Ok, by popular Twitter demand here is my extremely nerdy write up on breathing and breathwork in Our Flag Means Death, specifically looking at Ed and Stede’s “Your Wear Fine Things Well” scene. I’m a professional theater person and coming at this from a live performance lens, and this is film/TV acting, so take some of this with a grain of salt, but most of our best actors come from a theater background (I know Taika studied theater in college ). So fuck in, let’s dive in and overanalyze the hell of out something.
Gnossienne No. 5, composed by Erik Satie in 1889, is Ed and Stede’s theme. It’s played at each of their important moments throughout Our Flag Means Death. When you listen to the piece in full, it’s like someone keeps starting the piece and messing up a little so they start all over again, and each scene experiments with a different instrument during a different segment of the piece, like flute or harpsichord. It remains tentative but each time it’s a little more hopeful, a little more determined, a little more wistful. Ed and Stede are revealing little bits of themselves to each other, checking in and reaching out towards each other’s vulnerabilities and offering safety, exploring what they mean to each other. But the base notes, their connection and chemistry, always stay a steady anchor. The whole piece is a bit sloppy and giddy and all over the place yet always comes back to the same notes and the same progression. They can’t quite place their finger on what’s happening so the music can’t resolve in a satisfying way, but each time it becomes clearer and more complete until the end of the song which is played during the scene where they kiss and they’ve finally figured out how to play all the notes and it’s beautiful. It’s like this culmination of everything the performer has been trying to communicate and finally gets right- but it’s still cut a bit short.
I’ve talked before about how often the show is in conversation with creative works that signal shifts towards modernism, which is apt for a show that famously and hilariously plays with time periods and shifting 1717 up with anachronistic modernisms. It’s true in its references to literatureandpainting, and it’s true of music as well. Satie was experimental for his time, taking inspiration from impressionist painters like Monet who endeavoured to create reflections of the ordinary and the real that were non-static and moving, in both senses of the word. He’s sometimes described as the spiritual father of minimalism, whose compositions @unadulteratedkr calls “subversive in its relative simplicity.” While giving me some context for Satie, she told me that while his notations indicate that performers should leave room for poetry in their expressions of the music, he insisted the tempo remain modéré, meant at the tempo of the human heart. The bohemian was a truly hopeless romantic who proposed to the painter Suzanne Valadon on their very first night together. He wrote her songs and she painted his portraits, and when she left him after 5 months, he was so devastated that he wrote of being left with “nothing but an icy loneliness that fills the head with emptiness and the heart with sadness.” She was supposedly his only ever known love affair.
Gnossienne No. 5 dovetails OFMD’s minimalist approach to romance, where the sweeping and swelling feeling of falling in love is left to speak for itself in its understated, clumsy simplicity. The piece is experimental in the way that the show is experimental, stripping the queer love story down to its rawest most basic components without being weighed down by oppressive forces or grand expectations. It allows for comedy and lightheartedness and the experimental nature of becoming friends to lovers. It’s their song through and through. I’m sure we can expect it to play at their wedding, and we will all dutifully cry our eyes out.
Here’s a link to a recording
They played this on ClassicFM today and it made me so happy.
Gnossienne No. 5, composed by Erik Satie in 1889, is Ed and Stede’s theme. It’s played at each of their important moments throughout Our Flag Means Death. When you listen to the piece in full, it’s like someone keeps starting the piece and messing up a little so they start all over again, and each scene experiments with a different instrument during a different segment of the piece, like flute or harpsichord. It remains tentative but each time it’s a little more hopeful, a little more determined, a little more wistful. Ed and Stede are revealing little bits of themselves to each other, checking in and reaching out towards each other’s vulnerabilities and offering safety, exploring what they mean to each other. But the base notes, their connection and chemistry, always stay a steady anchor. The whole piece is a bit sloppy and giddy and all over the place yet always comes back to the same notes and the same progression. They can’t quite place their finger on what’s happening so the music can’t resolve in a satisfying way, but each time it becomes clearer and more complete until the end of the song which is played during the scene where they kiss and they’ve finally figured out how to play all the notes and it’s beautiful. It’s like this culmination of everything the performer has been trying to communicate and finally gets right- but it’s still cut a bit short.
I’ve talked before about how often the show is in conversation with creative works that signal shifts towards modernism, which is apt for a show that famously and hilariously plays with time periods and shifting 1717 up with anachronistic modernisms. It’s true in its references to literatureandpainting, and it’s true of music as well. Satie was experimental for his time, taking inspiration from impressionist painters like Monet who endeavoured to create reflections of the ordinary and the real that were non-static and moving, in both senses of the word. He’s sometimes described as the spiritual father of minimalism, whose compositions @unadulteratedkr calls “subversive in its relative simplicity.” While giving me some context for Satie, she told me that while his notations indicate that performers should leave room for poetry in their expressions of the music, he insisted the tempo remain modéré, meant at the tempo of the human heart. The bohemian was a truly hopeless romantic who proposed to the painter Suzanne Valadon on their very first night together. He wrote her songs and she painted his portraits, and when she left him after 5 months, he was so devastated that he wrote of being left with “nothing but an icy loneliness that fills the head with emptiness and the heart with sadness.” She was supposedly his only ever known love affair.
Gnossienne No. 5 dovetails OFMD’s minimalist approach to romance, where the sweeping and swelling feeling of falling in love is left to speak for itself in its understated, clumsy simplicity. The piece is experimental in the way that the show is experimental, stripping the queer love story down to its rawest most basic components without being weighed down by oppressive forces or grand expectations. It allows for comedy and lightheartedness and the experimental nature of becoming friends to lovers. It’s their song through and through. I’m sure we can expect it to play at their wedding, and we will all dutifully cry our eyes out.
I’ve been trying to tease apart why I’ve gone so terminally feral for this show in particular, and I think a big part of it is because it captures the feeling of falling in love so accurately that I feel like I’M falling in love. Butterflies in my stomach, nauseous when I think about it, can’t STOP thinking about it love.
As much as we all love a classic rom-com/love story flick, they have wreaked havoc on our expectations of romance. The purpose of those films or shows are to play out our most grandiose fantasies of love and relationships, a level of drama we could never actually attain, as a form of escapism. There are no manic pixie dream girls whose sole personality is a brand of quirky that fits your interests and saves you from your disillusionment in life. In reality, pursuing someone so intensely without ever giving up or taking no for an answer until they finally win their love interest over has become a trope so pervasive that its bled into the insidious romantic imagination of Nice GuysTM world wide. In the real world, you probably will never have that spinny camera kiss in the pouring rain after you’ve beaten the odds and live happily ever after, and you might feel like nothing you can experience will ever live up to that feeling. Not to mention they’re all heteronormative as fuck.
In OFMD the friends to lovers journey is tentative and slow. There’s no moment where one of them takes their glasses off and they suddenly see the other in a whole new light. There’s no one sided whining and pining, where there’s no real interest in friendship and they only stick around hoping to someday get in the other’s pants. They deeply care and fret about not ruining their friendship, about not making the other uncomfortable or pressured. Most of my personal long term relationships started out as friendships, and it was a delicate drawn out testing of the waters before it naturally evolved. And this is particularly common in queer relationships where the lines between platonic and romantic love are often blurred because there are no models of courtship to look to for guidance.
I’ve seen people talk about how their kiss was too awkward, but that’s how real first kisses are. Confessing your feelings is mortifying and nerve wracking, and hearing it makes you blush and stammer. You miss their lips and knock your heads, you don’t know where to put your hands. You’re nervous. It’s not perfect but it’s sweet.
And hats off to Taika for absolutely nailing true heartbreak. It feels like your world is ending and your life has come crashing down like they show in the movies but it also makes you feel small and soft and scared. It’s the squeak in your voice when someone asks you how you are and you can feel yourself trying not to cry but you can’t stop it. It’s feeling so emotionally exhausted that you can’t even bring your self to be angry, you’d just rather curl up into a ball and die. It’s thinking you’re moving on until something small reminds you of them and you ugly cry until snot is running down your face and you can’t catch your breath. It’s hiding under your covers and writing shit poetry in your notes app.
OFMD isn’t “I wish I could experience this love story.” OFMD is “I have experienced this love story.” Falling in love can be the most huge, overwhelming, transcendental part of the human experience. It doesn’t need exaggeration. It’s the little things, it’s like Mary says. It’s them understanding your idiosyncrasies and finding them charming. It’s exposing each other to new things and new ideas. It’s laughing a lot. It’s passing the time well.
It’s mundane and it’s amazing. It’s easy, it’s like breathing. This show has made me fall in love with the idea of falling in love all over again.
