A Valentine's Day surprise... Issue 3: Love & Sex is here! ❤️🔥
Read excerpts of flamin' hot pop culture writing on To Live and Die in L.A., Timothée Chalamet, Armageddon, and more... P.S. Issue 4 submissions are now open!
Editor’s Letter
Movies shape our sense of what love looks like. And even if they’ve been seen by millions, we still feel, in the moment of recognition, that they are speaking about our own specific and messy desires. Like the chaotic vectors of sex and repulsion in Shiva Baby, or the sweet letdowns of young love in Adventureland. Or the way losing love can feel like a death; think of The Vanishing’s painful symbol, an image of a lost one crystalized on a poster: missing.
And there’s the line from the now-infamous Nicole Kidman AMC ad, “Somehow, even heartbreak feels good here”, but I think it’s the opposite: it makes our regular lives feel more cinematic. It’s maybe the one comfort of being inside a heartbreak, suddenly all of those post-breakup activities–listening to pop songs on your headphones, going out and getting inadvisably drunk, crying on the bus, lying in bed for hours–aren’t pathetic, but picturesque, imbued with some specialness, an indulgence that would usually be unacceptable.
So this V-Day, it’s all about putting it on the line, wearing it on your sleeve. Like texting your ex before a heartbreaking rewatch, forcing your partner to sit through a punishing romance, delving into wells of machismo for unruly desires, telling us about a crush from the most vulnerable place, a dream.
Happy Valentine’s Day from all of us at In the Mood!
—Gabrielle Marceau
❤️ Read our Love and Sex Issue here ❤️
my crushes burn hot and then die
On desire and control in To Live and Die in L.A.
It’s snowing outside, but I can feel the heat rising off the concrete, smog coats the air, the palms stand stark still, a cicada’s buzz fills my ear. A close-up of Willem Dafoe and his brutalist bone structure, wide lips, brow knotted, cheekbones I want to curl up and sleep inside. Dressed in all black, he takes a Zippo to the edge of a painting, then: a burning; flames engulf the portrait of a woman with fiery red hair. Immediately, we’re plunged into the fire that threatens to engulf its master.
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I crush a lot. I mean a lot. Various vapid, burning frenzies fill my mind. Seconds, hours, days, weeks, months, years — my mind’s conjured passion waxing and waning with my moods, the seasons, my relationship status.
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William Friedkin’s 1985 neo-noir thriller, To Live and Die in L.A., brims with sensual amorality set to a pulsing, synthetic soundtrack. Secret Service Agent Jimmy Hart (Michael Greene) is days away from retirement but sees out one last attempt to catch an elusive counterfeit artist, Rick Masters (Dafoe). The chase is devoid of reason, it’s intense, feverish, pure adrenaline. It’s the feeling that threatens to burst from your chest when you drive the wrong way down the highway. Hart is killed and after discovering his body in a dumpster, Hart’s partner and best friend, Richard Chance (William Petersen), vows to catch Masters and doesn’t give a shit how he does it. His soon-to-be new partner, John Vukovich (John Pankow), bears witness. In the cycle of revenge and the pursuit of justice that propels perp and cop towards each other, we see A Crush in action.
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Sometimes it’s the yearning that sustains us. Other times it’s the ache. You know, the hurt. The voluntary, self-inflicted pain that is wanting another who is either unattainable or not yet ours (though no one is ever “ours,” not really).
🔥 Read the full piece here →
Timothée Chalamet Dream Diaries
By Sennah Yee
July 6, 2020
I’m watching a scene where Timothée Chalamet is acting all sexy and dominant, while in his outfit from The King. It’s outside on a castle terrace, clear blue skies and windy. I’m there, but not — it’s like a movie scene?
September 1, 2020
I’m in a school classroom and Timothée Chalamet is sitting in front of me. The teacher tells us it’s time to rearrange the layout of our desks. I get super excited when I realize I’m moving my desk even closer to Timmy’s. Later, we’re going on the subway after shopping at the Eaton’s Centre shopping mall. I haven’t used my transit card for the whole pandemic, so I forget how to use it when we approach the turnstiles. I keep fucking up, keep jamming my body against the turnstiles, but they aren’t letting me through. Timmy’s getting impatient because we’re going to miss the Toronto Raptors game.
November 6, 2020
We’re at C’s parent’s house before her wedding. Timothée Chalamet, C’s brother, and I are at a fancy kitchen island table, doing shots. I look at Timmy closely and marvel at his beauty, but I’m also completely grossed out at how sloppy he’s being right now. I wonder if he’s started to do hard drugs. Later, I’m trying to get an app to work to show everyone the wedding slideshow, but it keeps failing. C is frustrated with me in a passive-aggressive way.
December 1, 2020
I’m waiting for C outside the subway, about to rent some movies and books for our hangout. We rent Tenet, but it’s actually a bootleg copy of Dune, ahead of its release. My husband is late picking us up; he’s been stuck on the other side of the station and the subway’s been shut down. Momentary panic when we hear that someone’s been shot, but we don’t see anything. Later, C and I are in my parents’ living room. My husband comes and delivers our book holds from the library. We’re all watching the beginning of Dune. Shots of Timothée Chalamet in the water, swimming upwards; it’s all very arty. I make some comments about how Timmy is my sweet boy, but I also want to be with him; it’s twisted. C asks how old he is, and I take a long time to answer. Eventually, I say 26 — but that’s not true, yet.
💭 Read the full piece here →
Armageddon (1998)
Forget Jack sketching a nude Rose by candlelight in Titanic. Miss me with that famous line in Casablanca. And don’t even think of mentioning The Notebook. I learned everything I need to know about romance from the animal cracker scene in Armageddon.
Apologies to everyone in my life, and also everything I stand for. But I won’t try to deny it—I love this movie. And that sexy, orange-hued scene with Ben Affleck and Liv Tyler holds a very special place in my heart.
I dare you not to shed a tear when Bruce Willis and his ragtag group of tax-evading assholes spend one last night with their loved ones before heading up to space. With no experience. To drill a hole in an asteroid. Before it crashes into Earth.
Because before you know it, the intro chords to “I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing” by Aerosmith are playing softly. The sun is setting. A convertible is parked under an oak tree. And Ben Affleck is talking in a fake Australian accent, inching an animal cracker down Liv Tyler’s navel. Soon, he will tuck it into her underwear line, and she will bite her lip and giggle.
I swear to god, this scene was my introduction to eroticism. My childhood understanding of “sexy” founded upon that giggle. The chemistry between Ben and Liv signalled something to me about desire and connection. That romance wasn’t all serious—there was pleasure baked in. I figured that in relationships, you’re either the holder of the animal cracker, or the haver of the navel. Either way, you’re chasing that glint of pleasure in your lover’s eyes. A bit lip, a stomach flushed with butterflies when you realize, they like it. And you know what? That still kind of works for me.
💜 Read the rest of our Film Diaries here →
Issue 4 Submissions Open!
Submissions are now open for Issue 4 until March 14th. Send your pitches for pop culture investigations, personal essays, reviews, fan fiction, and film diaries. Surprise us!
💌 Submission Info →
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