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NICOLÒ & YUSUF - INCURABLE ROMANTICS - THE OLD GUARD (2020)
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i think my favorite thing about tog2 is that, because all the characters and relationships are previously established (duh it’s a sequel), we get to see different sides of everyone. none of the characters felt “flat” per se in the first movie, but we only have so much time with each of them and their main traits need to be established. andy is old and jaded, nile has a strong moral compass and is wide-eyed in the world of immortals, booker is depressed, nicky is kind but serious, and joe is fiercely passionate. we’re lucky to have such incredible actors giving these characters as much depth as possible, and they DO give them a lot of depth, but i noticed while watching that nicky smiles more times in the first five minutes of tog2 then he does in the entire first one!! AND THEN we get to see his serious side when he’s arguing with joe as well!! similarly, we see copley and nile’s playful sides for the first time in the safehouse scene, and of course andy finally has renewed purpose and we see this lighter side of her, until she finds out about quynh and is ridden with guilt that we only really saw in the one scene in the first movie. i think despite its flaws, one thing tog 2 did very well was continued characterization of the characters we love; no one felt out of character or different even though we were seeing sides of them we hadn’t seen before. i hope this is coherent, i just love my immortal fam so bad
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Luca Marinelli as Primo Nizzuto Trust (2018) | dir. Danny Boyle
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Sunday afternoon… :)
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Nile: I made this friendship bracelet for you.
Andy: You know, I’m not really a jewelry person.
Nile: You don’t have to wear it.
Andy: No, I’m gonna wear it forever. Back off.
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If prompts are still open, perhaps something about Joe and/or Nicky marking the new year? I'd imagine NYE hits different after almost a millennium.
There was a time, Nicolo knows, when the turning of the seasons was the ordinary marking of time to him; the way he knew which clothes to wear and which holy days to mark, how far they might be from the harvest and how long til winter's bite. Then came immortality, and time marched on without any imprint upon his body, each season marking the extraordinary only upon his soul. He cannot remember when the cycles became a tumult, when the speed at which time shifted accelerated, or how soon the places he and Yusuf traveled offered new definitions of 'a year'. It is a blur to him now, a cavalcade of festivals and quiet moments, of temples and river banks and dry, desert heat. He celebrated rain and began anew when the cherry blossoms faded, until the mechanisms of rededication became so many he couldn't keep up. He thinks of those years like a night spent in drink--glorious in the moment, responsible for later aches.
It was the pocket watch that pulled them from the blur into something sharper and more brittle; a timepiece that made the cyclical rituals fade beneath the ticking of the clock. There is, he thinks, much that was lost in the division of time and the joining of nations; some things were gained, too, like the ritual of this new year. They stand in the tiny courtyard of their home in Malta, Nicky looking at the darkened ocean, Joe at the stars. They carry a glass of champagne apiece, and when churches mark the stroke of midnight they look toward each other, and drink, and kiss. "A new beginning," Joe murmurs against Nicky's lips, pulling him close despite the remaining champagne in his glass. And in Joe's kiss is the breadth of centuries and the pin-point precision of the satellites soaring above.
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Joe’s body gives off warmth. Nicky prefers to have the comforter over him when he sleeps with someone because he's always cold, but with Joe he feels a blanket of warmth under his body, wrapping his arms around him, leaving little bonfires every time Joe kisses any part of his skin: on one shoulder, on his collarbone, on his neck, on the other side of his neck, on the other collarbone, on the other shoulder, on his chest. Nicky wants to capture that mouth, kiss it to his heart's content, so he does. He kisses Joe’s full lips, tastes Joe’s breath in his, their tongues playing, tangling, savoring. Joe parts his mouth in search of oxygen, rests his forehead on Nicky’s chin, pulls his body even closer to Nicky’s in a slow but intense rhythm. There is not much room to move but neither of them wants to separate, the feeling of both bodies dancing in unison in a rhythm created by and for them, is more than good, the friction of the skins, the sensation in the muscles, in the organs, on their brains is too much, it’s perfect. Joe declares the same thoughts and emotions that run through Nicky's ecstatic body and mind in a moan, quoting his name as if it were a prayer “Nicky, Nicky, Nicky”. And Nicky can only think that it’s the first time he’s ever slept with someone and not felt cold.