favourite film ever ever ever

10

Alfred Hitchcock: The 1930s

8

diego luna appreciation week ➝ december 23 (diego as julio in elysium)

you used to be a legend, and now what? (aka. the pigtails of destiny)

flexible foxible

6

Jin Roh: The Wolf Brigade presents a Japan that lost a different Second World War – not to America, but to Nazi Germany. Now, more than ten years after the defeat, the occupation troops have left, but their legacy is Jin-Roh’s twilight-zone city where the domestic terrorism of “The Sect” plays out in everyday bombings and street battles against the counter-terrorist Capital Police – and their elite armored, helmeted, and red-goggled Special Unit. 

Life is for the alive my dear.
— 

Mrs. Lovett (Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street)


Today marks the 10th anniversary of the day Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street hit our theatre screens. I remember going to watch it for the first time and completely falling in love Helena Bonham Carter’s portrayal of Nellie Lovett. 

Originally posted by heyythisisjulia

P.S: I’d like to thank Tim Burton for deciding to bring this musical to big screen and I’d also like to thank Mr Stephen Sondheim
for officially casting HBC as Nellie.

Me, 50 years after Wings era: “Gather around grandchildren”
Me: “now, all the way back in 2016 the most beautiful amazing cinematic composition was created”

I love Harry Potter

All of it, Literally, every single word. 

Umbridge? sure she was a bitch, biggest bitch. what an arse. Still love the character. Love voldemort. so much love. Love Harry, Ron Hermione. Love they got together.  Fred, George. Ultimate love. All time love, top of the list. I love them. Not overly fond of Cho, but that’s fine. Still a good character, good actor, love it.  

Love everyone else, Literally everyone, even background characters. That blonde ravenclaw walking to class? Love her, the best. Black hufflepuff boy almost trips. Good on you mate, do well. 

Love Fantastic beasts and where to find them. Newts clothes, loved them to pieces, bow tie, loved it. Loved the choice in actor. Loved all choice in actors The film is awesome, loved it so much. Cursed child, loved that too. Good book, good play, aint seen it, but it’s bound to be good. Bound to love it. 

I literally just love it all. Regardless of who played them, what they looked like, who their character was, what the personality was like.No problem with any of it. Good shit. I. Loved. Every minute of it. 

anonymous asked:

Please elaborate on the 🍑🍑 nature of this book/film for those of us unaware but entirely ready to see armie hammer like this

honestly, friend, I’m labouring the 🍑  point because otherwise I’ll think too hard about this movie and start FUCKING CRYING. 

okay, so the Plot of the book is a 17-year-old Italian boy falling in deep, obsessive, passionate love with a 24-year-old American grad student who’s staying at his family’s villa for the summer. as you can imagine, being narrated by a lovelorn bisexual teenager, it’s INCREDIBLY FRAUGHT, and can probably best be summed up by the scene in which their bare feet touch under the dining table and it’s so intense that Elio gets a nosebleed. 

while this may SOUND like your run-of-the-mill M/M steamy summer romance novel that you can buy for 99p on kindle books, it is ACTUALLY an incredible TOUR-DE-FORCE work of ART written by André Aciman, a PROFESSOR OF LITERARY THEORY, which made THE NEW YORK TIMES, PUBLISHER’S WEEKLY, WASHINGTON POST and CHICAGO TRIBUNE’S Books of the Year lists when it was published and ABOUT WHICH the FOLLOWING PHRASES were used: ‘an effortless and unaffected erudition; a brutal, rigorous mastery of language’! ‘Brave, acute, elated, naked, brutal, tender, humane and beautiful’! ‘Few novels since Proust’s In Search of Lost Time are this adept at capturing the nuances of human emotion’! ‘The beauty of Aciman’s writing and the purity of his passions should place this extraordinary first novel within the canon of great romantic love stories’! ‘Exquisite’! ‘Superb’! ‘Extraordinary’! (not to mention that I have read it once a year since first reading it in 2014 and now own three copies because I keep discovering it in secondhand bookshops and am unable to leave it behind. don’t trust the NYT. trust me.)

and NOT ONLY is A Movie being made, it is a movie directed by RESPECTED DIRECTOR LUCA GUADAGNINO, co-written by JAMES IVORY – of MERCHANT-IVORY PRODUCTIONS, director of such screen gems as Howards End, A Room With a View, The Remains of the Day and fucking MAURICE – starring TIMOTHEE CHALAMET (of being good on stage) and ARMIE HAMMER (of ‘I’m 6′5″, 220 and there’s two of me!’), ACTUAL WELL-KNOWN ACTORS, premiering at SUNDANCE FILM FESTIVAL (because it’s a [reverential pause] FILM, not just a MOVIE), and FEATURING ORIGINAL SONGS WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY SUFJAN STEVENS!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!!! I LITERALLY COULD NOT HAVE HAND-PICKED A BETTER COMBINATION OF THINGS!!!

yesterday it got bought by Sony Pictures Classics, which means a) world-wide distribution, and b) actual human beings have now seen it with their eyes. one of those #blest and chosen individuals said this: “Visually rich, stunning, deeply emotional and sensual, Call Me By Your Name confirms Luca Guadagnino as one of the world’s master filmmakers. It will be a privilege to bring the movie to audiences around the world.”

tl;dr in conclusion, Timothee Chalamet is going to fuck a peach and Armie Hammer is going to eat it while Sufjan Stevens sings about Jesus and being gay in the background and then, because that’s not enough, everyone at Sundance is going to give it a goddamn fucking standing ovation. 

🍑 

my favourite part of “lawrence of arabia” is when ali says “have you no care for them?!” but puts his hand to his chest as if to follow it with “have you no care for me?”

Guys. Guys. The Count of Monte Cristo AU.

It goes like this:

Graves is an auror, a junior just started but already making a name for himself. He falls in love with Newt (slowly, all at once, always and without ever being able to stop) but is waiting to propose until he gets promoted and can offer Newt more than just a ramshackle apartment and a meagre junior’s pay.

Newt doesn’t care. To Newt, marriage is a promise to face life’s trials together, he’d say yes if Graves proposed with a piece of string to wind round his finger. But it matters to Graves and so Graves waits; he won’t be a junior for long, and he’s almost saved enough to move to a real house with a real garden for Newts creatures and all the little things Graves feels that Newt deserves.

Newt still winds a glowing length of spell-thread around his ring finger from Graves’ wand, and Graves still ties off the enchantment and anchors it to their love, because this is their life and their life is made of little gestures and gentle touches and strawberry-sweet kisses in the golden sun.

Newt finds Credence as a small child, tiny and underfed, cowering in the hate sickened squalor of Mary Lou Barebone’s brutish care. When he takes Credence away, it has nothing to do with the angry wisps of obscurus that is developing within him and everything to do with the way he reaches for Newt’s hand with something like fear and something like hope and something like a little boy in need of help.

He brings Credence home to the overfilled, cramped apartment that he shares with Graves, pushing stacks of books out of the way and emptying out a trunk of old clothes to transfigure it into a bed. Credence sits on the edge of his desk and swings his legs and Newt narrates the book he’s writing, stopping to explain every other sentence what dragons are, how they use magic to twist the air currents and help them fly, how many eggs they have in a clutch - eggs, does Credence want eggs for lunch? Egg in shell with buttered soldiers to dip in the yolk?

Credence ducks his head and nods shyly behind his fringe, not used to being asked his opinion. And not really sure what buttered soldiers are either, but if Mr Newt made it, then he knows he’ll like it. Because Mr Newt is like that and Credence loves Mr Newt.

And this could be the story. Graves could come home and find Newt waiting with big eyes and that hopeful, excited, slightly guilty expression that says he’s found a new stray. Graves could sigh and say, what have you rescued now, and, just tell me it won’t eat the roof again, and when Newt beckons Credence in Credence could hide behind the door and refuse to come out.

He’s shy, Newt could say, and take Graves by the hand to lead him into the kitchen. Credence - Credence, this is Graves, he won’t hurt you. I promise he won’t. Newt could bend down, lift Credence up under the arms and balance him on his hip. He’d stay behind the door for now and say, Do you want to meet him? and he’d wait until Credence, solemnly slow and with great deliberation, nods.

When Newt emerges, Credence in his arms and joy on his face, Graves could be there to feel his breath catch in his throat and his life reshape and resettle into husband and father and dad.

This could be the story.

This is not the story.

Graves is away this week, this one week of all weeks he’s the unlucky junior sent to shadow Picquery at the ICW conference in Nairobi. Graves is away, and when Grindelwald follows the trail of the obscurus he was tracking and prowls closer to Credence and closer to Newt - well. Graves is away.

Picquery gets tipped off that Graves is being investigated for treason. He’s just a junior. He’s good at what he does, one of the most promising they’ve had for a long time, but she has no particular reason to suspect the investigation is false. By the time she returns, enough evidence has been uncovered that Graves is arrested the moment his feet touch the ground. He’s led away, not even told what it is he’s done, not given any chance to protest or deny - how can he deny? That’s his face been used to commit crimes, his voice recorded plotting in the dark, how can he deny that? What reason would anyone have for impersonating a junior auror? What defence could Graves ever provide?

The wizarding prison of America is deep in the swamps of Louisiana, guarded by ghosts and spirits and crocodile gods. Graves shivers against the rain that seeps into his cell and kicks off the grasping letiche that haunt the prison for easy prey. He waits. He counts the days in scratch marks on the wall. He runs his sentence down, counting another day, another week, another month another year - and every day a little bit more of him dies.

He counts his sentence to the last day.

He counts his sentence beyond the last day when he’s days, weeks, months overdue for release.

He counts the days since food was last left by the rusted metal grate that marks the entrance to his cell.

He counts and counts and counts until he’s counted the days, the patterns, the flares of magic through the runic wards -

He should have been released over a year ago by the time he breaks out, but then, he should never have been arrested to begin with.

(yes, I will continue this one. Consider this part one.)