I keep seeing posts about Pacific Rim: the Musical and I’m getting really emotional about it because that movie just conceptually matches up so well to being a musical
- like, you can have different people with their own musical motifs BUT you show Drift-compatibility with like, duets and trios and people singing together, their voices matching each other and harmonizing
- the wei triplets and the kaidonovskys showcase this beautifully where they can trade and blend individual motifs in gorgeous and creative ways and it all flows and creates something new and representative of the bond they share
- (can you imagine, hermann and newt would sound really dissonant as fuck constantly screaming at each other 90% of the time, but every once in a while they would have weird crescendoing meshing within arguments before it dissolves again, blink-and-you’d-miss-it fast, which makes their Hong Kong street scene SO COOL because it ALL COMES TOGETHER after these little glimpses)
- every once in a while characters like mako and stacker or herc and stacker match up too, despite never mentioning drift-compatibility! chuck and stacker harmonize in a weird way where they never actually fully change out of their character motifs but it WORKS
- oh god every once in a while you can tell that chuck’s motif sounds like his dad’s, just a little, just enough
- KAIJU AND JAEGER PUPPETRY (a la The Lion King) THAT REQUIRES LIKE TWO DOZEN PEOPLE EACH TO OPERATE
- blue ribbon plasma cannons
- great lighting design, especially when it comes to the Anteverse and the Drift
- raleigh addressing the audience for backstory about the war and also does asides to talk about how mako mori is the most incredible and admirable person he’s ever met in his life
pacific rim musical
desolatesandwich and i were talking about this and and the kaiju hivemind as a MASSIVE chorus, with each kaiju being two or three soloists at a time, backed by incoherent murmurs, singing either wordlessly or in jumbles of what isn’t quite a language. when newt plugs in, the entire chorus sings and start dropping some english in there (assuming this is an english show), and the otachis and leatherback start doing it as well; when hermann and newt plug in together, they drop in more and more until they are singing entirely in english
and when lady danger comes dropping into the anteverse, the hivemind goes silent except for a lone voice of a precursor, high and sweet and alien, singing curiosity and tight anger, fear and disbelief. it goes silent again and when the core explodes, the entire hivemind screams, and it’s chaos and confusion but then lady danger’s theme comes swelling up and rides over it all, and slowly gets backed by the overarching pacific rim theme
drew a bunch of HOT WONANS
season two of torchwood is surprisingly good????????? also contains many gifts such as burn gorman in a hoodie based infiltration outfit, burn gorman standing on head to barf out alcohol, tiny baby nerd burn gorman completely shifting his body language, actual character development, and a million times less dodgy consent issues.
ianto is my new favorite.
i also really wish this had been a show about a deeply dysfunctional team of people who continually drive each other up the wall but also continually throw themselves in front of guns for their teammates from the get-go? like god so many more of these episodes would actually be really good if there were any emotional build-up behind it
okay so i had been spoilered all to hell already about captain america
i had assumed it was like other marvel stuff, where falcon is a shield agent, and that “on your left” came out of some kind of shield exercise thing
IT WAS LITERALLY JUST STEVE ROGERS FUCKING WITH A STRANGER
HE JUST THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY TO FUCK WITH A DUDE HE DIDN’T EVEN KNOW
HOW OFTEN DOES HE DO THAT
is steve rogers just fucking with people constantly bill murray style
does he steal french fries from strangers and tell them no one will ever believe them
does he lift cars when only small children are looking
did steve realize that captain america had a bizarrely wholesome reputation and use it as a way to prank people blamelesslyGod, I hope so.
I was never raised to be happy as much as I was raised to be successful. And that success usually came in specific quantifiable terms like having a well-paying job, a medical degree from a reputable school, or marrying a Chinese bilingual doctor husband. It was inferred that once I had all those successes, I’d be secure in life, and that security was going to make me happy.
I won’t lie. Getting good grades, winning trophies, and stacking a long list of accomplishments on my college application made me feel good because it meant I had avoided my parents’ idea of a failure. But most of the time, the road to the seemingly unattainable, chasing a dream that wasn’t really mine, felt so totally miserable and pointless.
I also believed life was supposed to be miserable — because hard work is miserable. Had my parents and immigrant grandparents not worked through their misery, I wouldn’t have the opportunities that I do today. Passing that legacy of misery onto your kids — that guilt we carry is what makes us work harder. Bucking up and moving forward through that misery without complaining — this is the Chinese way. Isn’t it?
But I always knew something was off. The misery was often beyond bearable. By the time I finished college, I witnessed and experienced violence that I didn’t think I could speak against (bear through the misery, remember?). I could go into detail about the specifics of these violent moments, but as much of an over-sharer as I am, still can’t bring myself to describe them in detail on the Internet. Every “failure” carried with it the fate of my life. Every time I detracted from the path towards “success,” I felt so incredibly alone.
I did confide in some friends about the agony of living, because I didn’t want it to be agonizing any longer. My non-Asian friends would tell me: “F**k how you were raised. Do your own thing.” To me, choosing a different path meant flunking out of school and disowning my parents. My Asian friends listened but gave no tangible answers. Perhaps they were quietly navigating their own misery.
I didn’t identify with pop culture images of “depressed people.” Rock stars with public platforms to lash out publicly, and a stable of emo fans wanting to emulate them. Celebrities addicted to painkillers enabled by paparazzi cameras, or psychology brochures featuring stock images of white women looking forlorn against rain-specked windows. None of those images were me — I was a silly, smiley, jokey person. I was a funny person. I laughed a lot. I was just unhappy a lot of the time.
Chinese people didn’t see therapists. Spend $100 to tell a stranger your problems? Are you crazy? Why, yes, maybe I am. But I don’t know because my mom won’t give me the money to see a shrink. Western psychology and “seeing a therapist” (especially one that you have to pay megabucks by the hour to tell your secrets to) is still a completely foreign concept to people of my parents’ generation who believed seeing a therapist would prevent you from getting a job. And mind you, my parents were born in America.