30s - Blog Posts
Bringing another old piece of my favourite Bright Young Things while cooking Xmas illustration ~
Misha and Miles gossiping ✨
It was a style experiment and I will post more of old arts of them here now, as they all were made, when I abandoned Tumblr due very low reach and was more active on Instagram and twitter. Even if they won't catch as much attention as fanarts, of course.
Enjoy!
Zdjęcia z prywatnego archiwum Adolfa Dymszy
[źródło: Fototeka]
Eugeniusz Bodo i Nora Ney
[źródło: Narodowe Archiwum Cyfrowe]
Slow Mornings
mornings are slow, even when in Hell
A low purring was the first thing you heard once you woke, that and the shuffling of covers beneath twitching wings and claws. You looked out the window, the red Sun peering through it gently, casting a crimson hue over the hotel room, and over Husker.
He slept with one furry arm draped around your waist, his snout pressed into your shoulder as he breathed in and out softly, in time with his purrs. You smirked at him slightly, bringing an arm up to his head to scratch in between his ears softly, seeing(and feeling) him curl up into your side further whilst his purring increased. Eventually, one of his eyes cracked open gingerly, looking up at you as the morning dawned on him.
"'S Monday, huh?.." He asked groggily, groaning at your silence and pushed his snout further into your shoulder, his ears flattening against his head carefully, just as soft as his arms which came up to hug around your chest drowsily. His wings fluffed up softly, both of them acting as a duvet- a duvet covered in feathers and suits of cards.
"Softy.." You chuckled sleepily, which turned into soft giggles as he growled playfully, if admittedly tired. You could feel his sharp tounge dart out quickly, (literal) kitten licks coming to your collar bone.
Slow mornings were always nice, a gleeful rest from the fast-paced world outside of you both. Through kisses and cuddles, it came slow, even on a Monday.
me and Husker rn
This belongs to @neiveel3llson not you
AAAAAAAAAAAAAH COMON!!!
Reunion, or zosan in their 30s.
When the years apart had done nothing to diminish your yearning. Made it worse actually.
Betty Boop // "A Language All My Own" - 1935 🪭🎎🌸 ⤷Link⤶
An Essay on Café Society
Woody Allen’s most recent film, Café Society, has been probably the season’s most anticipated piece in a few circles, as the old writer-director has unceasingly uphold his reputation in the past several years. He had many exceedingly and a few hardly memorable movies in his line of annual releases. This year’s film is simultaneously a worthy continuation and a surprising departure from the latest trend in the Woody Allen factory.
In numerous respects it’s a classical piece with all the usual themes: urban life, particularly the praise of New York; disillusionment; the overall pointlessness of life; being a Jew in America; neurosis and neurotics; unfulfilled love, and jazz. In some ways these were easily identifiable and fresh but at the same time they seemed to be somewhat rushed and stale--it is almost impossible to describe it without contradictions.
In this period piece we get to follow the life of a Jewish New York family and their several exploits. In the focal point there is a young, neurotic Jessie Eisenberg, who looks and acts quite similarly to the young Woody Allen. He falls in love with an unsuccessful, unspoiled Hollywood debutante, even has a chance at a short romance with her but his influential, wealthy and well-loved uncle takes the girl. As the protagonist returns to his hometown, he finds solace in high social life and a nicely growing success as a bar manager. The movie ends without many great twists and turns, with a few bitter moments of the once-lover couple meeting but never chancing at starting again together.
I think it’s unnecessary to go into details concerning the family, the why’s and how’s, as the real treasure that this film is is hidden somewhere else.
In the context of the last twenty years of Woody Allen movies he has arguably been creating more of essays than solid works. The characteristics of his films have been changing, from the surreal reality to more subtle ways. The incomplete list of his themes above is very well-known among the people who have seen at least three or four of his works and there seems to be a will to find a perfect body for a Woody Allen film. Evidently experimentation with tone, color, period, narrative tools and much more have been defining the writer-director’s approach to his work.
Firstly, the tone is now balanced and masterful. With Match Point, and Irrational Man he has gone down the path paved by Dostoevsky. The dark brutality that he has tried to grasp in humanity has been so refined now that he probably felt it burdensome to emphasize its graveness and made it as frivolous as is fit to someone, who grew up on classical film noires. But also the romantic and neurotic air, so typical, has been refined into a cynical calmness, beyond even the point of “I can only laugh”. We have all seen the disillusionment of Woody Allen but it seems the energetic overtone is now smoothing out, which is a good thing, since the things to replace it are subtlety, mastery and unpretended grandeur.
As regards the color and period of this film I must say this is the closest I have seen to perfection. Obviously these work as great reassurances to the subject matter of the movie but there is also an important subtle depth to them. His most successful attempts at these two have been Irrational Man and Midnight in Paris. The former with its rosy color foreshadowing violence, the latter being half-set in the most resonant period of American history. In some respect Café Society is an adaptation of The Great Gatsby, dwarfing Baz Luhrman’s--in comparison--cheap attempt. In the titular film several moments are highlighted and tainted with a golden shade--something not similar but identical to Fitzgerald’s work. At first it seems to underline the high hopes and dreams of the likable protagonist and it then gradually flowers into the color of death and decay, more and more disappearing from Jessie Eisenberg’s scenes and more and more coloring death around him. In the beginning he is hopeful, he is made golden but what it symbolizes loses meaning and moves into external things, for example originally he feels this golden color and loves a brunette, then in the end feels nothing close to that but his wife has golden hair. The period of the film is also evocative of The Great Gatsby: one will feel both a romantic feeling for that specific time and a detachment because of the overhanging horror.
In To Rome with Love we have seen a contemporary, yet clear narrative with multiple storielines to follow, hardly ever intersecting each other, connected mainly by the place but not limited by anything. Now Café Society is far more conservative but clearly shows the understanding that the creator has obtained through a daring project. It is subtle, it is a lot but it is enough--according to this blogger. Here it is the family members that create multiple dimensions, although they are pointing toward a final intersection inside our protagonist. To me it’s these simultaneously running stories that create the oh-so-familiar feeling of neurosis in Café Society.
A nowadays often looked-down-upon tool has been utilized in the film: voice-over. However there is nothing to be despised about it, since it is no more than semblance that it served the function of exposition--in fact it is subtle but continuous cynicism, magnified only by the past experiences with Woody Allen films. It speaks a language known only to the adepts but to them it speaks it quite comprehensibly.
Even the casting of this film is subtly outstanding. We have several savvy choices of returning actors from past Woody Allen movies, like our old Hemingway as the brute of the family, or pseudo-neurotic Jessie Eisenberg. What I think is the greatest decision with regards to the actors is Steve Carell, who is Italian enough to play a Jew--a joke a little too much on the nose...
Overall this film is one more step in the direction of at least my ideal of a Woody Allen film. It has so numerous merits, it looks so subtle, expensive, real and beautiful that I won’t stop praising it in a reasonable space of time.
Why do so many fan fiction writers talk about people in their 30s as though they’re 90 years old? He/she/they are “attractive for someone in their 30s,” “he’s hot for a guy in his late 30s,” “she’s still got a youthful look to her even though she’s in her 30s…”
What the hell? 🤣