So... having just read the first in The Witcherseries, I can tell you with absolute certainty, that casting Henry Cavill as Geralt of Rivia is beyond hilarious.
I think this comment best describes how I'll be handling this for the foreseeable future (most likely until the cast's announced and I start the process of MELTING. THE. FUCK. DOWN):
In my head I was building a monolith of awesome things to say whilst reading this but then Hollins sucker-punched me with an ending that reduced my remaining coherent thoughts to a simple, ceaseless chant of...
How dare you, Hollins?
How dare you?!
...
Now watch as I demonstrate an inhuman level of self-discipline to not read the last in the trilogy immediately after Hollins BROKE MY FUCKING HEART!
...
When I first saw the cast list for Flowers, I was immediately all in.
I mean, Olivia Colman? Julian Barratt? Will Sharpe?
That's some good shit, right there.
So, I was expecting something a little dark, a little bonkers (in that very specific British sense), and a whole lot of dry, black humour.
I got that.
An abundance of that.
But what I also got, and completely wasn't expecting, was a story filled with compassion and empathy towards depression, its sufferers, and the people bearing witness to said suffering.
So often tv shows featuring mental illness can be cruel and passively mocking towards the depressed in order to steal cheap laughs. (Hello, every sitcom ever aired)
Not Flowers.
It uses laughter as a balm, and isn't that so very, very British?
Speaking of her majesty, this is causing me some... conflict:
I love this book.
Truly love it.
It's my second favourite Donna Tartt novel. (The Secret History holds that title)
It tore me to pieces; to the point of it persistently prowling its way into my thoughts over the years. (I read it in 2014, that's 5 years of prowling)
And as soon as I saw the cast list announced for the screen adaptation?
Well, my sisters can attest to the caterwaul of outrage I emitted. Ansel Elgort is not my Theo. Aneurin Barnard is not my Boris.
Nuh uh.
No way.
...
But.
Fucking, but.
This trailer?
This trailer is doing things to me.
This trailer looks exactly how I saw The Goldfinch in my head.
Maybe not with the right actors (although the rest of the cast is actually pretty spot on) but the aesthetic? The atmosphere?
Oh good christ, it's perfect.
And it's directed by John Crowley, who gave me my first glimpse of Andrew Garfield's talent. (Although, where that's gone, mister?)
It's filled with actors I love to watch do their thing.
And the trailer used Perfume Genius against me.
...
I'm scared to hope that this just might be wonderful.
So fucking wonderful.
One thing, though.
This trailer has so little focus on the relationship between Theo and Boris, THE relationship, and it kind of pisses me off.
There isn't a story without them.
It's at the heart of everything.
It colours almost every choice Theo makes.
It's fundamental to who they are, with or without each other.
And I don't know why there's so little of it shown here.
I really don't.
I hope they pay it the respect it deserves in the movie because if they don't?
There's no chance in hell I'll even remotely like it, let alone love it.
.............................................
I needed some Ana Godis on my desktop, so this is my current background:
I can't watch Chef - and I've watched it multiple times - without being ravenous, and this is no bloody better!
Damn you, Roy Choi.
How dare you, Jon Favreau?
I'm so huuuungryyyy.
And fuck! The animated titles are killing me.
Stop-motion, even digitally created stop-motion, is my kryptonite.
It's been a long time since I've had to squint at an entire scene in a book.
A long, long time.
And I've read some weird, gross, super-detailed violent shit in my time.
But King of Flames just had to go "there".
Had to force my very visual brain to endure at least three pages of home self-surgery.
...
I audibly retched.
...
A lot.
It's a running joke in my family that they find it fucking bizarre that I will happily watch any number of supernatural gore-fests and not even flinch.
Rip someone's heart out? No biggie.
Messily fang some throats for an afternoon snack? Meh.
Slurp down some long pig? As long as you keep your mouth shut while you eat, we're cool.
But ask me to watch a medical drama with full on graphic human surgery and I may as well leave the room because you won't be hearing the show.
Oh no, all you'll be hearing is my vomitus rendition of O Fortuna.
You'll be lucky if I don't actually barf on you.
...
No.
No. Fucking no!
If I see a scalpel in any fucker's hands, then you are immediately dead to me.
The rest of the KoF though?
Pretty fucking cool.
If a little short.
And underdeveloped.
But the world-building was interesting and the villains are actually... *pause for shock* ... villainous.
And the heroine was suitably kick ass and... *pause for more shock* ... not a goddamned teenager.
28 years old, my peoples.
Practically an old lady in Fantasy years. (Excuse me while I sit and blow one endless raspberry at Fantasy writers who think if you're not a fucking teenager you can't Fantasy the fuck out everything that moves ... BOO, HISS - still waiting on a middle-aged female Fantasy badass, however...)
And she was cool as fuck.
With a smart mouth.
Zero fucks to give. (Which really means a whole lot of fucks but she'll suppress that shit down to survive whatever fuckery she's been dropped into aka. my kinda woman) And told both handsy villains to back the fuck off without even a flush of "unwanted" arousal. (That trope only works sometimes, authors. FFS, your misogyny boner's showing)
Thus.
I will totally be reading the next in the series.
But, Kingsley?
Could we not with the body horror?
I don't want to puke on my books.
...
It's impolite.
And messy.
And it stains, man.
.............................................
If you feel like watching two minutes of this fluffy numbskull having a bath and getting sporadically distracted by birds, then... this is your lucky day:
If you turn the volume up at 1:28 you can hear his little squeak when he flips over.
I live for his little squeaks.
Also, this is how dorkus has been sleeping lately:
This box is too small for him.
He doesn't seem to mind.
He does, however, wiggle and groan the entire time he's in there.
...
I'm just waiting for the inevitable box explosion to happen.
(He is going to be writing more magical literature, though, so, yay)
But seeing as that's never gonna happen... I've got the show instead.
Which I love by the way.
Again, it's not perfect.
But the casting's is surprisingly perfect.
(Jason Ralph? That isn't your name, you're really called Quentin Clearwater, because... sorcery)
I was super worried about it when it was first announced but I'm actually super happy about it.
I don't even especially mind that it doesn't look exactly how I pictured, which is normally a real mood killer for me.
I really like the way it looks, to the point of having major decor envy.
And it's full of natural cursing (nothing worse that stunted fucks), and awkward humour, and they didn't flinch from the violence in the book.
I mean, in the first episode, as in the book, there's a [spoiler]double enucleation[spoiler].
Gross but incredibly awesome.
And that's just the start.
My favourite part, though?
It reminded me of so many things I'd forgotten in the book.
There's a point where transmogrification comes into play and I absolutely lost. my. shit. because it's one of my favourite parts of the series, so of course I'd forgotten all about it - am I alone in having a brain that constantly does backwards shit like this? - and they did it all the justice!
Also, transmogrification is just cool...
Anyway.
I know the fandom is really fucked off at the moment because of stuff.
And things.
But I don't know what that stuff or those things are yet so I'll just be here.
Basking in the magical glory.
And saving up to buy the second season because fuck!
Expensive...
I think Ilona Andrews has ruined me for all other female-led Urban Fantasy.
Properly, irreversibly ruined me.
Which is a huge problem because I need basically all the female-led UF I can lay my hands on.
Why you gotta be so perfect, Ilona?
Why?!
...
This was good, though.
Real good.
I lapped it up like a hangry shifter in a ye olde ice cream shoppe. (I just assume shifters like dairy enough to rampage? Calcium, and protein, and potassium, and all that good shit) Mercy Thompson is most definitely a contender for a top spot in my badass literary ladies club.
But I missed the humour of Kate Daniels.
I need some quippy, eternally pissed off internal and external dialogue from my chosen ones, and Mercy was a little too serious for my taste.
But she had her moments.
Mostly when dealing with alpha males letting their dominant boners override their common sense boners. (Oh, so many hormones flying around those furry, lupine bodies)
I do love a heroine with zero tolerance for macho posturing bullshit.
I also like when they kick people.
Mercy likes to kick people.
Thus, I like Mercy.
So, I'm calling this a win with huge potential.
Because the shifter lore is cool.
The world-building is cool.
The writing is cool.
The characters are cool.
It's just, y'know... cool.
But wait a hot fuzzy moment.
Briggs...
Are you... are you love triangling me?
Dearest Dex sent this to me after I bullied him into getting Netflix (this took years by the way; difficult and intransigent creature) to watch Schitt's Creek (among other wondrous things) so he could experience the wonder of the Rose family.
...
Mission.
Complete.
As much as I desperately crave sunshine and warmth.
Nothing can quite beat a Scottish Summer storm.
Even if that crack of lighting did scare the bejesus out of the Charlie Bear.
He had the demon eyes.
...
Bad, Thor.
It's three more days until the third season drops on Netflix and I've been wearing this any and every sunny chance I get.
FAO Dex:
Thank you for feeding my need to wear my nerdiness literally on my chest. (Even if we do disagree over just about everything in the show) You're the Dustin to my Steve.
we're banning all thirsty comments on women's pictures. from now on if you wish to compliment a lady, you may call her "adorable sea-hag," "dreaded elf-witch," or "deadly and all-powerful siren who could stab me in the heart with a knife." make your choice and make it fast.
— the library haunter 🦉🎄❄ (@SketchesbyBoze) June 20, 2019
I can wholeheartedly confirm that if someone called me an adorable sea-hag, I would pledge my allegiance to them for eternity.
...
Just for future reference.
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