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astxrwar · 4 months

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drops of blood [1/4]

SYNOPSIS: Bucky Barnes has some wires crossed. He fixates on a barista at a coffee shop near his apartment, and tells himself it's fine as long as he keeps his distance. Except you keep making that distance smaller.

Rating: M

Word Count: 7k

CONTENT WARNINGS: Off-screen violence. Series will enter gray territory in later chapters; angsty guilt-ridden stalking, exhibitionism, consensual-but-not-safe-or-sane vibes all the way down. teehee.

Read on AO3

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When you’re a teenager— no, not even, when you’re a preteen, in middle school— a crew of surveyors for a Russian oil company finds a plane frozen in the Arctic. You’d just finished up the section on World War Two in history class; two weeks ago you’d been sitting in a hard-backed chair with the lights off trying not to fall asleep while watching a Netflix documentary about the life and death of Steve Rogers, the prototypical American Hero, that your teacher put on presumably to get out of having to actually teach. You had to fill out a worksheet about it. You had homework asking about the ways that national ideals of heroism have changed over time. You spent a whole class period talking about that, comparing and contrasting Captain America and Iron Man. You had to write a five-paragraph essay about whether or not you thought the American Hero archetype would even exist without Captain America’s death.

Except Captain America is not dead.

Captain America is alive.

It is 2012, and a lot of things are popular. The Hunger Games. Gangnam Style. The new Batman movie, the one with Christian Bale. A type of teenage and pre-teenage girl exists—has existed, will continue to exist— and while there was NSYNC and Backstreet Boys and whatever the fuck else in the 90s; right now there’s Twilight and One Direction and Justin Bieber.

Captain America comes out of the ice. Captain America is 6’4 and muscular and blond and blue-eyed and unfailingly kind, and then he goes on to join up with a bunch of other people—superheros— and saves the world.

The end result, the one that anyone with a brain could have seen coming a mile off, the one that gets referenced by late-night talk-show hosts and poked at in grocery-store gossip rags and sometimes said outright in interviews with the guy on national television, is that Steve Rogers— Captain America— kind of ends up rounding out the “teenage girl obsessions during the ‘10s” list.

And—

Well.

You were never big on any of that.

Your friends were, though, and so you let yourself be dragged through the onslaught of new Netflix specials and you dutifully and appropriately emoji-reacted to every Battle of New York youtube compilation and Vine edit they sent to you and you even went to the movies to watch the new remastered docudrama about the life and now the not-death of Steve Rogers, and—

You never really liked blonds, so.

His friend, though—

His friend was kind of cute.

Sergeant James Barnes. Twenty-eight, dark-haired and blue-eyed and attractive, in a charming, boyish kind of way.

Fast forward ten years. There’s some weird drama with a helicarrier and some entirely anticlimactic fight at an airport and then an alien kills half the population of the world and then they all come back again, courtesy of Iron Man’s sacrifice and your middle school history teacher one-hundred-percent predicting the future with the whole “the American Hero trope is dependent on the hero’s death” shit that you totally didn’t understand at the ripe age of twelve—

Anyway. Life happens, basically. You grow up. You’re not even friends with those girls anymore. Not uncommon. And that crush on cute little baby-faced James Buchanan Barnes lasted all of something like three months— one of those fleeting childhood infatuations you have on people who are safely unobtainable, like rock stars or fictional characters or guys who are very, very dead— after which time you never really thought about it again.

And now you’re twenty-three and working closing shifts at a coffee shop in Brooklyn while figuring out what your life trajectory is even going to be, adjusting as best you can to your fucking daily customer base having quite literally doubled in the last six months, that part of you that’d read his entire wikipedia page on a phone with an actual physical slide-out keyboard at two in the morning an entire eleven years ago so far away it feels like something even less than a memory.

Except one night in April this guy walks in. He’s dark-haired and blue-eyed and wearing a leather jacket and matching gloves; he comes up to the counter and he makes startlingly unbreaking eye contact that freaks you out a teensy bit— a lot— and orders a coffee, black, and nothing else, and you stare right back kind of temporarily immune to the weirdness of it because you know him, why do you know him—

It clicks as you’re pouring the coffee into a reinforced cardboard cup and it stuns you so completely that you almost overfill it and wind up less than a second away from burning the shit out of your hand.

Sergeant James Barnes.

He looks the same, kind of, but also not at all— you sneak glances at him while you fumble for a lid, the harsher angles of his cheekbones and the wider set of his jaw, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes and the lines setting into his forehead and the way he doesn’t really have any of the baby fat left in his face that he had in all the photos you’d seen of him.

“Thanks,” he says, when you give him his coffee.

His smile, or his attempt at it, looks more like a grimace than anything.

You expect him to leave, then, but he doesn’t— he goes over to one of the tables in the lobby, the one by the window in the corner of the room, and he sits there and he drinks his coffee and he stares out at the street. It’s dark already; late November, almost December, the solstice approaching. It’ll be a long while before it’s still light later than 4:30.

He stays there for a long time, and the awareness of him prickles at the nape of your neck as you work, filling orders for a dwindling trickle of customers and starting the long and arduous process of cleaning up everything for close.

Sometime around 9:30 you go into the back to try to get started on dishes; the doorbell chimes when you’re about halfway through, and you grumble under your breath and rinse soap suds off of your forearms and resolve to pretend you hadn’t lost track of the hose and accidentally soaked the whole of your shirt from about the sternum down—

There’s nobody waiting at the counter when you come out, though.

And Sergeant James Barnes is gone.

You expect it to be one of those things. Everyone in New York has one of those things. They’re great party stories. One time I sat next to Denzel Washington on the subway. Michael Keaton bought a phone from me when I worked at Apple in Midtown. I ran into Steve Buscemi at this one mom-and-pop bagel place.

I served coffee to Captain America’s not-dead friend in Brooklyn.

Except next week, same day, he’s there again.

The lady in front of him is getting something stupid complicated and being annoying about it. Two pumps caramel, two pumps vanilla, two creams and two skim milk, three sugars and make sure to melt it first, if you don’t, I’ll know, Jesus Christ, make your coffee at home—

The guy who is maybe potentially Barnes laughs.

You said that out loud, apparently. Mumbled it under your breath, or something, quiet enough that the lady hadn’t heard, just shot you a suspicious look and sipped at her drink and then left without a thank-you, apparently satisfied. It’s just you and him now, your coworker off doing food prep in the back room and the lobby empty.

Somehow, he’d heard you. And he’d laughed. It was a weird sound, sharp and rough and cut short like he hadn’t meant to and like he’d tried to make himself stop; his expression is flat, and he’s not smiling, but there’s something— lighter, about it, than when you’d seen him last.

“Black coffee?” you blurt out, before he can say anything.

He blinks. He’s doing that thing again— the staring.

“Easy to remember,” you say, by way of explanation. “Simple.”

His mouth twitches at the corners, not really a smile, yet, but still— something. That lightness to his expression, impassive as it is, hasn’t faded. “Yeah, just black,” he says. “Thanks.”

You make it for him— ‘make’ is a stretch, you pour it, and that’s all, really— and he takes it back to that same spot by the window in the corner, nurses it as he looks out into the street, the sky cast that bruised purple color when the sun’s gone below the horizon but the light hasn’t faded, yet.

You try not to stare.

Same deal as the last time; he stays.

“Hey,” your coworker’s voice drifts from the back room, “You want to sweep the lobby or do the dishes?”

“Lobby,” you reply, extremely fast, thinking about last time and the hose mishap and how your shirt hadn’t dried until basically the end of your shift, but also thinking about maybe-Barnes sitting by the window and how part of you really fucking wants to know. Even if it’s not him, if it’s just some particularly uncanny lookalike, you wonder if it happens a lot. The being mistaken.

You make it through about maybe five minutes of actual lobby-sweeping before you become physically incapable of resisting your curiosity.

“I always got pretty good marks in history,” is what you tell him. Because saying “are you Seargant Barnes” seems kind of— rude.

He stiffens, and he drums his gloved fingers on the lid of his coffee cup, and he doesn’t look up or say a word.

“Your photo was in a bunch of the textbooks,” you add, twisting your grip on the broom handle, back and forth. It’s definitely him. The haircut. His face. Older, a lot less boyish, but the same eyes. “Sergeant Barnes. 107th.”

He doesn’t look at you. Speaks very deliberately. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

There’s this bright jolt of satisfaction at being right, followed pretty quickly by a pang of guilt at the thought you’d irritated him.

“Oh—um, no, definitely not, I’m sure it’s— annoying, probably, getting recognized,” you say, stumbling over the words. “I— sorry, I shouldn’t have— bothered you.”

He does look at you, then. He stares. You’d been fidgeting, still, but under the force of his gaze every muscle in your body goes tense and still, frozen solid, and nerves prickle up at the back of your neck, raising the hairs there. You have to fight back the urge to shiver.

“No,” he says. “It’s never happened before. Don’t— don’t be sorry.”

You open your mouth. Close it again. Your hands resume their twisting around the broom handle before you abruptly decide you do need to actually finish the chore you’d set out to do.

You tell him one last thing, before you go back to it. You’d always kind of felt weird about saying this kind of stuff; it gets touchy, particularly after Vietnam. Not really a great practice to get into, the whole “thank you for your service” schtick, because a lot of them don’t see it that way, and every war after that was even more complicated and your opinions on those are— similarly complicated. But World War 2– that was different. It wasn’t US military overreach. It was necessary. And he’d been drafted, you remembered that.

“Hey,” you say, very soft. “I just— Thanks. For— you know. Serving, when your numbers came up. It couldn’t have been easy, I mean.” you clear your throat, shift your weight, suddenly feeling very self-aware. “Coffee’s on me, next time, okay?”

Something flickers across his expression, like a ripple over the surface of a lake. Whatever it was, it’s gone before you can make sense of it.

You spend most of the week thinking he won’t come back next Friday. But he does. There’s nobody in front of him in line, this time, and like the time before your coworker is off in the back, which means it’s easy to slip him his coffee and conveniently forget to ring it out.

“Thanks,” he tells you, his voice a lot quieter. Softer, too.

You smile at him. His mouth twitches back, like maybe he’s not sure if he should return it, but wants to.

He takes the seat by the window again.

He keeps coming back. You try to make small talk but it feels stilted and awkward. It kind of makes you sad, a little bit, seeing him sitting there for hours, alone.

On your day off, in early January, you go grocery shopping.

You spend about 25$ in total and you make a split second decision to grab something out of the ordinary that’s on-sale. Dude was raised during the Great Depression, you guess he’s not the most experienced in the realm of the great big world of Weird Things You Can Purchase At The Modern Day Grocery Store. It’s meant to be a sort of peace offering, a look-I-can-be-normal-about-it, let’s-be-friends kind of deal, if he’s going to keep hanging around the coffee shop. You’re not sure if he, like— wants that, friends, or if maybe it’s just that he doesn’t want to be alone, but you figure it’s worth a shot.

Part of it is that he interests you. Part of it is that your job, as much as it sucks less than a lot of other service jobs, is very mundane, very normal, often very boring, and James Buchanan Barnes being a regular customer is easily the most interesting and least boring thing that has ever happened to you at work. Or— ever, honestly.

And maybe that’s selfish, to want to talk to him for that reason, but— whatever.

On Friday, like last week, you get there and you clock in and you try to casually scan the lobby, the floor littered with straw wrappers and crumpled napkins and empty sugar packets, the tables tacky with flavored syrup and coffee stains that you’d need to clean later, chairs around them arranged haphazardly and not pushed in, and—

And in the back corner, sitting low in his seat, baseball cap tugged down and shade over his eyes and fingers drumming restlessly against the side of a paper coffee cup, is James Buchanan Barnes.

The excitement you feel, then, is not really the kind you’d expected to— the last time you’d thought about him had been middle school, and even if it’d been just that three months, you remember with startling clarity that girlish, daydreamy kind of interest, how it felt, pleasant and mild and entirely harmless. Whatever you feel right now is not like that at all. It’s sharp and it’s visceral and it’s real, not a fantasy or the result of your imagination, not directed towards some fiction of a person that functioned as a safe receptacle for the things going on inside your head, but an actual individual human being.

It’s just interest, just curiosity, what you feel— you don’t have a crush on him, it’s not like you’re still in middle school and still interested, like that, in even just the general category of person that crush had represented. And the person sitting in the lobby isn’t the person– the fiction– you’d even felt that type of way about, anyways. You don’t know him, and he’s obviously nothing like the guy memorialized in every Captain America docudrama miniseries on Netflix. No, James Buchanan Barnes is a real human being, a very different human being, one that’s a stranger to you and you think— you guess— probably just as much of a stranger to that other, safer, softer, more boyish version of himself.

You keep thinking about how he looked at you, unbroken and unwavering and eerily fucking precise, how his eyes hadn’t even move at all, focused so intently that it’d made the hairs on the back of your neck raise and goosebumps prickle across the tops of your shoulders and all the way down your arms and your gut instinct yell, loudly, there is something not right about this guy!

You’d read his Wikipedia article again. It’s been updated since; lots of shit came out since 2012. You’d heard about the Winter Soldier stuff, but reading about it in detail— it’s bad. There are probably several things that are not exactly right about him, now. That’s fine, though. The way the world is these days, there’s stuff not right about everyone.

You’re occupied with a steady and annoyingly constant stream of customers until about 8:00, making coffees and sandwiches and trading on and off with your coworker in the back room, where you’re trying to get the brunt of the stocking and dishwashing done before they leave at 8:30. You’d been fucking busy, and you’re annoyed, you got cream from the dispenser machine all up one of the sleeves of your sweater so you’d had to take it off, and there’s fucking caramel sauce stuck to the hairs on the flat of your forearm near your wrist and gluing them to your skin and that grocery bag of fruit is sitting on the back table next to your jacket and your gross sweater and your house keys and it’s staring at you. Accusingly.

Your coworker leaves.

You steal a careful glance over the coffee machines at the lobby, just checking, just to make sure that he’s still—

And he is.

Cool.

It takes you a few minutes to kind of— dredge up the guts to go talk to him, another few more for the last trickle of late-night coffee-getters to start to finally taper out, and then you do it. You gather your resolve and your nerve and whatever else, courage, too, probably, and you go out into the lobby and you stand in front of his table and you wait for him to, eventually, look up from where he’s been staring, kind of sullen-looking, out of the window.

“I looked it up,” you blurt out when he does, before you can think better of it, “Online. Apparently supply chains were really small, in like. The 30s. So people could get stuff, right, but a lot more of it was— local. You know that, obviously, but, um.”

He just looks at you. Unblinking.

“Anyway,” you say, trying to ignore the weird kind of twisty feeling of your nerves in the pit of your stomach; jesus christ, he stares, a lot, “Anyway, I had this neighbor when I was a kid, right, and he was— his family, they were refugees. Immigrants. He was learning English, but I made friends with him by using my allowance to buy things at the grocery store, like, weird things, stuff that he’d never had before. So we could— try it. For– fun. And I thought– well. There was a sale, today, so.”

You gesture to your hand; awkwardly, helplessly, god, this is weird, like ice-breakers on hard mode, if the ice were less like a frozen-over pond and more like one of those miles-deep Antarctic glaciers. A tissue-thin plastic bag, the knotted top of it held in your fist, the lone fruit inside just kind of– sitting there.

He finally blinks, and then he shifts back in his chair, and he looks at you some more, his gaze unwavering and solid and heavy like it has actual, physical weight to it, like it’s pressing down on your shoulders and forcing you into the ground. “Are you— have you been trying to make friends with me?” he says, in a tone that’s kind of incredulous and a lot disbelieving and tells you absolutely nothing about whether or not he’d actually be amenable to that.

Whatever.

Fuck it, you think, and then you lift your chin and you meet his eyes and you make yourself stare right back, stubborn and deliberately unflinching. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I have.”

His expression– it’d been flat, impassive and unreadable, but something cuts right across it for a fraction of a second when you say that, quick and sure as a knife. For that one heartbeat of a moment he looks expressive and alive– you think he might even look stricken, actually, and you wonder far too late if maybe this had been a mistake, if you’d upset him. Done something wrong.

But then it’s gone, so quickly that you think you must have imagined it.

He leans back in his chair, and he looks down at his empty coffee cup as he taps it absently against the table, like he’s thinking it over. When he looks back at you the sum of his features are wholly neutral, except for his mouth, which is quirked up at the corners, just a little– not a smile, not with the way his lips are pressed together, into a hard, unwavering line, but it doesn’t look like something bad, either. It doesn’t look negative.

“Okay,” he says. “All right, shoot.” He jerks his chin towards the bag in your hand. “What’ve you got?”

You tear the side of it with your fingernails and dump the contents on the table. “Pomegranate. Had one before?”

His mouth twitches up more, and this time it does look like a smile, the beginnings of one, like he’s repressing it. He clicks his tongue and stretches his legs out under the table and shakes his head, just a little. “Yep,” he says. “Struck out on your first try.”

“No way Mr. Great Depression is more worldly than me.” You decide you’re going to interpret that as an agreeable reaction. There’s only one chair at his table, so you drag one over from nearby, the legs making this awful grinding sound against the tile floor. “I’ve never had one, so I’m taking half. Only fair.”

You fumble in your pocket for your knife to cut into it. He stares at it, when you pull it out, and then stares at you, “What do you have that for?”

Some nameless tension inside of you unwinds at the realization that he’s not just sitting there in stone-faced silence, anymore.

“Walk home after close,” you reply with an easy shrug; the conversation no longer feels like the world’s most awkward one-person performance or like actually physically pulling teeth, and that’s— pretty cool. Feels like a victory. “I usually finish at like, eleven-thirty. Not super dangerous, or anything, but better safe than sorry.”

Barnes makes a disapproving sound— what you think is a disapproving sound— under his breath when you flick the blade open, and grabs the pomegranate from the center of the table. “Too short,” he says, jerking his chin at it in your hand, “Gonna be a pain in the ass, let me.”

The knife that he pulls from what you think must be a sheath on his boot is a straight blade without a handguard, matte black and tapered to a point and without a doubt longer than four inches. Long enough to halve the pomegranate in one clean cut, sharp enough to bite into the laminate surface of the table underneath, just a little.

“That’s definitely not street legal,” you say, mostly joking.

Barnes stares at you. It takes you a second to realize that’s— new. Relatively speaking.

“New York made anything over four inches illegal, plus butterfly knives and switchblades,” you inform him. “I think in the 50s.”

He makes some noncommittal sound of what you assume is probably distaste, and stows the knife back in his boot.

“Don’t worry,” you say, “I’m not a snitch.”

He doesn’t smile, but his expression lightens a little.

On the table, the pomegranate is split neatly in half, and the little pebbled fruits inside the open skin glint in the warm light from the overhead fixtures. Like flecks of garnet. Or drops of blood.

“Could get these in the fall, sometimes,” he says, looking down at it. “Used to pick the bits out with a sewing needle. Made it last all afternoon.”

Your brain conjures up the image of the baby-faced Barnes, maybe sitting on the curb or the front steps of a building. You wonder what the details of the memory are. You wonder if little scrawny Steve had been there, or if he’d been alone.

You don’t ask.

“I don’t have a sewing needle,” is what you do say, “But—“ your nametag is clipped to your shirt, a flat slip of plastic with a pin on the back, and you unfasten it and slide it across the table.

Behind you, the door hinges creak and the bell chimes and you sigh, long-suffering, and get to your feet with an exaggeratedly affected eye-roll.

“I’ll be back,” you tell him, “Customer.”

You go to take the order and then midway through making it the doorbell sounds again. Midway through making that, same deal. This happens, at night, a trickle of customers just fast enough to keep you working nonstop, now that you’re the only person running the store. It goes on for something like ten minutes, which irritates the shit out of you despite the fact that it is technically your job. It’s nine-thirty at night and you’ve been at work for six hours and what you want to be doing is picking this dude’s brain, not making fucking coffee and bagels.

And also because a part of you is aware that he usually leaves around now.

He’s still there, though, when you come back; on the table there’s the husk of one half of the pomegranate, this pale and washed-out color like corn silk, and a neat pile of seeds on a recycled-paper napkin. Barnes has the other half and he’s poking out little grains of red with the safety-pin end of your name tag and biting the pieces off the tip, breaking the fragile skin between his teeth. He looks— calmer. Kind of wistful.

You realize this must be the first time he’s done this since he was a child, all the way back in a Brooklyn that doesn’t look anything like this one. Living alongside different people. Walking different streets. Breathing different air.

“That’s for you,” he says, nodding at the little bits of red, the empty husk, “I thought— since you’re working.”

You blink at him, and then you smile, a small, grateful one. Something flashes in his eyes, when you do; you aren’t paying much attention to it, still thinking about him, being so out of time. How strange this all must be. How much you really did mean it when you said you wanted to be his friend.

Barnes seems to realize when he brings the pin to his mouth again that it’s attached to your nametag. “Sorry,” he says, stilted and stiff and awkward-sounding, again, “I— you probably don’t want this back, now.”

“‘S fine, you can throw it out, if you want— I have so many.”You slide back into the chair and fish out of your apron pocket a blank one that you’d grabbed from the back, not knowing he’d gone and picked all the seeds out of your half already. “I forget them in my pockets, they keep ending up in the washing machine.”

His expression relaxes, a little. He catches the kernel of fruit at the end of the pin between his teeth and bites down until there’s a burst of red in his mouth. Stabs another, works it free of the shell, the flimsy little white membrane around it wilting in on itself. You watch him do that for a minute, contemplative and silent. His mouth is red. His tongue, too, when it darts across his bottom lip. Makes you think about rocket pops from the ice cream truck in the summer. Makes you wonder if they had those, back then.

“Did all that work for nothing, huh?” he says, after a while. You startle out of your thoughts and blink at him, nonplussed; he glances down at the pile of seeds on the napkin. “Thought you wanted to try it.”

“Oh,” you say, eloquently. “Oh, yeah. Duh.”

The first gem-glittering marble of fruit is softer than you’d expected and ruptures between your thumb and forefinger, staining the pads of them all red. You think about summer, as a kid, when you’d fall and scrape your hands on the asphalt hard enough that they bled. It’s almost the same color.

The second time the seed is firmer and it bursts sharp and tart and faintly sweet between your teeth. “Kind of like cranberries,” you say, taking another.

The pile is gone quickly, leaving just the napkin, the juice, like a dark wine stain. You lick your fingers clean. He’d been staring, the way he kind of always stares, but when your lips close around your thumb, he looks away.

You learn a bunch about food in the 1940s, mostly by accident.

Mangoes were a thing; they’d had some growing down in Florida, and you could get them seasonally. Pineapples used to be so rare that rich people would display the whole fruit as a centerpiece at parties and things, way back in the very early 1900s and up through the Great Depression, too; but by the time the 30s rolled around you could get the canned kind at the store. Watermelon was a thing, too, but they all had the solid, jet-black seeds you weren’t supposed to swallow; somebody’d bred those out of the commercial ones sometime after Barnes had slipped out of time.

“I gotta just go straight for the really fucking weird stuff,” you muse, mostly to yourself. It’s late and it’s quiet in the shop and it’s raining outside, the street slick and black and reflecting the light from the lampposts. He stays later, now, leaves closer to 10:30; you’re kind of proud of that. That he seems to like you, your company. Or at least doesn’t dislike it.

“You could just ask,” he says, sounding just the slightest bit exasperated, “If I’ve had something before.”

“No,” you tell him, deeply serious, “No, that fucking ruins it, Barnes, it ruins the surprise.”

He looks at you blankly. A few seconds too late, you realize you’ve never actually said that, out loud. His name. You don’t call him Sergeant in your head anymore, it seems too formal, but James seems too intimate, and you hadn’t asked— hadn’t wanted to ask, hadn’t wanted to pry— if he still thinks of himself as Bucky.

He doesn’t say anything.

Barnes it is, then.

Gooseberries used to be way more popular, all the way up into the 1920s, even though technically it was made federally illegal to grow them a few years before he was born. It was an attempt to stop the spread of this fungus that’d jump from the bushes to pine trees, killed huge swathes of them up and down the Northeast, decimated the lumber industry. He tells you his Ma used to make tarts and pies from them, in the fall when they were in-season, but eventually the farms upstate started getting shut down, and it was too expensive. The federal ban lifted in the 60s, you learn via Google, but production never really ramped back up again— they didn’t even have them at your regular grocery store, you’d had to go all the way to Trader Joe’s.

They taste kind of like green apples. He’d looked the way he did with the pomegranate, that first time, wistful and softer and like he’s remembering. It’s really the most you’ve ever seen behind whatever practiced and controlled exterior he maintains, beyond flashes of almost-smiles and eyebrow-raises and pointed looks. You want to peel that veneer off like peeling the skin from a fruit, get underneath it, get to the flesh of him; when this thought occurs to you, you bury it immediately, as deep as it will go.

“White pine blister rust,” you read aloud off of your phone, crossing the lobby to his table, coffee cup in one hand. You set it on the table for him and he reaches for it with a mumbled thanks. “That’s what it was called, the fungus-thing. According to wikipedia.”

Barnes blinks at you. He takes a long, slow sip of his coffee, even though it’s still probably a little too hot, not that it matters to him; and then he sets the cup down and frowns and says, “What the fuck is wikipedia?”

You laugh without meaning to.

The skin slips, a little, whatever’s underneath peeking out, bruised and soft and bloody, but then you blink and he’s fine. Watching you, expression light and practiced. Whole, again.

In February something happens.

Your coworker tells you before he leaves, pulls you aside in the threshold of the door to the back room to mumble, “there were some dudes out back by the garbage when I took it out before. I was getting bad vibes, I don’t know, just— be careful.”

There’d been a string of robberies through the borough, all within some convenient distance of the subway line, and the store is probably three blocks away from one of the platforms. The back door is one of those that opens only from inside the store, the other end flat and lacking a handle; you leave it propped open when you run to take the garbage out. You’re not stupid, is the thing. The guys, whoever they are— it could be nothing, but it could be that they’re waiting. Waiting for it to be just you, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the opportunity. You have a knife, but it’s a flimsy ten-dollar gas station piece of shit, mostly for intimidation and not for actual use; you’re also well aware that using knives in confrontations tends to make things worse rather than better. Bring that shit out and you’re asking to get it taken from you. Asking to have it used on you.

You could try to call the cops, but more than half of them have been requisitioned by the GRC, and you know what they’d tell you. Unfortunately at the moment we’re understaffed and can’t afford to respond to predictive calls. Please let us know if and when something illegal occurs. Practiced and perfunctory and something people joke about in your neighborhood, because there’s really nothing else any of you can do. Your coworker can’t stay, either; he can’t afford to pay the babysitter another hour, not on minimum wage.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, “I’ll be fine.”

And it is okay. You will be fine.

Barnes is there.

It’s a Wednesday, so it’s just sheer fucking luck that he’s here at all; he must be able to see it, in your face, when you come bursting through the little swinging gate-thing and out into the lobby, because his hands tighten into fists where they’re resting on the table.

“Oh my god I’m so glad you’re here,” you say, breathless and frantic and very much meaning it.

There’s a flash of something on his face that makes you think of heat lightning or splintering ice of the second right before a pomegranate seed bursts between teeth. You are not thinking enough about things that aren’t your immediate anxiety to register it.

“I need your help,” you tell him.

He grows progressively stiffer as you explain the situation, and when you’re done he says nothing, just stands up and pushes his chair in and says, real low, “I’ll go— talk to them. Don’t worry.”

The bell above the door chimes when he leaves.

You stand there at the edge of his table for what feels like some impossible amount of time, every muscle in your body wound up like a spring, jaw clenched so hard it’s starting to drive the beginnings of a headache somewhere on the top of your skull—

He comes back.

“Are you— did they—“ you break from nervously picking at your fingernails to make some vague and anxious gesture. Barnes looks fine, unscathed, cool and neutral and controlled as ever, but when he looks at you it makes something base and instinctive deep inside of you buzz with— alarm. Or— something.

“They were just— being stupid, just drunks,” he says, and maybe you’re imagining it, the thread of tension in his voice. “It’s fine. It’s all— it’s fine.”

You feel yourself visibly relax. “Oh, god, thank you so much, dealing with drunk guys is— it’s the worst.”

He flinches, when you say the first words, just a little, his eyes almost closing and the muscles around them going just briefly tense, like he’d managed to suppress most, but not all, of the instinct. “You don’t— you don’t need to thank me.”

You study him for a minute, like maybe if you look hard enough that flicker of whatever it was would come back, linger long enough for you to make sense of it.

“All right, fine, no thanks. Thanks rescinded,” you say finally, bemused. “I’m going to refill your coffee, though.”

You say it with your hand already half-outstretched, close enough that he can’t stop you even with his reflexes, and whatever entirely reactive and entirely accidental noise of triumph you make when his hand closes around empty space is— not on purpose.

His mouth twitches, the closest you’ve ever seen to an actual smile.

Something in your stomach flips.

You shove that shit down, too.

When you come back with the coffee he’s sitting back in the chair with his legs stretched out and he’s staring out the window again.

“Thanks,” he says, when you set it down.

“Oh, so you can thank me, but I can’t thank you?”

His mouth twitches again. “Yes.”

You make some entirely performative tch sound of affected annoyance as you retreat back behind the counter; you still have to take the garbage out, clear out the pastry display case, start emptying and scrubbing down the coffee pots you’re not using now that business has slowed to a crawl.

“Are you still coming Friday?” you call out to him, over the hum and hiss of the espresso machine running through the automated cleaning program, the milk foaming wands steaming in pitchers of sanitizer water, all of it loud enough that you’d never be able to hear him over it, something you realize too late, “Sorry, hold on, I should have asked before I—“

“Do you want me to?” His voice is clear and close and you startle reflexively; he’s at the counter, at the register, staring. Always staring. You thought in the beginning you’d get used to it. It’s not uncommon; those with power stare, and those without cast their eyes down and away. It’s the nature of customer service jobs in New York City. You meet a lot of powerful assholes in suits who make more money than you probably will ever handle in the entirety of your life, and they look at you and talk at you rather than to you, like you’re nothing, a rodent or an insect or something even less than that. You’ve never once flinched away from any of their stares, and never so much as felt like you wanted to, either.

James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t look at you like that at all. He doesn’t look at you like you’re lesser. He looks at you like he can see you— like he can see right through you, like you’re transparent, like everything going on in your head is out in the open, visible, vulnerable, or maybe like he just wants it to be. Like he’s looking for a door hidden somewhere in the minutiae of your expression, some way to force himself inside and pull all of your thoughts and secrets out like unraveling a spool of thread.

He doesn’t look at you like you’re not human. He looks at you like he knows, precisely, intimately, exactly how human you are, and that’s—

Kind of worse. Or maybe it isn’t. It’s definitely weird.

You realize with a start that he’d asked you a question, and you’d been silent for way too long. You tear your eyes away from him and focus on pulling all the cup lids out of the tray at the edge of the counter, sweeping the donut crumbs and sugar crystals and coffee grinds out and onto the floor.

“I mean—,” your tongue feels thick and clumsy in your mouth and it trips over the words, the syllables, stumbling and uncertain. “Not if you have plans, I— you don’t have to.”

“I never have plans,” he scoffs, scathingly self-deprecating, and then there’s the steady rhythm of his fingers drumming against the counter and you feel it on your neck, the hairs raising there, that he’s staring at you still, “I just—since I came today, I thought maybe you wouldn’t— I don’t want to bother you.”

You freeze, stack of iced coffee lids in one hand, half-lowered back into the now-spotless tray.

You force yourself to look back up at him.

“You’re not bothering me,” you say, stressing each word, like it’s important. It is important. “You’re— I like you. We’re friends.”

That thing, from before, the almost-maybe-flinch; it happens again, and you feel your own expression do something reflexive in response, your lips part and your brow furrow in the seconds before you can school your features back to composure. Whatever he does, the control he has over his affect; you’re not very good at that.

“Besides,” you say, into the silence, eyes cast back down and focused on filling the lid tray, “I found something you’ve never tried before, this time. And since I paid for it already, you are, in fact, contractually obligated to be here.”

He laughs, the same kind of laugh, the only kind of laugh you ever get from him; the cut-short one, like he doesn’t mean to, like he’d tried to stop it.

Like he couldn’t.

Barnes leaves at about 10:45, and you bring the trash out right before he goes, just in case. You wouldn’t have seen it if it weren’t for the fact that you were still kind of nervous and had your phone in hand, shining the washed-out beam of light back-and-forth across the little fenced-in area by the dumpster, trying to keep the garbage bag at arms’ length to avoid getting some disgusting coffee sludge mixture on your shoes where it’s leaking out of the corners.

The light catches on it. It glitters, captures your attention, red against the sun-bleached gray concrete. Pomegranate seeds. Shards of garnet.

Drops of blood.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #i'm uploading all of the things to tumblr. finally.#fic; drops of blood

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cinemaocd · 3 months

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Jenny's ongoing list of films watched 2024

February

January list, here.

Inland Empire (2006)*** It took three attempts to get through this long, confusing film. Like Mulholland Drive or the Season Three of Twin Peaks, Lynch films improve on repeat viewings even if meaning remains elusive. That is part of the joy-- sometimes you just vibe with it.

Death of Stalin (2017)**** One of my favorite films of the last two decades. A harried farce with the bloody-mindedness of Macbeth. Like the Scottish Play, we know how its going to come out, but the fun is in watching the articulate villain, played with delicious malice by Simon Russell Beale being outdone by a team of bumbling, petty bureaucrats and one very bad ass soldier. The Boyfriend (1970)*** Ken Russell's surreal tribute to the burlesque musical genre makes the most of its setting in the 1920s by putting his star Twiggy in iconic psychadelic reiterations of the flapper dress. If you opine the fact that drop waist dresses come back into style every 15 years or so, then this movie is as much to blame as anything. Poor Things (2023)*** Emma Stone gives a wild and convincing physical performance as Bella, a baby's brain in the body of her dead mother and Mark Ruffalo as typical 19th Century Rake Getting His Comeupance iscasting I didn't know I needed. I loved the yearning Godwin (Willem Defoe in truly amazing Frankenstein's monster makeup) and though I haven't read the book, I was drawn into the grotesque, ai generated world of the film. The aesthetics of this movie are as engrossing as the story and characters. Adventures of a Dentist (1965)** The Soviet version of the live action Disney comedies of the 70s, where a humble person is given magical power. Here a dentist is given extraordinary, almost magical abilities to perform dentistry without pain. He becomes a celebrity and his fall from grace involves him giving in to the decadent trappings of being a popular dentist. The humor has a darker edge than Disney though I wouldn't go so far as to call it a black comedy. Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall (1973)** This Spike Milligan film plays like a double episode of Dad's Army, not least because of the presence of Arthur Lowe who plays practically the same character here as he does on the tv show. That is not the end of the world however and this is easy to like farce with Milligan's ascerbic, anti-authoritarian bent that is grittier than anything on the sitcom. The Master (2012)** I had high hopes for this, one of Phillip Seymour Hoffman's final films and his last collaboration with director Paul Thomas Anderson is loosely based on the origin story of Scientology. Joaquin Phoenix plays a shell shocked veteran who drifts into the path of the cult leader played by Hoffman. Amy Adams gives a chilling performance as his much younger, controlling wife who is the real power behind the cult. I think I would have an easier time with this film if Anderson hadn't gone around giving interviews saying that Scientology and it's founder L. Ron Hubbard had "helped a lot of people." Of course, this is PTA and Phoenix's character isn't helped at all and he makes the cult worse by being a violent enforcer for the leader's enemies. The levels of whitewashing involved in making a deeply misogynistic cult into a secret matriarchy is just...ugh. However, the homoerotic tension between Hoffman and Phoenix makes the film worth looking out. Murder of Quality (1991)** Made for TV adaptation of John Le Carre's second novel. Denholm Elliott plays Smiley as more doddering and anti-social than Alec Guinness' iconic version of the character. This early Smiley story is more a traditional English village murder mystery, ala Miss Marple, with Glenda Jackson playing Ailsa, Smiley's war buddy that runs a women's magazine. Christian Bale plays one of the students at an elite prep school that forms the economic backbone of the town. Le Carre is merciless in his portrayal of the toxic, petty characters, the wealthy and wannabe wealthy swamp dwellers who run rings around the local constabulary until Smilley steps in and withstands their slings and arrows long enough to solve the case.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)*** Sometimes you sit down to watch a movie with such low expectations that you are pleasantly surprised that it doesn't totally suck. The excitement of things not being as bad as you feared can blot out some of a movie's excesses. At the end of the day this is Billy Wilder, physically incapable of creating a boring movie throwing the whole bag of tricks at this faux biography of Holmes starring Robert Stephens and Colin Blakely. There's farce and physical comedy, verbal gymnastics and exotic locations. Holmes' possible homosexuality is tastefully hinted at and attempts to create a sensationalist account of his drug use, amount to little before the mystery gets rolling. One of the big delights is Christopher Lee as Mycroft whose scenes with Robert Stephens are bitchy queen pissing contests. Genevieve Page does a turn as a would be damsel in distress who turns out to be a worthy opponent to Holmes similar to Irene Adler.

Irma La Duce (1963)*** For some reason between this and Poor Things I ended up watching two movies about Parisian brothels this month. Billy Wilder based this pastiche of 1950s travelogue adventure films like To Catch a Thief and Charade on a French stage play. A strange attempt to weld the success of the Apartment with Some Like it Hot, reconfiguring a Marilyn Monroe vehicle as a reunion of Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. Like the Apartment, Irma LaDuce is tinged with melancholy while avoiding a lot of the cliches about sex work that wind up dating so many films on this topic. The main complaint I have about Irma LaDuce s that it's about 45 minutes too long, a common complaint about many films of this period. (Damn Lawrence of Arabia and all who sail in her).

Witness for the Prosecution (1982)*** A made for tv adaptation of the classic courtroom drama, which credits Billy Wilder's screenplay of his film version. Ralph Richardson and Deborah Kerr star in this remake and honestly their chemistry is just off the charts and we're left to wonder how they never managed to make a film together before. Wendy Hiller, Diana Rigg and Beau Bridges round out the amazing cast. Lacks the tension and edge of Wilder's film but I'm having too much fun with Ralph to care.

The Major and the Minor (1942)**: Billy Wilder's first film as writer and director has some of the hallmarks of his later, greater works: farce, trains, mistaken identity, and queer themes in the form of a lesbian coded sister of Ginger Roger's romantic rival. That all the fuss is about fairly bland Ray Milland is easy enough to overlook as Wilder makes the film about toying with Rogers image as sophisticated, sexy, dancer. Typical Wilder inside jokes about the film industry abound, such as a craze for Veronica Lake hairdos among the tween set and swipes at Hollywood actors like Charles Boyer Rogers' childish masquerade to avoid paying full adult fare is preceded by a series of calamities where she's pursued and objectified by a lot of nasty older men. Hoping to escape their advances as well as the ignominity of turnstyle jumping, she maintains the charade through a long weekend with a lot of handsy tween boys until Milland's fiancee is discredited as a controlling social climber. There is a bizarre side track into her home town where Rogers also impersonates her mother before revealing her grown adult self to Milland. No one ever accused Billy Wilder of being restrained I guess.

The Children's Hour (1961)**** This classic of queer cinema was necessarily a scorched earth tragedy at the time of its release. William Wyler's dreamy, restless camera drags you into the warm, cozy life of this female partnership between Shirley Maclaine and Audrey Hepburn that seemingly has the potential to be a romantic partnership. When nasty gossips and spoiled children start a rumor that they are a couple, the scandal destroys their business and standing in the community. Terrorized by the homophobic townspeople, they are eventually "cleared" of the crime of being gay for each other, just when Maclaine's character comes to the brutal realization that she really is in love with Audrey Hepburn's character. It's hard to watch her grief and shame as she admits that the bullies have discovered a truth about her that she didn't know herself. A fact so many queer people can find relatable. The film is based on a play by Lilian Hellman which used the topic of homosexuality to expose the cruelty of female narcissists who bully their way into power. There is much in common with Hellman's The Little Foxes in that way, but the film, perhaps owing to Wyler's inherent romanticism has more of a Romeo and Juliet quality than the play. One feels that Audrey Hepburn has perhaps realized the truth in the lie, just a few moments too late.

Sweet Charity (1969)*** Directed by Bob Fosse, starring Shirley MacLaine and Sammy Davis Jr and Chita Rivera this classic musical combines the best of Fossee's signature choreography, sixties pop show tunes and the psychadelic aesthetics of the late 60s. This and the Boyfriend have a lot in common, though I think the music in Sweet Charity is more solid and the contemporary setting makes it a tad edgier. MacLaine plays yet another flavor of sex worker, a dancehall hostess and paid companion who seeks to be elevated out of her life into respectability through marriage. The fiancee here is uptight and lacking in appeal and when he finally just flakes out in the final reel it's no great loss to the film.

Thief (1981)** Atypical heist film starring James Caan and Jim Belushi, directed by Miama Vice creator Michael Mann. You can see the beginnings of that iconic 80s TV show, in this movie which favors long scenes of action being edited to music with sparse dialog. Caan squares off against Tom Signorelli a local mob boss who dares to threaten Caan's wife played by Tuesday Weld.

#february 2024 #Jenny's Film Odyssey

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random-imagines-blog · 1 year

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Celebrity Masterlist

In an attempt to organize the blog and keep everything in order, masterlists are being made to join together into a masterlist of masterlists to make it easier for those on mobile. Thanks for being patient!

smut is indicated with a ⭐

Adrien Brody

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being married to Adrien Brody, and both of you being petty after an argument.

Imagine getting your boyfriend, Adrien Brody, into board games.

Alton Brown

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Alton Brown giving you tastes of his desserts.

Andrew Garfield

Oneshots

Where is the Line?

Sideways

Adore ⭐

Imagines

Imaging falling for Andrew Garfield after filming together.

Imagine surprising Andrew Garfield with a new tattoo.

Imagine a late afternoon tea with Andrew Garfield.

Imagine getting caught with Andrew Garfield in the rain, and him surrendering his umbrella to you.

Imagine making out with Andrew Garfield and your parents come home.

Imagine bringing Andrew Garfield to your house for the first time.

Imagine Andrew Garfield listening to you talk but thinking instead of the things he wants to do to you.

Andrew Scott

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Andrew Scott catching you baby-talking with the family pet.

Imagine Andrew Scott making sure you get home okay.

Imagine being a morning person while your husband, Andrew Scott, is not.

Imagine Andrew Scott describing you in an interview.

Imagine making a bet with Andrew that he would win an award.

Andy Serkis

Oneshots

Fiction

Imagines

Ben Barnes

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine surprising Ben Barnes with breakfast, but him being upset that you left bed.

Imagine Ben Barnes working on a love letter for you.

Imagine playing a character in a movie starring Ben Barnes, and his expression when he sees you in your costume for the first time.

Imagine Ben Barnes seeing you dance with another man.

Imagine your family telling you and Ben Barnes they don’t want you to be together.

Benedict Cumberbatch

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine spending a cloudy day on the beach with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Imagine having a romantic candlelight dinner with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Imagine yourself and Benedict taking your child to their first day of school.

Bill Skarsgard

Oneshots

Losing Touch

Imagines

Bruce Langley

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine teasing Bruce Langley about his fluffy hair.

Cara Delevingne

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine taking a trip with Cara Delevinge.

Imagine coming home on yours and Cara Delevingne‘s anniversary.

Channing Tatum

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine house hunting with Channing Tatum.

Imagine being in class with Channing Tatum and him trying to make you laugh.

Charlie Hunnam

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine your boyfriend Charlie Hunnam being proud of you when you win a Grammy.

Chase Crawford

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine thinking you’re alone in a room and singing to yourself, and turning around to see Chase Crawford watching you.

Imagine Chase is feeling down, so you rake up the most perfect pile of leaves to jump in.

Chris Evans

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine buying Chris Evans an array of hats for Christmas since you understand his anxiety.

Imagine taking your child to visit their daddy, Chris Evans, on set.

Imagine being on your first date with Chris Evans.

Chris Hemsworth

Oneshots

Classic Scrapes

Imagines

Imagine winning a contest to meet Chris Hemsworth.

Imagine coming out to Chris Hemsworth.

Imagine Chris Hemsworth giving you a footrub.

Chris Pine

Oneshots

Pregnancy is Agony

Imagines

Imagine your daughter wanting you and Chris Pine to be together.

Imagine Chris Pine surprising you by showing up at your charity event with a very large donation.

Imagine Chris Pine picking you up for your first date.

Chris Pratt

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine a cottage retreat with Chris Pratt.

Imagine shopping for your new house with Chris Pratt.

Christian Bale

Oneshots

Perfect

Video Kid

Imagines

Imagine being nervous to attend Christian Bale’s movie premiere.

Imagine Christian Bale taking you to a special place.

Imagine Christian Bale falling in love with you.

Imagine practicing your acting on Christian Bale.

Imagine Christian Bale catching you, his assistant, tipsy at a bar.

Imagine Christian Bale trying to make things good again after an argument.

Imagine telling Christian Bale that you’re pregnant with his baby.

Imagine doing tiktok pranks on your husband, Christian Bale.

Imagine coming home to find your daughter braiding your husband’s hair.

Imagine surprising Christian Bale on set with your daughter.

Cillian Murphy

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Cillian Murphy admitting his love to you for the first time.

Imagine meeting Cillian Murphy at a bar, and him buying you a drink.

Cole Sprouse

Oneshots

Empty Handed

Imagines

Daniel Radcliffe

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Daniel Radcliffe coming to your play debut.

Imagine Daniel Radcliffe dressing up to take you on a romantic walk.

Imagine Daniel Radcliffe trying out pick-up lines on you.

Imagine Daniel Radcliffe saying Hello to you right before commercial on a talk show.

Dave Franco

Oneshots

Evening Wear

Imagines

Imagine being Dave Franco’s childhood best friend.

Imagine Dave Franco getting angry because you’re wearing too much clothing.

Imagine surprise tickling Dave Franco.

Imagine being the youngest Franco and having Dave and James finding out that you have a tattoo.

Imagine Dave Franco distracting you while you’re attempting an audition tape.

Imagine going over to Dave’s house for some Netflix and Chill.

David Tennant

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine David Tennant finding out that you’re pregnant.

Imagine having a movie night with David Tennant.

Imagine waking up in the hospital to find David Tennant worried about you.

Dev Patel

Oneshots

Give and Take

He Will Love You

Reunions

Imagines

Imagine Dev Patel surprising you at work.

Imagine getting into a huge fight with Dev Patel.

Imagine Dev Patel being struck with awe when he sees you for the first time.

Imagine Dev Patel taking you out for an early breakfast.

Dita Von Teese

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine surprising Dita with roses after her show.

Imagine meeting Dita Von Teese at a party.

Dwayne The Rock Johnson

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine accidentally blurting out to Dwayne Johnson that you’re attracted to his black wrestling gear look.

Imagine rewarding Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson during his workout routine.

Elijah Wood

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine telling Elijah Wood you’re pregnant.

Imagine trying to take care of Elijah Wood when he’s been overworking.

Imagine catching Elijah Wood taking photos of you.

Imagine adopting a puppy with Elijah Wood.

Imagine arguing with Elijah Wood and him asking for forgiveness afterwards.

Elizabeth Olsen

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine watching Wandavision with Elizabeth Olsen.

Imagine being a DC actor and getting married to Elizabeth Olsen.

Imagine preparing for your second child with Elizabeth, and thinking about the work load.

Elliot Page

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine moving in with Elliot Page

Imagine Elliot Page surprising you at school.

Emma Stone

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine working with Emma Stone, and realizing you have feelings for her.

Evan Peters

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine making Build-A-Bears with Evan Peters.

Freddie Highmore

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Freddie Highmore talking about your son in interviews.

Imagine being a young director, and bringing Freddie Highmore to your premiere.

Imagine filming a scene in Bates Motel with Freddie Highmore.

Imagine going to a meet and greet for Freddie Highmore, and him being enamored with you.

Imagine your ex bugging you while on a walk with Freddie.

Imagine meeting Freddie Highmore at a coffee shop.

Gaspard Ulliel

Oneshots

Dark Light

Imagines

Imagine Gaspard Ulliel saving you from a drink-spiker.

Imagine being pregnant with Gaspard’s baby.

Imagine bringing Gaspard Ulliel to your first awards show, and him being extremely proud of you.

Imagine Gaspard Ulliel wanting to spoil you.

Imagine Gaspard Ulliel attending your book reading.

Imagine Gaspard Ulliel bringing you flowers.

Imagine being seated with Gaspard Ulliel on a train.

Heath Ledger

Oneshots

Saying Goodbye is Never Easy

Tears on the Red Carpet

Imagines

Imagine yours and Heath’s first day at home as a new parent.

Imagine being married to Heath Ledger

Imagine going camping with Heath Ledger, and taking in the beautiful sights of nature, but all he does is smile at you.

Imagine being pregnant with Heath’s baby, and him seeing you eat your strange pregnancy cravings.

Henry Cavill

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Henry Cavill building you something special.

Imagine going on a camping trip with Henry Cavill and forgetting your sleeping bag so you have to share with him.

Imagine being told you would meet your soulmate by a fortune teller, then running into Henry Cavill.

Imagine a rather disheveled Henry Cavill leaving your hotel room in the morning.

Imagine flirting with Henry Cavill while doing an interview with him.

Imagine looking at fanart of your character, Doctor Doom, and Superman, with your best friend Henry.

Iwan Rheon

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Iwan Rheon taking a chance and asking you out on a date.

Imagine Iwan Rheon seeing you getting assaulted.

Imagine Iwan Rheon getting ready to propose.

Imagine Iwan Rheon surprising you with his musical side.

Imagine Iwan Rheon waiting for you with flowers.

Imagine spending a weekend in a summer cottage with Iwan Rheon.

Imagine Iwan Rheon stealing your glasses during an interview.

Imagine Iwan Rheon being constantly teased on set for having an obvious crush on you.

Jaden Smith

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine cozying up with Jaden Smith after a long day.

Imagine Jaden Smith being utterly smitten with you.

Imagine Jaden Smith thinking that you two are alone in the house.

Imagine Jaden Smith giving you a night to remember in a hotel.

Imagine Jaden taking you to one of his favorite spots to eat.

Imagine attending an awards show with your sisters Kylie and Kendall, and Jaden Smith makes an announcement to you.

Jake Gyllenhaal

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine phone sex with Jake Gyllenhaal.

Imagine making out with Jake Gyllenhaal.

Imagine trying to have a baby with Jake Gyllenhaal but it continuously failing.

Imagine being a small town girl and Jake Gyllenhaal falling for you.

Imagine spending your birthday with Jake Gyllenhaal.

Imagine Jake seeing you out with someone else and growing jealous.

Imagine being an actress and going on your first date with Jake Gyllenhaal.

Imagine Jake Gyllenhaal spending his time off with you.

Imagine trying for a baby with Jake Gyllenhaal.

Imagine Jake Gyllenhaal realizing how lucky he is to have you.

Imagine Jake Gyllenhaal sneaking into your house to surprise you.

Imagine Jake Gyllenhaal bringing Winter to LA for you.

Imagine Jake Gyllenhaal erupting after a fight with you.

Imagining winning your tenth Oscar, and celebrating with your husband Jake Gyllenhall at the after party.

James Franco

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being the youngest Franco and having Dave and James finding out that you have a tattoo.

Imagine tickling James Franco.

Imagine James Franco letting you stay overnight.

James McAvoy

Oneshots

Killing Loneliness

Every Me and Every You

Noir

All This and Heaven Too

Itsy Bitsy Spider

Imagines

Imagine James McAvoy being your Valentine.

Imagine a cold evening walk with James McAvoy.

Imagine being in an interview with your husband, and being asked when you knew he was the one.

Imagine celebrating Halloween with James McAvoy.

Imagine James McAvoy seeing you self-harm.

James Ransone

Oneshots

Moment

On It

Imagines

Jamie Bell

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Jamie Bell stopping a mugger.

Imagine going to the beach with Jamie Bell and your child.

Jeremy Renner

Oneshots

Bang! Bang!

Imagines

Imagine sticking with Jeremy Renner, even when there’s speculations about him as a person.

Imagine defending Jeremy Renner against slander.

Imagine Jeremy Renner helping you out of the rain.

Imagine walking in on Jeremy Renner practicing his wedding proposal speech.

Jesse Williams

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine flirting with Jesse Williams using puns and pick-up lines.

Imagine Jesse Williams finally shooting his shot with you.

Jimmi Simpson

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Jimmi Simpson running lines with you.

Imagine filming a rough, emotional scene with Jimmi Simpson.

Imagine being in an interview with Jimmi Simpson, and the interviewer teasing you two about the tension.

Joseph Gordon Levitt

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Joseph Gordon Levitt trying to convince you to stay home with him rather than go to work.

Imagine Joseph Gordon-Levitt being possessive over you.

Karl Urban

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Karl Urban showing you around New Zealand.

Imagine Karl Urban surprising you with a picnic.

Kiernan Shipka

Oneshots

In Between Days

Imagines

Imagine a glamorous trip to France with Kiernan Shipka.

Lee Pace

Oneshots

To Die For

Imagines

Imagine Lee Pace listening along to the bedtime story you’re reading your kids.

Imagine Lee Pace wanting to talk to you but he keeps being called away to set.

Imagine constantly making fun of Lee Pace’s wig on set.

Imagine going to a waterpark with Lee Pace, and his expression when he first sees you in your bathing suit.

Imagine marrying Lee Pace.

Luke Evans

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine helping Luke Evans pick out his outfit of the day.

Imagine Luke Evans surprising you on Valentines Day with chocolate and candy.

Margot Robbie

Oneshots

Run To You

Imagines

Mark Ruffalo

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine showing Mark Ruffalo your more spontaneous side.

Imagine Mark Ruffalo meeting your parents.

Imagine watching the sunset with Mark Ruffalo.

Michael Fassbender

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine watching old movies with Michael Fassbender.

Imagine Michael Fassbender trying to make you blush from across the room.

Miscellaneous

Oneshots

Calling All Heroes (Avengers Cast)

Animal (Avengers Cast)

Imagines

Imagine the rest of the Avengers cast finding out you’re a self-harmer.

Imagine your co-workers on the Avengers films confronting you about your eating disorder.

Imagine the Marvel cast finding out you’re suicidal.

Nathan Fillion

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine constantly being late to events because Nathan always wants you.

Imagine Nathan Fillion forgetting that it’s your anniversary.

Noel Fielding

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Noel Fielding being captivated at first sight.

Imagine always being able to make Noel Fielding laugh.

Imagine making Noel Fielding’s birthday cake.

Imagine hitting it off with Noel Fielding on The Great British Bake-Off.

Norman Reedus

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Norman Reedus catching sight of you for the first time after the hard break up.

Imagine domestic life with Norman Reedus.

Imagine helping Norman find a good place to hide from Paparazzi.

Imagine Norman Reedus trying to tell you that he loves you but having difficulty.

Orlando Bloom

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Orlando Bloom talking about meeting you on the set of LOTR.

Imagine getting stuck in a tree with Orlando Bloom.

Imagine being at a fair with Orlando Bloom.

Owen Wilson

Oneshots

Flight Connection

Imagines

Patrick Dempsey

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Patrick Dempsey showing up too early for dinner and seeing you in just a towel.

Robert Downey Jr

Oneshots

Ambulances (Teen!Reader!Mentor)

Imagines

Ruby Rose

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Ruby Rose catching you crying.

Imagine blurting out to Ruby Rose that you love her.

Imagine living with Ruby Rose and sharing a bathroom.

Rupert Grint

Oneshots

In the Nightside of Eden

Imagines

Russell Crowe

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine a midnight drive with Russell Crowe.

Ryan Reynolds

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine the moment Ryan Reynolds realizes he wants to marry you.

Imagine Ryan Reynolds taking you to a fair and taking care of you when you get dizzy.

Imagine Ryan Reynolds running into car trouble while taking you on vacation.

Scarlett Johansson

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Scarlett Johansson becoming a motherly figure to you.

Sebastian Stan

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Sebastian Stan taking sign language classes for you.

Imagine Sebastian Stan trying to entice you into joining his photoshoot.

Imagine Sebastian Stan coming to visit you in your small town.

Imagine Sebastian Stan really enjoying spending time with you.

Imagine being sick, and Sebastian Stan constantly checking on you.

Timothee Chalamet

Oneshots

This is the Place

Imagines

Tom Cruise

Oneshots

The Fix

Breathless

Shine

If Ever

Certain Needs

Imagines

Imagine spending Christmas with Tom Cruise.

Imagine Tom Cruise taking care of you when you’re sick.

Imagine your family being formed around Top Gun.

Imagine being comforted by Tom Cruise.

Imagine falling in love with Tom Cruise.

Imagine having a child with Tom Cruise.

Imagine getting pregnant with Tom Cruise’s child.

Imagine Tom Cruise acting as the ‘dancer’ at your Bachelorette Party.

Imagine Tom Cruise taking care of you when you’re scared of getting your heart broken.

Imagine Tom Cruise surprising you with a new bag.

Imagine staying at a winter resort with Tom Cruise.

Imagine spending Valentine’s Day with Tom Cruise.

Imagine being caught with Tom Cruise in public.

Imagine going on a walk with Tom Cruise.

Tom Hiddleston

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine an eccentric director putting you and Tom into a house to test chemistry.

Imagine constantly teasing Tom in interviews.

Imagine working with Tom Hiddleston on a horror film.

Imagine Tom Hiddleston approaching you at a bookstore.

Imagine walking in the rain, and Tom Hiddleston spots you and saves you from the cold with his umbrella.

Tom Holland

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine being silly at a con with your coworker Tom Holland.

Tom Sturridge

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine Tom Sturridge having a crush on you.

Imagine having a late breakfast with Tom Sturridge.

Imagine being Tom Sturridge’s wife and finding out you’re pregnant.

Zachary Quinto

Oneshots

Imagines

Imagine hiring a sky-writer for Zachary Quinto’s birthday.

Imagine making Zachary Quinto laugh during an interview.

#celebrity masterlist

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christianbalefanatic · 1 year

Text

Christian Bale Keeps Trying to Quit Hollywood

He’s spent decades pretending to not be himself. Now, at 47, one of the world’s greatest actors speaks with rare candor about navigating a career he never quite chose and building a life he sometimes can't fathom.

BY ZACH BARON

PHOTOGRAPHY BY GREGORY HARRIS

October 5, 2022

Somehow, Christian Bale found himself shooting three different movies last year, but he hasn’t been on a film set in months, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back on one, and this fact makes him happy. “I could just go forever not working,” he says. He’s a little late to meet me at this diner in Santa Monica that he’d prefer I not name because he and the director of one of those movies, David O. Russell, come here a lot to bat around scripts and people-watch. In fact, as we talk he keeps getting distracted by what those people are doing, various characters that he’s given names to, locals who frequent the place who he observes like old friends, people who don’t know who Christian Bale is and wouldn’t care if they did.

He’s wearing a dark, shapeless T-shirt and dark, shapeless pants and has enough of a beard going that he could play a Civil War general. From out of the beard peers, well, Batman. Patrick Bateman. A movie star’s face, familiar from 35 years’ worth of movies that have earned him four Oscar nominations and one win—for 2010’s The Fighter. Bale was 13 years old when he starred in Steven Spielberg’s Empire of the Sun, his first major movie role, a part he sought out and ultimately accepted because his family was in need. His life hasn’t been what you’d call normal since, but it wasn’t totally normal before either—his father, a former pilot and financial adviser, moved Bale and his siblings and his mother around the United Kingdom constantly, picking up and starting again. Bale resists self-reflection, but it’s not hard to see that kid in him still: drawn to extremes, transfixed by reinvention, motivated by fixing what happened to his family, and ambivalent about what he had to do and what he had to sacrifice in order to take care of the people he loved.

It’s also worth saying that he resists self-reflection in an absolutely delightful way. His accent is nominally Welsh, the voice more musical and mischievous than it tends to be onscreen, and in that voice he will ask you if you have children. He will ask you what your hopes and dreams are in life. He will seek out other things you’ve written and ask you detailed questions about them, all in the hopes of not talking about himself. Part of it, he says, is that he thinks that if people actually know him it will ruin whatever he’s trying to do as an actor; part of it, I think, is that he’s just genuinely not all that interested in the subject. What he wants, what he’s seeking, is obsession, or oblivion—the total erasure of the self. And let me say!…I recommend talking with people who are into oblivion. They are never once boring.

Because of all that, he doesn’t do many interviews like these, but the movies have added up, and so he’s giving it a shot. This summer he starred as the villain in Thor: Love and Thunder. This month he plays a one-eyed guy named Burt in David O. Russell’s wild new film, Amsterdam. And then at the end of the year he has a 19th-century murder mystery he shot with another frequent collaborator, the director Scott Cooper, called The Pale Blue Eye. “Which,” he says, about having three movies come out in the same year: “Nobody needs that. I don’t need it. No one else needs to see me that much.” And yet here we are.

Bale has lived in Los Angeles since the ’90s. But it’s a very specific Los Angeles. “You can live here and not be in the middle of the film community,” he says. “I’m not. I don’t have anything to do with it. I’m here because my wife is from here. If she wasn’t, we probably wouldn’t. But people sort of imagine film people swanning about, hanging out with each other all the time, talking about films, and that just makes me want to slam my head into the table.”

Christian Bale covers the November 2022 issue of GQ. Coat, $4,995, and shirt, $295, by Dolce & Gabbana.

Jacket, $6,950, and pants, $1,295, by Loro Piana. Shirt, $110, by RTH. Hat, $219, by Begg x Co. Watch, $25,900, by Vacheron Constantin. Necklace, $6,400, by David Yurman.

Well, there are actors who get into acting because they’re obsessed with movies and film people. My understanding is, that’s not your story, right?

Not true, not me, no. I’m a bit illiterate when it comes to films. I disappoint everybody with how little I know about film. I don’t think it matters. I don’t think you have to for what I do.

You’re not filming anything right now. Are you someone who is content to not work?

More than content: fucking ecstatic. I’ve always been bent on “When’s this gonna end? This has to end.” I like doing things that have nothing to do with film. And I find myself very happily not playing dress-up, not pretending to be somebody else for long lengths of time.

When you say things like “playing dress-up,” it seems like there have been times when you were almost…not embarrassed to be doing what you’re doing but—

Oh, no, flat-out embarrassed. Yes, for many years. Actually mortified. You know, I’m under no illusions either about the fact that the only reason I get noticed or feel useful in this world is when I pretend not to be me, right? Which is why doing [interviews] is such a weird thing because I’m like, “Wait a second. This is career suicide, doing this—”

Doing this interview is not career suicide.

Well, on the one hand I’m like, “Yeah, bring it on.” On the other hand I’m more like, “Eh, don’t let this be the reason.” So it’s a slow death. I’m having this very slow death in public.

But you’re answering a question about being interviewed. And I’m asking a question about you being comfortable identifying as an actor. You said, “Oh, I feel embarrassed.”

insanity of the job itself. I guess it’s the idea of what people think an actor is that’s embarrassing. I mean, how many useful jobs are there, really, in life, where you’re helping other people? Am I just creating more stupid background noise? But the acting itself, I enjoy how ridiculous it is. I love something that you can just go too far with. People are fucking fascinating. I love people, I love watching people, and I get to watch them in a way that would otherwise be perceived as verging on extremely bizarre.

When you say, “I love something that you can just go too far with,” I want to make sure I understand that.

Obsession, that’s what I mean. You get to obsess without people saying, “He needs to go in the loony bin.” Right? But, uh, is film what you love writing about? What is your thing? You know, This is what I wanna do…?

I’m doing the thing I want to do right now.

Do you have other ambitions?

This conversation is my ambition. You were saying that you anticipated having more time to make the three movies you have coming out this year, but then a pandemic happened.

We made Amsterdam right in the middle of the surge in LA. I believe we had something like 26,000 tests. Because I spoke with the COVID-safety expert, and they were breaking down all the scenes before filming in order to figure out when my mouth would be open, and saying, “Well, I see that you laugh in this scene” and then “I see you sing in this scene.” And I said, “Yeah, but I might laugh in every scene, or I might sing in every scene.” And, they said, “No, but that’s not in the script.” And I went: “No, this is going to change every day. We change every take.”

I did enjoy your singing in this film.

Oh. Thank you very much. I love singing. All I can promise whenever I do it is that you probably can hear I’m enjoying myself. That’s it. But, like Todd Haynes, for instance, I went in the recording studio for him for I’m Not There. And, aw, man, I had the best time. And I thought I nailed it. And then when I heard it, I was like, “Yeah, they got someone else in, didn’t they?” Maybe they hoped I wouldn’t even notice. They were like, “He’s so fucking tone deaf, he won’t even notice at all.” But, you know, I annoy my family enough by just singing all the time. Once I start, they have to say “Please stop” to me. Because I just love it.

I keep trying to ask you about the movies and we keep ending up talking about something else, like singing, which I suspect is somewhat intentional.

No, but it’s more interesting talking about other things other than stuff that I already know, innit?

Yeah, but I don’t know it.

Yeah.

Your last film before the three this year was 2019’s Ford v Ferrari, in which you play a very difficult race car driver. At some point the director, James Mangold, told you he was just asking you to play yourself, right?

I mean he was fucking with me a little bit there, I think, but maybe not. Though I’ve gotta say, it was our second film. We’re talking about another. We enjoy working together.

Vest, $6,590, by Tom Ford. Sweater, $995, by Ralph Lauren Purple Label. Pants, $1,500, by Greg Lauren. Watch, $75,900, by Audemars Piguet. Ring (throughout), his own.

So, you don’t actually regard yourself as difficult?

No. Not in the slightest. Absolutely not, no. I’m totally grateful and surprised that I get to keep working, right? And you have to maintain that gratitude. But within that gratitude, that mustn’t mean you let standards slip, right? It doesn’t mean you start going, “Oh, I’m so happy and grateful to be working at all, because I never expected this in my life,” which is all true. But that gratitude must turn into, therefore, “I must do things as absolutely well as I possibly can.” But you get passionate characters in the world of filmmaking, right? Because sometimes caring can come across as a certain way for people who might, uh, get a bit overexcited at times.

“I think some people mistakenly believe that I am a leading man, and it just keeps going and I don’t understand it.”

I was thinking that in some ways, the three movies you have this year—Thor, Amsterdam, The Pale Blue Eye—offer a vision of your career in a microcosm. Two are the kind of auteur-driven films we frequently see you in, and then one is a big franchise entertainment. I’m curious what draws you to the big mega-productions like Thor: Love and Thunder.

I was like, “This looks like an intriguing character; I might be able to do something with this, who knows?” And I’d liked Ragnarok. I took my son to see Ragnarok. He was climbing like a monkey all across [the seats] and then he was like, “Oh, I’ve had enough now, let’s get on.” I was like, “No, no, no. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” I was just like, “I want to finish it.”

Some performers have gone into doing a movie like Thor and come away saying, “Great vibe. Loved the people. The green-screen acting is not for me.”

That’s the first time I’ve done that. I mean, the definition of it is monotony. You’ve got good people. You’ve got other actors who are far more experienced at it than me. Can you differentiate one day from the next? No. Absolutely not. You have no idea what to do. I couldn’t even differentiate one stage from the next. They kept saying, “You’re on Stage Three.” Well, it’s like, “Which one is that?” “The blue one.” They’re like, “Yeah. But you’re on Stage Seven.” “Which one is that?” “The blue one.” I was like, “Uh, where?”

I’m guessing there were no Method attempts to stay in character during this.

That would’ve been a pitiful attempt to do that. As I’m trying to get help getting the fangs in and out and explaining I’ve broken a nail, or I’m tripping over the tunic.

You play the villain in that movie. I feel like you’re more willing to play unlikable characters than some quote-unquote leading men.

Absolutely, yes. I’ve never quite gotten that thing from actors who I respect immensely who go like, “Oh, you gotta like your character.” And I’m like, “I don’t know if they’ll like him. I’m good not liking him.”

I wonder if this helps explain your longevity—what you do has never depended on likability.

Right. I’m always sort of confused when people are like, “Oh, I do it for my fans.” Oh, sounds so lovely. What a lovely person you must be, you’re doing it for your fans. Oh, wonderful. A big heart you must have. Well, why did you start, then? Nobody had fans at the beginning. I want people who do it for themselves. I don’t want to watch people who are doing it for me. I’m like, “How do you know what I want?” Like, surprise me with it, do it for yourself, I wanna know that this is everything to you. Like, be intense about it, go for it, do it for yourself.

Coat, $6,800, and jumpsuit, $3,600, by Prada. Boots, $499, by Le Chameau. Hat, $515, by Loro Piana.

Have you ever been drawn to the more traditional version of movie stardom?

Those are the people who actually are useful for being themselves. And then there’s people who are like me, who only ever found themselves to be useful to anybody when they decided not to be themselves, right? So, “just be yourself” is, like, the worst piece of advice you could give someone like me, because, you know, I’ve got a career because I ignored that advice and said, “No, be someone else. Be someone else.”

I suspect I know what your answer is going to be, but do you have a theory of why you’ve been so successful? Because you’re not a character actor, you do play leads in movies.

Zero strategy. I think some people mistakenly believe that I am a leading man, and it just keeps on going and I don’t understand it.

Some actors come into this business because they love movies. Some come into it because they love acting. Some come into it because they want to be famous, though they probably wouldn’t admit that. The interesting thing about you, I think, is that you’re none of those things, if I understand correctly.

Um, yeah. No. I mean, you tell me whatever you think I am, but no, you know.…

Well, my understanding is that you got into acting for other reasons that related to supporting your family.

And I’ll just nod. But, yeah. Look, me and a couple of friends, we were kinda doing these little skits. But every kid does. Every kid acts a little bit in that way. And then, just, I found myself in the position that family things…finding I can support the family through doing it: That’s why I’m doing it. And I do have an absolute love/hate relationship with it. And I think that is quite a healthy thing.

Have you ever tried to seriously get out of acting?

What does “seriously” mean? I had a couple of moments where I was like, “I never went to college. I have no education. I want to do that.” But it was short-lived. I do try occasionally and then, like, “Oh, come on.” This…I do…

You’re trying right now to say that you actually like acting?

Yeah. Yeah.

What were the family circumstances that pushed you into the industry?

Oh, different things, health stuff. Things like that. And factious Britain. That’s what it was as well.

Your dad, who was a pilot and a financial adviser, and later married Gloria Steinem—seems like he was an interesting man.

He was a character. Yes. He was full of adventure. He’s the only reason that I didn’t flinch in thinking this is possible. He wasn’t unrealistic, but he was like, “Unless you do just go for it, then of course it’s not [possible].” His influence is the reason why I never felt like, “Shit, I need to have a safety net.” He was a roamer. And he wasn’t in the right place. So we moved a fair bit. But you know what it was good for is understanding: Hey, even if you find yourself sitting in a truck, one week out of a house, where you’re having to go live on someone’s couch for a month, whatever… You go, “It will be all right.” You know? You sort it out. He was remarkable at doing that. And not being panicked about that sort of thing, which I think gave a reckless enough attitude that doing what I do didn’t seem reckless in the slightest. Oh, no work? Potentially no work forever? All good. Hey, it’s all going to be all right. So I think that definitely was the reason I have the attitude I do towards what I do now.

He died when you were still in your 20s. Did that leave a mark?

Of course. Of course. How about you? You have parents?

Shirt, $575, by Boglioli. Pants, $498, by Polo Ralph Lauren. Watch, $28,300, by Rolex.

I have parents. I also have a question for you about this, which is: Your father passes in 2003. Right around then you take some pretty extreme parts in films—I’m thinking of The Machinist, for which you lost a dangerous amount of weight, and then Rescue Dawn, which you shot with Werner Herzog in the Thai jungle. Do you feel like the two things were connected?

He certainly was never boring. And he certainly always taught me that being boring is a sin. And so maybe it did have some connection in there, you know? But I’ve always gravitated towards, you know, the fantastic dream that someone like Werner Herzog has, and how they go through it and the way they approach it and you just dig in. That reminds me of my father a great deal. Unorthodox thinkers who are going to go do it even if everyone is screaming that they’re absolutely crazy.

**You’ve supported yourself doing this for a long time, and I know sometimes you were barely getting roles, and then sometimes there were moments when you really were noticed as an actor, post–**American Psycho, for instance—

Which, by the way, that’s when I first heard of GQ. Right? As a kid, growing up in small towns, Wales, England, I didn’t know what GQ was. And so my first reference for it was that Patrick Bateman loved GQ. Right? And, and they would say things like, “Total GQ.” So I have this impression that GQ is by and for yuppie serial killers. And anyone reading this is a yuppie serial killer.

I’m sure everyone reading this appreciates that. That movie is successful in an iconic way that probably, for the first time up to that point, gave you some choices, right?

Well, in honesty, the first thing was that I’d taken so long trying to do it, and they had paid me the absolute minimum they were legally allowed to pay me. And I had a house that I was sharing with my dad and my sister and that was getting repossessed. So the first thing was: “Holy crap. I’ve got to get a bit of money,” because I’ve got American Psycho done, but I remember one time sitting in the makeup trailer and the makeup artists were laughing at me because I was getting paid less than any of them. And so that was my motivation after that. Was just: “I got to get enough that the house doesn’t get repossessed.”

For a second you were thinking of your career as “I just need to find a way to get paid.”

Yeah. It’s how I’ve supported people since I was 12, 13 years old. So it’s always been there, that element to it. There was never a moment where it was like, “I think I’d like to take four years off.” No. That just isn’t gonna happen. That’s not possible.

I’m surprised to hear that you were getting paid so little: Was that the nature of American Psycho or was it the nature of your position in the industry at the time?

Uh, it was the nature of me in it. Nobody wanted me to do it except the director. So they said they would only make it if they could pay me that amount. I was prepping for it when other people were playing the part. I was still prepping for it. And, you know, it moved on. I lost my mind. But I won it back.

One of the people who was briefly cast ahead of you in the part was Leonardo DiCaprio. I’ve seen it reported that you lost at least five roles to DiCaprio in the ’90s, including Titanic.

Oh, dude. It’s not just me. Look, to this day, any role that anybody gets, it’s only because he’s passed on it beforehand. It doesn’t matter what anyone tells you. It doesn’t matter how friendly you are with the directors. All those people that I’ve worked with multiple times, they all offered every one of those roles to him first. Right? I had one of those people actually tell me that. So, thank you, Leo, because literally, he gets to choose everything he does. And good for him, he’s phenomenal.

Jacket, $3,190, and pants, $1,690, by The Row. Shirt, $400, by Boglioli.

Did you ever take that personally?

No. Do you know how grateful I am to get any damn thing? I mean, I can’t do what he does. I wouldn’t want the exposure that he has either. And he does it magnificently. But I would suspect that almost everybody of similar age to him in Hollywood owes their careers to him passing on whatever project it is.

You broke in as a child actor and know as well as anyone how hard it is for young people to transition into being adult actors. Why do you think you were able to?

I think it hearkens back to that love/hate thing. Because I was never that kid that’s going, “Please. Yeah, I’ll do jazz hands.” I never was that. I often sabotaged things intentionally. I often just didn’t turn up, just was a no-show on stuff, on auditions and whatnot. Fucking awful at auditions as well, because it’s not how I work. I’m like, “I don’t know to do this right now, sitting here. I need to think.” But yeah, I always felt different when I would meet other kids who were doing it. I would sit there going, “Oh, fucking hell. I’m nothing like these kids, actually.” They wanted it, and I didn’t even know if I wanted it.

Eventually you moved to LA, though: How come?

I came here for work. And then I would always go back. But I never got any work back in England. And I’d always get work out here. And then I brought my dad out because, for his health, the climate and everything was much better here.

Did you socialize with other young actors or young Hollywood?

Nothing to do with it. Never met ’em. Never wanted to. If ever I found myself anywhere near it, I was like, “Nah, ah, ah, ah,” and then went the other direction. Oh, you know what? When I did Velvet Goldmine, we did all hang out. I was older by then. I was 23.

But Velvet Goldmine was a movie about a bunch of young cool people hanging out! The part required that.

Exactly. I just have found that there’s wonderful actors who chat and get to know each other and hang out and then act wonderfully. And I can’t do it. And that’s my own limitations with that. I don’t make it into a thing. I just sort of know when I’m going to not be able to separate the person from the character that they’re playing.

“Stay away from me, except for on the set.”

I’m literally like: “I can’t do this because I will be the worst actor you’ve ever seen if we keep on chatting.” You know, with Amsterdam, I had to say that to Chris Rock. I had to go there and say that to him. I fucking love his stand-up. And when he arrived I was like, “Ah, wow, great. Yeah, how you doing, man?” Chatting a little bit. And then I went to do a scene, and I went, “Oh, my God. I’m just Christian, standing here, being a fan of Chris Rock.” So I went to him. I went, “Mate, I got to keep my distance.” Have you tried swimming and laughing at the same time? I don’t know about you. I’d drown. I cannot laugh and swim at the same time. It’s that. So I had to, much as I would’ve loved to have kept on chatting and talking.

How did he react to that?

He went, “Oh, you’re pulling the asshole card. You’re going to be an asshole and not talk.” And I went, “Yeah. Sorry, mate.” And it was my loss, you know?

Now I’m imagining Chris Rock being mad at Batman. I wonder: What was it like to be at the center of something so big and culturally dominant as those three Batmanmovies you did with Christopher Nolan?

I always just felt like it was a thing that someone else did, really, in a lot of ways. I was like, “Oh, yeah. That thing happened over there. And that’s doing very well over there, I hear. That’s great.” And I’m going off to Ralphs, the supermarket, to get bananas.

Was there a part of you, when those movies really worked, that was worried that you’d be stuck being Batman forever?

Yeah, but I loved it. I loved that because I was like, “This could be it. I could never be anything but that.” And for a lot of people, I won’t. I was like, “Ah, maybe I’m going to be forced to go do something different. And maybe this fucking thing that I got forced into doing as a kid that I didn’t fucking want to do in the first place, I’m out. And I’m free.” And then it didn’t happen.

Christian Bale pulls up to the same diner in Santa Monica a few days later, a little late again, and says he’s experiencing déjà vu: “What did I say last time? I forgot my car by the freeway? That again.” Same booth. Same murky Los Angeles characters moving past the booth like sharks at an aquarium. Same Civil War beard.

“My apologies for bringing you here again,” he says. He tells me he thought about taking me dirt biking instead. “But I was like, you can’t talk with anyone when you’re doing that. You’re just going”—he mimes turning the throttle on a motorcycle. “Which maybe would be my dream.”

As it happens, he says, he used to race motorcycles himself. He holds out his left arm: “Metal, all metal, like 20, 25 screws all the way up and down.”

Your left arm is all metal?

No, the collarbone’s all titanium. [My wrist] looks like a bottle opener—if you were to open me up, there’s a big metal piece holding my wrist together, and screws in my knee as well for it. Which just shows my enthusiasm outweighed my skill. I stopped doing it after that. My daughter was very unhappy with the cost of the taxi to come to the hospital to pick me up. And, uh, told me no more spending the family money that way.

Coat, $4,200, by Salvatore Ferragamo. Vintage shirt by Abercrombie & Fitch from The Society Archive. Pants, $498, by Polo Ralph Lauren.

Do you miss it?

Ah, yes, definitely. Yeah, it’s hypnotizing, it’s absolutely wonderful. I mean, look, I definitely know that nobody would’ve enjoyed it if there wasn’t an element of danger to it, of course. Um…but it’s just enormous exhilaration. Strangely relaxing and exhilarating at the same time. Hypnotizing in a wonderful way.

[Here, my tape recorder fails and he helps me find the iPhone app to record our conversation.]

Look in the Utilities section; usually it’s there, because I use it all the time.

What do you use it for?

Just talking to myself. Also dialect stuff. Or when I’m interviewing people. I realized that after we were talking the other day because you were at one point like, “Well, I’m not going to be the one answering questions in this interview.” And usually, that’s what I’m saying. That’s how I view my job. I’m like, “No, I’m the one who interviews and listens to people and then goes and does something. But I’m not the one who gets interviewed.” That’s why I’m always trying to sort of pretend like I’m talking about something but not really saying anything. But I’ve got hoards of wonderful recordings of all the different real people I’ve played. I’m still sitting on that. And then my kids as well.

How do your kids feel about you recording them?

Oh, they love it. There’s nothing better for getting people’s attention than imitating them, right? There’s definitely moments where they’ll be ignoring you completely, and then what you do is, you do an impersonation of them. And they are spellbound. You start pretending to be them, and everybody, they lean in. It’s the instant way of getting people’s attention.

That seems like a good move for a four-time Oscar-nominated actor. I’m not sure about it for myself.

Nah, anybody. Everybody loves it. Oh, you got to try it. Think about it. If I sit with you and you realize that I’ve studied you enough that I can actually imitate you, whether it’s a good impersonation or not, but I’ve looked at you enough that I can say, “You know, Zach, this is what you’re like, and this is what you did.” And I act it out. It’s fascinating to people. They kind of go, “Oh, my God, somebody paid that much attention to me?” I think that’s what is going on in their heads. But instantly, you’ve got their attention, and then you can say whatever you wanna say after that.

That’s a funny view of humanity, that we need to be flattered before we pay attention.

You want to be seen!

You told me this is the same booth you and David O. Russell sat in to work onAmsterdam. How did you guys first meet?

I did an audition for [Three Kings] where he didn’t even want me in the room. And I actually sort of insulted him. He knew who he wanted to cast for the role. But I think he was just being polite and seeing other people. So he was busy working away on a script or whatever, letting the casting director run the show. So I sat there like, “Oh, you’ve got nothing to say? You’re sitting there doing this strong silent thing, you’re gonna say nothing?” And so he kind of looked at me, and there was a little fire in his eyes, and he says to me, “All right, you know how I want you to do it? Remember Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone?” And he slaps his hands on his face, and does the big look, and he says, “That’s the feel. I want to get that feel from this reading now.”

Someone asking you to do an audition like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone**—that’s a “fuck you.”**

Oh, yeah. But I love him to death. And it was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Coat, $4,995, and shirt, $295, by Dolce & Gabbana. Necklace, $6,400, by David Yurman.

You said you guys collaborated on the Amsterdam script. You’re also a producer on the film. What does that mean?

I will qualify it by saying that, after David, I’m the person who’s been on the project longest. Does it mean I’m spending money on it? No. I’m not doing any of that. It’s more of a creative producer you would call it.

You’re a producer on The Pale Blue Eye too, right?

Again, very generously, Scott asked me. Which really comes from my working relationship with David and Scott. They both said, “Hey…yeah, have at it,” you know?

I —

Actually, sorry, sorry. I do just want to say, with David specifically, I went, “Mate, we have come up with something special. I want everything at my disposal to protect what you’ve created right now. I don’t want to find that we end up making a different film and you can’t tell me.” So yeah, I did actually say to him, “Mate, do it.” So I can’t actually say if he would have asked me or not.

Incredible.

Yeah, so I did realize that was my wishful thinking, that he would have asked. But he didn’t. But I hope I was a help and not burden to him.

“There is value in storytelling, you know? I’m going to sound like a total wanker, but the way I like to do it is, you try to destroy yourself in order to build up another character.”

The character you play in Amsterdam, Burt—that feels like a guy you can’t even write down, he’s so specific to you and your performance. I wonder where all these different guys come from. I know it’s the job, to play different parts, but that’s not what most actors actually do.

Well, there’s different approaches to this job, and each one is a good one. You get people who are just undeniably charismatic bastards, and you want them to do the same thing, and if they do something else, I get upset. I’m like, “I love you doing that one thing because that’s reliable, and that’s bloody entertaining.” And you know, that’s not how I do it, but I want all of it. I was thinking about your question about, like, “What the fuck did you do Thor for?” And—

That was not the way I phrased that question!

Well, that was the impression I was getting from the way you asked it. You were like, “Yeah, okay, what the fuck was Thor about?” But I love those films. I love them. There’s a mood and a time for every single one, and I do have a firm belief that every single kind of film can be done brilliantly.

For the record, the question was not “Why the fuck did you do Thor**?” It’s obvious that you, as a creative person navigating a creative career, would work with David O. Russell, who has already gotten you nominated for two Oscars.** Thor is less obvious.

Yeah, no. I genuinely love the films that David and I have made, you know what I mean? It’s the process of doing that because I’ve got no control over the rest of it. So it’s the process with David. Even though we’re not always having what people would term a pleasant day, but we both are absolutely there knowing that we’re totally clued into each other. And so we’re either sort of running down the beach, hugging, or it’s just not talking for weeks on end.

David is well known for having difficult sets: You mentioned Three Kings; that was a rough set for certain people. Huckabees was a rough set for certain people. American Hustle too. What is your experience of those environments?

If I can have some sense of understanding of where it’s coming from, then I do tend to attempt to be a mediator. That’s just in my nature, to try to say, “Hey, come on, let’s go and sit down and figure that out. There’s gotta be a way of making this all work.”

After American Hustle**, Amy Adams came out and said she cried many days on that set. And it’s been reported that you intervened on her behalf with David and were like, “Back off.”**

Mediator.

So that did happen? You’re nodding your head yes. Okay. Does that make you feel differently about the finished film, having seen that happen and having to intervene?

No. No, no, no. No. You’re dealing with two such incredible talents there. No, I don’t let that get in the way whatsoever. Look, if I feel like we got anywhere close—and you only ever get somewhere close to achieving; our imagination is too incredible to ever entirely achieve it—but if you get anywhere close to it, and when you’re working with people of the crazy creative talent of Amy or of David, there are gonna be upsets. But they are fucking phenomenal. Also, you got to remember, it was the nature of the characters as well. Right? Those characters were not people who back down from anything, right?

I had the experience of rewatching the film again and asking myself: Should my knowledge that Amy had a tough time with the director while making this affect my enjoyment of it?

No. No. And, by the way, that’s not me deciding for her, she’s told me that.

She said, “It’s okay, American Hustle can live on.”

Yeah. Yes. Absolutely, yeah.

What about you? How do you feel about how you handled it in retrospect?

I did what I felt was appropriate, in very Irv style.

Sweater, $3,250, by Loro Piana. Jeans, $1,550, by Balenciaga. His own sunglasses by Ray-Ban.

Your Irv role in American Hustle is comedic in a way that felt new for you.

No one had asked me for it before. So, suddenly, that happened. And people went, “Oh. Can you do that thing?” You occasionally get a role where you get to do something totally bloody different. And then that opens up a whole different menu, you know? It’s a breath of fresh air…. I think there’s also a certain amount of age that brings that out more, you know.

Last time, I asked you, do you have a theory of why you’ve been successful as a leading man. And you were very deliberately like, “I don’t.”

Well, one thing I definitely think is, I’ve never considered myself a leading man. It’s just boring. You don’t get the good parts. Even if I play a lead, I pretend I’m playing like, you know, the fourth, fifth character down, because you get more freedom. I also don’t really think about the overall effect that [a character’s] going to have. It’s for me to play around, much like animals and children do. Have tunnel vision about what you’re doing, not think about the effect you’re having. You know, I’ve learned some things, very basic—like I used to always turn away from the camera if I had a moment that I thought might be a bit embarrassing. And, you know, literally, the camera operator would have to say, “It was probably great, Christian, but we couldn’t see anything, because you keep turning your head away. Like, please, you’ve got to understand that while this might be a moment in life that somebody wants privacy for, on film, you got to let us in. All right?”

Are you talking about your own embarrassment or the character’s?

If you’re not playing an extreme exhibitionist, or perhaps someone who’s being insincere with their emotions, nobody tends to cry and turn to the whole room, you know? People recognize it’s a moment they’re having, and they cry quietly to themselves, and if you’re too aware of the camera, you turn away from the camera as well, because you go, like, “I can’t have them witness this either.” It’s just natural. Human.

You have to be 95 percent human and in character and 5 percent aware of—

We’re telling a story. And there is value in story-telling, you know? I’m going to sound like a total wanker, but the way I like to do it is, you fucking try to destroy yourself in order to then build up another character. Now, I’ve done many films that you’d look at and go, “Really? It was worth doing it for that piece of shit?” But you sort of try to destroy yourself so that you’re not bothered by humiliation anymore. You’re not embarrassed, because you are as much as possible—and I did begin the sentence with saying I’m going to sound like a wanker here—forgetting that it’s you, completely. Which actually brings me to quite a funny point, because I think, as you know, I don’t know when I last did a thing like this where I actually talk for any length of time, right? So I’m used to just ducking and diving and saying fucking nothing and pretending I’m saying something, and I’m not saying anything, and then it’s over, okay?

And after I last talked to you, there were a couple of things going on—a friend of mine was having a bit of trouble, he contacted me and needed some help and stuff, and I was thinking about that then, but then I also went, “What a terrible mistake I’ve made doing these interviews with Zach.” Like, “Oh, fuck. He deserves me to actually talk to him, and all I’m trying to do is just fucking say nothing, or just go, ‘Eh, I’ve said this before, let’s not say nothing new here at all.’ ” I love movies getting released theatrically, and I’m genuinely concerned that’s going to stop happening. The Pale Blue Eye has got the Netflix safety net. Amsterdam doesn’t. I’m going, “Oh, fuck.” People have always told me this kind of stuff helps. I never believed it. But, I was like, “Oh, well, all right.” I care. I care, you know? This is not the sort of life I get to lead playing characters. This is realpolitik world of like, “Fucking hell. I want to be able to keep doing this.” So, that was my original motivation. I went, “Yeah, all right. Okay. Maybe this is the moment for that.”

Regarding you and me—did you just tell me that you spent our last conversation trying to say nothing?

Wait, wait, wait. What do you mean?

I couldn’t tell if what you were saying is that you went home after the last one and were like, “Next time, Zach deserves the truth.”

You’re looking for something more. Not that it wasn’t the truth, but I was like, “Oh, man.” Yeah. I was like, “How do I do this but at the same time respect what you’re looking for?”

“I just don’t bother with that half-measure gear. I go, ‘Ah, nah, I’m good,’ or ‘Oh, really? Yeah, let’s go further than anyone’s gone before.’ It makes life more entertaining.”

Did you feel after our last conversation that you had successfully stymied me or avoided answering the questions?

It wasn’t that. It was territory I hadn’t been in for a long time, so I didn’t know what had happened. I was just going, “Oh, yeah.” I left kind of going, “What happened? Did I give him anything or was he like, ‘Fucking hell. There was nothing in there’?” And, by the way, should we be talking about other things? Because, I’m feeling like a very egotistical bastard.

You mean like things that are not Christian Bale?

Yeah. I don’t know, what do most people talk about? Because I feel like we’re talking about me a lot.

That is kind of the point of this exercise.

Yeah, but you can, you know, I don’t know. Is it rampant vanity going on here? I don’t know. I like being in your shoes. I like sitting down with real people and interviewing them, getting all the information, taking my tape recorder away, transcribing it, and then figuring out the character. I’m not used to someone else trying to do that to me.

I hate to break it to you but you’re a real person too.

What?!

Jacket, $3,490, by Fendi Men’s. Sweater, $1,790, by Tom Ford. Pants, $1,750, and boots, $1,590, by Balenciaga. Watch, $28,300, by Rolex.

I’m trying to think about what else we could talk about that’s not you.

Well, my interests and passions are still in the realm of me, right? For like 10 years, I’ve been trying to put together this... If I have my family history correct, one of my sisters was in foster care for a while—which should be irrelevant; you shouldn’t have to have a personal connection to care—but LA County has more foster children than [almost anywhere else] in the United States of America. And most people have no clue about that. And I came across an organization that was started after World War II in Austria. That’s SOS Children’s Villages, and I flew to Chicago and I visited them. And it’s a great organization that helps to keep siblings from being separated.

Which is a thing that apparently happened to you.

Apparently. It was an older sister. So, I have no memory, but if my family history is correct, yes. But I do want to say, actually, it shouldn’t matter. People should give a damn about kids because they’re kids, for God’s sake. Right? But I went, “All right, maybe I can buy a piece of land out here [to help start] Children’s Villages California.” I envisioned The Sound of Music and all these happy kids who’d come from trauma running around like, what are they called? The Von Trapp family? I’ve never seen the film. But then I learned I was desperately unrealistic with that. The whole point is integration into community. And so it took forever, finally, and I have wonderful partners, so we just purchased five acres and we are now building with the purpose of keeping siblings together. And if they wish to stay in that place until they’re 21, they stay there until they’re 21. So we’re putting this together now and I have to go into something which is unknown territory for me: fundraising. I’m not good at asking for help from anybody. I’ve got to learn how to do that.

Can’t you just invent a character that’s a very effective fundraiser and play that character?

Exactly. When I went through years where I wasn’t getting work, there were times when, you know, I was looking through like, “Oh, what’s my insurance policy, because the tree just fell from the neighbor’s yard?” And I was like, “I can’t read that.” But I went, “I will become a character who loves nothing more in life than reading insurance policies.” And I read it back to front, and then I called my State Farm representative and I went through it, and they were exhausted. They said, “We’ve never had anybody be this thorough with anything.” But, you’re exactly right. I have to become somebody who loves it, who loves doing that.

Listening to you talk about how deep you are in this project makes me wonder: Do you have a half-measure gear?

I just don’t bother with that half-measure gear. I go, “Ah, nah, I’m good,” or “Oh, really? Yeah, let’s go further than anyone’s gone before.” It makes life more entertaining.

Is that a taxing way to live?

I like being exhausted. I like to exhaust myself. I wanna be totally fucking used up, you know, by the end. It takes you to a place. You know what I mean?

Zach Baron is GQ’s senior staff writer.

PRODUCTION CREDITS: Photographs by Gregory Harris Styling by Mobolaji Dawodu Grooming by David Cox using Kevin Murphy Set design by Heath Mattioli for Frank Reps Produced by Patrick Mapel and Alicia Zumback at Camp Productions

#christian bale #christianbalefanatic #gq interview #interview #2022 #2020s actors #2020s icons #2020s hollywood #2020s photography #early 2020s #2020s movies #2020s films #2020s

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jechristine · 1 year

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Okay if it's hot takes night : I've seen something yesterday that I don't entirely agree on but I would like to hear peoples opinion

I saw someone tweeting something along the lines : TH has build an entire career on the fact that he's likable. He's an okay actor at best, but his popularity doesn't come from his work but from his personality off screen, which is not always the case for most A-listers in acting (for example I know nothing about Dicaprio or Christian Bale personalities, but I know I'm gonna see a good performance). He radiates charisma in interviews, and is indeed entertaining to watch because again, his personality, but that doesn't fully transcript in his performances. Likability has done wonders for him to elevate him at the level he's at right now

And Anon sent me this tweet

So I think there are a few issues here. I agree that Tom, the celebrity, is massively adored by tons of people, his IG stats being an indicator of that. I don’t think there are many people going to see Tom films because they are confident that his chosen projects will be good (a reason that people see DiCaprio or Bale projects), but because they want to watch him on screen. So his likeability has most definitely helped him!

But I don’t think it’s possible to cleanly separate Tom the celebrity from the characters that he plays. The charm he exudes in interviews seeps into the roles. I enjoyed him in Uncharted not because I was remembering his press tours but because Nate has the signature Tom Holland charisma. Further, I do think his charisma has multiple facets: exuberant, kind, fun, but also tender and vulnerable. I think this is true for the Tom we get in interviews and for his performances. So for me his personality does translate into his performances.

As for what kinds of roles he should be taking: I think he’s looking for career challenges and/or working with people whom he likes. I don’t think he cares too much about choosing the right roles to match his specific kind of charisma. So that’s that. It’s his career, so he doesn’t “need” to do anything else.

And let’s wait to see his performance as Danny. I have been hoping that this role requires Tom’s likeability + vulnerability, and if it does I’m very confident that Tom did a great job.

The negative reviews haven’t focused on Tom’s performance too much. So let’s see.

#tcr spoilers

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hanasnx · 1 month

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okay so here’s my full opinion (probs will have more thoughts in the morning)

i enjoyed the movie, it was pretty good and i can understand why it is so widely praised

Bale popped off and this is honestly the first thing that i’ve watched of him other than the dark knight series

literally every song that played in it is something that plays at work so now all i’m going to think about is patrick bateman murdering someone…

-🍓

im glad you enjoyed it, its a fun watch and its got some really killer moments. bale did such a good job i rly cant imagine the character as anyone else, no one could've done it justice. you know christian bale modeled patrick off of a tom cruise interview that bale described tom as seeming so empty. it fascinated me

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!!#anon: 🍓

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apolloanddaphnis · 1 year

Text

Speaking in Tongues

Part I

Disclaimer: Not proofread and inappropriate content I guess.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Minka's POV

I never tire of premieres. In high school everyone looked forward to the prom, why they looked forward to seeing all your peers on a Saturday, finding the ugliest dress in the store and being monitored by teachers while horrible music played was beyond me. Even in my adolescence I fantasized of premieres instead, spending forever in mamusia's room putting on her makeup and perfume, her dresses and pretending to be interviewed by E! and whoever was hosting the Oscars or the Academy Awards.

My favorite part was always choosing what to wear, fashion is like art to me. You don't just choose what looks cute you choose a palette, a theme, what will make your body flow and strut naturally. It is choosing your personality and displaying your interests, even a simple pair of nomination jeans with a t shirt and a pair of docs decide what you feel for that person and who they are.

I'm the only celebrity without a stylist, dressing myself and doing my hair and makeup is an emotional thing for me, maybe it's the punk rock roots from my now teaching father, but I don't even go to get my hair done. My signature black, bob is of my doing.

It's why there's so much footage of me on camera weeping whenever my ensemble is complimented, I put so much thought and heart into it.

Tonight, beside my friend and director, James, presenting the premiere of Spellbound at the Houdini mansion, I was Minka Farrah, but I was Minka Farrah inspired by Miranda, my malevolent two faced witch, the character I played in the film.

It was a risk to wear the gloves but once I slid them on, it made my Morticia tight dress pop, and with their occult imagery they too told the story. No one could hardly believe I had bought them off etsy, handcrafted and one of a kind, I made sure to heavily promote the artist behind them.

I felt so much worry and anxiety with this movie, like any remake. Yes the name is a tad different and James added and took away some things but, it's a classic, a niche cult classic, but a classic all the same. I worked so hard to be the perfect Miranda, taking from the original played by the late Kelly Preston, I also took inspiration from Lisle von Rhuman, and funny enough Miranda from the film Miranda about the mermaid. I was ridiculously overjoyed with the wonderful feedback I got in return.

I was on cloud nine tonight, and then my confidence faded when Tom told me Timothée Chalamet was here tonight. I nearly threw up, that wicked Saxon, he knows the crush I harbor for the greatest actor of our generation. Longing was more a fitting word. He's the first boy in a while who's made me feel…well to not put it lightly, horny, the word ecstasy, inadequate, and…longing, all at once. I don't just want him to hold my throat during a movie, I don't just want him to fill anything considered a hole in me, I don't just want to talk about our influences, I want him to consume me and devour me.

I have never met him, ever. But my brother, Stone, one day mentioned me as his favorite actor or actress of all time on Graham Norton's Show, and at the time I had no idea who he was. So Stone put on Call Me by your Name, and then showed me his Tumblr and the entire Chalaverse and I was hooked. I was very judgmental before watching his Little Women Christian Bale was the only Laurie for me I swore by him, but Timothée Chalamet ruined that for me. I think I went crazy for him watching him play Laurie.

And he's so gorgeous, long and tall and lean, I love skinny partners because it makes their shoulders and hands look even bigger, not the only reason but it's a major one. His hair is romantic and long and curly and just.. he's perfect, his mannerisms his voice, he has me hooked. And to hear that he's here…I mean it makes sense, he's Tom's friend.

I hoped I looked good enough, when I think of him I feel too big for my hair…what if he likes long hair on girls…thankfully there was another photo op with James to distract me, I felt in my element until I turned around to whoever asked for my attention. "Yes?" I still wore a red painted smile laced with a laugh, and when I turned around it fell the mask fell because there he was, and looking at him and smelling his cologne and knowing he approached ruined my Agent Provocateur thong.

I was breathless, speechless. I said nothing and just nodded with a smile.

He tugged his bottom lip in with his teeth and I stared for a moment. "I thought y-you w-were– I mean–" he laughed breathily and ran a hand through his messy curls and I felt light headed. I sucked on my lip and he stared at me for a moment and I must have looked confused because he started to talk again.

''I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'll uh– I'll leave you alone." Before I could even scream for him to stop saying that I never want him to leave me alone, he walked away disappearing in the sea of tuxedos and gowns. What did I say?

Feeling disappointed, I made a beeline to the wine, I had the bartender fill up my glass all the way to the top with red champagne. My favorite, Chandon's red champagne, was a Shiraz of strawberry, raspberry, and cherry notes. It was my absolute favorite and right now I was going down as much as I could to forget how I ran off Timothée Chalamet.

Did I offend him? What was it?

Two glasses of red Chandon later we were heading to the after party at Chateau Marmont .

I was in the middle of talking to Lana when Tom walked up to me. "Hey, what did you do to Timothée?"

I looked confused. I felt confused. "I didn't say one word to him."

''Exactly!"

I furrowed my brows "Tom, sweetie I'm not following."

Tom laughed. "He thinks he offended you or annoyed you. But knowing how you feel about him, it's all starting to make sense." He smirked.

"Oh my God, shut up!" I squealed, which made him laugh louder. "I'll go talk to him, God he must think I'm such a snob!" Why did I have to get starstruck?

"No, no, he just thinks…." But Tom stopped himself, trailing off. I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. "Tom…"

Lana laughed. "Oh I think I know…" She and Tom exchanged a look and a brow waggle before laughing and I let out a cry of frustration. "I hate you both, tell me right now!"

They just laughed harder and I shook my head. "Whatever, I'm going to apologize, do I look okay?" I gestured to my ensemble, honestly no one can say I didn't stick with the theme of the movie, it was an ode to Matt and Miranda's bdsm scene when she gave Matt the false sense of hope that he was in charge of their "relationship". It's a black latex suit, arm, body neck, everything covered, even had on fetish boots, but my breasts were completely out and my nipples covered with black latex pasties to match my black painted lips.

Tom choked on his drink as Lana eyed me with a slow and appreciative nod. "Minka bloody Farrah, the only person on the entire planet that stands there posing shy and cutesy in a fucking bdsm body suit asking if she looks okay!" He laughed in disbelief.

I pouted. "A simple yes would have sufficed.'' He shook his head. "Where is he?" I asked.

"In the bathroom having a smoke." I took a deep breath, some of Tom's IPA and headed to the French styled bathroom. I knocked and a muffled "Occupied.' Spoke through the door.

"Um Timothée? It's me, uh Mink-" Before I could get my name out the door was opened and he stood there towering over me gorgeously in all his Capricorn glory, a black vintage fit blazer open, a white tooth shirt and faded jeans with combat boots, a necklace wrapped around his neck seductively and rings adorned the long, skeletal fingers that held a cigarette. He smelled like a writer, cigarettes, espresso, and alcohol. There was a spicy cologne with a hint of sweetness and a small amount of sweat. I wanted to eat him. His verdant eyes were naturally and dreamily hooded, but right now a little wide as his raspberry lips hung parted.

I blinked and bit my lip as I twisted my fingers. "I wanted to apologize, Tom told me you thought you annoyed me–"

"I'm gonna kill Tom-"

"But you didn't! I was just…I love your acting so much, I was caught off guard…I'm so sorry, I can't believe I was so rude–"

"N-No, you weren't. " He finished softly with a breathy laugh before leaning against the doorframe. Stop posing or I'll drop to my knees.

I felt elated when I noticed his eyes roam my outfit, but then a little fear lingered in those depths of satisfaction. What if he thinks I'm too easy? He probably likes classy girls, he dated Lily-Rose Depp for God's sake.

"You like my acting?" A smile tilted his lips up.

I shrugged with a smile. "You probably hear that all the time." His eyes drifted from my mouth to my pasties, maybe I should have worn something else.

But he stepped aside and gestured in. "Please, join me, there's a lovely seat on the toilet."

I giggled. "But then where will you sit?"

"In the tub of course."

@meetmyothersouls @sufferingstarlight

#timothee chamalet #timothée chalamet #timothée chalamet x oc

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n04s · 10 months

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I watch american psycho for the first time and it really is fucking brilliant, honestly the fact that they DON'T show the gore for most of the murders really pins the meaning of movie and doesn't allow it to get lost;

I also find it funny both the director and christian bale don't necessarily find the core of what drives patrick bateman, but they don't have to - the lines are taken directly from the novel, and the author clearly understands the type of misery and consumerism based on his 2010 interview where he says he went through a similar misery when he started writing the book.

#american psycho

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stylecouncil · 2 months

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you don’t know how desperately I’ve been searching for this one american hustle interview I watched where they were asking bradley cooper what it was like working with christian bale who takes everything very seriously/is known for staying in character in like a serious way etc and he was like I did like making him break but it was hard. and then he was like one of the best ones was when in one scene where he’s asking him to tell him the truth about something (or something along those lines) he just leaned in really close and said whispered “I loved you in velvet goldmine” and he lost it/scene was ruined. like it was beautiful and I think of it often but I can no longer find the interview.

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curioscurio · 2 years

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Don't worry friend the Ewan McGregor/Christian Bale sex scene post is legit. You can watch the interview (from the Graham Norton Show) on YouTube. It's not Tom Holland Pronoun Defender II lol

YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I HAD TO BE SKEPTICAL.... I was hurt once before so I can't trust ever again 💔

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denimbex1986 · 4 months

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'Robert Downey Jr. revealed during a career retrospective interview at Los Angeles’ American Cinematheque theater that he originally met Christopher Nolan ahead of “Batman Begins” to discuss the potential of playing the villainous Scarecrow in the director’s “Dark Knight” origin story. He didn’t get the part, although he’d make his impact on the comic book genre three years later with the 2008 release of Marvel’s “Iron Man.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard about [this role] and I was like, ‘I’m Scarecrow,'” Downey Jr. remembered (via The Playlist podcast host Griffin Schiller). “And then I remember meeting [Nolan] for tea and I was like, ‘He doesn’t seem like he’s really in on this interview.’ And he was polite and all that. But you can tell when someone is kind of like, ‘It’s not going to go anywhere.'”

Instead of Downey Jr., Nolan decided to cast Cillian Murphy as Scarecrow in “Batman Begins.” That casting would kick off a years-long collaboration between Murphy and the director, which has now spanned six films. Murphy originally wanted the role of Batman, but Nolan admitted to Entertainment Weekly last year that he knew Murphy was not going to be his Batman as early as their first conversation together. But that didn’t stop Nolan from wanting to screen test Murphy anyway.

“When we had our first conversation I think both of us knew that you weren’t going to wind up playing Batman,” Nolan said. “But I really wanted to get on set with you, I wanted to get you on film. We did those screen tests very elaborately, on 35mm, with a little set. There was just an electric atmosphere in the crew when you started to perform.”

“It was clear to me from the beginning that I wasn’t Batman material,” Murphy added. “It felt to me that it was correct and right that it should be Christian Bale for that part. But I remember the buzz of trying on the suit and being directed by you. Those tests were high production values.”

Although Nolan did not intend to cast Murphy as Batman, he set up a screen test for the role with the intention of getting studio executives on board with the idea of casting Murphy as Scarecrow instead.

“We did two scenes — there was a Bruce Wayne scene and a Batman scene — and I made sure that executives came down and watched what you were doing on set,” Nolan said. “Everybody was so excited by watching you perform that when I then said to them, ‘Okay, Christian Bale is Batman, but what about Cillian to play Scarecrow?’ There was no dissent. All the previous Batman villains had been played by huge movie stars: Jack Nicholson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jim Carrey, that kind of thing. That was a big leap for them and it really was purely on the basis of that test. So that’s how you got to play Scarecrow.”

Nolan, Murphy and Downey. Jr. would all end up working together years later on the director’s “Oppenheimer,” for which they have all received Oscar nominations.'

#Oppenheimer #Cillian Murphy #Christopher Nolan #Batman Begins #Scarecrow #Oscars #Dr. Jonathan Crane #Christian Bale #Robert Downey Jr.

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beautifulgiants · 2 years

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Source:

THE ACTOR'S ACTOR

Michael Shannon is still trying to figure out a few things. Minor issues, like, what the hell is America about? And why do our vocations not contain the keys to a simple life? Shannon has recently added a directing credit to his extraordinary acting C.V., but in most other respects he’s just one of us.

fashion director GRACE GILFEATHER

by THE RAKE

photography MICHAEL SCHWARTS

Hollywood actor Michael Shannon is photographed for the Issue 83’s cover of The Rake magazine. Michael wears Brioni, Dunhill and Audemars Piguet.

Speaking to The Rake in early July, from his home in New York, Michael Shannon is — emotionally, at least — on both sides of the Atlantic. “I’m a massive tennis fan, and I’ve just been watching [Novak] Djokovic dismantle your fellow Brit [Cameron] Norrie,” he says.“Before that we were watching the Nadal and [Taylor] Fritz match. Oh, Rafael was in pain, but he still won.” All of which might sound like small talk, but Shannon has brought up tennis for reasons related to a vocation that has earned him Academy Award (2016’s Nocturnal Animals, 2008’s Revolutionary Road), Golden Globe (2014’s 99 Homes) and Tony Award (2016’s Broadway revival of Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey Into Night) nominations.

Acting, he says, involves getting into something resembling a meditative state. “You have to be able to still your mind, for sure,”he says.“You can’t be thinking about a bunch of other stuff. When I’m doing a scene, I have a couple of ground rules. Like, I never bring my phone to set, ever. I’m not judging anyone who does, but for me the thing you’re trying to do is so enormous and multifaceted that for me it has to be the only thing you’re thinking about. So I try to have no distractions at all. A lot of the time [on set] I don’t really say much, and people can misconstrue that as, ‘Oh, he’s, he’s “method”’. But I’m defiantly anti-method. I think the notion of trying to walk around all the time convincing yourself [of something] feels psychotic.

He’s also been busy — exceptionally so — with an eclectic list of yet-to-be-screened projects, all of which suggest that his knack for making the right creative choices as he hits 48 years on the planet remains as sharp as ever. The most prominent include David O. Russell’s 1930s-set mystery-comedy Amsterdam (alongside Margot Robbie, Christian Bale, Anya Taylor-Joy and Robert De Niro) and Bullet Train, an action thriller directed by David Leitch and released this summer, in which Shannon joins Brad Pitt, among others, as assassins on the eponymous high-speed train deciphering the connection between their various missions.

Shannon plays White Death, and viewers expecting his character to pack the most menace won’t be disappointed. “Bullet Train is filled with a lot of really scary assassin-type people, but they’re all scared of White Death,” he says. “I guess he’s the super-assassin. The high priest of death. And he’s the boss of this international cartel that deals in very shady things. He’s the one that’s supposed to make everybody shake in their boots, I guess.”

Read the full Michael Shannon interview in Issue 83, available to purchase on TheRake.com and on newsstands worldwide now.

Subscribers, please allow up to 3 weeks to receive your magazine.

Grooming:⁠ Rheanne White⁠

Photo Assistants: Krystallynne Gonzalez, Brandon Abreu, Te Lara-Powell

Digital Tech: Eric Bouthiller⁠

Producer:Aim Wagemans⁠

Production Manager: Nikki Cardona⁠

Location: Andrew Samaha

Michael Shannon C/O Narrative PR, Celena Madlansacay

#Michael Shannon #interview #the rake

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mysteriouslybluepirate · 1 year

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Watching Con O'Neill's Filmography Day 8- The Last Seduction II (1999)

Warnings: Women in lingerie, on-screen clothed sex, drug use, phone sex, violence against a pregnant woman, voyeurism/public sex acts, gore, gun violence, murder, blood, stabbings, etc.

I did not bother to watch the first one, though I've only seen good things from people online. Again, it doesn't feel like I've missed anything by skipping to Con content.

As always, live reaction below the cut, review overall at the bottom.

Quick message before we start. We've all seen the gifs of what Con does here. He has a weird short 90s haircut and acts in what could be described as soft-core porn. We're both going to pretend we didn't see each other here, seeing this shit, right?

I didn't see you, you didn't see me.

Good. Now, let the show begin-

_________________________________________________________

Opening logo reminds me of my school mascot, not a good start.

Joan Severance, you deserve better. I don't know who you are, but please get another agent.

I actually love the opening font here for some weird reason. It's all swirled, and silly.

That attorney looks like Patrick Bateman from a distance, honestly, that would be great. This movie couldn't afford Christian Bale in the 90s.

I know the point of the movie is that she's hot. So I'm getting it out now. She's hot. The all-black style is a type of mine, and I'm not mad.

Smoking is bad for you. At least she's considerate, actually throwing out the cig...Nvm, she's an asshole. Not so hot anymore.

This takes place in Barcelona and our main cast will be Brits? Sounds about right.

Did she put on lingerie in the hotel, then take it off, and get dressed to go meet someone?

I hope Con got a good vacation out of this at the very least. If this was filmed in Barcelona. Which- (Editor Me can't find anything about this movie, I'm assuming just establishing shots?)

F.U.2 is a fun bar name. Real Izzy vibes

A GAY BARTENDER

AND CON

(my brother called his 90s shaved look 'adult Greg Hefley'-Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Honestly, I can't unsee it)

Is this his 3rd character that meets the protag at a bar (Scarborough Ahoy, maybe Dancing Thru the Dark if that wasn't a diner)? That's a pattern.

The hesitation over calling Con a gentlemen is funny

TROY FENTEN okay, that's a name. sure. let's just move past that.

'FAGS FROM A FAG'. Oh, this is going to be a movie. You know, most straight movies from this era didn't even have queer characters. But in Con's bad movies, they're added so Con can bully someone. The bad Con movies just make him a homophobe. I'm connecting these dots-

Again, the whole 'Have you been in love?' thing. Dancing, This, 3 steps to heaven. There's a pattern. In an interview for 'Telstar' Con said Joe Meek was obsessed with writing puppy love in all his songs, when this fucker can't escape 'longing' in his own career.

This looks like the start of a porno. (kinda?)

This is a weirdly subservient foreplay? The taking orders, voyeurisms, etc...Odd? Well, at least we know Troy is willing to go down on someone, which is something that will surely affect the plot.

Don't undo a condom wrapper with your teeth.

What is that position? She's braced up over the arms of a chair. Seated on the floor would be more comfortable. For both of them!

Who says 'frisky' in day-to-day life.

I WANT HIS WARDROBE(Editor Me, it's literally just a suit. I don't know, I'm easily impressed). The Gomez and Morticia look to their outfits is great.

How do you run a sex phone line surrounded by people in the same room. At least he employs everyone and anyone, icon.

Real 'ugly' people can tell when you're flirting with them to get shit. We're trained from middle school age for survival. Also, that travel agency guy is hiding a British accent poorly.

(This is the point where my brother (he's 18 don't worry, I have a brain) wanted to watch, so we restarted. He's seen Dancing, OFMD, Vengeance, and Telstar. He's a trooper and being their for my Con O'Neill phase. The bullying of Con commences.)

My favorite comment of his was "I hope this guy gets shanked in Barcelona" after his sexist line about women. Valid.

OH MY GOD. That computer design is awful, Graphic Design is my passion, indeed

Just tell her exactly how the business runs. That's a smart idea you won't regret later.

(About him being able to be on any call) That's a consent violation

"Dumb bitch." Okay! Ew

This seems like a shit place to work if he can just casually stand and watch over you perform like that

(about one of the phone people using company time to talk to her boyfriend) Could he have a system to block calls from people who don't pay or suspicious numbers? Why didn't he just do that?

HE JUST PUNCHES A PREGNANT WOMAN? (blood on her face, not on her fists) Okay? Like, why would anyone stay?

("naughty boy.")WHY IS SHE INTO THIS? Red Flags? NAHHHH

SHE JUST TRIED TO KICK I PIGEON! ("Pigeons may be flying rat's but you're the real skum of the city" - My Brother Everyone)

'This is the woman incels think exist'-Again, he's just rocking it tonight

Oh so 'he's falling in love' WHY? Why do you do these roles CON! So far she has let you fuck her, been kinda dodgy about anything with her past, and rude.

(Footjob scene)BUTTON UP THE BOTTOM OF THE JACKET AT LEAST.

Okay the older couple not yelling at them, but stealing a peak made me laugh.

IS THAT A CLOCKWORK ORANGE MANIQUINE IN THE BACKGROUND (yeah, he has mannequin wall art. No, it's never mentioned)

Good, he got blue balled, deserved for being a bastard.

Why is she doing all this? Just to get a sliver of the profits?

(While he's buying drugs from a seller, he gets in all close.) Con shouldn't be allowed to smile like that at men in sniffing distance while playing a homophobe.

It's a good thing he's high, and not clearly able to see how badly she's lying/bluffing. It's not even a convincing performance, like...why?

I don't like him saying good girl, not at all. Which is surprising for me. I'm proud of myself for not thinking Con acting like this is hot.

(She just kind of leans over, unzips his pants, leans in, and goes for it. Awkward pan up to his face) Was he commando? Was he already hard? So many questions.

(At a strip club) What's with that pole? Her hand goes around half of it! Thick as a telephone pole!

Why did she even come to this bar for info? OH, she's buying a gun.

This isn't hot, like, at all. It's just gross.

(bastard gets stabbed with the straw)GOOD FOR HER

She did just walk past people, covered in blood.

This false phone call thing is somehow isn't gay. Sad.

-Catching yall up, it's been 10 minutes and nothing fun has happened. She shows Troy the tape. He somehow doesn't hear that she entrapped a guy and got him in jail. They set up a trap for blondie who was threatening her life.

Troy saying sexist shit only to immediately get shut down is so funny.

the hitman from earlier isn't going to fight blondie cause he expects to fight a man, not a woman, right? Yep, called it.

Based body guard

I-what was that fight? Just a few punches then overkill?

(Body guard gets shot up)What did he do to deserve that man?

Can no one hear a gun going off?

What do you mean by 'that looks nasty'? She looks fine.

So Troy gets semi-framed? Like, he was a piece of shit, but still, that doesn't solve anything really. The business might stay afloat but since none of the people know how the computers work, or can reroute funds to their pockets, what's the point? They just lost their jobs! Same with the bar.

The two leads smugly flirting and smoking it's not gay at all actually, they're enemies! (banging my head into a wall) WHEN WILL IT BE MY TURN

Why does this Troy get called a 'naughty boy' so often in this movie. We should bring this energy to all his roles...especially Izzy-

So she just gets away with it? That's a shitty ending, I didn't even like her in this movie. I barely tolerated Troy, but I wanted her to get caught.

The movie just...ends.

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Writing: 3/10 Sloppy, I couldn't follow why our characters were doing what they were doing half the time. Also, there were points where the writers realized we might be starting to like Tony, so they just made him do/say something shitty. Like a marvel movie making a villain have a good point, then making them kill a bus full of children. Just so we know who to root for. Who was our protagonist? I will remember this movie for the (somehow stylish look at the time) 90s Con, and the weird sex scenes. Again, I love a strong female lead but she just didn't do anything fun.

Cinematography/Editing 5/10: Nothing memorable, nothing subtractive. Meh. It was, in fact, a movie.

All actors besides Con: 4/10: Forgetable or just bad. Again, it's not their fault, it's the writing. I didn't know who the story wanted us to root for. So I'd start to like a character just for them to do something confusing or shitty. Again, it's obvious they were trying. I hope these people got to work on something better.

Con: 6/10 He can't save a movie. He is having the most fun here, which isn't saying a lot. Troy is Con's most homophobic character in his filmography to date. Con plays him all bark with no bite. It's fun to see him play a totally irredeemable jackass. Again, the whole 'falling in love' plot was introduced and kind of dropped, but I'm glad they didn't really commit to it? Troy is way worse than Angel (from 3 Steps To Heaven), Angel was fun in his shitty behavior and stayed consistent in the story. Here Troy's an abusive dick. I was having fun until he punched a pregnant lady for shock value, then it was hot/cold the whole film. Good performance, shit script.

Overall 5-6/10 Not a strong recommendation, his worst film by miles. If you go in knowing it's shit, however, you can have a great time! I did! My brother and I got to watch a shitty movie and just take it for what it was! If I was watching this alone it would be a 4/10. It's no 'The Room', thank god, but it's nothing groundbreaking.

There are two POV characters and the story couldn't make me care about either of them. The setting felt like it could have taken place in London, Seattle, or Amsterdam. Con was fun, but this movie is really only worth it if you want to see Con play a homophobic weasel of a man.

Only higher than the projects he was barely in. (Link should be updated for those who want to rerank anything, ill post it in the comments if needed)

I hope everyone has an amazing holiday season. This time of year is shit, but you're already this far in!

@ivegotnonameidea Thank you so much for your recommendation and assistance!

I would love to hear everyone else's opinions on this shitty film!

#the last seduction II #con o'neill #con oneill #The Last Seduction 2 #Con's Conography #Troy Fenton

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