Gavroche and courfeyrac relationship quiz

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gavroche and courfeyrac relationship quiz

Gavroche is kicked out of the house at an early age and becomes a Parisian street urchin. Together with Courfeyrac and Marius, Enjolras leads the insurrection at the barricade. Tholomyès is a wealthy student who thinks much less of his relationship with Fantine than she does. Take the Character List Quick Quiz. Courfeyrac is considered to be third-in-command of Les Amis de l'ABC. In the film, Courfeyrac is shown to have a close relationship to Gavroche. I loved the relationship between Courfeyrac and Gavroche in the movie . *sniffle * Courfeyrac and Gavroche had the sweetest relationship in the movie!:'.

Put the bottles down. Marius IS kind of a loser. You have to grant me that. But he's a lovable loser. And it's absolutely impossible to hate him, because whether we admit it or not, we all have a little bit of Marius in us.

gavroche and courfeyrac relationship quiz

Failure to see things staring us in the face, making the wrong remark at the wrong time, getting overdramatic when we don't get our way Marius is relatable whether we want him to be or not. I feel like a broken record here, but Eddie Redmayne was another of the "I-am-totally-not-sure-about-this-actor's-ability-to-play-that-character" people. I believe my initial reaction upon seeing a picture of him for the first time was something along the lines of "ewww.

At any rate, I was proven wrong Still not Michael Ball. But then, who is? Don't say Michael Ball. You knew what I meant. His voice is not quite up to my impossibly high standards where Marii are concerned, but he did a pretty good job with most of the songs and his "Empty Chairs" was phenomenal. I can't help being amused by the way his head shakes every time he attempts to hold a note However much I may admire Michael Ball's incredible vocal abilities and count his performance as my favorite, it cannot be denied that Eddie Redmayne's Marius is much closer to brick-Marius than any other portrayal I've seen.

Michael Ball plays musical-Marius, which is great, but musical-Marius is head over heels for Cosette, incredibly loyal to his friends, completely ignorant of Eponine's feelings for him and that's pretty much it. Brick-Marius is a staunch Bonapartist something not covered in the stage musical OR the movie, sigh In my not at all humble opinion seriously, if my opinion was humble I wouldn't be posting it on my blog for all the world to seeEddie Redmayne blended brick-Marius and musical-Marius beautifully.

He had the political fervor Marius is supposed to have even if it was republican And he really did sing pretty well. Because I hereby take them all back. Lea Salonga has, sadly, aged out of the part. She has a voice that could knock your socks off if you happen to be wearing socks I'm typing this post while barefoot, so that's not an option for methe kind of facial expressions that can convey an entire monologue with one eyebrow lift think of Anthony Andrews as Sir Percy if you don't know what I meanshe's completely gorgeous even when she's a a mud-covered street rat or b dressed as a boy, and did I mention she's an amazing singer, possibly the best in the movie?

One thing that did bug me in her interaction with Marius, though, was the way the lyrics were so messed up. Totally not Eponine's fault, though. I don't think I would have minded so much if the rewritten song had sounded a little better--after all, it did explain to the viewers about Marius' grandpa and all that--but the silly thing doesn't even rhyme. Don't say "yeah it does. Plotting to overthrow the state?

gavroche and courfeyrac relationship quiz

You still pretending to be poor? Come on, I know your grandpa's rich At least "bother me" and "rather be" almost rhyme, if you're British and don't discriminate between M and B. And what was up with cutting out Eponine's first few lines about knowing a lot of things? It didn't make any sense, later on, when she said, "You see I told you so, there's lots of things I know I ranted as much to Anne-girl when it was all over, but all she would do was put on her best Josh voice and say, "But then it would have been like a six hour movie!

Basically, my only complaint about her was that I felt like Samantha Barks didn't get enough screen time-- I mean, her Eponine was flawless because, y'know, SHE is flawless, but I wanted to see more of her. I have always been something of a skeptic where Marius and Cosette are concerned, at least in the musical.

I elaborated on my opinions regarding love at first sigh here, and I don't retract any of my statements, but Marius and Cosette in the movie were too sweet for words. And it really has to be attributed to splendiferous acting from Eddie Redmayne and Amanda Seyfried. From the moment their eyes met across the crowded street, I knew they were destined to be together. Um, hope I didn't just spoil anything for you.

Spoilers-- they get married. Amanda Seyfried was a lovely, lovely Cosette.

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I know the brick says Cosette is supposed to be a brunette, but I always pictured her as a blonde, and now it's pretty much impossible for me to picture her as anyone but Amanda Seyfried. She looks like a living doll, and isn't that what Cosette is supposed to be? Kind of symbolic with the doll Valjean bought for her when she was little Because he spoiled her with clothes and whatnot, y'know. This Cosette was not bratty or spoiled as some Cosettes seem to be, however-- though she wanted to know more about the past and got upset when Valjean refused to tell her, she didn't get angry the way Katie Hall does in the 25th concert an element that always annoyed me.

Girl, you have no idea how much this man gave up for you!! Nor does her wealth and privilege seem to have made any kind of Veruca-Salt-ish character out of her I love that that's where Marius gets his first glimpse of her-- doing good for the people, just as he and his friends are trying to do in their own way. But then the Thenardiers have to come along and ruin it all. Not that I didn't enjoy the ruining, because it was hilarious.

Was I the only one who got chills when Javert picked up Gavroche? Then when Random Other Police Officer whom I'm convinced was just thrown in there, along with the dudes at Fantine's arrest, just to prove that Javert is NOT the only cop in Paris, despite evidence to the contrary was holding onto him while Javert was doing his I'm In Charge Here thing, my sister and I were vociferating our indignation quite Ooooh, it would have been cool if Nick Jonas had played Montparnasse.

I would have been way too amused. Even more so if they had left in the little bit at the end of "Look Down" where Gavroche is introducing Eponine and she elbows Parnasse in the stomach.

That would have been entertaining. Also, Russell Crowe's singing amused me agaaaaain in this one. This is becoming rather a mantra. The Marius-teasing was perfect a combination of lightening the mood at what was probably a boring political meeting and just plain goofing offMarius' reaction was exactly as it ought to be a blend of confused, embarrassed and not-really-caring-because-did-you-guys-SEE-her???

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It's the barricade boys. Hadley Fraser's "ooh and ahh" used to be my favorite, but I'm becoming rather partial to George Blagden's after repeated listenings.

gavroche and courfeyrac relationship quiz

This song, I think, is when we see Enjolras' full personality in its best light. We see him getting frustrated with both Marius and Grantaire, attempting to drag Marius back into the Real World though the "who cares about your lonely soul! Yeah, those are tears. I'd never thought about it before IF they had both survived the barricades and IF the story had ended very differently, I would have loved to see them get married. She desperately needed someone to love her, and he desperately needed something or someone to believe in after the revolution failed.

Yes, you can argue that the wistful look on Enjo's face is more of a "drat, Marius is deserting us again" than a "sheesh, who IS that gorgeous woman?

In this case, anyway. And look at Combeferre, will you? That's shock right there. Shock that Enjolras is noticing a girl. I will go down with this ship. I really, really liked the Cosette and Valjean interaction during that song She was eight when she left the Thenardiers And I liked the way the candlesticks kept popping up in Valjean's rooms throughout the movie-- a lovely little touch showing how the Bishop's influence is following him through his life.

Amanda Seyfried's voice left something to be desired in both this song and "A Heart Full of Love"-- she really couldn't quite hit those high notes-- yet I'm okay with that. I saw an interview in which Samantha Barks was describing her costar's voice as almost birdlike, very tremulous and flute-y, which fits in perfectly with the brick's running comparison of Cosette to a lark.

On stage I like a Cosette with a really strong soprano, but in the movie I'm willing to overlook technicalities. And I wasn't even crying because Eponine was literally left out in the cold, though my sadness did stem from her presence. Mostly I was crying because all I could think of was, "gahhh, she loves Marius and he doesn't love her back and she's going to die.

I knew Eponine was going to die. Now you do too, if you didn't already. I'm well-versed in this story. Why on earth should I suddenly start operating the waterworks just because I remembered what was going to happen in Act Two? I think perhaps that, too, is a testimony to how great this film is. Here's a story I know like the back of my hand, a character who may very well be my favorite in the whole shebang I still can't deciiiiiiide, thougha song I've heard literally hundreds of times.

Yet seeing it in a new interpretation brought tears to my eyes and face This story still has the power to move me in ways I hadn't thought possible, even after many, many viewings. Back to our normal programming. But it was still handled well on Samantha Barks' part, anyway. That thing ought to be patented. Just like Colm Wilkinson's eyebrows. And the cutting of some of the more important lines did make this piece of nonsense possible, of which I'm still pretty proud.

I fully approve of the people-who-boss-such-things' decision to move it back in time and have it take place right after AHFOL. The impact of just having seen the man she loved meeting the woman HE loved would definitely be devastating to poor Eponine, and since she doesn't have to play the Pony Express in this version, it makes sense for her to sing her famous soliloquy here instead of on her way back from delivering Marius' letter.

Interesting to note-- just as she sings the line "the streets are full of strangers," some random dude walks by in the background.

I wouldn't call that street exactly full, but hey, there's one stranger. It makes more sense than it does onstage, when she's completely alone for the entire song. I almost wish she'd won instead. We are making history here. These were the mirages of that period. Voltairian royalism, a quaint variety, had a no less singular sequel, Bonapartist liberalism. Other groups of minds were more serious. In that direction, they sounded principles, they attached themselves to the right.

They grew enthusiastic for the absolute, they caught glimpses of infinite realizations; the absolute, by its very rigidity, urges spirits towards the sky and causes them to float in illimitable space. There is nothing like dogma for bringing forth dreams. And there is nothing like dreams for engendering the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood to-morrow.

These advanced opinions had a double foundation. A beginning of mystery menaced "the established order of things," which was suspicious and underhand.

A sign which was revolutionary to the highest degree. The second thoughts of power meet the second thoughts of the populace in the mine. The incubation of insurrections gives the retort to the premeditation of coups d'etat. There did not, as yet, exist in France any of those vast underlying organizations, like the German tugendbund and Italian Carbonarism; but here and there there were dark underminings, which were in process of throwing off shoots.

The Cougourde was being outlined at Aix; there existed at Paris, among other affiliations of that nature, the society of the Friends of the A B C. What were these Friends of the A B C?

A society which had for its object apparently the education of children, in reality the elevation of man. They declared themselves the Friends of the A B C,--the Abaisse,-- the debased,--that is to say, the people. They wished to elevate the people.

It was a pun which we should do wrong to smile at. Puns are sometimes serious factors in politics; witness the Castratus ad castra, which made a general of the army of Narses; witness: Barbari et Barberini; witness: Tu es Petrus et super hanc petram, etc.

The Friends of the A B C were not numerous, it was a secret society in the state of embryo, we might almost say a coterie, if coteries ended in heroes. They assembled in Paris in two localities, near the fish-market, in a wine-shop called Corinthe, of which more will be heard later on, and near the Pantheon in a little cafe in the Rue Saint-Michel called the Cafe Musain, now torn down; the first of these meeting-places was close to the workingman, the second to the students.

This hall, which was tolerably remote from the cafe, with which it was connected by an extremely long corridor, had two windows and an exit with a private stairway on the little Rue des Gres. There they smoked and drank, and gambled and laughed.

There they conversed in very loud tones about everything, and in whispers of other things.

gavroche and courfeyrac relationship quiz

An old map of France under the Republic was nailed to the wall,-- a sign quite sufficient to excite the suspicion of a police agent. The greater part of the Friends of the A B C were students, who were on cordial terms with the working classes. Here are the names of the principal ones.

They belong, in a certain measure, to history: These young men formed a sort of family, through the bond of friendship. All, with the exception of Laigle, were from the South. This was a remarkable group. It vanished in the invisible depths which lie behind us. At the point of this drama which we have now reached, it will not perhaps be superfluous to throw a ray of light upon these youthful heads, before the reader beholds them plunging into the shadow of a tragic adventure.

Enjolras, whose name we have mentioned first of all,--the reader shall see why later on,--was an only son and wealthy. Enjolras was a charming young man, who was capable of being terrible. He was angelically handsome. He was a savage Antinous. One would have said, to see the pensive thoughtfulness of his glance, that he had already, in some previous state of existence, traversed the revolutionary apocalypse. He possessed the tradition of it as though he had been a witness.

He was acquainted with all the minute details of the great affair. A pontifical and warlike nature, a singular thing in a youth.

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He was an officiating priest and a man of war; from the immediate point of view, a soldier of the democracy; above the contemporary movement, the priest of the ideal. His eyes were deep, his lids a little red, his lower lip was thick and easily became disdainful, his brow was lofty.

A great deal of brow in a face is like a great deal of horizon in a view. Like certain young men at the beginning of this century and the end of the last, who became illustrious at an early age, he was endowed with excessive youth, and was as rosy as a young girl, although subject to hours of pallor.

Already a man, he still seemed a child. His two and twenty years appeared to be but seventeen; he was serious, it did not seem as though he were aware there was on earth a thing called woman. He had but one passion--the right; but one thought--to overthrow the obstacle.

He hardly saw the roses, he ignored spring, he did not hear the carolling of the birds; the bare throat of Evadne would have moved him no more than it would have moved Aristogeiton; he, like Harmodius, thought flowers good for nothing except to conceal the sword. He was severe in his enjoyments. He chastely dropped his eyes before everything which was not the Republic. He was the marble lover of liberty.

His speech was harshly inspired, and had the thrill of a hymn. He was subject to unexpected outbursts of soul. Woe to the love-affair which should have risked itself beside him!

If any grisette of the Place Cambrai or the Rue Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais, seeing that face of a youth escaped from college, that page's mien, those long, golden lashes, those blue eyes, that hair billowing in the wind, those rosy cheeks, those fresh lips, those exquisite teeth, had conceived an appetite for that complete aurora, and had tried her beauty on Enjolras, an astounding and terrible glance would have promptly shown her the abyss, and would have taught her not to confound the mighty cherub of Ezekiel with the gallant Cherubino of Beaumarchais.

By the side of Enjolras, who represented the logic of the Revolution, Combeferre represented its philosophy. Between the logic of the Revolution and its philosophy there exists this difference--that its logic may end in war, whereas its philosophy can end only in peace. Combeferre complemented and rectified Enjolras. He was less lofty, but broader. He desired to pour into all minds the extensive principles of general ideas: The Revolution was more adapted for breathing with Combeferre than with Enjolras.

Enjolras expressed its divine right, and Combeferre its natural right. The first attached himself to Robespierre; the second confined himself to Condorcet. Combeferre lived the life of all the rest of the world more than did Enjolras. If it had been granted to these two young men to attain to history, the one would have been the just, the other the wise man.

Enjolras was the more virile, Combeferre the more humane. Homo and vir, that was the exact effect of their different shades. Combeferre was as gentle as Enjolras was severe, through natural whiteness.

He loved the word citizen, but he preferred the word man. He would gladly have said: Hombre, like the Spanish. He read everything, went to the theatres, attended the courses of public lecturers, learned the polarization of light from Arago, grew enthusiastic over a lesson in which Geoffrey Sainte-Hilaire explained the double function of the external carotid artery, and the internal, the one which makes the face, and the one which makes the brain; he kept up with what was going on, followed science step by step, compared Saint-Simon with Fourier, deciphered hieroglyphics, broke the pebble which he found and reasoned on geology, drew from memory a silkworm moth, pointed out the faulty French in the Dictionary of the Academy, studied Puysegur and Deleuze, affirmed nothing, not even miracles; denied nothing, not even ghosts; turned over the files of the Moniteur, reflected.

He declared that the future lies in the hand of the schoolmaster, and busied himself with educational questions. He desired that society should labor without relaxation at the elevation of the moral and intellectual level, at coining science, at putting ideas into circulation, at increasing the mind in youthful persons, and he feared lest the present poverty of method, the paltriness from a literary point of view confined to two or three centuries called classic, the tyrannical dogmatism of official pedants, scholastic prejudices and routines should end by converting our colleges into artificial oyster beds.

He was learned, a purist, exact, a graduate of the Polytechnic, a close student, and at the same time, thoughtful "even to chimaeras," so his friends said. He believed in all dreams, railroads, the suppression of suffering in chirurgical operations, the fixing of images in the dark chamber, the electric telegraph, the steering of balloons.

Moreover, he was not much alarmed by the citadels erected against the human mind in every direction, by superstition, despotism, and prejudice. He was one of those who think that science will eventually turn the position.

Enjolras was a chief, Combeferre was a guide. One would have liked to fight under the one and to march behind the other. It is not that Combeferre was not capable of fighting, he did not refuse a hand-to-hand combat with the obstacle, and to attack it by main force and explosively; but it suited him better to bring the human race into accord with its destiny gradually, by means of education, the inculcation of axioms, the promulgation of positive laws; and, between two lights, his preference was rather for illumination than for conflagration.

A conflagration can create an aurora, no doubt, but why not await the dawn? A volcano illuminates, but daybreak furnishes a still better illumination. Possibly, Combeferre preferred the whiteness of the beautiful to the blaze of the sublime. A light troubled by smoke, progress purchased at the expense of violence, only half satisfied this tender and serious spirit.

The headlong precipitation of a people into the truth, a '93, terrified him; nevertheless, stagnation was still more repulsive to him, in it he detected putrefaction and death; on the whole, he preferred scum to miasma, and he preferred the torrent to the cesspool, and the falls of Niagara to the lake of Montfaucon.

In short, he desired neither halt nor haste. While his tumultuous friends, captivated by the absolute, adored and invoked splendid revolutionary adventures, Combeferre was inclined to let progress, good progress, take its own course; he may have been cold, but he was pure; methodical, but irreproachable; phlegmatic, but imperturbable.

Combeferre would have knelt and clasped his hands to enable the future to arrive in all its candor, and that nothing might disturb the immense and virtuous evolution of the races. The good must be innocent, he repeated incessantly. And in fact, if the grandeur of the Revolution consists in keeping the dazzling ideal fixedly in view, and of soaring thither athwart the lightnings, with fire and blood in its talons, the beauty of progress lies in being spotless; and there exists between Washington, who represents the one, and Danton, who incarnates the other, that difference which separates the swan from the angel with the wings of an eagle.

Jean Prouvaire was a still softer shade than Combeferre. His name was Jehan, owing to that petty momentary freak which mingled with the powerful and profound movement whence sprang the very essential study of the Middle Ages.

Jean Prouvaire was in love; he cultivated a pot of flowers, played on the flute, made verses, loved the people, pitied woman, wept over the child, confounded God and the future in the same confidence, and blamed the Revolution for having caused the fall of a royal head, that of Andre Chenier. His voice was ordinarily delicate, but suddenly grew manly.

He was learned even to erudition, and almost an Orientalist. Above all, he was good; and, a very simple thing to those who know how nearly goodness borders on grandeur, in the matter of poetry, he preferred the immense. He knew Italian, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew; and these served him only for the perusal of four poets: Dante, Juvenal, AEschylus, and Isaiah. He loved to saunter through fields of wild oats and corn-flowers, and busied himself with clouds nearly as much as with events.

His mind had two attitudes, one on the side towards man, the other on that towards God; he studied or he contemplated. All day long, he buried himself in social questions, salary, capital, credit, marriage, religion, liberty of thought, education, penal servitude, poverty, association, property, production and sharing, the enigma of this lower world which covers the human ant-hill with darkness; and at night, he gazed upon the planets, those enormous beings.

Like Enjolras, he was wealthy and an only son. He spoke softly, bowed his head, lowered his eyes, smiled with embarrassment, dressed badly, had an awkward air, blushed at a mere nothing, and was very timid. Yet he was intrepid. Feuilly was a workingman, a fan-maker, orphaned both of father and mother, who earned with difficulty three francs a day, and had but one thought, to deliver the world.

He had one other preoccupation, to educate himself; he called this also, delivering himself. He had taught himself to read and write; everything that he knew, he had learned by himself. Feuilly had a generous heart. The range of his embrace was immense. This orphan had adopted the peoples. As his mother had failed him, he meditated on his country.

He brooded with the profound divination of the man of the people, over what we now call the idea of the nationality, had learned history with the express object of raging with full knowledge of the case. In this club of young Utopians, occupied chiefly with France, he represented the outside world. He uttered these names incessantly, appropriately and inappropriately, with the tenacity of right.

Above all things, the great violence of aroused him. There is no more sovereign eloquence than the true in indignation; he was eloquent with that eloquence. He was inexhaustible on that infamous date ofon the subject of that noble and valiant race suppressed by treason, and that three-sided crime, on that monstrous ambush, the prototype and pattern of all those horrible suppressions of states, which, since that time, have struck many a noble nation, and have annulled their certificate of birth, so to speak.

All contemporary social crimes have their origin in the partition of Poland. The partition of Poland is a theorem of which all present political outrages are the corollaries. There has not been a despot, nor a traitor for nearly a century back, who has not signed, approved, counter-signed, and copied, ne variatur, the partition of Poland.

When the record of modern treasons was examined, that was the first thing which made its appearance. The congress of Vienna consulted that crime before consummating its own.

Such was Feuilly's habitual text. This poor workingman had constituted himself the tutor of Justice, and she recompensed him by rendering him great. The fact is, that there is eternity in right.

Warsaw can no more be Tartar than Venice can be Teuton. Kings lose their pains and their honor in the attempt to make them so. Sooner or later, the submerged part floats to the surface and reappears.