I’m so behind on Voltron and I’m almost afraid to catch up because all the hints about Sheith and mind control on my dash make it look like my next annoying obsession and I still have to deal with my CURRENT sad gay mind control obsession
I’m a 25-year old cane-user and I’m gonna yell praises about Hermann Gottlieb for a while
I’ve had nonstop pain in my left leg since I was 12 that’s gotten so bad that I’ve been on a cane for over 10 years, and in all that time of searching for someone like me in media I have never, ever come across someone like Hermann. The way he’s written and acted both just destroy every single upsetting trope I usually find in a physically disabled character (if I can even find a physically disabled character at all):
No character ever mentions Hermann’s disability in dialogue
All too often if you see someone with a cane in media, there is at least one blatant conversational reference to it (which is often delivered as insult or teasing) and Pac Rim ain’t having none of that
Everyone is there to be a professional and use their various talents to fight monsters, and everyone is professional and respects everyone else’s various talents that they use to fight the monsters
And the man’s been around the PPDC for a decade; the cane isn’t a new thing so of bloody course there’d be nobody pointing it out because it’s as much a daily sight for everyone else as it is a daily use object for Hermann
Even his lab partner, whom Hermann trades arguments with like Pokemon cards, never stoops so low as to make any kind of cheap reference to it
Said lab partner in fact (albeit in a deleted scene) is conscious of Hermann’s needs to the point that he actively helps keep Hermann upright in a situation that strained him physically
There’s not a character arc around it
He never has to “come to terms” with the cane, as is very appropriate for the time, setting, and place in his life in which the story happens
He’s had this thing for a -solid- amount of time, of course he doesn’t need to be thinking about it
It is the middle of a war
It is a non-issue in story terms, and the story lets it be that way
Which is why it’s MORE poignant to see as a viewer in media res with their own chronic pain
(And yeezus can I emphasize how grateful I am that he’s not addicted to painkillers, that is a flaw thrown onto physically disabled people in fiction with depressing commonality)
His disability isn’t for “plot reasons”
Related to one of the points above, do you know, do you KNOW how uncommon it is to see a disabled character not just being disabled for the sole point that it will have some bearing on the story later on
In Hermann’s case we don’t have to swallow any exposition about how whatever’s causing him the pain happened
Because again, it refreshingly has nothing to do with what’s going on
It is not a main motivating factor in fighting against the kaiju, for instance, which would be an all-too-easy lazy-writing-fest that would make his character one-note
And there’s not any “tension-raising” b.s. about him having to “overcome” anything to do with his leg during the climax in order to accomplish a task
His age
This is self-explanatory
Because w h e n do you see “young” characters with canes
(hint: you really don’t. I’ve looked.)
*scrawls “canes are not just for the elderly” x10,000*
Pain and disease do not discriminate and it is just so refreshing to see that remembered
HE USES IT IN THE CORRECT HAND
Seriously you have no idea how often I see this flagrant idiocy in both fiction and real life
You use it in the hand OPPOSITE YOUR INJURY, people
You will hurt yourself long-term using the cane on the injured side because you are not balancing your weight correctly
That is not effective use of your mobility aid
His physicality is spot-on
I could go on FOREVER about Burn Gorman’s performance
Literally everything the man does is something a long-time cane user would do
There are so many subtleties that he absolutely nailed I don’t even think I can list them all
His posture, the way he shifts his weight, his gait–they’re all such seemingly little things, things that non-disabled people wouldn’t even know to look for, but IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS THAT GET YOU, MAN, and he’s the only one I’ve ever seen to get them perfectly, and, and,,,,,
Also he uses his cane for things other than walking, which makes me !!!!!!! inside!
Spinning it in his hands, emphatically pointing with it at things, hooking it onto stuff–you really do start acting out with a cane in that manner if you’ve got one in your life every day!
It is possible to make a cane useful for things other than walking, almost in a fun way, and to watch him doing some of the same quirky things that I do is just a delight
There’s no “miracle cure”
The notion that a disabled character can be useful -and- badass?? And STAY disabled??? In a futuristic sci-fi film where it would be all too easy to write him some kind of “fix”?????
WHAT KIND OF ICONIC, I MEAN
Dude has a cane, and that works for him, and the narrative lets him keep it by god, and now look at me tearing up just thinking about it because how many other stories let that just be the end-all-be-all of it, how many
Not. A. Lot.
Like I can’t even think of any
So yeah, just…bless this boy and bless these movies for putting someone like me at the forefront who I can cheer and cry for and just be generally giddy about being able to relate to
“Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal. You still get to be the hero.” -Richard Siken
I.
You say you’re ‘difficult.’ You say your tattoos are like little chipped-off pieces from something larger lurking within the fractured cave walls of your personality.
You say people peruse the index of your heart and leave you feeling sorry that they ever crack open its spine in the first place.
Why do you let them treat you like a monster? I never write it, but oh, if only you knew how I let it circle my head the way spirals of blood stain the first snow of the year.
II.
Do you dream of tearing down buildings and dousing this world in flames until it sparkles like a Topaz?
Do you think the things with teeth and scales are more beautiful than the people trying to shoot at them?
Do you see how the creature called ‘hideous’ is simply lost in our world, unaware of how it works, and so we vilify him even though he’s not inherently evil?
(And in his naivety he will immediately be perceived as a threat, in his naivety he doesn’t know where he searches for meaning, other people are only searching for excuses, afraid of a thing they don’t understand.)
Do you see the sorrow of the unknown?
Do you feel the snapped-string solitude of something no one is willing to befriend?
Do you know your reflection grew odd and strange as the noise in your head refused to change?
Do you know the glitches of your brain and the gloom of your inconsistency stem from the grim reality that you’re brilliant and broken and utterly damned as all divine things are?
Do you see the way we call it a ‘murder of crows’ or a ‘flamboyance of flamingos’ and think we should also call it ‘an innocence of monsters?’”
(If so check, Yes. If you check more than one, you’re a ‘freak.’ If you check more than three you’re a ‘lunatic.’ If you check all of them and mentally add another twenty-six questions to the list before even reading this part, then don’t be alarmed, you’re just a boy named ‘Newton Geiszler.’)
III.
But what about the boy who wasn’t destined to become anything? What about the boy was meant to be nothing?
If you see ‘hero,’ you need to strengthen your prescription. If you see ‘hero’ you need to remember the mousy cripple who writes back and surrounds himself in a kingdom filled with numbers becauseThis world and its people just won’t do. If you see ‘hero’ you might also need to see a psychiatrist (and straighten out your priorities.)
How it must hurt (for me, of all people) to be the one to break the news to you that ‘Heroes are not in our domain nor our archetype (and quite possibly not even our blood-type’) but we still have a sort of sweet resonance, don’t we?
Sure, I guess.
Sweet until the building crumbles on our bodies and you whisper We made it. Well, almost, as the debris tears us to shreds, a strained laugh still on your face as your liver bleeds out next to my severed arm. Sweet until you remember black-and-white turned technicolor only lasts so long before the television set spontaneously combusts. Sweet until you remember the woman who follows King Kong up to the top of the Empire State Building. Sweet until you remember the nostalgic magnetism of a love that made you think the both of them would be alright.
Sweet until you remember the dangling allure of romance is a pendulum swung right over the precipice of tragedy (but forget it right up until we’re already plunging to the ground below.)
IV.
Here’s the one about the prince who grew scales across the sea (but didn’t rise from its depths, only wished he did) who tossed and turned in his sleep and became jagged in places he didn’t understand. Who spent so much time in a laboratory he felt he was better suited for one than life outside of it.
Here’s his transformation in which howls were visceral and salt-tear-trepidation-turned-toxic-only poisoned him, but no one else, so he let it. He let it for fear of what he knew he already was. He let it and he watched his own dissection; there was the stomach-bile-lonliness plunged like fangs into his own neck. There was the scalpel and syringe and chemical defect. There was the eternal want of Understanding and Attention to break a spell but all that was shown in return were the chain-shackled-dungeon-doors-remedy of Abuse and Neglect.
Here’s the one about the glassy-eyed space cadet who’d give up every dream of shining nebulas just to see the prince’s smile, unweighted- free from the dread of prior litanies-free from What did I do wrong this time, how can I say I’m sorry for breaking something again? Free from If it will make you want-then how do I destroy the parts you choose in a self-induced wreck-
Free from If it will make it easier to love me, then how do I become less?
V.
Dearest, how do I rewrite fairytales when I don’t believe in anything?
Dearest, how can I enchant when I am also a thing that’s been cursed?
Dearest, how much must I barter for you to see There are no villains in a world that already condemns us by simply allowing us to still wake up every morning even when there’s nothing left to live for?
(and by extension, it’s a paradox; there are no heroes.
It’s an opposite and equal reaction.
There cannot be.
We’re all various shades of Jekyll and Hyde, Werewolf and Witch, Wendigo and Kaiju.
We are all collectively credited at the end of this film spanning seven continents and countless epochs as TheMonster.)
VI.
You don’t reply. So I start out the only way I know how:
If I’m the hero, then this is a terribly poor excuse of a rescue.
(For others have gotten close and shriek at the sharpness of your teeth…)
If I’m the damsel, then tell me how to fall back into you.
(…but all I ask is to run my fingers along their ridges and see what lies beneath…)
If you’re the dragon, then I skewed our story and stole it from the stars.
(…but all I ask is to inhale the tendrils of your smoke-stained exhales and cling to you in sleep.)
If you’re the dragon, then here’s the breath that can bend metal bars;
I care for you just as you are.
–Poems Hermann Gottlieb wrote to a boy across the sea and never sent.
“Are
you doing this deliberately because you know I just ironed these
trousers?” Hermann grumbled as Newton crawled on to his lap. Newton
said nothing for a moment, looking at him and taking the notepad that
Hermann from his hands, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor.
Hermann’s brows furrowed. Newton was careful to keep the pressure off
of his bad hip, but his pants were already completely rumpled and
Hermann had a presentation to worry about.
“Nah, I
just want attention. You’ve been so caught up in your talks and your
presentations lately that I’ve been feeling… neglected. C’mon. I’m
way more interesting, right? Huh? Your man? Your husband who loves
ya? Who is always ready to go at a moments notice for you?” Newton said, brows raising in a way that might have been meant
to be suggestive but ended up vaguely comical. Hermann sighed,
looking to his notepad. He wasn’t as irritated by his behavior as he
might have been years and years before; now, he found his desire for
Hermann’s attention something he should boast to others about. The
way that Newton desired him
was an intoxicating thought.
But
not at that moment. At that moment, he needed to do last minute prep
for his presentation. Which was in ten minutes. The last thing he needed was to
get worked up before he had to speak on technical matters to a room
full of academics.
“Neglected?
I hardly neglect you, Newton. I’ve been busy, of course, but you’ve
been with me doing your own presentations. We’re on this tour together.” Hermann said, hands
resting on Newton’s sides. It was one of his favorite places to
touch, soft and warm, comforting and familiar. Newton’s arms draped
over his shoulders, and he pressed their foreheads together. He had a
habit of trying to get as close as he could physically; the man had
no respect for personal space when it came to Hermann (not that he
was complaining, really, but the timing was all wrong).
“I
know, but between presentations you know I’m all yours. A resource
you’re greatly
under-utilizing.” Newton whined.
“Don’t
try to tempt me using my distaste for wasted resources. You aren’t a
resource, you’re my husband, and I have literally… eight minutes
now before I have to go out there, and the walk will take me two. I
don’t have time for this!” Hermann plead with him, but there was no
finality to his voice. The truth of the matter was that if Newton
wanted him to stay where he was, he would. He would skip the
presentation. He would cancel the whole damned tour and stay in bed
with Newton for the next month if he wanted it.
But
Newton just smiled, leaning in to kiss him. It wasn’t a chaste kiss,
but it wasn’t passionate either. It was comfortable, their mouths
slotting together the way they always did, lazy and familiar.
Hermann’s heart still beat a little harder, though, and when Newton
pulled back he couldn’t help but sigh.
“You
do love making things difficult for me, don’t you?” Hermann smiled.
“You
know it, grandpa. Now come on. The sooner you get this presentation
done the sooner we can go back to the hotel and bang.” Newton said,
voice cheerful as he removed himself from his lap. Hermann wasn’t
sure exactly when Newton saying the word ‘bang’ had conditioned a
Pavlovian reaction to occur within his body, but the moment he said
it his cheeks began to heat up and he found himself thankful that he
went with boxer-briefs that day to accompany his baggy trousers.
“You
little devil.” Hermann mumbled as he stood.
“Your
little devil.” Newton grinned, fixing his tie. “Now go get ‘em,
tiger.”
I fuckin LOVE dialogue as a first line. I adore it. whenever I flip open a book and the first line is dialogue I’m like hell YES this is my SHIT
there’s lists of, uh, TOP TEN WAYS YOU SHOULD NEVER START YOUR NOVEL EVER and “opening with dialogue” is always on them
the gist being that it’s bad bc the reader doesn’t care about this character yet so why are they gonna care about this dialogue, right, they don’t have any context for it, you should start with something that gets the reader invested and emotionally pulled in, so on, so forth
(and I’m not here to argue or call bullshit on these lists or anything…… 99% of the time, the reasons listed of why you should Maybe Not Do The Thing are perfectly valid concerns and dangers that should be taken into consideration)
(this post is more a ramble about personal preference with a nice moral at the end)
(and definitely not a TOP TEN REASONS “TOP TEN WAYS YOU SHOULD NEVER START YOUR NOVEL EVER” LISTS ARE LIES AND SLANDER post god could you imagine)
but yeah, for me, dialogue opening lines pull me right the fuck in emotionally. for real. nine times out of ten they’ll yank me in and have me engaged instantaneously. always have, probably always will
(like come on. have y’all never just started eavesdropping right in the middle of some total strangers’ conversation on the bus. especially if it’s somethin weird. it’s so good)
but ANYWAY, the moral is uhhhh
whatever Mortal Writing Sin you wanna commit, there’s probably at least one weirdo out there possibly named logan who digs it
do whatever the fuck you want, honestly
you can write an opening scene that does everything every advice page tells you to do with an opening scene and it can still be shit
you can write an opening scene doing everything every advice page tells you NEVER to do with your opening scene and it can still be fabulous and engaging
if you can pull it off, literally who cares
“if you can pull it off, literally who cares“ is the only real writing rule
Those “rules” are made up
and if you read a few things, you’ll notice that all successful authors break at least some of them. It’s that exact thing that makes them memorable.
Pratchett never kills characters he doesn’t need any more, as a lot of writing advice I’ve found tells you to. He doesn’t kill characters for drama or shock value at all. He doesn’t ever fridge a character for the development of another.
Tolkien added conflict after climax, which is a big structural no-no, and also why the liberation of the Shire was cut from the movies. And he doesn’t flesh out his characters much. The Lord of the Rings is still in the top ten of most read books on the planet.
J. K. Rowling doesn’t write very deep characters. Most of them are pretty one-dimensional, they have one hat and that’s p much it. With very few exceptions.
Sir Walter Scot of Ivanhoe fame inserts treatises about history and culture into his books that only tangentially have to do with the plot. They are cut in a lot of publications, but I think to give the reader this kind of context adds to their understanding of the characters and the settings.
I could go on.
But…these are some of the most influential writers in the English-speaking world – and all of them commit cardinal sins of writing. You know who doesn’t? Those writers wrangled into absolute conformity by their editors and publishers. They are told to never break these rules, to never deviate from the formula. And they don’t.
That’s why you immediately forget them. They are bland, and everything that made their writing unique in form or structure is gone because it’s too much of a risk and might not sell. Because books aren’t considered art by those who run publishing businesses, they’re marketable products. They are designed to be disposable, they are designed to only be read once and never again – because if you re-read an old book, you don’t buy a new one.
And that’s the main reason why I stopped reading books when I discovered fanfic. Fanfic writers don’t care about certain writing conventions. They experiment, they keep things fresh, they let their stories be the exact length they need to be, be that 100 words or 100k. They experiment. They write in present tense (keeping the past tense for flashbacks makes so much sense!), they write in first or second person. And I’m telling you: what makes you go “ewww” at the mere idea of a reader insert is only what you’ve been trained to think since you started to read. It’s just a habit to not do that. Habits and thought patterns can be broken. You don’t need to abide by made up rules put in place by people who just want to sell you something.
TLDR: Capitalism kills art, and fanfic is anarchy in the best sense of the word.
The Art of Pacific Rim: Uprising is out now from Insight Editions! Here’s the Hermann page.
do burn and charlie just immediately start talking about how their characters are in love whenever they’re asked about the movie at all
“Gottlieb still feels the aftereffects of drifting with a Kaiju brain. However his gift for compartmentalizing emotions seems to have lessened the trauma”
Holy shit the implications. I gotta think about this.
Can’t fixate on it until it destroys your life if you repress it and only think about it when you’re haunted by years of nightmares.
I have to think that this means that the Precursors had their hooks in Hermann too but that his unhealthy coping mechanisms were slightly better equipped to repel them than Newt’s unhealthy coping mechanisms were.
That it really was just luck of the draw. And now I’m sad.
Coping skills are only maladaptive in context. Not thinking about it at all may have been the right move not for general mental health but for the specific case of keeping him safe from precursors.
Did newt know they were in Hermann’s head too but he did a fabulous job of just pretending it wasn’t there so they couldn’t get any traction?
Avelera 