the last samurai

 

the last samurai is an outstanding film. it has been one of my favorites since I first saw it as a preteen. my sister and I used to watch it daily. there was something so deep and meaningful weaved throughout a story that could've been reduced to a film of impressive moves and epic battles. there was something so heavy that I could feel in my chest as I watched the story progress and the heaviness did not release until the end of the film. the journey Captain Algren goes on was very impactful to me. the whole film is laced with themes of deep regret. of being unable to let go or to forgive. Algren's character stands out to me for his ability to never give up. he never backs down. never gives in. and as the film progresses he learns the value of belief so deep you'd die for it.

there is also a beautiful illustration of the value of a simple, disciplined life. no fancy clothes, multiple cars, flashy jewels, giant houses, businesses, roads, or restaurants.  just family, duty, honor, community, stability, safety, and values. the older I get the more I realize that this is the way we were supposed to live. God intended for us to be rich in the spirit. to enjoy his earth. to know the meaning of family. of community. this world is starving for it. Algren's entire perspective on life and loss, on love and happiness is altered once he sets foot in Katsumoto's village. and there is a sense that he could have never dreamed that his life could be that way. but from the samurai and the people who live there, he learns that he can have that small measure of peace too. 

this film is shot so beautifully. one element I noticed was how much effort they put into the settings. from the dense fog and the blue light of the moon that illuminates the samurai's armor in the first battle between Katsumoto's men and Algren's, to the bright beauty of the day they have the final bloody battle. there is a lot of contrast and the background is not left out but used as another tool to tell the story. how beautiful it was that every one of the rebels were willing to die for what they believed in, how hopeful they were, how moving it was fits the weather and the sun, and makes the darkness of their situation, their certain end, and the brutality of the battle cut deeper.

the film was so vivid. something I've noticed about films from the late nineties and early 2000s is that they didn't try to be aesthetic as much as they tried to be realistic and rich in depth. this film used colors, textures, and tones that felt like they could have really existed. there was nothing unbelievable about the sets or the props, but that they were unbelievably beautiful. 

this film has a powerful script and one of the most beautiful and haunting soundtracks in film. there are several impactful lines that make you hold your breath as you ponder them. however, my favorite element of the script is the fact that it embraces pauses and silence so frequently. this is not done merely because over half of the characters are not supposed to be English speaking. this is done because silence is impactful. silence, space, and implication are key to the best storytelling. the soundtrack supports the story instead of clashing against it or stealing the show. it flows in and out of each scene creating a heart-string-pulling effect.

whatever it takes to make a truly good story, an unforgettable film, and an vivid illustration of themes of regret, bravery, and belief, the last samurai has it in abundance.

- from Nie

the power of the dog

 
a fascinating film. there were several points where my stomach hurt from the flavor of brutality buried under the surface of every scene. it was unexpected. beautiful. and fresh. 

Benedict somehow created a man who you both fear and are fascinated by. and who is so human. I'm not interested in the all black villains who lack all human nature. I'd rather see the question of "what would happen if an ordinary person experienced blank, or encouraged blank, or felt blank"? interpreted. 

the soundtrack was stunning. pulsing. flowing. slightly off at some points to make you feel unsettled but never obviously meant to scare. the subtlety of it all was perhaps the most impressive part of the entire film. it's easy to yell the story. it's hard to speak volumes in a whisper. 

they apparently shot the film in New Zealand so I am not at all shocked that I found the landscape so utterly beautiful. my favorite line was when Phil, looking at the mountains, was asked by his ranchers what it is he sees out there. “There’s something out there isn’t there?” they asked. he replied "not if you can't see it, there ain't". 

-from Nie

such deep feelings

listen 

there is something about black & white films. this feeling of seriousness. of simplicity. like the movie is leaning in close and whispering to you. 

this clip is one of the most beautifully acted scenes i've ever seen. 

do not watch this movie unless you are prepared to snot. 

these things have been floating around in my mind lately. i suppose you would call it an aesthetic. but somehow that doesn’t seem right. it isn’t an attraction to the colors black and white that makes me write this post. or a desire to rewatch old films that feel old and are old and thus are “interesting”. it is because these things make me feel something that i’m driven to write about them. 

lately i’ve been experiencing such deep feelings. they are difficult to describe but very easy to feel. the only way to interpret them is through art. music. film. poetry. looking at the night sky. for they are such deep feelings. 

- from Nie

the sleeping human

I miss Steven Moffat's Doctor Who. Everybody's thinking it, I'm just saying it. The latest season is positively disgraceful. It's so unfortunate that they should switch writers JUST as they decided to make The Doctor female. Now, it looks as though the series is weakened by this gender switch, which is not the case. Perhaps I will write a post on this to get my feelings out.

But for now, I have written something that reminds me of good ol' Doctor Who. There is a very special balance of the magic of fairytales, myths or legends, and the intense and baffling mystery of sci-fi in every episode of Doctor Who. That is what I tried to capture here. The concept (which I gave .3% thought to) is that some humans left to live on Mars, while others stayed on Earth. Eventually, the "Martians" returned to help Earth with their new knowledge, etc. to find that all the Earthens were dead except one. That one is asleep in Camber's living room. When things got very bad, the Earthens attempted to preserve their lives by sleeping in the pods until the Martians could return and save them; however, something went wrong (villainous sabotage? a fluke in the system? I don't know) and only the sleeping woman is left. I never finished it, but I imagined they would go on a great adventure together.

(quick note: I had an OBNOXIOUS time getting this to paste into blogger without all of the text going into one longggg line across my blog and into the white abyss of the internet. So if some of the formating is messed up, it is 50% because of Google Docs and 50% because I'm stupid.)

 

The Sleeping Human.

There's a woman asleep in my living room.
She's been there for a while. So long, in fact, that most days, I don't even see her. I rest my oatmeal on her face, and mother sets her tea on her knees. Before you call us names, you should know that she's in an immovable case made of titanium glass. It's basically indestructible. My family should know. She's been here for decades. Centuries probably! My parents have tried everything, but here she stays, asleep amongst all of our history. Sometimes I wonder if she's listening. If she can hear me through the glass. I put my face right next to it, and see if I can catch a flicker of an eyelid or a finger twitching. But she's always as still as stone, save for her chest rising and falling in a slow breath. A breath as slow as death. 

This morning, my parents kissed me goodbye and told me for the billionth time how to use the food dispenser, and not to forget to turn the solars on. They are going on a tour of the Old Landscapes. They're historians, and that means everything in our house is historic too. Old chairs, old paintings, old gadgets, and collectibles. We even have a sink! I like it. It makes me feel like an Earthen.
(Long story really short, my people are descended from the humans who were brave enough to venture to Mars, but years and years and years later, we came back to find that there were only a few Earthens left. We tried to help them, to heal them. But, they all died. Every one of them. Except the one in my living room.)

"Camber?"
I pull my eyes away from the sleeping woman's hypnotic breathing.
"Why don't you cover it up, or something?" My friend Lux says, standing at the edge of the living room, her feet rooted to the ground. I smile. Lux is terrified of the woman in the box.
"Because," I pause, thinking about it. "Because, I think she'd be lonely," I say.
Lux doesn't stay long. She and I play around with my projector, making shadow mustache's on Earthen art, and I think she's forgotten about the woman. But, when we eat our food packs, she continues to glance over her shoulder at the case until she mumbles something about homework and rushes off. I don't mind that Lux doesn't like the sleeping woman. Perhaps I would find her scary too if I hadn't grown up with her.

It wasn't until late that night, the eve of an old Earthen holiday called Christmuse, that I noticed something strange. Yes, it was very late. Yes, I ate close to ten A.M. food packs, but I know what I saw.

My head was bobbing as I sat slumped in the armchair watching the holovision. Flakes of snow cast shadows on the wall, like dozens of shadow fairies, (something I love about Earth is the seasons! There are four of them!) I followed one with my eyes as it danced down the wall, over the couch, and onto the sleeping woman's face.

That's when I froze.

The woman in the box. There was something different about her. Something very different. I squinted. In the dark, her hair looked dull, her clothes pale. Her chest rose and fell as it always had, but then I saw it. Her mouth. She was... smiling. A small smile, yeah, but she was smiling. I jumped up and tripped over the chair. My mind felt numb. I always imagined what it'd be like if she woke up, the things I'd ask her. But now, I just felt… scared. I didn't have time to think about it though, because no sooner did I stand up, than a hissing noise fill the room and the top of the case slide in on itself like one of those elveator doors. I think I screamed, but let's pretend I didn't. I know I stood there, rooted to the spot like Lux. A sort of mist dissipated from around the woman, and I could see her face clearly for the first time in my life. You could've heard my heart beating from the street. She was still, so still. Her white hair was long and twisty, her lips a purplish red. Nothing happened. She didn't move a micrometer. I looked at her clothing. She was dressed in jeans and a sweater that I was pretty sure was made of actual animal fur. Snowflake shadows twirled over her face, and as if they tickled her awake, her eyelids began to flutter. Okay, I admit it, I started to panic. I stepped back to the wall, hiding behind the solar lamp (not my best hiding place, I know.)

Her silver eyebrows fell into a frown.

"Oh…" she spoke. She actually spoke. Then, she coughed, "My mouth is so dry," She blinked, staring at the ceiling, swallowing millennia of dust bits. I considered running for it, but I honestly couldn't move. I was transfixed by her. Then, like a spring from a box, she sat up with a woosh, and looked right at me. All I could think was that her eyes were green. I'd always wondered what they'd be. Earthen's had a high rate of brown I think, but I'd dreamed of blue.

"Um… Hello," she said.

Imagine if your pet or your favorite doll just stood up and started talking to you. Something that you've known for a long time, but that's never known you. Now multiply that by one hundred. That's how I felt.

"H-hello," I stuttered from behind the solar lamp's pole.

"Sorry," she spoke with a strange accent. (If you're wondering how I could understand her, all students have to learn Old Earthen, A.K.A the single most boring subject I've ever taken. Now, I wish I'd paid closer attention. I hate it when school comes in handy.) "Could I have a glass of water, please?" she said.

"H-have at it ," I said in a tone at least two octaves higher than usual. I was actually afraid I was going to faint, "The kitchen…" I pointed weakly to it. The woman lifted her legs over the edge of her case and stood. She was taller than I'd expected. That is, until she fell over, sending an end table flying.

"Sorry! It's been a while," she pulled the table upright again, adjusting the now broken petals of mother's onyx mechrose. Then, she used the wall to stand again. She began bandy-legging to the kitchen, but I stayed in the living room, too shocked to move. The sleeping woman. She'd woken up! What would Lux say? What would my parents say? I watched the woman search through the cupboards. They would probably tell me she was dangerous. But they weren't there. I was. So, I followed after the woman, who had given up searching the cupboards and had placed her head under the faucet, gulping water.

"Yes, hello!" I said again, sounding stupid. "I've been waiting for you to wake up for ages!" She came up for air, the tip of her nose dripping.

"You? Waiting for me? What ever for?" she said, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. I frowned too.
"Well, you've been asleep for a really long time, and I've been watching over you, I guess."
"Oh, I see. Are you a volunteer, then?" she said and then suddenly, her face darkened and her eyes darted to and fro as if she were seeing everything for the first time. "This isn't The Hold…" 

"No… It's my house," I answered. Without a word, she wobbled past me, looking up the staircase, out the windows, and up the chimney. She then began inspecting every inch of her case. I joined her, eager to see the inside.

M.

some quizzes

 A couple of years ago now, my sister and I (visit her blog here) made some quizzes together. I am quite fond of quizzes. I like anything that forces me to stop and think about who I am. We made these in summer while eating copious amounts of protein bars and sitting in my dark closet. We always use our time well. Always.

(This particular quiz website requires an email for you to be able to see your result. Just make one up, you don't need to get into it or anything. That's what I did anyway. My fake email is: BilboIsBae@verizon.net... I wish I was lying)

No. 1
Are You a Changeling?

Celena and I have a dread fascination with Changelings. In fact, if I am completely honest, I am convinced I am one. It would explain a lot.

No. 2
Which Ever After High Character Are You?

We loved watching Ever After High and were unabashedly borderline obsessed with it when it first aired. I do love fairytale retellings. There is something so timeless about them.

No. 3
Which Merlin Character Are You?

Celena and I  L O V E Merlin. We love it. It is right underneath Robin Hood on our list of favorite shows.

I got,
I am a forgotten elven changeling, most like Raven Queen, and most like Morgana Pendragon. Do share your results with me in the comments below.

M.

love died in the regency era

 Important note: I am basing this entire post off of the writings of Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, Charles Dickens & wonderfully flowered and powdered films. Probably frightfully unrealistic, but I would like to think that the real Regency era was at least a silhouette of these beautiful concepts. 

  I am not a classically romantic person. However; when I watch regency era films, or read those soft paged novels, I feel a side of me that so usually hides in the shade, come out into the light. Suddenly, I want to know a good man that I am interested in, and experience the kind of peculiar adventure romance brings. Why? Because the regency era translated human relation and love into action.

 I remember the first Jane Austen film I ever watched. Emma (1996). Not only was I struck by their fascinating way of life, but their fascinating approach to love. Love was taken seriously and was cherished. Conversations between two people who were interested in each other were thoughtful, almost artful. Women were ladies and men were gentlemen. There was just so much... class. 



Writing letters

 No one writes letters anymore. We use the mail to pay bills and receive packages. Why did we ever stop writing to each other? To see a person's handwriting, to see how hard they pressed their pen into the paper and to hold the folded paper in your hands is worth so much more than a text message. Take into consideration, Captain Wentworth's letter to Anne in Persuasion.

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart, even more, your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these ten days, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine. I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating, in 

F.W.

 I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house this evening or never. 

Social media, emails and text messages can no more replace handwritten letters than a public pool can replace a foaming, roaring beach.

Dancing

No, not loose jumping and moving at the cluuuuub. Dancing together, with other people, and using it to relate to them and laugh with them.

 While I don't have anything against modern dancing, I think we left something behind that is valuable. We could keep hip-hop AND hold dances of the regency kind. Although, now that I think of it, it would be kind of weird if you were spending time with your friends and then you all got up in the middle of the living room to start synchronized dancing...

Conversations



 Have you ever been three minutes into a conversation and realized that you haven't been paying attention at all? Yeah, me too.

 Modern conversations consist of:

First person: "Whatttt's upppp?"
Second person: *complains about privileged life*
First person: *ignores other person to complain about their own life* "I, like, hate everythingggg."

 Honestly, I don't even know why we talk to each other at all nowadays. Conversation should be for the purpose of getting to know the other person, working through problems or, I don't know, something other than complaining or making yourself look better.











Courting

There is an entire book to be written on why modern dating makes 0.0000000000000 % sense to me.  But, alas, I have neither the desire or the wordcount space to write it. Instead of focusing on the negative, let's direct our attention to some positive factors of relationships in the regency era.

1. Having romantic feelings for another person wasn't a joke. It was serious and not to be taken lightly. Playing with another's feelings, even if you didn't do any "real" harm, was enough to darken your reputation. (unless you were as good-looking and charmingly manipulative as Frank Churchill.)

2. There were soooooo many opportunities to get to know the person you are interested in. Social interactions were the priority back then. (Which could truthfully get very tiresome.) Dancing, walking, talking, writing, meeting at gatherings and parties. A lot more than just conversing online and awkwardly standing near each other in public.

3. Men made an effort. I am not harkening to 'chivalry is dead and men don't hold doors open for women anymore', but rather men's attitudes towards the women they were interested in. They put in direct and intentional effort and it is so attractive in comparison to the aloof and lackluster style of attraction today. Modern men ( and women too, I've seen you vixens do this) seem to make you feel like you are temporary and there are a dozen other women they can replace you with if it goes south.

 The proposals

 I confess, I have never been proposed to. SO, this is highly theoretical. But, when I see people who are newly engaged, I can't help but think to myself,

"what must he have said to get her to marry him?"

 Was it gentle and awkward like Edward's to Elinor? or frank and passionate like Darcy's to Elizabeth?

 This question comes to my mind, not because I think the female is in any way superior to the male, in either looks, integrity or intelligence. I just genuinely wonder if it was a profession as passionate as the fictional proposals of Austen's novels. Because, however impractical it is, that's what I require.

Though there are many unrealistic things in the world of fiction, the expectation of true love is worth every let down in reality.

M.