legion of the condemned

Hoooooooooly shit I’m dying theres like five layers of discourse going on on our post lmaoooooooo thanks to those defending us.

Few things to say:

1) Im dying because I had a conversation EXACTLY about this with Legio X’s Caesar, who hilariously is the NICEST guy. I was joking with him we were slightly worried there’d be unironic Legion fans amongst them and he said oh god no, the only time they’ve ever had problems with that is people on the internet complaining about how they let women into the group

2) Legio X has like a 60/40 dude/gal ratio so it is by no means exclusive to women. Caesar literally made a joke to us about how the Legion switched policies to be equal opportunity and how enthusiastic he is that they’ve been getting more women in their group

3) The argument of not supporting reprehensible behavior in media is one I definitely agree with. Media that excuses or glamorizes or voyeuristically portrays things like rape or misogyny is awful and should not be supported. The key here is CONDEMNATION. Like in FNV they are extremely clear about how vicious and evil the Legion is and how NOT okay what they do is, and also importantly, they are not VOYEURISTIC about their crimes, similar in a way to how Immortan Joe and the Warboys are in Fury Road. That’s what makes being interested in Legion narratives okay because intrinsic to this interest is condemnation. Otherwise you could never make evil characters or narratives and that would be ridiculous. If all evil characters were immoral to be invested in, here’s a short list of characters who liking/cosplaying makes you a Bad Person:

- anything imperial from Star Wars, especially Darth Vader and Kylo Ren

- all the Mad Max warboys and Immortan Joe

- literally everyone from Metal Gear except Sunny, my sweet angel child

- Loki and like every Marvel villain including Magneto

- The Joker and like every fan favorite DC villain. Liking Suicide Squad is now a moral crime

And so on, etc. Anyway that’s my two cents here

Illidari Origins

Approximately twelve years prior…

Ash and soot fell under the starry night sky, complete with the colors of the cosmos. It was the only thing she liked about the Outlands, no matter where one went, no matter how far the Legion had gone to destroy the once lush lands of Draenor… the sky still remained as beautiful as ever. The particles of ash, likely from fallen demons or fallen allies, only added to the morbidness of the Black Temple. The stark blacks and vibrant greens that had befallen the once Holy sight of Karabor were dulled down to gray as the powdery residue collected over the open courtyard.

It was the only place she could find some solace, a chance to think. To ponder her choices, of all the decisions that led her here- to this one irreversible avenue that she so desperately wished to understand. Why one would become the very thing they despised in the name of vengeance, to let themselves become consumed. But unlike most of the lost souls who gathered at the Temple, seeking Illidan to help them in their retribution, Korrinth wasn’t only there to tackle the Legion. It was certainly a high priority, but her reasons were much more personal, much more intimate. It was secrets she was after, secrets and understanding to something she simply couldn’t. Not without experiencing it first hand. How her brother had fallen so hard, so quickly to demonic influence. While the odds were slim, she still held onto hope that she would find his salvation in the halls of the Illidari.

Screams filled the courtyard, depriving her of deeper thought as they usually did. The cries of self inflicted agony echoed relentlessly, as more and more turned up to the temple, and more and more volunteered for the transformation. There was no misgivings about the process, to become a Demon Hunter was no simple task. The lifeless bodies that consistently poured from the ritual rooms were proof of that. Most who entered did not return in any sort of meaningful way, just another failed prospect and a crudely crooked headstone. The prospect alone was scary in itself, but most acolytes had lost too much to care about their own lives anymore. Vengeance and hatred were the only things that fueled them.

The crimson haired Runeweavers thoughts once again drifted back to her brother. To the fondness and closeness they had both enjoyed, growing up in Dalaran where magical studies were focused more then war efforts. A place where scholars, philosophers, and dreamers gathered, a place of progress and understanding. Their home for so long. She cursed the Tome they had found, and her foolishness to keep it. Even when she caught Reli snooping through the tradebook of the Legion, despite her condemnation and forbiddance of such dark arts. Where she was cautious, her brother was drawn like a moth to flame, intoxicated by the power promised by demonic forces that were far beyond their comprehension. It was her mistake in not destroying that cursed book the day she found it- that same mistake threw her once straight path onto a lesser known trail of life.

She had arrived later than only a handful of other prospects, though she didn’t immediately jump for the chance at the bonding ritual. Instead she wished to study them first, as most magically inclined do. Looking for a reaction to the process, how to cope, how to manage… but most importantly, how to survive the ordeal. There was a method behind the madness, to what demon was selected to become a ‘part’ of them. To dealing with the sustenance, the struggle for power, to separate your own thoughts from the demonic ones inside. It was very much like being born again, like the phoenix; The old must die so the new may live. Regardless of whatever preparations or plans she lay, the outcome would still be difficult and painful to obtain.

It was a different sort of decision, to become an Illidari. It was so final, such a clear point of no return. So unlike trying to find purpose in the Crusade through the Dark Portal, following a Prince she never worshiped and his Sunfury in seeking a way to save his people. They shared the same premise, a task that would likely end in their demise. But there was only one thing motivating her, naive as it may be- Delving into the secrets of the Endless Legion searching for hope, for a way to free her brother from the malicious grasp of his demonic masters. To untangle him from the monsters that corrupted his very being. To pull him from the fires of hell themselves. No, her time with the Sunfury, the vendetta that brought her to the Outlands in the first place… it paled in comparison to what she was about to do; She intended to plunge herself into those very same flames, for if Relivastus was to be damned for eternity, then so too was she.

Lost in thought she didn’t even hear the Demon Hunter, one of the first of the Illidari, approach. It was with a deep monotone voice that he merely stated, “It’s time….”

((Part two coming soon! Thanks for reading <3))

A post wherein film writer Kimberly Luperi explores a Miriam Hopkins’ film you should run to see (after, that is, you watch our eight film birthday tribute to the actress, of course!)

“Boys, it’s the only thing we can do: let’s forget sex.” So proclaims Gilda (Miriam Hopkins) to roommates George (Gary Cooper) and Thomas (Fredric March) in DESIGN FOR LIVING (‘33).

Those unfamiliar with pre-Code Hollywood may be surprised to learn that such a living arrangement was depicted in a film from 1933. As an enthusiast of what we now term the pre-Code era, lasting from roughly 1929 through summer 1934, I’ve always ranked Ernst Lubitsch’s DESIGN FOR LIVING (’33) among my top picks from the period.

When I first watched DESIGN FOR LIVING (’33), I was simultaneously astounded and charmed by the frank plot and modern characterizations. I mean, this is a picture in which the leading lady proclaims: “A thing happened to me that usually happens to men,” then decries society for allowing men to sow their wild oats while ladies are left to “decide purely on instinct” and proposes she live with both the men who love her, because she can’t choose. Oh, and after trying convention (aka marriage) on for size, she decides it isn’t for her either. By pre-Code or even today’s standards, Gilda is a progressive woman indeed.

I came to my first DESIGN FOR LIVING (’33) viewing informed by Mick LaSalle’s books Complicated Women and Dangerous Men; in the former he wrote the picture resides on the “outer reaches of outrageousness or daring,” while in the latter he argued the movie is “sexier and more risqué” than Noel Coward’s play. I also perused Kim Morgan’s @criterioncollection essay in which she termed the film “far ahead of its time.“ Furthermore, I was aware the picture landed on the Catholic Legion of Decency’s 1934 condemned list and knew that post-Code enforcement, the Production Code Administration (PCA), considered this tale of "gross sexual irregularity” as “definitely, and specifically, in violation of the Production Code on a half dozen counts” and denied it re-release several times. 

However, in researching older reviews and critiques, I was surprised to find that the film didn’t make as many waves as I assumed it would considering its audacious plot and modern reception. Surely, select notices highlighted the movie’s “certainly risqué” storyline, and a slightly fanatical 1933 Los Angeles Times article warned ladies that the implied ménage à trois is “apt to give us ideas” while cautioning that matriarchy was on its way. For the most part, though, DESIGN FOR LIVING (’33) was just another picture. Every contemporary piece I came across stressed the difference between Coward’s 1933 Broadway play and Ben Hecht’s adaptation, often unfavorably for the latter, with some outlets claiming the movie lacked the double entendres and suggestiveness of Coward’s original. Overall assessments from the picture’s initial release were mixed but more so positive, highlighting the performances and the “Lubitsch touch” when judging the film on its own merit. Jumping ahead some years, I also found it peculiar that several scholars writing from the 1960s to early 1980s more harshly dismissed the movie, and some even inaccurately reported initial reviews were largely negative.

Save for the PCA’s denunciation and select notices, there was really nothing to suggest that a film initially received as light entertainment would be touted as one of the most daring and revolutionary of the period years later. With the benefit of two decades worth of increased scholarship focused on this unique epoch and the passing of time, it seems the film’s legacy has grown independent of the celebrated stage version. But could the more eminent modern day reception also be a result of cultural revisionism and a tendency to romanticize the pre-Code era?

What’s your take?