DVD Comments: The Months That Come and Go
For Shadowmage, commentary to The Months that Come and Go. At least, I think this is the one she wanted. I'm not sure.
Author: Stephanie (Gildedmuse)
Series: Move Along
Chapter: The Months That Come And Go
Characters: Angel(/Collins), Mark
Rating: PG-13 for language and themes
Summary: A series of shorts reflecting how the other bohemians see the filmmaker. In her hospital bed, Angel wants more time than she got to be with her friends. She needs Mark to help fill in all those months.
Move Along
The Months That Come And Go
(Hey, this is Stephanie with the DVD commentary for The Months that Come and Go, the series that isn't really a series. That's how all commentary starts, right? Good, then we're off to a good start.
I guess I should start with a bit of an explanation. This is for Fanfic100 with Mark, and what I was trying to do is to explore Mark from the perspective of other characters. What actually happened is it turned into more of an exploration of Angel, which works just as well. I don't get to write Angel's character very much. Yes, most of the commentary will be this wordy.)
It’s really unfair.
(God, yes it is. You tell it, Angel)
Angel knows she can play whatever role she needs. She played a guy for fifteen years until she got sick of acting, but she can still manage it when she has to. She knows the character she should be playing now. She should be a good girl. She should be strong and hopeful, just like she is always pretending to be for everyone else. A beautiful, peaceful, wilting flower, that is what they expect her to be and what she wants to be for them. But, when it comes down to it, it’s really unfair that she is stuck with this part.
(The flower comparison stems from my friend's art teacher, who does pictures of flowers (wilting and not) in HIV positive and negative blood. You read that right. So I used it thinking of those drawings, but then when it actually went onto paper I realized how cliche it sounded.)
“Mark…” She feels Mark’s hand tighten around her own, small and weak and almost slipping out of his when he relaxes his grip again. She isn’t even aware, really, that she is calling for him until he squeezes her fingers in his, and she can feel his heart beat in his hand. “Mark?”
(Come to think of it, Mark's hand is probably smaller than hers. Let's face it, when Joanne, Maureen, and Mark needed to hoist the smallest person up the wall, they choice Mark. Very manly.)
“Don’t worry.” Slowly, she opens her eyes and it hurts anyway despite how careful she is as the light pours into her vision.
(I have an obsession with people's minds and light pouring into them. Probably it appears more in my unposted writings, but I will bet that at least half my fanfiction has something about people opening their eyes and the light burning at their brains. I hate mornings.)
She sees him, but he’s blurred at the edges, just the shape and colors of Mark but nothing more.
(I am not sure what the colors of Mark are. Presumptively very pale.)
She blinks, trying to make him clear and still all she gets is a distorted Mark, not the real thing. “Collins will be back,” he says, and she can hear his voice but she wants to see him. She wants to climb out of this bed and put on a dress and go dancing. She wants to steal away to the mall and sling fake fur around her neck and pretend with Mimi to be rich for the day, trotting around to all the stores and fitting themselves with shoes and jewelry they can’t afford. All those things she will miss out on, things that make her want to scream and cry because even if you forget all the regrets in your live, it doesn’t mean you won’t miss these things terribly.
(I feel that when I half ass write Angel, which I do most of the time writing her since she's there for like, three seconds or only mentioned by the characters in passing, she tends to be very... Angelic. Far too much so, and so this big paragraph is my attempt at grabbing onto her characters more playfully, material side. And I'll bet you all thought it was supposed to make you feel closer to her, too, huh?)
“Joanne took him home to get some sleep.” Mark keeps talking, his voice small and with false comfort that makes the pain beating at Angel even worse. Like it does, when your friends know it is hopeless but are forcing their spirits up anyway. They’re all playing characters like that, Angel supposed, but it only makes her feel worse about her own role. “But he’ll be back soon,” Mark explains, and he puts on this smile as he speaks. It’s the weakest smile Angel has ever seen.
(Apparently her vision has cleared up. DO NOT ASK QUESTIONS.)
“Mark,” she whispers again, and again he squeezes her hand. And he keeps that smile on, nervous and terrible. Angel has only known Mark for a few months now, but…
But…
It’s really unfair.
“Mark, honey…” She doesn’t recognize her own voice. All the valley girl, the squeal and the excitement, it has all fallen away somehow. It’s rough around all the edges now, so unused and so beat down that when she hears herself she isn’t sure she is the one speaking at all.
He must hear her, though, and he must hear the same voice that she does because that smile, as horrible as it is, slips away. “Yeah?” And he is the one that sounds uncertain of his own voice. She can’t remember ever hearing him so tense, except for maybe that time when Maureen came to cry on his shoulder over losing Joanne. Maureen, playing the part of a strong and confident lead, who needs other people and reassurance and love, clinging to Mark so desperately. Angel remembers glancing over at them and seeing how much it ached for him to hold her and tell her that Joanne still loved her. “Do… Do you need someone? Should I get a doctor?”
(I feel the need to bring up Mark and Maureen's relationship a lot, because it is possibly the best heterosexual relationship in the play as far as realness goes. In fairness, my other choice is druggie girl breaking into the apartment and mouth raping emo boy.)
Angel needs time. She’s too young and she just found them. Collins and the way he can lift her mood no matter how bad things are getting, Roger and Mimi with their nervous steps towards each other, Maureen and Joanne trying to find the happy middle ground, and Mark with his smile that looks like he’s tearing himself up inside. When he’s comforting the girl he still loves to send her back to his girlfriend. When he sees Mimi with a needle and can’t find a way to tell his best friend. And now, when he’s holding the hand of a girl to young to die. Angel wonders what part Mark plays. He wears that look far too often.
(This paragraph proves that it is, at least in some ways, about Mark. So that I can mentally qualify it.)
“No, baby.” Angel shakes her head, or tries to but everything hurts so much. Every joint aches and every muscles is strained just lying here, dying in a hospital bed that is sterile and colorless.
(I sort of wish I knew Spanish terms of endearment, because Angel would so say them. As is, Mark gets baby.)
The exact opposite of her. This isn’t where she wants to be when she dies. She doesn’t want to die at all. She still has so much she has to see and learn and love about these people. She deserves more than a few months. She wants more than a few lifetimes. But this is what she gets, slipping away, holding the hand of a broken young cameraman who is like her. Much too happy, much to hopeful to find himself here. “I just want to talk.”
“Oh.” It looks like Mark would prefer she needed a doctor. She knows he hates it here, and she doesn’t fault him for that.
(I hate those two sentences and I want them to die.)
It isn’t that he hates her, but that he just can’t deal with watching her die. Watching her must be like watching Collins and Mimi and Roger all at the same time. She wonders if she could do it, be strong if they got sick first. She might be able to pretend, but honestly, she isn’t sure she could. “Are… Do you want-”
“No.” This time it is Angel who squeezes Mark’s hand. It’s so light she isn’t sure he feels it and it takes more out of her than three nights drumming ever did. “I just want you to talk to me,” she explains in that broken voice, watching Mark hover over her bed, stroking her hand. It must hurt, not to have his camera right now to protect him. The same way that having Collins protects Angel. “About before I met you.”
“About Collins?” He asks, and she can see a small smile tugging at his lips before the whole situation sets back in with him. She’s sure he must have quite the stories to tell about her anarchist.
(Most of them involving full front nudity. That is the kind of teacher Collins is, bitch.)
She shakes her head again, and this time manages the slightest of movement. “Just about you, honey,” she whispers, her voice softer than the beep of the machines beside her. She should probably be thankful for that beep, but honestly she wants to tear out all the plugs and throw these white sheets away and walk right out of here. “I want to hear about you. Your first film, how you came here, about Roger and Maureen. Anything you can think of. You’re the story teller after all,” she adds with a small smile.
(Similar to 'Don't Say It', Angel (like Mark) reflects that the saddest part about death is all the moments you lost out on already. That could be a thesis statement, right there.)
She wants to hear all those months that she hadn’t known then, all the months she didn’t get to love them. At least it will make her time with them seem stretched out, like she has just a few more months with them than she really got. And Mark smiles, a little more confident this time, like her understand. “Do you know?” He asks, “What it’s like to learn to tango with an erection?”
(Hehe. Mark said erection.)
And Angel gets to laugh and live for a while longer.
Author: Stephanie (Gildedmuse)
Series: Move Along
Chapter: The Months That Come And Go
Characters: Angel(/Collins), Mark
Rating: PG-13 for language and themes
Summary: A series of shorts reflecting how the other bohemians see the filmmaker. In her hospital bed, Angel wants more time than she got to be with her friends. She needs Mark to help fill in all those months.
Move Along
The Months That Come And Go
(Hey, this is Stephanie with the DVD commentary for The Months that Come and Go, the series that isn't really a series. That's how all commentary starts, right? Good, then we're off to a good start.
I guess I should start with a bit of an explanation. This is for Fanfic100 with Mark, and what I was trying to do is to explore Mark from the perspective of other characters. What actually happened is it turned into more of an exploration of Angel, which works just as well. I don't get to write Angel's character very much. Yes, most of the commentary will be this wordy.)
It’s really unfair.
(God, yes it is. You tell it, Angel)
Angel knows she can play whatever role she needs. She played a guy for fifteen years until she got sick of acting, but she can still manage it when she has to. She knows the character she should be playing now. She should be a good girl. She should be strong and hopeful, just like she is always pretending to be for everyone else. A beautiful, peaceful, wilting flower, that is what they expect her to be and what she wants to be for them. But, when it comes down to it, it’s really unfair that she is stuck with this part.
(The flower comparison stems from my friend's art teacher, who does pictures of flowers (wilting and not) in HIV positive and negative blood. You read that right. So I used it thinking of those drawings, but then when it actually went onto paper I realized how cliche it sounded.)
“Mark…” She feels Mark’s hand tighten around her own, small and weak and almost slipping out of his when he relaxes his grip again. She isn’t even aware, really, that she is calling for him until he squeezes her fingers in his, and she can feel his heart beat in his hand. “Mark?”
(Come to think of it, Mark's hand is probably smaller than hers. Let's face it, when Joanne, Maureen, and Mark needed to hoist the smallest person up the wall, they choice Mark. Very manly.)
“Don’t worry.” Slowly, she opens her eyes and it hurts anyway despite how careful she is as the light pours into her vision.
(I have an obsession with people's minds and light pouring into them. Probably it appears more in my unposted writings, but I will bet that at least half my fanfiction has something about people opening their eyes and the light burning at their brains. I hate mornings.)
She sees him, but he’s blurred at the edges, just the shape and colors of Mark but nothing more.
(I am not sure what the colors of Mark are. Presumptively very pale.)
She blinks, trying to make him clear and still all she gets is a distorted Mark, not the real thing. “Collins will be back,” he says, and she can hear his voice but she wants to see him. She wants to climb out of this bed and put on a dress and go dancing. She wants to steal away to the mall and sling fake fur around her neck and pretend with Mimi to be rich for the day, trotting around to all the stores and fitting themselves with shoes and jewelry they can’t afford. All those things she will miss out on, things that make her want to scream and cry because even if you forget all the regrets in your live, it doesn’t mean you won’t miss these things terribly.
(I feel that when I half ass write Angel, which I do most of the time writing her since she's there for like, three seconds or only mentioned by the characters in passing, she tends to be very... Angelic. Far too much so, and so this big paragraph is my attempt at grabbing onto her characters more playfully, material side. And I'll bet you all thought it was supposed to make you feel closer to her, too, huh?)
“Joanne took him home to get some sleep.” Mark keeps talking, his voice small and with false comfort that makes the pain beating at Angel even worse. Like it does, when your friends know it is hopeless but are forcing their spirits up anyway. They’re all playing characters like that, Angel supposed, but it only makes her feel worse about her own role. “But he’ll be back soon,” Mark explains, and he puts on this smile as he speaks. It’s the weakest smile Angel has ever seen.
(Apparently her vision has cleared up. DO NOT ASK QUESTIONS.)
“Mark,” she whispers again, and again he squeezes her hand. And he keeps that smile on, nervous and terrible. Angel has only known Mark for a few months now, but…
But…
It’s really unfair.
“Mark, honey…” She doesn’t recognize her own voice. All the valley girl, the squeal and the excitement, it has all fallen away somehow. It’s rough around all the edges now, so unused and so beat down that when she hears herself she isn’t sure she is the one speaking at all.
He must hear her, though, and he must hear the same voice that she does because that smile, as horrible as it is, slips away. “Yeah?” And he is the one that sounds uncertain of his own voice. She can’t remember ever hearing him so tense, except for maybe that time when Maureen came to cry on his shoulder over losing Joanne. Maureen, playing the part of a strong and confident lead, who needs other people and reassurance and love, clinging to Mark so desperately. Angel remembers glancing over at them and seeing how much it ached for him to hold her and tell her that Joanne still loved her. “Do… Do you need someone? Should I get a doctor?”
(I feel the need to bring up Mark and Maureen's relationship a lot, because it is possibly the best heterosexual relationship in the play as far as realness goes. In fairness, my other choice is druggie girl breaking into the apartment and mouth raping emo boy.)
Angel needs time. She’s too young and she just found them. Collins and the way he can lift her mood no matter how bad things are getting, Roger and Mimi with their nervous steps towards each other, Maureen and Joanne trying to find the happy middle ground, and Mark with his smile that looks like he’s tearing himself up inside. When he’s comforting the girl he still loves to send her back to his girlfriend. When he sees Mimi with a needle and can’t find a way to tell his best friend. And now, when he’s holding the hand of a girl to young to die. Angel wonders what part Mark plays. He wears that look far too often.
(This paragraph proves that it is, at least in some ways, about Mark. So that I can mentally qualify it.)
“No, baby.” Angel shakes her head, or tries to but everything hurts so much. Every joint aches and every muscles is strained just lying here, dying in a hospital bed that is sterile and colorless.
(I sort of wish I knew Spanish terms of endearment, because Angel would so say them. As is, Mark gets baby.)
The exact opposite of her. This isn’t where she wants to be when she dies. She doesn’t want to die at all. She still has so much she has to see and learn and love about these people. She deserves more than a few months. She wants more than a few lifetimes. But this is what she gets, slipping away, holding the hand of a broken young cameraman who is like her. Much too happy, much to hopeful to find himself here. “I just want to talk.”
“Oh.” It looks like Mark would prefer she needed a doctor. She knows he hates it here, and she doesn’t fault him for that.
(I hate those two sentences and I want them to die.)
It isn’t that he hates her, but that he just can’t deal with watching her die. Watching her must be like watching Collins and Mimi and Roger all at the same time. She wonders if she could do it, be strong if they got sick first. She might be able to pretend, but honestly, she isn’t sure she could. “Are… Do you want-”
“No.” This time it is Angel who squeezes Mark’s hand. It’s so light she isn’t sure he feels it and it takes more out of her than three nights drumming ever did. “I just want you to talk to me,” she explains in that broken voice, watching Mark hover over her bed, stroking her hand. It must hurt, not to have his camera right now to protect him. The same way that having Collins protects Angel. “About before I met you.”
“About Collins?” He asks, and she can see a small smile tugging at his lips before the whole situation sets back in with him. She’s sure he must have quite the stories to tell about her anarchist.
(Most of them involving full front nudity. That is the kind of teacher Collins is, bitch.)
She shakes her head again, and this time manages the slightest of movement. “Just about you, honey,” she whispers, her voice softer than the beep of the machines beside her. She should probably be thankful for that beep, but honestly she wants to tear out all the plugs and throw these white sheets away and walk right out of here. “I want to hear about you. Your first film, how you came here, about Roger and Maureen. Anything you can think of. You’re the story teller after all,” she adds with a small smile.
(Similar to 'Don't Say It', Angel (like Mark) reflects that the saddest part about death is all the moments you lost out on already. That could be a thesis statement, right there.)
She wants to hear all those months that she hadn’t known then, all the months she didn’t get to love them. At least it will make her time with them seem stretched out, like she has just a few more months with them than she really got. And Mark smiles, a little more confident this time, like her understand. “Do you know?” He asks, “What it’s like to learn to tango with an erection?”
(Hehe. Mark said erection.)
And Angel gets to laugh and live for a while longer.