Brideshead Revisited Community

Wed, 26 May 2004 19:39:17 GMT

Has everyone seen the Brideshead photos here? I thought I had, but I visited it recently and saw a lot of pictures I didn't seem to have seen before. So. Just making sure.

But enough about the miniseries for a little bit; perhaps we've been focusing on it a little muchly. If we have, of course, it's because we haven't read the novel in a while--maybe all three of us should agree to read it afresh as soon as possible, so that we might open up...yeah. Let's discuss.

Oh, but in terms of the miniseries: I believe and that.

Sun, 16 May 2004 20:47:30 GMT

How about some roleplaying? Okay, I'll start.

Hey, guys! Call me Antoine. I'm really flamboyant, so much so that it makes Charles Ryder terribly uncomfortable to be around me. Ahahahaha! Right now, I'm going to a dinner party being thrown me by my good friend Sebastian. I plan to be the life of said party. Help me straighten my bowtie and then follow my lead!

Dude...how does one roleplay? Or should I even ask?

Tue, 27 Apr 2004 15:49:56 GMT

marchmainhouse

A new, open Brideshead community. This one will be for whatever we want in future, so unless you're really interested in watching us be stupid, go join the new one.

Thu, 22 Apr 2004 02:10:27 GMT

locy desired some quick posting, but I haven't got a lot to say.

So, then. Who is ready to rip some throats re: this foul and unpardonable new movie?

Is sacred nothing?

Wed, 21 Apr 2004 12:24:19 GMT

I am really upset about this whole new-Brideshead-film business. I read something about Jennifer Connelly--who is American--being Julia. She's American. More importantly, she sucks. This is an article about it. No mention of Jennifer Connelly there, thank god.

Mon, 19 Jan 2004 00:13:36 GMT

O! Anthony Blanche. What can we say about you that will do justice to your greatness? Nothing. There is nothing we can say.

And yet, let us try.

Anthony, when you first strolled onto the pages of Brideshead Revisited, we were awestruck. Your majesty, your grace, your sharp wit and captivating speech impediment -- what can be said of these? Yet again, nothing.

There is nothing we can say. So let us give you some pictures, in tribute to your everlasting elegance and superiority.

1.

2.

Sadly, Anthony Blanche is almost entirely unappreciated. Therefore, there are no more pictures. We are sorry. Goodnight.

Thu, 04 Dec 2003 17:41:07 GMT

Extremely pseudo-screencaps.

Sun, 30 Nov 2003 18:11:17 GMT

This is a fun site.

How about some fiery debate (or agreement)? I don't know what to start, though. Um...I always think it's strange how Charles talks about his "only reproach" against Lady Marchmain. Surely, after all this time, he doesn't still believe that everything she did and said was completely "unwitting." (I, um, can't find the real quote. Sorry.)

Wed, 12 Nov 2003 20:35:27 GMT

Look--Brideshead slash that isn't ours!

I am. Crying.

Tue, 04 Nov 2003 21:43:07 GMT

It gives
me
lovely pleasure,
the way the
sun
cuts through his
curling
lashes and makes
darling
patterns on his
smoothish
cheek--

Sebastian. Sebastian.
His name a
soft, throaty, gutteral
purr. Put your
fingers
on my
neck; I will
cradle
your rosy face
in the
crook
of my
arm.

A Short Piece

Sat, 01 Nov 2003 01:59:28 GMT

Charles woke up one sunny morning to find Sebastian leaning daintily into his personal space.

"Murrgelfifffemmornining-ish," he murmured, looking into the entrancing depths of his dearest friend's eyes.

His eyes, so blue.

Or were they silvery purple? It was hard to tell with such a hangover. They may even have been pink and lime-green polkadotted.

Charles was not awake.

Yet.

"Awaken, my dearest Charles!" Sebastian exclaimed, leaping upon Charles and pummelling him with delicately tanned fists and a slightly less delicate half-finished bottle of champagne.

"Ow," Charles whined in ungrateful reply, thrilling a tad at the way Sebastian's knee was painfully digging into the hollow of his throat. His vocal cords protested at this cruel, cruel treatment, and with a thump, Sebastian rolled off the bed and onto the floor.

He reappeared, dreamily touseled and drenched in the remainder of his bottle of champagne. It fizzed, a soft golden mist surrounding his head and making him look like one of those pathologically priggish boy saints Charles was absolutely sure Sebastian had prayed to devoutly as a young boy kneeling in Nanny Hawkins' nursery tower. In a fit of religious fervor, Sebastian clasped his hands now and fell upon Charles with a rousing cry fit to wake all the Saints as they slumbered in their nastily Catholic Heaven.

"You are such a Catholic beast," Charles murmured, probing delicately at his teeth and wondering if he was getting a bit of a cavity.

"I know I am," Sebastian said in a husky voice, eyes damply glowing from beneath his lowered, champagne-filled lashes. "I can't help it, you know. Bridey wishes he were such a beast."

"He's a beast of an entirely different sort," Charles mumbled, attempting to sit up. He failed. "And don't fret, Sebastian. You're the sort of beast I like, anyway."

Sebastian blushed rosily, as he was wont to do when flattered. "You're a dear, Charles, to put up with me. A dear, dear, dear, dear, dear. A dearest darling, of the best sort."

He removed himself from the bed and fell back into the ever-widening pool of champagne. Charles glared down at him, but without much malice. The sky was blue outside; it was a day of the most beautiful sort.

A day to dream of. Charles was sure he had, at some point. And though Sebastian may not have appeared in that dream, it was alright, because he was going to play a very important part in the day. He always did.

"Aloysius and I have a fresh bottle of champagne, a basket of strawberries, and some big glittery crosses!" Sebastian exclaimed with new delight in his voice, taking Charles by the wrist and yanking him forcefully into the cool morning air. "Let's go on a picnic and never, ever come back! I dare say Mummy won't notice."

"Alright," said Charles. "Let's."

And that was what they did. And then they ran off to Paris. They had a rather dirty garrett where Charles was a starving artist and Sebastian decorated everything in charmingly moldy velvet. He had an excellent touch with drapes, and they were extremely popular among the Bohemian set. Aloysius gained a name for himself and, in his French maid's outfit, kept the place picturesquely half-clean. Sebastian learned to make coffee and gave up all hard liquor, preferring to sit on Charles' knee and embroider stockings, which they gave to the small orphan girls who clustered beneath their window.

Life was sweet, and, in case you hadn't realized, they lived happily ever after.

Hrm.

Wed, 29 Oct 2003 03:46:04 GMT

Aloysius' namesake, Saint Aloysius.

Also known as Luigi, Aloysius was the oldest son of an Italian noble. He was raised in a castle, Castiglione delle Stivieri in Lombardy, with lots of servants, and plenty of wealth and comfort. Since Aloysius was a bright and cheerful boy, who got along well with other people, his father had great hopes that he would have a military career as well as succeed him in the title. He was raised and trained for soldiery and court life from a very young age.

He had many friends among the soldiers and in the court, who encouraged him to join them for their parties and celebrations. They wanted him to behave just like them. But Aloysius preferred to spend his free time in prayer, kneeling on a cold stone floor or in church in front of the Blessed Sacrament. His friends and others teased him for this piety and devotion. Even his parents didn't understand or approve.

Also, this is fun. In a good-timey, Catholic way.

Fri, 24 Oct 2003 22:46:46 GMT

NO.

AFdkl;asddd.

Colin Farrell?

Thu, 23 Oct 2003 21:08:15 GMT

Have an interview with Jeremy Irons!

Thu, 16 Oct 2003 03:10:47 GMT

Damn.

Wed, 15 Oct 2003 01:53:28 GMT

Well, now we've got yet another reason to watch again.

Finally there is an amusing and quite unexpected easter egg. Go to the Cast and Crew section and click on “Aloysius” to find a 3-minute featurette on the background story of the Teddy Bear that figures prominently in the program’s storyline – an important prop that helps accentuate the eccentric nature of the character played by Anthony Andrews. This is a short, sweet, and completely disarming extra that will delight many viewers.

Sebast-ee-an

Tue, 14 Oct 2003 23:44:36 GMT

“Wait. Come here a minute,” said Charles, and I didn’t bother to resist. I didn’t want to, anyway. As I turned around, he was looking at me in a way that reminded me of Nanny; his eyes invited me—implored me—to crawl into bed next to him and bury my face in the folds of his shirt.

I had meant to come since he’d asked me, but when I hesitated he seemed to grow worried, because he sat up in his bed and said, “Just for a moment—then you can leave, if you want.”

In a moment, I had unwrapped my fingers from around the door handle and stuffed my hands in the pockets of my greatcoat. I took the few steps to Charles’ bed and sat rather awkwardly on the corner of it; I was embarrassed, suddenly. I had never been especially embarrassed in front of Charles before; even when I was dismally drunk, I felt that he, at least, understood. But just now, it was different. I knew I loved him more than anyone else in the world, and to a certain point I had assumed he had loved me just as much; just now, though, I wasn’t sure at all.

Charles noticed, of course, and seemed rather hurt that I hadn’t chosen to sit next to him. He examined his hands and said, after a lengthy pause, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I know,” I said, and here I began to become impatient with him. I couldn’t stay with Mummy, and it upset me in a rather desperate way when he refused to leave without saying goodbye. “I can’t stay. I already told you. I won’t stay.”

He was silent, and there was another gap in our dialogue, during which both of us, I think, were wondering what to say. When I stole a furtive, sidelong glance at him, he was still looking down at his hands, and I wanted to shake him. I wanted to make his teeth rattle until he knew how much it injured me that he hadn’t wanted to leave. I had assumed that he would get up immediately and pack his things, and when he didn’t, it made me feel awful and, more importantly, very silly.

I looked at him once more; he still wouldn’t look up, and so I rose and began to make for the door.

“Sebastian!” he exclaimed, and his voice was full of surprise. Grudgingly, I looked over my shoulder, and saw that he was sitting up straight, his mouth half open and his eyebrows raised.

“What?” I spat, bitterly and rather childishly. “Tell me and I’ll leave.”

“Wait,” he said again, more urgently, and he swung his legs over the side of his bed, fumbling for his robe.

“Don’t bother,” I said sulkily, and crossed the room. I sat down next to him this time.

He seemed surprised, but soon recovered. “Er,” he said, “listen.” He seemed to be undergoing a fierce mental battle. I turned away, my face twisted in disgust and disappointment, but his slender hand shot out and tugged at my sleeve. “Wait,” he said.

“Charles!” I roared and pulled my arm almost violently away, as though I were a child tearing a toy horse out of my adversary’s grasp, but I was cut short. He had leaned forward and kissed me, gently, with a soft smack.

I looked up in wonder, my jaw slack, to see him gazing at me in much the same way; but it was with a tenderness that I had never before encountered. Never from Nanny, even.

After a moment, he reached out and tentatively pulled me out of my greatcoat. I looked at him a moment, and then I pressed my face against his neck and breathed in. He folded me in his arms, more surely now, and began to pet my hair, his fingers trembling only slightly. Charles always smelled lovely, like grass, or rain; I associated his scent with my childhood. Like this though, right against his glowing skin, it was particularly strong. I had begun to cry now, but just a little; it was rather nice, actually. I stretched my limbs and curled up again, loosely, twining my arms about his middle and sinking into his shoulder.

“Will you come and get the car with me?” I murmured. I was suddenly very drowsy.

“Yes,” Charles said, and kissed a tear off my cheek. But can we wait a moment more?”

Tue, 14 Oct 2003 22:57:02 GMT

I can't seem to find any good happy pictures. I want one of Jeremy Irons grimacing in delight.

I love lapsed Catholics.

Tue, 14 Oct 2003 15:37:13 GMT

I am extremely happy. I will post my first fluff fic as soon as I have completed it and typed it up! Also, I feel that we should start making plans to create a website with decent screencaps. We can make a series of them if we desire, because I know that there are a lot of other movies we all wish there were decent photos of online.