*dies* (Read bottom to top.)
the thing that kills me about cyrano de bergerac is that everyone is cyrano.
like, no one comes away identifying with christian or roxane (though if you badmouth either of them the point of the play, you have missed it) but cyrano, cyrano who is the kind of gallant honorable loyal fierce poetic free determined swashbuckler that everyone wishes they could be but is so human, so crippled by his self-loathing, and because of that everything he does comes from this place of trying to outrun his own flaws, trying to prove he is more than his nose, and he mocks himself and laughs at the world because if he gets to the punchline first then the blow doesn’t land.
(his whole life is an exercise in warding off blows, and he’s not even sure if anyone is trying to strike him anymore)
and then there’s christian and roxane, who themselves offer a kind of perfection that cyrano simply doesn’t embody—they’re wealthy and beautiful, a woman of letters and a soldier; she is the moon and he has the hair of d’urfe’s heroes and it’s right, and good, that they should end up together, that cyrano should content himself with the crumbs from their table
and he gets the scene under the balcony, to open his heart and all the words of impossible love spill out into darkness—that is his kiss, though it comes by another’s lips, it is him roxane weeps for on the battlefield, and him who dies daring death to draw his sword, the white plume still white
and this is what the audience comes away with, because everyone knows that self-loathing and that cowardice, even in a life defined by bravado, and everyone wants to become that caricature of nobility and panache in response, to truly outrun what you see as your greatest fault and become a hero in its stead
and white plumes and battlefields and cardinals and endless poetry and all the old enemies (falsehood compromise prejudice cowardice stupidity) that ask for surrender, but we fight on, fight on, fight on~
I want to be done with this stupid study guide so I can try drawing Eduard even though I know I’ll only get super frustrated with my inability to draw him
I have a new character guys he’s a super contradictory former stasi jewish german who may or may not (definitely did) have a hand in really terrible latin american atrocities hiding in ukraine from west germans who want to bring him to trial
touches his face
he hates yeltsin and knows how to make tortillas and tells jokes
Rendezvous and I were dorking around with an AU where modern-style PTSD treatment came around by the early 50s (*spares you my alternate psych history*), but it’s new and also people are just as “I’m fine I don’t need your dumb shrink!” as they are today, if not more so, so that’s why Al and Anna have those “baptists in a liquor store” faces when their CO or spouse (respectively) forces them to go.
(And because it was us, it got slapsticky pretty quickly. We should be ashamed. Should.)
So, I was riding home from a late night hanging out with friends (there were three of us in the car, as it happened) and the highway was slick with rain. As we were heading into a turn, a fire department ambulance (not transporting anyone or en route to doing so, thank heaven) some distance up the road skidded into the grass and rolled over.
So, um, as a polsci type, I spend a lot of time going “…us humans, eh?” and sighing bitterly but…that’s not all there is to us. Everyone who was behind the ambulance on the road when it wrecked pulled over, got out in the rain, and headed for the ambulance, and a friend of mine was calmly calling the emergency number as soon as he had his car stopped.
It was such a fast, universal impulse, that didn’t care about age or race or gender, to judge by the people I saw. “Human in trouble!” —> “Other human help!”
…humans are pretty terrible, but we’re also pretty great. I’ve got a heck of a lot to live up to, just by virtue of being a person. (Also, rainy turns are effin’ scary to navigate at highway speeds. Just saying.)