‘Star Wars: The Last Jedi’

I’ve had it. I'm done. I am so done.

This is the last straw. I’m at my limit. I can't take this anymore.

Fuck Disney.

Fuck Hollywood.

Fuck the trendy franchise addition.

Fuck the obsession with cinematic universes.

Fuck the corporate capitalist cult that strangles creativity in the name of profit.

Fuck Star Wars: The Last Jedi.

And fuck me for feeding money to this detestable beast.

... Feel free to keep count of how many times I curse in this post. It's one of those, people, so strap in tight. This rant-review hybrid is not for the faint of heart.

Spoilers, because I have succumbed to the power of the Dark Side, consequences be damned.

'No.6'

I hate stories that both succeed and fail. Or maybe this does neither. I honestly have no clue anymore.

The premise touches upon a theme that you usually like, and you assume it'd be an easy ride. Then you realize ten minutes in that it focuses on another theme that sets off every alarm bell in your mind. Despite your discomfort, you press on because the cast endears you enough to give them and their story a chance. Then about halfway through the journey as you make friends with the passengers, the main plot train breaks are busted. The narrative steamrolls towards a huge crash after it climbs a steep hill. Impact is immanent, but you hang on anyway because, as your life flashes before your eyes, you realize the main characters and the secondary theme that initially terrified you are the only reasons you're still on the damn ride in the first place. Finally, the train derails. But by some divine miracle the passengers you grew to love are safe and unharmed. You share tearful farewells as everyone is taken to the hospital. And as you look back at the burning remains of the plot, you wonder if the memory of this strange, avoidable catastrophe is even worth remembering.

That was my time with the anime and manga adaptations, as well as the original light novels, of No.6.

Spoilers, cursing, rage, and feels aplenty.

'Free!', Male Beauty, and Fanservice

OH, GOD DAMN IT, 2017, STOP KICKING ME IN MY OVERLY ANALYTICAL AND CYNICAL ASS WITH STUPID SHIT I'M SUPPOSED TO HATE! THESE STRANGE FEELS BURNING IN MY HEART HURT LIKE A MOTHERFU--

*clears throat*

Well, that was very undignified of me. My apologies.

Despite the obnoxious recent track record of consuming media that has pushed me beyond the comfort zone I maintained for much of my life, I don't feel particularly conflicted or violated in any psychological manner in regards to Free!. Thank whatever deity or deities that do or do not exist for that reprieve.

Over the course of a week  last month, I have marathoned Free! with its two seasons, handful of OVAs, and prequel film. After trying to have no expectations for the series' quality, I found myself really enjoying Free!. And felt feels. Felt enough feels that I laughed. And cried. Good to know that I'm still a woman.

That's the short story. The long story requires me to go back to 2012, when a little known Hollywood film caused a bit of controversy in some circles thanks to some good old double standards regarding good old fanservice.