Happy Thorsday from Me and Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great Grand Uncle Thor

After the slaying of the Cumberbatch from my last post, I was feeling pretty confident that, with blood, sweat and many eraser nubbins, I might just be able to draw whoever I'd like to a reasonable degree. So in between writing, gardening and my Day Job Thingy, I launched myself into a series of portraits of my favorite movie characters.

To celebrate #Thorsday, I HAD to attempt Chris Hemsworth in the role of my family's demi-god ancestor-- a superhero forged of stardust, steel and quality hair care products.

I also chose Mia Wasikowska as Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, in armor, preparing to fight the Jabberwock. (And -- major ALICE IN WONDERLAND NERD RANT-- I love this movie, but I'm sorry, Mr. Burton-- the creature is NOT a "Jabberwocky." That is the name of Lewis Carroll's poem. The dragon is the "Jabberwock." It's right there on the page. This bugs me every time. I understand taking liberties with the plot to create a new film, but there's simply no reason to tweak the name of the Jabberwock. It is totally non-frabjous and someone needed to say that... Ahem.) Look-- Alice looks concerned about it, too.

Post-Alice, I decided I would tackle two favorite character actors at once, by drawing Paul Bettany and Alan Tudyk as Chaucer and Wat from A Knight's Tale. Interestingly, it took me less time to draw both of these guys than it did a single Cumberbatch. All drawings for me are now going to be evaluated for their difficulty on the Cumberbatch Scale.

I've been wanting to draw Paul Bettany, anyway, because if my There Goes the Galaxy books ever became movie fodder, he would be my very first choice to play my character Rollie. Sometime, if I'm feeling brave, I may try to draw him in the role. He really only needs the orange eyes and madder hair.

Another film I've watched a million times is Ever After, so I decided to draw Drew Barrymore in the scene where she's headed off to the ball. I had to use two different reference photos to get this right since the photo of her costume didn't show her face clearly and at the angle I wanted.

And my FAVORITE of the bunch is this Johnny Depp as Ichabod Crane of Tim Burton's Sleepy Hollow. I wasn't sure if I could pull this one off, so when the drawing actually began looking Depply, it was really exciting!

I post all of my drawings as I become happy with them on my Pinterest account here: 

http://www.pinterest.com/jennthorson/doodles-and-illustrations/

So if you enjoy them, I hope you'll follow me there. (After the many hours of drawing I've done, I'd be all excited to see folks repinning something other than that one pink moth photo I pinned off of someone else six months ago.)

Ah, but such is the Interwebs. :)

Happy Thorsday, good people!

Jabberwookiee

(Special shout-out to Speedcat Hollydale, as his goofing around with the "Jabberwocky" name spawned the idea for this Star Wars Meets Lewis Carroll spoof poem. Thanks, Speedy!)


Twas suns-up and the Jawa droves
Did zap and gather robot slaves
All cocky were the Rebel coves
And the Empire's forces staved

Beware the rancor pit, my son,
The jaws that chomp, the claws that squish
Beware the Emperor and shun
Dark Daddy, Lord of Sith

He took his saber-sword in hand
Long time for Darkly Dad he trained
So rested he by the mossy tree
And sulked a while, in pain

And as in Jedi sulk he stood
The Vader, hissing breath of fame,
Came stalking through the swamply wood
All wheezing as he came

One, two! One, two! And through and through!
The saber beam went "wumm-nah-ccchhhhhh"!
The vision fled, and Yoda said,
"Much rage have you. Now shhhh."

"And fight you did, your Darkly Dad?
Much you must learn, young Jedi knight."
"There is no try." But, reckless guy,
That kid bugged off to fight

Twas suns-up and the Jawa droves
Did zap and gather robot slaves
All cocky were the Rebel coves
And the Empire's forces staved


Note: no Wookiees were harmed during the making of this poem (what with, um, not actually appearing in it. So, sue me.)

Lewis Carroll Tests Out Jabberwocky

The woman was packed into her black Victorian dress, her hair piled high, bearing plumes that bobbed like an exotic bird looking to attract another exotic bird for an afternoon of passion and seed.

As the audience before her clapped, she announced, "...And next, we will have a reading from Rev. Charles Dodgson, who plans quite a treat for us. He says he's been writing a bit in his spare time, and today will recite a poem of his very own creation. I haven't heard it yet myself, so we'll all be surprised and delighted together. Welcome, Rev. Dodgson. I expect your poetry to enlighten and inspire us all."

Young Charles Lutwidge Dodgson stepped to the podium, and felt the sweat bead up around his starched collar. He hadn't shared this with anyone yet, and he knew it was a little risky.

Normally, at these sorts of functions, he just stood up and read Tennyson's Lady of Shalott and was done with it. But there had already been three Lady of Shalotts today. The lady could only die so many times in one afternoon. The moment begged variety.

And variety he would give them.

"Um, thank... thank you," he said. "It's a pleasure to be with you all today. I... I've been working on something new. Er, different, I think. And I... Um... I'm not sure how... Well, you see, this piece was... was... Well, maybe it's just best I begin."

The room grew quiet. He cleared his throat.

"Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."

He paused for effect, but could hear the murmurs in the crowd. "What language is that?" whispered one.

"Native Australian. They've borogoves in the Outback," responded another, more informed gentleman.

"I had slithy toves in my garden once," mumbled someone near the back. "Dreadful pests. Had to use lyme on them."

"What part of the Bible is this?" murmured a lady in gray flannel, flipping unsettled through her pocket Bible. "Book of Isaiah?"

The Bird of Paradise at the front of the room flushed, looking like the pressure building up might shoot her clear from corset and all. "Shhh, everyone. Please... Oh, I am sorry, Rev. Dodgson, please do go on."

Charles Dodgson gave her a tight smile and cleared his throat again.

"'Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the jubjub bird and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!'"

In the crowd eyebrows were raised. Cheeks were pale. Eyes were wide. He caught a vague, "What did he say?"

"Gloomius band of snatch, I think."

"Well, that hardly sounds appropriate for mixed company! And from a clergyman, too."

An old lady who'd only heard half of it, shouted, "Is this not The Lady of Shalott, then?"

Dodgson tugged at his collar, which was damp and wilting now, but he determined to proceed on. Perhaps the problem was he just needed to give it a bit more energy for it to really grip:

"He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought."

"Who's the fellow with the purple sword again?" hissed a lady in the front row to her sister.

"I don't know. But he's fighting someone who speaks Manx."

Dodgson decided that maybe louder was the way to go, now, and upped the volume.

"But, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock with eyes of flame
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came!"

"Isn't Tulgey somewhere near Cheshire?"

"Devon, I think. Is this fellow quite all right?"

"Always heard he was a bit strange."

Desperate to get through the poem with any degree of success, Dodgson grabbed up a nearby lady's parasol and swept it aloft like a mighty broadsword. He knew he should have brought some props, but this would just have to do.

"One, two! One, two! And through and through,
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!..."

"He's having a fit!" a woman cried, standing up in her concern.

"Someone help the poor man!"

The lady with all the plumes had gone completely crimson now, and rushed to his side-- just as the parasol accidentally popped open, sending a second potential assistant backwards into the front row.

The Bird of Paradise took his arm and made soothing sounds, patting him. "There, there, Rev. Dodgson." She was leading him from the podium now, while someone picked up Mr. Evans from row one.

"I'm fine, honestly," the young clergyman insisted. "It...It's just a bit of nonsense, really, I—"

"Alice, dear, fetch Rev. Dodgson a glass of water, would you?... There's a good girl."

"It's for children, you know," he persisted. "There were just so terribly many Shalotts and—"

"Mad as a hatter, that one," someone whispered.

"Mad as a march hare," agreed someone else sadly. "Completely off of his head."

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