B-PICTURE | ASPECT RATIO: 1:1.33 [ benito x trylle ]
Sept 3, 2021 6:23:11 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Sept 3, 2021 6:23:11 GMT -5
↳ BENITO BRIDGERTON
He really needs to stop on the grain in his footages.
Like yes, grain is perfect – it’s gritty, it’s textured, and it makes Trylle Fray’s prized cheekbones look more than what they actually are in real color (less sharper), but it’s all a fantasy.
He just wants truth to his projects, or at least a wash of it
But on the other hand though, isn’t that what all the filmmakers sell? Pretty fantasies inlaid with technicolor. Pretty faces made prettier. Pretty insecurities from pretty, impossible beauty standards.
“Andddd – cut.” He stops recording once the camera has had its meal. He can’t help the grin that comes unbidden to his mouth then, manifesting from that high of a finished project, the exciting prospect of editing it all until it becomes a torture. “Good job, folks. That’s a wrap on this movie.” He is still debating on whether to call it ‘The Last Days of Summer’ or ‘Our Last Summer’; the latter’s got a nice ring to it, right? Regardless, it’s all about Trylle kissing a bunch of girls and being faux-lovelorn.
He really needs to stop signing up for projects that has his somewhat-ex-somewhat-not-ex fling on it, too.
But alas! A boy needs the cash. He has vowed that he’d earn his own footing soon, and not rely on his family, and no matter how much he hates to confess it, Trylle’s face sells the most tickets in the District’s rundown theatres.
And now that face is currently turned to him with a look that puts a lump in his throat and fuck, has he been looking back, too? He drops his eyes back to the one true love he has, his prized camera, as he grumbles, “good job to you, too, Fray. You remembered most of your lines and missed only two marks today so,” he rolls his shoulders and makes the world’s most unenthused “whooooo.”
Like yes, grain is perfect – it’s gritty, it’s textured, and it makes Trylle Fray’s prized cheekbones look more than what they actually are in real color (less sharper), but it’s all a fantasy.
He just wants truth to his projects, or at least a wash of it
But on the other hand though, isn’t that what all the filmmakers sell? Pretty fantasies inlaid with technicolor. Pretty faces made prettier. Pretty insecurities from pretty, impossible beauty standards.
“Andddd – cut.” He stops recording once the camera has had its meal. He can’t help the grin that comes unbidden to his mouth then, manifesting from that high of a finished project, the exciting prospect of editing it all until it becomes a torture. “Good job, folks. That’s a wrap on this movie.” He is still debating on whether to call it ‘The Last Days of Summer’ or ‘Our Last Summer’; the latter’s got a nice ring to it, right? Regardless, it’s all about Trylle kissing a bunch of girls and being faux-lovelorn.
He really needs to stop signing up for projects that has his somewhat-ex-somewhat-not-ex fling on it, too.
But alas! A boy needs the cash. He has vowed that he’d earn his own footing soon, and not rely on his family, and no matter how much he hates to confess it, Trylle’s face sells the most tickets in the District’s rundown theatres.
And now that face is currently turned to him with a look that puts a lump in his throat and fuck, has he been looking back, too? He drops his eyes back to the one true love he has, his prized camera, as he grumbles, “good job to you, too, Fray. You remembered most of your lines and missed only two marks today so,” he rolls his shoulders and makes the world’s most unenthused “whooooo.”