Midnight Hour
With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.
“Star? Is everything okay?”
His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.
You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.
Pairing: Astarion x Reader
Word Count: 3,139
Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]
Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.
Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.
You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.
Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.
In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.
Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.
Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.
You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.
He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.
The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.
You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.
You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.
You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.
So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.
He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.
With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.
“Star? Is everything okay?”
His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.
You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.
“What- what’s going on?”
You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.
He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.
Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.
“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”
He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.
You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.
Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.
You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.
Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.
“Astarion, are you with me right now?”
He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.
“I’m trying to be…”
You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.
“There you are…”
You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.
“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”
He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.
You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.
“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”
He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.
“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”
Your heart breaks.
“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”
He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.
“I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.
“It’s okay to cry, you know?”
Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.
“No.”
You soften your voice, insisting.
“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”
His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.
“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”
His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.
You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.
You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.
He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.
Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.
“That’s it, love. Let it out.”
“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”
“There’s nothing wrong with this.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”
He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.
You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.
After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.
“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”
You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.
“You wanna lie down with me, love?”
He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.
“Someone has to keep watch.”
You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.
“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”
He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.
It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.
Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.
Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.
“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”
A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest.
On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already.
Header Image Source: x
786 notes
·
View notes
talk about kinoga. NOW.
GAH
I JUST THINK THEY ARE SO............. well first of all. they are so cute and handsome. look at them right now
Second of all I have one million feelings about them and it's barely an exaggeration. For those who aren't familiar, Kinoga is one of my beloved splatoon ocs and I think about them all the time. Originally made when I tossed a "what-if" idea about Trito, my first splatoon oc, who was once part of the octarian military, if he runs into one of the old squad members on the surface, and Kinoga was born with the help of @igneouskit. Brainworms ensue. its terminal. check out their toyhouse
(extremely brief rundown for those unfamiliar with splatoon lore the relevant bits are as follows: some octolings are part of a military that were forced underground after a war with the Inklings over land due to rising seas. At some point during the plot, the song Calamari Inkantation is sung by the two idols, which is apparently imbued in the DNA of all creatures and compels octolings to see the surface. In the splatoon 2 DLC, octo expansion, some octolings are recruited by a shady company called Kamabo Co, which entices participants to enroll in tests through a deep sea metro, and offers the "promised land" as a reward. Completing the tests entails collecting parts of a blender, and the "reward" is getting blended into sludge. This sludge can get injected into other octos which causes them to lose their will and consciousness ("sanitization").
timeline-wise much of their story takes place between splat 2, through octo expansion, and is currently in the splat 3 era. When they were still in the military, they ended up hearing the Calamari Inkantation like Agent 8 did. Kinoga and their squad were incredibly close to each other. Unwilling to just up and leave the underground but wanting to give their squadmates a better life, Kinoga hears about Kamabo's "promised land" and wants to seek it out, so they leave the squad to embark on the metros and promises to return. They do not <3 Some of the tests make them encounter sanitized octolings and they begin to question what's really happening in the metros. Their tipping point is when they run into Agara, one of their squadmates that decided to enter the metros to look for Kinoga and ends up being sanitized. Kinoga, facing the crushing realization that their squadmates had followed them, unaware of the danger, narrowly escapes being killed by Agara and eventually makes it to the surface.
This results in them experiencing a good amount of crushing guilt about leaving, they never knew it would lead to the possibility of dooming their whole squad that followed after them because they were loved and trusted. Kinoga had no way of letting the rest of them know that they should turn back and it's so. AAUGH. They have no choice but to continue on, finding life on the surface and eventually making it to splatsville with the belief that the rest of the squad may be gone. Agara and Trito end up running through the metro, Agara gets sanitized and Trito survives, albeit without getting a nasty scar from an accident that nearly got him sanitized.
Trito makes me insane also. he's my funny silly rabbit. I care about him so so much. trito goes through the metros, to maybe catch up with kinoga or meet them at the promised land, trusting that it was worth leaving if Kinoga decided it was worth it for all of them too.
Trito, upon learning about The Horrors in the metro later, realizes what could have happened to Kinoga and Agara and is unwilling to return to the rest of the squad with this knowledge, struck by the possibility that they're both gone. <-also has to realize that these horrible things have been happening to all the octlings that left to go do the metro tests. He too, eventually escapes to the surface and makes it to Inkopolis.
Years later, Trito, on a day trip to Splatsville, encounters Kinoga on the streets, and they lock eyes. and. fuck. They thought they were dead and had dealt with the grief and accepting that they were gone, effectively pushing those thoughts aside, and now they're physically in front of each other and they have to deal with it again. they make me SICK. Kinoga knowing that trito went to the metros and followed them and made it out also. Trito knowing that Kinoga experienced the horrors as well and survived. Neither of them able to return to tell the rest of the squad but they're both here, alive on the surface and aarrghhhhhhh. now they have to cope with this. they hastily exchange contact information, having to leave each other again, and end up meeting later to really catch up.
I'm so normal about kinoga and their relationship to trito post-domes. They don't even realize that they miss each other so much because they accepted that they were already gone. Seeing how much the other had changed. Being each other's only tie to their previous lives and it dawns on them that they never can move on from this. Kinoga struggles to tell Trito that they couldn't bring themselves to go back, not knowing if they could escape a second time, not knowing if any of their teammates were still left, already dealing with occasional spurts of being wracked by grief. Trito feeling the same, wanting to forget the terrible things and find happiness on the surface, but disheartened when learning that Kinoga also couldn't bring themselves to go back to look (though now that the both of them are together.....they do eventually muster the courage to go back to the domes to look for their old squadmates). It like. sucks so bad. They didn't intend to abandon their squad, but they were given circumstances where they just could not, and none of the other squad members could have known and suffer for it. aarghhhhh.
They end up at Trito's place, Kinoga and Trito end up being very affectionate towards each other after reuniting, definitely Trito being clingier...Compelled to hold onto each other and not let go, not after feeling so much regret about leaving in the first place. It's like. they left once before and terrible things happened out of their control, so they're allowed to hold each other as close as they can so it doesn't happen again (THE DEMONS) (GRIPS). it's irrational for Trito especially to think that he'll never see Kinoga again when they have to leave, since they live in separate cities and have to go in the morning. and kinoga knows it's irrational and they do their best to comfort him anyways because. who could blame him for wanting to keep them there after being gone for so long and so unexpectedly. The slow, crushing experience of not fully registering that someone could be gone and it creeps up to them until it hits. auuuuugh. they have to be so tender with each other, not really knowing where to take things afterwards but relishing in the moment of having each other there. riding the high of each other's comfort. fuck. this post is just getting worse as it goes. Trito breaking down in Kinoga's arms because he's had to hold in his grief and having nowhere to put it and then finally being able to release it. just being able to feel Something again. kinoga feeling so heartbroken to see trito like this, remembering that he was always so outspoken and smiling and having him curled up against them unable to say anything. holding him as tightly as they can. Feeling the need to take good care of him. They aren't his squad leader anymore but they still feel compelled to look out for him because then they can feel like they're doing at least something right. whatever. you guys get the gist. I'm way too much of a sucker for like...............pained intimacy. I'm down terrible. I think both of them deserve a little kissy and more. again. very touchy and affectionate with each other, I guess theyre still like "friends" (A WARRIOR'S BOND. OR WHATEVER) and are not "together" like a couple but here are words from igneouskit who put it better then I could ever. they love each other so much and they make me blow up. worlds most situationship
and also one bit I forgot to mention is that Trito has a huge scar on his chest that he hates talking about, it just brings back the fear and pain felt when he got it, and by association reminds him that he's alone from his squad who may never see again, so he's very protective of it. Upon getting back to kinoga, they do find out about the scar accidentally, and Trito lets them. like auuuugh they were so familiar with each other and now get to see what's changed since the last time. exploring eachother's bodies. whatever
Kinoga also ends up feeling really guilty at some point for Trito being immediately so affectionate towards them, they harbor thoughts that they don’t deserve it after having him go through that pain, and trito having to tell them that he made his own decision, nobody was forcing him to go, and besides, did it to see kinoga and now that they’re right in front of him he can give him all the love he’s been holding for them. Auuughhhh. Like don’t worry about feeling guilty for it. It wasn’t their fault. What matters to him now is that they’re both alive and with each other. I feel like blowing up
Even after Kinoga goes back to splatsville the next day trito is still aches about them......like a few days of reunion could never be enough to compensate for the years that they spent apart. every time they meet up after that trito jumps in kinoga's arms and kiss them like it was the first time they'd reunited
anyways. they eventually go back down to the domes to find the others. By that time, Agent 8 had dismantled Kamabo, the Sludge shit was no longer in operation, and octolings have started going to the surface. Kanu, another squad member, left the domes to find Kinoga, Agara, and Trito(jilon was another squad member who left for reasons I haven't decided yet). Denchu, the last remaining member, stayed behind, holding on to the hope that the missing members would someday return (denchu is a whole other can of worms. theyre everything to me and I feel so terrible for them <3). Trito and kinoga meet denchu, they update them on everybody else, leaving agara unaccounted for. Kinoga, who was the only one to see Agara firsthand, knowing that she might be completely unsalvageable, hesitates to bring it up, but Trito insists on going to look for her. aughhh. kinoga wants to spare trito the pain of seeing her dead or unconscious. They do eventually find her </3
She is alive, but not doing well at all, Kinoga desperate to maybe find some way to undo sanitization and restore her to full health, knowing full well that it may not be possible. They take Agara back with them to the surface and Kinoga spends a lot of time agonizing again over having caused this, feeling that agara's state is somehow their fault (ITS NOTT they're beating themselves up so bad for this because they feel responsible for the squad. aughhh).
I think thats all I have for kinoga. for now. obviously there are more thoughts I can get into but currently my brain has just latched so hard on trito and kinoga's fun situation and I love them so much. didn't think I'd get attached to them this bad but here we are </3. I hope everyone who has read this far also enjoys them as much as I do
120 notes
·
View notes
Elvis (2022), culture of celebrity, Greek heroism, idolatry, and dehumanization.
So this Christmas my Gramma got Baz Lurhmann's Elvis Presley biopic, aptly named Elvis, in her stocking. I watched it with her, and then I watched it again three days later, and then a third time a week after that. Since then it's pretty much been keeping me up at night. I felt like I had to get my thoughts down, even if this just lives in my drafts for all eternity. So here we go; I've never written a long-form meta like this, and I'm really just emptying out my brain at this point. (Long post).
1. Elvis as seen through the eyes of the man who killed him (or did he?)
The movie begins in Las Vegas in 1997, and we are immediately introduced to an old man who's just collapsed from a stroke. He's rushed to the hospital in an ambulance and in his stroke-induced, fever-dream narration he describes himself as Colonel Tom Parker, the man who gave the world Elvis Presley. This narration is interrupted by loud voices of accusation and glaring headlines flashing across the screen, which accuse him of abusing, manipulating, overworking, and ultimately causing the death of Elvis Presley. He sits up quickly in his hospital bed, looks out at the Las Vegas cityscape, and tells us not to believe what the newspapers say about him. He declares that he did not, in fact, kill Elvis, and begins to tell the story from his point of view.
Now the first time I watched this movie, I was overwhelmed and slightly put off by the off-kilter pacing, and having read some reviews, I can see that many other viewers were as well. The first half of this movie is frenetic, erratic, impossibly quick-paced, bright, colourful, and has little respect for chronological order. These are the frantic, confused, morphine-induced ramblings of an old man on his deathbed, allegedly trying to set the record straight concerning the serious allegations which have been plaguing him for decades.
Something happens in the middle of this movie, however. After the victorious emotional and career peak of Elvis's '68 Comeback, the tone of the movie takes a turn. The pace slows down, the colour scheme loses its lustre, and there begins a growing sense of unease and dread. Something terrible is coming. It's ominous. Even if the viewer knows nothing about Elvis Presley, the opening scenes of the movie have already told us that he dies at the end. The main character of the story is nearing his end, and the storyteller on his deathbed is also nearing his.
So Elvis dies, and we get to the end of Parker's tale of self-defence. The only problem is, while he's been telling the story, we've been watching the story, and it seems beyond obvious that the Colonel is exactly what the shouting voices accused him of being at the beginning of the movie: a liar, cheat, and conman, guilty of causing Elvis's death. His final statement is easy to throw away as just another lie, "I'll tell you what really killed my boy: it was love, the love he felt from you, his fans." We roll our eyes in disgust and hope that he dies soon.
But wait. What does he mean by that and could he possibly have a point?
2. Celebrity culture, idolatry, and dehumanization.
I love a good story that accomplishes more than one purpose and tells more than just one story. Elvis tells the story of Elvis Presley, sure, and Colonel Tom Parker, and American pop culture, and the history of American music. It also tells a story that's been played out in real life, film, and television many, many times. The story of the meteoric rise and cataclysmic downfall of a beloved celebrity, a cultural icon, a superstar. What causes the downfall? Well, Parker claims that the culprit is love, specifically, the love fans feel for the celebrities they idolize. I found this movie to be a compelling examination of the dangers of the most prevalent form of idolatry in our culture: celebrity worship.
Before watching this movie I thought I had a pretty fair idea of who Elvis Presley was. I grew up in North America after all, and watched television, and you know, existed. I grew up listening to his Christmas album. I grew up watching Full House, in which one of the main characters, Uncle Jesse, is Elvis Presley's biggest fan. Since I can remember I've always been able to identify pictures of Elvis, and his voice. I can sing along to many of his songs. Many years ago my Gramma acquired a box set of all of Elvis's movies; I've seen bits and pieces of quite a few. Because of the internet, I've learned many commonly circulated fun facts about him, things like, "He was actually blond," and, "He was a legit federal agent," and, "He loved peanut butter." White sparkly jumpsuit, slick coiffed black hair, sideburns, curled lip, funny voice = Elvis, of course.
He is one of the preeminent members of a class of celebrity all on its own: the cultural icon. I wonder if some people don't think about the fact that "icon" is a religious word. In the minds of most people, and in the view of pop culture, Elvis Presley is no longer a human being just like anyone else; he has been reduced to a costume, an easily recognized symbol. Of what? Depends on who you ask. A symbol of America, or good, or evil, or Hollywood, or rock 'n roll, or Las Vegas, or teenage rebellion, or wealth, or a sex symbol.
What happens when a human being becomes the object of another human being's worship? They become just that, an object. Forms of worship include adoration, attention, devotion, money, and sex. They are offered in the name of love, and are often received as love. Our unreliable narrator makes the probably-true comment that Elvis became addicted to the false love, to the point where real love could not compare. Worshipers then feel entitlement to receive certain things back. The idol's life becomes public property, an open book which must be available for a photo shoot at all times, no matter how invasive. Fans swarm the gate of his private home, climb trees to peer into his window, refuse to watch a movie in which he doesn't sing, and photographers must capture his grief after his mother's death, and his haircut and physical exam before entering the military. Both the worshipers and the idol are eaten up by the vicious, dehumanizing cycle, which bears the pretty name of love.
We are invited to consider: did the consumeristic, idolatrous culture, which has a tendency to see people as products to be bought, invite the meddling of wicked, opportunistic men like Colonel Parker? Or did the wicked men, who package people up and market them as products to be sold, engineer such a culture?
3. Greek Mythology, the American Dream, and Elvis Presley.
Typology and literary archetypes are my jam. I adore how movies can play with these concepts through imagery and music. One of my all-time favourite movies is A Knight's Tale (2001). A Knight's Tale is about a peasant who masquerades as a knight and achieves fame, wealth, glory, and love. The director wanted the story to resonate with modern audiences, so he decided to portray knights as the medieval equivalent of rock stars. The movie utilizes symbols, metaphors, costume clues, and a killer soundtrack of classic rock songs to reinforce the idea that we are watching not just a movie about a knight, but also a movie about a rock star. The audience is invited to make inferences and assumptions based on what we know about the rock star archetype.
Baz Luhrmann made a comment in a behind-the-scenes interview, that Elvis had a mythic, hard-to-wrap-our-minds-around life, one that conforms to both the ancient Greek heroic tragedy and the American Dream narrative. So naturally I am obsessed with this idea. Let's get into it.
i. Greek hero stories, glory, the classic character arc.
I'm not an expert in Greek mythology, but I'm no slouch either. The ancient world greatly valued this thing, which has many names in many different cultures. You can see it in Genesis, the concept of having a great name, and the power that comes with it. It's a not-quite-abstract but not-quite-actual, metaphysical substance. For the Greeks, we'll call it glory. Glory is gained by accomplishing heroic feats: killing monsters, fighting in wars, and going on quests. Glory comes with fame, reputation, power, respect, money, women, and often supernatural abilities which give the owner the ability to accomplish more heroic feats, thereby gaining more glory. It is the vocation of heroes to pursue glory. Along with the ability to pursue glory, comes the desire for more. The more you have, the more you want. In fact, it's almost addictive.
The other thing about glory: it's corruptive. The longer you have it, the more things you are willing to do to get more, and the more power you have to do those possibly morally dubious things.
Most Greek heroes were demigods. They were born with a little bit of glory already inside them. This compelled them to seek more glory, and since they were demigods, they had a leg up when it came to getting it; they already had some supernatural strength and a powerful parent. They did heroic feats, achieved glory, received the power, fame, and wealth that came with the glory, were compelled to seek after more, and so on and so forth. Most Greek heroes had one or a mixture of two fates. 1) They died. Either they were in a situation where they were prevented from seeking more glory, so they wasted away, or they were killed in the pursuit of glory by an enemy, monster, or possibly by another hero. 2) They became corrupted. This often happened in ironic, cruel-twist-of-fate ways. One of the villains they fought in their youth was an evil king who murdered his own children, so somehow they ended up becoming a king who murdered his own children, something like that. You know the story: "You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain," or the classic, "You've become the very thing you swore to destroy."
ii. The American Dream Narrative.
A common literary trope, the American Dream story is appealing and inspirational, at least at first glance. The structure is pretty simple: The hero is born poor, with nothing but some talent and/or charisma. Due to a mixture of savviness, charm, hard work, and luck, the hero rises to the top and achieves the Dream of money, renown, independence, and freedom. The deconstruction of the American Dream is just as common in fiction. There's a catch, things don't go according to plan, the illusion fails, your luck runs out, etc. There is both so much hope and optimism, and so much mistrust and jadedness surrounding the American Dream. Can it be real?
iii. Elvis Presley.
Elvis was born with a little bit of something. He was born with beauty, charm, and musical talent; a star quality. These qualities of his drove him to use them. Nothing huge at first, but he always had high aspirations; he believed he could go somewhere. The more heroic feats he accomplished (performing and recording music and making movies), the more glory (or fame) he got. The more glory he got, the more he sought; gradually it became addictive. Soon, the corruptive quality of the glory reared its head.
Imagine an arc; the glory propelled him to the top of that arc, along with everything else the glory promises: money, fame, recognition, love, women, power. Up to a point, the glory is a positive force, but once the hero reaches the top of that arc, it becomes a more sinister thing; it starts pushing him down the other side. It starts to corrupt not only the hero but the people around him. While on the upward climb, the glory is like a magic elixir that grants wishes, but on the descent, it becomes more like drinking poison. Elvis's drug addiction and eating disorder seem like an on-the-nose literary device to symbolize this, but no! It happened.
What about the American Dream? He's the poster boy! Born absolutely dirt poor, with nothing but some talent and a dream. With a fortuitous mixture of charisma, hard work, meeting the right people at the right time, and being in the right place at the right time, he rose to the top. He also managed to nab (or be nabbed by) a business-savvy manager with a carnival background. It could only be the American Dream because Elvis, his music, his career, and his fashion were all uniquely American; he couldn't have come from anywhere else in the world, at any other time in history. Rock 'n Roll, the US Army, Hollywood, and Las Vegas, are inseparable from America.
I saw a person saying that the message of Elvis is that the American Dream is unattainable, but I disagree. It is attainable, but that's not the whole story. The movie presents the American Dream more as a deal with the devil. You'll get everything you ever wanted! But then you'll have to pay the price. To gain the American Dream is to open yourself to the ravages of American consumerism and celebrity idol worship. It's to make yourself vulnerable to the vultures, while you fatten yourself on the riches they feed to you. I don't think the movie portrays Elvis as a completely duped, innocent victim. While he was sometimes force-fed the glory (or the pills), many times he swallowed them consciously, willingly, losing the people who were actually looking out for him and truly loved him to forces outside his control, or due to his own choices. He was not immune to the corruptive power of fame and glory; no one is. That's the tragedy.
Anyway, I don't know how to conclude, but this isn't a school assignment so who cares? Baz Luhrmann is a genius, wow what a good movie, I can't wait to watch it again, I didn't even say anything about the soundtrack or Austin Butler's awe-inspiring performance, I love you Austin Butler,* I wrote this instead of a book report for school, it was worth it, I don't even care if no one reads it, I had fun, now to get on with my life.
*edit: his work, that is, and I admire his devotion to his craft. My point is not that we can’t be fans of celebrities. I believe that ALL human beings are worthy of love and dignity, NO human beings are worthy of another human’s worship, and such an attitude is as damaging to the worshipped as it is to the worshiper, and that SOME human beings, by virtue of extraordinary talent, are worthy of additional respect and admiration. I respect and admire Elvis Presley, Baz Luhrmann, and Austin Butler for being talented artists. The English language being what it is, love is the word we often use to sum all that up, but seeing as I just wrote this whole thing, I thought I’d clarify ✌️
25 notes
·
View notes