|—||Daisy Lola (via blutrauschen)|
I mean, that scene is word-for-word from the book, so don’t blame the movie! :) Yes, Gus is super pretentious at the start of the story. it’s a character flaw.
Gus wants to have a big and important and remembered life, and so he acts like he imagines people who have such lives act. So he’s, like, says-soliloquy-when-he-means-monologue pretentious, which is the most pretentious variety of pretension in all the world.
And then his performative, over-the-top, hyper-self-aware pretentiousness must fall away for him to really connect to Hazel, just as her fear of being a grenade must fall away. That’s what the novel is about. That is its plot.
Gus must make the opposite of the traditional heroic journey—he must start out strong and end up weak in order to reimagine what constitutes a rich and well-lived life.
Basically, a 20-second clip from the first five minutes of a movie is not the movie.
(Standard acknowledgement here that I might be wrong, that I am inevitably defensive of TFIOS, that it has many flaws, that there’s nothing wrong with critical discussion, and that a strong case could be made that I should not insert myself into these conversations at all.)
Broken Theon learns of Rob’s death
The best scene in the episode. In case any of us forgot that George R.R. Martin is a serious television writer as well, here’s a welcome reminder. In the books we see things from Theon’s point of view; we’re offered a look inside his mind and so we are given incontrovertible proof that Theon’s spirit is broken and that he has become Reek. But in television that’s not possible in the same way. There are things you can do with performance to indicate one way or the other, but there’s no fool-proof way to convince an audience that Reek is completely subject to his master’s will, and not secretly harboring rebellious thoughts, without changing things up. So we get this scene, a perfect addition for demonstrating through action that Ramsay has indeed destroyed Theon’s will to fight, and his sense of self. Masterful writing.
This review really ought to have been up like a week and a half ago, but I had a weird crisis concerning my opinion on the film and needed some time to process my feelings. Anyway, it may be late, but here it is:
The biggest problem with The Winter Soldier is the title. See, the title gives the impression that the film will focus primarily upon Steve’s new super-powered adversary—whose secret identity is a complete non-secret to anyone whose looked up “Winter Soldier” on wikipedia, or indeed, anyone diligent enough to note the character’s publicly-credited performer, and what other character he played in a prior Captain America film—ahem.
(Inevitable spoiler warning for the people out there who don’t know who the Winter Soldier is, and also about the broad strokes of the plot as a whole.)
villains with tragic backstories
The bomb is dropped
The kittens sort of soften the blow.
this is the shittiest post ever. please unfollow me if you agree with this post also shame on OP for using cute kittens for this garbage post
not sure what it is exactly that makes this post so shitty? Because it’s promoting actual equality? instead of saying that you can call everyone else shit because you are part of an oppressed party you can say you are equal to them doesn’t exactly sound like a shitty idea to me.
olenna tyrell: killing a man at a wedding? that’s horrid! what sort of monster would do such a thing? *looks at the camera like she’s on the office*
Welp, it looks like all this time being in Dorne has made Myrcella a fan of female inheritance.
My un-ironic Alice cosplay. Taken on a beautiful day in Central Park.
|—||Sophie Turner, in response to Sansa hate (x)|
Manueluv and I are convinced Agent K is Coulson’s father. Hell, MIB is even owned by Marvel.
Welp. Never gonna unsee this.
HEADCANON ACCEPTED SO FAST I THINK I BROKE SOMETHING
Which of course means that K is the identical grandson of…
No but guys, GUYS, we need to talk about how important this scene is. Because the commonly accepted lore about unicorns is that they are so good and pure that they’ll only appear to young virginal girls. Because Molly Grue is a middle-aged woman who has been living with bandits for most of her life and is as far from innocent and virginal as you’re likely to get. Because she’s so angry that this creature, embodying everything that society tells her she’s lost, everything she’s thrown away through her own choices, is here now when all that The Unicorn represents is long since behind her. Because she knows, in a way that only someone who’s been steeped in an oppressive system her entire life can ever know, that she’s missed her chance and doesn’t deserve to be seeing a unicorn now.
And you know what? The Unicorn doesn’t give two fucks about her virginity, about her supposed loss of innocence and purity. She’s not repelled by Molly being older, being experienced, being a full human person. None of that has ever mattered to unicorns, only to the people telling stories about them. Not only does she step in to physically comfort her here, but before long this bandit’s wife becomes her friend, closer to her in most ways than Schmendrick.
This story is fucking revolutionary, you guys, and I just have a lot of feelings about it.
I heard Peter S. Beagle speak about this scene at a convention once. He said he just kept writing and writing into the scene and suddenly here was this powerful, moving dialogue which came out very strong and natural, flowing directly from inspiration.
He said it was one of those moments when “the writer just gets really lucky.”
This scene always makes me cry. It’s so easy to feel like “damaged goods” in a huge number of ways, and knowing you can be loved anyway is so so powerful.