we're paratroopers, leutenant. we're supposed to be surrounded.
This is one of the entries that I don’t really know how to start off, but I’m going to try anyway. This is mostly because a) I always feel weirdly awkward starting entries and b) I’m going to be trying to talk (somewhat) coherently about Band Of Brothers and what it’s done to my brain/mind/heart/soul/every fibre of my being. There’s a big part of me that’s really wishing that someone else were writing this entry for me, someone that’s less of the fail when putting words to emotions and creating images. But alas, I will just have to do my best.
Okay so, disclaimer time. I can’t really be held responsible for my actions in relation to this series, because this shit so just so perfect for me that it’s ridiculous. Ree-dick-you-luss. I grew up in family where my Granddad was in the army (not early enough to be in WW2 but, yeah, he was based in Singapore/Malaysia for the most part… I’m not sure what he was doing though, one day I’ll find out properly) and my Dad is kind of scarily obsessed with anything to do with military (he like, collects medals and has a bajillion books and watched everything on the Discovery Channel). So, you see my mind was poiiiisoned and indoctrinated before I had a chance in life, really. Thus little thing, affectionately referred to in history as World War Nombre Deux, is probably my favourite thing ever (unfortunate use of positive language but hopefully you all ~catch my drift~ there), war movies are something that I eat up with a spoon… and this was one big, epically epic war movie that was 10+ hours long. Question: How exactly am I supposed to deal with that shizz and not loose all semblance of my sanity? Answer: I did not. My brain promptly went on some bizarre meltdown over this series and I can’t shake it. All I want to do is talk about it, and talk about it and talk about it some more. To everyone that is even only willing to half listen. So, that’s what I’m going to do right now, and in the words of The Joker, “Here. We. Go.”
The most logical first step in this probably stupidly long and word vomit filled ramble would be to talk about the characters. Okay, easy: I love every single of one them with an all consuming boundless joy that makes me want to run down my street in my pyjamas giggling into my hands. Each and every one of them have this amazing ability to weedle their way under you skin and dig deep into your bones. So deep them you can feel said bones vibrating with all this new energy. I think that maybe Nixon (Oh Nixon, you wonderful, wonderful drunken fuck-up, let me hug you) is my favourite? But then I want to run and hug Lipton, Doc Roe, Speirs, Luz, Winters, Johnny Martin and Malarky and tell them that I’m very sorry and they know I love them best. Ha, and then I remember Perconte and and Bull Randleman and Leibgott and Buck Compton and Webbbb and Gaurnere and Toye and everybody else. It’s really, really confusing, but really, really miraculous. Quite a large part of me is seriously tempted to do a run-down of them all (no really, I mean all of them) and capslock at great length as to why each of them has their own little room in my heart. So! Tempted! But I think I’ll put that on hold. Or, knowing me, it’ll mostly likely happen in the comments numerous times to anyone that will listen. I just want to cling to these men and keep them all living inside my brain forever and ever amen. With television (exception of Firefly), I usually am able to point at a character and go, “There! They are my favourite!” I can’t with this one. It keeps ch-ch-changing with every second one of them is onscreen. To me, that is one of the crucial criteria in separating a Good Show from a Great Show.
On the same note as the “characters” topic: the ending, when a Winters voice over tells you what happened to each one of them after the war was over, made my heart soarrrr in so many ways. That entire scene, oh man oh man oh man. The white t-shirts, the sunlight, the smiling… I couldn’t breathe sobbing so hard but I think they were mostly happy tears? I think they were. (Side bar: The way Winters said “George Luz” made me insides melt into goo. Now every time I read his name, I read it like that. Oh Luz, I love you and your face so much.)
It’s not just the individual characters though; it’s the way they interact with each other. It makes me feel like there are odd little internal combustions going on inside of my ribcage. The title “Band Of Brothers” (Oh hai Shakespeare) says all you need to know really, doesn’t it? This is what sets it so far apart from most other war-related movies/tv shows I’ve seen. That was what kept making me do abnormal flappy motions with my hands and weep with joy or despair or you know, just because my heart felt too full to do anything else. Shit son, that stuff right there is pure fucking gold. Gold dust and magic. Words aren’t letting my express this like I want to (Oh, English language why must you fail me now?) but youguysyouguysyouguys, it is the exact brand of soul-destroying/devouring stuff that I yearn for when I watch a show. The kind that leaves you utterly blown apart and unable to feel anything else for days and weeks after it’s over.
But! There’s all this other stuff too! The awesome doesn’t end there! That’s not why Band Of Brother is so important. I am emerald green with envy over the way that the writers handled such difficult issues (Why We Fight, I’m looking at you here). The subject of war in general is too huge to even properly think about. People died. A lot of people died. How do you tackle that without cheapening it? Without making it seem like you’re using these tragically awful events just to make money? Some war movies really don’t do well in this department but Band Of Brothers does. Instead of hiding from those issues, it seems to face them head on. People die. People get injured. People break. Lives are destroyed in so many ways. Sometimes the show was written in such a way that it was hard to watch, the pain was too… there (Bastonge is another particular example of this) but you sat through it any way because, oh God the quality is out of this universe. It feels like it’s saying, “Here, this is what happened. We’re showing it to you. It’s not pretty. It’s not nice. But it happened and everyone has to remember it. We have to remember it to stop it from happening again.” Ohohoh, the perfect example of this is Webster standing on the back of the jeep, yelling at the German POWs and he’s just yelling, “What are we doing here? What the fuck are we doing here?” OHMYLORD, THAT SENTENCE. I’ve never heard that issue put so poignantly before in my life. Because, really, that’s just it isn’t it? “What the fuck are we doing here?”
And the directing! How is it so beautiful? Gah. Ha, I fail at talking about directing skills other than saying, “Oh wow! So pretty!” so it’s probably better that I leave that point as it is there but I will mention the digital editing with the colours is fan-fucking-tastic.
It’s so disorienting to me, I’ve gone from putting off watching it for years (for reasons that seem to have slipped my memory right now) and now it has just come to mean so much to me. It’s one of those shows that you finish watching and just sit there thinking, “Okay so, my life is different now? Okay.” It is pretty much a perfect example of one of those shows. A show that sticks it’s hand inside your chest, rummages around, grips around your heart so hard that it stops beating, and rips it out in one clean, brutally painful motion. A show that makes your fingertips ache with the sheer awesomeness.
This is one of those times where I wish I had photoshop skillage (or ha, photoshop at all) because I feel that’s what this post needs to make it prettier and less word-y and this was a very sexy war. But alas, that is not to be. I can, howeverrr, push you all to go and marvel at croakvegas’s massively epic picspams of different characters and why they are inspire feeling of never-ending love in everyone right heeeeeyah.
Annnnnnd because I can hardly think of anything else at this period in time, I have to ~dedicate~ a little part of my rambling to something I like to call: How Richard Winters And Lewis Nixon Set My Heart On Fiyah And Make Me Cry Into My Pillow In Pure Delight Numerous Times. I know that in the fandom they are seen largely as The Obvious Ship and you know what? It’s true. (Side bar: I usually don’t go for the “obvious” ones but this time I was rendered completely helpless by them.) Their story! It’s almost as if someone wrote it and handed it to me, wrapped with a bow and shiny paper and everything, and said, “Here Laura, here’s a gift for you.” Here are two guys going through all of that being bff, standing as one unit through everything, holding each other up, holding each other together and after the war, continuing to work with each other. They will follow each other gladly to the Ends Of The Earth and damn it that right there doesn’t push alllll of my buttons. IDK, I JUST LOVE THEM and I want to write and thank you HBO for giving them to me. (Another side bar!: HBO also gave me Beecher/Keller. ILY HBO!) Basically, Winters/Nixon are sparkly and shiny and have war!angst (mmmm war!angst) and are undeniably pretty and you know what? I won’t talk about them any further; I’ll just point you towards their Ship Manifesto (I kind of hate those things most of the time but yeah, whatever) because when reading it I was just sat there going, “Yes. Yes! YES!” and it says everything I want to say only more eloquently and prettier.
I’m really proud of the fact that I’ve been able to refrain from abusing the poor little capslock myself for the entirety of this post (1900+ words!!! That’s way more than I can write for fic at the mo, oh the irony) because I just want to shaaare my ~thinky thoughts~ with you all without just straight up freaking out like I usually do when attempting to discuss this. Proud of mah selfff.
So basically, I’m telling you all to go (runnn kids, run) and watch this show. And if you already have, go and watch it again and come play with me in my swimming pool of undiluted, bubblegum scented glee. Because fuuuuck, I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH. ILOVEIT. I CANNOT EVEN. MY HEART. MY HEART. AND I MISS IT SO MUCH. SO MUCH ;___; (I have also just ordered the book and I am expecting it to be fabulous and for there to be more freaking out after I’ve read that. I just never want this to endddd.)
Men, it's been a long war, it's been a tough war. You've fought bravely, proudly for your country. You're a special group. You've found in one another a bond, that exists only in combat, among brothers. You've shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments. You've seen death and suffered together. I'm proud to have served with each and every one of you. You all deserve long and happy lives in peace.
SO IN CONCLUSION: I cannot confirm or deny this fact but there is a distinct possibility that I am currently writing Winters/Nixon fic. Oh, show. ♥
Okay so, disclaimer time. I can’t really be held responsible for my actions in relation to this series, because this shit so just so perfect for me that it’s ridiculous. Ree-dick-you-luss. I grew up in family where my Granddad was in the army (not early enough to be in WW2 but, yeah, he was based in Singapore/Malaysia for the most part… I’m not sure what he was doing though, one day I’ll find out properly) and my Dad is kind of scarily obsessed with anything to do with military (he like, collects medals and has a bajillion books and watched everything on the Discovery Channel). So, you see my mind was poiiiisoned and indoctrinated before I had a chance in life, really. Thus little thing, affectionately referred to in history as World War Nombre Deux, is probably my favourite thing ever (unfortunate use of positive language but hopefully you all ~catch my drift~ there), war movies are something that I eat up with a spoon… and this was one big, epically epic war movie that was 10+ hours long. Question: How exactly am I supposed to deal with that shizz and not loose all semblance of my sanity? Answer: I did not. My brain promptly went on some bizarre meltdown over this series and I can’t shake it. All I want to do is talk about it, and talk about it and talk about it some more. To everyone that is even only willing to half listen. So, that’s what I’m going to do right now, and in the words of The Joker, “Here. We. Go.”
The most logical first step in this probably stupidly long and word vomit filled ramble would be to talk about the characters. Okay, easy: I love every single of one them with an all consuming boundless joy that makes me want to run down my street in my pyjamas giggling into my hands. Each and every one of them have this amazing ability to weedle their way under you skin and dig deep into your bones. So deep them you can feel said bones vibrating with all this new energy. I think that maybe Nixon (Oh Nixon, you wonderful, wonderful drunken fuck-up, let me hug you) is my favourite? But then I want to run and hug Lipton, Doc Roe, Speirs, Luz, Winters, Johnny Martin and Malarky and tell them that I’m very sorry and they know I love them best. Ha, and then I remember Perconte and and Bull Randleman and Leibgott and Buck Compton and Webbbb and Gaurnere and Toye and everybody else. It’s really, really confusing, but really, really miraculous. Quite a large part of me is seriously tempted to do a run-down of them all (no really, I mean all of them) and capslock at great length as to why each of them has their own little room in my heart. So! Tempted! But I think I’ll put that on hold. Or, knowing me, it’ll mostly likely happen in the comments numerous times to anyone that will listen. I just want to cling to these men and keep them all living inside my brain forever and ever amen. With television (exception of Firefly), I usually am able to point at a character and go, “There! They are my favourite!” I can’t with this one. It keeps ch-ch-changing with every second one of them is onscreen. To me, that is one of the crucial criteria in separating a Good Show from a Great Show.
On the same note as the “characters” topic: the ending, when a Winters voice over tells you what happened to each one of them after the war was over, made my heart soarrrr in so many ways. That entire scene, oh man oh man oh man. The white t-shirts, the sunlight, the smiling… I couldn’t breathe sobbing so hard but I think they were mostly happy tears? I think they were. (Side bar: The way Winters said “George Luz” made me insides melt into goo. Now every time I read his name, I read it like that. Oh Luz, I love you and your face so much.)
It’s not just the individual characters though; it’s the way they interact with each other. It makes me feel like there are odd little internal combustions going on inside of my ribcage. The title “Band Of Brothers” (Oh hai Shakespeare) says all you need to know really, doesn’t it? This is what sets it so far apart from most other war-related movies/tv shows I’ve seen. That was what kept making me do abnormal flappy motions with my hands and weep with joy or despair or you know, just because my heart felt too full to do anything else. Shit son, that stuff right there is pure fucking gold. Gold dust and magic. Words aren’t letting my express this like I want to (Oh, English language why must you fail me now?) but youguysyouguysyouguys, it is the exact brand of soul-destroying/devouring stuff that I yearn for when I watch a show. The kind that leaves you utterly blown apart and unable to feel anything else for days and weeks after it’s over.
But! There’s all this other stuff too! The awesome doesn’t end there! That’s not why Band Of Brother is so important. I am emerald green with envy over the way that the writers handled such difficult issues (Why We Fight, I’m looking at you here). The subject of war in general is too huge to even properly think about. People died. A lot of people died. How do you tackle that without cheapening it? Without making it seem like you’re using these tragically awful events just to make money? Some war movies really don’t do well in this department but Band Of Brothers does. Instead of hiding from those issues, it seems to face them head on. People die. People get injured. People break. Lives are destroyed in so many ways. Sometimes the show was written in such a way that it was hard to watch, the pain was too… there (Bastonge is another particular example of this) but you sat through it any way because, oh God the quality is out of this universe. It feels like it’s saying, “Here, this is what happened. We’re showing it to you. It’s not pretty. It’s not nice. But it happened and everyone has to remember it. We have to remember it to stop it from happening again.” Ohohoh, the perfect example of this is Webster standing on the back of the jeep, yelling at the German POWs and he’s just yelling, “What are we doing here? What the fuck are we doing here?” OHMYLORD, THAT SENTENCE. I’ve never heard that issue put so poignantly before in my life. Because, really, that’s just it isn’t it? “What the fuck are we doing here?”
And the directing! How is it so beautiful? Gah. Ha, I fail at talking about directing skills other than saying, “Oh wow! So pretty!” so it’s probably better that I leave that point as it is there but I will mention the digital editing with the colours is fan-fucking-tastic.
It’s so disorienting to me, I’ve gone from putting off watching it for years (for reasons that seem to have slipped my memory right now) and now it has just come to mean so much to me. It’s one of those shows that you finish watching and just sit there thinking, “Okay so, my life is different now? Okay.” It is pretty much a perfect example of one of those shows. A show that sticks it’s hand inside your chest, rummages around, grips around your heart so hard that it stops beating, and rips it out in one clean, brutally painful motion. A show that makes your fingertips ache with the sheer awesomeness.
This is one of those times where I wish I had photoshop skillage (or ha, photoshop at all) because I feel that’s what this post needs to make it prettier and less word-y and this was a very sexy war. But alas, that is not to be. I can, howeverrr, push you all to go and marvel at croakvegas’s massively epic picspams of different characters and why they are inspire feeling of never-ending love in everyone right heeeeeyah.
Annnnnnd because I can hardly think of anything else at this period in time, I have to ~dedicate~ a little part of my rambling to something I like to call: How Richard Winters And Lewis Nixon Set My Heart On Fiyah And Make Me Cry Into My Pillow In Pure Delight Numerous Times. I know that in the fandom they are seen largely as The Obvious Ship and you know what? It’s true. (Side bar: I usually don’t go for the “obvious” ones but this time I was rendered completely helpless by them.) Their story! It’s almost as if someone wrote it and handed it to me, wrapped with a bow and shiny paper and everything, and said, “Here Laura, here’s a gift for you.” Here are two guys going through all of that being bff, standing as one unit through everything, holding each other up, holding each other together and after the war, continuing to work with each other. They will follow each other gladly to the Ends Of The Earth and damn it that right there doesn’t push alllll of my buttons. IDK, I JUST LOVE THEM and I want to write and thank you HBO for giving them to me. (Another side bar!: HBO also gave me Beecher/Keller. ILY HBO!) Basically, Winters/Nixon are sparkly and shiny and have war!angst (mmmm war!angst) and are undeniably pretty and you know what? I won’t talk about them any further; I’ll just point you towards their Ship Manifesto (I kind of hate those things most of the time but yeah, whatever) because when reading it I was just sat there going, “Yes. Yes! YES!” and it says everything I want to say only more eloquently and prettier.
I’m really proud of the fact that I’ve been able to refrain from abusing the poor little capslock myself for the entirety of this post (1900+ words!!! That’s way more than I can write for fic at the mo, oh the irony) because I just want to shaaare my ~thinky thoughts~ with you all without just straight up freaking out like I usually do when attempting to discuss this. Proud of mah selfff.
So basically, I’m telling you all to go (runnn kids, run) and watch this show. And if you already have, go and watch it again and come play with me in my swimming pool of undiluted, bubblegum scented glee. Because fuuuuck, I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH. ILOVEIT. I CANNOT EVEN. MY HEART. MY HEART. AND I MISS IT SO MUCH. SO MUCH ;___; (I have also just ordered the book and I am expecting it to be fabulous and for there to be more freaking out after I’ve read that. I just never want this to endddd.)
Men, it's been a long war, it's been a tough war. You've fought bravely, proudly for your country. You're a special group. You've found in one another a bond, that exists only in combat, among brothers. You've shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments. You've seen death and suffered together. I'm proud to have served with each and every one of you. You all deserve long and happy lives in peace.
SO IN CONCLUSION: I cannot confirm or deny this fact but there is a distinct possibility that I am currently writing Winters/Nixon fic. Oh, show. ♥