fufaraw

In the interest of being able to find it again, I'm moving this here, from a comm discussing how Mary isn't being written.

She couldn't see resemblance in this tall person before her to anyone in her family, or John's, that she remembered. John's dimples, of course, a hint of the cleft in her own jaw, the long arm and leg bones they shared. But he was a stranger, and no matter how mild and meek he tried to seem, an air of danger radiated off him. On the street, her instinct would have been to avoid him.

But, even though her heart found no connection, her brain acknowledged this was her son, the infant she'd held in her arms mere days, weeks ago. And she could read on that face a lifetime of pain and effort and sacrifice--John's journal had informed her of some of it. Castiel had shared even more--things she couldn't bear to think of happening to that baby boy.

It hurt to look at him and know she hadn't been there to protect him, not only from the bad things most folks don't know about, but from the ordinary hurts of life, and yes, even the implacable standards and strictures his father had forced him to live by.

She could feel the residue of all that pain and hardship, but what was worse was that he seemed to have accepted it, to carry all of it with a weary air of having earned it, deserved it. And that hurt worst of all. It scared her to face her failure to have done the least thing to protect her child, in fact to have been the agent who brought it all on him. A weight of guilt so enormous she couldn't stand being in the room with it, or with him, or with her other son, who had suffered equally, and at her hands.

But in those scarce moments when she was able to step away from that burden of guilt, and to lay aside her mourning for the young family she had lost, she could look at Sam and see someone robbed, not only of childhood, but of being treasured, his accomplishments delighted in, of a supporting parent, of a mother's love. And in those moments, she acknowledged their kinship, and made the first tentative effort to reach out to him.

...as I said, wishful thinking.

While I try to find my articulate about the ep itself,( just let me say that )

Also, we have snow on the ground this morning. I should get pictures of the garden Buddha, serene with snow on his shoulders. Here he is.

( NSM with the spoilers, actually )

In other news, the last time I cut my hair I went from mid-back to about two inches in length overall. It's at mid-back again, and I'm looking kind of longingly at the hair shears. I can do blunt chin length myself, and probably will sometime this week. But I really want it layered, choppy, and messy. I'm gonna need some help with that. Wish me a stylist who listens.

Let me just say this, I love Julian Richings beyond measure. Also, while watching the "Sammy, close your eyes" scene, I felt something tickling my face and reached up to brush it away. My fingertips came away wet. This was the first episode all season that managed to evoke visceral emotion from me. It's been long, tedious, and frustrating, but that scene was a payoff, of sorts. It doesn't balance the scale, but you know, I'll take it.

In other news, if you haven't seen The Supernatural Parody go now, right now, and watch it! Why are you still here?

In other, other news, the BB grows, apace. Um, though not Shakespearean-ly, for all the use of the word apace.

ETA: Oh, and shoot me now (or, well, don't, because I kind of like it), I've had Wagon Wheel on replay in my head for *days*.

I...liked it.

It may not have been good television, there may have been a lack of tension. I did notice that Kate got a long monologue, mostly coverage of her with a couple of reaction shots of Dean, maybe one of Sam. The camera lingered, and didn't rush away and on to the next scene. That's unusual for today's tv. We've been watching older series, like X Files, and it's noticeable how many fractions of a second longer the camera lingers on an establishing shot, or a reaction as a character absorbs news, processes information. Teen Wolf is especially bad at go-go-go, no lingering, no padding at all on the dialog or action, barely time for reaction and even then we're fading into the next scene.

But I did notice the slower pace of Paper Moon, and while some interpret it as not having enough script to keep the camera moving, I found it...restful. The green cooler (!! my old friend!) scene at the shore was actually restful. I did detect underlying tension, but it was low-level, and really, I'm ready for some low-level tension and relaxation. It makes sense to me that these guys are abraded and worn on all their surfaces. Their mental and emotional nerve endings have been assaulted and frayed, they've been in flight or fight so long--this is the backlash. This is the comedown. The breather, the drifting, minimal reaction period where maybe they can recover and recoup, a little. Where every word isn't a challenge--or if it is, they're too tired, too over-reactioned out to jump. Talking is good. And listening is possible.

I could be proven wrong in subsequent eps, but what I saw was thoughtful exchange of opinion, reaction, and individually reached conclusions in this ep. And definitely a chance of healing, and finding more steady common ground.

I can live in hope, at least.

How fitting that the eighth anniversary of the airing of The Woman in White falls on a Friday the 13th. The pilot episode of a little show on a little network, Eric Kripke's concept of blue-collar brothers in a hunk of Detroit steel traveling America's two-lane highways, practicing the family business, Supernatural was a collection of B-movie tropes and images. What elevated it above a half-season wonder was the incredible chemistry of the two young male leads, the vision of the creator filtered through a crew used to working on SF shows, many of them veterans of X-Files, the Stargates, Jeremiah, Dark Angel, and other outsider visions of America. The gestalt clicked into place when Kim Manners, veteran director of X-Files and an "actors' director" brought his unique vision on board.

Riding the precarious crest of fan-investment, SPN squeaked through every year's renewal season by the skin of its teeth, until Kripke's five-year vision was realized and he stepped away for other projects, leaving his show in the hands of devoted others.

Through it all, Supernatural has generated thousands of words of meta, fic, and vids, friendships and animosities, factions favoring one character over others, one pairing over others, speculation on future storylines, and frustration with the show's direction.

Personally, I switched channels that first night; horror has never been my thing. It wasn't until a few weeks later that I was bored and surfing for something to watch and landed on Dean playing with Lucas' army men, and caught the idea that maybe this wasn't just about scaring the viewers, that these were interesting characters on a journey of a different kind, and decided to stick around for the ride.

The influence of Supernatural on my life has been immense: the fandom, the friends I've made, the opinions I've listened to, argued with, agreed with, changed my mind about, the vids I've devoured with grins and tears and laughter and astonishment, the meta I've wallowed in, and the avenues through meta, vids, and fic to more open ideas and concepts and discoveries.... it's been a wonderful ride.

I won't say I don't miss the energy of the first few seasons. I won't say I don't miss the youth and sharpness of the characters and the hungry actors. I won't say I don't miss the concepts, ideas, and permutations the show brought to the table. And I won't say that the angels and demons storylines have been my favorite developments. But the show still brings me joy. Still makes me think, prods my emotions, and sparks discussion.

Show--my show, my little show that could. You still can, and do, and I still love you despite your flaws.

Happy Anniversary!