Did anyone else notice that Sarah’s punk hair in the pilot is foreshadowing the other clones?
She has braids = Cosima
She has blonde streaks = Helena and Rachel
She has it partially pulled back = Alison
Nicely done hair stylists!
Tom and ‘Rocco’ at “The Drop” New York Premiere at Sunshine Cinema on September 8, 2014 in New York City. (Actually it’s Zora the dog!)
(Photos by Theo Wargo/Getty Images)
I always think about this scene.
Potter has done too much for me for me to ever want to shit all over it. I’m never going to say: ‘Don’t ask me questions about that’. I remember reading an interview with Robert Smith from The Cure. Somebody said to him: ‘Why do you still wear all that makeup, don’t you feel a bit past it?’ And he said: ‘There are still 14-year-olds coming to see The Cure for the first time, dressed like that. I’d never want to make them feel silly.’ It’s a similar thing with Potter. People are still discovering those books and films. It would be awful for them to find out the people involved had turned their backs on it. Though sometimes, people do come up and say ‘I loved you in The Woman in Black,’ which is really sweet. That’s them knowing that it matters to me that I’ve done other stuff.
The best part of “Fists And Feet And Stuff” isn’t that Jimmy and Gretchen reconcile or Lindsay and Paul’s marriage finally crumbles or that Edgar puts Vernon into a chokehold, it’s that it’s about trying. It’s about accepting that in order to live in this world, you need to give a shit. It’s about realizing that adulthood is a choice that one makes. You’re The Worst has been slowly building to this throughout their debut season. Jimmy and Gretchen have spent their lives running away from adulthood, preferring to stay ensconced in their myopia and narcissism. You know why? Because it’s easy. It’s easy because you have nothing to lose when you don’t care about anything. But Jimmy and Gretchen do care about each other, and it’s scary, but avoiding it doesn’t change the facts.
But even though I am making steady proclamations about who I will go for next, and why, and how it will all be different, it is brutal to imagine the idea of meeting a new person. Going through the same routine. Saying the same phrases I have now said many times: the big statements, the grand revelations about my childhood and character. The cautious revealings of my insecurities. I have said them already, and they sit in the minds of those people who are out living lives I have no access to anymore. A while ago, this sharing was tremendous; now the idea of facing a new person and speaking the same core sentences seems like a mistake, an error of integrity. Surely it is not good for my own mind to make myself into a speech like that. The only major untouched field of discussion will have to do with this feeling, this tiredness, this exact speech.
The next person I love, I will sit across from in silence. We will have to learn it from each other some other way.
"On a Saturday Afternoon", The Color Master, Aimee Bender