Kane is Able (Pt. 1)

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I.

The sound of bustling tonnage trampling about the second floor bounced off the floorboards of the porch, where Kane stood quietly. He had a firm gaze reflected on his pale red face, the cold swift breeze pushing back the few strands of brown hair left escaped under his ball cap. 

   Swear words splintered the sound barrier every five seconds, pummeled against the thin veil of window glass above, Kane’s calm appearance buoyed by prideful thoughts of yesterday’s promotion. 

   The beast of furry cuffs and yellow fangs roared webbed palms like big stamps against each undiscovered patch of room above, searching for his tools and his work card. He’s looking for where it could be again, not where it is right now, Kane thought in his morbid self-satisfied way, though the seed of rumination was a more jagged line than its final lettered form.

   The frustration was two fold. He had bet on this job, his brother. Kane didn’t promise any outcome for certain, but he trusts his brother thinks he did. As soon as the scrolling fat index finger finished reading out loud the department swaps on the shop floor, Kane heard his brother snapping the dirty red towel and erupting out from the push-out side door, the metallic slow wisp of the door catching its falling gusto in lock with an emphasis of prolonged echoes. 

   The high ceiling and the stern green eyes below a high forehead on Mohawk Mick’s (the foreman) face, airing his shivering pupils at the left and second row, where Kane’s wondering eyes stood firmly. Kane wanted to pinch the searingly bald chunk of folded blubber on his right temple, his attention focused on its dough-like shape. His mind easily fell prey to absurdity. 

   The porch smelled of burnt pan oil, gasoline exhaust and the Dollar General cologne Kane forced on himself before his coffee but after showering. He knew his pores smelled of greedy slickness, and he knew the folks who always lurked about awaiting any scent of its particulars were nearest by early mornings. 

The Last Jedi: Dissecting “Toxic Masculinity”

“The Last Jedi” has its defenders and supporters, but it has a lot more built-in messages than both of the two groups may realize. It’s certainly a movie that rewards repeat viewings.

The film is oozing with tons of admiration for filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, constructed in a familiar mold and used by Rian Johnson to propel the characters into engaging, even suspenseful, action. It shows us a series of situations with multiple different characters simultaneously, constantly cutting back-and-forth in the middle of an inconclusive sequence.

We see Kylo as a general, Rey as a trainee, Finn as an adventurer, and Luke as a very doubtful/dejected man having cast himself out in isolation. The anxieties and concerns that Luke feels are very real, perhaps too real for a Disney flick in which the primary concern is identifying which scene will suddenly break out into rainbow-colored saber duels.

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Poe Dameron is a cocky, surefire pilot with nothing to really lose. We don’t know for sure if he has a family but it does seem very apparent and obvious that he’s likely a bachelor. He’s Han Solo on steroids: passionate and motivated but very reckless. His desire to complete a mission, even if it would be more strategically advantageous to pull out and recalibrate, often puts the well-being of his fellow comrades at risk.

Jonathan McIntosh sums up the problem with Poe concisely and smartly here, so i’ll hand him the mic:

The character of Poe Dameron has a lot to do with both the subtle philosophical goals of the film as well as the pompous, overly hateful reaction that overflowed across the internet following the release of “The Last Jedi”.