remindmeofthe | (no subject)

Went to see The Dark Knight again. I have a few random thoughts upon being able to sort things out a bit better.

First, though, for like the one of you who will get it: I walked past a guy in a t-shirt that said "BANE" on the front in giant letters. I managed not to laugh and go, "It's organic!" until after I'd passed him.

* I've seen several people complaining about Christian Bale's I Am Batman voice, which - I don't get. The first time I saw the movie, I actually thought it was a voice modulator designed to enhance the disguise, which I found to be quite clever. (Note that I have not seen Batman Begins, so I have no idea if it came up there or not.) Having seen it again, I still think it's the case; there's a definite layer of distortion overlaying Bale's own voice if you listen closely enough. I think that's wicked cool and very practical, both as a Bat-device and as a storytelling device, because as IF Harvey Dent or Commissioner Gordon wouldn't have recognized his voice when Dent first spoke to Batman or Gordon to Bruce Wayne. I know it's a comic book thing, and I would have let it pass as such (at least Batman's disguise is better than, like, SUPERMAN'S), but I appreciate that I didn't have to, because it still would have pulled me out of the story a little.

*

apiphile put forth the theory that the respective boats actually had the detonators to their own bombs, and the Joker was just putting an extra twist into things. I love this theory and heartily agree with it. Swapping the detonators is entirely too straightforward and not nearly fucked-up enough for the Joker's satisfaction.

* I really want to know what the Joker was going to tell Batman about his scars. Sigh.

* When the bartender says, "Sweet Jesus," my immediate response is to think, "What? It's not like he said 'Fuck.'"

* Listening to "Dangerous Games" directly after seeing this movie dovetails ENTIRELY too neatly. NO. BAD CROSSOVER. NO BISCUIT. Like I wasn't already having enough trouble whenever I heard, "Why so surprised, Grahame?" Why so serious, Grahame? NO. This is too ridiculous even for me! GO AWAY.

* If you had downloaded and listened to The Fix like I told you to, you would have gotten the previous two comments.

Also, this movie makes me jumpy. I heard some random beep in a pub bathroom not long after I left the theater and I about jumped out of my skin. Because CLEARLY there was a bomb. In the ladies' room at Bull Feeney's. Yup.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

And the Joker would just giggle about it, because he's the kind of guy for whom control is never the issue. That's what I love about him. Well, one of the things.

Yeah, no, I can't see that working at all. ;) But for some reason I think The Joker would probably quite enjoy Cal. And also I want Cal/The Scarecrow.

But for some reason I think The Joker would probably quite enjoy Cal.

I think you and I share a brain, because I got out of bed to write this - longhand, even, because I didn't want to wait for the computer to get woken up, but I figured I'd throw it at you before I go back to bed, and also the hour of sleep I do not currently have is YOUR FAULT. ~~That's my story and I'm sticking to it.~~ It requires extensive tweaking, but for what it's worth:

Most of Cal Chandler, of course, sank into gibbering terror when he turned on the light to find the Joker in his room.

"Close the door," the Joker said. Cal did, and locked it too, because the last thing he wanted was for Deborah or Mother to come in looking for him.

The part of Cal that wasn't terrified, the cool and collected Politician who wasn't even supposed to be real, said,

"I didn't think I was important enough for the big boss to come deal with me personally."

"Sure you did," was the reply. The Joker gestured to a chair near the door. "Sit."

Cal did, his knees giving way a little too fast to do his dignity much good. But then, in this particular position, he'd probably do well not to be wetting himself before the Joker was through. He swallowed hard.

The Joker leaned forward in his own chair. "You think you're going to die. And there you are, sitting quietly. I appreciate that, I really do. I hate last-minute posturing. It's a waste of time."

The pause seemed to demand a response, so Cal nodded weakly.

"Well, I'm not going to kill you. No one's going to kill you. No one who works for me, no one who doesn't want me upset with them, and I think that pretty much covers everyone, don't you?"

Cal, who was long accustomed to having to talk while his mind raced to catch up with the latest twist in events, said, "Uh, yes, I think it does."

"I don't want any favors. I don't want you or any of your family in my pocket for later. I just want to watch."

He got up and crossed the room, stopping to stand just in front of Cal. He leaned down, hands on his knees, his face so close to Cal's that Cal could smell the thick white pancake makeup, could clearly see the bunched knotting of the scars under the red.

"I know you," the Joker said, voice low and crackling. "That press conference wasn't just a political gesture or a moment's noble grandstanding. You meant it. You want so much to be pure and good. You're sincere. You want it in a way that very few people could even begin to understand, and you'll never, ever have it. Everything that might have been decent's been stripped out of you, and here's the part that's saving your life: you'll never admit it. You'll try and try and you won't get there. It'll all fall apart around you, again and again. Maybe sometimes I'll give it a nudge, or maybe I'll just stand back and watch. It's fun to see a bad man try to be good." He smiled, suddenly, a disconcerting lipless crescent in the slash of red. "You remind me of a friend of mine."

He straightened up, smile disappearing. "Go downstairs. And don't quit your job, Cal. We all want to see what will happen to an honest politician."

. . . yes, so that's my take on why the Joker would enjoy Cal. And now BED. (This is one of those times where, if someone asked me why I write, I would say, "Fuck if I know.")

WHY ARE YOU SO AWESOME. Email that to Derry AT ONCE.

I don't know what I'd do without someone to indulge my moments of CRACK, I really don't.

I'll probably rewrite this a little and post it separately, and then she can just have a link.

I adore your crack (pun so very much intended) and am happy to act as enabler.

On that subject, I generated some dialogue on the whole John Hart/Mickey/Ianto and K9 thing today but I'm not at all happy with it. *kicks block*

*hikes up pants - uh, trousers* And bitch though I might, I'm generally happy to be enabled.

Oh?

It got too info-dumpy. The idea is that Torchwood's split in two, with Jack, Gwen and Martha on one team in Cardiff and John, Ianto, Mickey and occasional loans of K-9 on the roving team, and John's insisting he won't be called Torchwood 5, and Ianto's refusing to be Bikini cops, and Mickey's annoyed because John keeps talking about him like he's not there, and Jack keeps calling every five minutes to make sure they know what they're doing.

But for some reason I can't NARRATE it.

God, I hate when things get info-dumpy. It's like, "Where the fuck is all this exposition coming from? Can't I just tell the story?"

That sounds potentially awesome, though, if you can get it to cooperate.

I could have so much fun, getting Mickey to earn their respect. I could have so much fun, with John's machinations, trying to get Ianto to sleep with him, and only 50% to get back at Jack. I could have so much fun, writing about the friction between the two teams.

But noooooooooo. I have to sit here trying to peel words off the inside of my skull like vinyl stickers from a guitar case. I hate my brain. >:(