#where are the ladies into one direction and women’s lib too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

Text

THE MARTIN & LEWIS SHOW

April 3, 1949

“The Martin and Lewis Show” was a radio comedy-variety program in the United States. It was broadcast on NBC beginning April 3, 1949, and ending July 14, 1953. It starred the comedy team of Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin. Martin was the singer of the pair, and Lewis was the comedian. it was named Favorite Radio Comedy Show in Radio-TV Mirror magazine's 1952 poll.

The series was produced by Bob Adams, and directed by Robert L. Redd and Dick Mack. Written by Ed Simmons and Norman Lear, although they were not hired until late 1950.

This is the pilot episode, and was not numbered. It was originally 37 minutes, but was later edited to 30 minutes for broadcast.

Regulars on the program included Ben Alexander, Sheldon Leonard, Florence MacMichael, The Skylarks, and Mary Hatcher. Announcers were Jimmy Wallington and Johnny Jacobs. Dick Stabile was both the bandleader and a foil for Martin and Lewis.

Dean Martin was born Dino Paul Crocetti in Steubenville, Ohio, in 1917. He made his screen debut in a short playing a singer in Art Mooney’s band, but his first big screen role was 1949’s My Friend Irma with Jerry Lewis. This began a partnership that would be one of the most successful screen pairings in cinema history. Later, he also worked frequently members of “the Rat Pack”: Frank Sinatra, Joey Bishop, Peter Lawford, and Sammy Davis Jr. His persona was that of a playboy, usually seen with a glass of booze and a cigarette. Martin appeared on “The Lucy Show” in what Ball later said was her favorite episode of the series. Martin and Lucille Ball appeared on many TV variety and award shows together and made the TV movie “Lucy Gets Lucky” in 1975. He died on Christmas Day in 1995 at age 78.

Jerry Lewis was a comedian, actor, and singer born in Newark, New Jersey in 1926. He was known for his slapstick humor and was originally paired up with Dean Martin, forming the famed comedy team of Martin and Lewis. His long-standing commitment to hosting the annual Muscular Dystrophy telethon in 2010, after 44 years, earning him a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1977. He was also presented the French Legion of Honor in 1984. He appeared with Lucille Ball Lewis on “Danny Thomas’s Wonderful World of Vaudeville” in 1965. He died in 2014.

Frank Nelson (Agent) was born on May 6, 1911 (three months before Lucille Ball) in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He started working as a radio announcer at the age of 15. He later appeared on such popular radio shows as “The Great Gildersleeve,” “Burns and Allen,” and “Fibber McGee & Molly”. He performed in 11 episodes of “My Favorite Husband.” On “I Love Lucy” he holds the distinction of being the only actor to play two recurring roles: Freddie Fillmore and Ralph Ramsey, as well as six one-off characters, including the frazzled train conductor in “The Great Train Robbery” (ILL S5;E5), a character he repeated on “The Lucy Show.” Aside from Lucille Ball, Nelson is perhaps most associated with Jack Benny and was a fifteen-year regular on his radio and television programs.

Lucille Ball (Guest Star) as then finishing her first season of her radio series “My Favorite Husband”. She was two months away from the premiere of her film Sorrowful Jones with Bob Hope.

Synopsis ~ It's time to go over to Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis's hotel room before they do their first radio show.

EPISODE

In Jerry and Dean’s hotel room, they are getting dressed to do their show when the telephone rings. They fear it is someone from NBC wanting to know where they are. The phone continues to ring.

Dean reasons that they did well in nightclubs, but Jerry says those people paid to get in, while radio audiences get in for free. Jerry is afraid his act may offend someone, and he’d get sent to Siberia. Dean thinks the radio show may lead to fame in motion pictures. Jerry can’t see the positive and sees only failure. The phone rings again.

Jerry answers the phone and it is his agent (Frank Nelson), wondering where the h-e-c-k they are. Dean says they can’t leave until he rehearses his romantic number.

Dean (and orchestra) launches into "You Won't Be Satisfied (Until You Break My Heart)" by Freddy James and Larry Stock in 1946.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s the maid come to clean. She notices that the room is clean - and fears she’ll be fired. She is upset that their towels say his and hers instead of his and his. Jerry tells her not to dust the dresser because he keeps his kitten in there.

MAID: “My, you’re odd people.” LEWIS: “We ain’t odd. We’re entertainers.”

Outside the NBC Studio, two women are excited to see Martin and Lewis. Lewis stands behind them, although they don’t recognize him. They faun over Dean’s good looks and talent, much to Lewis’s dismay. Dean strolls up and the girls get giddy with excitement.

Inside the studio, the orchestra tunes up and everyone shouts hello: producer, director, singer, technicians. When Dean needs quiet to rehearse, Jerry feels left out. Dean introduces Lucille Ball, but she’s angry that he’s upset Jerry.

Lucille promises she’ll protect Jerry from Dean. Lucille starts to notice how athletic and handsome Dean is. She gradually softens. Suddenly Lucille is defending Dean to Jerry!

JERRY: “You do think I’ll be a big success, don’t ya Lucille?” LUCILLE: “Why not? Lassie made it!”

Lucille says she’s planned an opening night party for the boys, but is concerned about Jerry’s behavior.

Oops! Jerry Lewis trips over his words, and ad libs: “It’s too close to the paper, whaddya want?”

Jerry defends his behavior with unusually florid language. Lucille says there will be young ladies at the party.

JERRY: “I like ‘em about my height.” LUCILLE: “Betty Grable will be there.” JERRY: “I like ‘em about my age.” LUCILLE: “Ann Blyth will be there.” JERRY: “And I like ‘em about my intelligence.” LUCILLE: “I’m sorry, Margaret O’Brien can’t stay out that late.”

MARTIN: “Shall we dress?” LUCILLE: “Naturally. We don’t want the cops.”

They get the cue that they have thirty second until air.

Lucille, Jerry, and Dean sing “The Money Song” lyrics written by Harold Rome for the musical That’s The Ticket.

They are back in their hotel suite about to go to sleep, when the maid knocks on the door. She tells them they have to get out of bed - she’s put on the wrong size sheets!

End of Episode

#Jerry Lewis #NBC Radio #The Martin and Lewis Show #Lucille Ball #Dean Martin #Frank Nelson #1949 #The Money Song #You Won't Be Satisfied

5 notes · View notes

whalewise · 4 years

Text

one piece high school theatre au

nami: the stage manager!! loses it when people disregard sightlines and stand where the audience could see them; has permission from the director to throw kids into the orchestra pit if they touch the curtains: starts betting pools among the crew as to which actor will break a prop first

luffy: breaks a prop first. hes in the ensemble and does amazing action sequences and physical acting; he WILL eat ALL prop food no matter what; nami obviously is not having it and law suggests poisoning it; luffys also really good at improv and will step up and make crap up when the show goes wrong; has a really hard time with memorizing lines though

law: backstage manager. materializes out of the shadows to do crew stuff; nami has tasked him with keeping track of zoro; thats not going well; also has to keep ace from lighting stuff on fire; wow those are two large jobs

shachi, penguin, and bepo: ensemble. law had entirely too much responsibility and recruited his buddies to help with ace and zoro maintain order backstage; shaci and penguin keep trying to wear their hats with their costumes; they also help with set building and props

franky: carpenter obviously. creates such extravagant set pieces the school wonders how on earth they had the budget for that; so much detail!; insane mechanics and moving parts; everything has hidden cupholders - from cinderellas carriage to tevye and goldes bed

zoro: stage crew/ ensemble/small amount of lines. honestly its a miracle he ever gets un-lost; the spotlight operator really has to be ready because he very could end up saying his lines from the middle of the audience, or a catwalk; lifts heavy stuff; is a pro at scene change planning/logistics and also fight choreo!!

sanji: gets lead roles. is super passionate about love stories, loves playing princes; people think hes doing some really pretentious and overzealous ad-libbing when he does his weird thing with the way he speaks to women;

robin: the drama teacher. has the vision but really trusts the kids as artists too; wants to give every show they do a dark twist; wants her students to understand the message of the shows; historical accuracy

brook: in charge of the orchestra! manages to direct and play violin and cheers really loud; is not allowed backstage, especially anywhere near the ladies dressing room

ace: lighting! teaches people how to operate the spotlight; carefully considers the lighting design for each scene; also will really commit to a role, plays show-stealing secondary characters; sometimes just doesnt show up to rehearsal; wants every show they do to have pyrotechnics; “ooone day mooo --” *WOOSH* pillars of fire erupting on the stage;

sabo: keeps petitioning the school to do one of the plays he writes about overthrowing goverments; competes with ace to cheer the loudest for luffy; didnt want to audition but kept hanging around rehearsals for his bros and robin gave him a role; loves les mis; played enjolras; waved that flag so freakin hard

usopp: designs and builds and thrift shops for props, paints some backdrops and also acts! does well with monologues; plays a lot of kings and dads, loves to do villains; drinks tons of coffee to get all of his projects done; isnt fully off-book til the last minute

chopper: follows his buddies around backstage; visits brook and drinks tea with him; also a lot of first aid is needed with this group; when large groups are needed for scenes he joins in hiding in the background behind zoro

vivi: lead. was pretty shy at first but really warmed up to acting; helps a bit with costumes; loves the warm up games; is boss at ninja

bonclay: choreographer/dance instructor. also a guidance counselor at the school

whitebeard: his “shipping company” sponsors the shows; hears about how rehearsals are going from ace and is then surprised when there are no explosions in little women

shanks:the art teacher who shows up drunk/hungover/baked and likes to help out with shows

bartolomeo: sound crew. has to take a moment outside when he gets too excited over luffys performance; fights people if they insult theatre

mihawk: very successful pro stuntman happens to live next door to the school and shanks bothers him into making some guest appearances to teach

#one piece #im imagining zoro being in a musical and its so great #one piece au #one piece alternate universe #op #one piece high school au #one piece high school theatre au #sabo is obsessed with les mis #nami #t law

52 notes · View notes

bourbonboredom · 4 years

Text

A Reason To Believe Chapter 10

Being an undercover officer is a perilous job and Flip Zimmerman knows this far too well. He keeps his romantic life limited to one-night stands, never letting anyone get too close. That all starts to change when he meets a vivacious Jewish woman named Elle just as he’s about to take on a seriously dangerous undercover job; infiltrating the KKK. Elle and his undercover work make him question things he’d never thought to before and challenge him to see the world, and himself, in a whole new light.

A Flip x OC Fic

Word Count: 3,859

Warnings: slurs

And if they stare

Just let them burn their eyes on you moving

And if they shout

Don't let it change a thing that you're doing

Hold your head up, woman

Hold your head high

(x)

Spending his Friday night in a backwoods bar with a bunch of racists wasn't Flip’s idea of a good time. The jukebox played the same ten songs in rotation, the lighting probably should have been replaced a good five years ago, and the pool tables were missing cue balls. At least the beer was cold.

He had grown used to the atmosphere at the bar, and the patrons. The smell of cigarette smoke fell heavily over everything, leaving a slight haze in the room. The bar was more populated than usual. A ladies night had been introduced into the roster, filling the usually testosterone-laden room with high heels and skirts.

The girls were pretty enough. Some looked like office-workers, secretaries and nurses. Some were definitely underage, leaving the detective in him rolling. They looked like they were having a good time, whispering among one another before one would wait for a man to approach her. They'd giggle and bat their eyes at anyone who caught their gaze. It was all so normal. It was hard to remember every single one of them was sympathetic to the aryan movement that this bar was home to.

A girl kept trying to catch his eye from across the room. She looked a little younger than him, but older than the underage girls. She wore a simple skirt and blouse with sensible heels. A work outfit, meaning she must have come straight from the office to the bar. Her hair was a dark brown that flowed down her back in soft waves. Her features were distinctly sharp, with high cheekbones and a thin nose. She would stare at him from across the room as he spoke to Walter, occasionally whispering to her friends and giggling.

"She seems sweet on you over there," Walter pointed out, amusement filling his voice.

"So I've noticed," He responded, keeping his answer as neutral as possible.

"She's a pretty one, would make a fine wife," He continued.

"I'm sure she would,"

It wasn't the first time being flirted with while undercover. He'd managed to keep a pretty clean record with undercover cases. But he'd been undercover at a few strip clubs early in his career, weeding out seedy club owners that allowed girls to perform favors in back rooms. Or drug gangs that hired women for company. There was one case where his target's wife got sweet on him and he spent weeks on end trying to politely rejecting her advances.

But he also wasn't dating anyone during those cases. He'd either purposely stop seeing anyone during those periods, or the girl he was seeing would get sick of him never being around and would leave. He made sure Elle aware that things like this might come up, but it didn't make him feel any less strange about it all. She understood he'd have to sometimes be around a certain kind of woman, and she was okay with that as long as he kept his hands to himself. He had no problem with that last part, especially when this woman would openly hate him if she knew his true ancestry.

'Weird how that works' He thought to himself. This woman is attracted to him, but if this were a different bar a different day, and he had his necklace on, she would be repulsed by him.

Elle's words echoed in his head; They don't care who you are as a person if you’re Jewish.

"Ask her to dance, she looks like she could use a partner," Walter suggested, eyebrows cocking up his forehead.

"Maybe later," He was avoiding committing to anything.

"Later? What's the wait?" A new voice came.

A few of the members approached them as they stood by a pool table. They had clearly just gotten to the bar, the cool outdoor air still clinging to their jackets as they formed a semi circle.

"Ron here is taking his sweet time waiting to talk to that sweet thing over there," Walter informed the newcomers, nudging his head in the direction of the girl at the bar.

"Are you stupid? If you aren't snatching that up, I am," One of the men said incredulously.

"By all means, go for it," He offered, putting up a hand in surrender.

"What are ya queer or somethin'?" Felix sneered.

"I ain't no queer," He defended. God, what was this guy's obsession with him? Everyone else accepted him but Felix was constantly badgering him.

"You're passing up on some good genes there," Walter said nonchalantly. "A pure wife is gettin' harder to come by,"

"Yeah, and finding a girl here guarantees her bloodline. Ain't nothin' in his bar that doesn't have Aryan blood runnin' through their veins," Felix grinned, but it came off as unsettling when matched with his words.

"I've done just fine in the past," Flip tried his best to wave them off. "I just got out of a relationship, she was a handful. I'm not in a rush to do that again,"

"All these modern women and their attitudes," Ivanhoe roared, his beer starting to affect his speech. "It's all this women's lib bullshit,"

"What happened to the good old days? When women knew their place was in the home? Now you got all these girls looking to go to college and have careers. Don't they know they aren't built for that?" Another brother bemoaned

"Built for babies an nothin’ else," Walter agreed.

"Hey, now that's not fair," Flip chided. Everyone turned to look at him, eyes wide in surprise anyone would challenge them.

"They're built for cookin' too, I'm not here to make my own damn sandwiches," He laughed, making the room laugh with him.

He knew Elle would kill him if he ever told her he said that. He sent a silent apology into the universe.

"Sorry I'm late," Another voice came, followed by the front door slamming shut. "Got tied up at the hospital,"

"Hey John, how's your mom doin'? I heard she fell pretty hard," Walter greeted the man as he grabbed a bottle of beer and joined the circle.

"She's okay, would be a lot better if the damn nurses would listen to her," John grumbled.

"Damn shame, they just don't listen to patients no more," Ivanhoe grumbled back.

"And she has this one nurse, uppity bitch. She goes around wearing pants like she's a man. It's plain disrespectful if you ask me,"

The group vocalized their dislike. Flip wondered to himself if there were any other nurses who took to Elle's habit of ditching the dress. He hoped it was someone else they were talking about.

"Oh, and if you think that's bad this nurse walks around wearing one of those Jew necklaces. That's right, our good Christian hospitals are hiring kikes,”

A pit grew in his stomach. It had to be Elle. Her coworker, the one supposed to be at Rosh Hashanah, worked in the maternity ward. He kept quiet and listened to what else John had to say, silently gripping his beer.

"No! The next thing you know they'll be hiring dogs off the street! How is the good lord supposed to protect patients at a Christian hospital if they're hiring nurses of a different faith?" Walter asked.

"Maybe we could pay her a visit like that black panther girl. Scare her off a little," Felix suggested, making flips blood run cold.

"She'll drop out in her own time I bet, she'll get she ain't welcome here," He heard himself say.

"She doesn't even have an easy to pronounce name, my mother doesn't know what to even call her. Those Hebrews and their weird names. Why can't they be more like us?" Flip didn't bother to point out John's name had Hebrew origins, he knew he'd be wasting his breath. And it had to be Elle, she used her full name on her name tag.

"Give her a number, I'm sure she'd respond to that. They sure used to," Felix laughed, causing everyone else to follow. Flip grinned but he felt sick as he twisted his face into a smile.

"Can she ask for a more suitable nurse?" He tried to switch the conversation to being less disgusting.

"According to the hospital, she's one of their best. The head nurse said she was 'one of the best they'd ever had' and my mother was 'lucky to have her looking after her'. Shows what they know," John rolled his eyes.

A little sense of pride swelled in Flip. He knew Elle was good at her job, but he was sure she'd be happy to hear how her bosses praise her.

"It's a shame, she's pretty for a Jew. And the pants do fill out in all the right ways," John chuckled.

"You could always shut her up with your dick," Ivanhoe offered. "Give her an uncut taste,"

He wanted to break cover right then. That was his girlfriend. His gorgeous, smart, fiery girlfriend they were talking about. Not some object for them to comment on. He took a few breaths through his nose to calm himself. The investigation was more important. He had a wire strapped to his chest that was recording all of this. This was evidence. He couldn't give up now.

"Let me know if you're willing to share," He managed to say, clinking bottles with John.

"I heard that girl who works down at the grocery store on 22nd is coming here tonight, if you're looking for something less kosher," Walter teased the young man.

"Oh don't mind if I do," John leered.

The conversation turned after that, much to his relief. They went back to their usual bemoaning of society these days instead of the targeted talk about Elle. He supposed he shouldn't be too worried if they couldn't even pronounce her full name, but the thought of anything happening to her made him slow to finish his beer at the risk of losing it.

He was able to start his goodbyes not too long after, saying he was looking to turn in early because he had a long week at work. He shrugged his shearling jacket over his shoulders and waved off any last attempts to set him up with a fine Aryan woman as he walked out of the bar, leaving the faint sounds of the jukebox in the distance.

He calmly got in his car and locked the doors, checking no one was wandering around outside for a smoke break. He began talking lowly into the microphone on his chest so that Ron could hear him.

"I'll meet you by the gas station in ten, park away from the lights," He said as he turned on his engine and drove out of the parking lot on to the poorly lit road.

He tried not to think too much about what was said as he drove. He pushed it to the back of his mind. Fear wasn't helpful right now. He needed to keep himself safe. He needed to keep her safe. But right now he needed to get this equipment to Ron so he could go home to her.

He finally managed to get off the uneven dirt roads hidden in the trees and onto the solid asphalt of the main roads. He noticed a pair of headlights behind him in the distance. In the rear view mirror he could see Ron’s car following him at a distance until they both pulled into the back lot of the small gas station on the way back to the city.

He gently but quickly pulled the wire from his undershirt, letting the tape remain in his haste. He pulled the transmitter from the front pocket of his jeans and turned the power off, winding the chord around the plastic frame. He got out of his car and opened the door to Ron's passenger side before sitting down.

"Were they talking about Elle?" He asked without a greeting. "That nurse they described sounded awfully familiar,"

"I think so. They said some stuff that'd be good in court, keep this tape safe," He responded, staring to get out of the car.

"That's your girl they were talking about, doesn't that make you angry?" Ron sounded upset at his perceived cavalier nature.

"You're right it is my girl. It makes me fuckin’ furious but I can’t blow my cover because of that. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna make sure she's safe," He said curtly, slamming the door behind him.

He was out of the parking lot before Ron could even turn his lights back on. The drive from this bar back into the city was about fifteen minutes, with another couple to reach Elle's place. He was still cautious, driving roundabout routes and watching the cars around him to make sure he wasn't being followed. He couldn't throw caution to the wind just because he was angry.

His mind raced as he took the back streets to her apartment building. He had to make sure she was safe, that she was doing things to keep herself safe. A part of him still hoped they were talking about another Jewish nurse who wore pants and didn't take shit from patients. Unlikely, but it helped calm him down.

He swung into a spot outside her building, almost forgetting to turn his car off as he ran inside. He hurried up the stairs, not caring if his steps were too loud, and knocked on her door in a way one might mistake as pounding.

She swung the door open with a confused look on her face.

"Hey, I didn't expect to see you tonight," She greeted him.

"I just got off shift, wanted to come see you," He said, trying to stifle his heaving breathing from rushing.

"You look pale, is everything okay?" She asked, putting her wrist to his forehead.

"Yeah, I'm fine, come here," He mumbled, pulling her into a hug.

She squeaked in surprise as he swept her up in his arms, his body overtaking hers as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"You're gorgeous, you know that right? And the smartest person I know. You're perfect and anyone that says different is fucking blind," His voice was hoarse as his hands ran through her curls.

"Uh, thanks Flip. That's kind of out of nowhere, are you sure everything's okay?" She pushed him away gently before bringing her hands up to his jawline to get a better look at him.

"You know I can't really talk about work stuff, right? We talked about that," He says softly.

"Yeah, and that's okay," She matched his tone, running her thumb along his cheek in a soothing motion. "I get that it's gonna be that way,"

"But...something happened and it's making me concerned about you at work," He continued, looping his hands around her waist to pull her closer.

"Okay," She rested her head in his chest and waited for him to elaborate.

"Elle," He called softly. She looked up at him with her big brown eyes, full of empathy.

"I don't think you should be wearing your necklace at work," He said cautiously, watching for her response. "It's for your safety, I wouldn't be asking you otherwise,"

Her eyebrows knitted together, her nose scrunched the tiniest bit, narrowing her gaze as she looked up at him.

"No," Was all that came from her mouth.

“Elle—” He started, trying to find a way to tell her why this was important.

"I can't take this off, I've been wearing this since I was thirteen, it's important to me,"

"I understand that, and I said I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," He tried to keep an even tone as her grew louder.

"Flip, I'm keeping it on," Her words were final, and she trekked out of the living room into her bedroom.

He stood there for a minute before following her. She was folding her clothes that had just been washed at the laundromat down the street. She was silent, but the way she snapped the folds and wrinkles from her clothes indicated she was angry.

He leaned against the doorway watching her. She clearly knew he was there but chose to ignore him, putting a freshly folded pile into a drawer.

"Elle, we have to talk about this,"

No response.

"Eliana, come on. You know this is serious, I've never asked you anything like this before,"

Another angry snap as she folded a pair of blue jeans.

"Elle, please. You're still Jewish if you take it off for a few hours a day, no one can take that from you—”

"You just don't get it, do you?" She whipped around, rage bubbling just below the surface.

"Obviously not," He shot back. "But I'm trying, so please explain to my why you can't take it off for work?"

“"t's a family heirloom, its non-negotiable,”

"What does that even have to—”

"It's a family heirloom Phillip! This was my grandmother’s. She didn’t make it to America like my parents. She stayed behind and was taken to the camps with the rest of my family. She hid it when everything else was taken from her! She sewed it into the lining of the clothes given to her. When she died at the camp from starvation my uncle had to sneak it into his possession before the guards could bury her with it. It would have been lost for forever in a mass grave otherwise. She wanted him to keep it safe, keep it in the family at all costs and out of the hands of the guards who'd melt it down for their own needs. He brought it to America after he was liberated and it was given to me after my bat mitzvah,"

The story rushed out of her mouth, her voice cracking and her hands curled into fists as if to anchor her to the moment.

"I was named after my grandmother. What would it mean if I took it off, Flip? She risked her life to keep this necklace, to keep her culture and her faith alive, I'm not taking it off," She covered it with her hand, as if to shield it from his view.

He was speechless. She'd mentioned it was a family heirloom, but it never occurred to him where it came from, or what it might have gone through.

The delicate star she wore around her neck was embedded with the history, the struggles, of her family. It had belonged to the person she was named for. Someone who died while keeping it safe. How many other family heirlooms were taken from people in those camps? Melted down or thrown away, as if they had no significance. An entire culture nearly wiped out and thirty years later still trying to recover and rebuild.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," He apologized sincerely.

"It's not really a conversation I like bringing up," She said stiffly, her eyes tinged red as if she was holding back tears. "If you can't understand what this means to me…I don't know what to tell you. I've been wearing this for sixteen years, I can't just take it off,"

"I understand that now, it's just—” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Let's just say racists need medical attention too, and someone might've taken notice of you while you were working,"

She was quiet, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought through the patients she'd seen recently.

"And you can't tell me who, right?" She finally asked.

"I can't, I don't want you to accidentally act different around them. Do something that could alert them of what's going on,"

"But if I took my necklace off, wouldn't they still know I'm Jewish? Now that they've seen me?" She questioned.

"Maybe. Gotta be honest, some of these people aren't really Fullbright scholars. They think you 'look Jewish' but I don't think they'd be able to tell if you didn't have the necklace or your full name on your name tag,"

"What wrong with my name?" She asked indignantly.

"Nothing, it's beautiful," He rushed to her defense. "But they thought it was hard to pronounce when they saw your name tag,"

She scowled at the thought, eyes rolling before looking at him again.

"No one even uses my full name at work except for the head nurse. They all call me Elle,"

"I know. The guy who was saying all of this had a Hebrew name. Go figure,"

"Well they haven't figured you out yet, so I guess it's okay. They missed this schnoz somehow," she reached on her tip toes so she could touch her nose to his.

"Hey," He fake-protested. "You know you like it,"

"I do," She agreed, smiling for the first time that night.

She leaned up to kiss him, a peace offering he accepted openly.

"I am still Jewish even if I take it off," She conceded. "But this is important to me. It's my culture and my faith, not just some charm. It helps me feel closer to my family, especially when I'm thousands of miles from home,"

“I understand that now, I won't ask again,"

"And I'm safe at my job," She assured him. "I have a great staff, and they'll make sure nothing happens to me. And I'll start walking home with someone if it makes you feel better,"

"It would," He admitted. "Would you be okay if I let some of the guys at the station know about this? Just in case I can't be there?"

"You are not getting me special treatment," She said firmly. "The last thing I need is to be escorted around town by a bunch of cops,"

"Self defense training then. I can teach you some basics, stuff that can get you out in a pinch,"

"I have a little bit of training but I could probably need the practice,"

"How about on Sunday? You have that day off right? I'll take you to the station and you can throw me around,"

"Perfect," She grinned. "Can I put you in cuffs?"

"Can I put you in cuffs?" He asked back.

"Only if you're wearing that shoulder holster," She pointed her finger at him.

"Oh you liked that huh? Should I read you your Miranda Rights too?” He came up behind her, grabbing her by the waist and nuzzling her neck.

“You have the right to remain silent,” He used a gruff voice, letting his beard tickle her skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” She laughed.

“Anything you say can and will be held against you,” He accentuated the statement by grinding against her.

“Excuse me detective, this seems highly inappropriate,”

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you,”

“That’s not even sexy,”

He swept an arm under her leg, picking her up bridal style.

“Do you understand the rights I have just ready to you?”

“I believe so Detective Zimmerman. Now take me to bed you meshugah man,”

“I don’t know that one, but I’m gonna say its a compliment,” He said as he walked toward the bedroom.

“I’ll let you find out,”

----------------

NOTES

As I’m sure most people know at this point, many valuables and heirlooms were stolen during WWII by the Third Reich. Many families lost everything, some clung to smaller items in any way they could. There are literally hundreds of articles and sources about this looting, and if you’re in the mood to read something depressing, its a whole rabbit hole to go down!

Some history on the Miranda Rights

Taglist: @ladygrey03 @tinydancer40

#ARTB #ARTBmasterlist #flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip x reader #flip zimmerman x oc

16 notes · View notes

jksangelic · 5 years

Text

↳ rating: M

↳ genre: romance, angst, dry humor, smut, undergroundrapper!yoongi (don’t be fooled, yoongi is a soft lover in this), one-shot (divided for the sake of a functioning mobile tumblr)

↳ pairing: yoongi x reader

↳ parts: 1 | 2 | 3

↳ word count: 2.8k

↳ a/n: here’s the first part! second part comes tmro, and third comes the next day, both releasing at 10PM PST! please look forward to them heehehehe.

this part does not contain smut, only light swearing and maybe some sensual themes? i don’t remember lol. it’s also not very edited hehe i’ll come back to it.

*each squiggly divider represents a flashback, straight divider represents current time*

Yoongi preferred the heat set to exactly eighty degrees Fahrenheit, which was utterly ridiculous. It caused you to toss and turn in a pool of unattractive, and possibly foul-smelling, sweat all throughout the night. Even more so, he trapped you with his own limbs, protecting you like that stupid dog from Tom and Jerry protected that awfully large and awfully raw steak. You’ve fallen in and out of consciousness because of it, surely waking up every thirty minutes while the man slept like a log.

But it was wonderful.

You open your eyes for the umpteenth time, assuring he’s still attached to the hip and planting a kiss on his forehead sleepily. What a dream it would be to stay like this forever, you think, tossing the idea away as quickly as it came. It was punishing as is and you dare not tie the noose around your own neck.

You scan the room, curtains drawn closed and tv silently flicking through commercials, casting a dim width of light onto the bed. It must still be pretty early in the morning, you assume, a bittersweet realization.

Enjoy the moment, you correct yourself, be happy that you were able to have this. So you peer down at him through foggy vision, his eyes closed and mean, twitching a bit enough that you suppose he’s dreaming of something himself. Nudging your face into his hair, which smelled faintly of smoke and peaches, you force yourself back into slumber.

For the first time tonight, you sleep deeply.

Wondering how the hell anyone was permitted admission after the venue breached occupancy threefold, you rub at the aching spot of your ribs that your neighbor unintentionally keeps jabbing. You attempt to peer over the sea of heads anyway, looking for that goddamned girl that dragged you here in the first place. Where was she? Why was she so short? Why did you wear heels to a concert?

Never did you suspect you would be pushed against barricade at 11PM on a Thursday, waiting for an artist you have never heard. The sweat that accumulates, quite frankly, everywhere was probably starting to stain your clothes at this point. The beauty of public outings.

“Y/N! Y/N! Right here!” screams the woman of your nightmares, waving maniacally more towards the middle of the crowd than you but nevertheless farther than you would like to travel in this density. You make your trek, apologizing profusely as full-grown adults glare at you for moving, oh help them all.

“I will have your head for this,” you yell into her ear, gripping the divider to ease the stinging pain stemming from your toes.

“Lighten up, you’re at a concert that you got into for free, for heaven’s sake,” Chungha pouts, bopping her head happily to whatever DJ was opening for her beloved. “I think you’ll like these guys, anyway. Really good rappers, up-and-coming and all that good stuff.”

“Yeah, if they even show up. This poor dude has been playing for over an hour. Do you suppose his fingers hurt from pressing all those buttons?” She rolls her eyes in a way that says, please stop already. You really just want to know.

If this DJ had any influence of what the main act would be, you would rather just leave, plain and simple. This wasn’t really your thing in the first place, Overwatch and Red Dead Redemption (not one, but TWO!) sounding much more appealing than listening to EDM’s Worst Hits. But Chungha was a sweetheart who you’d marry in an instant, and when she asked you to come and claimed she already got you a ticket because she knew you couldn’t possibly say no to her, well, you couldn’t possibly say no to her.

You even dressed up for the occasion, a mix of Instagram baddie and Tumblr aesthetic (a sum of words you’d never like to use again) smooshed into one oddly cute outfit, if you did say so yourself.

It wasn’t worth your time.

But then the music starts changing pace, lights changing colors and dimming and smoke machines going ham and you suppose it’s finally starting. Three men walk out, one with orange hair and a long but pretty nose, heart mouth showcasing the straightest teeth you’ve ever seen on a human being, the second slightly shorter, bleached hair styled messily and the hand holding his mic covered in rings, the final with a smirking dimple, leading them out and hyping up the crowd with a few welcoming words that you don’t quite make out.

“There’s three,” you state dumbly.

“Great job counting! Remind me to give you a cookie later,” Chungha retorts halfheartedly, much more intrigued by seeing these men in person, “The guy in front is RM, he’s their leader. Blonde is Suga. J-Hope is the sexy one—HOSEOK OPPA!” She screams as if she’s been struck with a spatula, eyes wide and focusing.

You like their style, you’ll give them that. RM starts the song strong, lyrics so quick and diction so clear that it sounds as if he’s rapping directly to you. They all bounce around the stage, people at barricade, including your friend, reaching out and bobbing along in synchronization. J-Hope follows suit, stage presence oddly intimidating and seductive concurrently, his body more fluid and powerful than any dancer you’ve seen before. You can see why he would be the ladies’ man, lying to yourself if you said your eyes haven’t focused on his hips more often than not.

And without warning, Suga bursts into his own lines, atmosphere changing almost immediately when he brings the mic to his mouth. It’s hypnotic, his words continuously stringing out without break, without a single beat missed. You watch in fear. As the crowd around you screams and attempts to chime in, Suga steps closer and closer to them, squatting down right in front of where you stand and finishing his part with a deep, breathy note. He sits there as both men and women (and Chunga) paw at him and for the smallest of moments, do you think, his eyes lock on you.

It sets you on fire.

Yoongi always made it a point to study the faces of his fans out of appreciation. It would be foolish to say he’d be able to recognize each and every person he’s ever encountered, but he knows you were one to sketch into the archives of his mind. It doesn’t help that you are the only one, mouth slightly agape and teeth biting the inside of your cheek, completely still and studying. For the first time in a while, he feels intimidated; self-conscious even. More than a listener amongst the energetic mob, you look more like a critic.

It makes him shiver.

I would be his groupie in a heartbeat, you think, no doubt that he too is infamous around women wherever he goes. Whatever the matter, seeing this enigma of a man was worth your whole night’s experience.

I love, I love, I love myself! The audience screams, bass intensifying as the other two reach for water bottles propped on the stage. I love, I love, I love myself!

J-Hope throws in some ad-libs, sipping from his water before chucking the lid entirely, Namjoon putting a hand to his ear to egg everyone on and holding his own water above. You still stand in place, astonished how ethereal someone can look on stage and you instantaneously understand why people barricade. Suga catches you again, still squatted in the same position, possibly too lazy to get a water for himself but lets his brothers do what they must, and grins subtly.

You must look absolutely moronic gaping at this man, tongue-in-cheek impressed and hands barely gripped around the bars while everyone else around strains to be closer to the stars of the night.

I love, I love, I love myself! Y’all player hater, you should love yourself!

And that’s when you get—at least, half of a water bottle’s worth of water thrown at your direction. Right in front of the newfound man of your dreams. Everyone else screams madly, acting like these gods have blessed their parched souls with water after days on end, while you now look a little like a wet dog dressed in a hoochie skirt. You shrug, wiping at whatever was worth attempting to dry and thanking the gods that your makeup wasn’t running.

“Oh my god, your shirt is soaked!” Chungha lately notices, head whipping back and forth from the boys to you, back to the boys just in case she was missing something important.

“I would sell myself for that man,” you deadpan, not even blinking towards her.

“Suga? I bet he would accept if you managed to offer it to him.”

“I would easily give him all of the money in my savings right now.”

“You don’t have a savings. Pay attention.”

So you did.

You relished in every part Suga had, finally gathering up enough brain cells to at least rock with everyone else. Every song was like a lucid dream, the concert high really resonating with you. Either that, or you were literally high off of how much smoke there was. Gotta love rap concerts.

Perhaps it was the luck of the opening song, but Suga didn’t make eye contact with you again, a beaten disappointment gurgling in your stomach. But instead of behaving as a kicked puppy and moping about losing every possible chance that the blonde devil would bring you atop the stage and dedicate his serenade of sorts strictly to your face in front of hundreds of people--well, the chances were nearly zero. We're not all winners.

Suga continues on, trying not to focus on the girl with the sharp eyes that makes him clammy to the point where his throat threatens to constrict on him, which isn't optimal. He finishes song after song with his brothers, taking long enough breaks in between to catch his breath and focus on the bigger picture: that there was an entire crowd to please and not just you. Besides, there would always be a pretty or handsome face no matter where he went, he was Suga, goddammit, he wasn't a high school horndog ready to pounce on every intriguing entity he just casually glanced at. That role was a style more befitting for his brothers.

Upon your cognizance that this group was downright brilliant, the concert ends much sooner than you would have liked it. And just like that, the three send their love and are ushered behind the stage. It takes a while for the swarm to dissipate, interlacing your fingers with Chungha's to insure you don't lose her again.

"So, I take it you liked them," she giggles, forehead sheen with sweat because holy shit it's so fucking hot in here.

"They are really... talented. I award proper recognition when it's truly deserved." Tired of waiting, you practically shove your way past the bodies, dragging your poor friend behind you and bee-lining for the entrance.

"Wait! Do you want to get merch?" You twitch your nose, not entirely opposing the idea.

"Are you sure you don't want to just hop in? I'll pay for you!" Chungha cries, halfway into her Uber.

"Sis, I live down the street, I promise I'll be fine. I'll call you when I get home."

"That's so far!"

"I'm walking away now. Go home."

She harrumphs once for effect before waving goodbye, Prius soundlessly whooshing away while your best friend sticks her tongue out at you in the back window. You laugh at her foolishness before spinning on your heel and making your way.

It was just the right amount of chilly, breeze cooling you down a notch. You bet your ass you would remember this night forever, writing a mental note to check out the group on every social platform there was when you got home.

You skirt down a corner of the building, aiming for the route of your apartment--or, at least, where you think it is? "Sense of direction" surely wasn't the best trait on your resume. Walking down the dim street, you notice a few trickling souls walking in and out of the building, probably help from the venue closing up. It's when you see Suga, attempting to light his cigarette and leaning against a black van that you stop like a deer in headlights.

"Suga!" you point and exclaim like a child.

"... Wanna say that any louder, toots?" He chuckles, though, seemingly pleased rather than offended. He scoffs at his empty lighter, tucking the thing in his pocket and leaving his cigarette unlit on his lips.

"S-Sorry. My bad. Do you, uh, need a light?" you offer apologetically, digging through your purse to grab your lucky lighter, an embarrassing bright pink thing with Betty Boop floating in the middle.

"Thanks," he smiles, grabbing the lighter from your hand and flicking it to life as he takes a drag. "Do you smoke?"

"Not cigarettes. Honestly, I already regret offering that to you. That's a bad habit to kick," you sigh, taking it back when he hands it to you.

"Don't I know it." He glances up at your face when he returns your lighter, showing a regretful smirk but studying your face in the process. Well, hell, if it wasn't for the barricade critic.

"I recognize you," he continues, "you were up front, right?"

"Oh, god, I can't believe you remember that."

His heart skips at the match, blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth and pushing himself off the van. "You, uh, looked unimpressed. Got me worried that I lost my game for a bit."

"No! I wasn't unimpressed at all. I'm just a new fan, I guess. My friend brought me. I think I was just in awe, if anything. I even got this hood--"

You quite literally bite your tongue, wishing you could slap your face at the outburst, realization running over you like a train.

"You got what?" he presses, a sly curiousness brimming.

"N-Nothing. You were good. That's all."

"'That's all'? Geez, you're really putting me down over here, toots." He throws the butt and stomps it out, "Those eyes of yours really made me nervous."

Your eyes? How smooth of him. "Oh, I doubt that. You seemed just fine to me."

He hesitates to respond; what exactly are you trying to get at here? Sweet and sour, he supposes. It's interesting to him compared to the countless amount of substance-less gals that suck up to him to simply suck him. New fans certainly were feisty, he supposes.

"Do you live around here?" he asks.

"Are you going to stalk me? Yes."

"Well, if I was, you probably shouldn't have said yes before I answered. But luckily, no." He sticks out his hand, clad with rings of, you're sure of, soaring prices beyond what you can imagine for jewelry, "I'm Min Yoongi. But I guess everyone kinda just calls me Suga now. You can call me Yoongi, if you'd like. Can I ask for your name?"

You take his hand softly, hoping he doesn't notice the way you shrink in it because heavens that near-zero chance of meeting Suga certainly did skyrocket. "It's Y/N."

"Mm, pretty," he comments surely. "Well, Y/N. We're actually going to be here for a while, just finished a few shows here and there and decided to take a break until we can figure out bigger plans," he's talking too much, "Anyway, would you want to hang out sometime?"

You shiver in astonishment, what was happening here? What kind of lucky star flew over your head for this? Your goosebumps had goosebumps.

"That... Yeah, that would be great! Do you... Do you want my number?"

"Would love it," he declares, taking his phone out and setting up your contact without delay.

"Do you do this much? Snag a girl's number after a show?" you joke as you type in your number. Yoongi snorts.

"Girls don't necessarily talk to me in a well-respected manner, let alone offer me a light."

"Well, don't expect that last bit anymore. Smoking really is a pet-peeve of mine," you warn. Who were you to warn him of something you didn't like? Idiot!

"Yes, ma'am. I'll shoot you a text sometime. Was nice meeting you," he says, watching you nod and smile and wave goodbye as you continue on home, Suga's name printed enormously on the back of the new sweatshirt you bought from the merch stand. He bites back a snicker, picking at the hair on his neck before walking back inside.

514 notes · View notes

timeagainreviews · 5 years

Text

My Favourite TARDIS Teams

Yesterday on Twitter, Doctor Who Online asked the fandom which was the greatest Doctor/Companion pairing ever. This got me thinking. In the same way that I could never pin down a favourite Doctor, I doubt I could pin down a favourite TARDIS team, out of all of the TARDIS teams. But perhaps I could pin down my favourite team per Doctor! It seemed like a nice excuse to talk about some of the characters my reviews hadn’t touched upon yet. You may notice, I left out the War Doctor. While I do love the War Doctor, I’m not sure if any of the people he interacted with in the audios were what you could consider a full companion. That being said, I decided to dip into anything from the comics to the audios in some spots. Please note, this is not a list of who is best, merely, who are my favourites!

First Doctor: Susan, Ian, and Barbara

This one seemed like an obvious choice. It’s hard to argue with the original lineup. However, beyond this trio being the original crew, there’s a lot more to love than seniority. When we meet Ian and Barbara, they’re initially at odds with the Doctor. They’re more captives than companions, which makes their reluctant heroism a story of character development. We watch them become a tight-knit family through shared experience. This is something we see less and less throughout the First Doctor’s tenure, and it’s sad to see. We got characters like Dodo who was clearly added in to be a strand-in for Susan. By the time Ben and Polly show up, it’s as if companions are simply there to witness the Doctor and call him "far out." Giving the Doctor a familial link and two intelligent adults to answer to, added gravity to the situation. His actions had consequences. The Doctor wasn’t just magnificent with this team, he grew as a person.

Second Doctor: Zoe and Jamie

For this one, I could have easily just said Jamie and left it at that. Jamie, Jamie, Jamie. All-day, Jamie. But then our sparkle-butted whiz kid from the year 2000 shows up, and she’s wonderful. Why so much love for Jamie? I think most of the fandom would agree he’s the essential Second Doctor companion. Not only do Frazer Hines and Patrick Troughton mesh so well together, so do their characters. I'm not a person that usually ship's characters, but I easily ship Two and Jamie. There’s a certain magic when you pair the Second Doctor’s bumbling eccentric with Jamie’s rough and tumble man out of time. You get two characters who are most dangerous when they’re underestimated. As Terry Pratchett said of his character Carrot Ironfounderson- "Where people went wrong was thinking that simple meant the same thing as stupid." However, this is not to say that the pair weren't in need of a bit of direction. Zoe brought a grounding presence to the team with her headstrong confidence. One of my favourite Zoe moments is when the Doctor defers to her math skills. Before this era, the Doctor hadn't really been one to ask his companions for advice. A lot of the framework for future companion relationships was forged in the Second Doctor era. There's also something sad about the way the relationship ends between the three of them. Zoe and Jamie's minds were wiped of all memory of the Doctor and returned to their original timelines. Barring future retcons, they would never know of the brave adventures they had with their cosmic hobo friend.

Third Doctor: Sarah Jane

This one was hard. I could have easily picked Jo Grant. But I went with Sarah Jane for the same reason I didn't go with Sarah Jane for the Fourth Doctor. When Jo Grant had entered the show, it was after the rather unceremonious departure of Liz Shaw. Part of the reason Caroline John left Doctor Who was mirrored in the reason Liz left UNIT. She took issue with a strong woman being sidelined in her job by a male. Not very "women's lib," of them. Enter Jo Grant, who was basically there to be an assistant. This is why I love Sarah Jane for the Third Doctor. She comes in with her business lady suits and her fast-talking gumption. There's a wonderful way that she balances out the Doctor's ego while losing none of her sensitivity. Sarah Jane brings a certain realness to the companions in a way we hadn't seen since Barbara Wright. I also really admire the way she reacts to danger. There's a complete lack of vanity in her performance. Sadly, I feel Sarah loses a bit of her edge when she joins the Fourth Doctor. She trades her lady suits for Andy Pandy overalls. While Elisabeth Sladen will forever be one of the greats, I simply feel she worked best with the Third Doctor.

Fourth Doctor: Leela and K9

I may have lied when I said I can't pick a favourite TARDIS team out of all of them. This may be the closest to what I would call "favourite." It's always surprised me to discover that many fans rate Leela quite low. The most common reasons people usually give me are along the lines of why Tom Baker disliked the character- she was too violent, too one-note. I couldn't disagree more. In my mind, Leela's one of the few classic companions with a clear character arc. Essentially, Leela's story is one of rediscovering her roots. But on a simple level, it's a story of atheism. Leela's people weren't meant to be the Sevateem, worshipping technology like relics. They were a survey team, a group of scientists. As the Doctor teaches Leela about science, she learns more of what she was always supposed to be. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't also love that she's a murderous badass. There's something delightful about seeing this jungle warrior stalking down a corridor with her robot dog friend. It's a wonderful juxtaposition of anachronisms that screams Doctor Who. This is easily one of the most dangerous TARDIS teams, with Leela's knives and Janis thorns, and K9's death rays. Not only is the Doctor forced to teach Leela restraint, but is also forced to use it himself. Wouldn't it be easier to just let his friends do the dirty work? But at what cost? Interesting stuff.

Fifth Doctor: Tegan, Nyssa, and Turlough

This one was a bit more difficult than others. Not because I couldn't decide, but because I've never exactly been all that enamoured with the Fifth Doctor's companions. Kamelion and Adric definitely weren't making the list (sorry not sorry). I wasn't going to include Peri either as there wasn't much to go off with her. I'm also slightly averse to any further adventures for Peri and the Fifth Doctor via audios and books, as I feel it undercuts the Fifth Doctor's sacrifice in "The Caves of Androzani." Which leaves us with these three. As companions, I would say they're all just sort of... fine. Despite the fact that the three of them are on screen for only two stories (seriously, finding a picture of all them together with the Doctor was very hard), I couldn’t discount any of them. Nyssa sadly has the least bit to do out of all of them. They usually relegate her to the TARDIS with a headache she needs to sleep off. That being said, I really like her gentle nature and the fact that she can somewhat make heads or tails of the TARDIS. She's an alien with a big heart, I can get down with that. Turlough I actually rather enjoy. I like that he's a bit of a coward and a bit of an opportunist. I even named one of my cats Turlough because of his orange fur. He's also got a great character arc with his Black Guardian storyline. Tegan is the rogue element out of the three because I can't really fault her. She's got some genuine moments of showing her brave heart, but she's never really excited me. She just wants to go to Heathrow. Would that be too hard, Doctor?

Sixth Doctor: Evelyn

Poor Peri, she's getting all kinds of sidelined today. Really, the girl deserves a medal for all of the Doctor's shit she puts up with. I'm a bit of a Peri fan in all reality, but she's not my fave. That distinction goes to Evelyn Smythe. I spoke a little in my article about older companions about my love for Evelyn. Working as a history lecturer for Sheffield Hallam University, she was an older, learned woman. Because of this, the Sixth Doctor seemed to always want to impress her, as opposed to just always assuming he was impressive. She had a way of calming his more abrasive tendencies which really allowed him to shine. This isn't to say that she was some stuffy buzzkill, however. In a story like "Doctor Who and the Pirates," we learn that Evelyn likes a good laugh, even if she's a rather rubbish storyteller. Had she ever travelled with Frobisher, I would have added him as well, as he was a close second. Sadly, Maggie Stables has passed away, so further Evelyn stories are no longer possible, but we were able to say goodbye to her character in "A Death in the Family."

Seventh Doctor: Ace

As I mentioned in my article "The Doctor with 1000 Faces," Ace was a clear case of course correction. A few years ago in Newcastle, I got to meet Bonnie Langford. While she seemed like a nice person, I had a really hard time saying something I liked about Mel. I literally defaulted by saying "I liked you in Doctor Who," which was basically a lie. I didn't. It just wasn't her fault. And while I've revisited Mel and rather liked her in stories like "Paradise Towers," the introduction of Ace was an automatic improvement. Not only does Ace elevate Sylvester McCoy's performance, but she also breathed new life into the companion archetype. Ace didn't react to danger with mindless screaming, she was brooding and mysterious. There are moments where I laugh at just how much a delinquent she is. The girl carries explosives around like it's something everyone does. I told Sophie Aldred that Ace and Leela were my two favourite companions. I don't know what it says about me that I really like the smashy-smashy, stabby-stabby companions, but I do. There's just something really fun about the dangerous action girl with the mythic space nerd dynamic that I really love.

Eighth Doctor: Izzy and Feyde

This was another one that was difficult for me. I could have easily said Lucie "Bleedin'" Miller, or maybe even Fitz. I also have a somewhat incomplete knowledge of the 8th Doctor's companions. I've not yet listened to his audios with Mary Shelley, Tamsin, or Molly. I ended on Izzy and Feyde however because of their obvious impact on the show. Taking place in the comics, during the wilderness years between the TV movie and the 2005 series, this was some of the best Doctor Who available. Not only were Izzy and Feyde one of the first LGBT depictions in Doctor Who, they were also highly enjoyable characters. With Izzy we got to see some of the groundwork for characters like Rose Tyler and Lucie Miller. She was a modern girl who was a bit of a geek. I found her very relatable, even during her time as a fish. Feyde was an easy choice to include, and I do mean Feyde and not Fey. While being a secret agent from 1933 is cool, being a secret agent from 1933 merged with a sentient Time Lord weapon is way cooler. I could have gone with Shayde for the Fifth Doctor (hell, I should have gone with Shayde), but I wanted to save him for his time as Feyde. Having one companion who body swaps with a fish, and another that shares a body with an alien weapon, who also have lesbian feelings for one another is a recipe for some very interesting storytelling. Russell T Davies is a notable fan of this era of Doctor Who, so much so that he offered to let them show the 9th Doctor regenerate within its pages. If you've not read the Doctor Who Magazine comics, you should be. If for no other reason than for the Eighth Doctor's sublime era.

Ninth Doctor: Rose, Mickey, and Jack

Rose is a very divisive companion in the fandom. I know because I've taken part in the mud flinging until I realised that such endeavours were stupid. Seriously, if you're a hater of other people's tastes, you should stop. Let people like stuff. That's not to say I am a fan of what they did with her when David Tennant came into the TARDIS. For me, Rose Tyler will always work best with the Ninth Doctor. Having both met at a time when neither of them knew particularly what they wanted from life, they both seemed to have a healing quality toward one another. I was willing and able to believe that the two of them genuinely cared about one another, and the relationship blossomed because of this. It was a great way to reintroduce fans to the show after such an extended hiatus. The Doctor was this unknown figure who we got to discover and learn to trust through Rose Tyler's eyes. When the family grew with characters like the flirty Captain Jack or the goofy but earnest Mickey Smith, it only added to the dynamic. It was an exciting group to watch, and one that hooked countless new viewers.

Tenth Doctor: Donna

I will go up to bat for Donna Noble. I once had a roommate who brought a guy home who didn't like Donna Noble. When I asked why, he said she was ugly and annoying. When he left our house, I told her to dump his ass for his bad opinions about women (she agreed). Donna is a goddess. Much like Evelyn, she has the ability to temper the Doctor's shittier qualities. I mentioned I dislike how the Tenth Doctor interacted with Rose, and he definitely didn't appreciate Martha for the MVP she was. Donna was funny, she was nurturing, and she didn't let people push her around. There is nothing I don't like about her character. She gave the Tenth Doctor an accountability like Ian and Barbara gave the First Doctor. Seeing him interact with someone as an equal developed his character in ways we hadn't seen before. It was also really nice, after so much puppy love mooning over the Doctor, to see a companion who was literally just a friend. I've always preferred the Doctor's relationships to be platonic. I know some people like the idea of love in the TARDIS, but I'm old fashioned. Donna was so perfect for the Doctor that her ending could only be tragic. They say you never forget your first Doctor, but in the case of Jamie, Zoe, and Donna, it's sadly not true!

Eleventh Doctor: Amy and Rory

This one seems like a no-brainer to me. I would say the golden age for Matt Smith are his early adventures with Amy and Rory. I've heard people complain about Amy because of her lack of development outside of an obsession with the Doctor. While Rose Tyler had a job and a family, Amy had the raggedy man and years of therapy. But I can forgive all of this because of Karen Gillan's fiery personality. She kills every line of dialogue and sells every dramatic moment. I absolutely love her. Rory is more of a slow burn, but he achieves something I think they've tried with many other male companions and failed. He's able to question the Doctor's actions in a way that doesn't make him come off like a cocky prick (Adric) or horribly misguided (Danny Pink). His lack of hero worship toward the Doctor is a sober counterpoint to Amy's undying adoration. (If you remember correctly, I also named my other cat Rory after him). By the time the three gel into a team, they're like a family, and not just because of River connecting them in a familial way. You'll notice that I didn't include River, and this is simply because I have a lot of issues with the way her story was written. The whole meeting from opposite directions thing led to a lot of implied chemistry. It broke the rule of "show, don't tell," in a way I felt was detrimental to her character development. Despite a really lousy final episode, Amy and Rory are some of my favourite modern companions. Seriously, their goodbye in "The God Complex," should have been their actual goodbye.

Twelfth Doctor: Clara

Oh, Clara... I could write an entire article on my feelings about Clara Oswald. I would title it "The Many Faces of Clara," but it wouldn't be any of the split time stream versions, it would be about the ever-fluctuating character type of the companion Clara Oswald. She's all over the place, and it's a mess. Sometimes she's goofy, other times she's a stern killjoy, then she's a careless daredevil. I don't believe the writers knew what to do with her for most of her run. The impossible girl thing was, in my mind, a total misfire. But I can't help but feel like when she's with Capaldi's Twelfth Doctor, she's given the most to work with. I went back and rewatched a lot of her episodes, and her stuff with Capaldi is some truly great Doctor Who. I didn't include Danny because he had so many issues as well, but I couldn't reconcile them. He spends the entire time barking at the Doctor in what was becoming a really sad trend of the Doctor not being able to get along with male companions and competing for the attentions of the female companion. I really tried to come away with a new appreciation for Danny, but his reluctance to stop a Cyberman invasion to prove a point that the Doctor is a general, was so stupid. "I'm going to let the world burn to win an argument." The worst part is, he wasn't even right about the Doctor, and we as the audience knew it. Clara, on the other hand, when she's outside the influence of the "impossible girl" storyline and Danny Pink, she's actually pretty damn compelling. It took her three seasons, but she gets there. This was just barely enough to edge Bill out of running. I'd also love to see Bill come back in an audio, as I feel she never got a proper shake. Make it so!

Thirteenth Doctor: Ryan, Yaz, and Graham

What other choices were there? That being said, I rather like all three of these companions. I've covered, rather extensively, the pros and cons of all three companions in my reviews for season eleven. I find it humorous that most of my friends were least excited by Graham, considering what a darling he's become in the fandom. I love the guy. It's no secret in this blog that I have been a big Graham fan from the start. Yaz is a character I think all of us can agree needs way more development. With that being said, I think we get a pretty good idea of her moral compass. I also really love Mandip Gill in the role. She's a great actress and not at all hard on the eyes. Tosin Cole as Ryan is a really interesting character because I keep fluctuating in between not being able to tell if he's a good actor or not. Either way, the scenes between him and his dad were some of the best of the season. I love the way the group defers to the Doctor. They really do seem like a team with a belief in the good they're doing. People can talk about the spotty nature of season eleven, but the fact remains, the characters are there to make me want to see what's in store for season twelve. Chibnall has given us three distinct individuals that we want to watch develop, and at the end of the day, isn't that what it's all about?

Well, friends, that's it for now! I hope you enjoyed this article! Did any of these match your picks? Was I totally wrong? Who are your favourites? I like to think there are no wrong answers because this fandom is vast and there's so much to love! I'll see you all soon!

17 notes · View notes

jwbarkstrom-blog · 7 years

Text

Why We Still Use the Word Pulchritude to Mean Beauty

“What do all these words have in common?” my friend asked me. She had placed a sheet of paper in front of me with four words: big, miniscule, misspelled, and pulchritudinous. After a little bit of thinking, I decided I couldn’t pretend I didn’t know what the last word meant, and after I asked she told me it meant “beautiful.”

“Beautiful?” I thought to myself. “What idiot would come up with that? Pulchritudinous is beautiful. What an ugly word! It sounds like repulsive sepulchre!” Her eyes lit up as if to say exactly.

We will come back to the list later. But first, why is pulchritude—and one of its many offsprings, pulchritudinous—a word? One might dismiss it and say it was left behind by the development of the English language. After all, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, using pulchritude to mean beauty fell almost entirely out of fashion after the 16th century. Uses used to be as simple as a 1422 writing talking about women “in vertue or pulchritude” (OED Online), but in the modern world almost no one—at least no one intelligent—would ever use pulchritude as a substitute for beauty. It comes from a nearly obsolete Latin adjective for beautiful, pulcher, and as a result it now sounds nothing at all like what it means (Merriam-Webster).

However, according to data from Google Ngram Viewer and the Oxford English Dictionary, pulchritude and pulchritudinous experienced a large resurgence in the United States in the mid 1900s, far after the words originally fell out of fashion. In 1939 we even see the resurgence of the word pulchrious (meaning beautiful) in the Nevada Evening Gazette, describing a play: “he would have not have tossed a young frontier lady, played by the pulchrious Binie Barnes, into a horse trough” (OED Online). But why do we need these words? The word pulchritude and its derivatives aren’t filling “important gaps in the English language,” like the words Anne Curzan talks about in her “What Makes a Word Real?” TED Talk. Other than the abstract configurations of the words—pulchritude versus beauty—they mean exactly the same thing. Something solely about the structure of the word, then, makes it special. Otherwise 1900s America wouldn’t have adopted it.

By being such a rare word that is so disconnected from its meaning—pulchritude sounds ugly and we recognize it immediately—the word when used today evokes a cold, distant kind of beauty. We see this in many examples including a recent article from The New York Times, “The Plus-Size Modeling World Has a New Star: And It’s a Guy.” The author talks about how plus-sized male models can take on the challenge of “offering an appropriate example of plus-sized pulchritude to heavier men,” and his use of the word pulchritude sort of suggests an unfeeling container of beauty. The model does not offer beauty, a pure, abstract concept; he offers pulchritude, a beauty that we can package, photoshop, and slap all over magazines to sell clothing. In another example from the largely unknown 19th century American author Harriet Stark—perhaps one of the causes of the 20th century U.S. revival of of the word pulchritudinous—she writes, “there are places where no girl can get work unless she’s pulchritudinous. Catch the idea.” Similarly to the use of pulchritude in the New York Times, Stark emphasizes that pulchritudinous is a container of beauty. Pure beauty cannot simply be employed for prostitution, but pulchritude can: the meanings are a matter of distance.

Galileo once said, “...Names and attributes must be accommodated to the essence of things, and not the essence to the names, since things come first and names afterwards” (qtd. Gleick 62). He means that words should simply be symbols, pointing to the “essence of things.” However, in the case of pulchritude, he misses the point—or, more specifically, he doesn’t realize that arrows of meaning might also point backwards. If pulchritude was simply meant to symbolize the the ‘essence’ of beauty it would be useless: we could just use a more popular symbol—the word beauty—to ‘point’ to same meaning. However, in the case of words meaning may stem from multiple places and point in multiple directions. As we saw in the examples from The New York Times and Harriet Stark, much of pulchritude’s meaning stems from not the essence but the word itself: by seeming nothing like the beauty it represents—distancing itself from its meaning instead of simply “accommodating” to it—it forces readers to acknowledge it as more than a symbol. As David Foster Wallace once said in “Both Flesh and Not,” “words are both symbols for real things and real things themselves” (Wallace), and pulchritudinous emphasizes this distinction, in this case an impurity. In the examples we saw it isn’t pure, innocent beauty; it is a beauty that can be packaged, slapped on the front of magazines, or employed by a prostitute.

Things come back to David Foster Wallace. I didn’t know it at the time, but the four words my friend gave me—big, miniscule, misspelled, and pulchritudinous—were all once gleefully written on a blackboard during class by David Foster Wallace (Max 102-103). None of his students figured out what they had in common. The answer was simple: the appearance of each word contradicted its meaning. Big was small, miniscule was big, misspelled was spelled correctly, and pulchritudinous was ugly. There are many more, but Wallace wanted to give his students some tangible examples of the aforementioned quote, examples that “words are both symbols for things and real things themselves” (Wallace).

Compared to the other three words (and many more), however, pulchritude is special. Until you notice them, big, miniscule, and misspelled just aren’t noteworthy words: they are shrouded in a veil of familiarity because we use them all the time. Most people are so accustomed to using the word big as a symbol that they don’t even realize its inherent contradiction: until my friend asked me the same question Wallace asked his class, I never even thought about its structure or appearance. Big means big, and that’s all the thought I ever gave things. Unfortunately, because we are so used to using words as symbols, we risk this one-way thinking like Galileo’s “names must be accommodated to the essence of things” or Wordsworth’s “words are signs of natural facts”—or, even worse, one-way thinking in the opposite direction: believing that words define the world we live in exactly. Either pattern of thinking is constraining: Galileo’s thinking constrains the abstract world of words, and letting words define reality constrains reality. Pulchritude is special because by virtue of novelty it forces us into David Foster Wallace’s two-way thinking: immediately we see that it looks nothing like what it represents. Although its definition is beauty, its most useful application is to highlight that the symbolism of words is two-dimensional: that meaning can come from both the “essences of things” Galileo spoke of and from words themselves.

I found it appropriate that the most recent example of the word pulchritude documented in the Oxford English Dictionary, from 2003, is about language itself. The usage was taken from Catherine Keller’s The Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming, and it analyzes the symbolic theology of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite. The quotation from the OED simply reads, “[Dionysius] is not complaining about these fleshly, even feminine pulchritudes of language” (OED Online). These “fleshy, even feminine pulchritudes” are the imprecisions of language: the distances between word and essence that one can find in seemingly incredible Biblical symbolism such as “the divine bosom embracing the Son of God” or “bubbling fountains of water” (Keller 213). To the mind expecting precision in language—one-way symbolism—wordings such as “the divine bosom” seem ridiculous. Galileo would surely have complained, but Keller goes on to explain that rather than complain about the imprecision of language Dionysius “privileges ‘the incongruities,’ indeed delights in these juxtapositions of unlike ‘beauties.’ Their ‘dissimilar similarities’ thwart the ‘lazy’ certitudes of ‘positive affirmations’” (Keller 213): just like seeing the word pulchritude showed me to look at words such as big, minuscule, or misspelled from a wider lens, reading wordings such as “the divine bosom” forces us to see words and language as more than one-way symbols pointing to truth. Language, pulchritudes and all, is much too complicated, and meaning can come from multiple sources and point in multiple directions. In short, the word pulchritude is a testament that we have to really think about what language means. We can’t just see it in one direction, because “words are both symbols for things and things themselves.” Galileo would have complained, but David Foster Wallace or Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite would have delighted. We should too.

Works Cited

Curzan, Anne. “What Makes a Word ‘Real’?” TED. TEDxUofM, Mar. 2014, Anne Arbor, www.ted.com/talks/anne_curzan_what_makes_a_word_real.

“Google Ngram Viewer.” Google Books, Google, books.google.com/ngrams.

Gleick, James. The Information: a History, a Theory, a Flood. Vintage Books, 2012.

Green, Michelle. “The Plus-Size Modeling World Has a New Star: And It's a Guy.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 4 May 2016, www.nytimes.com/2016/05/05/fashion/zach-miko-plus-size-model.html?_r=0.

Keller, Catherine. Face of the Deep: A Theology of Becoming. 1st ed., Taylor and Francis, 2003, ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/uva/reader.action?docID=181809.

Max, D. T. Every Love Story Is a Ghost Story: A Life of David Foster Wallace. Penguin, 2012, books.google.com/books?id=fTzmRoY3z_IC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false.

"pulchritude, n." OED Online, Oxford University Press, June 2017, www.oed.com/view/Entry/154292.

"pulchritudinous, adj." OED Online, Oxford University Press, June 2017, www.oed.com/view/Entry/154293.

“Pulchritude.” Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/pulchritude.

Stark, Harriet. The Bacillus of Beauty: A Romance of To-Day. 1900, www.gutenberg.org/files/9081/9081-h/9081-h.htm.

Wallace, David Foster. “What Words Really Mean: David Foster Wallace's Dictionary.” The Telegraph, Telegraph Media Group, 6 Dec. 2012, www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/9715551/What-words-really-mean-David-Foster-Wallaces-dictionary.html.

2 notes · View notes

toraonice · 7 years

Text

Yuri on Ice BD audio commentary translation - Volume 3

Translation of the audio commentary of the BD/DVD vol.3, by Mitsurou Kubo and Junichi Suwabe, voice actor of Victor Nikiforov. I really wanted to post this before the weekend because I’m not going to be home a lot, so I decided “well, I might just not sleep tonight and translate this instead”… This time there are some parts that I translated almost integrally. They talk a lot about Victor, especially Suwabe’s struggle to get into the role. It provides insight while at the same time not providing… since apparently it’s very hard to guess what is “right” when talking about Victor. I’m sure you will get what I mean if you read what they say…

The commentary is only for episode 6. Episode 5 has no commentary. It’s not a full translation but I summarized most of what they said, and as I wrote above some parts are almost completely translated. As in the previous ones, the format is different from normal interview translations, and you can find my comments too (mostly in brackets).

Translation under the post because it’s long. Enjoy!

-In the beginning they introduce themselves and, talking about their age, Kubo says that it’s the first audio commentary where both are over 40 (Kubo is 41 and Suwabe is 44, while Toyonaga is 31 and Uchiyama is 26). Suwabe says that actually most of the voice actors playing the skaters in YOI are below 40, except “maybe Yasumoto”. (Though in fact Yasumoto is turning 40 in a few days, and he forgot Nojima, Seung-gil’s seiyuu, who is already 40 and turning 41 in a few days, coincidentally the same day as Yasumoto, lol).

-Suwabe hasn’t listened to the other audio commentaries and says that he’s worried whether he can do it properly, but Kubo tells him that they mostly talked about things unrelated to what was being shown in the anime and he’s like “oh, that’s something I’m good at!”. Kubo says that she has no idea how audio commentaries are usually done and Suwabe replies that it really depends on the series.

-During the scene where Yuuri and Victor are in the airplane flying to China, Kubo comments that the light brown shirt Victor is wearing looks like an “old lady shirt” and he looks cute with that on. (In Japan “old lady shirts” are long-sleeved inner shirts, usually in sober colors like gray or beige, often used by middle-aged or older women under other garments to keep warm) Suwabe asks her whether someone like Victor would usually fly business class or above, and she replies that normally athletes are paying for the trips, including their coach’s part, which means that they need to pay for two tickets and therefore in most cases they don’t get very nice seats (she is referring to Yuuri and Victor’s trip, therefore she actually doesn’t reply to the initial question regarding whether *Victor* would fly business class, but judging from his comment in the series I’d believe he does..). She says that after she went to see the Grand Prix Final in Barcelona she casually ended up on the same return flight as the Russian team and all skaters where sitting in economy class, including Evgenia Medvedeva who was in the last row of economy seats despite winning the gold medal. Suwabe comments that he rarely has a chance to travel abroad, so when he does he would consider spending more to get a good seat, and Kubo says that it’s important to have the right to buy comfort with money, especially for long flights.

-During the scene at the hot pot restaurant, Kubo explains that the restaurant shown in the anime actually exists, and it’s in Beijing close to the classy hotel skaters stay at. She says that she went there with director Yamamoto and the food was delicious. She also says that after YOI aired it got popular and they did some promotions like offering drinks (she doesn’t mention based on what). Beside the hot pot restaurant, the food stands on the streets where also really there. Suwabe comments that the topic of food comes up a lot in YOI, and since it also used to air very late at night it could be considered a “food terrorism” (in English you would more commonly say “food porn”) anime, because it made viewers hungry. Kubo says that the eyecatches were probably Yamamoto’s idea, but she did intend to add in the anime lots of elements that would cause people to physically do something the next day, which includes of course showing food that people would want to eat. She mentions that there was a temporary katsudon boom and that she even heard how katsudon would disappear from convenience stores in the middle of the night because people were going out to buy it. Suwabe says that he also felt like eating katsudon himself and actually did a few times. To explain why she decided to use katsudon, here she tells again the story of the French guy who loved katsudon. She remembers telling someone but I guess she forgot that she already talked about it in the audio commentary of episode 1… (I won’t write it in detail, if you forgot or haven’t read it please check out the audio commentary of vol.1 here) It’s funny how Suwabe is clearly puzzled when she tells him how the guy thought katsudon was “healthy” (Suwabe is like “uhm??”) and how he lost 5 kgs in one month eating katsudon on a daily basis (again Suwabe is like “eh…?”). However he says that he can see how foreigners would like katsudon, because it’s a little salty-sweet like teriyaki which is also popular in America, plus egg and cutlets are both commonly eaten in many places all over the world.

-Regarding “Ousama to Skater” (“The King and the Skater”, the fictional musical from which Phichit’s songs are taken). Kubo says that she saw the musical “The King and I” in New York City and she was moved by it. She really wanted a musical song to be used in one of the programs, so she created “Ousama to Skater” as a background setting, coming up with a very detailed story for it. Real life skaters often use music from movies too and some songs are considered classics. They mention Yuzuru Hanyu and Suwabe says that he likes Yagudin’s program “The Man in the Iron Mask”. Other skaters in YOI are also using music that is said to be from movies (fictitious movies of course, like the song of Guang-Hong’s FS), but Kubo says that she created the setting of “Ousama to Skater” with more details than the others, and that in the world of YOI the songs from this musical are considered figure skating classics. (By the way, they do mention that, due to its contents, “The King and I” is actually banned in Thailand) Suwabe says that his acquantainces who are into figure skating talk to him about YOI, and some commented that “the fact that there’s a skater from Southeast Asia is a nice fantasy”. He asks Kubo whether that was made on purpose, and she says that in YOI they tried to add many elements that might potentially become reality one day, and this is one of those. She says that Kenji Miyamoto is currently choreographing some programs in Thailand, and that a Japanese female coach, Satsuki Muramoto (she retired from competitive skating in 2013), is also teaching students there. According to them, local skaters are improving a lot and there is a high chance that they will be more visible in the international scene in the near future. Kubo also mentions the Filipino skater Michael Christian Martinez who participated in the Olympics in 2013-14. She says that she went to Thailand a few times so she was happy that she could add something from there to the story, and Suwabe comments that it’s nice to see many skaters from various parts of the world competing together.

-Continuing from the previous topic, Suwabe mentions Chris (as “the sexual one”), and they talk about him. Kubo says that she loves Chris, and that within the series he and Victor are both popular but they’re actually very good friends. She also says that it’s great how Hiroki Yasumoto’s voice was a perfect match for Chris. Suwabe jokes that there were too many sexual nuances in his voice, and Kubo says that she heard from Yamamoto that the recording of episode 6 was amazing, and that according to Yasumoto he had added more voice parts but they were cut. Suwabe confirms that Yasumoto did add a lot of “deep” ad-libs during Chris’ program, but that they were cut in the final version “maybe because they could have crossed the line of what can be broadcasted on TV”. According to Kubo, she was told that in the BD/DVDs they have more freedom than on TV, so maybe some parts will be different… (She doesn’t confirm whether they did actually change something about Chris though, but I guess I will try to compare the two versions, lol)

-Here she asks Suwabe how he felt at the time of episode 6, because she knows that he had a hard time grasping Victor’s character. From this point they discuss about Victor, and since I really didn’t know where to cut because it was all interesting I just wrote down basically everything they said, therefore I will report it as normal dialogue (I cut all the “uhm”, “I mean”, “yeah” etc to make the lines flow smoother). Suwabe: I have voiced a lot of characters so far, but Victor is quite unique even among them. The reason is that — even if saying it like this might sound worse than it is — as a character he couldn’t completely “fit” inside me. To be honest, I have the feeling that my mind couldn’t completely overlap with his until the end. It feels like a three-point shoot that you don’t think will be successful but it is, like you can’t picture it in your mind, your shooting form is not correct but it still works. I read the script, I read the storyboard by Kubo-sensei, I read the dialogues and stage directions, I watched the footage — even though it still wasn’t complete when we recorded the voices — and tried to create an image inside my mind, to shape the person called Victor Nikiforov. I would then go to recording, but it often happened that during the test run I was told “no, not that way”. It happened a lot that I was torn about how to portray him. For the whole time, until the last episode, I wasn’t sure about how I should express his feelings. After all the work was over, looking back on the anime there were scenes where I remembered what I was thinking when I voiced them, but honestly I don’t feel like Victor has stayed inside me. Of course it’s my voice, so I was definitely the one who played him, but somehow I can look at it from a completely neutral point of view. I always had this very curious feeling when I was watching the broadcast. I’ve said it in various interviews too, but during recording it was like a tug of war between the direction — the director and the sound director — and I, fighting over how to portray Victor. It was like my idea of Victor versus their idea of Victor, sometimes I’d win and sometimes I’d act like they said. We created Victor this way, and maybe this continuous wavering is what made him a person hard to understand. I must admit that I don’t think I have completely grasped Victor’s image. But at the same time, it’s not like I don’t understand him. What I feel about playing Victor is a very subtle sensation that I myself find difficult to express with words. Kubo: I think that’s a good thing. In YOI Victor is trying to be a coach for the first time. He’s a person with a long career behind him, that for the first time tries to teach his techniques to someone, not sure that he’s doing it right. It’s like there is an external pressure requesting him to be as good as he has been so far. I guess it’s also what people would seek from someone like you, Suwabe-san. It’s what happens when you have a long and successful career… But if you leave that career and try to do something else, you might feel anxious and not know what to do. You lose your balance, but at the same time you think about what you can do. It’s not like I purposely created the story to have you portray that, but I’m very happy that somehow, as a result, this wavering feeling was conveyed through the way you played Victor. Thank you very much. Suwabe: I felt that it was a real challenge each and every time. Every time I would think, “so, how will it go today? Will it be ok or will they tell me it’s wrong once again?”. It’s interesting because it was always like a match. Victor may be a top athlete but he’s still a human being, so I would try to decipher him like I would interpret the thoughts of a normal person, and I would think “ok, let’s do it this way”, but actually those where the times I would most often be told “no it’s wrong”. And when I had a chance to ask you about him, I remember you saying that, in a way, he’s like a sprite of skating. Kubo: Yeah, I said that maybe he’s an elf, an ice elf. We don’t see anything about his background or his family, and actually I didn’t really create him to behave like a typical Russian person. In my mind he might have been found in the crater left by a meteorite fallen somewhere in Russia. Suwabe: Sounds like someone with superpowers (LOL). Kubo: Like we can’t even tell whether he came from outer space or somewhere else (LOL). He might be the type who hasn’t been a human for a very long time, including his past existences. And while thinking things like that, creating the actual story I would be like, “Victor’s personality might be like this.. no, Victor would definitely say this..”. Even though I was the one drawing him, I myself was looking for his image the whole time, and rewrote the storyboard many times because I’d realize “Victor would not do this, let’s change it”. It’s like I was feeling my way. Suwabe: If we only simply talk about how I created Victor’s state of mind, one of the scenes I had a hard time with — even though it’s a bit weird to talk about it during episode 6 — is the one at the beginning of the last episode, when he’s crying after talking with Yuuri at the hotel. Normally when you cry your nose and your facial muscles are going to move to an extent, but during the test I was told “that’s not needed”. They told me to act the part completely ignoring any kind of physical change related to crying because he is just angry, he isn’t sad nor has any other complex feelings, he’s just mad at Yuuri. So basically what the directors told me is that it’s really what he says, “I’m mad!”, just that. And I was like, oh, I see. We got to this point, and still I come upon things like this. Kubo: I guess what I tried to write in the storyboard was conveyed properly. I’ve actually seen someone cry like that, a man, in front of me. And I was looking at him thinking, ah, this person cries like this, with just teardrops dripping from his eyelashes. He was speaking just the way he normally speaks, the only difference being the teardrops dripping from his lashes, and I made Victor cry that way. Suwabe: It’s like a newborn child, like someone who isn’t conscious of his feelings or his physical movements… that’s so scary. I was surprised to see that even in the last episode his feelings would still show new kinds of nuances. Normally when I play a human character, I mean, what you would consider a normal person, I guess what they are thinking based on their actions and what is happening in the story, but in Victor Nikiforov’s case I had the feeling, while playing him, that his feelings and any guesses would go in totally different ways. That’s why he was a very difficult character. There was a part where he had a monologue, you know, like in a certain TV series (I’m not sure which one he’s referring to), where it’s like the story progresses with his monologue. But even though it was his monologue, I’m not sure I would say that he was 100% baring his true feelings… I’m not sure how to interpret that. Kubo: I think maybe that’s why viewers tend to have very strong ideas about what is correct, about what is the truth. (She was getting to a topic that I personally feel very interesting, but she suddenly cut it to go back to Chris..)

-Here she suddenly says that she forgot to mention about Chris’ ass, and then comments that his line “I’m gonna come” was left. Then Suwabe jokes “the ice is all wet”, and she says that sometimes you get worried because, due to the strong lights and the heat of the hall, the ice really looks wet, but in Chris’ case.. (Suwabe finishes the line) he makes it wet with his aura. She also says that she likes how in this episode Chris and Yuuri are among the oldest, but not necessarily the older ones are getting the best positions in the ranking, and it’s nice how some of the younger ones are surpassing them. She also says she’s sorry that she completely ignored Georgi’s line “I am an evil witch”, and Suwabe says that the highlight of this episode is the absence of Makkachin. She says “maybe he will actually appear more in the BDs” an Suwabe is “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t go that far (lol). (I think she was joking too when she said it, so don’t expect more Makkachin..)

I translated the last part as dialogue too. Kubo: I’m really happy that you voiced Victor. Creating this work about figure skating we are trying to catch something invisible, but I feel that what we are trying to convey has reached people. What Suwabe-san paid attention to, what the director paid attention to, what I paid attention to.. I had many occasions to feel that they are actually coming across. It was worth putting so many details in the story. Suwabe: I said that Victor is not human, that he’s a sprite, but in a way we could say that, paradoxically, his complexity is what actually does make him human. It actually makes him real, non-stereotyped. I feel that I was able to walk close to a man called Victor Nikiforov, and I’m very happy to have been involved in this work. Now I can say that I’m glad I said all those “amazing!” at the audition (lol). Kubo: You did say that a lot. We had no doubts about choosing you, but it’s funny how actually, while we had no doubts, we made you have doubts, and made you so confused about the role. It’s a new development (lol). Creating stories is fun. Suwabe: Indeed, it really took a lot of efforts and pains to bring to life these characters, and I can’t thank you enough all of you for loving them. I will be really happy if you continue to support Yuri on Ice from now on, for a long time.

And then they say the final greetings.

Final note: Just to be safe because you never know, without hearing the voices it might sound more serious than it is… What they say about Victor being a sprite or an elf or “previous existences” of course is a joke, it’s not like he’s really an alien. Also, what we can gather from all this is that Victor is really a complex character and is hard to completely understand (not even the creators understand him). I personally have always found Yuuri much easier to understand than Victor. By the way, in the line that was cut off I think Kubo is referring to the fact that, since Victor is hard to understand, different people will have different ideas and strongly believe that their interpretation is the truth (this is based on what she said in many other interviews). I’d be really curious to know what scenes were done according to Suwabe’s interpretation and what according to the directors, but I’m pretty sure we will never know that…

P.S.: You don't notice as much reading the translation, but you can hear from the way he speaks that Suwabe really had a hard time explaining how he feels about Victor. He is very good with words usually, so this shows how he seriously means what he says.. (Though to be honest he still manages to speak more clearly than Kubo...) It was a pain to translate too of course, I'm pretty sure the other commentaries didn't take me as long..

#YOI #Yuri on ice #Audio Commentary #BD #kubo mitsurou #suwabe junichi #victor nikiforov #translation

1K notes · View notes

sorceresscrowe · 4 years

Text

How Crowe Came Back to Life (updated)

There had been a sudden squealing of tires, and she was suddenly hit, her bike crumpling away from underneath her as she went flying off of the road. She laid there in the dirt for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Without her helmet on, she had hit her head hard on the ground.

Reaching for her watch, she began setting it. She became aware of men approaching, blurry in her concussed state. She tried saying something—probably ask for help—but she couldn't get the words out. One yanked her up by the hair, and her vision started to improve.

“Luche?”

He stood in front of her. She registered the gun only a moment later.

“It's nothing personal, Crowe. We just can't have you getting in the way.” He pulled back the hammer. “I'm sorry.”

Then there was a gunshot and a sharp pain in her middle. Crowe cried out, but whoever gripped her hair kept her from falling over. Another shot came, and then it went dark.

It stayed dark and quiet for a long moment. It didn't take long for her to realize that she was dead, and she had failed her mission—the most important mission she could have ever had. Instead, she was dead on the side of the road, killed before she could even start it.

Something glimmered in the darkness, approaching her. It soon turned out to be a shining woman, overall bigger than herself. She gave a smile.

“Crowe,” She greeted, showing a brief look of pity. “Your actions would have changed everything to come, if it wasn't for the traitors in your midst.”

The reminder that there were traitors among the Kingsglaive was like getting shot all over again, but this time, Crowe was angry. After losing their home and fighting battles for their king, they had become like family. She sure as hell didn't have anyone else. Why would family kill her?

“Who are you?” She demanded, glancing around. Their surroundings were completely dark. The glowing woman was all that there was.

The demand didn't upset her, but a sad expression crossed her face. “The people of ancient times called me Etro, before Bahamut replaced me as the patron deity over the House Lucis Caelum. Did no one ever mention me?”

Crowe pondered the information, wondering whether to believe this strange woman or not. The Glaive hadn't been bothered with the history of the king's lineage. They just fought for him on the promise that their home would be free from Niflheim someday. With the treaty signing, though, they all realized that their king was letting them down. Maybe Tredd had been right; they were just used as soldiers in a losing war. Whether they lived or died didn't really matter.

“The powers your king granted you were passed down originally from Bahamut, and to take that away from you and make you start all again would be cruel.” Etro went on. “You are naturally gifted with magic.”

“What are you talking about?” Crowe made another demand. She didn't put much thought into gods; where were the gods when Galahd fell, or when she was exiled from her village when she was just a little girl? They may have granted magic to ancient rulers long ago, but they certainly didn't give a damn about the world now. Why should the world care about them either?

“You will return to life with my Blessing.” Etro explained. “I will not take you to the other side yet. You can still change what is about to happen. Your actions will make all the difference in the world.”

“How? What is that supposed to mean?” Crowe asked, then realized that the light around the larger woman was fading, as was she.

She gave a farewell smile. “Crowe, if I told you everything, then you wouldn't learn anything for yourself. Destiny isn't set in stone like you are taught to believe.”

Two faces appeared in the dark, fading with Etro's light. They were two dark-haired women, one of which was older and had blue eyes. The other was younger and with gray eyes.

“Find the others with my Blessing. Only together can you make a difference.”

And with that, everyone was gone.

Crowe opened her eyes to a dull gray sky, slowly turning pink. She propped herself up on her elbows to see the sun peaking over the horizon, which were some far off hills. Her surroundings were dirt, spotted with the occasional dry brush. There were decrepit buildings at the corners of the road, riddled with so many holes that they were easy to look through.

She stood up at one corner. Her bike was gone. There was no sign of the van that hit her, or the traitors that attacked her afterwards. She was the only living thing around.

The sunrise chased away all of the daemons of the night, but there were still wild creatures to worry about. Crowe couldn't see any kind of town; she had been dropped off far enough from the city that spies shouldn't have suspected a thing. However, now it made her unsure of which direction the city was in.

Should she return without Lady Lunafreya? Etro, if she was being truthful, said there was still time to see the mission through. Crowe must not have been dead that long. The other part—that of there being traitors within the Kingsglaive—was also a pressing issue that needed to be reported. She hoped Libertus and Nyx realized it and did something. With her own mission sabotaged by her teammates, Crowe could assume that the princess was in more danger than they all knew.

She picked a direction and began walking. She would find the closest town, and from there find out where she was. Maybe they'd even have bikes there. Though checking her pockets, Crowe realized that she didn't have any money on her.

It wasn't far into her trek that she saw something interesting in a nearby trash heap—her bike. It was mangled, with some parts having been torn off completely in the crash. The saddle bags hadn't been scratched too much. Crowe dug through them for her effects. Someone must have already did the same. There wasn't any money; all that was left was her Glaive uniform was still there.

Throwing the bags over her shoulder, Crowe continued walking up the road. It wouldn't fly if she returned with Lady Lunafreya, but not in her proper uniform. Everyone at the Citadel was huge on decorum. Crowe wasn't going to look like a fool in her moment of honor.

The sun rose quite high in the sky before she caught sight of an outpost. She had been lucky enough to be left alone by the wildlife. She considered trading in her uniform for money; she was starving and in need of a drink.

There was a lot more activity at the outpost than she would have thought. Crowds of people milled about glumly. A couple of buses were parked on the side of the road. Crowe observed them as she walked into the gas station. She could probably swipe a few things there, especially for how crowded it was.

Everyone standing by the front door seemed to be reading newspapers. Everywhere she looked, the front page was there: “Insomnia Falls”.

Forgetting about food, Crowe found the nearly-empty newspaper stand and picked up a copy for herself. She scanned the front page. Tempers flew at the signing ceremony, and it all spiraled into chaos from there. The wall fell at King Regis's death. Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya were also slain by Niflheim.

Crowe didn't bother flipping through the pages to find the rest of the story. She dropped the paper back into the stand and walked out of the gas station.

Her mission was all for nothing. Lady Lunafreya was dead. Drautos had said that she would be in Tenebrae, and while the Emperor wasn't looking, Crowe was to escort her to Altissia for her wedding. But the Emperor must have suspected something, taking the princess to Insomnia to tease the people, and then have her killed.

Crowe had been brought back to life just to fail all over again.

“Shit.” She swore to herself.

Everything was all wrong. It should have made sense by now that Niflheim would go back on their word. They endangered the princess so carelessly. And part of her own family had helped.

She felt helpless. There had been nothing about the Kingsglaive or the Crownsguard on the front page, other than to say that all efforts were overtaken. That couldn't mean that Lib and Nyx were dead too.

That was something Crowe could do. It was almost impossible to know who she could trust among the Kingsglaive, but she knew those two wouldn't betray the crown, no matter what Niflheim offered them. She just hoped they hadn't been killed in the cross fire. Nyx loved being heroic.

She walked into the diner then. Despite the crowded booths of refugees from Insomnia, it was quiet. Everyone seemed to be listening to the radio as it continued to report on the fallout of the treaty signing. Crowe listened for any word on the Glaive as she joined a line, shuffling along for the free meal promised to refugees. It wasn't her first time being called that.

Nothing was mentioned the entire time she was there. She took a small seat at a booth that was offered to her, squeezing in among strangers. A lot of people remained in the city until Niflheim's martial law. There was a resistance, and it would make perfect sense for Nyx and Lib to join it. But Crowe quickly realized that showing her face in the city wouldn't be a smart idea, after she had been killed. The king was gone, and so was the magic he granted to the Kingsglaive. In any case, it didn't sound as though anyone was allowed into the city while things were still so intense.

She considered going home, back to Galahd, before remembering that the resistance there made Niflheim keep a tight grip on the island. She couldn't imagine what it was like now after Insomnia fell.

Crowe could join this caravan of refugees to Lestallum, and hope to find friendly faces there. There were some Crownsguards here, but none that Crowe recognized. There were likely to be more at Lestallum, and they could tell her more.

But there was a stronger urge to see Insomnia for herself. Was everyone truly just gone like that?

The buses were preparing to leave as she left the diner. Crowe walked against the flow of the crowd. She found a bike, stole it, and sped towards the city.

#drabble #tweaked a few tiny details

0 notes

jamesgraybooksellerworld · 4 years

Text

352J [OLIVIER, Jacques, or Alexis TROUSSET].

A Discourse of Women, shewing their Imperfections alphabetically. Newly translated out of the French into English.

London: printed in the year 1679. $3,800

12mo (135 × 70 mm), pp. [4], 185, [1], without initial blank leaf. Woodcut headpiece (with snakes) to dedication. Quite dust-stained/browned, closely-cut at foredge, usually resulting merely in a short margin, but just touching text of a handful of leaves towards the opening. Eighteenth-century panelled sprinkled calf with stencilled diapered lozenge to sides, borders in gilt and blind, black floral cornerpieces, spine with large red morocco label and three panels with cinquefoil tools in gilt. Rubbed, joints starting, spine chipped at head and foot. Contemporary purple shelf mark: ‘Lib J.9-no.8-’ An otherwise unrecorded issue of a notorious misogynist satire, Alphabet de l’imperfection et malice des femmes (1617), first published in English in 1662. According to Athenae Oxonienses, the translator was Richard Banke of Lincoln College. It was reprinted in 1672 and 1673 and this is a reissue of unsold sheets of the 1673 edition with a new title, dated but without imprint. All editions are rare. This issue not in Wing (cf. O284A-C for the other edition/ issues). See Felicity Nussbaum, The Brink of all we hate: English Satires on Women, 1660-1750, p. 178n. ESTC Citation No. R22566 Olivier, Jacques. London : printed for Henry Brome, at the Gun in Ivy-lane, M.DCLXII. [1662] Physical descr. [4], 204 p. ; 8⁰. General note Translation of: Olivier, Jacques. Alphabet de l’imperfection et malice des femmes. Leaf pi2r numbered 205. [A]² B-N⁸ O⁶. Wing (CD-ROM, 1996), O284A

Copies – Brit.Isles : British Library, Cambridge University London School of Economics. Copies – N.America\ Folger Shakespeare Huntington Library William Andrews Clark Memorial Library

ESTC Citation No. R229574 Olivier, Jacques. A discourse of women, shewing their imperfections alphabetically. Newly translated out of the French into English. London : printed for R.T. and are to be sold in Little Britain, [1673.] Physical descr. [6], 185, [1] p. ; 12⁰. Copies – Brit.Isles : British Library Oxford University Bodleian Library

Copies – N.America\ Duke University Newberry Yale University

)0(

Bold Poets and rash Painters may aspire With pen and pencill to describe my Faire, Alas; their arts in the performance fayle, And reach not that divine Original, Some Shadd’wy glimpse they may present to view, And this is all poore humane art Can doe▪

346J J.B. Gent.

The young lovers guide,

or, The unsuccessful amours of Philabius, a country lover; set forth in several kind epistles, writ by him to his beautious-unkind mistress. Teaching lover s how to comport themselves with resignation in their love-disasters. With The answer of Helena to Paris, by a country shepherdess. As also, The sixth Æneid and fourth eclogue of Virgil, both newly translated by J.B. Gent.

London : Printed and are to be Sold by the Booksellers of London, 1699. $3,500

Octavo, A4, B-G8,H6 I2( lacking 3&’4) (A1, frontispiece Present; I3&’4, advertisements lacking ) inches [8], 116, [4] p. : The frontispiece is signed: M· Vander Gucht. scul:. 1660-1725,

This copy is bound in original paneled sheep with spine cracking but cords holding Strong.

A very rare slyly misogynistic “guide’ for what turns out be emotional turmoil and Love-Disasters !

Writ by Philabius to Venus, his Planetary Ascendant.

Dear Mother Venus!

I must style you so.

From you descended, tho’ unhappy Beau.

You are my Astral Mother; at my birth

Your pow’rful Influence bore the sway on Earth

From my Ascendent: being sprung from you,

I hop’d Success where-ever I should woo.

Your Pow’r in Heav’n and Earth prevails, shall I,

A Son of yours, by you forsaken die?

Twenty long Months now I have lov’d a Fair,

And all my Courtship’s ending in Despair.

All Earthly Beauties, scatter’d here and there,

From you, their Source, derive the Charms they bear.

Wing (2nd ed.), B131; Arber’s Term cat.; III 142

Copies – Brit.Isles : British Library

Cambridge University St. John’s College

Oxford University, Bodleian Library

Copies – N.America : Folger Shakespeare

Harvard Houghton Library

Henry E. Huntington

Newberry

UCLA, Clark Memorial Library

University of Illinois

Engraved frontispiece of the Mistress holding a fan, title within double rule border, 4-pages of publisher`s advertisements at the end Contemporary calf (worn). . FIRST EDITION. . The author remains unknown.

)0(

A collection of Poems and Letters by Christian mystic and prolific writer, Jeanne-Marie Guyon published in Dublin.

348J François de Salignac de la Mothe-Fénelon 1651-1715 & Josiah Martin 1683-1747 & Jeanne Marie Bouvier de La Motte Guyon 1648-1717

A dissertation on pure love, by the Arch-Bishop of Cambray. With an account of the life and writings of the Lady, for whose sake The Archbishop was banish’d from Court: And the grievous Persecution she suffer’d in France for her Religion. Also Two Letters in French and English, written by one of the Lady’s Maids, during her Confinement in the Castle of Vincennes, where she was Prisoner Eight Years. One of the Letters was writ with a Bit of Stick instead of a Pen, and Soot instead of Ink, to her Brother; the other to a Clergyman. Together with an apologetic preface. Containing divers letters of the Archbishop of Cambray, to the Duke of Burgundy, the present French King’s Father, and other Persons of Distinction. And divers letters of the lady to Persons of Quality, relating to her Religious Principles

Dublin : printed by Isaac Jackson, in Meath-Street, [1739]. $ 4,000

Octavo 7 3/4 x 5 inches First and only English edition. Bound in Original sheep, with a quite primitive repair to the front board.

Fenélon’s text appears to consist largely of extracts from ’Les oeuvres spirituelles’. The preface, account of Jeanne Marie Guyon etc. is compiled by Josiah Martin. The text of the letters, and poems, is in French and English. This is an Astonishing collection of letters and poems.

“JOSIAH MARTIN, (1683–1747), quaker, was born near London in 1683. He became a good classical scholar, and is spoken of by Gough, the translator of Madame Guyon’s Life, 1772, as a man whose memory is esteemed for ‘learning, humility, and fervent piety.’ He died unmarried, 18 Dec. 1747, in the parish of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, and was buried in the Friends’ burial-ground, Bunhill Fields. He left the proceeds of his library of four thousand volumes to be divided among nephews and nieces. Joseph Besse [q. v.] was his executor.

Martin’s name is best known in connection with ‘A Letter from one of the People called Quakers to Francis de Voltaire, occasioned by his Remarks on that People in his Letters concerning the English Nation,’ London, 1741. It was twice reprinted, London and Dublin, and translated into French. It is a temperate and scholarly treatise, and was in much favour at the time.

Of his other works the chief are: 1. ‘A Vindication of Women’s Preaching, as well from Holy Scripture and Antient Writings as from the Paraphrase and Notes of the Judicious John Locke, wherein the Observations of B[enjamin] C[oole] on the said Paraphrase . . . and the Arguments in his Book entitled “Reflections,” &c, are fullv considered,’ London, 1717. 2. ‘The Great Case of Tithes truly stated … by Anthony Pearson [q. v.] . . . to which is added a Defence of some other Principles held by the People call’d Quakers . . .,’ London, 1730. 3. ‘A Letter concerning the Origin, Reason, and Foundation of the Law of Tithes in England,’ 1732. He also edited, with an ‘Apologetic Preface,’ comprising more than half the book, and containing many additional letters from Fénelon and Madame Guyon, ‘The Archbishop of Cambray’s Dissertation on Pure Love, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Lady for whose sake he was banish’d from Court,’ London, 1735.

[Joseph Smith’s Catalogue of Friends’ Books; works quoted above; Life of Madame Guyon, Bristol, 1772, pt. i. errata; registers at Devonshire House; will P.C.C. 58 Strahan, at Somerset House.]

C. F. S.

Fénelon was nominated in February, 1696, Fénelon was consecrated in August of the same year by Bossuet in the chapel of Saint-Cyr. The future of the young prelate looked brilliant, when he fell into deep disgrace.

The cause of Fénelon’s trouble was his connection with Madame Guyon, whom he had met in the society of his friends, the Beauvilliers and the Chevreuses. She was a native of Orléans, which she left when about twenty-eight years old, a widowed mother of three children, to carry on a sort of apostolate of mysticism, under the direction of Père Lacombe, a Barnabite. After many journeys to Geneva, and through Provence and Italy, she set forth her ideas in two works, “Le moyen court et facile de faire oraison” and “Les torrents spirituels”. In exaggerated language characteristic of her visionary mind, she presented a system too evidently founded on the Quietism of Molinos, that had just been condemned by Innocent XI in 1687. There were, however, great divergencies between the two systems. Whereas Molinos made man’s earthly perfection consist in a state of uninterrupted contemplation and love, which would dispense the soul from all active virtue and reduce it to absolute inaction, Madame Guyon rejected with horror the dangerous conclusions of Molinos as to the cessation of the necessity of offering positive resistance to temptation. Indeed, in all her relations with Père Lacombe, as well as with Fénelon, her virtuous life was never called in doubt. Soon after her arrival in Paris she became acquainted with many pious persons of the court and in the city, among them Madame de Maintenon and the Ducs de Beauvilliers and Chevreuse, who introduced her to Fénelon. In turn, he was attracted by her piety, her lofty spirituality, the charm of her personality, and of her books. It was not long, however, before the Bishop of Chartres, in whose diocese Saint-Cyr was, began to unsettle the mind of Madame de Maintenon by questioning the orthodoxy of Madame Guyon’s theories. The latter, thereupon, begged to have her works submitted to an ecclesiastical commission composed of Bossuet, de Noailles, who was then Bishop of Châlons, later Archbishop of Paris, and M. Tronson; superior of-Saint-Sulpice. After an examination which lasted six months, the commission delivered its verdict in thirty-four articles known as the “Articles d’ Issy”, from the place near Paris where the commission sat. These articles, which were signed by Fénelon and the Bishop of Chartres, also by the members of the commission, condemned very briefly Madame Guyon’s ideas, and gave a short exposition of the Catholic teaching on prayer. Madame Guyon submitted to the condemnation, but her teaching spread in England, and Protestants, who have had her books reprinted have always expressed sympathy with her views. Cowper translated some of her hymns into English verse; and her autobiography was translated into English by Thomas Digby (London, 1805) and Thomas Upam (New York, 1848). Her books have been long forgotten in France.

Jeanne Marie Guyon

b. 1648, Montargis, France; d. 1717, Blois, France

A Christian mystic and prolific writer, Jeanne-Marie Guyon advocated a form of spirituality that led to conflict with authorities and incarceration. She was raised in a convent, then married off to a wealthy older man at the age of sixteen. When her husband died in 1676, she embarked on an evangelical mission to convert Protestants to her brand of spirituality, a mild form of quietism, which propounded the notion that through complete passivity (quiet) of the soul, one could become an agent of the divine. Guyon traveled to Geneva, Turin, and Grenoble with her mentor, Friar François Lacombe, at the same time producing several manuscripts: Les torrents spirituels (Spiritual Torrents); an 8,000-page commentary on the Bible; and her most important work, the Moyen court et très facile de faire oraison (The Short and Very Easy Method of Prayer, 1685). Her activities aroused suspicion; she was arrested in 1688 and committed to the convent of the Visitation in Paris, where she began writing an autobiography. Released within a few months, she continued proselytizing, meanwhile attracting several male disciples. In 1695, the Catholic church declared quietism heretical, and Guyon was locked up in the Bastille until 1703. Upon her release, she retired to her son’s estate in Blois. Her writings were published in forty-five volumes from 1712 to 1720.

Her writings began to be published in Holland in 1704, and brought her new admirers. Englishmen and Germans–among them Wettstein and Lord Forbes–visited her at Blois. Through them Madame Guyon’s doctrines became known among Protestants and in that soil took vigorous root. But she did not live to see this unlooked-for diffusion of her writings. She passed away at Blois, at the age of sixty-eight, protesting in her will that she died submissive to the Catholic Church, from which she had never had any intention of separating herself. Her doctrines, like her life, have nevertheless given rise to the widest divergences of opinion. Her published works (the “Moyen court” and the “Règles des assocées à l’Enfance de Jésus”) having been placed on the Index in 1688, and Fénelon’s “Maximes des saints” branded with the condemnation of both the pope and the bishops of France, the Church has thus plainly reprobated Madame Guyon’s doctrines, a reprobation which the extravagance of her language would in itself sufficiently justify. Her strange conduct brought upon her severe censures, in which she could see only manifestations of spite. Evidently, she too often fell short of due reserve and prudence; but after all that can be said in this sense, it must be acknowledged that her morality appears to have given no grounds for serious reproach. Bossuet, who was never indulgent in her regard, could say before the full assembly of the French clergy: “As to the abominations which have been held to be the result of her principles, there was never any question of the horror she testified for them.” It is remarkable, too, that her disciples at the Court of Louis XIV were always persons of great piety and of exemplary life.

On the other hand, Madame Guyon’s warmest partisans after her death were to be found among the Protestants. It was a Dutch Protestant, the pastor Poiret, who began the publication of her works; a Vaudois pietist pastor, Duthoit-Mambrini, continued it. Her “Life” was translated into English and German, and her ideas, long since forgotten in France, have for generations been in favour in Germany, Switzerland, England, and among Methodists in America. ”

P.144 misnumbered 134. Price from imprint: price a British Half-Crown. Dissertain 16p and Directions for a holy life 5p. DNB includes this in Martin’s works

Copies – Brit.Isles. : British Library, Dublin City Library, National Library of Ireland Trinity College Library

Copies – N.America. : Bates College, Harvard University, Haverford Col , Library Company of Philadelphia, Newberry, Pittsburgh Theological Princeton University, University of Illinois University of Toronto, Library

)0(

331J Theophilis Polwheile

Aὐθέντης, Authentēs. Or A treatise of self-deniall. Wherein the necessity and excellency of it is demonstrated; with several directions for the practice of it. By Theophilus Polwheile, M.A. sometimes of Emmanuel Colledge in Cambridge, now teacher of the Church at Teverton in Devon.

London: printed for Thomas Johnson, and are to be sold at the Golden-Key in St. Pauls Church-yard, 1659 $1,200

Octavo Full 18/19th century calf . Signed by B Fuller. Like the Anatomy of Melancholy Polwheile takes an enclyopedic view of Self denial in all sorts of literature. was a minister based mainly in Tiverton; the year after this was published, in the Restoration of 1660, he was ejected from his ministerial position for his religious views and for his sympathies with the Independents, who advocated for local control and for a certain freedom of religion for those who were not Catholic; because of this, he was often in trouble until the Declaration of Indulgence by James II in 1687, establishing freedom of religion in England (James II being Catholic)

“Some think Orthodox and right opinions to be a plea for a loose life, whereas there is no Ill course of life, But springs from some false opinions.” Also Some very interesting subjects “Madness, the reason why so many men of great parts and learning are smitten with it”

“There are Time-servers and Man-pleasers”. There is no surprise that this is rare, I bet lots of copies were thrown out? Two US copies in the US.

Wing (2nd ed.), P2782; Thomason; E.1733[1].

Copies – N.America :General Theological Seminary & Union Theological Seminary…

)0(

362J James FISHER and [Martha HATFIELD].

The wise virgin: or, A wonderfull narration of the various dispensations of God towards a childe of eleven years of age; wherein as his severity hath appeared in afflicting, so also his goodness both in enabling her (when stricken dumb, deaf, and blind, through the prevalency of her disease) at several times to utter many glorious truths concerning Christ, faith, and other subjects; and also in recovering her without the use of any external means, lest the glory should be given to any other. To the wonderment of many that came far and neer to see and hear her. With some observations in the fourth year since her recovery. She is the daughter of Mr. Anthony Hatfield gentleman, in Laughton in York-shire; her name is Martha Hatfield. The third edition enlarged, with some passages of her gracious conversation now in the time of health. By James Fisher, servant of Christ, and minister of the Gospel in Sheffield.

LONDON: Printed for John Rothwell, at the Fountain, in Cheap-side. 1656 $3,300 Octavo, 143 x 97 x 23 mm (binding), 139 x 94 x 18 mm (text block). A-M8, N3. Lacks A1, blank or portrait? [26], 170 pp. Bound in contemporary calf, upper board reattached, somewhat later marbled and blank ends. Leather rubbed with minor loss to extremities. Interior: Title stained, leaves soiled, gathering N browned, long vertical tear to E2 without loss, tail fore-corner of F8 torn away, with loss of a letter, side notes of B2v trimmed. This is a remarkable survival of the third edition of the popular interregnum account of Sheffield Presbyterian minister James Fisher’s 11-year-old niece Martha Hatfield’s prophetic dialogues following her recovery from a devastating catalepsy that had left her “dumb, deaf, and blind.” Mar tha’s disease, which defies modern retro-diagnostics, was at the time characterized as “spleenwinde,” a term even the Oxford English Dictionary has overlooked. Her sufferings were as variable as they were extraordinary the young girl at one point endured a 17-day fugue state during which her eyes remained open and fixed and she gnashed her teeth to the breaking point. In counterpoise to the horrors of her infirmity, her utterances in periods of remission and upon recovery were of great purity and sweetness; it is this stark contrast that was, and is, the persistent allure of this little book. The Wise Virgin appeared five times between 1653 and 1665; some editions have a portrait frontispiece, and it is entirely possible that the present third edition should have one at A1v, though the copy scanned by Early English Books Online does not. Copies located at Yale, and at Oxford (from which the EEBO copy was made). Wing F1006.

)0(

257J Jacques Ferrand

Εροτομανια Or A Treatise Discoursing of the Essence, Causes, Symptomes, Prognosticks, and Cure of Love, or EROTIQUE MELANCHOLY.

Oxford: by L. Lichfield to be sold by Edward Forrest, 1640 $6,900.

Octavo a-b8, c4, A-Y8, Z6 (First English edition.

Bound in nineteenth century English gilt tooled sheep. Ferrand approaches the medical afflictions produced by intense love. In addition to confronting the medical symptoms, Ferrand also describes the psychiatric symptoms.

Includes chapters, Whether Love-Melancholy be an Hereditary disease, or no. Whether or no by Physiognomy and Chiromancy a man may know one to be inclined to Love, and Chirurgicall Remedies, for the Prevention of Love, and erotique Melancholy. Of the psychiatric nature the doctor includes the chapters, Whether or no by Oniromancy, or the Interpretation of Dreames, one may know those that are in love, Whether or no, a Physitian may by his Art find out Love, without confession of the Patient, and Of Melancholy, and its several kinds. Other chapters discuss astrology, external and internal symptoms, medicinal, methodical, empirical, and pharmaceutical remedies of love

Melancholy. STC 10829; Hunter & Macalpine, p. 118; NUC NF 0098305, ICU, CtY, PPL, CLSU, DFo, ICN, OU, DLC, CSmH, MH.

)0(

A Discourse of Women, 2) The young lovers guide, 3) A dissertation on pure love, 4) A treatise of self-deniall, 5) The wise virgin, 6) A Treatise Discoursing the Cure of Erotique Melancholy. 352J . A Discourse of Women, shewing their Imperfections alphabetically. Newly translated out of the French into English.

#Erotomania #Prophetic visions #Spells #the wise virgin #Visions

0 notes

viralhottopics · 7 years

Text

What we learned from the Golden Globes: Meryl Streep always wins and Ryan Gosling never fails

The curtain has fallen on this years ceremony and heres our key takeaways, including the best anti-Trump speech, the wittiest mention of syphilis and what it all means for next months Oscars

Theres no stopping La La Land, the post-truth underdog

Right from the start, which saw Jimmy Fallons opening skit entirely devoted to a spoof of La La Land, it was obvious Damien Chazelles hymn to Hollywood had converted the 90-odd members of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association men and women who had left their homelands to travel to La La Land and pen their own hymns to Hollywood.

But just how faithful the converts proved couldnt quite be predicted: the film took seven gongs over the evening (best song, best score, best director, best screenplay, best actor, best actress, best comedy or musical), beating the likes of One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest to make new record.

Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone with their awards. Photograph: Kevork Djansezian/NBC/(Credit too long, see caption)

So how did they do it? Especially when some of the awards (such as screenplay) were felt by some to be a bit optimistic? Well, that opening sequence was also significant, because it showed that La La Land is a lot easier to parody than, say, Moonlight (black gay man in Miami struggles with sexuality and addict mother) and Manchester by the Sea (gloomy janitor returns home after the death of his brother to grapple with previous family tragedy) and may end up with a lot more cultural currency, even significance, as a result.

That the Globes split their categories (drama and comedy or musical) naturally favours movies such as Chazelles, but, as Benjamin Lee pointed out in his liveblog, every La La acceptance speech also pushed the notion of the movie as an underdog a crazy mad idea and a wild punt for the studio to back.

But remember: this is a romance starring Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone, directed by a man whose most recent movie won three Oscars, and which like Argo and The Artist strokes that hand that feeds it. But, whatever works.

Unless its the actual underdog

La La Lands main rival, Barry Jenkinss Moonlight, went into the race with nearly the same number of nominations, and came away with just one win. But what a win: best drama. The fact it was robbed in the supporting actor category (where Mahershala Ali lost out to Aaron Taylor-Johnson) may even help its chances going forward for what we now have is a genuine underdog (albeit one thats so far picked up 120 awards) with a little outraged momentum behind it (thought #JusticeForMoonlight felt a bit of a trending punt). The last movie to take just best drama at the Globes? Best picture Oscar winner 12 Years a Slave

Congratulations can still come with a bouquet of barbed wire

Despite significant wins for actors of colour actors this year, there were slightly fewer than expected (see Ali), and efforts to forget the #OscarsSoWhite controversy were undermined by not one, but two, people (George Bushs daughter, Michael Keaton) conflating the names of the two big nominated movies featuring black actors. Fences are still visible; perhaps Figures still arent, quite.

Meryl 2020

Meryl Streep attacks Donald Trump in Golden Globes speech

Can a blonde white woman in her late 60s defeat Donald Trump? If anyone can, Meryl can. Her speech picking up the Cecil B DeMille lifetime achievement award was easily the runaway moment of the night: impassioned, funny, fearless and picking up perhaps the prize dreadful moment in the president-elects campaign: his mocking of a disabled reporter on the campaign trail.

It kind of broke my heart, and I saw it, and I still cant get it out of my head because it wasnt in a movie. It was real life. And this instinct to humiliate when its modelled by someone in the public platform by someone powerful, it filters down into everybodys life because it kind of gives permission for other people to do the same thing.

Disrespect invites disrespect. Violence incites violence. When the powerful use definition to bully others, we all lose.

Trump duly responded, not on Twitter, but by telling the New York Times he hadnt watched the show but was not surprised that the liberal movie people ridiculed him. Sad!

Hugh Laurie for VP

A shock choice for supporting actor in a drama series over favourite John Lithgow for that other great statesman, Churchill but Laurie made up for it with a pitch-perfect address, which preceded Streeps and lamented that this was likely the last Globes ceremony. Accepting the prize on behalf of psychopathic billionaires everywhere, Laurie said:

I dont mean to be gloomy, its just that it has the words Hollywood, Foreign and Press in the title. I just dont know I also think to some Republicans, even the word association is slightly sketchy.

Viola Davis for secretary of state

A controversial one this, not because she aced the supporting actress performance for which she won her prize, nor for her great speech, nor even her composed anti-Trump rant backstage:

Viola Davis makes powerful anti-Trump speech backstage at Golden Globes

But for allowing us all to get a glimpse of the real Streep, sharing a strange food-shaming incident in her introduction to the great woman.

Streep: Whatd you do last night, Viola?

Davis: Oh, I cooked an apple pie.

Streep: Did you use Pippin apples?

Davis: Pippin apples, What the hell is Pippin apples? I used Granny Smith apples.

Streep: Did you make your own crust?

Davis: No, I used store-bought crust. Thats what I did.

Streep: Then you didnt make an apple pie, Viola.

Davis: Well, thats because I spent all my time making collard greens! I make the best collard greens. I use smoked turkey, chicken stock and my special BBQ sauce.

Streep: Well, they dont taste right unless you use ham hocks. If you dont use ham hocks, it doesnt taste the same.

youtube

Accidents can happen, thank God

In what looked like one of the most locked-down ceremonies in years, a couple of bona fide surprises leapt out. The first with the HFPAs love for Paul Verhoevens hot-potato rape revenge comedy Elle a movie previously deemed too controversial for major acclaim. But it took not just best foreign language film (over the more politically safe Toni Erdmann) but also best actress for Isabelle Huppert: now a major Oscar contender, leaving both previous frontrunners (Natalie Portman and Emma Stone), fretting into their frocks.

The second shocker also showcased the Globess more offbeat taste: two big wins (best comedy series, best actor for Donald Glover) for Atlanta, about the citys rap scene. The Globes can be notoriously wacky this time round, in a good way.

We need to pin our hopes on the other Jimmy

youtube

Fallon had a lot to live up to. In part because Amy Poehler and Tina Fey set such a high benchmark for this gig a couple of years back; also because Fallon patsied to Trump on his chatshow a couple of months back. But despite a few early digs at the president-elect, he failed to deliver. Most glaring was his inability to competently wing it when the teleprompter broke. All such issues were highlighted by the brilliance of some of the presenters, in particular Kristen Wiig, who having stolen the showin 2013 with her Will Ferrell double act, repeated the trick this time with Steve Carell. Can fellow talk-show host Jimmy Kimmel top it at the Oscars next month? Probably.

Heartthrobs are called heartthrobs for a reason

Ryan Goslings best actor speech saw peak metrosexual pin-up this year: losing nominees Ryan Reynolds and Andrew Garfield shared a snog, while Gosling further confirmed his dreaminess at the podium. He ended his speech by paying tribute to his lady Eva Mendes for looking after their daughter and her brother (who had cancer, and to whose memory he dedicated the prize) while she was pregnant with their second child and he was off twinkling his toes on La La Land. So, sweetheart, thank you.

youtube

Tom Hiddleston, meanwhile, went full humanitarian, closing with a story about a recent trip to South Sudan with the UN Childrens Fund and dedicating his prize to aid workers everywhere. The weird cuts to Christian Slater and the kids from Stranger Things didnt help, but it was still stirring stuff.

The Brits are coming! But so is Netflix

Hiddleston won for The Night Manager, the Beebs big hit of the night gongs also for Laurie and Olivia Colman but the series-which-should-have-been-made-by-the-BBC-but-wasnt took best TV series (drama) and best actress (for Claire Foy). After the anti-climatic hoohah around Netflixs first big film production, Beasts of No Nation, the streaming service finally made good. Lucky, given The Crown still has five very expensive series still to fund and run.

Real actors are never off

Lithgow backstage with Claire Foy and Peter Morgan. Photograph: Mario Anzuoni/Reuters

Greatest ad-lib of the night? Probably John Lithgow, who channelled Churchill with aplomb in the press room. Being told his fly was undone, Lithgow quoted back the great cigar-chomper: Its not a problem. A dead bird never leaves its nest. The runners-up prize goes to Hugh Grant, wrongly leaked as the winner of best actor (comedy or musical), who describes the plot of Florence Foster Jenkins as, accurately enough, about a woman slowly dying of syphilis.