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hungydory95 · 2 years

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Against the Day

So many things interweaving and folding into each other and layered like turbulent waves, narratives, dreams, alternate realities and shifting timelines that steer ever so gently away from the axes of orthodox American and world history and into something that resembles it but isn’t quite and so many concepts and so many of it amazing, and so many entertaining, lovable, repellant, hilarious, dramatic and vividly written characters, who skirt as their world does on a perfect balance between normalcy and surreality in the incredibly richly written world [or worlds on worlds and then some] that Pynchon has dreamed up here. And all of this is explored through political power plays, espionage plots, dense and complex mathematical and esoteric divulgences that explore the intersection between science and the arcane and otherworldly, de Sadean displays of sexual abandon, and earnest appreciation of comic strips and dime store adventure novels from the time period it’s set in, and time travel and the mechanics of the universe and especially light, light in everything it illuminates and everything it blinds, and “Gravity’s Rainbow” esque explorations into the colonial consciousness of Europe and the scramble for Africa inseparable from war and capitalism, its exploitation acting as the central unifying axis on which lie all these themes and motifs and setpieces, and so many more things, too many to possibly name in one review lest the review be longer than the book. Reading this novel is like watching a neverending parade in an alternate dimension, and the reader just has to trust that Pynchon take them to the most cerebral outer regions of one’s imagination possible. It’s a novel that is not only viscerally enjoyable to read in its total encapsulation of genre fiction, but also acts as a sort of thesis statement on the reclusive author’s thematic interests, obsessions and everything in between, in a DMT torpedo explosion of weird history that reads like a hallucinatory sci-fi western family saga set at the end of the Gold Rush era during the technological boom of that age, all under the vast shadow of the approaching First World War. His best? Maybe “Gravity’s Rainbow” is still too strong and too iconic to be beat, but “Against the Day” may very well be my personal favorite so far and one that’s just as rewarding.

This is my sixth read of a Pynchon novel, and though I’ve gotten much joy out of his earlier work already, I think in a lot of ways my experience of “Against the Day” left me with more concrete articulations of why Pynchon works for me, which til now I hadn’t been able to form thoughts as strongly on the specifics of. Pynchon has a vast interest in history, but throughout all his stories history is in some way distorted, bent at unrecognizable angles, with real history often weaving into Pynchon’s own wild creations, to the point where the line between real history and imagination, of storytelling is made dubious. But has it ever not been blurred? Is history not stories, folklore, words passed down to generations, cycles perpetuated in a mobius loop not only by those that hold the reigns of power, but also the ones they lord over who make the stories [and do the labor, though they are not rewarded their wages?] The freedom Thomas Pynchon has to cross reality and myth into one, and indeed make the case that both are integral to one another, just as he makes the case for Light and Time in this work, and indeed too many dualities to name, is the highest strength of his novels, especially all three of his centerpiece works.

I admit, for most of its page count I really did not know where the story was going. But this is why Pynchon, contrary to what some seem to think, doesn’t write as a statement of his own intellect, but that he trusts that readers will subsume themselves into the world he has created, the end of the horizon never in sight but still dotted end to end with intrigue, absurd and poignant plotlines alike just waiting to be flipped through and gradually uncovering the connections, motifs, rungs on this mobius loop that run together. To give in to this book is to give in to the logic of the impossible, yet in the impossibility and the fantasy and the enormity of this alternate world[s] feels so strictly real to me as a place that could exist on some branch of the Yggdrasil somewhere, and I think in general that’s why Pynchon’s work hits a chord with me so much [and I will return to this concept later in the review].

It’s easy to be intimidated - this book really is enormous. Every time the plot seems to have reached its limit of expansion, a new thread is unfurled, a new connection established, and the world expands even further, and it never gets tiring, and though there are some plots I don’t care for as much as others, there’s something at least extremely interesting both singularly and collectively about every narrative hall of mirrors that Pynchon takes you down, so the momentum may slow at times but it is never broken. There are so many intertwining subplots, characters and relationships, conceptual washes of extremely entertaining craziness and things so above my ability to understand that I started to just accept some of the Quaternion stuff etc. for what it was, because there’s so much verve, and so much enthusiasm and love for craft and genre yet also so much more mature in its town of voice than “Gravity’s Rainbow”, whose brilliance can maybe weave into its bleakness - but “Against the Day” transcends the pessimism of that book and approaches the gravity and possibility of change, of revolutionary action and a world where imperial powers are not unstoppably powerful, powerful as they are. This is a book in which Pynchon is his most ideological and unrelenting in his empathy for the underclasses as the “light” that shines into the future annals of history, our real world future’s but also all possible futures in worlds where oppression must be culled, by violent means, by the ones the oligarchs and their apparatuses have oppressed.

I love the narrative ethos of the novel, everything just kind of happening together in this torrential storm of plots on plots, prose running off into peaks and valleys and Borgesian mirror-mazes where Pynchon will land you somewhere with no recollection of how you got from one setpiece or turn of phrase to something completely different but just as tickling to the imaginative faculties, and often making you laugh your ass off in the process of navigating these slinking sentences - and really, how else could we view history when it is all happening so close together and explored via so many angles, avenues, refractions of light that bend it in so many rotating directions away [but also toward] the real world history of the time period that birthed modern capitalism and elucidated the selfishness of the white man’s consciousness? This book really is about Everything to do with the eras of men like Rockefeller [seen in the capitalist Scarsdale Vibe, whose ideology illuminates the blatant fascism of the frontier era’s worst progeny] and labor exploitation throughout the nineteenth century and how the Civil War too lead to the conditions enabling the Great Wars, exploring both the bourgeois conscience in its exaltation of warfare and profit but also of all those eccentric and endlessly varied proles living under the heel of this era, and so much of history, fact and fiction occupying this enormous mass. It could seem aimless, but the characters are experiencing time and history just at the same time the reader is. We experience time in the way they do, multiple angles and stories spiderwebbed [Traversed…?] over one another so we can experience the full weight and bustling momentum of an entire time period. It is an unbelievably ambitious novel in every respect.

I’ve been trying to articulate what exactly I love about Pynchon’s characters for the longest time, and this book is no exception, because of everything about his writing they’ve always been subjected to the most criticism and it’s no exception here - that they’re “flat”, one-dimensional, do not follow arcs etc. But after completing “Against the Day” I think that couldn’t be further from the case, and that these are not only his richest and most captivating characters ever, but there’s something about them that I genuinely feel works the way my brain works, and I have to thank this novel especially, because it finally helped me to understand some things about what draws me towards certain modes of character writing that many seem to unanimously consider flat or unsatisfactory [as this is a common criticism I see of books I love where I specifically am drawn to the characters, not least of all this one].

Something about how my mind works [probably due to neurodivergence but I’m far past the tedium of mapping out the specific causes of my own personal Brain Quirks™ because that would be as labyrinthine as this novel] is that I see things in moments, I’m able to see the big picture but the big picture, like this book, is often existentially terrifying, so my mind tends to default to seeing things in fragments, specific memories disconnected from one another that sort of act as waypoints between each other rather than one congealed whole. So while reading this book, despite the abundance of divergent plotlines that rarely ever converge [or, if they do, they converge in the most surprising of ways, kinda like how my memories do], I never once felt it was directionless or “going nowhere” as the layman might say. This also is not to say AtD doesn’t have a bigger picture - because it most certainly does, it just doesn’t happen on a primarily reflexively narrative level [and I’ll expand on that later].

But what carries all of it is the characters. There are so many of them that you’re simply not going to remember every one, but that’s actually a strength rather than a flaw. Like, some of these people will show up, disappear for hundreds of pages, and I’ll either dimly remember them or be like “hey, it’s so-and-so from when Kit was at Gottingen” etc. etc. And like my brain is weird, I concede that I’m never going to be on the same wavelength as many people in that regard, but like this is how most people have relationships with other people right? Sometimes you will see your friend for a while, lose contact for a long time, and then have a coffee however long down the line, and add an entire lifetime of people you meet on top of that and that’s sort of how it works, right? Even my best friend and I can go for literal months without talking and then spend however much time catching up, before we won’t speak for a long time again, just because life sort of gets in the way. That’s sort of how I felt reading “Against the Day”, these characters felt like people because just like real people, nobody has an arc, a predetermined trajectory in which their life unfolds because nobody’s life has an author, and I don’t think the metatextual touches here would be as prominent if Pynchon hadn’t known what he was doing in this sense.

Someone would, I imagine, counter this by saying that Pynchon’s characters aren’t realistic, that they don’t act like “real” people so therefore any of his attempts at realism don’t ring true. But even if “pure realism” weren’t generally the least interesting axis on which to view art imo [and also steeped in deep unexamined ableism because of its implication that there is some sort of “baseline reality” to how people must act, but that’s a tangent that would take me far elsewhere so I won’t go into it here], I still wouldn’t agree - Pynchon’s characters work because they make perfect sense within the world he establishes. This is a world where wild things happen and people take it in stride, where the supernatural of some nebulously yet still richly defined sort exists, where there are sentient dogs, people getting high off dynamite compounds, where funky sex seemingly happens at the drop of a hat and where flyboys from adventure stories clash with Agarthan gnomes, etcetera, you get the point. If the world is wacky, why can’t the characters be on the same wavelength? And why would that lead someone to care about them any less? Even if they don’t make rational sense, they make intuitive sense, and this is the basis from which I have always viewed characters. Logic does not need to take precedence over our emotional brain when judging characters, because people overall think a lot less rationally and far more emotionally than they think they do in reality. Pynchon’s characters are completely sincere and emotionally rich despite their limited page times, even if they don’t act “normal”, whatever the fuck that means. And with the exception of maybe one-off gag characters, he enriches every character here with something raw, and human, and true, even if it’s only a small thing, something that flits into our memory, because every human you exchange even one sentence with on the street is a complex actor beyond any reckoning, and I think that’s what Pynchon is really going for here.

And like, even with all that in mind, so many of the players here are emotionally and narratively textured in general, to the point where even by "traditional" narrative standards I would be entirely invested in them. Throughout every page my heart ached for the Traverse family, of the ruthless transgressions upon justice dealt to them by the Vibe corporation and their capitalist ilk, and the pain of Lake's fall into victimhood of patriarchy that is capitalized upon by men like Vibe. I gasped, laughed and stayed glued to my page, as though I was right there with the Chums of Chance on their aerial adventures, feeling right at home with these charming and wonderfully affectionate parodies of dime store genre fiction, worried for what was to become of them when they begin to realize the vastness of the apparatuses surrounding them. I burned to see Cyprian free himself, of all notions of gender and sexuality and time, to go beyond what was expected for him as a gay [possibly trans?] man in a time where his desires were not acceptable due to the material conditions put in place by the cisheteronormativity of the capitalist system. These characters pulled me in and they never let go, and like another reviewer said, there is so much to their lives that it cannot possibly be contained by the book, even with this page count - they will just keep going and going, free of trajectories, free of "arcs", and all we're seeing is chunks of these peoples' journeys in a world too big to be anything other than bursting past its limits. Do we really expect to be able to see everything, to know every step on every path these characters take, that we all take?

And holy shit even if the narrative itself doesn't congeal to some huge, grand final statement that Wraps Everything Together in a Neat Package [life doesn't do that, amirite?], the absolute depth of thematic substance here certainly does with flying colors. If there's one main thing this book got me thinking about throughout every chapter, it's political leftism's place in modern history and a realization of how prominent anti-establishment sentiment has been throughout world history, in times we would think to be antiquated and rigid by our hypermodern standards. But for as long as oppressive hierarchy has existed, so have those who wish to shatter the chains that bind them unnaturally. What "Against the Day" explores is the rich's eternal war against the proletariat, for they understand the threat the underclasses present to their status and power, and how the bourgeoise's extermination of labor movements throughout the nineteenth century lead to the rise of counter-establishment modes of thinking; for better [anarchism, Marxism] or worse [fascism, the ultimate evil progeny of the Great Wars]. The values of the Enlightenment that we see in "Mason and Dixon" remain unfulfilled, distorted by the "criminal actions of the rich" who have taken the reigns by the very fundamentals on which our system of greed and exploitation is foundationally structured. One of the grand lies of capitalism is that it is the "natural" system, that any opposition to it will fail as there is no system that supposedly integrates "natural" human behavior as our current apparatus does. But if, as we have seen throughout the entire history of this hegemony, there are constantly those under its heels who are fighting to dismantle it, those suffering materially and both clearly and invisibly at once and demoralized from the wages they earn but are not given, then does that not suggest the power structures we live and suffer under are not nearly as natural as those who must enforce it, for their own power, claim?

The wide-eyed ideals of the frontier era, much like that of the Enlightenment before it, sounded nice on paper [to turn an anti-socialist argument back in the direction it came, if I can be so crass]; and it may have been a freedom of new ideas [some, as said before, for the better], but the fact still remained that it was not a material freedom for the overwhelming majority of those still existing under the artificial sovereignty beset upon workers by the capitalist class, and the institutions they uphold [patriarchy, neoliberalism, etc]. Under the inseparably self-serving materialist framework of capitalism, these bright-eyed gestures toward "freedom" are rationalized by the elite classes into the "fuck you, I got mine" attitude that informs our national culture, reinforcing a sense of selfishness that is almost spiritual in how deeply ingrained it is into the philosophy of America and the west as a whole. I think what Pynchon is getting at a lot here, especially with millionaire antagonist Scarsdale Vibe's hypocritical Christian faith, is the integration of capitalism as religion in our national language; that we cannot oppose it because its word is law, as much religion depends on subservience to a "natural" authority in the form of deities. Unlike faith, which is more incorporeal, modern society repeats these motifs in a fashion that is material, where if the underprivileged even so much as question the system we live under it is comparable to questioning what is written in stone, or the laws of the universe - there's that whole "human nature" thing again. This "freedom" then means the freedom to lord over those who the class capable of reaping the benefits of "freedom" deems arbitrarily beneath them, as a result of systemized hierarchy in the forms of monetary power - the idea that, like in Calvinist Christianity for instance, there are those "naturally chosen" and those who are not. These value sets lead to the enabling of those like Scarsdale Vibe, the "chosen" privileged, who are encouraged to take this internalized "right" to the power they hold to its inevitable end state - fascism.

The book's exploration of the approaching darkness of World War I and II is the main axis on which all these themes lay, and it's in this aspect that the novel feels highly of apiece with "Gravity's Rainbow" especially, as it directly explores the conditions that made the world in that book possible. The bourgeoise, in times where their status is threatened [as it is by the emerging ideas in the pre-war period this book is set], have proven that there is not one moral reservation they will have when it pertains to upholding the hegemony. And what better way to keep the population at bay with War, of the capital W sort? War has always been, at its core, the ultimate tool of power and dominance, blazing its trail of manifest destiny throughout all corners of history ever since post-communal civilizations emerged. War is the perfect practicality for those at the highest rung of the societal ladder, not only in its direct enabling of hierarchy itself [for one example, patriarchy emerging due to women being commodified as political leverage by male-dominated governments in wartime], but its usefulness in being a means of controlling and culling the population. And what better way to do that than the dark horizon of the Greatest War in History [well, until the one we see in "Gravity's Rainbow", of course]? Are we not seeing the same thing now with the pandemic, in which the elite can diddle about while people die because mass death is the perfect distraction from the rich's glorified crime syndicate circus? And war is ALWAYS going on, because the elect cast eternal war on the preterite for as long as their power is under attack, as we see here in this book, when World War I has not yet begun but the pieces are all in place, when workers and minorities and the underprivileged are still dying and suffering left and right because of a handful of white Christian bastards want to have their cake and eat it too. This ties into a quote from GR I've always loved, one that I think "Against the Day" narratively illuminates in its focus on the pre-war period - "The real War is always there. The dying tapers off now and then, but the War is still killing lots and lots of people. Only right now it is killing them in more subtle ways".

All this ties into possibly the thing I love most about Pynchon's writing - his total willingness to tackle political subjects and anti-capitalist sentiment without neutering his intent in a way which would make his work palatable to liberals in any fashion. Toni Morrison, in her introduction to "Sula", talks at length of the apprehension writers [especially those of marginalized backgrounds] are conditioned to approach political subtext in their works with, and with the vast derision many still have today towards the "politicization" of storytelling [mostly, I've noticed, when tackling issues of the oppressed that conservatives find uncomfortable], this unfair attitude still abides in common, flimsy literary criticism. Pynchon, like Morrison and basically every writer worth their salt, doesn't care one whit about kowtowing to the demands of pro-capitalist cisheteronormative standards; art is inherently political, because all art is created under an apparatus which influences the creator in both conscious and subconscious ways, and the boldest writers will take this a step further and explore every angle of sociopolitics. This may be the reason why I don't find Pynchon as confusing as his reputation suggests; because in the middle of the sometimes incomprehensible dreams he cooks up, Pynchon is never afraid to tackle the Big Ideas in ways that illuminate the surrounding chaos and interweaving absurd plotlines in ways that I've always found immensely enriching.

And what's crazy about it, too, crazier than any of the hallucinatory shenanigans Pynchon adorns his narratives with, is that even with all the bloodshed, all the working class suffering, the tears and sweat and grime covering its underclass characters as they struggle to make it in this ever-darkening world, this is genuinely one of Pynchon's least pessimistic novels, in every sense. “Gravity’s Rainbow”, for all its immense brilliance, clearly felt like the work of a younger and angrier mind, not any less genius but one far less hopeful about where the world was heading. “Against the Day” is the yang to “Gravity’s Rainbow”’s Yin, QUITE LITERALLY the light to its dark. The underclass is not powerless - we are not doomed to suffer and have our bones ground to dust in the slaughterhouse of late capitalism - in fact Pynchon makes the case that it may well be just the opposite, that WE are the inevitable, that WE are the ones who make the future, whose light beams into all of history and drowns the bourgeoise's darkness.

There will always be suffering. But where there is suffering there is the chance of redemption, of restructuring the world in the way we want, a way in which suffering does not have to be writ into the laws and mechanics of the systems in which we live. That, to me, is the core of “Against the Day”, even with its phantasmagoria of themes and moving pieces - that there is hope in the struggle, that there’s something better than this, and it’s one we have to work at hand in hand, reaching out across all of us marginalized by the apparatus that dictates the vast majority of our pain. Capitalism is not everything, it is not fallible, it is only as strong as us - and we, together, with all the right tools in place, can become stronger than it. Emotionally, spiritually, we already are. And now we must make it materially so. Together, we fly toward grace.

"He couldn't say when exactly, but at some point Frank came to understand that this bearer of light was his soul, and that all the fireflies in the tree were the souls of everyone who had ever passed through his life, even at a distance, even for a heartbeat and a half, that there existed such a tree for each person in Chiapas, and though this suggested that the same soul must live on a number of trees, they all went to make up a single soul, really, in the same way that light was indivisible. "In the same way," amplified Gunther, "that our Savior could inform his disciples with a straight face that bread and wine were indistinguishable from his body and blood. Light, in any case, among these Indians of Chiapas, occupies an analogous position to flesh among Christian peoples. It is living tissue. As the brain is the outward and visible expression of the mind."

#thomas pynchon #against the day #book review

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troius · 2 years

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I watched Bleach (2018) this weekend and it was great

I’d been meaning to get around to it for a while, but never felt much pressure because nobody on here talks about it all that much. Then my roommate was out of town for the weekend, so I put it on and...uh, it’s awesome? It did pretty much everything I would want in a Bleach movie, didn’t take any liberties with the source material besides compressing things, and despite that compression managed to completely nail the moral “heart” of the manga in a way that even the anime didn’t do.

Positives

The cast is great, and do well to channel the spirit of the characters in their performances. Ichigo and Rukia have a fantastic dynamic, their classmates are pretty dang entertaining whenever they get screentime, and Byakuya and Renji both pull off “asshole” in distinguishable ways. Special shout outs to Orihime and Isshin’s actors, who are less comedic than their manga counterparts, but still touch the emotional core of their relationships with Ichigo.

They compressed the absolute hell out of the first arc, but pull it off in a really natural way. Every event leads to the next. While some things are left underexplained, it’s never anything particularly important.

The visuals are great. The hollows are entirely CGI, and look suitably surreal. Uryu’s quincy powers, Rukia’s kido, and Zabimaru all look awesome (much better than they do in the trailer IMO).

Even though it came out in 2018, the pop-punk that plays during Ichigo’s action sequences sounds like something straight out of 2010, which is appropriate.

Most importantly, THE HEART is the centerpiece of the story. Everything is framed around Masaki’s death, and how Ichigo blames himself for it, and how meeting Rukia is the catalyst for him to come to terms with that, and choose to live his life. A+. You get it, Shinsuke Sato.

Negatives

None, this movie is great and basically nothing in it is actively bad.

The fight scenes make it abundantly clear how awkward a sword that size would be IRL.

Small Quibbles

Moving a million miles an hour means that nobody besides Ichigo, Rukia, and Isshin(?) have complete character arcs. Orihime is established to be crushing on Ichigo, but basically so we can say “look who Ichigo could be dating, he can’t die now”. Uryu pops up with a hilariously underexplained backstory and does a complete 180 into helping Ichigo with zero drama or suspense. Chad is just there.

Renji and Byakuya are basically just antagonists, and while there are nuances in their acting, plotwise you don’t get any development from either of them. It works, but it might not be what you’re looking for.

Look I know I’m an Urahara hater but he’s completely unnecessary in this movie. We’re already not explaining a whole lot, we might as well just leave unexplained where Rukia got the gigai from and have her exposit directly to Ichigo. Even more frustrating (to me) was Ichigo looking for Rukia, finding Ishida, and then Ishida directing him to Urahara (who tells him where Rukia is) instead of teaching Ichigo how to sense spiritual pressure like he does in the manga. Uryu’s screentime is limited as it is, give him this!

Anyways, overall it’s a very enjoyable movie, without a doubt the best anime adaptation Netflix has ever been involved in. I can see why it’s not talked about much on here-- the manga is an original work of art, and this is just an effective translation of the themes and characters into live action-- but we should do better in letting people know it’s worth watching.

#Bleach #Troius watches Bleach (2018)

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guileheroine · 3 years

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a sky full of song, chapter one

Korra, princess of the Water Kingdoms, receives a gift from her blacksmith friend on the auspicious winter festival / Korrasami royalty AU / ao3 / My piece for the @korrasami-valentine-exchange (assignment: Date A) (reposting with cover!)

“The wedding of the Earth Prince, yes, on the solstice. But it’s an opportune moment for a longer tour, we don’t want to waste the journey. I’m afraid your father can’t afford it, and before you ask, I’ve been conferring with your mother’s office. And frankly, I’m loath to request it of her after…

Councillor Panak trailed off as Korra hurried him along with a gesture of the hand. He pushed his eyeglass up his nose and took her eye seriously. “To the point, then—what do you say?”

Korra was tapping her foot under the meeting table. Prince Wu, if she recalled, was equally as intolerable as old Hou-Ting, the spirits bless his poor betrothed. But the prospect of a fortnight around the Earth Kingdom, with its delicious fare and diverse landscapes… that made her much more amenable to the whole idea.

“Around the solstice, huh? Alright. Why not.” It was a way off. She had time to arrange her retinue and her schedule as efficiently as possible for maximum enjoyment.

“…That means a tour to the Earth Empire in the spring—or summer, if Her Royal Highness prefers it?”

“Oh, spring,” Korra said in a rush. “Spring. I’m not sure I can do Earthen summers.”

Panak smiled quite kindly at that, and nodded at his scribe to jot it down. Korra returned his smile. They really were getting along better. It was nice. This meeting was also stretching much farther into the evening than she had understood it would.

The Lotus Guard at the doorway didn’t so much as blink as she pushed the heavy door open and went out. He was one of the older men, having been here long before the war, and quite accustomed to her ways.

Once Korra was out in the foyer, she raced. Her quarters, and her next appointment, were in the other wing of the palace, but she had promised to go see her mother first for a few minutes before the Queen went to bed. The winter sun was long gone; all the windows she skipped past were dark, torchlight gleaming on the icy sills. In the halls, on the other hand, the air was bright as frost, festive. She wove around decorators from all over Agna Qel’a hanging new crystalwork along the old bead tapestries and tying berry wreaths around the tall pillars. Down the stairs, in the main hall, the humongous fires that burnt uninterrupted over the winter lit the place generously. As she sped through, headed for the opposite staircase, Korra caught the eye of one of the housekeepers.

“Mina! Mina, are you busy?” She took the girl’s arm, whose eyes goggled, alarmed only at the princess’s sudden appearance but unperturbed by her familiar ways. “Could you go to the kitchen and send for some tea to my apartment? Milk and honey for me—and some of whatever black blend is left, what my blacksmith friend likes. They’ll know. Thank you!”

When she turned to continue, she was immediately waylaid by one of the ice sculptors.

“Your Highness! A moment.”

Just a moment to breathe was exactly what it took for Korra to finally notice the centerpiece of the hall: an elaborate sculpture-fountain of Yue. The moon and ocean spirits hovered above each of her hands, water pouring in gentle arcs out of their gaping mouths.

Korra’s father was pulling out all the stops for Yue’s Day. She knew, for her part, that it was a private gesture for the Queen, newly returned from a long diplomatic engagement with the northern Air court. Korra stood at attention for the sculptor, whose fingerless gloves allowed him to bend with especial precision.

“Should her hair run—” he said, bending Yue’s locks of ice into free-flowing rivulets, “or stand arrested?” Another curl of his palm froze them again.

“Freeze them. More volume!” Korra said, thinking of her mother, who always grumbled about her limp hair. Then she was on her way to the Queen’s chambers, and then her own.

“I got your tea. Hi, princess.”

Korra’s blacksmith friend took a pointed sip when she finally entered her drawing room. Asami’s smirk was hidden behind the glassy cup, and her hair was wet. One of Korra’s towels was slung over the back of her seat—one of the nice ones with the finely embroidered monogram.

“Asami. Sorry I’m late!” Korra slumped onto her divan, sending one of the cushions flying onto the carpet. “It’s good to see you.” She took a moment to catch her breath before picking the cushion up, sitting comfortably and grasping for the tray on the table.

“Don’t worry about it,” Asami said, moving the cup from her mouth, the smirk finally melting off. She pushed the tray into Korra’s reach. “I’m done for the day. A couple of the apprentices are closing up shop for the very first time.” Her brows waggled.

“Impressive! But still, thanks for coming. I know you’re working hard.”

“We had an appointment, right? And—” Asami grinned and stretched, pulling her warm wools tighter around her “nothing like the thought of a royal shower at the end of the day to get you through it, you know?”

Korra rolled her eyes. The staff knew to let Asami into Korra’s apartments, and even if she could tell they were a little reticent about her using the princess’s bath and vanity, they of course said nothing. The dogs more or less dragged Asami in through the gates every time she came by the palace, and by order of the princess, they were the ones that decided things in her absence.

Asami scrutinised the tray from the kitchen carefully before picking out a little moon pastry. “How was your meeting?” She took a bite, attentive both to the pastry and Korra.

“Looks like I’m going on tour to the Earth Kingdom in the spring,” Korra told her. She wasn’t surprised to see Asami’s brow spring up, and her taste-testing pause.

“What, all over?”

It was a town in the Earth Kingdom that Asami originally hailed from, before she travelled to the Fire Empire with her father, an innovator in the art of war. After the war’s end and the subsequent reunification of the Water Kingdoms, the newly humbled Sun Emperor had gifted King Tonraq an ancient forge for the royal armoury as a token of good faith and cultural exchange. Korra remembered how it had taken several pulleys, and days, for it to be transported into place in one of the main avenues in the city. They had set up a house around it for a new smith to eventually train locals in the foreign art. Asami—skilled as a metalworker, but bereft of a livelihood and a family after her father’s foundries were shut down—had decided to venture north to start afresh. She vied for the position and won it handily.

Korra glanced at her long. “You could come with me, you know. Take a vacation, if you manage to get this new shop set up in time. I’m sure you’ve trained all your underlings well.”

“We’re getting there,” Asami said vaguely. “But I’ll keep it in mind.”

Korra was musing, recumbent with her feet up now. “I must warn you, t’s for the wedding of the Queen’s nephew. They’re a lot stuffier in the Earth kingdom. All the pomp and pageantry,” she clarified. “I’m not looking forward to that part.”

“I’ll bet.” Asami gave her a sympathetic smile.

Sitting pretty in formal assemblies, she did not enjoy. Peace was harder than war, in a lot of ways. At least it was for Korra, who had been right at home as a strategist commanding the bending battalions in the few Fire Empire skirmishes that had reached the north. Or as a captain fending off the marauding warlords and shaman-kings in the southern fiefs who took advantage of the chaos to arouse the spirits and stage deadly rebellions. Her leadership, covert though it was, had played no small part in subduing the northern theater and paving the way for all the ancient Water tribes to be reunified under Agna Qel’a and her father’s leadership. The lasting peace of the years since had proven they were stronger together. Just as it had proven that the Princess’s patience for peacetime bureaucracy needed a good deal of practice.

“You should come. We’ll do you up as my retainer so you get a salary. I might need you to keep me straight.”

Asami was good at that, blowing off steam after long, boring days. The mellowness of the warmth, nothing like that of her forge, evened Korra’s mood like little else.

“Oh, so you want me to drop everything and trail you around as a handmaiden?”

Korra scoffed, embarrassed. “Well, don’t put it like that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Asami sat up. “An Earth royal wedding, huh? Think they’ll let me in?” She picked at the cushion in her lap.

“They will if I have anything to say about it.” Korra yawned. “It’ll be my turn soon enough.”

“How’s your mother?” Asami said, following her train of thought seamlessly—it was always the queen that pestered Korra about finding a match, good-natured but more earnest than she ever realised she was appearing.

“Sleeping. She had a long journey back from the Northern Air Temple. Dad’s happy, though. Just casually planning her a ball this weekend for Yue’s Day.”

“Hey, is that what that business down in the hall is?” Some forgotten curiosity clearly jolted Asami. “There were all these new kayaks moored around the drawbridges when I came through, too.”

Korra nodded, while tentative recognition continued to filter into Asami’s expression. It was easy to forget Asami had been here nary a year. But she had, and it had been a busy year too, with little time for exploration, per her own frequent complaints. “You know about it, right?” When Asami shrugged evasively, Korra explained, “It falls on the day of the first full moon after the winter solstice. Yue was a princess of legend—our ancestor, apparently—who became the moon spirit.”

Asami sat forward. She loved tales like this, and listened to them like she was being entrusted a secret.

“We’ve celebrated it as long as anyone remembers, but the festival is supposed to usher good fortune and fertility. I think that’s why it became a couples thing.” Korra didn’t think much of that. “But, well, the idea is to spend the evening under the full moon, which is why all the kayaks are out. Really, everyone just needs an excuse to liven up the winter!”

“That I understand,” Asami said wryly, ill accustomed to the polar night. “Yeah, I went to the market in town to pick up some new gloves and they had stalls and stalls of new fare. Jewelry, wind chimes, furs.”

Korra sat up, conspiratorial. “I bet at least one of your new proteges will sneak you a little gift. I get messages every year. Mostly upstarts, but some cute ones, too.”

When Asami had first been appointed as the blacksmith, Korra was uncertain what a girl her age was doing heading up an official royal undertaking like that, with all its bells and whistles. When she arrived at a welcome dinner with her family, Korra found her altogether too precious, and definitely not deserving of the private summons and the White Lotus escort. Especially not when the whole rigmarole was keeping Korra from her planned retreat to the kennels for the evening, where, in the end, the strapping night guards were giggling and blushing about the new blacksmith.

At her father’s behest, Korra had put on her most functional anorak and taken Asami some cakes, conserves and newly dried jerky from the palace a couple weeks after their meeting. He insisted it was a part of the Princess’s duty to look after someone in their employ so new to the land—a girl her own age no less. Down in the city, the townsfolk were pleased to see Korra as she made her way to the workshop, but no one made a fuss (unless they were young and excitable already), unlike what she had heard of the other Kingdoms, larger and loftier as they were. She wondered if Asami the Blacksmith liked that about here, or found it lacked decorum, as Korra knew some folk abroad definitely did.

Asami had a study above the forge, from which she dealt with its administration, and living quarters on the next storey. These were yet lonely and sparse, but not completely devoid of homely touches, as though she would have spruced them up if she only had the opportunity. Korra noticed well-kept shrubs and a vivid landscape on the wall; then Asami came and curtseyed deep and pulled off her apron.

She was willowy and beautiful under the gear and the soot (over it, too, to be honest), which endeared and repelled Korra in fairly equal measure, ultimately leaving her as indifferent as ever.

“My parents and Lord Arnook want to know how you’re getting on.” Lord Arnook was the esteemed keeper of the royal armoury, and he liked Asami just as much as everyone else did.

A flicker of sadness—shame?—crossed her face, then she put her hand on the table. “Won’t you sit? Your Highness. Let me bring you something hot first.”

Asami lit the fire in the blink of an eye and stoked it without watching, like it was the back of her hand. She had some bread in the pantry, over which she spread the aqpik jam Korra had delivered her. Korra watched her as she boiled the water. Her skirt was heavy, probably to insulate from the heat and cold alike, but it fell flatteringly from her height; and her long hair, which had flown in waves in a foreign style at dinner, was pinned into a practical bun. She made a sharp, fragrant tea she had brought from the continent. Her eyes lit up unexpectedly when Korra bent her own cup to cool it.

“Ah, I love seeing that,” she cooed. “I suppose I’m still not used to it. The other elements don’t bend like that. And I hear you have great skill.”

Korra’s own smile came too quick for her to suppress. “Who told you that, the King?” Then she regarded her keenly. So, how are you… Do you need anything? Do the men from the quarry treat you okay?”

“Oh, everyone here is… They’re very warm. Makes up for the chill,” Asami laughed.

It was a line so hackneyed that gritting through it was itself a country-wide inside joke. But this calm and rosy girl injected fresh, charmless charm into it. Maybe everything was charming if someone this winsome did it. After that, Korra softened considerably.

“They are,” she replied, with no small amount of pride. A sudden shame crept up her chest, that she probably couldn’t count herself among those nice people that had made Asami feel welcome.

Then Asami swallowed and the colour of her voice changed. “I miss my home, though. I know this job is more kindness than I deserve, after what we did but… It is a little lonely here.” She confirmed what Korra had already deduced, mostly because she knew the feeling all too well. “I guess I just don’t have a lot of time to go and make friends after work.”

Korra didn’t doubt that; it was hard, physical work. The one or two times she’d witnessed it, the clang rang in her ears for hours afterwards. She wouldn’t have pegged a girl like this for it. Asami reminded her more of some of the young ladies she knew from her old classes, when all the children around the court would be dumped into the royal healing hut together for some hands-on learning.

“Have you been beyond the city yet? The land out there… that’s our land. This is just a fortress.”

“Oh, I’ve been wanting to,” Asami said, wistful. “Pretty sure I can’t go on foot though.”

“Well, if… if you don’t know anyone else, I could take you. I have the best dogs in the Four Kingdoms.”

Before the month was up, Korra had sent a commission to the Queen’s personal seamstress for some sealskin gloves and winter-grade furs. She gifted them to Asami on her birthday. “You need these anyway, I think, but you’ll definitely need them where we’re going.” And that night, Korra took her to see the aurora.

There was a hamlet a few miles north of Agna Qel’a where Korra knew the elderly chief and had asked her for passage to an outcrop in their territory, after divining the well kept secret that it was one of the prime spots for watching the sky dance. Asami, enchanted, never took her eyes off it—so unflinching that Korra almost began to feel envious of the lights.

It became a routine. Korra knew every inch of her realm. If a diplomatic mission sent her to one tribe or settlement, she would be sure to take a day or two exploring the local country before she returned to the capitol. It had been a great boon when the southern tribes first came under their stewardship. The Princess spent time in every village, took interest in their land and in their lore; met challenges of the wilds and the weather with hunger, and any unknowns thereof with abiding curiosity. She knew what to wear, which sled or boat to take. When to find the rarest whale pods before they went south; where the starriest cliffs were, and the sunniest lakes.

All of which impressed Asami a great deal, and that made Korra happier than most things. And no worse were the days they spent in her apartments going over the sordid palace gossip, or in her apartments tracing old scars by lamplight, healing them word by gentle word.

On Yue’s Day, Korra stopped by to see various palace aides located around the city with customary gifts. In a castle town, there were plenty with such connections, and she relished the ruddy smiles, quick drinks, and flustered curtsies she received in turn. She saved Asami for last, because Asami had asked for some time together. Korra entered the smithy by the front, her senses clogging with immediate heat. Two of the apprentices were there: one of them gaped while the other barely blinked.

“Asami? I come bearing punch… and those moon pastries you like!”

She commenced the usual ritual of announcing her presence over the steam and noise while peeling off all but a couple of her layers, when Asami emerged out of the back. She was squeezing her hands together in excitement.

“No, no, no, don’t,” she urged, a gleam in her eyes like the blades that hung behind her, “we’re going somewhere.”

A few minutes later, they were walking along the main canal under the sparkling lights, milling through the townspeople. A fresh drift crunched beneath their boots. In a few more, they were alighting one of the kayaks in the dock.

Asami faced her and paddled like a natural; and naturally, Korra gaped.

“Do not tell me you haven’t done this before!”

Asami’s tongue stuck out in concentration as she suppressed a giggle, but her limbs moved with finesse. “Just the once. So far. Don’t be distracting me.”

“I won’t let us capsize,” Korra assured her.

Eventually, Asami settled into her rhythm, and the canal carried them out of the city, past all the lights. The banks of glass-cut brick gave way to a more jagged channel littered with pack ice at its mouth, floating blue and still. Korra gripped the edge of the kayak, not for any physical comfort. A crackling anticipation, and an unnameable fondness both, were welling and welling in her with every mundane word they shared.

When they disembarked on the lake’s other edge, the ice was landfast: a ghostly field glowing under the full moon.

Korra knew this place, but she had scarcely been here in the middle of winter, when the ice field extended endlessly, as vast as the sky. As they tramped across the snow, she began to wonder what Asami’s surprise was. There wasn’t much for a mile in any direction.

“We should sit for this,” Asami said, pointedly ignoring Korra’s prying questions.

The wind had kicked the snow up into berms along the field. Korra froze one so it was sturdy enough to perch on. Then Asami took her pack, and pulled out some plain tubes of parchment; nothing Korra would have looked at twice, although she didn’t know what they were.

“What’s in there?” She said.

“Some of my metals, some of my salts,” Asami replied enigmatically, almost sing-song. “Wait here.”

She heaved herself off the berm, ran several yards towards the horizon and stooped. She planted the tubes, and did something else Korra couldn’t see, though she thought she recognised the bright filigree on the cover of the pocket matchbook Asami carried everywhere.

When Asami had trundled back and sat again, Korra crossed her arms and laughed, bemused, her humour ebbing. “Are you going to tell me what’s going—”

BOOM!

Korra gasped, startled out of her words. She would have fallen from the perch if Asami didn’t catch her around the waist, giggling blithely all the while—

A wheel of light bloomed in the sky like a flower, dazzling and surreal. All the colours of the aurora—except they were peals of crystal fire, pouring out like diamonds before disappearing into the smoky air. Another wheeled up after it with a strange whirr, before it exploded into a glittering shower, and more in succession.

They reminded Korra of the spirit hales in the heart of the wilds, and even deeper in a buried memory, of the Fire explosives some of the raiders had once set off on the Southern Sea. Except these were brighter—and safer, because Asami had made them.

Korra looked to her when they had died, beaming under the mitten that covered her mouth in shock. “Are there more?”

To her eternal delight, there were more. New flowers sprouting on the celestial vault, they would be burned in her memory forever.

“They’re no aurora,” Asami said, while Korra scoffed and slung her arms around her, huddling for the cold and the buzz. Under her embrace, and half her weight, Asami looked chuffed. “But I thought they might liven up your night.”

Korra cupped her earmuff, then her cheek. “Thank you. This is the best day I’ve had all winter.”

Asami’s pyrotechnical skills didn’t even surprise her, but that could hardly diminish the sheer majesty, and novelty, of the display. Even minutes later, Korra could hardly believe what she had seen.

“Well, I couldn’t let you be the only show-off around here.” Asami smiled. Then the smile dropped from her eyes and she hesitated, like she couldn’t let that sit for an explanation. “Korra. I wanted to do something special. You’ve made me feel at home here in a way I never imagined. And I’m just a smith, from the Fire Empire!”

Korra felt her eyes water and blinked the tears back quickly, because they would ice and sting in the bitter air. She bit the smile off her lips. “You’re not just anything. You’re a terrific handmaiden.”

She snorted as Asami shoved her off and reached for her pack again.

“One more thing. I thought it might be too smokey for this after all those incendiaries, but it’s worth a shot anyway.”

This time Korra recognised the device she emerged with. It was made of two cylinders, and the mechanism that held them together spun smoothly like the spokes of a wheel. She handed it to Korra, who held the spyglass up.

A field of stars materialised. Korra held her breath.

The stars were luminous at the poles, but she had never seen them like this, and for the first time they felt close enough to touch, invoking a bracing, irrepressible wonder. In silence, she gazed.

“The moon spirit leads all the stars out tonight, right?”

Asami had done her research. Korra turned back to her. “So they say.” She hooked her arm through Asami’s, and held her hand. With the spyglass still to her eye, she let her head fall against Asami’s bundled shoulder.

“Tired, princess?”

Korra rustled her breath, long-suffering. “Why do you call me that!”

The way Asami said it—like it was something of her own decree, and not that of ten thousand years of tradition and some profoundly sacred doctrines. There was a sweet and strange tug in Korra’s belly whenever it happened, and this time, tonight, it lingered longer than ever.

“‘Cause you’re a piece of work,” Asami said, trying to interlace their thick, mittened fingers, which required some effort.

Tentatively, Korra turned the spyglass to the moon herself. She winced— it glared straight back, too bright. Maybe another night, when it wasn’t Yue’s Day.

Yue’s Day. She now held the thought delicately in her chest, as if she wanted to guard it from the wind and chill. If Asami loved her—were to love her—there were several reasons not to say it. They both knew them, whether they had turned them over consciously or not.

But the risk of showing was low. And the reward, as her own euphoric mood tonight proved, was magnificent.

#i made a cover for the 2nd chapter and decided to do one forall of them #will post new chap tomoro #korrasami #korrasami fanfiction #legend of korra #**#asfos

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rpgmgames · 4 years

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April’s Featured Game: Nobody's Home

DEVELOPER(S): oates ENGINE: RPG Maker MV GENRE: Survival Horror SUMMARY: After a night of extreme drinking and partying, you wake up in stranger's bed to discover... Nobody's Home.

Buy the game here! Our Interview With The Dev Team Below The Cut!

Introduce yourself! *oates: Hi, this is oates! I'm a pixel artist and game developer, I've started making games with rpgmaker in 2016 with VX Ace and now currently using MV for recent projects. Previous projects I've worked on were the FNaF-inspired Souls-like One Night at the Steeze, my first rpgmaker game and it's prequel, the FNaF-inspired roguelike No Delivery. Other games I've worked on include the fangames Day Dreaming Derpy, made in VX Ace and Spike's Day Off, made in MV and the latest in a series of previous fangames previously developed on Adobe Flash.

What is your project about? What inspired you to create this game initially? *oates: Nobody's Home is largely based on my experiments to find and apply horrific elements in modern situations or phenomena. The scenario being explored here in Nobody's Home is the aftermath of some crazy party. Sound design is especially important when crafting a horror scenario, so I often look to music to draw inspiration. Much of the atmosphere and house design was inspired by music and imagery associated with '70s yacht rock (a sub-genre of soft rock). Another important note is a lot of the general mood and 'weirdness' was inspired by a band I listen a lot to, Dance Gavin Dance, specifically their "deathstar" album. However they have a tendency in all their albums to switch genres mid-song, often going from their post-hardcore sound to funk, pop, and even rap; aside from that, some of the subject matter covered can range from disturbing to unpleasant to nonsensical, but combined with the amazing music, it creates an experience that pulls the listener in all different directions. It got to the point that I was naming events in the game after some their tracks so I had to be careful not to inadvertently make a fangame haha But there are some easter eggs in Nobody's Home that were intentionally left in, and I'm fairly certain players have identified it already.

How long did you work on your project? *oates: I used much of the same framework left over from my previous project No Delivery for this development cycle, so the hassle for setting up asset pipelines was very much mitigated. I started in earnest, making assets back in January this year so it took roughly 2+ months to finish development for this project.

Did any other games or media influence aspects of your project? *oates: Aside from the previous music inspirations, I was really intrigued with the way Resident Evil 7's Beginning Hour demo was able to pick up where Konami's cancelled PT left off in terms of survival horror games to look forward to back in 2017. Prior to later updates, the initial demo really only included a few set pieces, basic item interaction, and almost no puzzles from the full game. It was largely able to pull off scaring players from almost atmosphere alone (if you exclude the Jack Baker and ghost encounters). It was later in the full game that it was able to show off it's metroidvania-esque design to its fullest. After my previous project, I wanted to step away from roguelike design for a bit and focus a little more on an exploration-based experience, so I took a few notes from the way RE7 and RE2: Remake handled map design and progression.

Did you come across any challenges during development? How did you overcome or work around them? *oates: I was coming off a severe cold last year and it took most of January for me to recover, so it was a little hard to start full-on development immediately like I normally would on top of other career matters. And looking at events today, it's even more imperative that developers practice healthy habits during development.

Did any aspects of your project change over time? How does your current project differ from your initial concept? *oates: I've had the idea for Nobody's Home as a concept for a while, but filling in those gaps with actual gameplay between centerpieces was a big variable. I went back and forth between the turn-based item combat from the previous project to cutting out combat entirely. While I didn't implement it, I also brainstormed a few concepts for overworld action and combat ala Zelda, but it seemed too complex given the time frame I set for myself. Eventually I settled on a middle ground between full combat and separate encounters, with "enemies" acting as essentially a toll gate. The rest of the game followed suit with various tolls and "mouse traps" for the player to trigger at their own behest. This wasn't necessarily the design I had in mind at first, but it helped to concisely fill a relatively small location with specifically "deadly" content.

What was your team like at the beginning? How did people join the team? If you don’t have a team, do you wish you had one or do you prefer working alone? *oates: I largely work solo for both development and art, but I do regularly work with a few musicians for an original soundtrack. I first started working with other composers for the fangame Day Dreaming Derpy, where after the initial demo was released, I received emails from a few musicians volunteering to contribute some tracks for the game. In all, the original soundtrack contained 9 tracks in total, with 3 tracks from each composer; each of them doing an amazing job and, in my opinion brought the project back then to a higher degree of quality. This was how I met some of the composers I still work with today and they all have some really great work! TheNGVirus @NGVirusNG1 Kaminakat @thekaminakat dRedder @HornyGremlin

What is the best part of developing a game? *oates: It's a toss up between the initial brainstorming/research and the first run-through when you have your desired maps linked together. For the brainstorming, it's pretty fun to learn about subject matter you want to do justice to as well as stretching your creative muscles for the first time in service to a certain concept. However this obviously wears off when you devote too much time to a particular concept, but it's still enjoyable nevertheless. For making that run-through, it doesn't necessarily mean to have all the events implemented, but to experience your game the way players will experience it for the first time does give a sense of completion/cohesion to what you, as a developer, are trying to accomplish. It essentially puts what you're working on into a different perspective for you.

Do you find yourself playing other RPG Maker games to see what you can do with the engine, or do you prefer to do your own thing? *oates: I do keep an eye out for what other rpgmaker projects are doing, and to see what others can do with the engine helps get the creative juices flowing; it's also fun to try to mentally reverse engineer how certain mechanics or effects were made. And it's always great to see fellow devs showcase what's possible with the engine.

Which character in your game do you relate to the most and why? (Alternatively: Who is your favorite character and why?) *oates: Nobody's Home has a relatively small cast of characters, whom you do interact with but never see, this is largely to done to create a sense of "un-relatability", but if I had to pick a character, it'd be "car guy", the guy you find stuck in the car. They have a good line, " ...there'd be a good reason for this, but there isn't..." Story of my life.

Looking back now, is there anything that regret/wish you had done differently? *oates: There were a few areas I would have liked to expand on or add, specifically- the attic + roof, the front lawn, behind the walls, and an entire second floor. Unfortunately that meant potentially adding more questlines and NPCs while the first set of questlines were pretty interwoven so it would have been way more complex, also again, given the time frame I set, it would have extended the development cycle way beyond what I had time for. But if I had implemented those extra areas, the game's length would also go way beyond the 30 min - 1 hr it takes to complete the game as it is now.

Do you plan to explore the game’s universe and characters further in subsequent projects, or leave it as-is? *oates: I'd like to do both really, each installment of the VCRPG line of games is definitely a stand-alone story, or an isolated incident, but I would love to explore the aftermath of the game's events and how the passage of time ravages and twists the story into urban legend. I like to treat places and environments like characters as well, capable of making memories, being misunderstood, preserved, destroyed, and ultimately capable of change.

What do you most look forward to upon finishing the game? *oates: Both the fan reaction and free time honestly speaking. Once the development cycle finishes and the game is published, your work isn't really finished as there's always a chance someone's feedback can apply to immediate changes or patches you can implement, even during the release period. Marketing is also another large step to take into consideration after release, this includes tweeting, sending keys for lets plays, etc. Watching playthroughs is also a really good way to collect data on what parts of your design fall through and what fail to land. But after all that is said and done, some free time really helps the brain recuperate.

Was there something you were afraid of concerning the development or the release of your game? *oates: Just whether or not I handled the game's subject matter tastefully. Like horror cinema, everything done is in service the the themes and message of the piece as a whole.

Do you have any advice for upcoming devs? *oates: The game engine is essentially a tool, and like any tool you can find plenty of creative ways to get the same result. And don't be afraid to research whatever it is you need help with, it also helps to be specific with what you want.

Question from last month's featured dev @moca-pz: If you can collaborate with any game developer in the world, who would it be? What would be their role(s) and what would be your role(s)? *oates: Game developer I'd like to work with: Hidetaka Miyazaki His role: Story Lead and Director My role: Drinking buddy Game we're working on: SciFi Souls

We mods would like to thank oates for agreeing to our interview! We believe that featuring the developer and their creative process is just as important as featuring the final product. Hopefully this Q&A segment has been an entertaining and insightful experience for everyone involved!

Remember to check out Nobody's Home if you haven’t already! See you next month!

- Mods Gold & Platinum

#rpg maker #nobody's home (game)#nobodys home #nobody's home #game #rpgmaker horror #pixel horror #horror game #indie game #gotm #game of the month #oates #gotm 2020 #2020 #april #april 2020

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ajaxia · 3 years

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masquerade tartaglia oneshot

pov: you're at a masquerade ball, and meet someone

[ masquerade themed tartaglia oneshot. you're technically meant to be lumine but no pronouns or actual names are used, so it's up to you how you want to read it ]

your dejection only grew as you gazed around the ballroom. everyone dancing in pairs, everyone but you of course. what were you to do when the only man you had ever danced with was your brother?

aether was a hopeless romantic, his romantic fantasies were far more elaborate than yours, and almost all of his included ballroom dancing with his lady. so you read the books and taught him yourself. the enjoyment of it all even made you yearn to be able to dance as he wanted to. but instead of being the center of attention as he wished, you wanted a simple quiet dance on the balcony.

sighing you turn around to look through the window behind you. it was dark outside, nothing to be seen but the moon reflecting on the lake below you. placing a hand on the cold glass you close your eyes and remember your brother. he's all that's been on your mind tonight. you never minded the memories, but you had come here to enjoy yourself, now everything you saw was reminding you of him.

"pull yourself together." you mutter, looking away from the window and back at the waltzing couples. why were you so lonely? you didn't have your brother, and everyone you knew hadn't even bothered to look your way tonight. they were all too busy with themselves.

sure you felt happy for xinqiu, your closest friend had finally grown as close to chongyun as he hoped. but neither of them had even approached you tonight. searching for them in the crowd you spot xinqiu fixing chongyuns collar. watching the two you couldn't help but feel sorry for what you were thinking before. the two were such a perfect match, no one could get between them. watching them helped fuel your longing. you just wanted someone to dance and care for you as they did to each other. even if it's just tonight.

"they're so perfect it hurts." you hear a voice beside you. a man in a fancy black tuxedo stands next to you. the red accents catch your eye, along with the long cloak with a shimmering soft gold underside. the contrast of his blue eyes with the sharp red mask surprise you. the man simply watches you take him in, obviously enjoying it. as he leans against the wall you follow his gaze to the two blue-haired boys.

you nod, unsure of who he is but still wholeheartedly agree with what he says. "i don't think id ever be able to be what they are." you mutter.

"well we might as well give it a shot," he suggests, a playful shine in his eyes. as you raise an eyebrow in confusion, he straightens up, walks to a table, and plucks a red rose out of the centerpiece.

"would you care for a dance darling?" he asks, his outstretched hand holding the red rose.

"o-of course." you stammer, caught off guard at the sudden turn of events. he takes the rose and tucks it behind your ear. "now we match." he smirks, pointing to his red mask. glancing down at your white and gold dress you smile.

"we're just opposites tonight."

"contrast is a wonder darling." something about the way he leans towards you whenever he says something or just the way he adds 'darling' to every sentence makes you relax, he gently grabs your hand and pulls you towards the dancing couples.

his gloved hands in yours, you let your mouth turn up into a smile as the two of you dance. the music starts fast and the two of you whirl around, everything's a blur. well, everything but the very man you're dancing with.

eventually, the music slows, and he pulls you closer, the two of you sway to the music and he whispers in your ear, "i truly enjoyed dancing with you tonight. it was as enjoyable as our battle." he pulls his lips away from your ear and you tense up.

tartaglia. that's who your mystery man is.

"t-tartaglia?" you whisper, hoping to confirm whether it is your red-headed enemy or not.

"why darling, i thought you were smarter than this. could you not tell until now?" he asks, frowning.

"my deepest apologies," you quickly recover, turning back to the formal speech the two of you were conversing in.

"it's starting to feel stuffy in here." he stops swaying, now standing rigid. slowly sliding his arms off you he turns away and walks off, leaving you at the edge of the sea of dancers. he seemed hurt. what did you do wrong? quickly looking up you move out of the way and as you turn away from the dance, you see him heading to the open door, leading towards the balcony.

walking to grab drinks, you sip from one of the thin glasses as you head towards the balcony. stopping to close the door behind you, you quietly approach the harbinger from the side. he's leaning against the railing, another flower in his fingers.

"tartaglia?" you whisper.

he looks up, and you truly see him for the first time. with his mask slid upon his forehead, you appreciate the moonlight reflecting off his skin, the messy hair, and his sparkling eyes. then you frown and set the glasses on the balcony, rushing forward as you watch a tear slide down his cheek.

you cup his face in your hands and brush away the tears sliding down his cheek. "what's wrong?" you ask, he remains silent and gently removes your hands from his face. then lowers himself to the floor and lightly pats the ground next to him. scrambling to sit by him, you retrieve the two glasses you left on the balcony and lower yourself alongside him. "you can tell me anything," you smile and hold out a glass, he turns towards you and takes the glass. as his hand leaves yours, taking the glass with it, you momentarily wish he could've left his hand on yours a while longer. shooing the thoughts from your mind you turn back to tartaglia. he finishes his drink with one long gulp and as you sit there stunned he swiftly snatches your glass. his smile's weak yet his antics still the same. you giggle as he downs your drink.

"that was mine!" you seethe, he just shrugs.

"you were holding it out to me, and it's quite rude to deny a gift isn't it?" you lightly smack his shoulder, but when you see him wince you regret it.

"have you been transforming lately?" you ask, the concern shining in your eyes.

"I'm honored that you care, but it's nothing you should worry about sweetheart." he chides, taking a deep breath and looking away from you. looking at him you can't help but feel as you did that day when you witnessed him sickly and weak after fighting the ruin guards. helpless. worried. and oh so confused.

he's your enemy, why do you care so much about him? hesitating, you only hope you don't mess things up with your next few words.

"what if I want to care?" you whisper, his blue eyes turn to meet yours and your breath hitches at the sight of them.

"w-well" he stammers caught off guard, after all usually it's him making those offhand comments, "i guess i'll just have to tell you then."

he sighs and plucks a leaf off one of the vines wrapped around the balcony. "the fatui are getting worse and worse, I'm not even told why I'm doing what anymore. all I hear is 'go fight this, go fight that.' it's tiring and horrible." you just place a hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to say. he's being sent out to fight, isn't that all he wants?

his cold laugh shakes you from your thoughts, " i knew you wouldn't understand. I probably seem pathetic to you don't I? i told you all i wanted was a fight, and now that I'm getting them I'm complaining about it."

not wanting to lie after he read what you were thinking. you nod, confirming what he said.

"i just wanted to leave it all behind for one night. then i got an invitation, it was for a masquerade. i figured no one would be able to tell who i was, and i knew you'd be here, so I came. then because of the good time we were having i figured you wouldn't mind having me as your partner. but then your attitude changed as soon as I told you who I was and I could tell it wasn't for the better."

"oh, tartaglia!" you cry out, throwing your arms around his neck. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry," you repeat. his arms wrap around you and he buries his face in your neck.

"it's alright darling. i overreacted," he says, pulling away from his neck and bringing his eyes to meet yours. you can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks as his face rests near yours, only inches away.

"no you had a right, I hurt your feelings. it's not that I hate you or anything, in fact, I quite like you. but you have tried to kill me before." you remind him.

he laughs, "that was one time sweetheart, I promise it won't happen again. and even if it does, I'll give you a warning that I'm about to destroy you. after all, I prefer fair fights."

"enough fighting talk!" you pout, "let's change the subject." you think about it and then grin, "what was that earlier?"

"what?" he perks up, raising an eyebrow at you.

"you said you wanted to come because you knew I'd be here."

"oh that's because you're special." he scoffs.

"and what's so special about me?" you tease trying to hide the blush spreading across your cheeks.

"well if you'd like me to list everything, we'd be here for hours darling. I'm afraid they'd have to kick us off this moonlit balcony." you pout and he only cheekily smiles.

"you like dancing don't you?" he asks.

"of course." you roll your eyes, remembering your earlier conversation about how important dancing was.

"well come on then." he gets up and extends his hand, raising you to your feet he swiftly pulls you into position. you can barely hear the music from inside the ballroom, but it's okay. the two of you dance, already synchronized enough that the beat of the music isn't necessary.

eventually, tartaglia slows and pulls you closer.

"the way your skin shines under the moonlight," he whispers, his warm breath tickling your ear.

"the way your eyes light up whenever i tell you about my family." you open your mouth to ask what he's doing and he quickly silences you with a finger against your lips.

"shhh darling, you did ask why I think you're special didn't you?" he grins as your eyes soften.

"the way you bring your little buddy around with you no matter where you are."

"the way you still helped me with my brother that day even after I tried murdering you."

"the way your eyes showcase every emotion you're feeling."

by this point tartaglia had taken his finger off your mouth and had wrapped his arms around you, he was looking up at the moon and you quickly interrupted. "tartaglia." you whisper.

"don't call me that," he scowls. confused you raise an eyebrow but comply.

"childe?"

"even worse." you just blankly look up at him, what does he want you to call him? darling?

"darling?" you hesitantly call out.

"darling." he echoes back, then smiles at the discomfort in your eyes. "you don't have to call me that sweetheart, i understand we can't all be as charming as I am. but I'm not in the mood to be reminded of my fatui background as of now. so why don't I reintroduce myself?"

taking a step back he grins, "it's a pleasure to meet you, darling, please call me ajax." with that he falls into a bow and extends his hand, you reach out to grab it and he raises your hand to his lips, placing a whisper of a kiss.

"it's a pleasure to meet you ajax." you smile, he nods and pulls you into him once again. as you sway he mutters,

"i'm sorry. normally I'm not such a whirlwind of emotion."

giggling you acknowledge his faults, "normally it's fighting, flirting, or fascinating."

"fascinating?" he inquires. you blush and look away. "don't worry, I already know how great I am."

"do you know how conceited you are?"

"of course! self-awareness is important after all." stifling a laugh you simply slide over to the balcony and lean against it. he comes up from behind and leans on you, wrapping his arms around your neck. smiling at the banter you shared, and then the slow calmness of it all, it was perfect.

"i got to live out one of my dreams tonight," you note.

"really?" you can feel him wanting to add some self-absorbed comment so you hurry on before he can interject.

"simply slow dancing on a quiet balcony." you smile and ajax leans over your shoulder, bringing his face next to yours.

"did you enjoy it?" he asks, cautiously.

"w-well" you stammer, "i danced with a w-wonderful someone. someone who i regret not approaching earlier."

"really," he mutters, sounding pleased. "i'm glad."

"me too." you echo back.

"i believe this someone is wondering whether the wonderful lady would like to meet them again. perhaps just the two of them gone wherever the lady likes"

"s-she is having a hard t-time responding to that," you whisper. caught unawares by the sudden inquiry.

"well i hope she says yes," he says. you nod, shivering as the breeze passes you. crossing your arms to try and hold the warmth with you, you turn back to the ballroom, trying to remember if you brought a coat or not. as you near the door ajax clasps something around his neck, it's his black cloak. the thick fabric settles over your bare and shoulders you turn around eyeing the long garment dragging on the ground.

"don't leave me so soon," he whines. you roll your eyes and wait for him to reach your side. the two of you stand basking in each other's presence. observing the ballroom you both eye the warm cheerful atmosphere with slight disdain. it was much too happy in there, it reminded you too much of aether. it was beautiful in its own way, but not what you wanted, after all, tonight was your night.

turning back towards the moonlit balcony, the breeze whispers through your hair and glancing at ajax you smile.

"this is kind of-" you pause, hesitant, "nice."

"really? well, I'm honored to have been graced with the presence of such a beautiful lady tonight."

"and I with the presence of such a charming man." he hooks a finger under your chin and turns your face towards his. as the light shining through the windows casts a glow upon his skin, your eyes try to capture every small detail.

he brings his face closer to yours, and you're suddenly aware of your lips, only inches apart from his. he remains there, waiting for permission. you inch forward a bit and he leans forward, your lips crashing together. up until now, you hadn't realized just how much you wanted this, and now that you've had a taste, you aren't sure you ever want to give it up.

ajax's hand leaves your face and his arms trail down to your waist, he pulls you closer to him and a slight moan of surprise escapes your lips. reaching up you wrap your arms around his neck.

breathless, you pull away and he starts trailing light kisses along your exposed collarbone. laughing you gently shove him away.

"How was that for a kiss?" he asks, you simply blush and turn around. he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your neck. "don't be like that my love. if it bothered you that much i won't do it again."

"n-no! it was fine. i r-rather enjoyed it." your voice trails off at the end and you quickly tense up, embarrassed at the fact you let it slip out.

"so are we enough to compete with the two blue haired ones now?" he teases.

"i'd hope so," you say, turning around to face him.

"you don't understand how long I've waited for this day," he whispers.

you drink in the happiness on his features and smile back. "i'm glad you did."

#this is way too long and im sorry #unedited #genshin #tartaglia #childe #ajax #lumine #masquerade

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ryanjdonovan · 3 years

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DONOVAN’S OSCAR PROGNOSTICATION 2021

We all knew it was coming: The Oscar nominees are now almost literally handpicked by Netflix and Amazon. We thought it would be a few years away, but it's just one more piece of fallout from the pandemic. It won't be long now before I'm making my predictions for the Flixies or the Amazies. (By the way, streamers: I just want to watch the friggin' credits, why is that such a problem??)

In case you haven't been paying attention (and I'm pretty sure you haven't), Nomadland is going to win the big Oscars. Haven't seen Nomadland? Or even heard of it? Or any of the Oscar-nominated films? Or didn't even know the Oscars were happening this year? You're not alone. With no theaters this past year, the non-bingeable, non-Netflix-welcome-screen movies were pretty much an afterthought. (But if you asked the streaming services, the nominees this year each accounted for a billion new subscribers and topped the worldwide digital box office for months.)

Well, I'm here to tell you the Oscars are in fact happening, albeit a few months late. Fear not: my 22nd annual Oscar predictions will provide everything you need to know before the big night. (You don't even need to watch the movies themselves -- reading this article will take you just as long.)

BEST PICTURE:

SHOULD WIN: Minari WILL WIN: Nomadland GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Pieces Of A Woman INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Ma Rainey's Black Bottom

If you're a fan of capitalism, this is not the year for you. Nominees like Nomadland, Mank, Judas And The Black Messiah, The Trial Of The Chicago 7, Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, Hillbilly Elegy, Minari, and The White Tiger are all (to varying degrees) indictments of a capitalist system, or at the very least are suspicious of those who benefit from it, and focus on those left behind. It's certainly fertile ground for angst and high drama, if not belly laughs. (Don't get me started on the ironies of all these movies being distributed by billion-dollar conglomerates. The filmmakers, producers, and actors can tell you that the checks cash just fine.) Like Austin Powers said, "Finally those capitalist pigs will pay for their crimes, eh comrades?"

There is no way for me to talk about Nomadland, which will win Best Picture, without sounding like an a-hole. It's a gorgeous work of art, and a fascinating character study, but I struggled to connect to the story. (You should know that for me as a movie watcher, story is more engaging than artfulness or character. But hey, why can't we have all three?) I wanted to like it, I really did. I'm content to drift along with Fern, the resilient main character played naturally by Frances McDormand, but she has no true objective or antagonist. She's a nomad on the road, either searching or hiding, either with the world or against the world, we're not quite sure which. I thought it might be driving (literally) toward a bigger revelation or resolution, but no. (Same with life, I guess.) It's meandering, reticent, languorous, and ethereal (I'm trying really hard to avoid using the word "boring" here). This is all quite intentional, by the way -- the film moves at the pace of its protagonist, and the effect is palpable. (And don't worry, it's not lost on me that I'm watching this movie about people barely scraping by, on a large ultra-high-def TV on my comfy couch in my warm home under an electric blanket, using a streaming service that the movie's characters probably couldn't access or afford.) Am I wrong about all this? Of course I'm wrong. Every critic out there is doing backflips over this film. And not surprisingly, the movie's mortality themes are playing well with the Academy, whose average age and closeness to death are extremely high. (Like the nomad Swankie, they're all anxious about that final kayak ride down the River Styx.) But beware the movie whose 'user/audience score' is significantly lower than its 'critic score' -- it means that regular people are not quite buying it. For me, the biggest problem with slice-of-life films is that I don't really want to go to movies to experience regular life -- I have life for that. Then again, I'm also a superficial, materialistic a-hole. But you knew that already. (Added intrigue: Hulu, Nomadland's distributor, might score a Best Picture win before Amazon, and gives Amazon a subtle middle-finger in the movie with its depiction of seasonal workers.)

Remember when feel-good movies were a thing? It didn’t mean that there were no conflicts or problems for the characters, it just meant that they were enjoyable to watch, and you came out feeling good about humans. Minari is the rare feel-good Oscar movie, and my personal pick for what should win Best Picture. It easily might have been a tough sit based on the premise: A Korean family moves to rural Arkansas to start a farm, and must overcome a drought, financial calamity, a complete lack of agriculture experience, a crumbling marriage, the son's potentially-deadly heart condition, and a grandmother that drinks all their Mountain Dew. In keeping with Oscar tradition, it could have been a constant assault of upsetting scenes. But instead, it's a warm, sunny, optimistic, funny movie. The family faces struggles and hardships, to be sure, but the story is treated with positivity, not negativity; with a sense of community, not isolation; with an attitude of resolve, not blame. And they get through their problems with mutual support, togetherness, tenderness, humanity, and of course, love. (Not to mention grandma planting some weeds that may or may not miraculously heal physical and emotional wounds.) All these things combine to make it a more engaging experience for me than Nomadland. Not only do I wish this movie would win the Oscar, I wish I could give it a hug.

A lot of pundits think The Trial Of The Chicago 7 has the best chance to upset Nomadland. But I'm not seeing that happen. It was an early favorite and has been getting tons of nominations in the awards run-up, but it hasn't actually been winning much, and seems to be losing steam. (The lack of a Best Director nod is virtually a killer.) I think Minari has a small chance to sneak away with a victory, as it's gotten almost as much universal praise as Nomadland, but hasn't had the same audience. Judas And The Black Messiah is an interesting case, in that it's a late entry that had little early awareness (it didn't plan to be eligible until next year's Oscars), but it scooped several unexpected nominations. Debuting a contender late and taking advantage of recency bias has been a successful strategy in the past, so don't be surprised by a surprise. (Had Shaka King scored the last Director slot over Thomas Vinterberg, I think Judas would be a fairly legitimate threat.)

If you had asked me in September, I would have predicted that Mank would be the wire-to-wire favorite to win Best Picture. Aside from being a prestige David Fincher film (more on him later), it's a smorgasbord of Classic Tales of Hollywood. And the centerpiece couldn't be bolder: It's an homage to, a making of, a dissection of, and political dissertation on Citizen Kane -- only the most deified film of all time. Simply recite the synopsis, describe the film's 1940s black-and-white aesthetic, and mention Gary Oldman's name as the star, and just watch the Oscars come pouring in, right? Well, not quite. It netted 10 nominations, more than any other film, but it's looking like it might not win any of them, certainly not Best Picture. I don't think the film quite knows what it wants to be; at least, I'm not sure what it wants to be. Centered on Herman Mankiewicz, the man credited with co-writing Citizen Kane with Orson Welles, it's a distorted, polemical, impressionistic portrait of a man I barely even knew existed. Though Welles is only briefly portrayed in the film, it demystifies him a bit, suggesting that he's maybe not as responsible for this work of genius as we thought. If the film was framed as "Who actually wrote Citizen Kane?", it would be a little easier to get into. But it feels somewhat academic and circuitous (in a way that Kane itself doesn't). And while the script is clever, it's clever to the point of being confusing. Of course, a film of this pedigree invites a lot of scrutiny, maybe more than any other awards contender (or any film that actually got released this past year, period). It has a lot to appreciate, and surely would benefit from a second viewing. I also can't help but root for the fact that it's been Fincher's passion project for almost a quarter-century. (Then again, tell that to any indie filmmaker who spends their whole life on a single passion project that ends up getting completely ignored, and they’ll tell you where to shove your Fincher pity.) Ultimately, it's an admirable work, but if you're looking for a Rosebud, it's not there.

Promising Young Woman continues to defy expectations. Not only did it rack up six Oscar nominations, it's likely to win one or two of them, and for a while, was gaining on Nomadland for Best Picture. Now that the chips are falling into place, we know it won't win in this category, but it remains one of the most talked-about films of the season. What I like most about the film is not necessarily the literal story (I should have seen the main twist coming a mile away), but the way writer/director Emerald Fennell elevates it in an interesting way. Instead of showing the whole story, she starts her film at the end of a typical revenge thriller (several years after the incident and the legal aftermath). In fact, the victim is not even in the movie, and the victim's best friend is already far along on her path of retribution. (It also challenges the definition of "victim".) The film is not voyeuristically exciting in any way; it's unsettling, but also oddly charming in unexpected ways. The key for me is how it serves as a metaphor for the secrets people keep from loved ones and the toll that it takes on them, and the penances we give ourselves instead of allowing ourselves to heal. It also made me realize that movies could use more Juice Newton. (Paris Hilton, not so much.)

Sound Of Metal and The Father were probably the last two films to make the cut in this category, and are the least likely to win. Their best chances are in other categories. (Pro Tip: If you put the word "sound" in the title of your movie, there's a very good chance you'll win Best Sound.)

I don’t recommend Pieces Of A Woman to anyone who's pregnant, or partners of pregnant women, or anyone planning to have babies anytime in the future, or any partners of anyone planning to have babies anytime in the future, or people hoping to be grandparents anytime in the future, or doctors. (And I'm certain midwives are not giving this a ringing endorsement.) The film starts with an infant death, and then gets worse from there. It's not just an unpleasant experience, it's a series of unrelenting unpleasant experiences: Depression, extra-marital affairs, guilt, a domineering mother, lying, manipulative spouses, abandonment, feelings of inadequacy, sexual dysfunction, litigation, sibling jealousy, public shame, borderline domestic abuse, bribery, courtroom drama, financial problems, baseless blame, and drug addiction. And if that's not upsetting enough, they also manage to throw the Holocaust in there. (This should be a movie sub-genre: "Parade of Horrible Events". This fraternity would include: Manchester By The Sea, Mudbound, Uncut Gems, 12 Years A Slave, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, The Family Stone, and of course, The Revenant.) And then there are the characters. It would be one thing if these were ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. But these are extraordinary a--holes making extraordinary circumstances much worse. It's literally laughable. If I didn't understand what the word 'melodramatic' meant before, I do now. I'm aware that this is based on the experiences of writing/directing spouses Kata Wéber and Kornél Mundruczó, and I don't mean to trivialize their pain or what they went through. Nobody should have to suffer that trauma. And I realize art is a healthy and oftentimes beautiful outlet for grief. But… did I mention the movie is unpleasant? There are certainly wonderful fragments and ideas in here; if the components added up to something moving, I would be much more receptive to it. If I were a snarky (okay, snarkier) reviewer, I might call it "Pieces Of A Better Movie".

Soul is a lovely and inspiring movie, but I'm at the point where I have to judge films by my experience while watching them with children. Try explaining this movie to a 6-year-old. Way too many existential/philosophical/theological questions. I guess it's good for parents who like to talk to their children, but if you're trying to keep your kid occupied and quiet (the reason screens were invented) so you can do something else, it's a bust. (It's no match for the hysterical self-explanatory antics of a certain motor-mouthed, overweight, black-and-white, martial-arts-fighting bear with a penchant for sitting on people's heads and, more importantly, keeping kids silently dumbstruck.) And: Did they have to make the entrance to the afterlife -- a giant bug zapper -- so terrifying? If that's how you get to heaven, what is the entrance to hell like??

BEST ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Chadwick Boseman (Ma Rainey's Black Bottom) WILL WIN: Chadwick Boseman (Ma Rainey's Black Bottom) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Pete Davidson (The King Of Staten Island) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Delroy Lindo (Da 5 Bloods)

This one hurts. I usually don't feel a connection to or an overabundance of sympathy for celebrities, but this one genuinely hurts. When Chadwick Boseman wins Best Actor (for Ma Rainey's Black Bottom), it will be a wonderful celebration, but also a painful reminder, not just of who he was, but of who he was yet to be. If ever there was a unanimous vote, this would be it. Before this movie, we had seen him play heroes and outsized personalities, but there had been nothing quite like his role as Levee, the gifted and demonized trumpet player in Ma Rainey's band. His brash, wounded performance is astonishing, revelatory. Since the film debuted after his passing, we can only watch it through the prism of his death. It's hard not to feel parallels: Levee is just starting to scratch the surface of his talent, giving us hints of his abilities with composition and brass before his breakdown; similarly, we have only gotten a taste of Boseman's range and depth. For both the character and the man, we're being deprived of the art he would have created. Boseman's passing makes the performance more resonant and unshakeable, but I think under different circumstances he would still be the front-runner in this race. The only difference would be, we'd assume this would be the first prize of many.

Anthony Hopkins picked an unusual time to go on a hot streak. He recently left a memorable impression on the Marvel Cinematic Universe as Odin, got an Emmy nomination for Westworld, and scored 2 Oscar nominations (after a 22-year drought) -- all after his 80th birthday. This year's nomination, for playing a man slipping into dementia in The Father, probably would have been a favorite to notch him his second Oscar in a different year. He seems like he should be a two-time winner, and we just don't know how many more chances he'll have. (I stand by my declaration that he should have won last year for The Two Popes, over Brad Pitt.) To those aforementioned aging Academy members who fear mortality and probably consider Hopkins a spry young man: Maybe you shouldn't watch this movie.

Riz Ahmed's performance in Sound Of Metal establishes the tone for the entire film, making the experience feel grounded and real. I appreciate how his outward, physical performance is very still, while his internal performance is frenetic, like there's a live wire in his head that he's trying to conceal from the world. His quietness leaves us with an uncertainty that feels like authentic; he's not going to tell us all the answers, because his character is figuring it out as he goes. Speaking of questions, I have a few about his band in the movie (before the hearing loss): Are they any good? What kind of living do they make? Is their cashflow net positive or negative? Are they considered successful (in whatever way you want to define that)? What is their ceiling, commercially and artistically? Are they one lucky break away from making it, or is it a lost cause? Most importantly, if Ahmed and fellow nominee LaKeith Stanfield (Judas And The Black Messiah) had a sad, doleful, wide-eyed staring contest, who would win?

Steven Yeun has been a recognizable face in film and TV (and a prolific voice actor) for a decade, but we haven't really seen him front and center until Minari. And after this bright, heartwarming turn, I think you can expect him to remain in the spotlight for the foreseeable future. His understated and remarkable performance carries this beautiful story of a family finding its path through a new way of life. Despite scant dialogue and minimal exposition, we seem to always know what his character is thinking -- that he's facing daunting odds but has a steel resolve. He and screen partner Yeri Han (who deserves as much credit as Yeun for this film) create one of the most tender crumbling marriages I've seen on screen in a long time. (Though a marriage counselor could have given his character some helpful "dos and don'ts" that might have saved him some headaches.)

What's more improbable, Mank's meandering, decades-long journey to the screen, or the fact that we're supposed to believe 63-year Gary Oldman as a man in his 30s and early 40s? Well, once his performance begins, it's so hammy that you forget all about the ridiculous age discrepancy. He's playing Herman Mankiewicz, whose bombastic writing and sozzled demeanor helped mold the script for Citizen Kane into the legend that it is. It's a bloviated, ostentatious, spectacular exhibition of affectation and panache that only Oldman could pull off. It's a lot of fun. (It must be exhausting to be his wife.) It’s as if Mank wrote the story of his own life... and gave himself the best part.

I'm naming Delroy Lindo for my snubbed choice, for his intense and crushing performance in Da 5 Bloods. I've been hoping he'd get an Oscar nomination for 20 years, and by all accounts, this was going to be his year. Even in the fall, after a slew of critics' awards, he was the odds-on favorite to win. So it was a disappointment that his name wasn't called when nominations were read. For now, he'll have to be content with being everyone's favorite never-nominated actor. (But here's to hoping The Harder They Fall is frickin' amazing, so he can end that drought next year.) There are plenty of honorable mentions this year: Adarsh Gourav (The White Tiger), Mads Mikkelsen (Another Round), and Kingsley Ben-Adir (One Night In Miami) come to mind. (By the way: How often do Kingsley Ben-Adir and Sir Ben Kingsley get each other's take-out orders switched?) But my runner-up is John David Washington (my snubbed pick two years ago), who undoubtedly became an A-List movie star in the past year… but not for the reason you think. Yes, Tenet was a blockbuster and the cinematic story of the summer, but he had special effects and storyline trickery supporting him. Instead, Malcolm And Marie is what stands out to me -- he has nothing but his performance (as abrasive as it is), and he still commands the screen and our attention. When he gets hold of a juicy monologue, he starts cooking… but when he starts dancing on the countertop? Look out.

BEST ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN: Andra Day (The United States Vs. Billie Holiday) WILL WIN: Andra Day (The United States Vs. Billie Holiday) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Anya Taylor-Joy (Emma.) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Jessie Buckley (I'm Thinking of Ending Things)

Coming down to the wire, we've got a race where three women have a chance to win, and the favorite depends on who you ask and when you ask. Carey Mulligan, Viola Davis, and Andra Day have each won precursor awards, and seem to leapfrog each other daily. Mulligan has been picked by most prognosticators, with Davis right behind. But I'm going to put my untarnished reputation on the line and predict a long-shot upset for Day. (And when that doesn't happen, I'm going to say that I actually thought Mulligan or Davis were more likely.)

Maybe I'm picking Andra Day because she's also my personal favorite, for her star-making debut in The United States Vs. Billie Holiday. The movie itself is serviceable but not stellar (some of the scenes and dialogue are absurdly expository), but Day is an absolute dynamo as the Lady Day. The film is a fairly rounded picture of her life, including her drug abuse, health issues, singing the controversial-at-the-time civil-rights song "Strange Fruit", and an investigation by the U.S. government (hence the title) -- all of which is intriguing for those of us not familiar with her personal story. (I'm sure you'll be shocked to learn that, despite my curmudgeonly ways, I was not in fact alive in the 1940s.) Day has seemingly come out of nowhere, because there was no early hype about the film, and nobody even saw it until a few weeks ago (and even now, it hasn't been seen by nearly as many people as the other contenders). Known primarily as a singer before this (I'm a big fan), she literally transformed her voice (straining her vocal chords, taking up smoking) to capture Billie Holiday's unique vocals. The singing alone might be enough to get her a nomination, but it's the dramatic work that puts her ahead of the field. More than any other nominee, we really get the feeling that she's laying her soul bare onscreen. Even for a seasoned actress, the depth of this performance would be impressive. Her film doesn't have the popularity or momentum that Mulligan's or Davis's do, so she's heading into Oscar night as an underdog. But if voters judge the actresses strictly on performance, not on the movies themselves, she might just pull an upset. And, if you haven't heard Day sing outside this movie, do yourself a favor: Stop reading this article (you might want to do that anyway) and browse her catalogue -- she has the best voice of any contemporary singer, period. Forget Billie Eilish, why isn't Day singing the next James Bond song?

Carey Mulligan returns to the Oscar game for the first time in 11 years, for Promising Young Woman. (Is she bitter that her performance in An Education lost to Sandra Bullock in The Blind Side? Probably not as bitter as I am.) Promising Young Woman is getting a lot of attention and accolades, and much of it is due to Mulligan's strong turn as Cassandra, a woman on a revenge crusade that has taken over her life. It's a layered performance; we see a lot of Cassandra's facades, but we don't know if we ever see the real person. Her best friend's rape and subsequent suicide has left her stunted; by the time we meet Cassandra, she's literally and figuratively become someone else. As rough as it sounds, Mulligan is able to make it… well, 'fun' isn't the right word, but 'enjoyable'. We see Cassandra refusing to sit or be bullied; she has agency and kinetic energy in situations where many do not or cannot. Whether or not the film works rests largely on Mulligan's shoulders; it's a good thing she's such a talented actress, because not many could pull it off. The more people see the film, the more she's been picked to win the prize. Will she get enough support for a victory? (Ms. Bullock, you owe her a vote.)

Out of all the nominated performances this year, Viola Davis's is the most amusing. Playing the titular singer in Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, it's clear she's having blast. When she's onscreen, Davis owns every single inch of it. She doesn't just drink a bottle of Coke, she guzzles the whole thing with gusto and verve, serving notice that this is going to be the most entertaining consumption of soda you've ever seen. And so it is with the rest of the performance. (Though the lip-synching is not particularly believable; but then again, that didn't hurt Rami Malek in Bohemian Rhapsody.) It will be interesting to see what happens on Oscar night. She's been up and down in the predictions. She was down after losing the Golden Globe (it's taken us until now to realize the Globes are a waste of time??), but rebounded strongly with a Screen Actors Guild win. She is universally adored, but she's also won an Oscar already for Fences, so voters may not feel quite as compelled to give it to her overall.

And we haven't even talked about Frances McDormand in Nomadland yet. Early on, this category seemed like a sprint between McDormand and Davis. But when neither won the Golden Globe or Critics' Choice, it became anybody's race. As we near the end of the contest, McDormand has pretty clearly fallen toward the back. I don't think it's her performance; instead, she's been discounted due to her own victorious history. She's already got two Oscars (in 1997 for Fargo and 2018 for Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri); a third one would require extraordinary circumstances. By comparison, it took Meryl Streep 29 years (and a lot of Ls) after her second to get her third. But if McDormand hadn't just won for Three Billboards three years ago, I think she'd be a lock here; Nomadland may even be a superior performance. She's probably the only actor alive that could pull this off; if she gave up acting, this is how I assume she would be living in real life. It's remarkable how she internalizes everything, yet informs the viewer how she's feeling and what she's thinking with very few words, just her physicality. This project seems particularly challenging. Her character doesn't have the answers; she's searching, but she doesn't even know what for. "I'm not homeless. I'm just house-less. Not the same thing, right?" It's as if she's posing the question to herself, and she really doesn't know. She gets lonelier as the journey goes on, a sort-of self-imposed isolation, and the viewer really feels it. (What does she ultimately find? Well, that's one of the frustrating ambiguities of the film. Don't get me started.) No matter what happens in this category, what McDormand will find is Oscar gold: She's a producer on Nomadland, so she's a strong bet to walk away with a Best Picture statuette.

Saying Vanessa Kirby is the best thing in Pieces Of A Woman is a bit of a backhanded compliment. My distaste for the film was made pretty clear in the Best Picture section, and anybody acting opposite Shia LaBeouf is going to look like Streep. But Kirby is legitimately great, and I think a welcome surprise to those who know her from the Mission: Impossible and Fast & Furious franchises. (And how many fans of The Crown thought Kirby would beat Claire Foy to an Oscar nomination? Don't lie.) Kirby makes the most of her role as an unpleasant person in an unpleasant situation enduring a barrage of unpleasant events surrounded by really unpleasant people. (An infant tragedy is the least of their problems.) But ultimately the film fails her, and unfortunately I don't really believe what any character is doing in this movie. Her nomination has been bolstered by a whopper of an opening scene: a 24-minute single-shot of a childbirth that ends horrifically. But I can't help but feel like the shot comes off as gimmicky; the immediacy of the scene was effective, but the filmmakers seemed to choose stylistic camera movement and choreography over intimacy and realness. The scene may be emotionally truthful, but hoo-eey, Kirby is dialed up. (My personal favorite ridiculous scene? When she's on the subway, wistfully watching children giggling pleasantly and behaving like angels. Ahhh, seems so blissful. Have you ever taken kids on public transportation? They would be fighting, screaming, climbing over the seats, kicking her, throwing goldfish everywhere, getting yelled at by the parents, bumping into passengers, licking the handrails, wiping snot on seats, and saying inappropriate things to strangers. That's parenthood.)

When the movie gods decided to create a remake that would be the exact opposite of what I would like, they conjured up Emma.. (That's "Emma.", with a period at the end of the title. Seriously. It's a "period" piece. Get it?) Anya Taylor-Joy is undoubtedly talented, but she's a letdown as the fabled matchmaker. She also believes that she can bleed on cue. With regard to her climactic scene: "I was in the moment enough that my nose really started bleeding." Wow. No words. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but her performance actually makes me miss Gwyneth.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:

SHOULD WIN: LaKeith Stanfield (Judas And The Black Messiah) WILL WIN: Daniel Kaluuya (Judas And The Black Messiah) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Shia LaBeouf (Pieces Of A Woman) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Glynn Turman (Ma Rainey's Black Bottom)

Can you have a movie with two main characters but no leading actors? If you're wondering why the two stars (and title characters) of Judas And The Black Messiah -- LaKeith Stanfieldand Daniel Kaluuya -- are both competing in the Supporting Actor category, congratulations, you're a human on planet Earth. That's Oscar politics for you, and it's nothing new. They are both unquestionably leads; nevertheless, the shift to Supporting has worked out well for both of them. The assumption was that Stanfield would campaign in the Lead category and Kaluuya in Supporting so as not to cannibalize each other's votes, and to have Kaluuya (the stronger awards bet) compete in the less crowded category. (It's been clear for half a year that Chadwick Boseman would be winning Best Actor.) Stanfield was considered an unrealistic shot to crack the nominees anyway (he was probably 8th for Best Actor, behind Delroy Lindo (Da 5 Bloods) and Tahar Rahim (The Mauritanian)). So when the nominations were read, it was a pleasant shock that he had been slotted in the Supporting Actor category. (And wouldn't you rather have him here than Jared Leto?)

But won't they split the vote, resulting in the very problem they were trying to avoid in the first place? As it turns out, no. Judging from other major awards, voters had made up their minds for Kaluuya long ago, so any votes to support this film will likely go to Kaluuya. It's not hard to see why: As Black Panther leader Fred Hampton, he's dynamic, steely, and charismatic. It's very different -- more confident, self-assured and domineering -- than we've seen him in other roles, like Get Out. (This movie is a like a mini-reunion of Get Out. Dang, now I want a sequel to Get Out.) But I'll be the dissenter, and cast my personal vote for Stanfield. I'm conflicted; they're a close 1-2. But for me, Stanfield's role (as an FBI informant infiltrating the Panthers) has more facets to play, and Stanfield's signature tenderness brings me into the character more. Plus, he also has the bigger challenge: he has to play the Judas (a role he initially didn't want). Like another character actually says to Stanfield in the movie: "This guy deserves an Academy Award."

Leslie Odom Jr.'s quest for an EGOT (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, Tony) has hit a speed bump. Already armed with a G and a T, he was the presumptive favorite heading into the Golden Globes to collect more hardware, for playing singer Sam Cooke in One Night In Miami. But that was before anybody had seen Judas And The Black Messiah. As the lone acting nominee for Miami, he's got a lot of support from anyone looking to honor the film and its stellar cast. And as the singer, he gets to show off his lustrous Hamilton-honed pipes several times. In many ways, he's the most relatable character in Miami, the one that (despite Cooke's fame at the time) seems the most mortal. So though he'll lose Best Supporting Actor, fear not: He's the favorite to win Best Song, and keep the EGOT dream alive. (Unless… 12-time nominee Diane Warren finally gets the sympathy vote for her song for the little-seen The Life Ahead. Wait, you mean she didn't win for Mannequin's "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now"??)

Paul Raci is a fascinating nominee, for Sound of Metal. He was virtually unknown before this movie (best known as Eugene the Animal Control Guy on Parks And Recreation), but his background is intriguing. He's a Vietnam vet who started as a small theater actor in Chicago (he has a Jeff nomination!). With his upbringing as a hearing CODA (Child Of Deaf Adult), he's a frequent player in ASL theater and is the lead singer in an ASL metal band. (Am I the only one who was gotten CODA confused with ACOD (Adult Child Of Divorce)? Is there such a thing as ACODDA (Adult Child Of Deaf Divorced Adults)?) And in the understated role of Joe, who runs a facility for deaf people and serves as a guide for Riz Ahmed's character, he's fantastic. It literally seems like he's been preparing his whole life for the role, and it pays off. (Though upon further examination of his character… Joe seems like a benevolent, trustworthy guy with altruistic motivations, with a shelter focused on mental healing, addiction recovery, and self-sufficiency. But he also appears to foster an environment that isolates its members, severs contact with all loved ones, preys on those who are unstable to begin with, and convinces members that they will struggle if they leave the community. Ultimately Joe runs every aspect of members' lives, and in return expects unwavering devotion and complete submission to his methods. As soon as Ruben says one thing to challenge him, Joe accuses him of sounding like an addict, knowing it will trigger shame and self-doubt, in a clear effort to control his actions. Joe even slyly suggests that he personally knows how to reach heaven, "the kingdom of God". Is there a chance Joe is actually running a cult??)

They may have just picked a name out of a hat to see which member of The Trial Of The Chicago 7 ensemble would get an Oscar nomination (now these are all supporting actors), but however it happened, nomination day was a good day for Sacha Baron Cohen. (He also got a writing nod for Borat 2.) He is effective in the movie -- maybe the best of the bunch -- and it's a (slightly surprising) affirmation that he's a good actor in addition to being a talented performer. Is his performance actually worthy of an Oscar nomination? I'm fairly impressed (except for his I-love-you-too-man scene with the inert Eddie Redmayne, which plays cheap… but you can probably pin that one on Aaron Sorkin). But there are several other people I would have nominated over Cohen. For starters, my snubbed pick, Glynn Turman, is exceptional as a musician holding his own against Chadwick Boseman in Ma Rainey's Black Bottom. (It seems like just yesterday he was the colonel on A Different World, one of his 150+ acting credits.) Honorable mentions include 7-year-old Alan Kim (Minari), Clarke Peters (Da 5 Bloods), Charles Dance (Mank), and Arliss Howard (Mank).

Wow. Shia LaBeouf is not the only repellant part of Pieces Of A Woman, but he's probably the most repellant part. I'm sorry, but anything he does, or is involved in, instantly becomes less believable. At one point he seems to be trying to creepily make out with his wife… while she's actively pushing in labor. Then later, in a distressing "love" scene, he looks like someone who has never had consensual sex with a partner before; I know the film is going for emotional rawness, but it just looks like assault. Bottom line, I have no idea what he's doing in this movie. (And I guess I don't care what he's doing, as long as it's not another Indiana Jones movie.)

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS:

SHOULD WIN: Yuh-jung Youn (Minari) WILL WIN: Yuh-jung Youn (Minari) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Nicole Kidman (The Prom) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Ellen Burstyn (Pieces Of A Woman)

Oh, sweet revenge. Don't you just love a rematch? It was just two short years ago when Olivia Colman, in a flabbergasting upset, tearfully apologized to presumptive victor Glenn Close in her acceptance speech. (…Or did she condescendingly mock her? We can't be sure about anything in that speech.) Now they are both nominated again -- Colman for The Father, Close for Hillbilly Elegy -- and the bad blood between them couldn't be boiling hotter. Since there are no nominee lunches or in-person media parades this year, I'm assuming they drunk-Zoom each other at all hours and call one another every cruel British and American curse word in the book. Colman even reportedly tweeted, "Glenn, this will be your Hillbilly Elegy: You never won a dang Oscar." Nasty stuff, but nothing unusual during campaign season. Colman is facing a tough challenge (besides playing a woman whose father is in the grips dementia). Voters will be hard-pressed to hand her a victory again so soon (and without any losses). Additionally, she didn't even get nominated for a BAFTA award -- the British Oscar-equivalent -- on her home turf (and they nominate six actors in each category). (But, she would be quick to point out, Close didn't either.) All the talk around The Father is about Anthony Hopkins. Colman is facing extremely long odds.

Which seems to perfectly set up Close to swoop in for the kill. Six months ago, on paper this seemed like a slam dunk. The word was that Hillbilly Elegy featured two of the losing-est actors (Close and Amy Adams) in transformative roles in a heart-wrenching adaptation of a successful book. It was going to exorcise the demons for both of them. Then the movie debuted. And the response was lukewarm. But then the response to the response was harsh. People hated the movie, hated the performances, and hated the participants for shilling shameless Oscar bait. (If you think there's a different kind of Oscar bait, I'm afraid you haven't been paying attention.) The film was weirdly derided as political, and faced a sort of anti-Trump backlash (which I don't understand, considering the movie takes place in the 1990s and early 2010s, when Trump was just known for being an inept USFL football owner and a silly reality-TV host). Entertainment Weekly actually used these words in a single sentence to describe the film: "ham-handed", "smug", "Appalachian poverty porn", and "moralizing soap opera". (I guess people felt about this film the way I felt about A Star Is Born.) And no, the movie is not great; it fades soon after the credits roll. But Close is compelling; at the very least, she's working her tail off. (If you think she's just hamming it up in drag, stay tuned for the end-credits images of the real Mamaw. It's uncanny.) I think the voters really want her to win (but I thought the same thing two years ago). The question is: Do they want her to win for this movie? The answer increasingly seems to be No. The general feeling (which I agree with) is that the role feels a little lacking, and below Close's other lauded performances. People realize that if she wins, it may get dismissed as being a flimsy career-achievement award, which would tarnish it.

So, which one will claim victory this time, leaving the other groveling at her feet, Colman or Close? Neither, it turns out. In a shocking turn of events, Yuh-jung Youn has emerged as a favorite over both of them. (Fortunately, she's blocked Colman and Close on Zoom.) Calling Youn the heart of Minari would be trite. She is, but she's much more than that. She's the conduit for connection: to the children, between the parents, and to the audience. Before her arrival, it feels like there's something missing. (The young son has a heart condition, is constantly chugging Mountain Dew, and is hiding his wet underpants. And the dad thinks he doesn't need a babysitter?) It's when Youn enters the film that the film excels, and we start to feel like part of the family. She also challenges our (and her grandson's) ideas of what a grandmother is (including possibly having magical healing superpowers). A lot of people are looking for a way to reward this film, and this category is its best chance. Heck, even if voters only hear Youn's one line of English dialogue ("Ding-dong broken!" -- referring to her grandson's wiener), that could be enough to win.

Maybe the most curious nomination is for Maria Bakalova, starring in Borat Subsequent Moviefilm as the notorious Kazakh's daughter. A lot of things in the past year would have been impossible to predict, but an unknown Bulgarian actress stealing the spotlight and getting an Oscar nomination for a surprise-release Borat sequel would have to be near the top. And she's actually the only one in this category who's managed to score a nomination from every major organization. She won't win, but her performance (and memes) may live on the longest.

I must be missing something in Mank. (Granted, I haven't watched it the requisite four times in order to truly appreciate it, according to the Fincherists.) But I just don't understand what the fuss is about with Amanda Seyfried. She certainly plays her part well (as Marion Davies, the illicit love interest of William Randolph Hearst and the platonic love interest of Herman Mankiewicz), but I don't see how she elevates it or brings anything extraordinary to it. Her character plays a pivotal role in Citizen Kane (Davies was the inspiration for Kane's second wife), and I presume she's supposed to play a pivotal role in Mank's literary epiphany, but I fail to understand why. (Or maybe I failed to understand her Brooklyn accent.) But more than that, her narrative thread seems distressingly incomplete. She appears to be set up for a meaty final scene, but then her character simply exits, leaving Mankiewicz (and me) baffled. I've been more impressed by her work in other movies, like First Reformed. Of course, perhaps the most significant implication of Seyfried's nomination: Two of the Plastics now have Oscar nominations. (Gretchen, stop trying to make an Oscar nomination happen. It's not going to happen!)

Just in case there was any confusion, 88-year-old Ellen Burstyn is here to let us know she can still bring the thunder. Pieces Of A Woman is a mess, and her character is dubious, but she gets one powerhouse speech to shine and (somewhat) anchor the movie -- a declaration of strength, resilience, and survival. And she delivers a two-handed, rim-hanging, backboard-shattering jam. Oh, right, there's the woman who scored an Oscar, plus four other nominations, in a 9-year span in the 1970s. And who's been an Emmy fixture the past 15 years. And who has four more movies already in the works. Just another not-so-gentle reminder that she's one of the great actors of her generation. (Honorable Mentions go to The United States Vs. Billie Holiday's Da'Vine Joy Randolph, who continues her scene-stealing ways after Office Christmas Party and Dolemite Is My Name; and Dominique Fishback, whose performance adds emotional heft to Judas And The Black Messiah.)

BEST DIRECTOR:

SHOULD WIN: Chloé Zhao (Nomadland) WILL WIN: Chloé Zhao (Nomadland) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Ryan Murphy (The Prom) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Christopher Nolan (Tenet)

The second-most-certain thing this year is Chloé Zhao winning Best Director for Nomadland. She's dominated the narrative and the awards circuit this year; nobody else is close. In fact, she might win four Oscars, which would be a record for one person with a single film. (In 1954, Walt Disney was a quadruple winner for four different movies… but do short films really count?) Odds are that she'll win three, but if she wins Best Editing early in the night, the record will be hers. Historically joined at the hip, Best Director and Best Picture have surprisingly been split between different movies several times in recent years. The voters will align them this year, but I'm going to malign them. (Disalign? Unalign? Who am I kidding, I will malign them too.) As tepid as I am on Nomadland for Picture, Zhao is my Director choice. She is clearly a masterful artist and impressionistic storyteller. But more than that, she's able to conjure a mood and state of mind with her pseudo-documentary hybrid style. She gets us to feel what the character is feeling and put us right in the environment -- and makes it seem effortless. The film's long, languid takes allow us to breathe the air, drink in the scene, and live in the moment, unhurried. Zhao augments the nomadic quality of the film in every shot. But (oh, you knew there was a 'but'), on the down side, I also find the style to be a bit tedious and overdrawn at times. Because of my lack of investment, the film often struggles to keep my attention, or more accurately, my curiosity. And despite the film being touted as a tale of community and interconnectedness, it mostly suggests to me (via the main character) feelings of pain, loneliness, coldness, and sadness. But ultimately, I think those things speak more to the story than the directing. This will doubtless be a crowning a achievement for Zhao, but I'm more excited to see what the future will bring, and what she can do for a story that I'm invested in.

I was really close to picking Lee Isaac Chung for my Should Win, for his rich, captivating film, Minari. (Really close. You, the fortunate, insulated reader, will never truly know how much I agonize over this. Some suffer for art, I suffer for unsolicited criticism.) Honestly, I was tempted to give Chung a clean sweep of Picture, Director, and Screenplay; but instead I've opted to spread them around (I can play Academy politics all by myself). So many of the qualities of Zhao's film are present in Chung's film as well; his toolbox is just as full and varied. His quiet, atmospheric shots are unburdened by haste yet always nudging the story ahead. Chung draws us in, as another member of the Yi family, our hopes rising and falling with each challenge and trifle (and sexed chick) they face. There's a real confidence in his style; he knows how to best engage the audience for the specific journey. For me though, what I appreciate most is the warmth of his filmmaking; while the story has tribulations, the film itself is compassionate, never harsh or aggressive. That stands in stark contrast to Nomadland; the palette is one of the main things that sets them apart. Chung also scored points by showcasing the best accessory on the virtual Golden Globes telecast: a ridiculously adorable child. (Was that his own kid, or a rental? Only his publicist knows for sure.) Careful, I might accidentally talk myself into flipping my pick to Chung.

This was supposed to be his year. Goddammit, this was supposed to be his year! That was the sentiment from cinephiles all over the internet this year. Throw a rock in any direction and you'll hit a podcaster (and possibly me) ranting about how David Fincher was robbed in 2011 when he lost Best Director for The Social Network to Tom Hooper and The King's Speech. (Was the Academy justified? Since then, Fincher landed a third Oscar nomination, fourth Golden Globe nomination, and two Emmy wins; Hooper directed Cats.) In early winter, the pieces seemed to be lining up for a Fincher victory with Mank: a big, mainstream, Hollywood-y underdog story; an ode to the most revered film of all time, Citizen Kane; a scenery-chewing performance from beloved thesp Gary Oldman; a film that was more accessible (read: less weird and violent) than most of his other fare; and a passion project that he had been developing for decades, written by his late father. The only question was not whether the film could win all the Oscars, but whether it could cure pediatric cancer or pilot a rocket to Jupiter. But that was 2020… and we all know how that year went. Maybe it's the fatigue caused by the prolonged award campaign season, maybe it's the lack of theaters that would have showcased his visual marvel, or maybe it's the fact that the film didn't quiiiiiiite live up to the hype, but one thing is clear: Fincher is out of the race. I'll say what a lot of the other film snobs won't: This is probably not the film we want Fincher to win for anyway. We want him to win for something sharper, weirder, more incisive, and more upsetting; in short, something more Fincher-ish. Mank is fantastic, to be sure; and in (mostly) pulling it off, Fincher demonstrates his mastery of historical and contemporary cinema. But the hiccups are puzzling. The film is structured like Citizen Kane itself, which makes it at times equally difficult to engage in; but while Kane's flashbacks feel natural, a handful of Mank's feel shoehorned. The dialogue is in the style -- but not the pace -- of hard-boiled 1940s films, which alone is a recipe for difficult viewing; further peppering every retort with unnatural irony makes for wit but not necessarily comprehension. The Kane-esque echo effect doesn't help; neither do subtitles. (I tried.) While it turns out that it's not supposed to be his Oscar year after all, I commend Fincher on an effort like this -- the singular vision, the vigor, the risk -- even when I don't necessarily love the movie or connect with it. We need his art, we need his beautiful mess. (But next time maybe throw in a grisly murder, perverted romance, or crippling heartbreak… and acquire a charming child for the awards telecast.)

Emerald Fennell impressively scored a nomination for her first feature film, Promising Young Woman, an inventive genre-mashup of a Rape Revenge movie -- a new spin on a 1970s grindhouse staple. Like a lot of people, I don't quite know what to make of the movie (I don't think I've ever actually seen a Rape Revenge movie… though I've seen plenty of Dognapping Revenge movies). It's a film that could go badly a thousand different ways, but Fennell makes choices that keep it fresh and thoroughly watchable. The primary word that comes to mind is 'subversive'. From the candy coloring to the pop music to the meet-cute to the campy suspense, she toys with convention at every turn (in some cases more effectively than others). Even the support casting -- the kooky, on-the-nose (or 180-flipped) cameos spice up the movie, but also tend to undermine it and give it a B-movie vibe. (Do we really need Jennifer Coolidge and Max Greenfield doing what they do best, but not as well as they usually do it? Probably not. Do they make me chuckle? Yes.) The result is an oddly entertaining movie on a subject that is anything but. The patina of playfulness is helpful; if it was an avalanche of distressing, horrifying scenes, it could be a tortuous watch. All in all, it might be the most enjoyable Rape Revenge movie you'll ever see.

Perhaps the biggest surprise nominee in any category is Thomas Vinterberg, for the Danish film Another Round. (The lion's share of the Oscar buzz had been for star Mads Mikkelsen; the film is also up for Best International film.) This movie is in the grand tradition of celebrating alcohol because excessive drinking is awesome. And the Academy has recognized Vinterberg because he has so astutely captured how booze is a tasty balm for every wound -- an ancient and failsafe key to enlightenment and inner peace. Wait, what's that? I'm sorry… I'm being told that this movie is actually a cautionary tale. Hmmm. I guess I should have watched it sober. In light of that, I suppose the film is an interesting examination of middle-aged ennui and the tendency to overlook that which is right in front of you. (Anyone that has gotten this far in the article knows exactly what ennui is, and should have overlooked what was right in front of them.) It's also an unintentionally apt allegory for pandemic life: When it started, we began drinking a bit at home, enjoying Zoom happy hours, and generally having a good time; pretty soon we were day-drinking out of sheer boredom, trying to teach our home-schooled kids long division while buzzed, and it got very sad and depressing; now we're all pretty much ready to jump off the pier. In general, I like the film (though I prefer my mid-life drinking crises more in the mold of Old School), but the story and arc are fairly telegraphed. You mean their problems can't be fixed by increased alcohol consumption? The more you drink, the harder it is to control? Drinking at work as a teacher around minors might go awry? Instead of booze, have they tried rest, exercise, healthy eating, or appreciating the good things in their lives? (Who I am kidding, those are a waste of time.) Ultimately, there are several directors I would have chosen over Vinterberg (Christopher Nolan for Tenet, George C. Wolfe for Ma Rainey's Black Bottom, and Florian Zeller for The Father come to mind), but it's interesting to see the continuing trend of nominating non-American filmmakers in this category, as the Directors' branch of the Academy becomes increasingly international.

I want to talk about the ending of Another Round for a moment. If you didn't see the movie (and I'm betting you didn't), just skip this paragraph. Most of the reviews I've read online interpret the ending as a hopeful, happy one. I think that's crazy. The ending is a Trojan horse. It looks joyful, but just underneath lies tragedy: The trio resume drinking after they've seemingly hit rock bottom and lost their best friend to booze; they believe they're in control and having a good time when really they're spiraling into chaos; they think they've found a balance, when they're actually sliding endlessly further into alcoholism. They don't realize that they cannot enjoy life sober. I think one of the reasons why I like the movie so much is that it masks that ending as a "happy" one, much the way a drinker would see it when they don't realize there's a problem. The ending is denial. A lot of people have seen the final scene as uplifting and life-affirming (even Vinterberg seems to say this in interviews, which is puzzling), that the friends have come to terms with their drinking, and have found a way to drink in moderation and still invigorate their lives and celebrate the small things. I don't understand that take at all. I would buy it if they had found a way to celebrate life while sober. Instead, I think it's the surest sign that they are destroying their lives, because they don't even realize it's happening. It's the 'darkest timeline'. They ask themselves the wrong question, "What would Tommy do?", instead of "What would Tommy want us to do?", and we know exactly what Tommy would do because we see him drink himself to death. Martin has gotten a reconciliatory text from his wife, but just as he's about to go to her, he instead joins the party, quickly gets plastered, and literally goes off the deep end. What's truly heartbreaking is seeing that they've (gleefully and unknowingly) perpetuated the cycle, having encouraged the next generation to drink in order to cope and be "awakened to life". I think there are hints in the final song lyrics ("What a Life") and the movie's poster (the image of Mikkelsen recklessly chugging champagne in a blurry stupor is from the final scene). To me, the seemingly exuberant ending is a fallacy… and utterly tragic.

In a surprise move that everyone saw coming, I'm naming Christopher Nolan as my Snubbed choice, for his twisty, backwards-y spectacle, Tenet. Did I understand the movie? Of course. Oh, you didn't? Dummy.

BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN: Derek Cianfrance, Abraham Marder, Darius Marder (Sound Of Metal) WILL WIN: Emerald Fennell (Promising Young Woman) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Aaron Abrams, Brendan Gall (The Lovebirds) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Sam Levinson (Malcolm And Marie)

Did his name have to be Ryan? No, that wasn't my biggest takeaway from the script for Emerald Fennell's Promising Young Woman. But it was a big one. As Carey Mulligan's chances fade a bit, Screenplay is the movie's strongest chance to strike gold, making a strong run in the precursory awards. The ending of the film has been pretty divisive, but I like that it's completely unexpected. Maybe it's contrived, but it's what makes the movie memorable for me, and separates it from other revenge thrillers. Or maybe it's inevitable, given the themes of the movie and the character pursuing her mission past the point of no return. Either way, did his name have to be Ryan? Unless Fennell's role (she's an actress, too) as Camilla Parker Bowles on The Crown accidentally embroils her in recent royal family controversies, she should be collecting this award on Oscar night.

Most of the praise for Sound Of Metal has been specifically for its sound design. But it starts with the script (written by director Darius Marder, along with Derek Cianfrance and Abraham Marder), which is the blueprint for the sound and experience of the movie. And it's my pick (by a hair) for best screenplay of the year. It has -- hey, whaddya know! -- an actual narrative, with a main character who has an objective and opposition. It's always impressive to me when a story has very little I can directly relate to, but it still manages to resonate, and strikes a tone that feels real. I also appreciate the skill in the writing -- it's minimalistic, yet thorough in the ways that matter. The film doesn't explain a lot or give us much exposition -- it doesn't lean on voice-over, window characters, or monologues. It's quiet. Which may seem obvious considering it's about a man losing his hearing, but even the man himself and the real world he lives in have a muted vibe (despite his mind being anything but calm). The film has also been lauded for its authentic portrayal of deaf people… but not for its authentic portrayal of audiologists. (I mean, how bad is Ruben's audiologist consultation, that he is in no way prepared for how things would sound after getting cochlear implants? I get more information from my dentist when getting a cavity filled.) Also: What does metal sound like? I still don't know.

Aaron Sorkin would seem like the obvious pick here, for The Trial Of The Chicago 7. It's the kind of sonorous, social-consciousness word-porn we've come to love and expect from him. But he's already got an Oscar (though most people assume he has three), and the fight-the-system theme isn't exactly unique to his script this year. Not surprisingly, the movie feels like a mash-up of The West Wing and A Few Good Men, complete with humorous exchanges of smug cleverness, heart-warming declarations of overly-simplified principle, and his own trademark Sorkin-esque version of facts. Sure, the story of the Chicago 7 is intriguing, but would I rather watch a movie about a Chicago 7-Eleven? It's tempting…

I've previously talked about the reasons I appreciated Minari so much (written by director Lee Isaac Chung). A lot of the sweetness of the film is present in the screenplay. He cleverly tells much of the story through the eyes of a 7-year-old boy, so it's told less fact-by-fact, and more through the filter of a child's memory. (Chung based the screenplay somewhat on his own experiences growing up.) Charming as it is, I can't help but view it through the filter of a parent's anxiety: 1) Is moving across the country to live in a small town where you don't know anyone, living in a trailer, and starting a farm with zero experience the best way to solve marital problems? 2) One of the main promotional photos for the movie is a of the little boy holding a stick. Am I crazy, or is that the same stick that the father was going to use to beat the boy when he disobeyed? Did the marketing person keep their job after that? 3) The friend's deadbeat dad leaves the kids alone overnight, presumably out carousing and drinking, then shows up at breakfast hammered, saying, "Tell your mom I was here all night." How many times can you get away with that? 4) When the boy cuts his foot, is it bad that I did not think of the wound or his safety, but about the blood getting on the carpet? 5) Why aren't these kids in school??

Perhaps the script (and movie) with the biggest head of steam coming into awards night is Judas And The Black Messiah, a late entry that has been picking up acolytes left and right. The film has been lauded for its approach to the story of Black Panther leader Fred Hampton -- by telling it as a gritty, 70s-style, cat-and-mouse thriller, from the perspective of the FBI informant sent to help stop him. Director Shaka King (who wrote the script with Will Berson, based on ideas from the Lucas Brothers) has said that structure, instead of a more traditional biopic style, helped get it made by a studio. Despite the inevitability of the ending, the dramatic conflict and ferocity of the performances make for a satisfyingly tense ride.

This is going to come back to bite me, but my snubbed pick is Malcolm And Marie (or, as it should have been called, Things You Shouldn't Say To Your Girlfriend At 2 AM When You're Drunk And She's In A Bad Mood). It's like a really long Bad Idea Jeans commercial. Now, I'm not necessarily recommending this movie. You should know that most critics and regular people hate it. It's two hours of a couple arguing. It's a rough ride. It's indulgent, overwrought, and well, chock-full of mental and emotional abuse. But (stay with me here), if you can get past all that, those elements have a purpose, and there is a point to the film. I think the key is that it's not intended to be literal. It's allegorical for how we talk to ourselves -- the internal conflict we have, when we wrestle with ideas that are hard to reconcile. It's also lyrical; there's an elegance in how the characters spew eloquent vitriol at each other and rhapsodize (okay, rant) about some opinions that seem dead-on and others that seem wildly inaccurate. In some ways, the words seem like the most important thing; but in other ways, I think the movie could work as a silent film. (Either way, it's inventive: It was the first major film to shoot completely during the pandemic, so it takes place in a single home, with 2 actors, in more-or-less real time.) Writer/director Sam Levinson poses interesting questions about storytelling and authorship: Sure, write what you know; but also, and maybe more interestingly, try to write (and learn) about what you don't know. (Case in point: I don’t really have any experience or expertise about the Oscars, yet here I am.) Levinson has gotten a lot of criticism for what appears to be his point of view. I think that's fair, but I also disagree. I believe it's a bit of a misdirection. I think he believes in both sides of the argument; he's been the irrational, emotional one, and the cool, calculating one. The characters are halves to a whole. There's also the frustration with how the couple end up. The film is ambiguous, but audiences seem to think they stay together. I think the girlfriend actually decides before the movie starts that she's leaving him, and this is their breakup. That's why she lets him say all the horrible things he does, because she knows he has to get it out -- it affirms what she already knows, and reinforces her decision. Did I sell you on the movie yet? No? Well, how about this: It's the best autobiographical movie that Burton and Taylor never made.

As an honorable mention, it would have been a nice story had Mank been nominated here, as it was written by David Fincher's father, Jack Fincher, over two decades ago. The elder Fincher was a life-long newspaper man, who had an affinity for 1930s/1940s cinema, a strong knowledge of Herman Mankiewicz, and a fascination with a famously-dissenting Pauline Kael article that disparaged Orson Welles's contributions to the Citizen Kane screenplay. David Fincher had hoped to get his passion project off the ground in the 90s, but hasn't been able to until now. A nomination would have been a touching tribute to his father, who died in 2003. (Another interesting connection: John Mankiewicz, Herman Mankiewicz's grandson, was an executive producer on David Fincher's House Of Cards.) Despite my frustrations with the overall movie, the script is slick, and analyzes some intriguing inside-the-snowglobe aspects of Citizen Kane. It's a crackling, showy piece that jauntily goes out of its way to flaunt its writerliness. (For you keen-eyed writers out there, you'll notice I just made up the word 'writerliness'.) It doesn’t necessarily require you to believe that Citizen Kane is the greatest film ever made, but a healthy sense of awe doesn’t hurt. (It also helps to have a working knowledge of the film's lore, pre-WWII Hollywood, and 1930s -- or some would say, 2020s -- California politics.) The script simultaneously adores and gives a middle finger to Hollywood. Isn’t that what art is supposed to do? (That's not a rhetorical question. I'm actually asking if art is supposed to do that. Because I don't know.)

I've picked The Lovebirds as my Gloriously Omitted choice, not because it's a bad movie, but because it's a missed opportunity. It should have been amazing. The premise, the trailer, the choice of leads, and the chemistry are all fantastic, and set lofty expectations. But the movie itself is just… underwhelming. Maybe hopes were too high, but it's not as clever, tight, or funny as I wanted it to be. The problem isn't the actors -- Issa Rae truly holds the screen, and Kumail Nanjiani is naturally funny (though his character doesn't stray far from previous ones). I think it's the script (from Aaron Abrams and Brendan Gall), which feels rushed and half-baked, like a collection of sketch ideas. It's as if the screenplay left chunks blank, with a note saying, "The actors will figure out something funny on set." For these actors, I'd rather see a taut thriller story, and let them imbue it with humor and humanity. Or better yet, let Rae and Nanjiani write it themselves next time.

BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY:

SHOULD WIN: Christopher Hampton, Florian Zeller (The Father) WILL WIN: Chloé Zhao (Nomadland) GLORIOUSLY OMITTED: Jane Goldman, Joe Shrapnel, Anna Waterhouse (Rebecca) INGLORIOUSLY SNUBBED: Ruben Santiago-Hudson (Ma Rainey's Black Bottom)

Adapted Screenplay is going to get swept up in the Nomadland tidal wave on Oscar night, but to me it's probably the film's weakest element. I've talked about my lack of connection to the story. I understand the opinion that it's resonant, but is it revelatory? I can certainly see how it would strike a stronger chord during the pandemic, when we are all isolated; it makes the main character's loneliness feel more real. We've all been living in Nomadland, and whether it's David Strathairn shattering our favorite plates, or our kids shattering our iPad, we're just about at wit's end. But Chloé Zhao's script also plays up the theme of community and interconnectedness, and I didn't really feel that. The main character seems to be closing herself off from connection (though the ending suggests a change that we never actually get to see). A red flag is a movie description that says, "It asks more questions than it answers." Ugh, that's tough. For me, narrative is king. I understand that the movie is literally about a drifter with no plan, and the structure of the film is supposed to make you feel unmoored, but a little plot direction would be nice. Then there's the emotional climax, when Bob the Nomad Guru comes to the rescue to explain the whole theme. He tells Frances McDormand (but really, us) that he gets through grief by helping other people: "For a long time, every day was, How can I be alive on this earth when he’s not? And I didn’t have an answer. But I realized I could honor him by serving people. It gives me a reason to go through the day. Some days that's all I've got." Hmmm, where I have I seen that exact sentiment expressed before? Oh yeah, an award-winning short film called Through The Trees. (Available now, for free on YouTube.)

Dementia Mystery Thriller… is that a movie genre? Well, it might be, after success of The Father (written by Christopher Hampton and Florian Zeller, adapted from Zeller's Tony-winning play). "Exciting" is hardly the word I would use to describe the horrible crumbling of the mind that is dementia, but in this movie, it weirdly fits. The film has a way of presenting the disorder in a unique manner, that goes a long way in conveying the helplessness and frustration of the victim. With copycat movies inevitable, I can almost see Christopher Nolan's version now: Demento, where a mumbling Tom Hardy (unrecognizable under heavy old-man makeup) kills his caregiver twice because he can't remember if he already killed her… or her identical twin. The big twist comes when he discovers whether he killed them in the past, or in the future, or if he's remembering the memory of someone else who killed them. The scenes of the movie play in a different random order every time, and the only score is the constant deafening sound of the old man's heartbeat. Marion Cotillard plays the twins -- apparently the only females in the universe -- using whatever accent she feels like, because she has limited, unrealistic dialogue, and has no compelling story or agency, or any useful traits for an actress whatsoever. Hardy's son may or may not be a British crime lord or an undercover MI6 agent, played by Michael Caine (digitally de-aged to look the age that Hardy actually is). An emaciated Christian Bale, who manages to lose 3 inches of height for the role, makes a cameo as Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Revolutionary practical effects include a life-size recreation of Westminster Abbey inside a zero-gravity chamber, for one massively-complicated but forgettable 5-second shot. It will only cost $723 million, and will go straight to HBO Max. I will name it the best film of 2022.

I may be picking The Father, but I'm rooting for The White Tiger, written and directed by Ramin Bahrani. Set in India in the recent past, it's a striking, chilling tale of what men may be willing to do (or forced to do) to escape poverty. Bahrani constructs a fiery examination of themes that never get old: power vs. agency, freedom vs. choice, complicity vs. culpability. His script uses a lot of devices that shouldn't work: excessive, expository voice-over; explicitly-stated metaphors; speaking directly to the audience; and on-the-nose correlations to current times. But the story and acting are strong enough to make these feel integral. Given the themes and foreign setting, it has the misfortune (or great fortune) of being an easy comparison to Parasite, last year's Oscar grand prize winner. But I find The White Tiger far more accessible and scrutable than Parasite (maybe partly due to the devices I mentioned). A win here would be a welcome surprise. By the way, Bahrani's first Oscar nomination is an interesting footnote to Hollywood lore: In the 2014 Roger Ebert documentary Life Itself, we learn that Ebert was given a legendary token by Laura Dern -- a puzzle that had been passed on from several film icons, with the understanding that each would pass it on to someone truly deserving. Dern had gotten it from revered acting teacher Lee Strasberg, and it originated when Alfred Hitchcock gave it to Marilyn Monroe years before. And now Ebert was giving it to Bahrani. 60 years of movie history, from Hitchcock to Bahrani, and into the future. (Good thing it's not at my house, we would have lost several pieces by now.)

Four of the most famous and popular men in the country walk into a bar… so shouldn't the patrons be freaking out more? One Night In Miami plays out a very intriguing hypothetical scenario: When Malcolm X, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, and Sam Cooke all met one night in 1964, what did they talk about? The compelling script (by Kemp Powers, based on his own play) and naturalistic direction (by Regina King) make for a highly enjoyable think-piece and character study. It's a daunting task, to say the least: Not only are they representing extremely visible and important figures, but two of the actors (Kingsley Ben-Adir as Malcolm X, Eli Goree as Ali) are reprising roles already played by Oscar-nominated performers (Denzel Washington, Will Smith) who may be more famous than the actual figures themselves. I guess my hang-up (besides the horrendous Johnny Carson impersonation) is, what are the stakes? Historically, we know the stakes for these four people, in the larger context of their lives and the civil rights movement. But in the film itself, in that single night, for these specific characterizations, what are the stakes? What are they each looking for that evening? I think the movie doesn't fully address this, structurally. Ultimately, due to their fame, we know where the characters' lives go from here -- how it "ends". While that makes it interesting culturally, it feels like it puts a ceiling on the movie in a way, like it's holding something back. With these outsized characters, plot-wise, I wanted a little bit more.

Released in October with almost no warning, Borat Subsequent Moviefilm either single-handedly swung the presidential election, or had no absolutely no impact whatsoever, depending on who you ask. It's a rare feat for an original movie and its sequel to both score Oscar nominations for screenplay; I can't think of another time it's ever happened for a comedy. The fact that it's even under consideration -- given its improvisational nature and whopping nine (nine!) screenwriters (I'm not going to name them all, I'm trying to keep this article brief) -- is fairly astonishing. Even more baffling still, it's been placed in the Adapted category instead of Original. (Pesky Academy rules: Any sequel is automatically defined as an adaptation of the original.) The movie itself is unfortunately a shell of the unrelentingly funny original (Sacha Baron Cohen looks more like a middle-aged man doing a mediocre Borat impression at this point). When the big night arrives, the film will either single-handedly swing the Oscar vote, or have absolutely no impact whatsoever, depending on who you ask.

One of the biggest surprises on nomination day was the exclusion of Ma Rainey's Black Bottom from Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay, assumed to be a lock in both categories. It was even thought to contend with Nomadland in this category (it would have gotten my vote, had they asked me). I think it was diminished by the perception of being a fairly straight recreation of August Wilson's play, which is a shame. The film version (written by Ruben Santiago-Hudson) makes wonderful use of the physical space, the confinement, the claustrophobia. And I'd say the movie feels more like an album than a play -- a collection of "songs" (monologues, exchanges, and actual songs), each with its own rhythm, beat, lyrics, and theme, but coming together as a cohesive piece. The composition is effective; it draws you in the way the best albums do, and challenges your brain to think one thing while your heart feels something else. (My only complaint is that I wanted more of Viola Davis and Chadwick Boseman together! Their personalities are electric, and their personas overtake the room. Their conflict is brief (it mostly flows over to conflicts with other characters), and I really wanted to see them alone, head-to-head and unbridled. I realize their distance is purposeful, and important thematically, but damn, it could have been a showdown for the ages. Just another reason to wonder… What might have been?)

The remake of Rebecca was written by a few people, including Joe Shrapnel, whose name may have been a bad harbinger for what was to become of this script. Keep it simple: Please leave Hitchcock alone.

#oscars #oscarpredictions #oscarpredictions2021 #oscarprognostication2021 #donovansoscarprognostication2021 #oscars2021 #academyawards #academyaward

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apocalypsisciconia · 3 years

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Reupload of my twitter parks with Captions [LONG POST]

Finished my first park in what feels like a very long time, here's Electric Fields! I'll post under this thread the detail and name of each unique ride for any who's interested!

Submerged Ramparts and Angel Garden were the first two rides to having a dedicated mini area for the aesthetic, with the rapid rides taking place in a dilapidated, water logged castle, and the mini car ride has you taking through a pleasant stroll amongst giant garden creatures.

The Flooded Dam Site is a ride inspired off the idea that the river which flows from through the park and what sunk the castle was because of wanton flumes flowing through and around the bank, and this ride lets you explore the upheaval of the doomed project.

Malbogia, Valbogia, and Thunder Light are some of the attractions that make up the 'electric' part of Electric Farm. Malbogia and Valbogia are mirrored coasters, starting and ending at the same time while Thunder Light is an enjoyable mini coaster that everyone is able to ride.

Here we have Salamander and Vic Viper, arguably the centerpiece of the park, it is a large, dueling Wooden Coaster (something of an unintentional trademark of mine) that end at *just* the right timing and focus around the previously vacated barn.

Nestled just outside the barn is an enjoyable wonderland themed restpoint, with Candy Romp going over and around the lower path, allowing visitors to enjoy a much more peaceful area in contrast to the towering twin coasters just north of it.

To the west of the barn lies the prehistoric Go-Karts Dinosaur Garden and the low energy minecart ride Factory Highway, both of which are reachable by going through or around the barn.

The aptly enormous gigacoaster here is Serpent Of Savage Tides, the longest coaster in the park. Utilizing the games mechanic of chain lifts always supporting a car even with single track pieces, I was able to wind it up quite high without having the climb take up space.

And last but not least, The Hollowtowers, whose aesthetic loosely goes off my friend @hp_hollowtones, this coaster lacks a conventional lift, instead boosting through dual 65ft loops and letting momentum carry it all the way home.

What if there was Rollercoaster in the dark ages and we simply didn't have the proper means of recording? What if Rollercoasters were....Dragons? Welcome to Mirefautin Forest, where Dragons and Thrills are one in the same! Thread will go into details for each major coaster.

Just as Cagliostro was the great ancestor of alchemy, this coaster was the first to be built and managed to keep up amazingly well with all future ideas. The most fun part of this coaster to me is the way it climbs to the top for it's many drops and turns.

The Woadweed Dancers provide a calmer alternative to Cagliostro, and remains the parks premier coaster for younger or easily scared riders, it was built with the idea to occupy the space that Cagliostro had left open, making it 'dance' above the commonfolk.

The largest and most daunting ride, Wyvern Flame Diffusion, emulates the swooping and diving of a hellbent wyvern destroying a castle, this ride is thunderous, fast, and not for the faint of heart, yet remains the parks most popular ride due to the unique castle theming.

A jagged mountain looms over all, none approaching the destroyed fortress that lies on high. Dragonpeak Desolation is a reverse suspendered incline coaster that offers the quickest and most haunting thrills as you twist and loop up the mountain, only to do it again in reverse!

As fast as lighting, Thunder Dragon Malsin starts at a wild 49MPH as you destroy the town before you, culminating in massive quarter loops that see you make devastation of the town's centerpiece tavern.

Great Contest is the town sanctioned race where Silver and Great mare's race above the tree's, the people, and even hollow caves below! This is a dual coaster ensuring that no matter how fast or far they are, they always end up neck and neck by the end!

The final Dragon is Heraldic Dragon Tiamatiz, the one who heralds in the forest and it's creatures. The way this coaster works is that it goes beneath the ground before ramping up speed to clear all the inversions.

#OpenRCT2 #long post

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nochirou · 4 years

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Photography and Art: the Art of Photo Manipulation

Roadtrips are fun. Going to places you have not gone, pitstops on good scenic areas, tasting the local food and shower yourself with the culture native to the area. I have not given myself the opportunity to take those memories that much since the only times I have visited those photogenic places is when I was a small nugget of 2 years old. I made a goal to myself that I will be taking scenic photos with my (back then Motorola Razr) phone. Even with the low quality, I still love the little things that make a scenic photograph into a work of art. From the raindrops, to the rays of the sunlight, the dews from the newly tended grass, to the fog that makes the scenery eerie and mysterious.

As time goes by and a few phones and a flight to Canada later, I started to take scenic photos more than usual. From Ottawa to Montreal, to Quebec City, to Montebello and Huntsville, I took pictures that made me realize that the journey is just as good as the destination itself. With the advent of Instagram and Snapchat, picture filters are a way to express your artistic sense via editing the overall colours of the photo taken or saved in your phone. It takes the simplified Adobe Photoshop on the palm of your hands. Social media presence made these tools possible and accessible for all users, thus skyrocketing the usage of different photo editing tools for scenic photos or self portrait taken photos (selfies).

I took photos of the travels I made during my time here in Canada, specifically between Ontario and Ottawa, and I took 2 pictures that reflects my views about photo manipulation. One of which is a bridge in Sarnia, Ontario. As you can see here, I took this on a bright sunny morning with an unbearable amount of glare save this tree I used to shade myself from the sweltering sun. Sky lining the bridge, I can see why this area is a well visited tourist attraction. Cargo boats honking through the channel, with speedboats and other yachts crowding the channel entrance of Lake Huron, and tourists admiring the view with their foldable chairs and cold drinks. With the right number of rays of sunshine plus a good and clear phone camera, I took a snap. It is what I hoped for, a shot that can be both admired and used for both on a wall frame or a background picture of a monitor screen.

Unedited photo of the bridge in Sarnia, Ontario

When my sister saw the picture I took, she suggested that I add or edit the picture to make it look even better, by using either Instagram or other photo editor software. I formally used a filter plus a crop to emphasize the bridge’s towering edifice, lowered the brightness to reduce a bit of the glare the sun produced from the photo. With the way the photo is edited, I made it into a more rustic and aged photo, still reflects of a towering bridge still being emphasized by the way I took it, with a few cropping in between to make it the center of the photograph. I made the changes to give it more emphasis on the bridge and its surroundings, emphasizing the center of attention being the bridge, which is why I edited it for.

Edited photo of the bridge

The second photo I took, which is from a bridge near Huntsville, Ontario, is just a type that you just want to hang it up on a wall or as a wallpaper for your phone, it still captures the beautiful scenery of a man made structure trying to blend in to nature, in which is why I captured and picked it as one of my pictures for this blog.

Unedited photo of the bridge in Huntsville, Ontario

And the way I edited the picture is the same way I edited the first picture, albeit a different palate and filter. The way the colors are more on the decade of the 2000 look kind of picture, which in my opinion, emphasizes on the bridge’s surroundings more than the bridge itself, more nature focused. It amplifies the fact that with a minor tweak or editing to the photos, you can shift focus or emphasis of the bridge to its surrounding nature, which in this picture dominates over the man made structure, suggesting that I throw away the centerpiece(bridge) and paint it over with nature, thus making all of these pictures a work of art.

Edited photo of the bridge

Do I think my edited images confuse or misguide if they cannot see the originals? I do not think so, because the pictures I took are not some propaganda made by the government. The photos, both edited and unedited, are taken with art in mind, giving the images different emphasis on their respective edifices or background.

Can my edited or unedited photographs can be used as press photographs? For my edited photos, I don’t believe it can be used for press photography because press photography has to portray reality to the public readers, which is the opposite of what art photography is. Edited photos are a big no for press photography also because it violates the NPPA Code of Ethics, which elaborates that press photos are void of changes or edits to them in order to be called as one. As for my unedited photos, it can be used for press photography because it contains no trace of deformation, changes, and/or manipulation to it. As for how its gonna be used, its better if its published in a travelling column of a magazine or newspaper because they know how to use the photos I took and can give the complete and provide the right context of what the photo is for, as written in the NPPA Code of Ethics.

The differences between art and press photography is that art photography is mostly focused on the beauty of the photo, giving it a “pop” to the already beautiful photo, not skewed with propaganda, but with a photographer’s passion for taking the “shot” and beautify it in the way that you can tell that this person took this photo. As for press photography, it focuses more on showing reality than a rose filled picture. Showing reality is a press’ job, thus having unedited photos are very crucial to project what the press wants you to see and tell you about through the photos s/he shared

Out of all my travels, my journey is as much enjoyable as the destination itself, with my phone camera and my seething love for scenery pictures, I’ll always show my love of the places I have been to. Hopefully your travels does it to you, for life is short and memories are forever, snapped on the pages of your phone.

#photography #arts

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guileheroine · 3 years

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a sky full of song

Korra, princess of the Water Kingdoms, receives a gift from her blacksmith friend on the auspicious winter festival. Korrasami royalty AU 🏰🤍🕯️ / My piece for the @korrasami-valentine-exchange (assignment: Date A) / 4.2k / ao3

Councillor Panak trailed off as Korra hurried him along with a gesture of the hand. He pushed his eyeglass up his nose and took her eye seriously. “To the point, then—what do you say?”

“Around the solstice, huh? Alright. Why not.” It was a way off. She had time to arrange her retinue and her schedule as efficiently as possible for maximum enjoyment.

“...That means a tour to the Earth Empire in the spring—or summer, if Her Royal Highness prefers it?”

“Oh, spring,” Korra said in a rush. “Spring. I’m not sure I can do Earthen summers.”

“Are we done, then?” Korra stood before he answered, and he scrambled to his feet after her. “Perfect!”