TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY (JGL ver.)
If you’ll forgive me, I’m going to gush a little about my friend Joe’s movie Don Jon’s Addiction.
Don Jon’s Addiction is about a young man in New Jersey whose addiction to internet porn is holding him back from having real relationships. Joe could have done this as a naturalistic character study, with underplayed performances and subdued non-committal style, and I’m sure it would have been great.
But Joe did the exact opposite. Don Jon is hyper-stylized not just in the easy-to-spot realm of visual style and execution, but in the sneakier and more abrasive/subversive arena of characters, world and conceptual construction. It’s not a realistic depiction of sex, or male/female relations, or Jersey culture, or family dynamics, and trying to read it as any of these things will lead to the equivalent of critiquing skillful caricature as failed portraiture. Its characters are all exaggerated, magnifying facets of a meticulously constructed object, and the sum of its parts is a meditation not on a young man’s struggle with porn or even his emotional maturation, but on the myriad screens we all use as proxies for intimacy with other human beings. That’s pretty vital stuff.
Oh, and it’s also funny as hell and so much fun to watch. You guys are going to love it. I couldn’t be prouder of Joe, and I can’t wait for everyone to see his ambitious, brave and terrific movie.
“Piccolo is the Giszu knife of the orchestra” - Mr. Frank Wolf, hard at work this week on our music mix for Don Jon’s Addiction
Day 1 mixing. Gary Rizzo (who mixes Mr. Nolan’s films) invited us to Skywalker sound!
THE TAKE VER.
(Quick drabble based on the multiple post of Q and how much he looks like he could be a child of Arthur’s)
“Quinn, honestly, has Papa taught you anything?” Eames tutted at the young man sitting in front of him, dabbing at the gash in his forehead with a wet cloth. Eames was far older than the man in front of him, nearing what he referred to as a fresh and youthful fifty-three. The younger man, Quinn, could not have been more than twenty-four however. Eames still had a distinct talent for treating wounds, after his years of illegal work with Dreams and such. He still handled it proudly and with ease, even though he had retired twenty-five years before. “What would he say if he saw this?”
Quinn eyed Eames to assess if he was being serious for a moment before straightening up, clearing his throat before he sarcastically drawled out, “Now Quinn, your father and I are not pleased with this situation. C’est…C’est stupide est téméraire!”
Eames snorted at the inclusion of French, shaking his head, “Your Papa is really something, isn’t he?”
He noticed Quinn glance up, a mischievous twinkle in his eye not unlike one Eames would have had at his age, “Papa isn’t that special…”
He added a distinctly British drawl to his normally French-accented Papa, making Eames laugh deeply. At the sound of another laugh, Eames glanced over his shoulder to where the man in question stood. Quinn cleared his throat, bring the attention back to him as he gave Eames and his Papa a sheepish smile, “I really am sorry but James needs my assistance…”
“Quinn…” Papa’s voice came from behind Eames, gravely with it’s traces of sleep still there and an underlying longing. Eames glanced back and shot him a warning look before turning to face Quinn again, “Q, your Papa and I miss you dearly. Come visit one in a while, hmmm?”
“When James vacations again, I promise,” Quinn stood up, prompting Eames to do so as well. He opened his arms, drawing Quinn into them with a sad smile, “You look and sound just like your Papa, Notre bien-aimé.”
Quinn blushed as he wiggled out of Eames’ grasp, smiling up at him shyly as he grabbed his satchel, “Thank you, Father.”
Eames turned to watch as Quinn quickly moved over to his Papa, hugging him tightly and murmuring soft reassurances like Eames once had done so long before. He smiled longingly at the image in front of him, wishing for more time with his son. Quinn gave them both one last wave before moving out of the room to show himself out of his childhood home. Eames took a seat on Quinn’s bed with a heavy sigh, placing his head in his hands as he did. The room was unchanged, still the same blue and grey it had been since Quinn was sixteen, and it comforted Eames in a way.
He felt the bed dip next to him, letting a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding go as he felt a familiar pair of arms encircle his waist. He leaned into the touch, sighing once more as he pressed a kiss to the man next to him’s temple, “Darling, were we good parents?”
“Only the best Mister Eames.”
“Arthur, dear, you know you can call me by my full name now. We’ve been married over twenty-seven years now and together almost thirty.”
“I know,” Arthur’s deep voice still sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way Arthur practically purred his name, “But I like to save William for when we are in our bedroom since I am the only person that actually knows it. It’s like it is our secret and ours alone.”
“Mmm love,” Eames smiled, nuzzling his nose against Arthur’s neck, “S’odd he went into spy work, innit? Since that was essentially our field so long ago.”
“It’s like staring into the looking glass.”
“Proud though, yeah? That we had him surrogated with your lovelies…”
Arthur snorted at Eames’ phrasing, shaking his head with a longing sigh, “Only the proudest.”
“I love you, Darling.”
“You as well, William…”
didjoo know we’ve sneaked some red into the new Tiny Book of Tiny Stories! very sneaky of us. order Volume 2 here: http://www.hitrecord.org/store/tinystories