Paradise Circus

Constantly shooting daggers at the blinking cursor of a blank page. Prose Short Pieces Poetry Film Reviews Scripts My Writing Rules The Projectionist 30 Things That Should Be Turned Into Films

[goodnightha]

Free until Friday 24th of March.  A woman struggles to hide the truth from a creature she believes to be her lover; a man journeys to Southern Italy in search of a witch; a child makes a pact with a voice he hears at the bottom of his garden. From adult fairy-tales to suburban horror; dark intentions seep through this collection of tales from the imagination of Harley Holland. Available on Amazon

[goodnightha]

Brandon looked through the neighbouring houses, often-times seeing black silhouettes etched in the television light. It was too wet for the cats and foxes, darting between the streets and lingering in alleyways. Those lurking would have to settle in their homes tonight.

The river would flow over onto the floodplains, drowning any poor creature snagged by it. Frank had taken Brandon across the plains after an especially severe flood. The murky water would creep up the street with its many hands, constantly crawling. He waded through, carrying the issued sandbags out to the doorstops of the elderly. An old lady stood on her porch watching him carry the sandbags back and forth, wrapped up in blue woollen jumper, her mustard yellow scarf seemed infinite with the many loops it made across her neck. Brandon could still remember the tuft of hair which escaped from her navy beanie with red bobble.

“You’re lifting it all wrong young’n.” She called out to Brandon.

“This one doesn’t talk Delores.” Frank chimed in from the truck.

“They all talk Frank; you just gotta know what they want to talk about.” She made her way inside for a moment before returning with a red metal tin of biscuits decorated in gold leaves. “Come on over here then…what’s your name boy?” Brandon stood in the water, unable to respond.

“It’s Brandon.” Frank said as he dropped three sandbags beside the porch. “Remember what we practiced Brandon. Go say hello.” Brandon treaded through the water and up to Delores.

“You choose whichever biscuit you want Brandon, but let me warn you. Ever since I’ve known to tie my own shoe laces I’ve lived with the ability to tell the character of a person by the biscuit they eat. Now Frank here, he’s a custard cream man am I right?”

Frank grunted in a way that could be perceived as a yes.

Delores leant in close to Brandon. “They’re the worst - Always so grumpy. I bet he wouldn’t crack a smile even on his birthday. Is he always this moody?” Brandon smiled and nodded.

“So what am I then?” Frank called from the truck.

“Oh you’re the sweetest Frank. Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.” She winked at Brandon.

Frank mumbled and went back to his sandbags.

“So which biscuit is your favourite Brandon?”

Brandon looked over the assortment, scanning back and forth between the chocolate finger and caramel chocolate digestive wrapped in gold foil.

“Can’t choose eh? You can have both.”

“Did I do it wrong?”

“No, not at all. It means you are very special. This one means you are quite gentle but the other shows strength.”

“But I’m not strong.”

“Why? Who told you that?”

“I couldn’t... Frank is strong.”

Delores looked at him for a moment. “I shouldn’t tell you this but you see this water? Well there is something very special from the river. Quickly now, go stand in the water.”

Brandon stepped down back into the muddy water.

“That’s good. They say no man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man. Now you know what that means?”

Brandon shook his head.

“The Brandon who stepped into this water is no longer the Brandon that stands here. You feel any different?”

“I think I’m getting a cold.”

[goodnightha]

The autumn waltz had began to seep through the town. Between the cracks of buildings, to mighty oak trees, did the rusting occur. Slowly twisting the shade of vine and branch; emeralds and browns aged into gold and black. Stepping through the fallen leaves, Cillian hung his head low. His fear had gotten the better of him, twisting it into lust. He had called Sarah, leaving a voicemail on her phone. He had broken his own rule, letting himself be perceived as wanting or needing her. The dance would end shortly after, Sarah would no longer need to resume the chase. It was more a betrayal of his pride. He didn’t need her. He needed a release. Shortly after returning to his home, he had received the message from Sarah.

Meet me in the birdhouse.

Trapping the scarf over his mouth, he felt slightly more at ease – anonymous. Steam rose out when he cussed himself for only wearing the thin navy hood beneath the herringbone blazer. The clouds had burst and began to pour once he had left his house.

He continued to walk on through the forest, listening to the distant motorway buzz, invisible. He could see the bridge glowing through the trees, the black brick shone wet. It resembled an ancient obelisk, forgotten by society, yet it still remained, biding its time. Cillian couldn’t understand the mild fear that would grasp his heart every time he crossed over. Was it the paranoia of slipping? Where his body would twist from his own doing, cracking bone onto rock? Someone would eventually find him, frozen over from the rain and chill. Unless he fell into the water itself, then he might forever be lost.

He took his time, sliding the soles of his trainers over the bridges cracked surface. Passing the middle, he swayed his thoughts from the rushing water that whispered murder beneath him. He was close to the other side now, seizing this, he scurried to the end. Thankful Sarah had not been there to witness this. He imagined her offering to hold his hand through the ordeal; a playful twinkle in her eye - noting the weakness. He could never walk with her. He could never hold her hand. That was not what he was her to her. Not what she was to him. This was his journey alone, born from planning, now a ritual. They both could throw away the awkward conversations that only filled the space, shutting off the dribble of trivial thoughts and day to day activities with one long kiss.

Glimpsing the grey bones of the bunker, he hurried forward, pulling the hood from his head in hopes of not startling her. He couldn’t remember who had found it first, along the summer walks they would take once a week. It seemed smaller now, nestled between dying bushes. The roof was partially buried under a thick layer of dead leaves. What was once used in preparation for the war had become a vacant nest for occasional birdwatchers in spring. Cillian hoped Sarah had more foresight than him to bring a blanket. Approaching, he saw her silhouette between the slits. A twig snapped from behind the bunker. Cillian stretched his body, searching for movement through squinted eyes, it wasn’t uncommon for a dog walker to travel this deep into the woods. Sometimes it added to the thrill. He made his way into the bunker.

‘I hope you’re not trying to scare me Sarah,’ Cillian said, gazing at the familiar walls scribbled countlessly with birds. Child drawings, made from crayon and paint. Every time he visited the birdhouse he would notice a new one.

‘Sarah won’t be making it tonight.’ 

[goodnightha]

If the eye could perceive the demons that people the universe, existence would be impossible. The demons are more numerous than we are.

Talmud

[goodnightha]

In sleep, I find my flesh and bones slide over one another to form new beings with which my own conscious existence holds no connection to theirs. And for that moment I am no longer the master, but a tourist who can fully dissolve and re-emerge a cloud passing through false truths and a carnival of carnivorous desires.

[goodnightha]

30 Things That Should Be Turned Into Films

6. Game of Thrones: Robert's Rebellion

The lore of Robert's Rebellion has caused intrigue and speculation amongst fans of George R.R. Martins novels, A Song of Ice and Fire, and the television series throughout. GRRM has already stated no to such a prequel series ever existing as it is part of the Ice and Fire novels, and would allude to too many spoilers and mysteries still being revealed in the current books. But let's not all slither away defeated like we did when we see or read about our favourite Ned Stark meeting a rather sticky ending. HBO know the franchise is a Lannisters wet dream of profit and branching out into other story-lines is probably the next move. Movie companies would most certainly scrap to back any Prequel film.

One of the main disadvantages with watching the show compared to reading the book is how much they cut out due to budget constraints and lack of time. Having the events of The Knight of the Laughing Tree, Robert's Rebellion, and The Tower of Joy, come to life in the form of a three film arc would be the greatest gift to the fans and also compliment the very show itself. My first choice of director would be veteran Game of Thrones director, Alan Taylor; an avid fan of the books who is currently directing Thor: The Dark World.  

Casting for the roles of Robert's Rebellion is somewhat tricky, as the story takes place seventeen years prior to Game of Thrones - resulting in some fresher faced actors playing key characters. To name a few:

Henry Caville as Robert Baratheon. Me and the whole internet it seems, can imagine the Man of Steel storming through the battlefield with warhammer in hand; smashing through armour and shields. Henry Caville certainly has the "Gods I was strong" physique but also the talent to portray Robert as not only the battle thirsty usurper but a tragic man who loses the one he truly loved.

Toby Kebbell as Eddard Stark. Anyone who has seen The Veteran knows the guy can pull off playing "The Quiet Wolf". Kebbell has a certain gravitas and skill to rival Sean Beans portrayal. 

Charlie Hunnam as Rhaegar Targaryen. The silver haired prince is a mystery wrapped up in an enigma. Even with Robert vilifying him as a monster and rapist, the inhabitants of Westeros speak highly of the dragon prince. A highly skilled knight who preferred to shy away from others and read books. Behind his honour and beauty, Rhaegar was a melancholic soul who had hinted at many plans and a prophecy never to be revealed. Other possible actor would be Alexander Skarsgard.

Eva Green as Lyanna the "she-wolf". Headstrong, willful, and courageous, her abduction by Rhaegar was the event that ultimately triggered the downfall of the Targaryren Dynesty. Eva is certainly a beauty worth fighting,retaining the girlish defiance from Dreamers but also an allure required to play Lyanna. 

Other mentions would be Jeremy Irons as Mad King Aerys II Targaryen, Liam Neeson as John Arryn, and Mark Strong as the great Tywin Lannister. I have to keep this short but have an actor assigned to nearly all major characters.

Robert's Rebellion is a story filled with mystery, love, and intense tragedy. George R.R. Martin has created some of the most memorable events in the novel series, from only a dream sequence or reference alluding to them. It is as much a rewarding feast for the fans, with some possible answers to much discussed theories along the way.

“And now it begins,” said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

“No,” Ned said with sadness in his voice. “Now it ends.”

[goodnightha]

There was nothing inside that house he liked. Not a single person, their faces changed in the dance of shadow and light. Ghouls is what they were. Only when he could separate himself, did he find solace, drinking vodka until he choked. Now he felt it, his head hung low as if half-full with the toxins, sloshing side to side on the inside walls of his cranium. Now he felt truly at ease. Slumped in a deck chair watching invisible patterns spiral on the patio.

"They are devils. The lot of them." He mumbled.

Through the darkness he caught sight of her standing in front of him. Her milky thighs so close to his head. He brought a hand up, playing with the thin fabric of her skirt. Smoothing it between his fingers. He gave a defeated smile, knowing he too would burn for this night. The flicker of flames licked over his heart.

[goodnightha]

Kick start. A better you. You do not like the way people in their cars and on the street look at you.  Yet you run to have them look at you. The prospect of lust and attraction keeps the mind motivated.  You become aware of your breathing. Turning down into a street you know you've already been before. Pushing on, you want to feel more. Tap the root. Feeling just to feel. You think too much and do not feel enough. Climbing up the hill. You want a holiday. Tasting another person, the sweat off your bodies pooling. You run faster. Sweat. It itches the scalp. The burn begins. A sharpening pain startles you. You are not fit enough to be naked. Not fit enough for another to see you. The Wall. Your gut is stabbed. Laughter at your naked body. A cold realisation occurs as you cross the street, that you've been down this road before.

[goodnightha]

Beasts of the Southern Wild

This film has magic in it's bones. On and off the screen, there is a bubbling sense of wonder and imagination. Dwight Henry, who plays Wink, was found when the film crew would stop by in his New Orleans bakery for breakfast and lunch. At the age of nine, Quvenzhane Wallis became the youngest ever nominee of the Academy Awards for Best Actress - which she most definitely deserved. Benh Zeitlin has created an independent film that has touched the hearts of many.

The story revolves around a six year old child with a strong soul named Hushpuppy, and her survival surrounding her ill-tempered fathers decreasing health and the rising floods that destroy her beat-up bayou community. This tale could snuggly fit into the open arms of Studio Ghibli with it's similar themes of humanity's relationship with nature and technology. Much like Hayao Miyazaki, Benh Zeitlin focuses on Hushpuppy's childhood transition and plight - using vibrant cinematography and sound to portray the girls, often surreal, state of mind.

The best way to perceive Beasts of The Southern Wild is as Miyazaki once stated about the narrative of Spirited Away:

"the heroine [is] thrown into a place where the good and bad dwell together. [...] She manages not because she has destroyed the 'evil', but because she has acquired the ability to survive."

[goodnightha]

Django Unchained Review

Quentin Tarantino is known to turn heads and leave a flood of built up hype before the film even premieres. Django Unchained was the screaming child on the quiet section of the train. With its brash interviews and the media's negativity surrounding its depiction of slavery and the "N" word. I applaud Tarantino and the cast for sticking to their guns, many films nowadays water down the past as to not offend or rattle any bones. Tarantino jibes, when asked about the extreme violence in the film, that these cruelties happened – and even worse acts occurred he hadn’t even considered for the film. It’s all there in the past, read a history book.

Tarantino pulls apart western iconography and reanimates it into this southern-fried tale of melodramatic revenge. The first half is handled brilliantly with dentist turned bounty hunter Dr. King Schultz (Christoph Waltz) freeing slave Django (Jamie Foxx) to help hunt down wanted killers. Tarantino’s material charms the audience with Django’s frosty wit juxtaposing the jolly long-windedness of Schultz. There is also the most awkwardly hilarious scene of 2012, which emphasises Tarantino’s pure cinematic talent. Each shot is framed perfectly for explosive action and drawn out tension. Violence often turns into absurdity – much like the trials and tribulations of Kill Bill. Blood sprays onto cotton fields, limbs are torn and shredded to a pulpy mess, lovers of the Tarantino-verse will squeal with delight.

The second half, the mock-revenge, twists into an almost different beast entirely with the appearance of Francophile villain, Calvin Candie (Leonardo Dicaprio) taking to the stage. Taking the term bitter-sweet to a whole new level, Dicaprio creates a character so stuck up on maintaining this superficial candy-coated appearance of the perfect gentleman with an uncontrollable malice bubbling under the surface. The scenes surrounding Calvin’s plantation, also known as Candieland, slowly spiral into a tension so thick it is seat-squirmingly uncomfortable. Waltz and Dicaprio together, with the jibing comical presence of Stephen (Samuel L Jackson), almost leaves the eponymous hero to twiddle his thumbs in the background. What is also squandered is Broomhilda’s (Kerry Washington) hauntingly beautiful presence, only having a handful of lines. Her innocence and struggle is a constant signal to why Django suffers through the hellfire – “because she is worth it.”

Django Unchained is a film not to be missed. Under the comical and hellish themes, with a fantastic soundtrack, is the beating heart of one man’s struggle to find the woman he loves in a land that disallows his freedom. Get on your horse and giddy up to the cinema.

[goodnightha]

Pressed Flowers

The carpet clung to the opening door like a comb through wet hair. The beating glow of a lamp met them from opposite the room. The boys froze for a second, unable to adjust to the walls. Each plastered with a perfectly connected mural, which with its detail, gave scope to a larger scene so unfit for a basement. Bamboo shoots, hundreds of them, stuck out from yellowing dirt. Towering to the ceiling, they stretched back - growing thin and black - into false forestry.

At the furthest point from them, a yellow tent had been mounted. Shadows pressed over the thin luminescent material. Amongst them, two were poised, stumpy with five nibs at the top of each. Only the lamp and tent inhabited the bamboo forest. Cillian could not wait any longer. Pressing index finger to mouth, he hushed Brandon from making a sound. Crouching down, he etched slowly to the tent. Hands outwards, ready to catch his prey. Staring at the tent, he could make sense of the stumps. Kneeling down at the front. Unzipping slowly, the material parted, giving him glimpses of skin and blanket.

Silence crept over his shoulders. Scratching softly at the hairs on his arms and neck. His throat tightened. The thought spiralled through his head. Fingertips trembling with the zip fastening. That single thought of what lay inside the tent. Waiting for him all this time. Waiting to see the whites of his eyes. 

[goodnightha]

In the rain, there are songs that can only be heard by those who miss.

[goodnightha]

Extract from Ill Desires

Anna needed this. Since the start of the semester, she had willed herself to be more outgoing. Constantly whispering the name, Michael Stellar, under hushed breath. Thick tanned skin and honey matted hair. Everything was a mystery surrounding him, even at the university - where everyone was a stranger- Michael was the sap all these girls and men were thirsty for. Her fingers tickled her lips, still tingling from the kiss outside the Crows Feet. Michael had vanished to the kitchen, leaving her alone on the sofa. A thin sheen of plastic partially covered the cushions, squeaking as she tried to rearrange herself more comfortably. Three cameras took centre stage on the fireplace. Each one different, yet all had been painted a pristine white and locked inside a glass casing. The yellow walls had a framed photo hanging, each photo seemed obscure, and out of focus. 

"Your place is really nice; I assumed you'd be living in halls or a flat." Anna said, hoping Michael would hear her from the kitchen adjacent. Michael pushed open the door with his foot, holding two glasses and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

"This is all I had." He said, slowly sitting down beside her. "What were you saying?"

"This house, it's pretty amazing."

"It's not really mine. I have a sponsor you could say - a fan of my work. He took me under his wing and gave me this house." Pouring the white wine into the glasses.

"Your work?" Anna said, taking a sip from the glass as he handed it to her. She could see his eyes twinkle.

"It's a hobby you could say. When I was younger, I used to have this horrible pain inside my heart. It would sit there for hours, stopping me from enjoying anything. Food never tasted as sweet, music gave me headaches. All pleasure was cut off it seemed. Until I met this girl. I don't believe in love at first sight but we had this deep connection. The pain would ease every time I even caught a glimpse of her. It was a revolution inside my body. I had to keep her with me forever."

Anna had never heard something so romantic; it was always soaked into all those books she read, but never real life. She saw a sliver of Edward in Michael.

"It did not last forever. Yet I will always have memories to ease the pain."

"How does it coincide with your work though?" Anna said, now feeling Michael's body draw closer. His free hand guiding hers to the table to let go of the glass. He crept atop her, pressing his knee down into the cushion between her legs. She could smell vanilla on his skin. Stroking down her neck, the tips of his fingers almost trembling as they teased down to her breasts. "You can learn all about my work. You can model for me." His tongue licked the ridge of her ear before nibbling the lobe. Michael pulled a small remote from his jeans pocket. Pushing the button, Anna heard a series of clicks. Pulling her tee-shirt up, Anna rose her arms to quicken the process. The material stopped, still covering her face but leaving her bra on show. She could feel Michael's weight drop lower, his mouth sucking down on the skin.

"Aren't you going to let me out of this?" Anna teased, hearing the boy laugh under his breath at the question. He pulled the tee-shirt harder, tightening it over her face, sucking the cloth into her nose and mouth. Through the tiny fibers of the material she could see two green lights in the corners of the ceiling. Michael’s teeth scraped over her flesh - chewing the left nipple. The haze of esctacy was sharply replaced with fear. She pushed herself up, screaming as he bit down. Swinging wildly, she picked up the wine bottle, striking the back of his head. Michael jumped backwards in shock, rolling off the sofa. Running to the door, she twisted its handle to no success. Scuttling to the windows, she ripped down the blinds. Banging against the glass, and screaming. The bungalow was too far back for anyone to notice, especially in the dead of night where only a lone drunkard roamed. Yet something caught her eye. Standing in the darkness, she had to squint to make out the thin shape of a man. His face so very white it glistened - looking back at her. Watching the very last moments Anna had of freedom before the bloody man behind her pulled the rag over her face.

[goodnightha]

Alternative Christmas Film Choice: 3. In Bruges

With Christmas approaching you'd imagine the most idyllic place would be Bruges, with its cobbled streets, canals, and swans - its a "fucking fairy-tale town". To guilt stricken Ray though it's his own private little piece of hell filled with death, a coked-up dwarf, and never actually being able to leave Bruges. 

"In Bruges" is a fantastic film that works on so many levels. It's an intricate crime caper that handles dark comedy and complex emotive scenes perfectly, weaving fantastic dialogue throughout. And with an average of 1.18 fucks and other derivatives said every minute who can't love that.

Not all festive films have to have its intentions and glittery principles plastered all over it. "In Bruges" offers its viewers a more hidden meaning of Christmas, that even when the world is at its darkest and most depressing, there can still be gifts to fill you with hope.

[goodnightha]

Alternative Christmas Film Choice: 2. Prometheus

Say what you will about the spiritual curious uncle of the Alien franchise, but I loved it. And while watching it, it was safe to assume that this tragic exploration of the universe and inner thirst of knowledge had a thin layer of that warm magic we like to call Christmas. Sure it didn't snow, and Shaw didn't do a great "Home Alone" job of setting traps before the Engineer arrived - David was quite the Grinch though with his robot heart several sizes too small. It was a more religulous aspect of Christmas, perhaps an alien version, as it ran similar themes to Jesus' birthday.

So many clues corresponded to this; the Xenomorph mural in the cross formation, the film itself playing out around Christmas, even the slightly black gooey immaculate conception Shaw receives and its "birthing" happening on Christmas day itself. And if Cuddles the Facehugger is the son, I hate to see what Ridley Scott has deemed it's heavenly father.

Prometheus is a film that cleanses the palette from all those sickly sweet Xmas films you gorge on. Add a little science fiction epicness when christmas comes, and it'll certainly get the family arguments alight when Nanna Pat asks just what the black goo was and how those two guys got lost in that ship?

[goodnightha]

I'm Afraid Of The Dark (Poem I wrote when I was eight.)

When I go to bed I turn off the light I see a branch that looks like a hand Tapping on my window Tap tap! By the wardrobe There's a big humongous bird If I get out of bed I will get caught by the bird And it will fly off with me I hear some footsteps Coming upstairs I think it's a monster Coming upstairs I shout Help! I turn the shining light on It was my bratty sister going to get a drink.

[goodnightha]

Do you know, Squiggly green line, how much I write a day? You clearly don't know who you are talking to. Let me clue you in...I am not bound by your rules of grammar. I am the Grammar! I leave a fragmented sentence and you think there is no subject in the intended sentence? I am the subject!