I can't wait for the CGI monster orgy for the last twenty minutes of the movie. It'll be grand, confusing display of computer generated action with no weight and cartoony physics.
"No weight?" "You think he means physically or emotionally?" "Would it even make a difference?"
Didn't you used to have a Topher Grave as Eddie Brock avatar? I remember you used to be Eddie Brock Jr. for a long time. So much so my shorthand for you is still EBJ.
It's very likely. I chose Eddie Brock, Jr. as my username because the trailer had just come out and I had recently read the Ultimate Spider-Man trades. (Thus, when the movie was a trainwreck -- which I didn't acknowledge for a while -- I insisted that the latter was my inspiration all along.) And then somewhere along the way, that "Jr." started to bug me, so I got the SHH! mods to get rid of it because the original "Eddie Brock" account had been inactive for years.
*looks at username* *sighs at 2007 self's choices* *takes deep breath*
Yeah, I suppose I'll weigh in.
The Venom movie looks like hot garbage (or maybe I should say "a turd in the wind"?). Though, to be fair, I could not be more biased against it if I tried. A Venom solo movie is about the dumbest thing I can think of. A Venom solo film in a universe without Spider-Man? That's like doing a Mister Hyde solo film in a universe without Doctor Jekyll. Like... what? It's such a blatant attempt by Sony at flexing their independence from Marvel Studios and trying to stretch the Spider-Man brand as far as they can before they've poisoned the whole well.
My predisposition against it aside, it just doesn't look good. It looks like really 2000s Ben Affleck Daredevil-level garbage. Back when studios didn't want to look like nerds, so all comic book movies were as divorced from the source material as they could get away with and shot with the same flat, poorly-lit, blue-tinted "cinematography." I saw a Reddit comment that put it best: "I can't wait to watch two off-color puddles of gasoline fight each other." If you're gonna do symbiotes, at least make them obnoxiously 90s-colored so I know what I'm looking at. The only positive takeaway I have is that it looks like they'll at least give you Venom for the final third (if not entire second half), rather than doing Sick Motorcycle Tricks(tm) all movie and only pulling out the full suit for the final fifteen minutes.
And seriously, what the hell was Tom Hardy thinking? "I'm Eddie Bwock. I'm a weportuh." Sure, you are, little buddy. Lemme know when your front teeth grow back in and you get a speech coach for that lithp.
Now, on the topic of the Venom character at large. I think Venom's fine in small doses. I've gone on this rant before, but the ideal incarnation of Venom for me is defeated permanently at the end of his debut arc. Venom is the final boss of the Symbiote Saga; he is the literal personification of all Peter Parker's worst traits, a dark mirror showing what happens when great power is absent of great responsibility. Once Peter defeats his demons, that's it. They're defeated. Story arc over, Venom's purpose served.
He makes a fine, if shallow, antagonist to be used sparingly after that. I have no interest in anything where he takes a starring role, especially not where he's portrayed as a "lethal protector" (unless it's someone else in the suit, a la Agent Venom). And I wish my younger self didn't sip the Spider-Man 3 hype Kool-Aid because I've forever tied my online persona to a character I've more or less outgrown. C'est la vie.
THE MAYFLOWER HOTEL DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA LOCAL TIME 0745 (EST)
The car arrived promptly, just as Director Fury had promised it would. They had landed much too late the previous night to get right to work, so SHIELD had been duly accommodating in finding Captain Rogers a place to lay his head for the night. Though, truth be told, Steve had hardly slept a wink, another consequence of the serum coursing through his blood; sleep for him was as much luxury as necessity. Consequently, he was up with plenty of time to go for a run along the banks of the river, grab a facsimile of breakfast from the hotel's buffet-style offerings, and have a quick shower all before his ride showed up. Steve was a little surprised when the Director wasn't there to greet him personally, but he supposed that running a multinational intelligence agency placed certain demands on one's time. In his stead, Fury had sent his protégé, Agent Bordeaux.
To this point, Steve had struggled to get a read on the young Special Agent. Although she had been present for the drive and flight back to Washington, she had done little to make that presence felt. Even now, she offered next to nothing in the way of pleasantries as she picked Steve up, regarding him with what could only be described as cool indifference. Steve tried not to think anything of it, but after only a few blocks of silence, he felt compelled to speak up. "You don't care for me, do you, Agent Bordeaux?" Though phrased as a question, it was spoken as fact. Steve looked across the backseat at Bordeaux, his features placid.
The statement made Agent Bordeaux visibly uncomfortable. She straightened in her seat, keeping her eyes fixed out the SUV window as she had been for the past few minutes. "I don't know you," she admitted finally, the words coming across as a struggle. When Steve gave her space to elaborate, she eventually offered, "All I know is that you walked away. Your country needed you, and you chose to remain idle. That, I'll never understand." At that last part, she hazarded a low glance from the corner of her eye before returning her gaze to the passing facades.
Steve nodded. Certainly, he held no ill will towards the girl. Once, it had mattered greatly what people thought of him, but that -- like so many other things -- he had long since outgrown. Thinking a moment, he asked, "How long have you been with SHIELD now, Agent?"
The question caught her off-guard. This time, Agent Bordeaux turned her head all the way around to face him. With shifting brown eyes, she answered forcefully, as though answering some unspoken challenge, "It'll be six years come this October."
Steve smiled distantly. "Well, then," he said, "give it another seventy years or so."
By then, the car had reached the river, and the Triskelion came into view. Even Steve had to admit to being impressed by it. The last time he had been in Washington, SHIELD's sleek headquarters was still under construction. Now, it bustled with so much activity that it made the Pentagon look like a dog park. Steve watched as Quinjets swapped places on the runway, landing and taking off with those wing-mounted repulsorlift engines that looked like something out of one of those sci-fi comics he might've read when he was a kid. For someone who had witnessed the advancements of the better part of a century, change was nothing new to Steve; yet it seemed to him like the world had taken a quantum leap forward in the last handful of years. At last, he was starting to feel his age: an old dog with a lot of new tricks to learn.
If Steve had felt slighted about being picked up by the Director's second hand, he wouldn't have had to stew about it for long. Director Fury was already standing there waiting for the car when they arrived. Between the two of them, Steve knew that Agent Bordeaux was the more relieved to see him. Steve climbed out of the SUV, his duffel still slung over a shoulder. (The Director hadn't been entirely clear on what Steve might need, so he brought his essentials.) Bordeaux wasted no time asking to be dismissed, and Fury granted her exit. His attention, at last, was focused entirely on Captain Rogers. "Forgive me for not being there this morning. You know how it can be," he mused.
Steve waved him off. "It's no problem. I was just getting to know your agent," he explained.
"She can be a hardass, but her heart's in the right place," Fury said as he began to walk. He led Steve inside. Almost everyone they passed stopped to look at them, though whether they were looking at their Director or the barrel-chested, bearded man beside him, Steve couldn't say. If they only knew they were in the presence of a living legend... Steve knew the secret wouldn't stay that way for long. "We've got a small crew, best of the best. I know you'll fit right in."
Right. Fury's "team." Even after sleeping on it, Steve didn't know what to think. It had been so long since he had been out in the field, much less working with a team. He didn't know if that would be a help or a hindrance. He would find out soon enough, he supposed, as Fury brought him to an elevator. Or, at least, it seemed like an elevator, though no elevator that Steve had ever used had required a handprint scanner just to get the door open. When Steve followed the Director inside, he was greeted by a red light and a very unpleasant ding-ing; a synthesized voice reported unauthorized access, prompting Fury to announce, "Director override: Fury, Nicholas J." With the light and the alarm stopped, the elevator closed and began its descent. Fury turned and said, "Sorry about that. We'll get your biometrics into the system as soon as possible."
After a smooth and swift descent, the elevator came to a stop at a sub-basement. Expecting something out of a government black site -- concrete walls, industrial lighting, the whole nine yards -- Steve was instead surprised when the doors opened to more sleek, almost futuristic hallways like the ones above. The only real sign that they were in a government facility was the harshness of the overhead LED lights. Steve followed Fury down the hall, perking his ears up as he heard grunting and voices echoing around the bend. After a moment, they came upon the door to a training room. "You ready?" Fury asked, as much formality as anything else. He pushed open the door and motioned for Steve to step inside.
Doing so, Captain Rogers was greeted by a state-of-the-art facility with more training equipment than he could ever ask for. There were free weights, benches, treadmills, and all manner of exercise machines; at the back, there was even a small boxing ring. Steve let his bag slide from his shoulder and land on the padded floor. As he finished taking in the room, he turned his attention to the men and women occupying the room: his teammates.
Seated before them with her legs crossed and a sword drawn across her lap was a young Japanese woman. Upon hearing them enter, she broke from her meditation and looked up at them with gentle eyes. Carefully returning her weapon to an elaborately detailed sheath, she hopped to her bare feet and stood at attention as Director Fury announced, "Captain Rogers, may I present Tatsu Yamashiro. Infiltration expert." Ms. Yamashiro bent at the waist and regarded Steve with a bow; he answered with an incline of his head. Before there could be another exchange, a figure approached, and Fury said, "And this is--"
"Sam Wilson, 58th Pararescue," the man interjected gregariously. He flashed Steve a wide smile and held out a hand. The front of his Air Force t-shirt was drenched with sweat. As he shook Captain Rogers hand, Wilson said, "I'm a big fan. Of course, I thought those old stories were... well, stories." He laughed. "I guess I owe my grandpops an apology. When he told me he once fought alongside you, I thought he was just pulling my leg."
Steve couldn't help but smile. Sam's enthusiasm was infectious. "When did he serve?"
"The Big One," Sam answered, "101st Airborne Division. He used to tell me all about dropping down on Normandy with Captain America."
"Well, I didn't drop with the 101st, so he might've been embellishing after all," Steve shrugged. He explained, "I helped secure Omaha Beach. Dropped in two nights prior and flanked the German line on the morning of the 6th."
Wilson hooted. "Well, either way, it'll be an honor to serve with you, Captain." He clapped Steve once on the shoulder before wandering off to find a dry towel.
Once Sam was well out of earshot, a bemused Fury said, "Wilson can be a lot to handle, but he's the best flyer SHIELD's got. He'll cover reconnaissance and aerial support in the field." The Director nodded over in the direction of the boxing equipment. "Let's introduce you to Barton." Evidently, Fury was referring to the blonde-haired man working over a punching bag in the corner of the room. If the man heard their earlier entry, he gave no indication. He simply continued on with his workout unperturbed. Finally, the Director had to speak up to get this Barton's attention. "Captain Rogers, meet SHIELD's top marksman: Clint Barton."
Barton delivered one last left hook, then took a step back from the bag and caught his breath. After a moment, he finally turned to consider Steve. "Hm," was all he said at first as he picked up a sports bottle and squeezed out a quick drink of water. Then, he finally elaborated, "With the way Sam's been talking all morning, I was expecting something... different." Barton shrugged. "You seem like you can handle yourself, though. Good to have you aboard."
Steve accepted Barton's outstretched hand, but there was something behind Clint's eyes that he couldn't quite place; jealousy, resentment? He couldn't think of a reason why there might be friction already, but Steve got the distinct feeling that Barton wasn't nearly as excited to have a new teammate as Wilson was. Still, he decided to chalk it up to unfamiliarity and let it slide. "Glad you can have me," Steve answered. Somewhere behind him, there was the sound of a door opening.
"Did I miss the introductions?" came a new voice... though not an entirely unfamiliar one.
Steve turned to see her. It was amazing: despite how long it had been, she looked exactly as he remembered her.
Before I dive into my awards -- God, am I the last one to hand 'em out? How fitting... -- I'd like to take a minute and adopt that patented award season false humility to express my deepest gratitude for all those who nominated me. I've been way more productive in my head than on the page, but I'm glad to see that my light contribution has at least been an impactful one (if in concept as much as execution). In any event, the kind words bring this old roleplayer's heart joy, and I hope to bring you all more of what you seem to like -- and with greater frequency.
Ask me how much I knew or cared about Constantine before Byrd's run; now ask me how much I care after. Seriously, I don't know why it never occurred to me that Byrd Man + hard-boiled detective + magic would equal roleplaying gold, but it's occurred to me now, and I can't stop reading every installment feverishly like a junkie looking for his next fix. And that's really all I've got to say about that. I'd try to go into more detail, but I suspect Byrd would appreciate a more economical response, anyway.
In what will become a running theme of these awards in having to pick between favorites, I'll have to give the nod to Morden for just how outside the box he got with this one. We all thought we were clever reinventing the wheel in this dimension, but Morden's over here playing 5D chess and smoking us all by creating a Hype/RPGuild Cinematic Universe. It also feels like perhaps a not-so-subtle commentary on how we keep abandoning these games, thus allowing the Darkseids and Thanoses of those worlds to run amok in our absence, but that's neither here nor there... I have no idea how Morden will reconcile the FF having a responsibility to save their own timeline while also feeling obligated to protect this one, but I very much look forward to finding out.
I mean, yeah, I think everyone else got it on the nose. When you're talking about character development so far, how can you not talk about Wraith's Thor run? It's the "started from the bottom, now we here" of UOU so far. I thought the overall concept of reincarnating Norse gods had a lot of juicy potential; I just wasn't expecting to have that juice running all over my chin and fingers so quickly. (And yes, I made that deliberately sexual because we're talking about Lord Wraith here.)
Remember that bit I did earlier about Constantine? Okay, copy and paste that same thing, but with Toyman. Seriously, Toyman? Who makes Toyman interesting? Andy motherfuckin' C, that's who. It's been said before, but it bears repeating: the guy has a better knowledge and feel for the character(s) of Superman than people who have been paid money to write Superman. I love his Perry, I love his Lois, I even love wacky millennial Jimmy Olson with his drone camera. It was pretty much the perfect introduction to Superman, but c'mon... did we expect anything less?
In a sea of excellent choices for this category, I decided to pick something perhaps a bit unconventional. This, to me, is the essence of great roleplaying -- hell, great storytelling in general. It's no secret that I have an affinity for Webheads of all creeds, colors, and genders, and this post by Henry reads like the best of a Bendis Ultimate Spider-Man issue or a great episode of Spectacular Spider-Man. It has colorful villains -- fuck yeah, the Enforcers -- a Spider-hero who's already a little worse for the wear, great action, inner turmoil, and teenage romance all balled into one neat, little package. I'm a sucker for posts that blend the heroics with small character moments, so the scene between Gwen and Peter all but sealed the deal on this one.
I mean, really, fuck... this could have been any of the mod team, or any of you crazy knuckleheads who keep this OOC all but impossible to keep up with. (And you all find the time to post? Like, often? Goddamn.) But there's a captain at the helm of this ship, and he's done a damn fine job if I do say so myself. He even yelled at us, guys! Not to mention that I've never seen MB post this frequently, which really shows how much passion is going into this project. I'll say no more for fear of inflating the cowl-wearing head of his, but yeah... MB takes this one in a walk.
Maybe not the best example to use when you're appealing for peace.
"Si vis pacem, para bellum." Latin. Boot camp sergeant made us recite it like a prayer. "Si vis pacem, para bellum." If you want peace, prepare for war.
nitemare shape,
Sep,
Fetzen,
Morden Man
