There was a boy at the edge of the museum stairs, typing something on his phone and occasionally cursing at autocorrect while muttering at himself. He cursed a little. Said something about these “damn critics.” And then he exited out of the notes app, turned his phone off and walked in, checking his bag to see if he’s carrying any prohibited items. It was a small, local museum about the history of cinema and the film industry- more Lucia’s jam than anything else, but he’s gonna tell her about this “cool new place” he found if she hasn’t been to this place yet. Besties supporting besties and all that.
(((Vasily wandered here after this thread but its not really chronological)))
In the meantime, he’s here to get a view of their new exhibits before they go down. Something something religious symbolism, modern films depicting the early 1900s, lgbtq+ representation something. He didn’t really read the advertisement too closely.
It was such a fucking shame that the entertainment industry somehow just went downhill. He was young when SOTF started. Real young. But it’s here and it’s dominated his life and he kinda feels irrationally bad for everything else that got pushed aside. There’s so many good ideas that sprung from SOTF that could have lasted well without it- roleplays, comics, spin-offs- and it makes him feel kinda sad that everyone got consumed by the power of megacorporations and cheap materialistic shows. Sometimes he feels like he doesn’t actually love the show, he loves everything else that came attached with it, and sometimes he feels like a poser, and then he squashed these little feelings down because it’s not like he could ever do anything about this fucked up world that he lives in anyways. He’s got so many ideas and plans and concepts and it’s so sad that the best he could do is to say some hot takes on Youtube.
It always haunted him when he finishes an episode, that these kids are real kids, like some sort of post-nut clarity but instead of nutting it’s just the sad, pathetic death of another teenage kid getting beaten to death with a pogo stick or something. Like, he’s seen some weird shit, but actually nutting when you’re watching someone die is kinda fucked.
(Nevermind that he’s actually tried that once and it did not go well.)
Vasily stretched. It doesn’t really matter anyways what he thinks because everything’s managed by the producers and the editors and the old guys who think that having teenage girls die in bikinis is somehow a good idea. It’s always been like this, so who’s he to change it? He's just gonna strap on and enjoy the ride.
I tried to find a joke about the 120 days of sodom but I couldn’t bring myself to do it
O sweet and delicate child, what disproportion and what a dreadful fate were in store for you! -That sade dude at a fictional cute boy or whatever idk I'm not going to skim thru the book again
Luanne Grasset was here too. Noreen Grasset, her sister, was not, as Noreen was out with her squad doing stuff. Luanne was here with some art pencils and her pocket sketchbook, and really, it was more like a purse sketchbook, because none of Luanne's clothes had actual pockets. It was a different sketchbook than the big one she always kept at home. This one was mostly for studies and those kinds of things.
Anyways, so, she'd already been here for a little bit; she'd already paid admission and all that. Miami wasn't exactly known for its auteur cinema, and that was probably why this was a dusty, kinda dinky museum instead of something like the Pérez. The walls were kind of a sad khaki colour, and the exhibits were mostly kept in wood-paneled display cases. She didn't really mind any of that, though.
She'd never really been a film person. She still wasn't a film person, even. The last movie she remembered watching of her own volition was a forty-five minute film of the artist Robert Indiana eating a mushroom. The film was titled Eat. Andy Warhol had directed it. She hadn't really meant what she'd said about Warhol on Twitter. It wasn't his fault people bought his art. Luanne wasn't always great with words, which was why she liked drawing.
Anyways, she digressed, cinema. Miami's cinema presence, as far as Luanne was aware — and she couldn't speak for Spanish-language cinema (nor could she speak Spanish) — was limited to The Godfather Part II, Moonlight, not Scarface (because Scarface was filmed in LA), maybe some Bond movies, Bad Boys, Bad Boys II, some other action movies, Ace Ventura, Jaws 2, and also some movies that were the kind they wouldn't play on TV, because for some reason actual murder wasn't considered obscene, but sex was. Luanne sometimes found it funny that if you looked at photos of naked people all day, you were a pervert, but if you looked at paintings and sculptures of naked people all day, you were a patron of the arts. Luanne found it less funny how just so much of art history was predicated on the objectification of women by men, but that was a tangent that deserved to be more than just a tangent, so she'd get around to it some other, more fitting time, probably.
Anyways, um, again, she digressed.
She didn't really like cinema all that much, so why was she here? She was here to sketch studies of movie cameras, for the next iteration of her Raft of the Medusa sketch. The first hadn't had cameras, and SOTF-TV had cameras, so she wanted to add cameras. SOTF-TV didn't have movie cameras, but she was allowing herself some artistic license since movie cameras had more of an oomph.
So here she was, sitting on a bench, generally oblivious to most things outside of her immediate field of view, listening to Yo-Yo Ma on her wireless Beats by Dre headphones while sketching a camera used to shoot 2 Fast 2 Furious.
Anyways, so, she'd already been here for a little bit; she'd already paid admission and all that. Miami wasn't exactly known for its auteur cinema, and that was probably why this was a dusty, kinda dinky museum instead of something like the Pérez. The walls were kind of a sad khaki colour, and the exhibits were mostly kept in wood-paneled display cases. She didn't really mind any of that, though.
She'd never really been a film person. She still wasn't a film person, even. The last movie she remembered watching of her own volition was a forty-five minute film of the artist Robert Indiana eating a mushroom. The film was titled Eat. Andy Warhol had directed it. She hadn't really meant what she'd said about Warhol on Twitter. It wasn't his fault people bought his art. Luanne wasn't always great with words, which was why she liked drawing.
Anyways, she digressed, cinema. Miami's cinema presence, as far as Luanne was aware — and she couldn't speak for Spanish-language cinema (nor could she speak Spanish) — was limited to The Godfather Part II, Moonlight, not Scarface (because Scarface was filmed in LA), maybe some Bond movies, Bad Boys, Bad Boys II, some other action movies, Ace Ventura, Jaws 2, and also some movies that were the kind they wouldn't play on TV, because for some reason actual murder wasn't considered obscene, but sex was. Luanne sometimes found it funny that if you looked at photos of naked people all day, you were a pervert, but if you looked at paintings and sculptures of naked people all day, you were a patron of the arts. Luanne found it less funny how just so much of art history was predicated on the objectification of women by men, but that was a tangent that deserved to be more than just a tangent, so she'd get around to it some other, more fitting time, probably.
Anyways, um, again, she digressed.
She didn't really like cinema all that much, so why was she here? She was here to sketch studies of movie cameras, for the next iteration of her Raft of the Medusa sketch. The first hadn't had cameras, and SOTF-TV had cameras, so she wanted to add cameras. SOTF-TV didn't have movie cameras, but she was allowing herself some artistic license since movie cameras had more of an oomph.
So here she was, sitting on a bench, generally oblivious to most things outside of her immediate field of view, listening to Yo-Yo Ma on her wireless Beats by Dre headphones while sketching a camera used to shoot 2 Fast 2 Furious.
He strayed from an exhibition on Goldfinger and continued wandering amongst the cameras and props and whatnot. It was a pretty small museum, and he didn’t really blame people for not going there often.
There was a girl sketching something, which he could have ignored, but then he realized that it was Noreen’s sister, Luanne. Luanne’s sister, Noreen, was someone that he knew and partied with and also a fellow bougie cool kid so he really should know Luanne the person but all he’s got was Luanne the sister of Noreen who’s never really there during parties because she’s kinda always by herself and sometimes he kinda wants to know more about Luanne as the person who is never really there at the parties instead of Luanne the sister of Noreen, y’know?
That… that was kinda long and a ramble, nevermind.
He tried to iron his thoughts out, get these brain wrinkles but kinda the opposite of that because smoothbrain’s a bit of an insult unless he uses it on himself. Then it’s funny.
He looked at what she’s looking at. A camera, one of these big’ol fancy movie cameras that can be rolled around or something. It was kinda at this angle where it’s looking at her, and she’s looking at it for a short while before turning back to sketching, so he thought that he could complete the circle by interacting with her, so he put his hands up in that little rectangular shape and framed her in it. She was pretty, and she looked like Noreen if Noreen didn’t really care about her appearance as much and doesn’t get laid nearly as much, and with the undecorated khaki of the background beset by glass-encased displays and lack of people in it looks like it could easily be spun into a million other contexts. Like, Luanne’s wearing dull colors and the background’s dull colors and they all blended in with each other and if it’s got some filters slapped on it…
He put his hands down and frowned. Wait a minute, why was Luanne drawing cameras anyways? That’s to assume she even was drawing the camera. She was just looking at the camera and drawing, who knew what could be on the page? Furry hentai? Anime girls? Bees? Woody Harrelson wearing a red wig in the Stinger of Venom saying “There’s Going to Be Carnage?”
“Hey, Lu-anne,” he said a little bit quieter than he’d like since he’s in a museum and all, because he kinda liked shortening names and Luanne looks like someone who’s called “Lu” but the he realized that he already calls someone else “Lu” so he just called her Luanne because he’s an idiot.
“What ‘chu drawing?”
And then he realized she was wearing headphones. Fuck.
There was a girl sketching something, which he could have ignored, but then he realized that it was Noreen’s sister, Luanne. Luanne’s sister, Noreen, was someone that he knew and partied with and also a fellow bougie cool kid so he really should know Luanne the person but all he’s got was Luanne the sister of Noreen who’s never really there during parties because she’s kinda always by herself and sometimes he kinda wants to know more about Luanne as the person who is never really there at the parties instead of Luanne the sister of Noreen, y’know?
That… that was kinda long and a ramble, nevermind.
He tried to iron his thoughts out, get these brain wrinkles but kinda the opposite of that because smoothbrain’s a bit of an insult unless he uses it on himself. Then it’s funny.
He looked at what she’s looking at. A camera, one of these big’ol fancy movie cameras that can be rolled around or something. It was kinda at this angle where it’s looking at her, and she’s looking at it for a short while before turning back to sketching, so he thought that he could complete the circle by interacting with her, so he put his hands up in that little rectangular shape and framed her in it. She was pretty, and she looked like Noreen if Noreen didn’t really care about her appearance as much and doesn’t get laid nearly as much, and with the undecorated khaki of the background beset by glass-encased displays and lack of people in it looks like it could easily be spun into a million other contexts. Like, Luanne’s wearing dull colors and the background’s dull colors and they all blended in with each other and if it’s got some filters slapped on it…
He put his hands down and frowned. Wait a minute, why was Luanne drawing cameras anyways? That’s to assume she even was drawing the camera. She was just looking at the camera and drawing, who knew what could be on the page? Furry hentai? Anime girls? Bees? Woody Harrelson wearing a red wig in the Stinger of Venom saying “There’s Going to Be Carnage?”
“Hey, Lu-anne,” he said a little bit quieter than he’d like since he’s in a museum and all, because he kinda liked shortening names and Luanne looks like someone who’s called “Lu” but the he realized that he already calls someone else “Lu” so he just called her Luanne because he’s an idiot.
“What ‘chu drawing?”
And then he realized she was wearing headphones. Fuck.
Fisk loved movies. Everything about cinematography was amazing to him. Of course, good cinematography was a dying breed due to a certain TV show that everyone knows about, but that didn't change the fact that the classics were still the classics. He'd never knew this museum was here until very recently to be honest, but once he found out, he had to see it. Granted, it was one of those hole in the wall franchise museums you see on every boardwalk or tourist trap town, but it didn't change the fact it was a nice place to spend a couple hours. He stopped by one of the western exhibits, taking a look at some of the props and outfits used. Fisk wasn't one for the western visuals, but he'd always loved the plots. Pinkertons at the OK Corral, shootout tournaments, fleeing to Mexico, all simple but engaging storylines meant to be in the background, allowing the focus to be on the weird characters involved, it all felt more personal, and you got ample time to appreciate the mindsets and aspirations of the heroes and the villains equally, along with the tension. Sure, the good guy always wins a western, but they do a good job fooling you that this one time it might not be the case just from the tension alone; and the music! Oh the wonderful tunes of Morricone, nobody captures the American history and spirit more than the Italians.
Fisk stopped to admire an exhibition on Tombstone. Michael Beihn was one of his favorite actors, despite the many stoic roles he takes, the man could steal the show in any movie he's in, and Johnny Ringo wasn't an exception. He should've been a Bond villain... Speaking of that, Fisk traveled towards the Goldfinger display. The movie that turned the 007 series from books into movies, Goldfinger deserved it's reputation as one of the best. Fisk had seen this movie about six times already, just two less than his most watched, View To A Kill. Say what you will about Blofeld, Zorin was the real quintessential Bond villain.
Fisk continued on until he noticed two of his classmates, which in all honesty was easy because of how empty the place was, and easier because one of them would stick out like a sore thumb no matter the location besides a hot topic/spencer's gifts clearance sale, depending on whichever one of those stores sold the cheapest thigh-high socks at that particular moment. He'd noticed Vasily was trying to look at Luanne or Noreen, whomever one it was, drawing something, which was in all honesty pretty rude. When someone was sketching the last thing they'd appreciate is someone staring over their shoulder at whatever they were trying to draw- But Fisk was also doing it now that he noticed so there was no point in him saying anything to that effect. Instead he'd just butt in to the non-existent conversation as he was wont to do.
"It looks like a camera." Fisk stated in a reply that was very much no-shit-sherlock worthy, but in all honesty what else could or would he have said.
Fisk stopped to admire an exhibition on Tombstone. Michael Beihn was one of his favorite actors, despite the many stoic roles he takes, the man could steal the show in any movie he's in, and Johnny Ringo wasn't an exception. He should've been a Bond villain... Speaking of that, Fisk traveled towards the Goldfinger display. The movie that turned the 007 series from books into movies, Goldfinger deserved it's reputation as one of the best. Fisk had seen this movie about six times already, just two less than his most watched, View To A Kill. Say what you will about Blofeld, Zorin was the real quintessential Bond villain.
Fisk continued on until he noticed two of his classmates, which in all honesty was easy because of how empty the place was, and easier because one of them would stick out like a sore thumb no matter the location besides a hot topic/spencer's gifts clearance sale, depending on whichever one of those stores sold the cheapest thigh-high socks at that particular moment. He'd noticed Vasily was trying to look at Luanne or Noreen, whomever one it was, drawing something, which was in all honesty pretty rude. When someone was sketching the last thing they'd appreciate is someone staring over their shoulder at whatever they were trying to draw- But Fisk was also doing it now that he noticed so there was no point in him saying anything to that effect. Instead he'd just butt in to the non-existent conversation as he was wont to do.
"It looks like a camera." Fisk stated in a reply that was very much no-shit-sherlock worthy, but in all honesty what else could or would he have said.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Movie cameras were weird and complicated and had lots of wires and details. This one's — not its aperture, but whatever they called the part of the camera where the light went in, Luanne didn't know — but this one's was big and rectangular and very dark, and above it there were these kind of sensory-looking things coming from the camera's main... box thing and extending out in front of the film reel. One of them, in particular, kind of looked like a pair of binoculars, and in combination with the big rectangle thingy, it kind of made the camera look like a weird scary face. The mouth, in particular, reminded Luanne of Gerhard Richter's painting of Brigitte Bardot's mouth detaching from the face it belonged to.
And so that painting was what Luanne was thinking of when she saw a flash of grape cotton candy pastels reflecting off the display case glass. Vasily was one of her sister's fellow fluorescent adolescents. Noreen sometimes made pirate jokes about him, which Luanne found kind of insensitive, but not enough to vocally object. He seemed nice enough, though she had never really interacted with him, and sometimes he would make weird sex jokes that made her feel very uncomfortable.
She paused sketching for a moment, watching as he held his hands out in front of him. She couldn't really make out what he was doing in the glass reflection. Maybe he was taking a picture of her and sending it to Noreen? That probably made sense, she thought, as his hands went back down.
She could see another boy near Vasily now, in the reflection. She recognized him from school too, though she didn't know his name. He dressed like someone who would have spent all night at Warhol's studio. Maybe he drove a Vespa.
Anyways, Luanne wasn't sure if the two boys were talking or what. If they were talking, she hoped they weren't talking to her, because she couldn't hear them over the dulcet tones of Yo-Yo Ma's cello. Mostly, she just kind of wanted them to leave her alone, and so she went back to sketching the camera, keeping an eye on their reflections and pretending not to have noticed them at all.
And so that painting was what Luanne was thinking of when she saw a flash of grape cotton candy pastels reflecting off the display case glass. Vasily was one of her sister's fellow fluorescent adolescents. Noreen sometimes made pirate jokes about him, which Luanne found kind of insensitive, but not enough to vocally object. He seemed nice enough, though she had never really interacted with him, and sometimes he would make weird sex jokes that made her feel very uncomfortable.
She paused sketching for a moment, watching as he held his hands out in front of him. She couldn't really make out what he was doing in the glass reflection. Maybe he was taking a picture of her and sending it to Noreen? That probably made sense, she thought, as his hands went back down.
She could see another boy near Vasily now, in the reflection. She recognized him from school too, though she didn't know his name. He dressed like someone who would have spent all night at Warhol's studio. Maybe he drove a Vespa.
Anyways, Luanne wasn't sure if the two boys were talking or what. If they were talking, she hoped they weren't talking to her, because she couldn't hear them over the dulcet tones of Yo-Yo Ma's cello. Mostly, she just kind of wanted them to leave her alone, and so she went back to sketching the camera, keeping an eye on their reflections and pretending not to have noticed them at all.
“Well, uh, yeah I know that it’s a camera but I didn’t know if it’s drawing it, alright? I just- nevermind I’m an idiot.” He just sorta sighed and facepalmed and apologized with a half-assed “sorry” because Fisk was cool and he didn’t want to fight in this museum since he wasn’t that much of an idiot. And all that, y’know. His brain was all too busy for itself, so when he heard the clanky footsteps and saw Fisks’ overdressed figure besides him, he really had like a million ideas on how to reply and it took a while to swallow down all the hypothetical responses.
He wanted to keep the conversation rolling and not feel awkward, but with Luanne ignoring him (since she had headphones on) and Fisk being… Fisk, he’s stuck in the non-convo. So he just nodded at Fisk’s clothes and said mulled over whether or not he should say “nice cloth” as a reference to that “nice cock” meme but all he could decide on was a little-
“I like your outfit,” he said, eyeing the sliver of his scar peeking out a bit below the collar. It’s actually really weird, how the two are super different in terms of almost anything but they’re fashionable semi-edgelords with facial scarring so he felt like they absolutely must be BFFs 4EVAH!!!!
He still thinks they should be friends now, but that’s just ‘cause Fisk was cool and also he wanted him to draw something for his youtube channel.
He tried to discreetly peek a bit over Luanne’s shoulder and confirmed that it is, in fact, a camera, and felt a little stupid so he pushed these feelings away and pretended to examine an exhibit of some fake glass bottles that get broken over actors’ heads
He wanted to keep the conversation rolling and not feel awkward, but with Luanne ignoring him (since she had headphones on) and Fisk being… Fisk, he’s stuck in the non-convo. So he just nodded at Fisk’s clothes and said mulled over whether or not he should say “nice cloth” as a reference to that “nice cock” meme but all he could decide on was a little-
“I like your outfit,” he said, eyeing the sliver of his scar peeking out a bit below the collar. It’s actually really weird, how the two are super different in terms of almost anything but they’re fashionable semi-edgelords with facial scarring so he felt like they absolutely must be BFFs 4EVAH!!!!
He still thinks they should be friends now, but that’s just ‘cause Fisk was cool and also he wanted him to draw something for his youtube channel.
He tried to discreetly peek a bit over Luanne’s shoulder and confirmed that it is, in fact, a camera, and felt a little stupid so he pushed these feelings away and pretended to examine an exhibit of some fake glass bottles that get broken over actors’ heads
"Relax, it's not that big of a deal." Vasily stuttered out a bunch of phrases in rapid pace, probably because Fisk startled him, no doubt. It wasn't his intention, mind you, but Fisk had a habit of doing that. He wasn't sure if it was the way he carried himself, his manner of speaking, or more plainly his face, but people tended to be intimidated by him for one reason or another. It was probably his face. Supervillain backstories and all that, he was hit by a radioactive drunk driver and now he has gained the power of unnerving people at minorly inconvenient times, or something along those lines. "I was just joining in on the conversation, wasn't sure if you'd get a reply or not, because... y'know." Fisk tilted his head towards Luanne's headphones.
"Thanks by the way!" Vasily complemented his outfit. This was less of a routine for him. Well, not the dressing out part, that was common for Fisk, but people generally didn't complement or pay him any mind for it, so that was pretty nice. Vasily knew the struggle of meticulously finding items of clothing from your wardrobe to make an outfit every morning, so Fisk appreciated the comment even more. "I tried to go for a bit of a casual friday look today, I just figured I'd throw something on..." Okay, Fisk was taking the humble bragging a bit far, but he doesn't get the chance to talk about his choices in fashion very often, he was going to soak it in. At least for an addon sentence. He decided to be humble and cut it there, change the subject.
"So... what brings you here?"
"Thanks by the way!" Vasily complemented his outfit. This was less of a routine for him. Well, not the dressing out part, that was common for Fisk, but people generally didn't complement or pay him any mind for it, so that was pretty nice. Vasily knew the struggle of meticulously finding items of clothing from your wardrobe to make an outfit every morning, so Fisk appreciated the comment even more. "I tried to go for a bit of a casual friday look today, I just figured I'd throw something on..." Okay, Fisk was taking the humble bragging a bit far, but he doesn't get the chance to talk about his choices in fashion very often, he was going to soak it in. At least for an addon sentence. He decided to be humble and cut it there, change the subject.
"So... what brings you here?"
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Luanne stopped sketching.
She tapped the tip of the pencil against the page nervously. She was anxious. That didn't mean much. She was usually anxious. But in addition to the latent anxiety, there was a growing sense of unease.
Vasily and the other boy were still there. It felt, um, unusual that they'd start talking and then just keep standing there behind her. She guessed she kind of trusted Vasily, since Noreen trusted Vasily, and Noreen was usually good with those kinds of things. She didn't know about the other boy, though, and she didn't know why they were still there.
She brought her hand up to her ear and pressed a button on her Beats. Just like that, Yo-Yo Ma was silenced.
She turned her head and quickly glanced over her shoulder at the two boys, hoping to at least let them know that yes, she was aware they were there.
She tapped the tip of the pencil against the page nervously. She was anxious. That didn't mean much. She was usually anxious. But in addition to the latent anxiety, there was a growing sense of unease.
Vasily and the other boy were still there. It felt, um, unusual that they'd start talking and then just keep standing there behind her. She guessed she kind of trusted Vasily, since Noreen trusted Vasily, and Noreen was usually good with those kinds of things. She didn't know about the other boy, though, and she didn't know why they were still there.
She brought her hand up to her ear and pressed a button on her Beats. Just like that, Yo-Yo Ma was silenced.
She turned her head and quickly glanced over her shoulder at the two boys, hoping to at least let them know that yes, she was aware they were there.
Fisk told him to relax and he usually thought that was stupid, like if someone tell him to calm down when he’s pissed he’s just gonna be more pissed, but he took a deep breath and smiled at him anyways, ‘cause he really did need to relax.
“Heard about it from an online friend. I find movies and stuff really cool so I decided to check this place out,” He explained, looking around and accidentally meeting Luanne’s eye but he’s talking to Fisk and he wanted to finish the conversation so he just decided to quickly ignore her for a sec. “It’s, like… Everyone is focused on what’s on the screen and they just miss what goes on behind the screen and the impact that movies have on people and culture, y’know? I do care about all the arbitrary roles and tropes and stunts and whatnot but I’m not really satisfied with rewatching stuff online and-”
He remembered to take a breath-
“It’s like, I want to know who made the props, and whose house it was that whatever the heck is shot in, and the cultural impact and everything and all the people beyond the actors and the stories of the people who aren’t really in the story and I-”
He remembered to not ramble-
“I just really like movies, I guess.” Guilt seeped into him. Maybe a little shame. He didn’t want to dominate the conversation.
He looked back at Luanne. “What about you? You two? Sorry Luanne, if you don’t wanna talk, it's OK.” He fidgeted with his rings because he sort of felt weird that they’re just standing there but if he gets further away it feels unwelcoming and if he gets closer to Luanne he might feel intrusive so he just took a step closer to Fisk instead as he chuckles.
“Heard about it from an online friend. I find movies and stuff really cool so I decided to check this place out,” He explained, looking around and accidentally meeting Luanne’s eye but he’s talking to Fisk and he wanted to finish the conversation so he just decided to quickly ignore her for a sec. “It’s, like… Everyone is focused on what’s on the screen and they just miss what goes on behind the screen and the impact that movies have on people and culture, y’know? I do care about all the arbitrary roles and tropes and stunts and whatnot but I’m not really satisfied with rewatching stuff online and-”
He remembered to take a breath-
“It’s like, I want to know who made the props, and whose house it was that whatever the heck is shot in, and the cultural impact and everything and all the people beyond the actors and the stories of the people who aren’t really in the story and I-”
He remembered to not ramble-
“I just really like movies, I guess.” Guilt seeped into him. Maybe a little shame. He didn’t want to dominate the conversation.
He looked back at Luanne. “What about you? You two? Sorry Luanne, if you don’t wanna talk, it's OK.” He fidgeted with his rings because he sort of felt weird that they’re just standing there but if he gets further away it feels unwelcoming and if he gets closer to Luanne he might feel intrusive so he just took a step closer to Fisk instead as he chuckles.
It was rare for the cinema museum to be so lively, which was how Eric Cunningham preferred it.
A bit of a mixed blessing, admittedly, given that it was a sign of how little appreciation the classics received. Eric was, of course, a regular, given that it specifically catered to his interest that he almost wished it was named for him or something. It was comforting, reminiscing on the bygone past where TV shows were actually organized, rehearsed, scripted, and composed, instead of all of this 'candid' and 'unscripted' nonsense, as if those were good traits for media to have. What a waste. At least here, the few--mostly older--people around had actual appreciation for craftsmanship and creative pursuit instead of gory spectacle.
There were, however, no less than three other people around Eric's age on this particular venture. In fact, he recognized two of them from school, though he was ambivalent on them. Fisk, he knew, was also a fan of some of the classics, and Eric had seen him working on posters for films Eric had seen himself. He was also incorrigibly vain, garishly ostentatious, and seemed to be of the impression that overweightness was a personality flaw, which Eric was less than receptive to for reasons that should be obvious. It was a shame; if it weren't for all of his terrible qualities, Fisk might actually make an interesting conversation partner, if not a friend.
Vasily was simply bizarre. He was the sort of person who tattooed "E-Boy" onto their thigh, and that pretty much summed up Eric's impression of him. Colored contacts, brightly colored hair, myriad piercings and tattoos, chains galore, he even an eyepatch, which although it seemed to serve the actual purpose of concealing a missing eye at least, though his bizarre eye-catching variants were less functional. Atrocious taste aside, he was obsessed with SOTF, albeit in the more pragmatic 'I might get chosen' sense than seeming to enjoy it all that much, so he at least had that going for him.
The last individual, and sole girl of the group, Eric had literally no idea who she was except that she was at their school. She was unremarkable in appearance, though in this company that made her seem to have excellent sense of fashion, and was wearing headphones, presumably to block out the noise of, in this case, the two boys speaking to her. That was a good idea; he'd have to think about that next time he came here in case of philistines.
Eric sighed as he approached from further down the hall, having been examining some of the older cameras originally used for cinematography. It would be impossible to concentrate on anything while those three were prattling on. He might as well see if they had anything of substance to add, and if not, they ought to know it. "I don't think I've seen any of you around here before." He asked, looking between the three of them in a quiet tone; conversation aside, it was a museum, not a restaurant or like, punk rock concert or whatever.
A bit of a mixed blessing, admittedly, given that it was a sign of how little appreciation the classics received. Eric was, of course, a regular, given that it specifically catered to his interest that he almost wished it was named for him or something. It was comforting, reminiscing on the bygone past where TV shows were actually organized, rehearsed, scripted, and composed, instead of all of this 'candid' and 'unscripted' nonsense, as if those were good traits for media to have. What a waste. At least here, the few--mostly older--people around had actual appreciation for craftsmanship and creative pursuit instead of gory spectacle.
There were, however, no less than three other people around Eric's age on this particular venture. In fact, he recognized two of them from school, though he was ambivalent on them. Fisk, he knew, was also a fan of some of the classics, and Eric had seen him working on posters for films Eric had seen himself. He was also incorrigibly vain, garishly ostentatious, and seemed to be of the impression that overweightness was a personality flaw, which Eric was less than receptive to for reasons that should be obvious. It was a shame; if it weren't for all of his terrible qualities, Fisk might actually make an interesting conversation partner, if not a friend.
Vasily was simply bizarre. He was the sort of person who tattooed "E-Boy" onto their thigh, and that pretty much summed up Eric's impression of him. Colored contacts, brightly colored hair, myriad piercings and tattoos, chains galore, he even an eyepatch, which although it seemed to serve the actual purpose of concealing a missing eye at least, though his bizarre eye-catching variants were less functional. Atrocious taste aside, he was obsessed with SOTF, albeit in the more pragmatic 'I might get chosen' sense than seeming to enjoy it all that much, so he at least had that going for him.
The last individual, and sole girl of the group, Eric had literally no idea who she was except that she was at their school. She was unremarkable in appearance, though in this company that made her seem to have excellent sense of fashion, and was wearing headphones, presumably to block out the noise of, in this case, the two boys speaking to her. That was a good idea; he'd have to think about that next time he came here in case of philistines.
Eric sighed as he approached from further down the hall, having been examining some of the older cameras originally used for cinematography. It would be impossible to concentrate on anything while those three were prattling on. He might as well see if they had anything of substance to add, and if not, they ought to know it. "I don't think I've seen any of you around here before." He asked, looking between the three of them in a quiet tone; conversation aside, it was a museum, not a restaurant or like, punk rock concert or whatever.
Fisk listened in as Vasily spilled his heart out about how much he loved movies, and the things that went on behind the scenes and all the cool nifty tricks used to make- Luanne turned her head to glance at the two. Welcome to the land of the living- Fisk's eyes passed over towards her, acknowledging her movement, then back to Vas again. He gave him a lot to process in a very short amount of time. It was a LOT to process... Vasily had a habit of being overenthusiastic about, well, everything, and there was about a 50/50 chance of it of it either wrapping around into becoming annoying, or adorable. Today it was the latter so Fisk paid no mind in humoring him.
"Oh believe me, I know. Shit, the effort it just takes for costuming to make outfits that fit the period, colors that match the tone, motifs and emblems, all that attention to detail, and the common viewer wouldn't even notice nine times out of ten, you're just doing it for the critics at that point; or for the art of it. You don't have much of that anymore, not with the Mouse Mafia buying up every franchise. Everything's too manufactured nowadays. People are just doing it for the paycheck and the brand name now more than the art of film itself."
Another familiar face from school made their acquaintance just a moment later. Fisk wondered if everyone else got the same unskippable six second YouTube ad that kept popping up when he tried to watch a seven second meme. Eric wasn't someone Fisk tended to talk to as much. Sure, he appreciated the fine arts of cinema, but he seemed to think he was the next Kubrick, and it seemed that he only cared for the old works as much to make himself appear more 'cultured'. If he cared as much about his wardrobe or physical appearance as he did said old media, he might've been able to fool us. But, props where props is due, at least he's been working on it, and he deserved a quiet round of applause(except Fisk wouldn’t randomly break out into applause like this was Evangelion, it’d just make things awkward) for his attempts at bettering himself and making progress in that regard. Nevertheless, Eric was being amicable in the moment, so there was no reason for Fisk to be needlessly hostile. "Well, I just figured I'd have stopped on by and check out the local scenery. I wasn't quite expecting as many people here today as there are."
"Oh believe me, I know. Shit, the effort it just takes for costuming to make outfits that fit the period, colors that match the tone, motifs and emblems, all that attention to detail, and the common viewer wouldn't even notice nine times out of ten, you're just doing it for the critics at that point; or for the art of it. You don't have much of that anymore, not with the Mouse Mafia buying up every franchise. Everything's too manufactured nowadays. People are just doing it for the paycheck and the brand name now more than the art of film itself."
Another familiar face from school made their acquaintance just a moment later. Fisk wondered if everyone else got the same unskippable six second YouTube ad that kept popping up when he tried to watch a seven second meme. Eric wasn't someone Fisk tended to talk to as much. Sure, he appreciated the fine arts of cinema, but he seemed to think he was the next Kubrick, and it seemed that he only cared for the old works as much to make himself appear more 'cultured'. If he cared as much about his wardrobe or physical appearance as he did said old media, he might've been able to fool us. But, props where props is due, at least he's been working on it, and he deserved a quiet round of applause(except Fisk wouldn’t randomly break out into applause like this was Evangelion, it’d just make things awkward) for his attempts at bettering himself and making progress in that regard. Nevertheless, Eric was being amicable in the moment, so there was no reason for Fisk to be needlessly hostile. "Well, I just figured I'd have stopped on by and check out the local scenery. I wasn't quite expecting as many people here today as there are."
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.
Luanne's ears pricked up at the word 'art'. Vasily had invited her into the conversation, but the boy he was speaking with had sort of talked through the period of time in which she would've been comfortable with responding during, so she'd kind of disengaged again (to her, making eye contact was enough to count as social engagement). But anyways, yes, she heard the art word, and now she was mentally back in the conversation.
Luanne had, um, a lot to say about art. She also had a lot to say about the commodification of art. She'd said a lot about it on Noreen's Twitter, but she'd been so caught up in the moment with the emotions that came with the fact that Jewel Evans had responded to the Warhol question that she'd kind of bungled it. She'd been half talking to Jewel but mostly she'd just been venting about the argument she'd had with mom. Again, it wasn't Warhol's fault people bought his mass-produced, The Factory-built serigraphs of mangled corpses.
But people bought them, and that really really really bothered Luanne a lot.
But that didn't have much to do with the commodification of art, did it? She digressed, again. She'd gotten distracted and now there was a third boy. Luanne didn't know his name, but she recognized him from school. He sounded familiar with the museum. Maybe he worked here? He was approaching the other two boys like they were customers at a big box store and he was a sales clerk, or maybe a security guard.
A lot of what the Vespa boy was saying reminded her of the whole modern versus classical art debate, which was something that always inevitably led into the discussion of 'But what is art?'. She didn't like that discussion. The philosophy of art (which was a different subject than art theory!), like most branches of philosophy, tended to boil down to narcissists trying to prove how clever they were. Sometimes art was like that too. It required a lot of self-reflection, and there was a word for people who spent all their time looking at their own reflection.
She glanced back over her shoulder as the boy finished speaking, not making eye contact with anyone in particular.
"I was, um, sketching the cameras," she said quietly. Then, she was silent for a second. Her eyes darted to the Vespa boy's.
"Oh, and, umm, I mean, da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa just for the paycheck, so," she said, looking back at the display case. "I'm not sure. I think what I mean is, um, I don't know if artists or filmmakers or those kinds of people, umm - I don't know if it was ever just about the artistry for them."
Luanne had, um, a lot to say about art. She also had a lot to say about the commodification of art. She'd said a lot about it on Noreen's Twitter, but she'd been so caught up in the moment with the emotions that came with the fact that Jewel Evans had responded to the Warhol question that she'd kind of bungled it. She'd been half talking to Jewel but mostly she'd just been venting about the argument she'd had with mom. Again, it wasn't Warhol's fault people bought his mass-produced, The Factory-built serigraphs of mangled corpses.
But people bought them, and that really really really bothered Luanne a lot.
But that didn't have much to do with the commodification of art, did it? She digressed, again. She'd gotten distracted and now there was a third boy. Luanne didn't know his name, but she recognized him from school. He sounded familiar with the museum. Maybe he worked here? He was approaching the other two boys like they were customers at a big box store and he was a sales clerk, or maybe a security guard.
A lot of what the Vespa boy was saying reminded her of the whole modern versus classical art debate, which was something that always inevitably led into the discussion of 'But what is art?'. She didn't like that discussion. The philosophy of art (which was a different subject than art theory!), like most branches of philosophy, tended to boil down to narcissists trying to prove how clever they were. Sometimes art was like that too. It required a lot of self-reflection, and there was a word for people who spent all their time looking at their own reflection.
She glanced back over her shoulder as the boy finished speaking, not making eye contact with anyone in particular.
"I was, um, sketching the cameras," she said quietly. Then, she was silent for a second. Her eyes darted to the Vespa boy's.
"Oh, and, umm, I mean, da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa just for the paycheck, so," she said, looking back at the display case. "I'm not sure. I think what I mean is, um, I don't know if artists or filmmakers or those kinds of people, umm - I don't know if it was ever just about the artistry for them."
He, um, just greeted Eric with a little smile and went all “Yeah, this is my first time here!” on him because he was sorta listening to Fisk and nodding like ‘mm-hm, idk what you’re talking about but it sounds cool’ except he’s totally interested in what Fisk was talking about, he just, like, forgets to engage in body language or whatever sometimes.
Fisk knows what he’s talking about. He has to, honestly, because any universe where Fisk, a literal bond villain or some shit, isn’t a movie nerd is seriously appalling to him.
Heehee mouse mafia-
“Yeah. like… I guess money can be a motivator but churning the same old stuff over and over again is almost what killed the entertainment industry and is ra- um, beating its zombified corpse reanimated by Survival of the Fittest or something…” Speaking of surv- No, bad Vasily. Shut your mouth. “Anyways-”
OK moving on again to Luanne…
“I mean, like, I don’t think anything could really be done just for the sheer artistry, ‘cause art is supposed to like um… convey something?” Was it? He read it in a random book somewhere and paraphrased it. “Well I mean it’s supposed to have a meaning, and if it doesn’t, like one of these blank white squares or something, then it not having a meaning is it’s meaning, like, uh, that banana taped on the wall. Wasn’t it supposed to get people talking about what art is and the value we placed on things or… something?”
Fisk knows what he’s talking about. He has to, honestly, because any universe where Fisk, a literal bond villain or some shit, isn’t a movie nerd is seriously appalling to him.
Heehee mouse mafia-
“Yeah. like… I guess money can be a motivator but churning the same old stuff over and over again is almost what killed the entertainment industry and is ra- um, beating its zombified corpse reanimated by Survival of the Fittest or something…” Speaking of surv- No, bad Vasily. Shut your mouth. “Anyways-”
OK moving on again to Luanne…
“I mean, like, I don’t think anything could really be done just for the sheer artistry, ‘cause art is supposed to like um… convey something?” Was it? He read it in a random book somewhere and paraphrased it. “Well I mean it’s supposed to have a meaning, and if it doesn’t, like one of these blank white squares or something, then it not having a meaning is it’s meaning, like, uh, that banana taped on the wall. Wasn’t it supposed to get people talking about what art is and the value we placed on things or… something?”
The conversation was a bit disjointed, an inevitable outcome of putting four people into one place with multiple motives for being there. Still, Eric was pleasantly surprised by at least some of what he heard. Perhaps an actual interesting discussion on the topic could occur outside of his online chats for once? That would be a refreshing change. The girl's perspective was trite, but at least she was honest. It was an attempt at nuance, and Eric could appreciate that, even if it missed the mark.
"Money is all well and good, sure. Most people wouldn't care enough to do anything if they didn't get paid, certainly not on the level of a professional." Eric began matter-of-factly. It was a bit of a cynical perspective, but also cynicality was only a problem when it was unwarranted. Laziness was simply the logical direction of a person's behavior if they didn't have external motivators. Eric certainly would be much more lackadaisical about his schoolwork were it not for the fact he was expected to do it by society. "Still, people could stand to put in some effort to what they produce."
Eric turned and nodded to Fisk, whose position was surprisingly thoughtful. He appreciated the aesthetic sense of a crafted medium, and while Eric was suspicious of Fisk's sense of aesthetic in general, paying attention to such things required a degree of scrutiny and intellectualizing that felt a rare luxury these days. "I agree, yes. A scripted, planned fiction requires much more vision and investment than this 'candid' nonsense, letting a bunch of people run amok and video taping it." Eric remembered those shows about home videos gone wrong, where a man falls off a ladder and hits his genitals on a bench or what have you. Brainless physical humor, at about the same intellectual level as SOTF as far as he was concerned. Perfect for stimulating the most basal of the human id, but not worthwhile as an actual medium.
As for the final member of the group, it was clear to Eric that Vasily was completely incapable of forming a coherent thought on the matter. Still, he actually recalled a tidbit Eric had forgotten about, which he found interesting, if only for the novelty of it all. "The banana in question was a satire of purchasing art, especially the rights to a given art piece. They essentially sold the trademark of a banana duct-taped to a wall so that nobody else could call their banana duct-taped to a wall the same thing." Pretentious drivel, the lot of it, though Eric didn't entirely hate the point. And, he supposed 'pretentious drivel' was subjective.
"Regardless, it seems we're in agreement on the lack of artistic value of Survival of the Fittest? That's a surprise." Eric so rarely had the opportunity to discuss his feelings; people became so defensive when the subject of their passion was challenged. And besides, any of his critiques were immediately assumed to be about the content, which he frankly couldn't care less about. The students were the ones choosing to kill one another, after all; they had the option not to do so, but they chose their own lives over that of others.
"Money is all well and good, sure. Most people wouldn't care enough to do anything if they didn't get paid, certainly not on the level of a professional." Eric began matter-of-factly. It was a bit of a cynical perspective, but also cynicality was only a problem when it was unwarranted. Laziness was simply the logical direction of a person's behavior if they didn't have external motivators. Eric certainly would be much more lackadaisical about his schoolwork were it not for the fact he was expected to do it by society. "Still, people could stand to put in some effort to what they produce."
Eric turned and nodded to Fisk, whose position was surprisingly thoughtful. He appreciated the aesthetic sense of a crafted medium, and while Eric was suspicious of Fisk's sense of aesthetic in general, paying attention to such things required a degree of scrutiny and intellectualizing that felt a rare luxury these days. "I agree, yes. A scripted, planned fiction requires much more vision and investment than this 'candid' nonsense, letting a bunch of people run amok and video taping it." Eric remembered those shows about home videos gone wrong, where a man falls off a ladder and hits his genitals on a bench or what have you. Brainless physical humor, at about the same intellectual level as SOTF as far as he was concerned. Perfect for stimulating the most basal of the human id, but not worthwhile as an actual medium.
As for the final member of the group, it was clear to Eric that Vasily was completely incapable of forming a coherent thought on the matter. Still, he actually recalled a tidbit Eric had forgotten about, which he found interesting, if only for the novelty of it all. "The banana in question was a satire of purchasing art, especially the rights to a given art piece. They essentially sold the trademark of a banana duct-taped to a wall so that nobody else could call their banana duct-taped to a wall the same thing." Pretentious drivel, the lot of it, though Eric didn't entirely hate the point. And, he supposed 'pretentious drivel' was subjective.
"Regardless, it seems we're in agreement on the lack of artistic value of Survival of the Fittest? That's a surprise." Eric so rarely had the opportunity to discuss his feelings; people became so defensive when the subject of their passion was challenged. And besides, any of his critiques were immediately assumed to be about the content, which he frankly couldn't care less about. The students were the ones choosing to kill one another, after all; they had the option not to do so, but they chose their own lives over that of others.
“Eh, the only people with worse tastes than your average plebeian is a pretentious critic with more money than sense. ” Fisk said, with the banana taped to a wall in mind. “Though I’ll give you the part about money. Regardless of if you’re doing it for the art or not, everyone hopes for some payoff, and sadly the emotions part don’t pay bills.”
“Still I wouldn’t say Ess Oh Tee Eff is the cause as much as it is the symptoms. I think people are tired of the same thing and the easiest way around that is making something that appeals to the most carnal desires. Blood, sex, and drama. It isn’t any coincidence that the biggest exporter of those ‘commodities’ are barely legal hormone addled teenagers told they’re going to spend the rest of their lives on national TV. Of course I’m oversimplifying it for the sake of the conversation, but you get the idea. It’s all a result of people forgoing creativity for cookie cutter plots meant to elicit a short term reaction rather than a long term impact.” Fisk crossed his hands and looked towards his shoes. He wasn’t really planning on going into a philosophical discussion on SOTF at an old movie museum today, but he supposed that it was the only way it could end at this point with how ingrained it was into their society.
“Anyways... enough about that. What’s your favorite exhibit here?” Fisk was honestly wanting to go here to take his mind off of things. Sometimes it was fun to just sit back a while and take in your surroundings. Sure he liked debating the pros and cons of televised gladiatorial porn, but you could only do it so many times and cover so many topics on it before you need to give it a rest, fan or not.
Besides, telling you why he’d win his hypothetical season was more his forte than arguing if the game itself was tasteful or not.
“Still I wouldn’t say Ess Oh Tee Eff is the cause as much as it is the symptoms. I think people are tired of the same thing and the easiest way around that is making something that appeals to the most carnal desires. Blood, sex, and drama. It isn’t any coincidence that the biggest exporter of those ‘commodities’ are barely legal hormone addled teenagers told they’re going to spend the rest of their lives on national TV. Of course I’m oversimplifying it for the sake of the conversation, but you get the idea. It’s all a result of people forgoing creativity for cookie cutter plots meant to elicit a short term reaction rather than a long term impact.” Fisk crossed his hands and looked towards his shoes. He wasn’t really planning on going into a philosophical discussion on SOTF at an old movie museum today, but he supposed that it was the only way it could end at this point with how ingrained it was into their society.
“Anyways... enough about that. What’s your favorite exhibit here?” Fisk was honestly wanting to go here to take his mind off of things. Sometimes it was fun to just sit back a while and take in your surroundings. Sure he liked debating the pros and cons of televised gladiatorial porn, but you could only do it so many times and cover so many topics on it before you need to give it a rest, fan or not.
Besides, telling you why he’d win his hypothetical season was more his forte than arguing if the game itself was tasteful or not.
Catche thinks my squirrel is Fisk so here's my daily reminder that he is not.