in the sky here, it looks like crappy stuntwork. The movements are slow and rickety.

The effect of removing the human ears in post-production looks wrong too. Not enough hair fills out the edges of the face, giving some cast members the look of a burn victim or plastic surgery gone amuck. Placing human faces on the mice and cockroach characters is ugly and cheap-looking as well, but then so is the whole grotesque concept of Busby Berkeley dancing vermin.

4.) The acting soars…over-the-top

On Broadway, you can be as big as you want because you’re playing to the balcony. Movies are a whole other matter. Close-ups on film don’t require the same large efforts. Director Tom Hooper failed to learn from his mistakes in the movie version of LES MISERABLES that he directed. He shoved the camera right up into the actors’ faces to prove that they weren’t lip-syncing. Unfortunately, it showed off too much spittle and spray too. The same happens here. Jennifer Hudson’s Grizabella is so screechy, melodramatic, and moist, it makes a sympathetic character into a shrill one.

As for most of the rest of the cast, they either mug shamelessly or overdo the cat clichés. James Corden is slyly funny until he starts hacking up hairballs. Ian McKellen creates some pathos as Gus the Theater Cat, but then he vamps through his solo number and the heart-tugging moment almost becomes laughable. At least Judi Dench attempts to underplay throughout, but she’s not helped by a costume that makes her look more like Bert Lahr’s Cowardly Lion than a dignified Old Deuteronomy.

5.) If you’re going to write dialogue, resist hoary cat puns

Webber’s original stage production was a sung-thru musical. Adding dialogue now, with cheap puns like, “Cat got your tongue?” and “Cat’s out of the bag” should’ve given the filmmakers pause. (Not paws.) There are too many cat behavioral clichés on display too, with the cast leaning hard on traits like hissing, preening, and lip-licking. They’re like students in a freshman improv class – “Okay, everyone, now you’re all cats!”

6.) Taylor Swift is wasted in a nothing role

She looks quite good in her “Josie and the Pussycats” kind of way, but her role as Bombalurina is virtually a throwaway. For starters, she doesn’t appear onscreen until the last 30 minutes, and then all she does basically is sing about what a badass Macavity is. We already know that as Idris Alba’s character is clearly the villain of this piece as evidenced by his every insidious action and all the snide lines he utters. Where’s Bombalurina been the whole time?

7.) The scale is all wrong

The cats here are too small in the context of many of the film’s settings, particularly its human homes. The scale isn’t properly proportioned as almost everything is too oversized, reminiscent of the fantasy sequences in ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND. Such satirical scale worked there because it was a spoof of childhood. Here, it just looks wrong.

8.) Are we in a human world or a cat world?

The opening scene has a high-heeled woman step out of a car and throw her bagged pet away in a dirty alley. Additionally, Gus sings about appearing on stage with Shakespearean actors. But then the city marquees, billboards, and hotel names all are ‘cat-ified.’ So, are we in the human world or a modified cat one? Such inconsistencies should have been taken care of in the first pass through Final Draft.

9.) Tom Hooper is not a natural for such material

The Oscar-winning director for THE KING’S SPEECH tends to do well with character-driven pieces, like JOHN ADAMS on HBO and PRIME SUSPECT on Granada Television for the UK. Musicals are different though, requiring a sophisticated blend of the extroverted and the intimate. Too much of LES MIZ felt histrionic and broad, and the same goes here. He’s also not a natural at moving the camera and relies far too much on actors moving in and out of frame to give his film action.

Casting principal dancer Francesca Hayward of the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden as the lead cat Victoria here was his one inspired choice. She’s got expressive eyes and entrancing moves, and she makes her audience conduit character the calm in all the storm around her.

Alternately, Hooper badly botches the presentation of magical Mr. Mistoffelees, letting actor Laurie Edwards play him as far too irritating. The “Skimbleshanks” number not only feels extraneous here, but the character comes off as completely lackluster in the way Steven McRae performs the part. And the estimable Ray Winstone is given little to do but growl as Captain Growltiger, another throwaway role. So much for Hooper being such “an actor’s director.”

Perhaps the simple, stage-bound show should have remained so. Doing an adaptation of it almost 40 years after the fact is crazy late too, not helped by the fact that playwright John Guare satirized the notion of a CATS movie musical in his award-winning play SIX DEGREES OF SEPERATION way back in 1990. CATS is not a great musical onstage, anyway, but it’s been an enormous success for decades and should have garnered a better adaptation. And cats, as a superior species, certainly deserve a lot better than this effort too.

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