#21: longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car.
the hidden depths of bucky barnes
I originally wrote a much longer intro to this in which I lamented that for most of us in the UK this week marks one year of working from home but I deleted it, already myself tired of reading anniversary think-pieces which reiterate our twelve-month period of collective introspection. An acute awareness of my behaviour isn’t something I take great comfort in and having to sit with yourself for an extended period of time- when everything that has come to define you is entirely inaccessible- has been far tougher than I’d envisaged. My preferred coping mechanism (going to the cinema) is currently not an option, so in lieu of a dark room with an oversized screen, I’ve amplified my preoccupation with my own television and the various streaming platforms to which I subscribe.
At this point, I know how to use all of these to my advantage and have learnt how to avoid falling into the pitfalls of solely watching what the algorithm thinks I’d enjoy, though there’s nothing wrong with that at all; I’ve definitely discovered great things because they’ve been forcibly thrown in my direction and I’ve often leaned into this way of watching in the last year, because most of the time I didn’t have the energy to make executive decisions for myself.
As 2021 arrived, I set myself arbitrary viewing projects in order to curb my propensity to watch things for the sake of it when I have an entire to-do list I actually want to tick off. A few weeks ago, I finished re-watching all of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films: I did one every Saturday, which dragged me through the post-Christmas blues and gave me something to do every weekend for two months (this in itself is an entire newsletter). At the other end of the cinematic spectrum, two of my close friends and I are currently doing a synchronised re-visit of every Batman film, all iterations. We’re currently at the end of the Nolan era and it’s been interesting to remember just how much his trilogy shaped the superhero landscape and how they compare to the behemoth that has become the MCU and all of its phases.
I have lots of complex thoughts and feelings about Marvel which I won’t unpack now but despite saying I was firmly “out” after Avengers: Endgame, I was dragged back in by WandaVision and its nine-episode arc. At this stage the show has been analysed to death in every way possible but considering it focused on two characters I’d previously not cared about at all, I thought it was a pretty interesting look at processing grief and the chasm that losing a loved one can leave. I also thought it was peak internet click-bait and ended up heading in the same direction all MCU films do: with a big fight scene which leaves most fan-theories unanswered, with the plot bleeding into another piece of content (in WandaVision’s case: Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, 2022 tbc).
I can usually tell when I’m experiencing a “low” period because my fandom-based hyperfixations* are ten times more obvious, a clear distraction from anything and everything else. A few years ago, I was unwell with a Crohn’s flare and- seeking comfort- I got into a pattern of watching the same things over and over, one of which was Captain America: The Winter Soldier, a film I now associate so readily with sickness (both physical and mental) that I find it hard to sit through without experiencing some kind of sense memory reaction remembering days spent in bed, fawning over Bucky Barnes.
We’re mere hours away from the release of Disney+’s latest Marvel series, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier and regrettably, the accompanying press-tour (and a 24 hour period spent re-watching the Captain America trilogy) has pushed me back into a deep, deep Sebastian Stan shaped k-hole.
One of my favourite writers, Helena Fitzgerald, recently wrote about the self-awareness of caring about anything, to the point of parody and I felt incredibly seen:
I can tell when I really love something in that oh shit way when I start thinking about how to articulate everything that’s terrible and embarrassing about it, when I start relentlessly roasting it and myself for liking it, when I skip right over figuring out how to talk about why I love it and go right on to figuring out how to talk about why loving it is embarrassing.
It’s a strange sensation, knowing you’re going to become an insufferable bore over the course of the next six weeks and I’ve already begun apologising to friends and loved ones for turning all conversations into a treatise about whether or not cutting Bucky’s hair was a good idea (it wasn’t). I would be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about what the show is going to do with the character; I’ve been jarred by how verbal he is in the promo trailers, after ten years of him barely saying a word to anyone and I’m still not convinced that his sparring with Sam Wilson will ever match his friendship with Steve Rogers. I’m also acutely aware that expressing deep affection for what is essentially (not so) thinly-veiled military propaganda in the year 2021 is a real character flaw, but we all have our weaknesses, especially where fandom is concerned.
Below is a piece I wrote for the zine my podcast produced about the things we’d obsessed over in 2019; mine was Sebastian Stan. Not much has changed really, so I thought I’d share it for those who may not have seen it to give you context about just why Steve and Bucky (and Sebastian) mean so much to me. The last line might be the single most embarrassing thing I’ve committed to paper, but it also contains the phrase that has given me hope on more than one occasion, so I’ve left it intact.
“I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve.”
There's a moment toward the end of Avengers: Endgame where lifelong friends Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes have to say goodbye to one another. It’s after Thanos’ “snap” has been undone, when those who disappeared have returned to once again go about their daily lives as though nothing has happened even though we all know otherwise that this isn’t the case.
Steve and Bucky are saying goodbye, because Steve- in a classic act of Captain America-style selflessness- has opted to go back in time to return some of the infinity stones and (it becomes apparent) to reunite himself with his long lost love, Peggy Carter. He hops back to the 1940s like it’s no big deal; they get their dance, Cap grows old, we’re all relieved that he doesn’t die.
But: before all this happens, as the two men embrace and exchange small pleasantries about Steve taking all the stupid with him, a knowing look passes across Bucky Barnes’ face as it becomes apparent to him that his best friend isn’t going to return from this trip, that he has other significant plans for his life post-Avengers. It's heartbreaking, an all-to-brief scene wholly indicative of how the franchise stuck the fall on Steve and Bucky’s relationship and a moment which triggered a thousand fix-it fics on ao3. I saw the film twice in the theatre, became fixated on those few minutes and the way they’d managed to undo an entire narrative established way back in 2011 with release of The First Avenger. By definition, obsession means an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes a person's mind and so much of my 2019 revolved around Steve and Bucky, the gaze between them in the last moments of Endgame and what was being said while not being said at all.
I first encountered Sebastian Stan in Gossip Girl playing rich kid Carter Baizen who appeared on and off for three seasons though at the time, he didn’t really register with me; he was just another handsome young actor among an all too good looking cast. His role as Bucky Barnes is where the locus of my infatuation sits, where my attention was harnessed and where- unashamedly- my MCU investment began. I am decidedly pro-Captain America; that character’s trilogy was my hook into the series’ wider chronology. While I've now consumed all of the franchise’s installments, those films are the ones I only care for at length, a double-whammy with Chris Evans as Steve/Cap and Sebastian as Bucky. They’re my OTP; I'm the captain, they’re my ship.
My horror at the way Endgame did the pair dirty forced me to revisit the three Captain America-centric films, to right the wrongs and remember just why I believe so firmly in ‘Stucky’ as a fandom. Yes, part of it is because both Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans are really really really ridiculously good looking, but it’s also because of how well they inhabit their roles how- if i saw either of them in the street- my first reaction, my first point of reference, would be those characters.
The work Sebastian does within Bucky Barnes’ limitations- his forced amnesia, his Russian-programmed training to fight and destroy against his own will- is often underrated. When words fail, memories eluding him, Bucky's expressions show viscerally the internal struggle he is battling while he tries to recall. Sadness and confusion often fill his eyes, child-like attempts to put things together in his mind, broken puzzle pieces fracturing accounts of who he is and who other people are. My camera roll is littered with photos of Bucky Barnes looking sad, Bucky Barnes looking pensive, Bucky Barnes trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. Sebastian Stan is really great at conveying all three of those states of emotion, you know. Is it the clenching of the jaw? That really, really perfect jaw? Who can say.
An unintentional project I've embarked upon since April is filling in the gaps I had in Sebastian's filmography, gradually attempting to watch everything I've not already seen, regardless of quality (and really, it’s a mixed bag). As well as watching The Winter Soldier four or five times, I covered: Destroyer, The Covenant, The Bronze, Ricki & the Flash, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, The Martian, as well as re-visiting I, Tonya, one of his best (and most undervalued!) performances. Alongside that I’ve mined YouTube for interviews, the Marvel press junket working to my advantage and providing me with literal hours of him buddying up with Anthony Mackie (Falcon), Chris Evans and others. I’ve read most of the profiles the internet has to offer, I have a text chain back and forth with a friend which comprises primarily of Sebastian Stan magazine editorials, candids, instagram screen grabs. He really likes working out; the internet is full of photos of him working out. But somehow, it always comes back to his role as Bucky Barnes. “You’re my friend” “You’re my mission”
I wasn’t kidding when I said I'd watched The Winter Soldier more than once this year. It’s become a safety blanket; a warm hug; a hit of serotonin; a distraction for my brain when everything feels too much. I could write a pHd about the unresolved trauma of James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes, the winter soldier, the way he pushes the limitations of his body in a way that mirrors Steve Rogers’ inclination to use himself as a shield, about not just that hair- THAT HAIR!- but about the way he struts when he’s trying to annihilate those coming after him, Mr Self Destruct himself. There’s a Disney+ series coming sometime next year, titled The Falcoln and the Winter Soldier, addressing the life of those characters post-Endgame. Is it going to ruin my life? Probably! Am I going to watch it obsessively? You bet!!
2019 has felt “too much” in parts and I know I'm not alone in seeking solstice in pop culture; in things, in people. The comfort I’ve found in Sebastian Stan can only be understood by those who know what it’s like to be a fan, who know what it’s like to put time, effort, attention into knowing everything there is to know about someone who’s work you admire and- admittedly- someone you would really like to snog if given half the chance. Whether it’s the winter soldier or any other role he takes going forward, one thing’s for sure: I'm with Sebastian Stan ‘til the end of the line.
*(nb. hyperfixate is also the name of another wonderful newsletter you should all subscribe to, here)
til the end of the line baby!!!