Watch Tina Fey and Amy Poehler’s hilarious roast of Don Rickles

“We’re here tonight to celebrate Don Rickles, and honestly, it’s almost like he’s here with us. “Tina, Tina, he is here,” her comedic cohort, Amy Poehler, said. So, in   2014 for his 88th birthday, Jon Stewart, Jerry Seinfeld, David Letterman,   and many more stars came out to mark the occasion with a special airing on Spike TV. “We’re not allowed to say that anymore?” Fey asked. You can feel his spirit in this room tonight,” Tina Fey began   her roast of the legendary insult comic during a 2014 “One Night Only” birthday celebration. “So here we are,” Poehler said, as shown in the clip above, “because [the producers] thought it was important for Don to be honored by at least one woman, which apparently is what we count as.” She added, “We are thrilled to be here because Don is the real deal. He had his own variety show and his own sitcom. Perhaps this is a   more fitting way to remember Rickles, who died   at the age of 90 on Thursday from kidney failure. I thought that was somebody’s purse,” Fey joked. Warmth” by   making fun of everyone, including all races and creeds. “Why is he still saying it?”
Watch their full roast   in the clip above. He called both of them The Don Rickles Show. “Jesus! The comedian earned the sarcastic nickname “Mr. That’s the kind of creative genius we’re dealing with here.”

Later Fey, recalling Rickles’ signature stylings, mentioned the various ethnicities Rickles’ humor appealed to — albeit with the outdated terms in which the comic often frequented. Show Full Article

Chance the Rapper, Diana Ross to headline Essence Festival

John Legend, India.Arie, Master P, Mystikaal, Solange, and more will also perform at the festival. It runs from June 30 to July 2 in New Orleans; see the full lineup below and get tickets here. Chance is also scheduled to hit Governors Ball, Bonnaroo, Sasquatch!, Firefly, Eaux Claires, Lollapalooza, Boston Calling, and other fests in the upcoming months. His most recent album was 2016’s   Coloring Book,   featuring singles “No Problem” and “Summer Friends.”
Ross’ last album was 2015’s self-explanatory   Diana Ross Sings Songs From The Wiz,   while Blige’s next record,   Strength of a Woman,   arrives April 28. Blige. Chance the Rapper just added another stop to his tour of the festival circuit this summer: The Chicago MC will be headlining the Essence Festival along with Diana Ross and Mary J. She’ll headline the festival’s second night, which features an all-female lineup — including Jill Scott, Chaka Khan, and Monica — as a nod to her new album. Essence
 
 

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Father John Misty’s ‘Pure Comedy’: EW review

So far, Father John Misty has managed to balance his socio-philosophical musings with a deep, sarcastic intimacy. “Total Entertainment Forever”
“Bedding Taylor Swift / Every night inside the Oculus Rift” begins this commentary on mindless pleasure that serves as the album’s moral centerpiece. On his third album, Tillman relies heavily on the former, abandoning his commitment to self-scrutiny as he expounds on a dystopian vision of a society endlessly addicted to entertainment and navigates a dark landscape of climate change-induced apocalypse. “It’s not self-love that kills you,” he sings in his mournful tenor on “The Memo,” a lilting country-folk number that crystallizes Tillman’s late-capitalist nightmare. The 75-minute opus is his most boldly experimental and richly produced album to date, with 13 songs that touch on baroque pop, orchestral folk, stark piano balladry, and even gospel. Since releasing 2012’s Fear Fun, his debut album under the Father John Misty moniker, Josh Tillman has emerged as one of pop music’s most profound provocateurs, waxing philosophic about the shallowness of Top 40 pop in interviews and offering up lyrics about death and sex with a daring frankness. “It’s when those who hate you are allowed to sell you that you’re a glorious s—   the entire world revolves around.” On Pure Comedy, Father John Misty is just about clever enough to glide entirely on his intellectualism, but by emotionally removing himself from his own narratives, he’s ended up making a record that’s smarter than it is affecting. Key Tracks:
“Leaving L.A.”
This 13-minute epic is a twisted autobiography that deconstructs Father John Misty’s public image while referencing Fleetwood Mac and Oedipus along the way. Show Full Article Just two years after his breakthrough I Love You, Honeybear, Tillman is back with his third album, Pure Comedy.

Don Rickles dead: Comedian passes away at 90

Sharkey, the 1970 Clint Eastwood-starring war movie Kelly’s Heroes, and the 1995 Martin Scorsese film Casino. Rickles is survived by his wife of 52 years, Barbara, as well as their daughter Mindy Mann and her husband Ed, and Rickles’ two grandchildren, Ethan and Harrison Mann. Potato Head in Pixar’s Toy Story franchise. Rickles also voiced the character of Mr. The New York-born Rickles originally set out to be an actor. There is no doubt veteran funnyman Don Rickles is deserving of a generous and heartfelt obituary. After serving in World War II, he studied at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts and over his long career was cast in a large number of TV shows and films, including his ’70s sitcom C.P.O. Rickles was the king of the insult comics. Warmth, for which Rickles himself won an Emmy. On one memorable appearance, Rickles almost completely ignored the host and instead pointedly, and hilariously, embraced Carson’s sidekick, Ed McMahon, instead. For half a century, he got laughs by being rude about people, whether he was performing live, on TV, or in films such as the 1998 comedy Dirty Work, during which he blasted a character played by the rotund Artie Lange with the words, “Got a call yesterday from Baskin Robbins. His unique brand of comedic molestation was captured by director John Landis in the filmmaker’s 2007 documentary Mr. Rickles’ sharp-tongued and often transgressive shtick influenced many younger comedians, including Chris Rock and Sarah Silverman. He   died Thursday from kidney failure at his Los Angeles home, publicist Paul Shefrin announced in a statement to EW. They said that they’re down to only five flavors.” Johnny Carson welcomed Rickles onto the Tonight Show more than 100 times, although Carson’s warm greetings were not always reciprocated. But his star shone brightest in Las Vegas, where he remained an enduring draw as successive generations of casino visitors lined up to be insulted. Yet it seems somehow inappropriate to say nice things about the comedian, who would’ve turned 91 this May. Show Full Article

Gorillaz team up with Mavis Staples and Pusha T on new song

De La Soul, Noel Gallagher, and Pusha T were among the concert’s guests. They’ll also be releasing a deluxe edition with five additional songs. Gorillaz’   Humanz   rollout continues: The band released a new track, titled “Let Me Out,” featuring Mavis Staples and Pusha T on Thursday.  

Show Full Article This is the fifth song they’ve released off their upcoming fifth album, following “Andromeda,” “Saturnz Barz,” “Ascension,” and “We Got the Power.”
The day after announcing   Humanz‘ release date, Gorillaz debuted the entirety of the album at a London show. (“Andromeda”), Grace Jones (“Charger”), and more. Hear “Let Me Out” above. The 14-track collection, out April 28, includes collaborations with Vince Staples (“Ascension”), D.R.A.M.

Watch the first trailer for Spike Lee’s ‘Rodney King’ Netflix film

Show Full Article “There’s that familiar red and blue, blue, blue. Smith took his show on the road, and Rodney King   features footage from his Aug. 12 performance at   the East River Park Amphitheater in New York City. Steven Adams and Bob L. The actor, who worked with Lee on films like Do the Right Thing and Chi-Raq, also executive-produces with   Matthew Helderman, Luke Taylor, and Patrick DePeters. Instead, the Chi-Raq filmmaker transformed Roger Guenveur Smith’s one-man show about King into a feature-length film for Netflix, and viewers can get their first look in the new trailer. “Before you know it, Rodney King, you’re the first reality TV star,” Smith says. Spike Lee’s upcoming film about Rodney King isn’t a typical biopic. Watch the trailer above. You’re a young African-American male, you should know what to do, do, do.”
He also mentions Stacey Koon, one of the LAPD officers who was videotaped beating King in the streets in 1991. Rodney King will debut on Netflix this April 28. Johnson also produce. “You look into the rearview — ‘whoo,’” Smith says, imitating the sound of a police siren.

Neil Young’s illness is ‘nothing major,’ rep says

Young’s most recent solo album was 2016’s   Peace Trial. More recently, Vedder covered Young’s “Rockin’ in the Free World” before President Barack Obama’s farewell address this past January. (The band performed on Letterman’s   The Late Show   seven times between 1996 and 2006, and frontman Eddie Vedder returned to the show in 2015 to perform during Letterman’s last week before retiring.)

Young’s ties to Pearl Jam go back to 1995   when he recorded an album titled   Mirror Ball   with some of the band’s members. Neil Young’s rep tells EW the rock legend’s recent illness is “nothing major.”
Young was scheduled to induct Pearl Jam into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame at a ceremony on Friday but canceled this week because he fell sick. Show Full Article David Letterman replaced the 71-year-old   and will handle Pearl Jam’s induction.

Adele gave Harry Styles ’21’ for his birthday

Show Full Article “And I was like, ‘Geez.’”
The album gets its title from the age Adele was when she was recording. Soon after Styles turned 22, in February 2016, the band went on a hiatus, and he’s now working on his solo career, with new music   arriving Friday. “At its best,” EW’s Leah Greenblatt said in her A- review, “21   is that rarest pop commodity: timeless.”

Twenty-one turned out to be a big age for Styles, now 23, too. Styles is also making his feature film debut in Christoper Nolan’s upcoming World War II drama   Dunkirk. “For my 21st, she gave me [21]   and said, ‘I did some pretty cool stuff when I was 21, good luck,’” Styles told BBC Radio 1 this week, USA Today   reports. The collection, featuring singles like “Rolling in the Deep” and “Rumour Has It,” debuted at No. Adele gave Harry Styles a very appropriate gift for his 21st birthday: a copy of her album   21. That year, One Direction released   Made in the A.M.,   their fifth album and first without original member Zayn Malik. 1 on the Billboard 200 and went on to win the Album of the Year Grammy.

Mark Hamill voices Han Solo in Bad Lip Reading’s ‘The Force Awakens’ spoof

Mark Hamill is an accomplished voice actor, so whenever you interview him about Star Wars and he recalls something Harrison Ford once said, he   can’t help but slip into an imitation. His version of Ford usually involves keeping his lips as still as possible   and sinking his voice deep down in his throat, like a Jedi plummeting down a Cloud City air shaft. Apparently, voicing Luke Skywalker in the spoof   was … not an option. Watch the Force Awakens   Bad Lip Reading video above. Show Full Article The “Han Solo mutter” gets a starring role in Bad Lip Reading’s new take on   The Force Awakens, with Hamill supplying the voice of his galactic co-star.

Carrie Fisher appears in ‘Catastrophe’ season 3 trailer

We’ve seen them and they’re amazing.”
Sure enough, the new trailer for season 3 of   Catastrophe   does feature Fisher. Except for me and Sharon [Hogan] that is, and our director, producer, and editor. After Carrie Fisher died last year, her TV son, Rob Delaney,   penned a heartfelt essay for   The Guardian   about working with the Hollywood legend on his Amazon sitcom   Catastrophe. She appears only briefly in the video, but Delaney wrote in his piece that she actually has more scenes this season than in the previous two. As Delaney wrote at the time, “We just finished shooting last week and Carrie’s scenes haven’t been seen by anyone yet. Season 3 of   Catastrophe   hits Amazon Video April 28. Show Full Article The main focus of the trailer is new tensions   between Delaney’s character and Hogan’s, due to new problems with their careers, marriage, and, as a flustered Hogan offers at one point, “Brexit, your new president.”
Watch the trailer below.

‘Seinfeld’: 5 storylines you never saw

Kramer’s not refurbishing skeletons!’ And we’re like, ‘Come on! Here, former Seinfeld   writer-producers David Mandel (Veep) and Jeff Schaffer (Curb Your Enthusiasm) open the vault and share a few story ideas from the NBC comedy that never made it out of the writers’ room — and that just might have you shoving someone while   exclaiming   “Get   out!”
1. Frank Costanza goes to pot. Leapin’ Larry says, ‘Bring it in, we’ll fix it.’ So Jerry brings it in, he doesn’t look inside, and Leapin’ Larry opens it up and there’s a tibia in there and he loses his s—: ‘This is the worst practical joke ever to a guy who’s missing a leg!’ Larry [David, the series co-creator] just said, ‘No. Probably just as well that we didn’t do that one.”

4. “We went very far down the road with an idea that Frank was going to need medical marijuana for his cataracts,” says Mandel. That would happen a lot.”
RELATED: EW’s 25 Best TV Shows in 25 Years
2. 5. “There was one story that we never got to for any particular reason, but I always loved it,” says Mandel. “It was sort of half-serious, half ‘Should we do this?,’ half ‘We’re never going to do it.’ But it was much discussed. I guess Larry was right.”
For more revelations from the past four decades of entertainment, visit   ew.com/untoldstories. It only died one time, but that’s because of who was there.’ ‘[Sigh] Who?’ You’d wait her out and she’d wait you out. Who’s that, you say? When Jerry decided to end the show, and I realized there weren’t going to be enough episodes, I was like, ‘Oh God, I wish there was one more season.’”

Show Full Article Master of your domain!). This is funny!’ It turns out the show was fine without it. Jerry [Jerry Seinfeld] would be at lunch with her, and she would say, ‘You know, I only had one bit that really killed.’ Then she would wait, and he’d have to go, ‘Which one?’ ‘The bowling thing. That could work in any show, but we never used it.”
3. I don’t think it was fully outlined, but that was a story that was ready to go. “He would get all the bones together and buff them up real nice. Don’t you deserve those as well? Kramer launches a new business that would chill you to the bone.  
“We joked a whole bunch about an end scene that would take place in the jungles of Brazil, à la The Boys From Brazil, where the Soup Nazi [Larry Thomas] would return to the other Nazis — the actual former Nazi war criminals — with his soup recipes,” says Mandel. Seinfeld gets a change of scenery — but nothing changes. I just thought the idea of taking the building blocks of Seinfeld   — the apartments across the hall and the coffee shop — and transporting that to Mexico would be really fun. Everyone knows someone like that, who just makes you pull it out of them. In “The Secret Code,” Jerry was going to do an ad for an appliance store called Leapin’ Larry’s, and she was saying, ‘If you’re going to meet with Leapin’ Larry, there’s one thing you should really know about him.’ It was the fact that he had a prosthetic leg. Then when Jerry wound up insulting him, he said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me???’ ‘Well, you didn’t take the prompt. Going down a river and seeing lots of young boys with blue eyes from experimentation with the soups — it was a full coming together of soup and Nazi. And Jerry just ignored it. We were really rigorous about not wanting to repeat things. There’s someone you should meet. Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW. But what about the ones they didn’t give you? A version of this story originally appears in Entertainment Weekly’s Untold Stories issue, on stands now or available to buy right here. “There was another comic, and she was a prompter. Seinfeld gave you countless memorable moments over its nine neurotic seasons (shrinkage! At the same time, Jerry was doing appliance-store ads for Leapin’ Larry’s, and Jerry was having trouble with his dishwasher, because Kramer kept using it. “Had there been another season, I certainly would have tried to write this, because it was near and dear to my heart. Junior Mint! The idea was that Jerry and the gang go on a vacation somewhere — say, Mexico — and they would check into their hotel rooms, and Jerry would end up with a hotel room right across from Kramer’s hotel room, so the hotel-room dynamic would have been the same as the apartments. “We thought the idea of Jerry Stiller on pot just seemed like comedy gold. We heard that Cybill writers had a similar story in the works, and it was enough to make us put the idea aside. “Kramer [Michael Richards] was taking regular morgue-quality skeletons, refurbishing them, and turning them into museum-quality skeletons for teaching hospitals,” recalls Schaffer. Kramer trying to refurbish skeletons sat on our board forever, and [even after   David left the show following   season 7] we never used it. The Soup Nazi could have been   a lot more literal than we   knew. I tried.’ It seems like the easiest device in the world: You ignore the prompter, and he or she actually has good information for you. The entire episode would have taken place in Mexico but everything would have been kind of the same—there would have been a Mexican diner that they sat in. It’s “the Prompter.”  
“Alec [Berg, a   Seinfeld writer-producer] and I pitched this idea a few times,” says Schaffer.

Trayvon Martin miniseries coming from Jay Z

 
 

Show Full Article Shawn Carter. We are very hopeful that this project will bring about a healthy and helpful conversation on the injustices that have divided society. That is also why we started the Trayvon Martin Foundation. The Trayvon Martin miniseries will premiere in 2018. Zimmerman was acquitted on a second-degree murder charge after claiming he shot Martin in self-defense, sparking protests and outrage worldwide. “Our hope is to continue to inspire change and reform the way we are doing with Kalief’s story,” says Paramount/Spike TV’s senior vp of programming. Martin’s parents,   Sybrina Fulton and Tracy Martin, released this statement:   “We are humbled and excited to embark upon this new beginning with Shawn Carter, Harvey, and Paramount. The order comes in the middle of a true crime TV trend that was kicked off by Netflix’s Making a Murderer and FX’s American Crime Story. The rap mogul and the Hollywood power producer just announced   Rest In Power: The Trayvon Martin Story, a   six-part limited series for the   Paramount Network (which is rebranding from its current name, Spike TV, next year). “Thank you, again, to Paramount Network/Spike TV for being brave enough to partner with us and tell these complex narratives. We know as parents, that the third act of our son’s legacy is hope.”
Rest In Power: the Trayvon Martin Story will be based on two books: Lisa Bloom’s Suspicion Nation: The Inside Story of the Trayvon Martin Injustice and Why We Continue to Repeat It   and Rest in Power: The Enduring Life of Trayvon Martin. It’s through these conversations that we can begin to heal.”  
Martin was an unarmed 17-year old high school student shot and killed by a neighborhood watch member George Zimmerman, in the Florida community where they both lived. We continue to tell our story in order to unite people. We know this means a lot to this country. Jay Z and Harvey Weinstein   have found a network home for their miniseries about the killing of   Trayvon Martin. “This is an important American story. We’re honored that Trayvon’s family has entrusted us to share the truth with the world,” said Jay Z   a.k.a. The project marks the second collaboration between Carter and Weinstein, the first was   TIME: The Kalief Browder Story, which concluded Wednesday night.

Elton John to reissue ‘17.11.70’ live album for Record Store Day

A1       Take Me To The Pilot
A2       Honky Tonk Women
A3       Sixty Years On
A4       Can I Put You On
B1       Bad Side Of The Moon
B2       Burn Down The Mission (Incl. As the musician   himself tells it in a YouTube interview uploaded Thursday, “The album 17-11-70 was not meant to be a live one at all…we just went in the booth and played it as a three-piece: Nigel Olsson on drums and vocals, Dee Murray on bass and vocals, and myself. In November 1970, Elton John “accidentally” created this now-historic   album, which was initially intended for broadcast only. as well and is now the biggest international record-buying event on the music calendar. It’ll arrive April 22, the tenth annual Record Store Day in the U.K.,   when over 200 independent record shops all over England come together to celebrate record store culture   with exclusive   vinyl releases, artist performances, and other special events. See the tracklist below, and find information about his ongoing tour here. Record Store Day has grown popular outside of the U.K. With its eclectic mix of original songs and then-recent covers (Elton takes on the Rolling Stones, The Beatles, and Elvis Presley here),   17-11-70+   captures the   talent, flair, and showmanship   of a 23-year-old Brit who was about to become an institution in the world of music. Later this month, Elton John will drop a reissue of one of his crowning achievements: the live album   17.11.70,   which will be rebranded as   17.11.70+   to   include six previously unreleased tracks. There was a studio audience of about 100 sitting outside the booth, hearing it coming through the loudspeakers, and we just played. I’m astonished by how good we were, listening to this record.”
This special Record Store Day edition of   17-11-70+   restores six further songs from that impromptu concert, along with a version of “Amoreena”   that   has never been released on vinyl. My Baby Left Me / Get Back)
C1       Indian Sunset (previously unreleased bonus track)
C2       Amoreena (newly remixed bonus track)
C3       Your Song (previously unreleased bonus track)
D1       Country Comfort   (previously unreleased bonus track)
D2       I Need You To Turn To   (previously unreleased bonus track)
D3       Border Song   (previously unreleased bonus track)
D4       My Father’s Gun   (previously unreleased bonus track)

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Coloring book featuring Hitler pulled by Dutch retailer

The book in question, titled   Kleuren op Code, included Hitler putting his hand up in a   Nazi salute while also wearing a Swastika armband. We probably should’ve, but it did not happen.”
Other historical figures featured in the book include Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, and Nelson Mandela. Show Full Article “It is a nasty combination of circumstances. According to the NL Times, Trifora,   the Belgian publishing company responsible for the book, released a statement pinning the “regrettable mistake” on book’s being produced in India. They are also offering full refunds to customers who bought copies. Maybe he did not recognize him,” said a representative for the company in the statement. Kruidvat only found out about the error after the book had gone on sale and concerned parents began commenting on it on social media. We check the book on translations but do not check all the coloring pictures. The company has since apologized and taken the books off its shelves. “My suspicion is that the man who created the coloring book got a book of famous people out of the closet and selected a pair, which unfortunately included Adolf Hitler. Kruidvat, a Dutch drugstore chain, was forced to recall a color-by-the-letters book it had put on sale on Monday because it featured an image of Adolf Hitler.

Read an excerpt from Adrian J. Walker’s ‘The End of the World Running Club,’ and see the cover

Alice didn’t like the cellar. “Hullo, Edgar,” he said. That long breath, the squeal, the dog’s howl, the air-raid siren. And my kids… Well, I wasn’t what you’d call the most engaged father. What if this all just went away? I reasoned that it was my right as a tired parent, that I worked all week to provide for my family and that it helped me relax. We started banging on the shutters. I actually felt happy. Then AIDS came along and, if you were a teenager like me, your worries turned to the fact that death was now lurking within every pleated skirt and behind every cotton gusset. Some of the owners had built up into them to create a sixth room: the row of roofs now had dormer windows set into their tiles. They had security gates, security cameras, triple garages, secluded yards with ponds and trampolines. In bed, in the car, on the sofa, at the table, at nursery. And I need to get moving. The birds were missing. “Weird,” said Mark. Fucking open up!”
We kept hammering and shouting until we saw those eyes again behind the door. Then more behind that. Our house was a new-build, one of about twenty or so lined in terraces that faced one another across a small path. I can still feel the sun of an English summer, smell the warm grass that brushed against my boyhood face, hear my mother’s voice calling beneath the gentle hum of a single-engine airplane. It’s a dry, scorched husk. He made a sound I hadn’t heard before. “What does that siren mean?” said Beth. I remembered him putting his head in his hands, his cohost covering her mouth, then a loud thumping sound and the camera seeming to wobble, footsteps running away on the studio floor. I lost focus on the stream of traffic and let the sound of car horns, engines, and screams merge until all around me was a smear of color and noise. His daughter had recently given birth and we used to see the whole family quite often having barbecues in the backyard. I stopped short of the pavement and ran around the back. Faces at the window trying to get in, trying to get to us. BBC2. It doesn’t add up when you think about it. But I can’t be sure. I suppose I could dig them up, but as I see it, there are only two ways that little enterprise can end, and neither of them is particularly palatable. CNN, BBC1, HBO. I went through the motions all right, but let’s just say there are lots of urgent things you can find to do around the home and it’s amazing how long it can take sometimes to put out the bins. I don’t know. Arthur gasped and looked about, wide-eyed. “It’s an adventure.”
“Nooooo, Mummeeeee.”
I heard our bamboo fence start to break and turned to see two of the mob scrambling over it. Waited ten seconds, twenty seconds for the box to reboot. “No, the van always drops them here before six though. As he continued his disgruntled sucking, I took out my phone to see if I could get a connection on our Wi-Fi. Two large boxes of diapers thumped at the bottom of the stairs. An unknown time before fuck-knows-what happened to Edinburgh. That bit in When the Wind Blows when the old couple walk out and think the smell of scorched human flesh is somebody cooking a Sunday roast gave me nightmares for a week. We used to take walks around these roads, naming the most impressive one Ambition Drive. “You take good care now, Edgar,” he said. Did you find no comfort in the knowledge that the show was over, that we didn’t have to keep it going anymore? The cows were getting more and more panicky, before one let out an almighty, guttural MEEEEEEEERRRR, and I almost fell out of bed. Something was missing. I stop at the fence every morning and I look at three lashed crosses standing crooked against the sea, and I believe I know who is buried beneath them. Or maybe—just maybe—they realized we were fucked. Horns blared out behind me to get going, but there was no room for me to move. Only two sheets thick, not the usual hundred-leaf wad you get on a Sunday. There was nothing on the front apart from the Sunday Times logo and a single headline taking up the entire page. Water. The windows in the houses opposite rattled too. The post is brittle. Still, that half memory in the back of my mind, something I should remember…
Arthur’s warning note began to crescendo, so I lifted him down to the floor with me and reinserted his bottle. Things of certainty about things uncertain. “Now. Couldn’t you almost hear that collective sigh, sense the world’s shoulders loosen? “Mark,” I said. Which, of course, it did. Some guests, mainly men (those in the larger houses, I imagined), he met with a single heavy tanned-palm slap to their shoulders and a loud boom of acceptance. The volume of traffic had tripled for the weather. You’ve got more than enough in there!”
“Go! Mark nodded up at the hills at the top of the road. A discarded chip packet was swept up in the tailwind as the car disappeared. We were free-falling now, free-falling into whatever came next. An air-raid siren. They both had that strange, thick smell of wealth. Then I started pushing Alice toward the cellar hatch. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this down—so I can stop thinking about it and get moving. He was seventy-three, bald, with a white beard and a cheap blue jacket. I once saw a film about a girl who survives an apocalyptic event. There were people gathered there, banging on the shutters and shouting for him to open up. They were all over the place, no leader. No room for a dog. You’ve got cellars!”
Shit. Even in those last few strange and unfathomable days, a checklist had been forming in my mind, an old program from my youth kicking into life. Water. Still air, warm sun, the distant roar of a road somewhere… I just felt happy. As I did, I risked one last look at the door. More had joined them on the path and they were trying all the gates along our terrace, streaming into the yards and pummeling the back doors. Jabbar shook his head violently. Strike imminent. “What does ‘imminent’ mean, Jabbar?”
Jabbar faltered, shaking, his eyes flicking between us both. One of the square panes of glass in the door broke and a fist came through it. But it’s hard to stop thinking when there’s nobody else but you and a candle and an old house on the crumbling coast of a ruined country. I glanced down at Arthur, halfway up my shin, eyes wide as he prepared to attach his gums to my knee. How long…? Close living. “Morning,” I heard somebody say behind me. Our own families. “Beth!” I cried as I ran, Arthur laughing in blissful ignorance as he shoogled in his backpack. I believe that I arrived at that boat after following a series of roads through a country that was torn apart, washed away and burned down to its raw rock. “Aye. The door through to the house was shut. Maybe the powers that be knew; maybe they didn’t. “Jabbar!” I shouted through the letter box in the back door. Then an undercurrent appeared in the headlines around Wednesday: something odd, distant, unrelated to the heat. They were wider and had five bedrooms rather than our two. Every major catastrophe, every natural disaster, every impending conflict gave me a little childish thrill. It was 5:00 a.m. It was another sunny day and already warm. I couldn’t place it at the time, but I would soon enough. What the fuck was that? The End. I frowned. I remembered the night before, pushing myself up from the sofa and knocking the dregs from the second empty bottle of Shiraz onto the carpet. In reality, I was pushing at least a bottle a night and two on a Saturday, not to mention the pints after work on a Friday. As I closed the door, I saw the others arrive at the gate. What next? Nothing. Even though it was early on a Sunday, it was not usually this quiet. “Mark,” I said. Because there was a new series of Big fucking Brother, I expect. When she had a fall or when she was tired or when she was scared, they were her only source of comfort. There’s only so far you can push it with a woman who’s just given birth. Eventually, the door behind the counter opened, and Jabbar stormed up to the shutters. Oh, thank fuck, you’re up.”
I’d never been more proud of her. I rarely went down there. And then there were conspiracy theories. I was not massively successful and therefore a strange thing, an alien. “Mike,” I said. It was all quiet apart from the wail of the siren outside. We’d go arm in arm along it, seeing who could say the most offensive words the loudest as we passed by the yards. Perched on top of the rubble is our bath. I turned to see a golden retriever sprawled on a drive. Water. A vague mixture of disappointment and disgust flickered across her face. It seemed poignant somehow, this totem of middle class, now a useless dark liquor: no good to drink, no nutritional value. “You bloody bastard!”
His wife was crouching next to him, holding his head and weeping. “You tell me,” I said. When she was scared. “Come on then, buddy,” I said, and we went inside. Honestly, I thought having kids was hell. Some were styled with colonial wood; some, like American bunkers. There was nothing there so we walked around to the back door of the house. Frank fell to the ground and held his chest. No shares, no property portfolio, no deals to close. Get out!”
I ran past him and into the shop, grabbing packs of batteries from the shelves and picking up three crates of Highland Spring from a stack on the floor. Perhaps, out of context, it would have sounded amusing. The Internet pricked up its ears. The knot is weak. One tutted. The door had not shifted. Sourcebooks
Excerpt from The End of the World Running Club by Adrian J. And I gave in. A red, urgent face was looking down on me, shouting. For me, then at least, being a husband and father meant being simultaneously exhausted and terrified. Alice was standing at the door of the pantry with her hands tucked under her chin, shaking her head. It was thin. A phase that saved our lives. I’d been watching from the kitchen as I tried to cram cold porridge into Alice’s bawling mouth. Once, twice, then a third time louder. We hammered louder. There on the ground was a fat stack of Sunday Times newspapers bound up with string. “I just want batteries and water, Jabbar,” I said, storming up the corridor to the door into the shop. I watched all the TV series, read all the books, and kept all the survival pamphlets on how to make a homemade fallout shelter. Away!” shouted Jabbar from inside. We were low on supplies; Sunday was our big shopping day. He was holding a portable radio close to his ear, his fist pressed against his lips. Jabbar’s wife was hiding in a doorway behind Jabbar, who was still sweating profusely. What was that? The Millennium Bug, 9/11, the London Bombings, Iraq, Afghanistan, the London Riots…
There was no historical name for this one. I swung him off my shoulders and propped him up, still in his backpack, against the kitchen sink. The woman’s face was at the door, wild with terror and rage. Our own selves. “What was that, Art?” I said, waggling his hand. They walked past me too, the woman flashing me a nervous smile as if we were passing in the street. The cellar. Mark and I had met through the prenatal group that Beth had made me go to when she was pregnant with Alice. “All I need is some batteries and water! Australian-born,   Adrian J. Others had broken through our gate and were following up behind her. Get Alice up!”
I sped through the archway and onto the path. Brown air, heavy cloud, nothing but dust, brick, and bent iron. Fighting down my own stale bile, I watched it all and wondered what any man might wonder at any given moment of his life: How the hell did I get here? I tried again closer to the lock. I let the bottle drop to the floor, and he squealed as I put him back on the sofa behind me. Most ignored me too, but as I got to the door, a man I recognized from one of the houses opposite ours fixed me with a sharp stare. Mike was an old widower who lived in a one-bed flat around the corner. “Uh-oh,” said Beth when the real estate agent lifted the hatch. She sighed and looked me up and down, blew a wet ringlet of hair from her forehead. We were the cheap seats. Ridiculous. These are the sounds that stayed with me, which will always stay with me. But what we did have—and what they didn’t—was a cellar. It was the only shop within a mile of the house. All that noise and clamor, life beginning as it meant to go on—a struggle. The dog had stopped. Where the hell are they going? It was some unnamed worldwide cataclysm; we weren’t told the details. Later, after the hell of Cheeky Monkeys, we drove home on roads shimmering with heat. I picked it up and stared at it. Perhaps that comes across as heartless or selfish. She was holding a crying baby. I mean, somebody must have known well before then—must have. The barracks, I guessed. Another groan from Beth. I need to stop thinking about this stuff. Jabbar peered up through the slats as well. Our loft was small and dark, enough for storage but nothing else. Behind her was Jabbar’s brother. I insisted on my right to sleep. I remembered her disappointed eyes and her face flat as she told me to get out of the room. I can still hear the clatter of metal and the squeak of the hospital bed as Alice was passed to me, still feel the bucket inside of me emptying, the panic rising in my breath as Beth’s was filled with relief in her final contractions. Medicine. “Get up! Maybe those German astrophysics students were right. Beth was pregnant with Alice when we had first moved to Bonaly. Work. The plain fact is I don’t know. I scrabbled on the floor to the Sky box, took out the card, and held the Power button. “Jabbar! He cried out and fell like lead on the stained carpet, clutching his leg. Some flickering half memory. The dog whimpered and sat up, looking about in bewilderment. Behind him were an old couple I didn’t recognize. Mark joined me. I left it where it was and piled more things on top. Fifteen or twenty others surrounded her, their pummeling fists sometimes connecting with the back of her skull. “Go on! “What was that?”
He giggled. My marriage gave me vertigo. GO NOW!”
“Mummeeeeeee!”
I pulled out and the car stalled. Jabba’s usually sorting through them by now.”
We looked around the pavement. I was aware of people joining me at the door. More often than not they would rape them first. Minutes? That memory still flickered. I remembered that the female presenter had no makeup on, that the male had his sleeves rolled up as he leafed through the stacks of paper on his desk. Beth was standing at the open cellar door. He shook his head. The plants gave a fierce rustle. “Beth!” I screamed. There was a floored loft that you could stand up in. I remembered words appearing on the screen, white letters on primary red:
STRIKE IMMINENT
STAY INDOORS
I remembered blundering up the stairs, blinking, trying to stop my head from swimming, wine and bile rising in my throat. Frank had scrabbled to his knees and was standing in the middle of the road, staring straight at me. The subtext of the man cave, of course, is that men don’t want to spend any time with their families. Jabbar’s hand was on my face now. “Any newspapers?” said Mark. Thumping feet down the stairs. Walker
Belief
Beliefs are strange. Arthur gurgled in dismay as the teat slipped from his mouth. “We need to get down in the cellar,” I said. “Ed,” said Beth again. An aftershock. “Come on, Artie,” I said, standing up. Come out of there, you fat bastard!”
Nothing from inside. “Nothing.”
I looked back at his brother. “Alice,” I said. The first and last time I ever had human contact with him, I squeezed his lungs until he made a sound like a child who had been denied chocolate. A hundred or more of them, fully fueled, fully wired, clambering, crawling, clawing and yowling up ladders, across rope bridges and around the padded maze. Loud, rattling footsteps on wooden stairs. And so began my first mini-obsession since my five-year-old self first heard that something called a Tyrannosaurus Rex used to exist. Even the mob outside had stopped in momentary confusion. They do things differently there. She had thrown down the boxes and whatever else she had found and was standing on the steps holding Arthur with her free arm stretched out to Alice. These early starts had been going on since Christmas. It danced on the eddies for a few seconds before settling on the stone wall by the side of the road where it lay still, winking sunlight at me from its creases. But what…?”
I turned on her. We were really just a bunch of strangers sharing a pub table. The box finally came back to life and began its cozy introduction video. The others who were following Frank across the road stepped back momentarily. I told myself that a glass or two on weeknights and a bit more at the weekend was fine and perfectly healthy. The same tired, old excuses. It took a week. “Look.”
He was looking down at his feet, the radio still pressed to his ear and his hand across his eyes. “NOW, Beth!”
Arthur stopped crying. “I just passed a load of soldiers from the barracks running up to the Pentlands.”
“Training?”
“Didn’t look like it. Far away, we heard a low, nasal drone. Jabbar was an overweight Pakistani who ran the shop with his brother. Some burn strong and bright, others barely glimmer. The monster burst in on Sunday. That’s what Harvey would say—stop thinking, keep moving. I remembered that he stammered, sweated, blurted out words like data, miscalculation, trajectory, then indoors and vigilant. We stepped back. The real deal. He shrieked as the thorns tore into his face, then into his bare legs and groin as he struggled to get to his feet. I was inflating like a balloon on an abandoned gas cylinder. I had another hangover, of course (wine and television on my own the night before), but I didn’t mind being up so early. What work actually meant…those days. “They’re already here.”
I remembered the sudden gust of wind on the deck, the bending branches, the rumble. Everywhere I looked there was some kind of conflict: infants disagreeing, trying to lay their own boundaries, little souls crashing together. Shelter. “Now go away! “Let’s take a stroll, mate.”
I slung Arthur in his backpack and hauled him onto my shoulders, stepped into my flip-flops, and left through the backyard. She’d made friends with three or four of the girls, her support network, as she liked to call them, who quickly huddled into regular Friday coffee mornings and unabashed texts about breast milk, cracked nipples, and vaginal tearing. It didn’t have the same effect on me, of course, but in its floor was a hatch that led down some rough pine steps into a space that was about the same size as the kitchen above it. “Jabbar,” I shouted through the shutter. I sat there, helpless, as the traffic mounted behind. But it was underground. “Hey, Jabbar!”
I thought I saw some eyes dart at me through the glass panel of the door into the house, but when I looked again, they were gone. Nothing. “Jabba! “Daddy,” said Alice, rubbing her eyes. He caught my eye as he turned. Silent, winded, she tried carefully to get to her feet, but slipped and fell on her face. It was a nice area, and they were nice enough houses, but they were cheap, so we didn’t have a lot of space. It stopped. Behind it, far away against the blue sky, I saw something else. “Your heir.” She pulled back her lips on this last word. Others were gathered around the stack of papers. “I want my bunnies,” she said quietly. Then the picture flickered and a high-pitched tone sounded like a test card. “Ed!”
I croaked something, pried my lips apart, and tried to work some moisture back into the foul pit that was my mouth. When his older sister, Alice, was born, I had made it very clear to Beth, very early in the proceedings, that I was the one who had to get up for work in the morning, that I was the one who needed my sleep, so no, I would most certainly not be helping with night feeds. I was never that much into social media (all those pleas to like this, share that, validate me, laugh at me, support me, update this, or upgrade that—I just couldn’t take it), so I’m sketchy on the details, but about a year before it happened, the Watchmen announced on Twitter that they’d spotted something odd, something that shouldn’t have been there. Although I had long since stopped being hung up on the apocalypse, that part of my brain had started making a list as soon as the first reports of trouble came in. Protection. Our own bodies. Alice sighed and slumped her shoulders, her “teenager’s sigh” we called it, though she was only three. I remembered calling Beth’s name. “What’s this? I found a first aid kit and threw it in the box along with some bandages. My past—everyone’s past—is now a different planet. “Aha,” I said. Bits of string, crumpled photographs, bulldog clips, screwdrivers, dead batteries, candles, takeout menus, spare keys, cigarettes, lighters. “What’s going on?” he said. I can’t tell you exactly what happened. A few from the front saw me and started to follow. Then they continued across the road, glancing between me, one another, and the road uphill. Why would he be putting a dog out at this time in the morning? The kids’ yells got worse and I felt Beth bristling next to me. And then they were forgotten about. Arthur gave a little shout and pulled his hand out of mine to thwack my nose. The taps are stretched, black liquorish strings melting over the sides like a Salvador Dalí painting. “Let him cry it out.” “Change the bedtime routine.” “Put some water in his crib.” “Change his daytime naps.” “Fill him up with cereal before bedtime.” Or, from those who weren’t parents: “Can’t you just ignore him?” Sure, ignore him. “Ed!” shouted Beth. What if this all just blew away? She pulled them to her face and began furiously sucking her thumb, rubbing their soft ears against her cheek. I was badly hungover from after-work beers and we were at Cheeky Monkeys, probably the worst place to find yourself in such a state. More car horns, more screams. I closed my eyes so I couldn’t see the faces at our kitchen window. I bolted down the stairs and threw Alice’s bunnies down to her. “No,” he said. “Alice, you need…”
“NooooOOOO, DADDEEEEE!!”
Bodies were now pressed against our kitchen door, hammering and kicking the glass from top to bottom. I could deal with AIDS. I watched him. What do you do? All this meant was that Sky was out, maybe just in our area, maybe even just our dish. A trickle of urine ran down her mother’s thigh and over the girl’s hand. Beth conceded, but only on the proviso that I took the early shift on Saturdays and Sundays. No choice. “My bunnies,” Alice said again, deadpan, no emotion, hand held out, all business. My world perplexed me—every day was a haze of confusion. One week for the country to plunge from the blissful apathy of a heat wave, through detached concern, into that strange new territory of danger, threat, panic, and, finally, oblivion. Another bang, then silence again. The birds. I had met him once at a neighbor’s Hogmanay party when we first moved in. I believe that I came here on a road that was drowning in mud, that I climbed stairs from a deserted beach to join that road, that I swam to that beach from a small boat and sat there shivering beneath a gathering storm, watching the boat sail back the way it had come. Four or five bald men in white coats were standing around them with clipboards, watching them, prodding them, taking notes. I looked up and scanned the tall trees for signs of life. Arthur was still feeding through the night and waking early, so this was my shift; this was what I brought to the table. What was there to talk about? I told myself not to panic. I remembered everything. I was fascinated and terrified. They were shaking it and screaming. That Sunday I awoke from a long and difficult dream about cows. I remembered her shaking her head, telling me that I was drunk and she didn’t want me near him. GO! So I need a place to start. That little red warning light in my cranium, that lurch in my belly. “Daddeeeeee…”
Think. I looked at the clock. “Get up! “Oh, bollocks, they’re upstairs in her bed.”
Alice’s bunnies went everywhere with her. The bunnies were on Alice’s pillow. The houses on the terrace opposite ours had been built to a different design. Jabbar sprang back from the shutters and fled back through the shop. The only real story was a mild outbreak of heatstroke. Alice had stopped. He made a lunge for the water, but I threw my weight into him and crushed him against the doorframe. My memory stretches into the past like this, filament thin, a string of flickering flames, each one connected to the next. You have to take care with your tenses when the world ends. Jabbar hiding. Nobody really bought it. I could taste the salt of his rough skin in my mouth. This had to be a joke, some kind of reality TV prank. I think it always had done. Not like being at home breastfeeding a newborn and entertaining a two-year-old all day. “Jabbar,” growled Mark. Everyone stopped. And then everything happened very quickly. Arthur started up too. I grinned back. My apocalypse-obsessed teenager passed me up a list. “Alice!” I shouted. It was still before six, usually too early for most people to be up. “You!” he said. The same ones she used to pack up the mountain of kids’ equipment into the car when we went away for the weekend. I wondered daily how we had ever even made it this far. I’ll always regret not being a better father, a better husband, but I have to look forward or else I won’t get to the place I’m going, and I need beyond everything else to get there. As I crossed the road, I heard the banished dog from down the road join in the howl. “Look after your family.”
Then he took a long, quivering breath and turned his face up to the blue sky. I heard a glass break from an upstairs window. Beth screamed something unintelligible. I walked down the main road trying to find a signal on my phone. For some strange reason—it probably appealed to her heightened nesting instinct—Beth thought that this was just about the best thing ever. Places for “men”—or at least their twenty-first-century equivalents—to hide. London? He smiled and raised a hand. She looked at me through one of the lower panes of glass, strange and calm amidst the rage and panic above her. I believe there are graves in the field next to the house where I live. The woman behind landed on his head and made toward our door. The survivors will always remember that week. “Bloody bastard!” screamed Jabbar again as I stepped over his fat head. That’s what people said: “It’s a joke.” I think the supermarkets had a brief surge of cheery panic buyers, but hardly anyone really grasped what was happening. Then the short, deep rumble again. He looked terrified. An unknown time spent in the cellar. I tried to focus. Her husband wagged a loose, open fist at me, sneering with a mouth full of greasy dead animal matter. Maybe they just didn’t have the right telescope; maybe those things were just too small to see or track. Now sex was going to kill you. It should have been open at this time, but the metal shutters were still down. It was independent, not part of a chain, so it was filled with dusty cans and bottles already well past their expiration dates and twice their usual price. We got stuck at a roundabout and I watched through my open window as car after car swept onto it from the right, blocking our path. It’s happening. “Daddy, I want my milk,” she grumbled. Then screams and renewed hammering on the shutters of the shop. “Keep the taps on!”
“Silleeee Daddeeeee woo woo wooo!”
I had a sudden vision of our house destroyed. I heard my son’s last dry sucks as the bottle emptied. “Oh, no, oh, shit,” said Beth. Beth gradually came into focus. It was a steep hill lined with huge houses set back behind long, gravel drives. And exercise—who had time for that with a nine-to-five and two children? I moved toward him, but he grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me back. I remembered falling through Arthur’s door, falling against his cot, Beth’s face full of recrimination as she looked up from the chair where she was sitting feeding him. This was just it. Arthur sounded a low warning note behind me, preparing for a full meltdown if I didn’t return with his milk. I cringe when I remember how hard I thought life was back then. Get blankets, duvets, clothes for the kids.”
“What? The air was now a nightmare of wails and howls of different pitches and intensities. Others, those who had been temporarily spared this doom, stood about in groups drinking tea and energy drinks; women with dark-ringed eyes compared notes and cackled; packs of men grinned like loons as they rushed to take photographs of their little ones on their phones, their bellies bursting through T-shirts designed for teenagers. I felt dizzy, the way you do when you’re a child about to call out for your parents in the night. Echoing themes of   The Martian,   Station Eleven, and a zombie-less   The Walking Dead,   The End of the World Running Club chronicles   a thrilling race against the clock, and   a world destroyed. “…going to be hit!”
My mind reeled. I remembered closing my eyes. “ED! A split second and then it was calm again. The rooms were more spacious with higher ceilings and bigger windows; ours were just on the wrong side of poky and dark. I picked Alice up and dropped her down into the pit. All it takes is two words and a siren to cut it loose. My heart thumped in my throat. Clear off! A fucking air-raid siren. The truth is that the end of the world, for me at least, came as a relief. I couldn’t really argue with her. A small, dark shape that shouldn’t be there. Must be a problem with the cable, I guess.”
“We’re on Sky.”
We looked at each other. Get Alice up!” Arthur bawled, the game no longer fun. How do I survive? His breath was full of hot panic, his eyes wild. A BMW X5 screeched to a halt by our hood and the pinched-faced, platinum-blond horror of a woman behind the wheel began shouting and banging her hands on the dashboard. I’m just saying I thought we had it coming. The mob had renewed their attack on it. This wasn’t unusual; our Sky satellite box sometimes crashed and just needed a reboot. Belief, memory, fear—these things hold you back, weigh you down, stop you moving. I think his name was Frank. I ate double portions, drank double measures, avoided exercise. Suddenly, a Range Rover tore out of nowhere and roared past me at sixty, maybe seventy miles an hour. There was that final heart-stopping headline; there were those two blunt, terrifying words, in capital letters, black on white. Two of the crowd were kicking him and pushing him into one of the rooms. There are times when I wished I’d savored that feeling more. Or men sat in the corner, like me, trying to sleep off the nine pints of strong lager that were still dribbling through an empty stomach. He was snarling as he slammed the great oak door behind him. Not anymore. Out of the window, on a branch in our tree, was a single small bird. Walker’s debut novel,   The End of the World Running Club follows Edgar, a less-than-spectacular man, and a group of refugees after   the apocalypse. That was real terror. I ran to the cellar door and threw the crates of water down past Beth. Jabbar! It occurred to me that I had subconsciously been preparing for this. There were more thumps from above. But was it just me? I don’t know. If we can watch stars dying on the other side of the universe and put a robot on Mars (one who’s probably now wondering why everything’s gone quiet), then surely we could see those things coming. I don’t know what happened. What did those government broadcasts tell you to do? It began to rise slowly in pitch till it reached and held its hideous, gut-wrenching howl. Mark and I stared at the words for a few seconds before they made sense and I had processed my own dull memory of the night before. I followed the main road for a while and turned right, then right again onto the street back to our house. So I believe instead. As I waited for the microwave to heat up Arthur’s milk, I poured myself a glass of water, opened the back door, and stepped out onto the deck. Other roads fed off it: wide, tree-lined, well-paved cul-de-sacs with even grander properties spaced out along them. Some celebrities got involved, and the Watchmen tried to get some scientific muscle behind them to corroborate what they’d found. You were going to evaporate in an atomic blast: finished, done, end of. “What’s happening?” she said. At the end of the corridor I avoided eye contact with any member of what was now a mob. But the nuclear threat was a different matter. The first woman had her face and palms squashed against the glass. I remembered protesting, trying to explain. I closed my eyes and saw the earth from above, the biosphere stretched across its surface like plastic wrap and the human race like mayonnaise trapped within. It is my right as a tired parent. I picked up Arthur and got to my feet, and was immediately hit by a head rush that sent me careering into a table of three scowling teenage mothers. This could be the one. I peered through the window to see if I could spot Jabbar, the owner, sorting through the morning papers, pushing the new milk to the back of the fridges so he could sell off the old stuff first. I remembered the light in the room suddenly changing as a giant BBC logo filled the television screen. Jabbar’s brother was on the floor now. I remember things that no longer make any sense; events from yesterday that may as well have happened to a different person. I believe what I believe to make life less terrifying. “Fanny batter.”
“Bub sucks.”
“Cunt bubbles.”
“Dick cheese.”
It was Ambition Drive I was walking along when I first truly started to feel that something was definitely wrong. Beth and I would wave and talk about inviting them over for a play date with Arthur. He had always threatened to take me out cycling. There was that famous picture they posted of Saturn with some blurry mark on its rings, then another one of a dark smudge across one of Jupiter’s moons. She stood in the kitchen door, wide-eyed, pale, with Alice in her arms, dressed and still groggy from sleep. Then the door banging shut, then silence again. I shouted up the stairs. All the detritus of kitchen life fell into the box. He saw me and gave a little wag of his tail, licking his chops. I picked up one of the recycling boxes by the door and started dragging tins and packets from the shelves into it. Over three feet of snow outside, still dark at 8:30 a.m., wondering again why we were living in fucking Scotland. Parents trailed behind them, lumbering on all fours through the hot fug of their own offspring like damned souls in some long-forgotten circle of hell. There were no lights on, no sound. Kicked the door. There was no end to them, they just kept coming. With his family relocated to “safety,” and time   running out to find them, Edgar is left   to fend for himself. “You need to get inside.”
He leaned forward on his walking stick and peered over my shoulder at the chaos breaking out at the shop. Hearing nothing, I stepped back. Hours? Food. Get…”
But Mark and I had turned from the shutters. “Jabba the Hutt’s hiding in there.”
Mark banged a fist on the shutters. Behind the breeze came a very deep and distant rumble. A few of the other bathrobes who were clamoring to get into Jabbar’s house had turned as well. I heard a shout. Took a breath. Sheds, garages, studies, attics, cellars. Two blunt and terrifying words. I heard a motorized garage door open. A blinding white light blossomed in the sky behind the faces at the window. In Scotland, a country that spends most of the year in a frozen gloom, any kind of appearance by the sun makes the front page, so that Monday—the one before it happened—the front pages were full of grins, short skirts, and bikinis. “Bastard!” he cried. STRIKE IMMINENT
Then I remembered. I believed that I—Edgar Hill, husband, father of two young children, homeowner, Englishman, full-time employee of a large, self-serving corporation, the name of which was soon to be scorched forever from its office walls—was the product of a sick environment, a civilization that had failed beyond hope. Is your first instinct to lift others up, or to trample them down? “Arthur’s crying, Daddy.”
“I know, sweetheart,” I said. Some weeks later, I would suddenly remember this noise in the middle of the night and weep, actually weep, holding my hands to my face so I didn’t wake and upset Beth and the kids. Other things from many years ago still seem to be echoing now. Take mine, for example. “I need that.”
“There’s more in the shop,” I said. We had tried all the advice in the books, from friends and family. The father’s fists were gripping the wheel and the mother had her head in her hands in the passenger seat. The siren was beginning its first awful dive back down. Hi, Mary.”
I turned back to the shop and peered through the window. “Sorry,” I muttered. A shock of pain in my ankle made me howl. Birdsong. They were all now looking at me. A multiple asteroid strike on the United Kingdom is imminent. At the bottom of the hill, I turned right onto the main road. I glanced four heads inside, a family. We’re…”
The words actually caught in my throat. He grinned. Food. That seems like a nice idea. The microwave beeped inside. “I’m sorry, darling.”
Beth instinctively ran down the steps with Arthur. and Arthur’s cries were piercing the wall behind our bed. Still, a little red warning light flashed in my mind and gave me an uncomfortable feeling in my gut. The Watchmen, I think; something like that. Then I heard a woman cry. I was only halfway to the age when it’s OK to feel lethargic, cold, bitter, and confused, and yet I felt those things every minute of every day. The truth is I was tired of it all. The sound still rang in my ears as I blinked in the low light and listened to my heart struggling for calm. Bacteria, sludge; an ever-expanding mass with nowhere to go. She trudged over to Arthur as if I’d asked her to do her homework. Ask anyone who has been in a crowd that becomes too strong, where bodies begin to crush you. One had caught his pajamas on the top and they were torn from his legs as he fell face first into our raspberry bush. She was about Arthur’s age. I grumbled something and pulled back the duvet, knocking the empty glass of water from my bedside table. “Daddy, where are you going?”
I ran back to Jabbar’s shop. I shook my head. We need to see the monster in the room before we scream. I stopped. Another child cried as she was pushed headfirst off a bean bag by a red-faced sibling. Our own heads. Jabbar and his brother lived with their wives and kids in the house that joined onto the back. Shelter. “Tell me you got her bunnies,” I said to Beth. Tangled bathrobes, puffy, confused faces frowning in the light. I was like a man on a cliff edge, nodding off. “We won’t hold that against you!” boomed Mark one night in the pub, slapping me on the back and repeating the joke I’d heard a thousand times since moving north. There was no traffic, which wasn’t unusual at that time of day. A bottle of balsamic vinegar landed on a can of tomato soup. The End
I heard my name called. For some reason this is perfectly acceptable; every man deserves his cave. “Man cave alert.”
Man caves. Get out! Jabbar started waving us away. He’ll grow out of it when he’s good and ready.”
Beth had nodded back dutifully, sobbing quietly as Arthur drained her bruised, broken left nipple for the third time that morning. But some points seem to have clearer connections, even ones that are far from each other, as if they have a direct line that bypasses the normal run of time. What did they call themselves? Our kitchen had a small walk-in pantry. It was a joke, pointless. In the eighties, nuclear war was absolutely, positively, 100 percent how I was going to die. Glasgow? She was making calculations. “Get down in the cellar, NOW!”
Alice began a low moan. “Look after your brother, sweetheart,” I said. He and the refugees embark on a risky journey to   conquer 550 miles of land, on foot,   in order for Edgar to   reunite with his   loved ones. The same time it takes to kick a door down. The sky had that bright and colorless sheen that you only see in cities during the summer. A police siren whooped twice, far in the distance, possibly in Edinburgh itself. My job grated my very core. Where the hell did Bonaly have an air-raid siren? Alice was screaming in the back about some vague injustice while Beth, twisted back in her seat, tried to placate her. Come on, darling, Daddy didn’t mean it.”
“There’s no time! I held up the paper and pointed at the headline. The place was hot, dark, and stank of old curry and babies. They were the posh houses. “Get out of my house! Love my kids. I couldn’t find a signal. I don’t know. The line between any two points in your life is liable to be strange and unfathomable, a tangle of chance and tedium. Maybe it was the vitamin D, maybe I was still a little drunk from the night before, or maybe it was just holding my son in a warm sunrise when nobody else was around. I grabbed them and turned but stopped as I left for the door. I turned around and saw Mark standing in shorts and sandals, carrying his daughter Mary in a backpack like Arthur’s.  

Show Full Article I found our Maglite, grabbed it from one of the shelves and pushed it down the back of my shorts. As I sat on the deck enjoying the warm sunshine and my son’s quiet gurgles in my ear, a breeze suddenly whipped up around us. It wasn’t much, not very big. But Beth was the one who did it all. I was overweight. “‘Strike’?” said Mark. A sound that was not supposed to be heard anymore, a sound that belonged in a different century. The fucking, fucking bunnies. The kitchen door swung open and banged against the cupboards. This house, and the cliff to which it clings, is falling down. It was after six o’clock by the time I reached the shop opposite our terrace. Nothing. “Beth!” I bellowed up the stairs. He was almost halfway across when another 4×4 came hurtling down the hill, hitting him square in the side and tossing him up like a rag doll. The air around us seemed to lurch in the silence as if we’d all just hurled ourselves over a cliff edge. Not a plane, but something like it. I jerked awake. “He’ll grow out of it when he’s good and ready.”
Just a phase. Any signal?”
“No, you?”
“Nada.”
“Our television’s out as well.”
“Ours too. It was a cry of fear. Some had two guns.”
“Have you noticed the birds?” I said. Beth was trying to smile. It was still quiet, still warm. I crossed the road, trying to keep the stack of batteries balanced on the water and avoiding two more cars screaming down the hill going fuck knows where. Get out!”
His bulbous, wet stomach pressed into my chest as he tried to wrestle me back through the door. “Come down with Mummy.”
“Noooo,” said Alice. There was another sudden great gust of wind. The tall trees down the hill creaked painfully as their branches crumpled. I remember struggling for words, slurring, trying to explain something even I didn’t understand. But this was a man I saw almost every day. I’m not open!”
“Look,” I said. I raised a hand in apology and pulled away. All I know is that one minute you’re watching your three-year-old daughter scrambling up a soft play rope ladder, and the next you’re hurling her into the cellar and slamming the hatch behind you. But I kept going, didn’t I? “Don’t, you’re upsetting her! “Can’t you hear the siren, Mike? Anyway, yes, I hold up my hand, guilty again. Everywhere. I slammed the bolt down on our gate and sprinted up to the kitchen, scooping the batteries from the deck. I pulled out the bottom drawer and emptied the lot into the second box. He looked around for a bit, then crawled over to another little boy and began a wordless dispute over a plastic hammer. We’re idiots. I mumbled some apology and staggered away from them, dropped Arthur into the baby’s section and fell back into my seat again, breathless. She was the one who took it all on, growing them, giving birth to them, changing more than her fair share of filthy diapers, never complaining when I snuck off to the pub or stayed up late watching television, never complaining when I fell into bed beside her in the middle of the night, my breath heavy with wine. Maybe they realized there was no way out and wanted us to enjoy the last few months we had of normality. They seemed like old men with happy families at peace with the world, but they could still recall the hunger that drove them to kill and eat Chinese women. I could hear Beth thumping about above me, pulling things out of drawers and cupboards. You need to get inside.”
Mike puffed through his nose and flickered a half smile as if I had just told him a joke he didn’t quite get or approve of. “Not all of them, just enough for me and my family.”
“No!” said Jabbar, stepping out and squashing me against the wall with his shoulder. “Bastard! Drink, smoke, look at pornography, masturbate. His wife had stood in the corner, a small porcelain shadow of a woman sipping Bacardi in silence. Love my wife. Still nothing from NASA, and then they went quiet. Behind him I could see a woman looking at us, cowering in the doorway to the house. Something jarred. It echoed off the hills and howled through the empty streets, a demented, sickening sound that had only ever meant one thing and one thing only: take cover, hell is coming, things are about to get VERY bad. Then a year went by and we were in a heat wave, and that was all anyone had to talk about. The air was full of noise and movement. I heard gravel scrabbling and a dog’s yelps behind me. He was in his early sixties, perhaps. Arthur gave a gleeful hoot behind me. Mark tore the invoice sheet—someone had incredibly still thought to include it, even with what lay within—and pulled out the first in the pile. NASA responded with just a few curt dismissals, but you could tell something wasn’t right. Then a door banging, a man shouting, a woman crying, a loud screech of car’s tires as it sped away. Shelter. I always made excuses. Arthur flinched at the low sun and snuggled into my neck, breathing little stuttering breaths in my ear as I closed my eyes and let the warm light flood over my face. Get down there NOW!”
Alice’s moan rose up like the air-raid siren. We’d had it coming for a long time. Fuck. I knew I wasn’t going to have sex anytime soon anyway, not with my face looking like an arse smeared with jam. Three cars sped past and down the hill. How could we look after a planet when we couldn’t even look after our own countries, our own towns, our own communities? On the sofa, I plugged the milk bottle into Arthur’s mouth with one hand and found the remote with the other. “It’s already happened,” he hissed. And that’s when we finally got it, with no time left to prepare. Everything was eerily quiet after the noise. Mark and I shared one last look and then bolted in opposite directions. Creatures of denial who have learned not to be afraid of our closets. She was wearing a nightie and holding on to the woman’s leg—her mother, I supposed. Simultaneously, we ran back around to the front of the shop. He stared straight past me and elbowed me out of the way and into the shop. Think. I leaped up the steps and through the kitchen, up the stairs and into Alice’s room. As Beth helped her up and brushed her down, Alice whimpered in shock at the betrayal I had just dealt her. It’s so different it almost makes no sense to remember it. A small herd of them was stuck inside a pen, struggling to escape, their hooves sliding from one another’s hides. “Hey,” he said, blocking my path. I weighed the options. Alice was now twirling with her hands in the air and singing. I saw people at windows, woken by the siren. I remembered staggering through to our room, waiting for Beth to come through, trying to make sense of things, knowing that I should be doing something. To tinker, potter, be creative, build things, hammer bits of wood, listen to the music that their families hate. His broken body somersaulted over a hedge and landed against a trash can while the car sped on. I had been the only English one there. Still the cars sped by, endless, a swollen sea of souls washing past the windshield. The truth was that, aside from a minor decrease in sleep, my body had found a way of getting what it wanted: a sedentary life with plenty of carbohydrates and relaxants. Close living. Water. I don’t think I’m the first man to have ever pulled this one. Not asteroids, and certainly none of this slow climate-change bollocks. My thumb hovered over the red button. Ignore the thunderous screams of rage and the crib hammering against the wall as your wife’s body stiffens with fury in the bed next to you, exhausted after another night of fragmented sleep. “Daddeee…”
How much time do we have? Medical Supplies. Jabbar was still curled up on the floor in the corridor and his brother was now being pushed back by the crowd of people. EW is pleased to present an exclusive excerpt, and cover reveal of the novel, below. It was looking over its shoulder at what I presumed was its owner, a large, bare-footed man in a crumpled shirt and no trousers who was hurrying back to the house. I had almost reached the path to our house when I saw Mike standing at the corner. This is close living, Beth’s dad had grumbled when he first came to visit. A tiny speck moving quickly, a dark trail behind it. All those people, all that horror, all that death. That’s probably my last real memory of anything normal. I grabbed the remote and sat back against the sofa, thumbing through the channels, trying each one in turn, moving through the international news stations: BBC World, CNN, Al Jazeera, the shopping channels, religious, music, adult—all dead. We laughed. I kept stumbling on, putting one foot blindly in front of the other, watching it all, filling my fat face with it all, frowning at it all, wanting it all to just go away. But in the end, the pantry was where we stored all the food we didn’t eat, and the cellar was where we kept the vacuum and the empty wine bottles. I looked down into the gloom of the cellar. I remembered the silence in the studio, the flustered looks on the presenters’ faces. Primary school, maybe? “Cellars! “Look after Arthur,” she said. “I’m taking Alice on the big slide.”
It was Saturday afternoon, the day before it happened. How far away? “It’s just a phase,” the midwife had said on that dark winter’s day all those months before. Besides, if you have to go around digging up graves to prove your own sanity then you’ve probably already lost it. Careful with those tenses. I may as well start at the end. I started opening and closing cupboards. The husbands dutifully met on the fringes, nodding silently at one another at birthday parties, going for the occasional pint where we’d sit and discuss things like sports, work, news—trivial safe-houses, anything but the reason we were thrown together. It started with a “Huhh-uhh-uhh…” as the air was pushed out of his lungs, but as I squeezed past him it turned into a comical, childish squeal, his face crumpled as I pushed by. “Fill the bath, Beth!”
“Znot basstime, Daddeee!” shouted Alice, twirling in the sunlight that was still streaming through the kitchen window. His fat cheeks were damp with sweat. I have to keep telling myself not to look back so much. A few seconds later, I heard a crunch of metal, and a chorus of car alarms joined the howls of the siren and the dog that still filled the air. Beth didn’t drink because of the breastfeeding, but I pretty much drank every night. “Jabbar!” I shouted one last time. “Does that mean what I think it does?”
I didn’t answer. I believe that I wasn’t alone. On the third kick, the door swung in and I followed it into Jabbar’s hall, pushing his brother into a stack of boxes in the corner. “Our son,” she said. That’s all beliefs are: stories we tell ourselves to stop being afraid. Frank. Maybe it really was just me, and I suppose it’s fair to say I was in a bad place back then. Are there anymore papers?”
Jabbar stared at the words and then back at us. She squealed and tried to wriggle away. “Go away!” he said, flicking his hand at us. You want to know how long it takes for the fabric of society to break down? I fell down the steps. I sucked in my stomach when I saw him. That beast inside you, the one you think is tethered tightly to the post, the one you’ve tamed with art, love, prayer, meditation: it’s barely muzzled. There was something wrong with the silence, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I’m fairly sure these two small, windowless symbols of domesticity—airy female bliss for Beth, dark male seclusion for me—were the real reasons we bought the house. I was sitting down; my arms were folded, stiff with inaction. We lived in Bonaly, a quiet scattering of small newly built homes and gigantic mansions five miles south of Edinburgh at the foot of the Pentland Hills. “The main thing is not to worry,” she had said, one palm laid carefully on Beth’s knee so as to avoid the various stains of sick, stewed apple, and sour breast milk. All I know is that the end—in the end—came from the skies. “Beth! Cheeky Monkeys was a vast indoor soft-play arena of gigantic foam climbing frames, nets, plastic slides and—most notably—children. He nodded at the water. “Get the fuck out of here!” shouted Jabbar as I rounded the corner onto a corridor with a red, floral carpet and cheaply framed pictures. How do I arm myself? I locked ours. The tree in the corner of the yard creaked, and its branches twisted and bowed momentarily out of shape. I walked on slowly. I had thought. “It’s just a phase. “Come on,” she said. Weird. “Come on, darling,” Beth whispered. The crates were slipping in my hands. With the batteries balanced on the crates, I marched back down the corridor. When the circulation of the party threw the two of us into proximity, he met me with something halfway between revulsion and curiosity. Don’t get me wrong—I loved my wife and I loved my kids, but that doesn’t mean to say I had to be happy about it. Open up! “Daddeee, Arthur’s cryyyiiing.”
Rice, pasta, beans, canned fruit, chocolate. It was a blue tit perhaps, chirping merrily away and flicking its head about like small birds do. The truth was that I was thirty-five and caught in my own headlock. By her side was a little girl not much older than Alice. Suddenly, the air-raid siren stopped. “Please, I’m scared.”
I slid the box toward the pantry and started filling another. She lives on this farm in middle America, and when it all starts happening, the first thing her father does is turn on all the taps in the house. I can smell Beth’s perfume in that crowded party and feel the warmth of her knee as she pressed it mischievously against mine, telling me that this was going to lead somewhere else, that her face was going to be a part of my life from then on. Yes, there was the odd update on how the respective wives were doing, how the sons and daughters were growing every day, little bundles of joy that they were…but we were each aware that we didn’t want, didn’t need, that level of discussion in our lives. “Stay here with Mummy, darling,” I said. The sun that had seemed so warm and welcoming before was now vivid and terrible. The news bulletins were so disjointed and confused that the mistakes were talked about more than the actual content of what they were trying to convey: that something very bad might be about to happen. But still, everyone remembers that day. Jabbar’s brother had picked himself up behind me and was trying to hold back the growing throng at the broken door. The bushes, usually trembling with tits and starlings at this time of year, were deathly quiet. Frank started to stride across the road. His eyes were set, determined, no longer the genial face of the local tradesman. We had called a midwife out in January. I leaped up the steps to the deck and burst through the back door, nearly tearing Arthur off my back in the process. Silence again, the noise sucked from the air. He had been guarded, predatory, scanning the room for opportunity. Beth carefully placed Alice down and ran upstairs. I learned to avoid mirrors, learned to ignore the dull shock of seeing paunch, jowls, and breasts growing day by day. Beliefs have very little to do with the truth. “Get up! We kept banging on the shutters, and Arthur and Mary joined in the game with squeals and shouts behind us. This time the wood split and I heard footsteps running from inside. Nothing. Light. “What do you know?”
I stabbed the paper. “Hey. I guessed minutes. This is it, I would think with nothing short of glee. Arthur sucked happily on his bottle, and I pressed the On button. It was summer; it was hot. With a surge of effort, I managed to swing back my leg and kicked it hard against his knee. And that made it hard on Beth. Then I followed Alice down and went to pull down the hatch. The branches were perfectly still and empty. The past is a foreign country, someone once said. I remembered waking up to Arthur’s cries. She says, “What’s happening, Daddy?” and he replies, “I don’t know, honey; I don’t know,” and starts pelting around the rooms filling baths and sinks. I once read a book about Japanese veterans remembering the darkness of the Second World War. Broadband was out and I could never get a phone signal in the house anyway. The windows in the house rattled violently. I was struggling. It’s a common enough shirk, one that conveniently ignores what work actually means for most men—i.e., comfy seats, tea and coffee, cookies, nice food, adult conversation, the occasional pretty girl to ogle, the Internet, sealed toilet cubicles where you can catch a few winks without anyone noticing. I remembered scrubbing the stain with a cloth. Our next-door neighbor Calum was the first through. She hit the stone floor with a thud, and the air left her tiny lungs with a huh. I’ll tell you. A child yelping, a man shouting. Didn’t you feel the same? “How…how long?” Beth said. I’m not saying I thought it was a good thing, and I’m not saying I thought it wasn’t tragic. I made it easy on myself, very easy. “Hey!”
I looked behind. With no sleep, no sex, no time, no respite. I had never shaken his hand. I bolted up the path and into our yard and hurled the crates of water across the deck and through the kitchen door. There’s no fucking time! I was tired of the clamor and the din of a world that made less sense by the day and a life that had me just where it wanted. It was an ancient sound, like a rusted handle turned on something that had not been used in a long time. I couldn’t remember the last time I had pushed or punched anyone. Screams, colors flashing by, something tugging at my trouser leg. Beth groaned and elbowed my ribs. Mark and I got on OK, despite the fact that he was a road cyclist and therefore a bastard, being much fitter and healthier than me. I slammed the hatch shut.

Shonda Rhimes joins Planned Parenthood’s national board

“And so, to me, it feels like it’s important to help fight back.” Cecile Richards, the president of the   Planned Parenthood Federation of America, asked Rhimes to take on the   role. And if that is helping to convey messages, that is what I’m going to do. Show Full Article As for what her new role will entail, she said, “I haven’t totally defined what I want to do yet, but mostly I want to be of service — in any way that I can. “Because the fans are always much more enlightened than, you know, the studio lawyers are.”
Planned Parenthood released a statement at the time, saying, “Tonight, the millions of people who tune into Scandal every Thursday night learned that our rights to reproductive health care are under attack. The creator of Grey’s Anatomy and Scandal   joins   the organization’s national board, as revealed in a new interview with Elle magazine. Rhimes is already on the Los Angeles board for Planned Parenthood. “The fact is that women’s health is under fire right now,” Rhimes said. Shonda Rhimes is doing more for Planned Parenthood beyond her   efforts on television. If it’s rolling up my sleeves and getting to work, that is what I’m going to do.”
In 2015, Scandal aired an episode in which Olivia Pope (Kerry Washington) underwent an abortion. “I’ve been so, so impressed by everything she’s ever done,” Richards remarked. Shondaland actress Kate Walsh,   Scarlett Johansson, and Lena Dunham   were among those advocating for the organization and women’s rights, while others, including Katy Perry and movie studio A24, made donations. “When that episode came out, I thought the reaction was going to be so much stronger… which is always awesome when it’s not,” Rhimes   later explained of the moment. Never one to shy away from critical issues, Shonda Rhimes used her platform to tell the world that if Planned Parenthood lost funding for contraception counseling, STI testing, cancer screenings, and safe, legal abortion — millions of people would suffer.”

Under the Trump administration, GOP lawmakers have been working to strip Planned Parenthood of funding, prompting a wave of support from activists and celebrities.

Brie Larson, Sharlto Copley have feisty reunion in ‘Free Fire’ clip — exclusive

In Ben Wheatley’s upcoming ’70s set action-comedy, an arms deal goes very wrong, leading to an epic shootout. It turns out the 7,000 bullets used during the production of Free Fire   weren’t the only shots fired in the upcoming movie. “Well, you’ve put on a bit of weight. An exclusive clip reveals there were   a great deal of insults being launched as well. Before the guns come out, though, the crews are introduced — or, re-introduced, considering the verbal back-and-forth between Justine (Brie Larson) and Vernon (Sharlto Copley). Described by Justine as an “international a—hole,” Vernon immediately lives up to his reputation. Watch the video above. “As gorgeous as ever,” he tells Justine, kissing her hand. Did somebody impregnate you?”
“F— off,” she replies, which Vernon interprets as good news, responding,   “Good, still a chance.”

Free Fire, which also stars Armie Hammer, Cillian Murphy, and Jack Reynor, shoots into theaters on April 21. Show Full Article

‘Buffy’ reunion: Why ‘Hush’ was the ‘hardest episode’ for the cast to shoot

It was so hard. Like, every little moment. That twist means half the episode is completely without dialogue. I felt really bad. Don’t forget to   subscribe   for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW. Written and directed by creator Joss Whedon, “Hush” finds the major players, including Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar), battling floating demons called The Gentlemen who have stolen the voices of everyone in Sunnydale. Alyson Hannigan: Probably one of the hardest episodes. That’s when I truly knew that I fell in love with the show. It was just a week of not having to learn lines. For more revelations from the past four decades of entertainment, visit   ew.com/untoldstories. Amber Benson: No one wanted to sit at lunch with [The Gentlemen]. Show Full Article Michelle Trachtenberg: As a fan, though, you were perfection that episode. There are several episodes that stand out over the course of Buffy the Vampire Slayer‘s seven-season run and season 4‘s “Hush” is without a doubt a fan favorite. WB
James Marsters: But Joss was specific about direction. Sarah Michelle Gellar: I was never so tired physically exhausted. “Nope, that was beautiful, but you need to do it half a second later than you did it.” It was all planned with an inch. It was so hard. Sarah Michelle Gellar: I couldn’t wait for [“Hush”]. To read more on the   Buffy the Vampire Slayer   reunion, pick up the new issue of   Entertainment Weekly   on stands now or   buy it right here.

‘Get Out,’ ‘Stranger Things’ lead 2017 MTV Movie & TV Awards nominations

The 2017 MTV Movie & TV Awards, hosted by Workaholics nominee Adam DeVine (Best Comedic Performance), airs live   from the Los Angeles’ Shrine Auditorium Sunday,   May 7 at 8:00 p.m. MOVIE OF THE YEAR (Presented by Toyota CH-R)    
Beauty and the Beast (Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures)
Get Out (Universal Pictures)
Logan (20th Century Fox)
Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures)
The Edge of Seventeen (STX Entertainment)
BEST ACTOR IN A MOVIE
Daniel Kaluuya – Get Out (Universal Pictures)
Emma Watson – Beauty and the Beast (Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures)
Hailee Steinfeld – The Edge of Seventeen (STX Entertainment)
Hugh Jackman – Logan (20th Century Fox)
James McAvoy – Split (Universal Pictures)
Taraji P. ET. Pictures)
Moonlight – Paula (Naomie Harris) tells Chiron (Trevante Rhodes) that she loves him (A24)
This Is Us – Jack (Milo Ventimiglia) and Randall (Lonnie Chavis) at karate (NBC)
NEXT GENERATION
Chrissy Metz
Daniel Kaluuya
Issa Rae
Riz Ahmed
Yara Shahidi
BEST DUO
Adam Levine & Blake Shelton – The Voice (NBC)
Daniel Kaluuya & Lil Rel Howery – Get Out (Universal Pictures)
Brian Tyree Henry & Lakeith Stanfield – Atlanta (FX)
Hugh Jackman & Dafne Keen – Logan (20th Century Fox)
Josh Gad & Luke Evans – Beauty and the Beast (Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures)
Martha Stewart & Snoop Dogg – Martha & Snoop’s Potluck Dinner Party (VH1)       
BEST AMERICAN STORY
Blackish (ABC)
Fresh Off the Boat (ABC)
Jane the Virgin (The CW)
Moonlight (A24)
Transparent (Amazon)
BEST FIGHT AGAINST THE SYSTEM
Get Out (Universal Pictures)
Hidden Figures (20th Century Fox)
Loving (Focus Features)
Luke Cage (Netflix)
Mr. While television performers have been integrated into pre-existing categories like Best Villain (where the likes of — spoiler alert —   Get Out   star   Allison Williams goes head-to-head with Demogorgon from Stranger Things), Best Comedic Performance, and Best Kiss, among others, several new brackets make their debut this year, including Show of the Year (Atlanta and Insecure   square off against This Is Us, Game of Thrones, Pretty Little Liars, and Stranger Things), Best Host (LGBT icons RuPaul   and Ellen DeGeneres vs. Also new for 2017 is the Next Generation award, which will be given to a breakout   media star. Pictures)
Jeffrey Dean Morgan – The Walking Dead (AMC)
Wes Bentley – American Horror Story (FX)
BEST HOST
Ellen DeGeneres – The Ellen DeGeneres Show (NBC)
John Oliver – Last Week Tonight with John Oliver (HBO)
RuPaul – RuPaul’s Drag Race (VH1/Logo)
Samantha Bee – Full Frontal with Samantha Bee (TBS)
Trevor Noah – The Daily Show (Comedy Central)   
BEST DOCUMENTARY
13TH (Netflix)
I Am Not Your Negro (Magnolia Pictures)
O.J.: Made in America (ESPN Films)
This is Everything: Gigi Gorgeous (YouTube|Red)
TIME: The Kalief Browder Story (Spike)
BEST REALITY COMPETITION
America’s Got Talent (NBC)
MasterChef Junior (FOX)
RuPaul’s Drag Race (VH1/Logo)
The Bachelor (ABC)
The Voice (NBC)
BEST COMEDIC PERFORMANCE
Adam DeVine – Workaholics (Comedy Central)
Ilana Glazer & Abbi Jacobson – Broad City (Comedy Central)
Lil Rel Howery – Get Out (Universal Pictures)
Seth MacFarlane – Family Guy (FOX)
Seth Rogen – Sausage Party (Sony)
Will Arnett – The LEGO Batman Movie (Warner Bros. Disney’s live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast scored several nominations as well, particularly for Movie of the Year, Best Actor in a Movie (Emma Watson), and Best Kiss. Fans can begin voting for winners now   at   MTV.com. Samantha Bee, Trevor Noah, and John Oliver), and   an individual television acting set   that includes Donald Glover (Atlanta), Gina Rodriguez (Jane the Virgin),   Emilia Clarke (Game of Thrones), Jeffrey Dean Morgan (The Walking Dead), Mandy Moore (This Is Us), and Millie Bobby Brown (Stranger Things). Other films that appear in the Movie of the Year category include Hugh Jackman’s final Wolverine film,   Logan, franchise blockbuster   Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, and the Hailee Steinfeld-driven teen comedy,   The Edge of Seventeen. For   the first time in its 25-year history, the MTV Movie & TV Awards — previously known simply as the MTV Movie Awards — has expanded the scope of its categories to include   titles like   Netflix’s Stranger Things, NBC’s This Is Us, FX’s Atlanta, and VH1’s RuPaul’s Drag Race   — each of which scored major   notices   among the ceremony’s   inaugural set of TV   honorees. Henson – Hidden Figures (20th Century Fox)

TEARJERKER
Game of Thrones – Hodor’s (Kristian Nairn) Death (HBO)
Grey’s Anatomy – Meredith tells her children about Derek’s death (Ellen Pompeo) (ABC)
Me Before You – Will (Sam Claflin) tells Louisa (Emilia Clarke) he can’t stay with her (Warner Bros. Nominees include actress   Chrissy Metz (This Is Us), actor   Daniel Kaluuya (Get Out), Insecure writer-actress-creator Issa Rae,   The Night Of   star Riz Ahmed, and Blackish   performer   Yara Shahidi. Henson – Hidden Figures (20th Century Fox)
SHOW OF THE YEAR
Atlanta (FX)
Game of Thrones (HBO)
Insecure (HBO)
Pretty Little Liars (Freeform)
Stranger Things (Netflix)
This Is Us (NBC)
BEST ACTOR IN A SHOW
Donald Glover – Atlanta (FX)
Emilia Clarke – Game of Thrones (HBO)
Gina Rodriguez – Jane the Virgin (The CW)
Jeffrey Dean Morgan – The Walking Dead (AMC)
Mandy Moore – This Is Us (NBC)
Millie Bobby Brown – Stranger Things (Netflix)
BEST KISS
Ashton Sanders & Jharrel Jerome – Moonlight (A24)
Emma Stone & Ryan Gosling – La La Land (Summit Entertainment)
Emma Watson & Dan Stevens – Beauty and the Beast (Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures)
Taraji P. On the film side, Jordan Peele’s feature directorial debut,   Get Out, racked up six nominations, including Movie of the Year, Best Actor in a Movie (Kaluuya), Best Villain (Williams), Best Comedic Performance (Lil Rel Howery), Best Duo (Kaluuya and Howery), and Best Fight Against the System. Though its yearly crop of nominees tends to skew more commercial than the Oscars’ or Golden Globes’, MTV’s annual Hollywood awards show has proven, once again, its finger is pressed firmly on the pulse of pop culture, recognizing a wealth of diversity across both film and television categories among its   2017 class. Henson & Terrence Howard – Empire (FOX)
Zac Efron & Anna Kendrick – Mike & Dave Need Wedding Dates (20th Century Fox)
BEST VILLAIN
Allison Williams – Get Out (Universal Pictures)
Demogorgon – Stranger Things (Netflix)
Jared Leto – Suicide Squad (Warner Bros. Check out the full list of nominees below. Pictures)
BEST HERO
Felicity Jones – Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (Walt Disney Studios Motion Pictures)
Grant Gustin – The Flash (The CW)
Mike Colter – Luke Cage (Netflix)
Millie Bobby Brown – Stranger Things (Netflix)
Stephen Amell – Arrow (The CW)
Taraji P. Robot (USA)

Show Full Article

Trans-Siberian Orchestra founder Paul O’Neill dies at 61

“This is a profound and indescribable loss for us all.”
O’Neill got his start co-producing Aerosmith’s two   Classics   live albums in the late ’80s   and went on to form a relationship with metal band Savatage. We used some of the oldest Christmas melodies we could find, like “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” and “Carol of the Bells” (which is from the Ukraine, near that region). He later recruited members from that group, Jon Oliva and Al Pitrelli, to help form Trans-Siberian Orchestra in 1996. Trans-Siberian Orchestra founder Paul O’Neill has died from a chronic illness, the band announced on their official Facebook page Wednesday. I think what most broke this man’s heart was that the destruction was not done by some outside invader or natural disaster—it was done by his own people. “He was our friend and our leader — a truly creative spirit and an altruistic soul,” they wrote. He was 61. Way, way further.”
Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s most recent album was 2015’s   Letters from the Labyrinth,   which peaked at No. The orchestra represents one side, the rock band the other, and the single cello represents that single individual, that spark of hope. Some time later, a reporter traced him down to ask why he did this insanely stupid thing. Rather than head for the bomb shelters like his family and neighbors, this man went to the town square, climbed onto a pile of rubble that had once been the fountain, took out his cello, and played Mozart and Beethoven as the city was bombed. He came every night and began playing Christmas carols from that same spot. Show Full Article The old man said that it was his way of proving that despite all evidence to the contrary, the spirit of humanity was still alive in that place. That year, they released   Christmas Eve and Other Stories, a   holiday-themed rock record and the first in their Christmas trilogy, which included the seminal classic “Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24.”

Speaking with Christianity Today in 2003, O’Neill explained the origins of that hit:
We heard about this cello player born in Sarajevo many years ago who left when he was fairly young to go on to become a well-respected musician, playing with various symphonies throughout Europe. The song basically wrapped itself around him. At that time, Serbs were shelling Sarajevo every night. Many decades later, he returned to Sarajevo as an elderly man—at the height of the Bosnian War, only to find his city in complete ruins. Of the band itself, O’Neill said in a statement on the group’s website,   “The whole idea was to create a progressive rock band that would push the boundaries of the genre further than any group before. It was just such a powerful image—a white-haired man silhouetted against the cannon fire, playing timeless melodies to both sides of the conflict amid the rubble and devastation of the city he loves. 7 on the Billboard 200.