Color Me Obsessed.

color me obsessed.

snyder as a young man? brilliant. jack’s psyche? incredibly complex. am i feeling all the feelings? oh yeah.

ai-less whumptober; day six

@ailesswhumptober 6 — multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.” ↳ outside of the refuge, circa 1895 word count; 1.4k

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"This is a bad idea, Jack," Crutchie spits, for what might be the hundredth time — regarding this specific idea, at least. Maybe the millionth time in general, at least as long as Jack's known him.

And, for once, Jack sort of agrees with him.

It's not going to stop him, though.

"Told you what it's like in there, Crutch," he says, and Crutchie sighs, eyeing Racetrack for a moment — clearly hoping, for once, he'll be backed up — before turning his gaze back to Jack. Jack's told him a lot about the Refuge. Nothing personal, nothing relating to his own feelings regarding his time there, but the rest of it. The state of the bunk room, overcrowded and filthy and infested. Snyder, pure evil behind a young, handsome face. And the story of every boy he'd known in there, as vividly as he possibly could, every detail he could remember, because they're all going through hell and so many of them disappear. Jack doesn't want to let any more of them go.

"It's. It's Hell in there," he says.

"Don't mean you can fix it."

"Means I have to try."

He's been working on this for months now, ever since he got let out last and finally had the chance to put his plan into motion. He's been stealing what he can when he can, one or two pieces at a time to reduce the risk of getting caught, and finally he feels as if he's gotten enough — the floor of the rooftop is a mess of clothing and underwear, a few pairs of shoes, dry food that'll last even if it's rationed out a little. Everything he had prayed and fought for when he was locked up. Everything Snyder had denied him, denied all of them. Winter's coming in again, and he knows it's about to get bad in there, get cold. He knows he has to get in before it can.

He tosses his duffel bag down onto the floor amongst the stock of liberated goods, and Race starts helping him shove things in. Balling up the clothes — ain't like it matters if they're wrinkled.

"I got your back," Race tells him quietly.

Crutchie scowls. He hesitates for a moment more, watching, weighing — and then joins them. Grits his teeth against the pain as he bends his leg to get down to the floor.

"Gimme that," he orders Race, and Race hands over his lapful of crumpled clothes. Somewhat clumsily, but utterly devotedly, Crutchie begins to fold them, and they're handed to Jack in turn, the three of them working like a production line.

"Still think it's a shit idea," Crutchie says. "But yeah. Alright? Got your back."

Jack grins at him.

He's got a plan.

The Refuge has only one gate, which is locked throughout the day — but opened on a strict schedule, because Snyder's neurotic about the stupidest stuff. It's opened for staff arriving and leaving exactly on time, for the nuns and the priest, for deliveries, for visitors — Jack's memorised it all. There wasn't much else to do when he was trapped in there, staring listlessly out of a window when he could get away with it, and thus he knows exactly who is where for each opening of the gate too. Snyder will be there at the gate to see off important guests, will usually bid the priest and nuns goodbye from the building's front doors, but the rest of it? He's nowhere in sight. Thinks himself miles above the regular staff, the common folk visiting. So Jack's got his in. It'll be easy, he says.

Race and Crutchie still kick up a fuss when he insists on going on his own.

"What if you get caught?" Race demands, shoving him in the shoulder as Jack tries to sling his duffel bag up onto it. It knocks it from its velocity and it tumbles to the floor again.

"Then I at least go down on my own," Jack says, ducking to pick his bag up again. Slings it again, and this time successfully gets it up over his head.

"But you been in there before," Crutchie argues. "They'll give you a rougher sentence this time, you know how it goes—"

"But I been in there before. Means I know the place. I know Snyder." He reaches out and clasps Crutchie's arm reassuringly. "I'm the only one who can do this. An' I gotta do it. Alright? Can't leave them kids on their own." He swallows, and offers his friends a performance of a smile. "'Sides, they'll keep arrestin' me for bullshit anyway. Might as well go down for doin' somethin' good."

The smile has long, long since faded when he gets to the Refuge gates.

It's an unfamiliar route, going every direction his experience tells not to go to get him closer and closer to that godforsaken place, his stomach churning more and more with each corner. It's late, the streets are quiet. His bag is heavy, weighing him down — keeping him grounded, at least. But he's right on time, only has to wait hiding by the gates for a few minutes before he hears hoofbeats approaching from the other side, the rattling of a carriage, and then the gates are swinging open.

It's easy to slip into the yard and run for it behind the carriage, getting across the yard before anyone at the gates can see him. It feels strange to be running towards the building instead of away from it, but he makes it, around the building to the same back door he'd slipped out of with Michael. Ran across that same path the other direction. It had been right on that run that Michael had—

God. His heart is pounding in his chest, in a way he firmly tells himself is just from the run. Knows it's not. But he's here, and all he has to do is get this bag inside, get it to one of the kids who can get it to the rest. He goes for the door, and—

It's locked. Locked like it's bolted, but this door is never locked. It leads through to the kitchen, it's where the cooks and other staff sneak out for breaks, it wouldn't be locked — and if it was, it would be promptly unlocked. But maybe Jack's just gotten here at exactly the wrong time, during one of the small windows it is, so — where else can he get in? He's formulating a plan, trying to remember all of the windows that might be open, trying to guess if maybe he could slip through the front if the desk is unmanned—

"Hello, Jack."

His stomach drops through the floor.

For a moment, he's sure he's imagining it. A momentary hallucination, his worst fears being realised — it happens sometimes, he gets too lost in fantasy, in the worst possible possibilities. But he turns, slowly, and. There he is. Snyder, stood at the end of the little alleyway that leads to the locked door Jack is trapped at. He's dressed immaculately, not a hair out of place, as if the day running this house of horrors has had no weight on him at all. He's smiling.

"Did you miss me so much?"

Jack tries to run. Snyder catches him around the waist and shoves him, and he hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him, hits the floor next. His bag tumbles too, and Snyder drags it closer to himself with a polished shoe hooked in the strap. Crouches to begin rifling through it, tossing out the contents onto the ground.

"Smallclothes, shirts, shoes. Even food." He looks up at Jack, eyes alight. "All stolen, I presume."

"You ain't got proof—" Jack croaks.

"Do I need it? You're a habitual criminal, Mr. Kelly." Snyder throws one of the little shoes aside, and it tumbles. Lands hopelessly, yards away, and Jack could sob. "Trying to break into my own institution, who knows what your intentions could be?"

"That ain't—"

"Guards!"

For once, Jack doesn't fight. He lets them take him when they come, lungs burning as he's wrenched up from the ground. Watches Snyder — and Jack's bag — get further and further away. What little hope he could've offered, now gone.

He hopes maybe he'll get another chance.

my two favorite things in the whole world, steinbeck & newsies.

newsies (london production, 2023) / east of eden by john steinbeck

Just a couple notes from the Hard Promises script:

originally, Jack carries Les home not because he falls asleep but because he's "sick to his stomach" from the sweets

Esther is 38 years old, meaning she was born in 1861

also she has a Polish accent

Mayer is 43 years old, born 1856

"During the excitement JACK just looks around at the apartment. A home. To him the Taj Mahal. Food on the stove, sheets on the bed. Home. It hits him hard." ouch :(

Jack and David made 95 cents selling papers

Mayer reads from a book by Eugene Debs, a prominent American socialist

according to this script, Mayer worked as a tailor before his accident, the Newsies novel says that Mayer worked in a piano factory which is probably the unspoken canon of the movie as well considering David explicitly says his father got hurt in a factory accident. In Hard Promises, Mayer's arm was "busted for him" because he'd been striking.

Jack is impressed by Sarah's declaration of "my father and I are socialists" only for us to cut to Jack asking David what a socialist is. Boy is smitten.

"Yeah, it sounds good, but it doesn't put food on the table. (Jack looks at him) And it causes my mother a lot of grief. JACK sees DAVID'S worry mask. A look passes between them." Esther and David are worried about Mayer and Sarah :(

"JACK nods. DAVID slips inside and closes the window. JACK starts down, stops and looks back, remembering what he's missed." kill me now

That's all. For now.

everyone and i mean EVERYONE needs to watch this

videos from last nights show!!

newsies explained part one:

newsies explained part two:

santa fe:

psa:

the hunchback of notre dame was not and never should have been intended for children. it’s a complex story about love, lust, power dynamics and racism, and by watering it down into a G-RATED kids’ cartoon (with cute singing gargoyles!) we lost out on all the richness of it. esmeralda is just a pretty dancing girl. phoebus is a nice soldier. against this backdrop, “hellfire” is startlingly frightening and creepy. (because it’s adult!) quasimodo sees esmeralda as an angel, frollo sees her as the Devil incarnate, and there’s little else to bring us to a correct conclusion of her character. victor hugo would’ve been mortified. (also, the hypersexualization of a woman of color…)

that doesn’t apply as much to the disney stage musical. here, disney actually meant this for adults. here, you get sweeping orchestral music, a plethora of lyrically complex songs, a richly textured frollo, and even an emotional glimpse of jehan. it’s not without its faults: despite a little more character development, esmeralda is still a very adult sex symbol (hey! she was supposed to be 16!), and phoebus is rewritten as a heroic little himbo. and gringoire is still Not in the picture. but at least you get a better representation of what victor hugo actually intended.

the thing is, two-hour adaptations of massive novels are probably always going to fall short. but victor hugo chose to write SO in depth about lust, sin, misogyny, hypocrisy, death, racism, unrequited love, etc etc etc! there is so much in this book! and the thing is that i believe children are capable of understanding complex themes, and i believe that they should be exposed to rich media. age-appropriate, of course, and i don’t think that this is a story appropriate for young children — but even if disney was planning to cut out the frollo lust plotline (which they didn’t), at least represent women? and romani people? and racism? and unrequited love? in a way that’s both palatable and well-written. we don’t need to water things down for children to understand them. take mr. roger’s neighborhood! take star trek! take bluey! these are all shows that tackle hard themes in a kid-friendly way. more of this please!!!

and if it comes to a story like hunchback, where the big storyline is that a catholic priest is lusting after a young girl? do us a favor and don’t make it into a kid’s cartoon.

my toxic trait is thinking i could ever do the newsies choreo