so the fact remains that jeff goldblum played the grandmaster with absolute peak perfection and absolutely no other mcu performance can top that, which is just a fact, but it means that either jeff goldblum has this fantastically nuanced understanding of this character who is incredibly ancient and powerful but still ultimately a silly hedonist OR he just rolled up to thor ragnarok like ‘i’m jeff goldblum and i’m gonna be playing jeff goldblum’ and fuckin nailed it
Everyone in Infinity Wars gonna be complaining about how hard these last few years have been for them until Thor rolls up with no hair, no hammer, and one eye.
my favorite thing about this is that each of them is walking in a different direction, it’s like these girls are off to conquer the entire goddamn world
one thing i really liked about thor ragnarok that i havent seen a lot of folks on my dash talking about was its critique of imperialism and the ultimate message that a nation founded on the violent takeover of others doesn’t deserve to exist and will be the author of its own destruction, though its people may be innocent of their country’s past crimes
another thing i really liked about thor ragnarok is jeff goldblum’s painted nails
also it’s a great story about how the destruction and/or theft of land, though incredibly traumatic, does not signal the end of culture and identity, which is held within the peoples of the diaspora (he’s māori and has jewish ancestry so like!!! holy shit yes).
taika waititi not-so-secretly appropriating a marvel franchise for the purposes of de-/post-colonial storytelling is a power move and now my hype for black panther has been reinvigorated
And this is how The End is stopped. Not by the gods or goddesses, the other races than man, no. It is Tumblr. As a mass running after a now confused and tail tucking Fenrir, whining softly as the crowd chants “PUPPER! PUPPER! PUPPER!”
Better yet: Fenrir escapes his chains and lopes forward to destroy the earth, and is met by a crowd of people. An army, Fenrir thinks, and bares his teeth in a ferocious snarl and charges toward them.
They cheer.
Wait … cheer?
Fenrir slows, confused. He smells no fear, senses no rage. This is … a very strange army.
The first hand—weaponless!—reaches for him; he tenses, ready to tear the offending limb to shreds, and lets out a high little yippy whine when it pats him about the ears.
Immediately the noise is reproduced by some four or five of the nearest humans; he smells excitement; more hands are patting him.
It’s nice.
The humans crowd around him, patting him and scritching him and shuffling around to give others a chance. Voices coo, and make puppy noises, and someone catches just the right spot and he cocks his leg and scratches himself, drawing a multitude of oohs and ahhs and cheers and squees.
At some point, his hunger awakens at the scent of burnt flesh; a human has brought him what he later learns is a hot dog; he swallows it in one bite, to more cheering, and looks around hopefully for more.
It is not long before more is bought: steaks and Big Macs and bacon; it seems like much of the group has brought him a snack of some kind and was hoping for a chance to give it to him.
The End of the World is supposed to be at hand, but Fenrir does not care. His hunger sated, his battle-lust swept away by a tide of gently petting hands, he rolls over, careful not to crush his many companions, and takes a nap.
“Who’s a good boy?” they ask him, over and over.
Is this some psychological warfare, he wonders, designed to undermine his confidence and remind him that he is nothing more than a monster who needs to be chained?
“Who’s a good boy, huh, huh?” “Who’s my good boy?” “
And then one of them answers the question for him.
“You are!”
‘Me?’ he thinks. But if there was any doubt, she confirms it.
“You are, yes you are.”
Fenrir’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as he grins. ‘I’m a good boy!’
just moving along like everyone else 