Tragic Condom Purchases

But I’d also reorder it slightly.

War, yes, War suits Gryffindor well. Fighting and dying for beliefs; fighting and dying for nothing; drafted into bloodshed and fire by bravery or chivalry or neither. Some take joy in this; some are burdened beyond repair. There was a cause, somewhere; there was good, somewhere; there was a reason for all this, somewhere. Oh, you’d have to be brave to live through this. Red and gold. Gold like armor and glory; red like blood and reality.

But Famine and Hufflepuff? No. Famine is Ravenclaw, ever-hungry for knowledge, constantly starving for more and more and more, almost feral for fulfillment. Where is the wisdom in the world? The truth? Nothing is true; nothing is enough; all there is to devour is worthless scraps. Blue and bronze. Bronze like a set of scales tipping and found wanting; blue like the infinite that never satisfies… never gives the answers.

Thus Pestilence is not Ravenclaw. Pestilence is Slytherin, sick with clever plans and cunning potential and corrupting desire. Ambition spreads like a sickness, a plague of greed and an illness to the soul. Maybe some might call it cruel, but here among friends it’s simple cunning at work. Green and silver. Silver like the sheen of glazed eyes; green like the complexion of infection.

And you just go,

hahahahaha fuck

THINGS I LOVED ABOUT THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E

everyone was dressed like Don Draper fucked the fall 1958 issue of Vogue. asses were accentuated in well-fitting suit pants, bare shoulders showed over the long flowing sleeves of mod Italian gowns, enormous glittering plastic earrings were offset by carefully backcombed hair, and the two leads bitched at one another about the merits of various Chanel clutches while our heroine stood by and looked unimpressed enough for eight people.

the villain is a predatory, beautiful Italian, chilly blonde and six feet tall, who is always a step ahead of the game, and spends a good portion of the movie lounging on low, mid-century furniture like a pleased snow leopard. when she isn’t rubbing a dashing American’s face in how shit he is at his job, anyway. 

the sweet arc between Ilya and Gabbie: fake!married undercover long enough for a hair-trigger KGB agent to slowly remember what it’s like to be gentle, and how it feels to want to be.

Napoleon being so rattled (and so unwilling to show it) by his first confrontation by Ilya that he refers to him as “it” for a third of the movie

the dancing camera, light on its feet and self-aware; we got at least three montages and two flashbacks with More Words than we saw the first time, putting the pieces of a puzzle together in a nod to the old show

Napoleon as a soldier of fortune, working off a debt to his country, not seeming to care overmuch about ideology, versus Ilya, who’s just dying for recognition and a sense of self-worth he believes he can only find under a perfectly egalitarian system. punch it out, that always helps.

Gabby’s insolence and mischief, and her complete lack of a need to Prove Herself. She’s flanked by two fucking showboaters, and frankly she doesn’t think anyone could take another. Supply has officially outweighed demand. 

a Cold War story that hands us America, Russia, and Britain. surely there should be more people yelling in here.

how much everyone in this film clearly wanted to kiss one another. everyone. it was appalling. 

the dynamic between Ilya and Napoleon settling into not so much grudging respect as genuine bemused fondness. look at you in your far-too-wide ties, cowboy.

that time-honored Cold War back and forth of you didn’t spy on me if I spied on you first, check and mate. dick. 

a brisk story, smirking direction, a soundtrack you can tap your feet to, and the outlines of what it means to perform a certain kind of national masculinity

and just like

a cripplingly hot cast

I mean

I’m only human

…jesus lift me up from my sin

THINGS I DIDN’T LOVE ABOUT THE MAN FROM U.N.C.L.E.