Tag Archives: love

The Legend of Tarzan, beyond the Abs of Glory

Tarzan PosterWas there really any doubt guys, that this movie would be chock full of Badassery? I mean the character has been trailed through history and the history of story telling as the Baddest Badass of the British colonial non-pirate world.

Don’t believe me? Just read his profile on Badass of the week. For more evidence one need only reference the Disney cartoon version with that awesome Phil Collins soundtrack.

This movie, however, despite its’ Pg-13 rating is far more adult, sporting quite a few adult themes that are very satisfying to the adult mind and eye and libido. Here are some of them.

Beyond this, as we explore the things that grabbed me about this film you may encounter some spoilers in this review.

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There was a very very good Villain. The Legend of Tarzan sported one of the most complex villains I’ve seen in a long time. Leon Rom played by Christopher Waltz, was the kind of man you loved to hate. Not just because of his greed, or his nefarious plot to enslave or kill every soul he came across, but because he seemed the villain without the cowardice. So much so that his lack of fear or rage, and optimistic outlook as to what he was looking to achieve in securing his place in history sold me that he really was a sociopath worthy of my disdain. I cheered when he died, and I must say that is a thing for me, you know how I love me some bad guy.

 

The Love story was intense. We only had one love scene in this movie and that, being decidedly Disney, wasn’t very action heavy. But that did not stop this lady from selling us on the fact that the love she had for her man was infallible. I heard one of the men in our little group comment on how steadfast she was in her faith in her husband. While I held my tongue then for reasons of sheltering ego, I really wanted to tell him that that is the kind of faith every woman wants to have in her man. A faith deeply rooted in the knowledge that he is both honestly head over heels for her and dedicated to her and his goals. It’s the sexiest thing on earth hence why so many books and movies make it the defining characteristic of their male leads. As such it added, for me at least, a whole new layer of Va va va vroom to that steaming pile of oooo la la that played Tarzan.

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Samuel L Jackson. I appreciate the historical accuracy of the character played. I appreciate the strength of the character as portrayed by this fellow. I appreciate Samuel L Jackson, in any incarnation I can get him. I know it was a Disney film, so I knew not to expect any exclamations including his all time most famous phrase, but I still kind of miss it. He did however, find a way to imprint himself on my psyche during the film’s run time, and not with speech either. I find his greatest contribution to this film was the constant looks of bemusement on his face as he watched our hero connect with his Africa. From rubbing up Lionesses to jumping off cliffs, this face said it all. Him and Jane were where we found most of the best dialogue, humorous and intelligent. It was hilarious and I loved it.

Djimon Hounsou is second in my heart only to the great Idris, and even then they sometimes struggle to maintain that hierarchy. Here he plays an Chieftain with a grudge, willing to aid and abet one of the biggest racial transgressions in history to avenge a lost love. Oh but did he light my fire while doing it. He brings with him his signatures, graceful charm and deep emotion . His fantastic body being a given, he made this movie even more of a hit with me. Sweet baby Jesus help me for saying this but, even blind with heartbroken rage I was soooooo engrossed. I was squealing, I kid you not, in my seat at the sight of him.

Now to the reason we all went to watch this.

Tarzan himself. No matter who you are, this guy is the reason you went to see this movie. Either you remember him from TrueBlood, or from some movie, or you saw the trailer and licked your lips in that suggestive way. Yes, there were bound to be epic fight scenes, and heart tugging moments, and spine straitening convictions, and we got all that, but that wasn’t our primary reason. We went to watch him, and he was well watched.

We watch him, from his flashback origin story, to his civilized Lordly life, to the taking off of his shirt, and subsequent adventuring with tongues out. Looking, for all the world and unashamed  about it, like a cartoon wolf, heart shaped pupils and all. While his man candy status is forever set in whatever the strongest material in the world is currently, he brings more than just his glorious V. Being lean, hard, strong, quiet, intense, brave, strong, lean, hard and well spoken along with that body was excellent.

He pulled our empathy out of us with those eyes and that face. And not just him. I give a nod to all the actors who played the character at different ages throughout this thing. Well done sirs, all of you.

Oh my damn but does this review feel serious. Maybe because I’m trying really hard not to be a perv, I may even have missed some stuff but…I can’t hold it in any longer. Much like the lady one row behind me, whose husband is undoubtedly very well exercised since we saw this movie on Tuesday, I spent most of this thing in a heightened state of turned all the way on. God, there was so much eye candy. So much muscle and there were scenes when they were all wet and dirty and pants were riding low on hips and loin cloths were just the most hated things ever conceived. Dear Jesus, I just…it was…oh dear lord. Look, look for yourselves…

See? Even the extras and supporting characters are drool worthy. Can you blame me?

Is it possible for me to give this movie a 15? No? Well this may be the muscle love talking but, I’m going to say it’s off the charts for me. It will be one to join my home movie collection, it was that good. Go see, enjoy, and let me know what your thoughts are. I’m gonna go enjoy a glass of wine with my mental afterglow.

 

In response to Photo-Fiction #27

In response to Photo-Fiction #27

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He was patient, she gave him that, as he held himself still, riding out the rippling of her body as pleasure ripped though her a second time. He had, perhaps inadvertently, awakened with his touch something hungry and wanton. She knew, because as she came back to herself she felt not the heady satisfaction of her well won climax but a deep yearning. To have him closer and deeper. It was a hunger of a brutal sort, both in it’s intent to have her battered by his passion, but in the way it drover her demand it.

She heard the husky moans, demanding such things as she would not think capable  of herself. But the words did issue from her throat. Her fingers were curled into weaponry assailing his broad shoulders. Her palms and breasts reveling in the feel of his sweat slick form gliding against her. Her hips lifted to meet the quickening pace of his more forceful thrusts. She herself had transformed into a temptress unrecognizable to her own sensibilities. She was enjoying this.

The heat and warmth of him, the way it drove his scent and the scent of them together around them, inebriating her with every breath. He smelled like wood and soap . She reveled in the sound of his jagged breathing, and the strangled moans he set loose beside her ear. He too was affected by this, caught in the same spell she was. Driving himself high and hard within her in search of the same searing release she so desperately needed. She felt it building, she sensed it in him and she gloried in this new found power.

When he finally shuddered taking her with him with a yelled prayer proclaiming their mutual frenzy she knew herself a Goddess and him a God and both of them joined in a most remarkable way.

What ifs…

The preceding story:

His Side

Her Side

How it ends?

Running 1

A continuation…..Her Side…

He made these noises when he slept. Somewhere between a moan and a whimper, he would stretch and yawn, shift and make those noises, he was adorable. He looked, innocent. Like the man who did all those things, was someone else, and all the roiling feelings or doubt and stress and all that other stuff did not apply to this man. This sleeping figure, all warm and relaxed and tame. This person deserved only gentleness and kindness and filled her bosom with the most unearthly welcome weight.

The weight had life, and mood to it. A way of inciting a sort of longing, a desperate one, pathetically so. It would make itself dense and heavy at the very thought of his permanent absence. Heavy when he did everything to be anything but that innocent form making noises between a whimper and a moan in the throws of rem sleep. And so she had stayed.

Now the image in the mirror acted as the only counter the weight had ever known. A challenging lightness triggered by the hand she held on her now protruding belly. Feeling the first kicks, evidence that this thing causing her figure to distort was a living being, not just a part of her, but someone to whom she would owe her fealty above all others. Someone small and sweet and hers. It made her smile.

It made her frown. By now she would be plagues by “what ifs“. What if it was her? What if she was being too rigid? What if he needed her? What if her leaving would be the thing to push him over? What if she could be the change in him? The lightness contradicted it all. She had done all she could and all she had done had been in vain.

So she ignored the little heavy flutter. The little voice asking about what the future would be. What would happen when he wanted to partake in the life they had created? Was she strong enough to not fall back into him? Would that be so bad? What if he was the only thing to come between her and her lightness?

His Side…

The bed was cold. Her place was cold. He had to admit to himself that he missed her. He felt his chest heave, and his breath quicken in the way that he had become accustomed to it doing over the last few months.

Since she left a note on his pillow, and a poem in his hand. He touched the manila folder, he had looked at the black and white print out so many times it now looked worn. But not with age, simply with the frequency of his touch and  his tears. He could admit that to himself here too. Here in the dark, in the dead of night, he could admit to an audience of one that her leaving in the way she had had bought him to his knees.

If only she had given him a chance. If only she had let him know before, given him time to find a space for this, this newness in his life. Then he would have, he thought, found a way to convince her, that things could be better, that they could be better. She just needed to have a little faith. If only she had had a little faith in him.

In his mind eye, he played again the sight of her. He had seen her today, leaving the doctors office. Her belly gently rounded with the blessed burden of his loin making.  She was carrying in her all his possibilities, and she denied him even the pleasure of her company. He wondered if he kicked yet, if he put his hand to her belly if he would feel a heart beat, if his son would respond to the sound of his voice, if it was a son at all.

He felt the hot sting of liquid on his cheeks. He didn’t bother to wipe them away, he was alone after all. On one would think him less a man for this. For this heaviness in his chest. Something that had developed when she left. Like she had taken the air with her and left him to breath some thick heavy concoction made of loneliness and misery and shame.

If only she had given him a chance, to explain it all the right way, to make her see it his way, to make her stay, so they could be a them again. Now he had to contemplate, what if she never let him back in? What if he had to see his son grow from a distance? What if she never came to her senses? What if she refused to love him again? What then?

 

 

Listening to Road Noise: Assumptions

A little creative writing, a little reflection.

She lay in the circle of his arms, warm and well tousled. He kissed her shoulder and ran his finger a smooth line up and down her collar bone. She felt a smile boom across her lips. He proceeded to nibble his way towards her neck, and she felt something inside her clench. She wasn’t sure if it was the memory of what had just passed between then, or if it was the anticipation of the sating the hunger he was awakening again. But she liked it. She heaved a happy sigh, just as he laid a tender kiss just behind her ear.

“Promise me something.” his breath tickled her.

“What?” her own husky murmur answered his.

“That we will never assume anything about each other.” she furrowed her brow at that. It wasn’t what she was expecting. She turned slightly to catch his hazel eyes. He was serious, and anxious maybe. He wanted this of her. She nodded, and let him engulf her in a kiss so passionate she had no choice but to fall right into him all over again.

You see, what he wanted was for her, for either of them really, to never take for granted the weight of each other’s opinion. To never assume that every reaction would be the same. To never loose sight of the moment. Being young and idealistic, maybe because of the newness of them, never really coming into contact with the harsher sides of each other, not having been scared by each other the way long time lovers do, he understood that you can never really know what someone else is thinking. He also knew that this woman was his, only and utterly. He wanted her to always be with him, known to him. Or at least when I think back at that scene, and the conversation that happened after the love making. That is what it seems. That is what I hope it was. That is what they lost sight of.

Some time later, they stopped asking the questions that matter. Worse, they stopped wanting to answer. Why? I think they stopped wanting to be so open. They saw once or twice the fragility of what they had together, and instead of cherishing and protecting and making up of minds to always hold it in high regard, they thought to protect themselves from the end of it. Surely something so fragile must eventually fail right?

Or it could have been that they just got complacent, thinking that they knew all that there was to know, despite evidence to the contrary. Despite the fact that time and life and even each other had evolved them into people they didn’t start off being. Maybe feeling that some things should have been learned by now. Or depending on a level of comfortable familiarity to always lead to the right choices or responses. Is that even possible though?

What of those moments when assumptions breed calamity? Is it then worth the strain, bought on by the fear of the question mark? After all, isn’t the whole point of courting intimacy with another soul, to be seen and accepted completely?

He walks in, his shoulders slumped against his burden. She takes him in briefly then turns back to her own task. He didn’t want to talk about it, she was sure. She didn’t want the brushing off that she knew came with asking if he was OK. He would say he was, even though his crisis was evident in the sad line of his lips, the crease of his brow and the weary way he surveyed their space. She heard him strip, listened to the shower, the rustle of the towel, and felt the mattress dip as he settled himself in.

She read, and he twiddles with his phone. So it went til her mind wouldn’t let her anymore. She missed him, and he was right there beside her.

Setting her book on the stand beside their bed, she snatched the phone from his fingers and sent it the way of her book. He was fast, but she was faster, and she levered herself onto him, straddled him and captured his protest with her own lips. His body went rigid, as if he meant to protest, but he softened. Soon his tongue was eagerly exploring her, and his nimble fingers tangled in her hair, traced the lines of her body and rid her of the gossamer nightgown she had chosen to shield her body from him this night.

He settled her beneath him soon after, and claimed her enthusiastically. Until they both had only enough strength to sink sweaty skin to the cool sheets in a tangle of well worn limbs.

“Are you ok?” she asked, planting a reverent kiss to his lips. Holding her breath, hoping that the moment wouldn’t shatter when he refused her. Instead his arms tightened around her, and he nestled his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply.

“No, today was…..”

 

Whole-istic love.

In response to the Sandbox Writing challenge: What makes you feel loved?tumblr_m9h5zupJ0g1rrf4jro1_1280

There are some posts that stop you in your tracks. They make you sit and wonder and ponder and send your internal speech reeling. They take you to personal places and make you reexamine things and make you evaluate and examine all the stuff that you simply take for granted, but miss in the moments when you are alone and all the everything has given you a moment of rest. You seldom want to share what you find in those places, not with loved ones and not with friends and definitely not with a room full of strangers. The universe of anonymous watchers that can quantify me only by what they see that I have shared in the place, in this space.

When I first saw this challenge I ran through all the places, and I really didn’t mean to write anything here, for fear that it would brighten the wrong eye, fall on the wrong ear and be misconstrued. I wanted to cover my raw with things that I could chuckle at later and skip over lightly.

“I feel loved when I am showered in chocolate and made love to, passionately.” would have been my generic cover up, to what I found in the place where me and the voices hold conclave. But it wouldn’t be true. I mean yes, sex and chocolate, provide rich heady flavors, and endorphin releasing exertion that in the moment leave you warm and exhausted and easily subdued in comfortable sleep, but that’s not love, not by itself.

The truth is, love for me comes in flavors. Sisterly love, Parently love, Romanitic love, the love of my children, the Love of my sistas and the love of myself. Each its own creature and each requiring it’s own form of satisfaction. (Note some of my sistas are brothers but that’s not the point right now)

I want my sister to see me as a person, an equal, worthy of more than an passing glance as she goes on her way, treating us as if we are somehow competing entities on some giant board of chess.

I want my parents to take pride in the woman I have become, the lessons I have taken from their experiences and guidance, a foundation that gave me the structure needed to become this woman worthy of the admiration of them who pass through my tutelage.

I bask in the fact that my children see their mother in this light, and want to place good report cards and helping hands at the alter of my favor, and I love the warm smiles and hugs and kisses and earnest talks and the way they care. Because mommy is not just the giver of things, life, love, convenience and comfort. Mommy is mommy and she deserves the best. Even when they are at their worst, they know what is required.

I want the respect of my Sistas. The strong women and sometimes men, I find myself in company with, the ladies that breath inspiration into me, that challenge me, and never allow me, even in my darkest moments to falter. Or are there to love me through. Most times with wine and chocolate. Their interest in me makes me feel loved.

My lover…from whom I seek companionship and honestly. That agree to disagree vibe we had even  upon our first meeting. Its touches and concern and sometimes having to balls to tell me when it’s for my own good to just let go. Stand with me through the struggle and snuggle with me through it all. Challenge my opinions, stimulate my mind and soul as well as my body. Whole-istic love.

And finally…

Myself…I want me be comfortable and justified in me. Who I am and who I am becoming. See all of myself with acceptance. Ming body and soul. I want to understand my journey and learn from it, grow in it. Not until I am overflowed with material things, hollow empty things, but with a light that is uniquely mine.

I feel loved in many ways. I feel loved my many folks, I know love…and I’m glad of that fact. Thanks Calen for reminding me of that.