#drowning by the numbers (1988)

[gradexmovies]

[nedison]

RIP Bernard Hill, seen here in Peter Greenaway's Drowning By Numbers eating a gigantic bowl of chocolate pudding.

[moviesbeforesunrise]

Drowning by Numbers (1988), Peter Greenaway

[cinematicjourney]

Drowning by Numbers (1988) | dir. Peter Greenaway

[murciafire]

Lady Lazarus

Jason Todd Angst

Summary: “You don’t get to die and be reborn the same. You come back, but you come back wrong. This is the price you pay for resurrection” – Nathaniel Orion

Warnings: angst, the poem is about Plath's attempts but nothing explicit

Words: >1000

Notes: The thought of Jason dying and then being resurrected often led me to think of “Lady Lazarus” by Sylvia Plath. I find that it’s even more appropriate considering that Jason’s died twice now (1988, 2024 – please let me know if I have it wrong). Since we all know that Jason reads classics, I felt that his thoughts might as well be as dramatic and poetic as seen in classic lit.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

I have done it again.

There was a chipped tile in the corner of the wall where it met the smooth surface of the bathtub. My eyes would always catch it on the days I found myself lying in the bathtub, but it was so indiscernible that I didn’t think anyone else would remark it. (Not that I would care if anyone did, nor did anyone visit me, nor did I want anyone to). It was like a scar hidden under a chin that wouldn’t be evident until you tilted your face to where God should be (but perhaps in His absence, you could stare at the sun and the rays would make the sliver of cut skin silver, brilliant and hideous).

But such a break, where it was so insignificant, would bother no one unless you knew where to look for such fractures. And I, being that I am, often find myself wandering in an agonizing game of self-loathing where I’m drawn to discovering broken things like me. Which is why I think—and when I do think these thoughts, they’re often coupled with a heaving dry chuckle—I must cover the bathroom mirror. This game, or perhaps self-torment, is one that I often lose even when I win.

I put out my cigarette on the side of the tub—I had forgotten I had lit it. My nerves were so frayed that I didn’t think nicotine could absolve me any more than drowning myself in this bathtub hoping that a self-made baptism could bring me any closer to my father. I sighed, closing my eyes while dropping the crumpled cigarette on the floor beside me. My heart beat steadily in my chest, but I was already limp like I had given up. I felt a smile curl my lips into something cruel because here I was, in rose water which I wasn’t holy enough for, but damned enough that I was swimming in my own blood.

The bathroom, I thought, was a state of purgatory where all my thoughts merged into a state of expiatory purification.  Because I was alive and somehow—“One year in every ten I manage it—”

I groaned as my bones creaked and my muscles strained as I leaned over to pull the stopper. My eyes fixated on the swirling water, taking my blood with it. I blinked a few times, looking at my hands, no longer stained but very still. As if silence was a word to describe a motion—I wasn’t sure I was breathing. But I was.

And again I find myself moving, peeling myself off the floor of the tub, stepping over the edge. A sort of walking miracle, my skin bright as a Nazi lampshade, my right foot a paperweight.

I stood in front of the mirror and in my hesitancy, I found some courage, or as if reality took form and guided my hand to rip off the towel I hung over it, so I had to face what I saw in that tile: something broken. My face a featureless, fine Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin, O my enemy. Do I terrify?—

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth? The sour breath will vanish in a day. Soon, soon the flesh the grave cave ate will be at home on me.

I smiled, my laugh hollow as I wiped my face, continuing to recite Plath. “And I a smiling woman. I am only thirty and like the cat, I have nine times to die.”

I tossed the towel onto a hook on the wall before gripping the sink to stare at myself. “This is Number Three. What a trash to annihilate each decade. What a million filaments. The peanut-crunching crowd shoves in to see them unwrap me hand and foot—the big strip tease. Gentlemen, ladies—” I pushed off the sink, throwing my hands over my face. “These are my hands. My knees. I may be skin and bone, nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.”

I slid down to my knees, my chest heaving. “The first time it happened I was ten. It was an accident. The second time I meant to last it out and not come back at all. I rocked shut as a seashell. They had to call and call and pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.”

I shut my eyes, feeling my body crumple to the floor and curl into itself. Silence, I decided, was a word to describe action. Because here I was, living silently.

“Dying,” I whispered, “is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I’ve a call.”

 

I rubbed my arm with my hand, my fingers brushing over scars—new and old. My body was littered with wounds, but no one could ever see the scar under my chin. Or perhaps, the one I wanted most to notice was the crack in my heart that shattered my soul.

“It’s easy enough to do it in a cell,” I muttered. “It’s easy enough to do it and stay put. It’s the theatrical. Comeback in broad day to the same place, the same face, the same brute amused shout: ‘A miracle!’”

I laughed or cried; I wasn’t sure. But air came out of my lungs and clawed at my throat to make some sort of sound so I knew I was still here, lying on the bathroom floor very much still alive. But it’s a miracle that I am, isn’t it?  That knocks me out.

There is charge. For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge. For the hearing of my heart—

It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge for a word or a touch or a bit of blood or a piece of my hair or my clothes.   So, so, Herr Doktor. So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus, I am your valuable, the pure gold baby that melts to a shriek. I turn and burn. Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—

You poke and stir. Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—

A cake of soap, a wedding ring, a gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer  

Beware

Beware.

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair and I eat men like air.

[batsplat]

always am obsessed with motorsport champions that decide to run the number 1 plate vs those who’ve stuck with their number. because it reveals so much of each of their inner philosophies, whether they are deeply superstitious, or seek a tangible everyday proof of their victory, or concerned with branding/legacies, or trampling the inner critic that believed deep inside of them that they were cut out to be a champion. just so interesting to parse through possible motivations

you're so right anon!!

of course, a big part of it is historical context... you can't really disentangle the choice of whether to run the number one plate or not from the era within which they made said choice. until fairly recently, it was entirely the norm to pick the number one plate - and beyond that, even those who didn't finish in first tended to just adopt the number that represented the place they had finished in during the previous year's championship. so for instance in 1987, gardner was first, mamola second, lawson third, haslam fourth, macckenzie fifth, and so on. in 1988, gardner ran the number 1 plate... mamola 2, lawson 3, haslam 4, mackenzie 5, etc etc. the only champion who broke with tradition was british racer barry sheene (500cc champion in 1976 and 1977), known for being a rebel - and even the styling of his iconic number 7 was apparently a wee bit controversial:

sheene stuck with the 7 both after his formula 750 title and then after his two 500cc titles:

there's some ways in which sheene is kinda the prototype of the modern rider, and he was the first to reap the benefits of having a distinctive number associated with him

in the eighties and nineties, it was all back to number one plates - but then of course another rider decided to break with tradition

incidentally, the generally purported story for why valentino took the number 46 is that it was his father's number. if his autobiography is to be believed, the truth is a little different:

I am Valentino. Graziano chose that name for me because he wanted to honour the memory of his best friend, who drowned at sea, near Pesaro, at the age of eighteen. The fact that St Valentine's Day is just two days before my birthday was also a reason. Number 46 originated when I raced minibikes. I was on a team with two kids from Gatteo a Mare, Marco and Maurizio Pagano. They are the brothers who lent me the Aprilia 125, which I used for my debut at Misano. All three of us had number 46 because we raced in three different categories. They too loved Japan and Japanese riders. One day we were mesmerised by a wild-card entrant at the Japanese Grand Prix who pulled off the most amazing tricks and seemed to have no fear whatsoever. He was number 46. And from that day on, so were we. For me, that lasted until I moved up to the Italian championship and, later, the European series. But when I finally made it to the world championship, I was asked to choose a number. I discovered that 46 was Graziano’s number when he won his first Grand Prix on a Morbidelli 250cc, back in 1979. Which was the year I was born. That’s why I decided that I, too, would be number 46. For me that number represents my career and, partly, my life. It certainly symbolises my massive, incredible, adventure. 

so valentino was only the second premier class rider who stuck with his number. the norm of just following the previous year's standings to choose your number was kinda starting to die out in the late nineties anyway. by 2002, when valentino was defending his title for the first time, if you look down the list it's basically personal numbers all the way. still, valentino was the one to break tradition for champions - the first to do so in a couple of decades. valentino did also know sheene personally as a result of the link through his father, who was a friend of sheene's and had raced him:

^valentino with sheene, valentino wearing a tribute helmet with the iconic '7' on it after sheene's passing (also with the rainbow helmet colours and the word 'pace' or 'peace' on the back during the 2003 invasion of iraq), and valentino's 2005 championship celebrations for his seventh title, his shirt again featuring sheene's seven

hayden didn't follow valentino's example and instead went for the number one plate in 2007. casey made the same choice for the 2008 season, then jorge in 2011... so for a hot moment it really did look like valentino had been just another blip. if anything, the trend was going the other way, with a couple of high profile instances of riders who hadn't won the title rejecting their established numbers:

this particular trend didn't catch on, and from 2010 onward dani decided to just stick with the 26. because all the non-valentino aliens just couldn't stop faffing about with their numbers, 2010 is the only year in which all four aliens are actually concurrently running the numbers we most commonly associate them with

then, by 2012 apparently people were starting to get a bit superstitious about the number one plate. here, from an interview with casey:

the idea is that you can't defend the title if you're sporting the number one plate. which is true! in the 21st century, three guys chose the number one plate, and they defended their titles a grand total of zero times. one bloke stuck to his number, and he defended his title five out of seven times. so yes, it is technically correct that nobody with the number one plate had defended their title, though it is equally true that nobody not called valentino rossi had defended their title. I suppose we'll never know what the bigger factor was

anyways, if picking the number one plate was already a sure thing before, I reckon this sort of silly talk about 'jinxes' would have made casey even less likely to change his mind for 2012. not only is he stubborn, but he also takes an extremely dim view on superstitions

That race was the twelfth in a row that had been won by a rider not starting from pole, which was a new record. People were making a big deal about it and questioning whether, psychologically speaking, it wasn't a good thing to qualify on pole position at all. Maybe to the superstitious riders out there it had become an issue but I have never allowed myself to be affected by outside influences like that and I put an end to the stat by winning from pole in the next round at Laguna Seca in California. It is amazing how many riders have superstitions, which to me are completely ridiculous. Pretty much every one of them has a little mascot or a lucky pair of undies that they once had a good result in and have been stuck with ever since (so to speak!). Superstition is basically just fear and as an athlete my view is that by allowing it to enter your mind you are effectively handing over control. My approach has always been to deliberately tackle it by doing things differently to the last time, just to make sure I don't get into a restrictive habit. Some riders look at their qualifying position and think, I never go well from fifth position, or arrive at a circuit thinking about past results there and say, 'I've never done well here before, it's not my favourite circuit.' You have to be in the mindset that every day is a new day, a new set of circumstances. Every corner is different, every situation is different, and if you are not prepared to open your mind to that then you will always struggle more than necessary. You might have been through one particular corner a thousand times before but with a slight change in temperature, a new bike, a different tyre or a rider trying to pass you on the inside it becomes a completely different challenge and you have to be ready to deal with that.

given that casey is like, neurotically anti-superstition - well, he was probably always going to do the same thing as he did in 2008, but now he definitely would never just stick with his number. unlike jorge... who did change his mind, having run the number one plate in 2011 - but decided against making the switch in 2013. funnily enough, this did not help him defend the title. the eventual 2013 champion ended up also opting to stick with his number... and, well, marc's title defence went a little bit more smoothly. after jorge's 2015 title, he once again stuck to his 99, while marc has used the number 93 throughout his career. by the time you get to 2020, it's easy to have a warped perception of how common it is to keep your number. if you're born in, say, 1997 or later, you think it's basically the done thing to stick to your number, and it's really only a few outliers who use the number one plate. but even in the 21st century... it's really just valentino and marc who were doing it, plus jorge two out of three times. but between the two of them, they sure were winning enough of the titles to make it feel like the established norm

by this point, there really was a bit of a superstition about how the number one plate was 'cursed'. obviously, this wasn't actually a 'curse' as much as it was 'the dominant force in the sport in the noughties decided this number one plate thing wasn't for him and the dominant force in the 2010s who also happens to a massive fan of the other guy also decided not to make the switch either so that probably explains it'. it's not 'you won't defend your title if you're sporting the number one plate', it's 'you won't defend your title if your name isn't valentino rossi or marc marquez'. but obviously, sports drives people insane, so it was always going to be something that prompted a lot of speculation until someone finally managed to defend the plate

following his 2020 championship, mir didn't depart from the new tradition, with a suzuki video to announce his decision:

and fabio did likewise after his 2021 title:

obviously, sticking to their numbers didn't actually help joan and fabio defend their titles, and after his 2022 championship it was pecco's turn to make the choice. pecco went about this in the most pecco way imaginable, with just a touch of public hand-wringing about the whole thing:

just as a quick reminder, before pecco there had been 28 premier class champions. five and two thirds decided against the number one plate - sheene, valentino, marc, joan, fabio, and jorge twice. "I have always been fascinated about riders with number one" describes something that until very recently had been completely normal. not even remotely noteworthy. cheers valentino

eventually, presumably after some extremely extensive introspection, pecco decided to go for the number one plate:

and also this:

and also this (look he's got a lot of thoughts on the matter, please allow him):

and talking about defending the number one:

pecco has continued talking about it sporadically since then. he's spoken about it in the context of defending his title, which as he points out he can only remember marc and valentino doing:

and then the pressure inherent to sporting that plate, from after he'd successfully completed his title defence:

hm. right. let's unpack

the thing about this whole 'running the number one plate' business is that in motogp, each rider's individual choice has to be read with that history in mind. for many years, this wasn't even really a question... it's just what you do when you win the title. sheene was the rebel, the one who decided to do things differently, who wanted to be associated with his very own number. and valentino, who himself knew sheene and was already attached to his own number and has always had a good sense for personal branding, decided to stick with 46. of course, valentino being valentino, he's inescapable enough within motogp that ever since he made that choice, every single champion after him has had to actively make a decision one way or another

so you've got jorge, who had used the number one plate in his title defence during his 250cc campaign in 2007 - and also used it in 2011 as motogp defending champion. he ended up changing his mind for his following two campaigns... remember, he only started using the number 99 in 2009 after his fractious split with his manager during 2008 (see more on numbers lore here). here was what he said about his decision in 2011:

versus his decision in 2015:

jorge in particular does of course have a bit of a complicated relationship with the numbers he's used during his career - and unsurprisingly he's clearly put quite a lot of thought into the whole matter. he's determined to still have the number 99 represent him in some way even in 2011, while also thinking about how he can integrate the number one into his initials - and since it's jorge, of course it's particularly important that his fans approve. he "won't forget" his 99, it was still on his leathers because it's still 'in his heart'... but he explains it by saying he has "earned the right", that it's a "unique opportunity". then, a few years later, his main cited reason for sticking with the number 99 is how it 'represents' him

very much a question of identity, then, something about how jorge made the choice to use the 99 and how it was an expression of liberation for him... he was tempted by the number one once and only once - a statement in itself, following on from jorge's title win in 2010 where the oppressively popular defending champion had been taken out of contention through injury. jorge says he's 'earned the right' because he feels like he deserves it and he wants to tell the world as much. did his failure to defend the title play into his decision not to run the plate again or did he just decide it wasn't really for him after all? did he realise he had grown so attached to the number 99, what it symbolised to him, that he didn't want to give it up again? or did he just realise it was better for personal branding?

last year, here's what casey had to say:

it's fun how the perception of it has changed so drastically, hasn't it? now it's kinda the brave decision to take it... and that's mainly the legacy of two blokes who happened to monopolise this century of racing and decided to make their numbers their own (you may have noticed that there's considerably less material out there on why they made the choice they did). it's gone from something that you just sort of did automatically to something that puts a bit of a target on your back. because that's the subtext, right - everyone wants to 'take the number one plate'... which obviously they do anyway, but all this talk of curses and jinxes attempts to give it a bit of extra weight. is it presumptuous to take that number? valentino and marc made the call to stick to their numbers - and years later it's become a statement to deviate from that path. in that fabio quote above, in context he's really just trying to say he feels like he's the number 20 and nothing other than that - but "I feel like I'm not number one" is still a teensy bit loaded. how did marc's injury affect the choice made by those in his absence?

casey is unsurprisingly very firm on the whole thing, "you are world champion and you should be wearing number one". as if doing anything else is shying away from this duty. defending the title is another "challenge" that he says he likes - almost like a way of putting extra pressure on himself. though in a different interview, casey also says this:

just a number after all, then? it's also interesting how they frame it in different ways, isn't it? for casey it's "recognition" of an achievement, for jorge it's something you've "earned"... and for pecco, it's something you "need to respect". it's about something that puts "pressure" on you... perhaps that's partly because so much of the discourse about the number one plate has become about defending the title (or failing to do so), but pecco discusses it more as a responsibility than something he deserves. you can tell that it's clearly preoccupied him for a while - it's something he's "fascinated" by, he's "admired" people who have done it, he's "always loved it". for both casey and pecco, part of it seems to be about respecting the history of all the blokes who have used the number in the past, like it's an act that pays tribute to that heritage. you'd think this shouldn't have been such a tough choice in the first place, wouldn't you? goes to show how much of a break with tradition it's become - tradition, of course, that was really started by pecco's own mentor. would it be that surprising if that's part of the reason for the reticence? and, at the same time, would it be that surprising that his mentor's long shadow might make him feel like he needs that big and bold number one? what does pecco think it's saying that he went a different way? all this public hand-wringing just because he's breaking a trend

for jorge, the number one plate was a public declaration that he'd made it, naysayers be damned. to pecco, "the number one plate means you need to demonstrate you are number one". it's like giving yourself a point to prove... is it mainly a matter of pride or giving yourself something to live up to? both of them go to great pains to stress their continued attachment to their original number, how they're continuing to integrate it into all their cute designs... and that is something that has changed pretty definitively - not entirely as a result of valentino, but around the same time as valentino emerged as the figurehead of the sport, and he's certainly a big part of it. even the riders who go with the number one still want to have their number and to be known by it. the numbers have become such an integral part of branding and rider identity that riders want to make clear how important they are to them, whether they stick with the number as defending champions or not

at the same time, the fact that taking the number one plate has been de-normalised means that this decision places extra focus on the challenge of defending the title. pecco might not frame his choice in opposition to valentino and marc's to keep their numbers, but he does repeatedly link it to how they alone had been able to win successive titles. for him, then, it becomes an indirect way of living up to a legacy - counterintuitively by doing the opposite of what they did. "since I remember, was just marc and vale have repeated the title" “I thought about it many times this season in all the races we were struggling that the only two riders able to win two years in a row were marc and valentino"... that's what he's trying to live up to, this simultaneous source of inspiration and insecurity. are you lacking confidence if you need to see the number one to believe yourself that you are the number one? or is it conversely shying away from something you have rightfully earned if you can't bring yourself to take the plate? is it an expression of ego if you think your personal number is more meaningful than the number one could ever be? personal branding decisions aside, wouldn't manufacturers much rather you display the number one plate proudly on their bikes?

kind of remarkable, isn't it? it should be such a simple choice... and yet. not only is it now a question of branding and identity, but within motogp it's also become one of how you relate to the legacy of two specific riders. maybe it'll gradually become more common again to take the plate - after all, the curse has now been broken. or maybe it will be the source of much hand-wringing forevermore... we shall see. we shall see

[kennethbrangh]

Bernard Hill in Drowning by Numbers (1988) dir. Peter Greenaway

[hayaomiyazaki]

Polish and Swedish film posters for Drowning by Numbers (1988) dir. Peter Greenaway, released in 1994 and 2020 respectively.

[oliverwolfboy]

Poe backstory headcanons, and other shit. BSD

* David Poe, Jr. And Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins Poe, were not the best of parents. David had never really cared about being a parent. No he spent most of his time at local bars. Drowning his sorrows in alcohol, and avoiding thinking about his failing acting career, by starting bar fights and making advances on the women there. When David finally did get home, he would be a drunken mess. So irritable that if one just made the slightest miss step, he would all over them screaming and yelling till one's ears bleed. Sometimes even bottles were thrown. Elizabeth was a traveling stage actress, and a very good one at that. But Elizabeth was what people call a narcissist. To her, her children was an extension of herself, and they had to be perfect. Elizabeth would often start fights with her husband due to his drinking, these fights would rarely end well. But despite their fights Elizabeth would always pretend as if everything was fine in her family to keep up the image of a perfect family, bruises from her last fight with David? Make up. Edgar got caught sneaking into the police station? Oh why officer thank you for catching him. He is truly a troublemaker, I will make sure to punish him accordingly. Her opinion of her children depended on how good they were, and how much they complied to her wishes. Henry was the golden child. The one that did what she said and did well in school. Edgar was a troublemaker however. Never home. Always outside at the library, or god forbid a crime scene. Edgar was her least favorite child, and by extent the least favorite child. To her Rosalie was just there.

* William Henry Leonard Poe was born in january on the 30th in the year 1985, in Boston Massachusetts. Henry was the golden child, always obedient never stepping out of line, he did good in school, always number one in every activity. Henry always helped his mother with everything she asked, helping her put on her make up after David got aggresive, or cooking. Henry was the perfect son. Henry was almost always at odds with his brother, arguing with him about never being home, his hobby of finding and analysing crime scenes, and his lack of respect for their mother even though she does so much for them. After Elizabeth got tuberculosis Henry was sent to live with his grandparents, David Poe, Sr. And Elizabeth Cairnes Poe.

* Rosalie Mackenzie Poe was born on the 8th of december 1988, in Norfolk, Virginia. Rosalie was always a quiet child. She stayed in the background and just did what was asked of her. Never directing any attention to herself. She followed her mothers instructions, and hid whenever there was a fight. She didn't really have a close relationship with either of her brothers. Henry was always busy doing homework, studying, and helping mom with whatever, and Edgar was never really home, and when he was he would mostly lock himself in a closet, and write and draw whatever crime scene he found, or new a idea he had, that or he was getting yelled at. She doesn't really think she wants to hang out with him anyway, he was cool and all, but too morbid. When their father disappeared she wasn't that sad, she did grive but it was more of the idea of a father she was sad about losing, not really the man himself. And when their mother died of tuberculosis on her birthday, she was sad for the lose of the hope of her mother becoming better. She was eventually taken in by the Mackenzies. They were a lot better then her original family, her new parents actually care for her. She also lived in the same city as Edgar, though she still didn't see him much.

* Edgar Allan Poe was born on the 19th of january 1987 in Boston Massachusetts. If you had asked the people who had interacted or been around Edgar what they thought of him, they would have probably said they thought that he was creepy, macabre, morbid, dubious, grimy, sketchy, some of folk might even have used the terms retarded, or psycho. Not all of them are wrong of course. Edgar is a creepy kid, and he had always been very morbid. That being said however he was also very smart, while his classmates were just learning to read and write, Edgar had already learned to do so at the age of four and a half, with some help from a nice librarian. Since then he has read many books, mostly one's on psychology, engineering, criminology and everything that included, and of course mystery and horror novels. You see Edgar loved the macabre, he adored the mysterious and the stange, whether that be the paranormal, the existential, that of the mind, or simply people, he loved the macabre and all it's flavors. He also liked guessing why people would do the things they did, why they feared the things they did, especially when it came to criminals, there were just so many reasons, to him it was all just so fascinating. In short Edgar loved to study fear psychology. Edgar wasn't really home a lot, he’d rather spend his time in a library reading books, or breaking into a police station or crime scene to find more cases to solve, and motives to figure out, then be home and getting yelled at. To Edgar solving cases and the like came naturally, in his head sorting though the evidence and possible motives was as easy as breathing. It was also very easy for him to find these crime scenes because of his engineering hobby, when ever they moved to a new city Edgar would simply steal a radio off one of the police officers and modify it to pick up on any and all signals coming from the station, not just signals directed at it and emergencies, he never got caught. Edgar would also find cases (and info he needed) from breaking into the police station, he only got caught once, never again. When Edgar wasn't reading or solving cases he was writing. Edgar would write short stories and poems about mystery and horror, he would sketch out crime scenes and monster ideas, and he would write stories and plots, most of which were either in the horror genre or mystery genre, he did do some lighter genres but not a lot of the time. Edgar would often go into a closet or small room to write in when he was home, it just made him more comfortable. Most of the time when Edgar wrote it would be at night, when most of the other people were asleep. Edgar was a very lonely kid, due to his hobbies noone really wanted to hang out with him, and his family doesn't really like him either, not to mention he is so above everyone his age in intelligence, but well he didn't really like crowds anyway. After his father went missing Edgar didn't really Care much, he had never liked his father anyway. After the death of Elizabeth Edgar was in the foster system for sometime before being taken in by the Allans in March of 1995 on the 13th.

* there are very few people that know what happened to David Poe Jr. some others suspect it, but they can't be sure. On june 15th 1994 David Poe Jr. Had come home really late in the night. Noone in the entire house was awake except one person. As David Poe walked though the hall to the bedroom he heard scribbling coming from a little side room in the hallway. The noise irritated the middle aged man. He slamed the door open, and in that little room was a little boy scribbling away in a notepad. David yanked the notepad out of the little boys hands. He looked down at the notepad, and he without thinking read a word. Edgar in a panic subconsciously pulled him into his ability, and then he was gone. Dispite the ruckus that night everyone slept like a rock, except for Edgar. As Edgar climbed into his bed, his lips were tucked in a small smile. David Poe Jr. Died on June 15th 1994, in a poam with no name. The page the poam was on was later burned on June 15th 2007, on Mt. Taurus. Edgar doesn't really feel gulity.

* America needed more ability users. America had plenty of people, and by extension plenty of soldiers. What they didn't have plenty of were ability users. Yes they did have some, and some of those ability users were soldiers, but a lot of them also weren't. Some of those ability users abilities simply weren't that useful, or they would be to great of a cost to use, like that kid from St. Paul, Minnesota, he had a very useful gift, however that gift traded money for strenght, and at this time of war, the usa simply couldn't risk losing that much on what was just one soldier. At this point in time the government and military really didn't care if the ability user was an adult or child, as long as the ability was useful. John Allan would be the one to bring them a useful ability user.

* John Allan was a smart man, I mean he somehow dealt with drugs right under the militaries nose, so that should count for something right? The military had ordered all officers to be on the look out for potential ability users. For while they did have a system to keep track of them, there could be a lot that aren't in the system. John had his eyes on his new foster son, Edgar Poe. The kid was quiet, and flinched whenever he got yelled at, not to mention the fact that he obviously didn't trust them. Whenever he was in the house, he would always seek out a small dark room or closet. John had seen some of the things he wrote and drew, and the kid was morbid. That however wasn't John's priority, no his priority was that the kid was smart, a genius if John said so himself. The kid turned 8 years old just about Four month's ago, give or take maybe a few weeks or days, yet he could already read, understand and apply, advanced psychology, engineering, architecture, sociology, and criminology. John was going to take the kid in, no matter what, he however had to check if the kid was an ability user. at the end of april John took Edgar to the new military base stationed in richmond. The government had, had new military bases stationed in every city. They were used to identify abilities and ability users, as well as test the limits of said abilities. As it turned ok Edgar did have an ability, and a very powerful and useful one at that. After Edgar admitted to having an ability, the officers at the station were quick to get it tested, and it was perfect, an ability that could suck anyone into a fabricated reality, created though a piece of text, it didn't matter on what or where it was written, all it had to be was a somewhat coherent piece of text and it would work, it didn't matter if it was written as a book or poem. There didn't necessarily have to be a way out either, of course you could create one or two if you'd like but it wasn't a condition. You could choose rather if the person died in the story they would also die in real life or not. The conditions of the world was completely up to the user. The best part was it didn't have to be the user that was Holding or useing it, it could be used by anyone, as long as the owner of the ability allowed it.

* Frances Allan adored Edgar, sure he was quiet and if she was being honest quite morbid, but that didn't matter to her, no all that mattered was that Edgar finally met her husbands standards, so of course she would try her hardest to get to know him. So from the 13th of march to the 30th of april, Frances did all she could to get to know the boy, she would ask him if she could see some of what he wrote and drew, though his works were quite scary and macabre, and sent a chill down her spine, they were also quite good and she tried her best to encourge him to continue his passions. She would purchase him all kinds of books, she took note that Edgars favorites seem to be (to no one's surprise) the horror and mystery novels she got him, and to her surprise he also seemed to favor some of the sci-fi, fantasy, and comedy books. Of the educational books he favored those about psychology, criminology, sociology, engineering, and architecture, she had brought him some more advanced books on these subjects because Edgar was far above most when it came to Intelligence. She gleefully took note of which subjects and genre's Edgar seemed to like and dislike, it was worth every penny spent to see that gleeful look on his face and shine in his eyes, as he read. When Frances noticed Edgar take an interest in her piano she was delighted, this was an activity they could do together, a chance to get closer to her soon-to-be son. And so Frances sat Edgar down and began teaching him how to play piano, and oh did Edgar love it, he looked so gleeful as he sat there, hands sliding over the over the keys of the piano, clumsily at first but over time he began getting the hang of it. Frances almost cried when her sweet little Edgar first hugged her. Oh but then John came with the terrible news that Edgar was to be drafted and trained to go to war, she protested, of course but they said his ability was to good to just let go.

* Frances had always wanted children, but she was unfortunately infertile, this however didn't stop her from wanting kids. So they had become a foster family so she could adopt one of the kids, they had, had two before Edgar, but they didn't meet his standard, if he had to have a kid it at least had to be smart. John didn't care about kids outside of getting an heir, however being a foster parent also, allowed him to scout out the children, for possible ability users. When Edgar was sent to be trained Frances did the best she could to make sure he was comfortable, she sent him letters every other day, she also made sure to send him books, notepads, and pencils, to make sure he could still read, draw, and write, she even visited him.

* and so on May 1st Edgar was sent out to train for the military. They started with basic combat and strenght training, but it quickly got harder after that. He was taught how to assemble and disassemble a sniper in under half a minute, he was taught where to hit a target depending on the situation, he was taught how to walk around without making a sound, he was taught everything he needed to go to war. Edgar was to be assigned a special forces unit. Edgar had already went though the basic training, now it was time for special forces training. On the 19th of January 1996 Edgar officially became a part of the special forces.

* his favorite weapons were guns and knives, he even started a knife collection which he still has to this day. He never goes outside without a knife, sometimes even a gun.

* After the great war finished Edgar was about 13 to 15 years old. while Edgar was still a part of the special forces after the war, he was a lot more focused on his education. It was very easy to catch up and go beyond people his age, mostly because he was already far above people his age when he was 8 years old. Edgar of course went to a military highschool where he might have been a bit of a troublemaker, okay who am i kidding he had no respect for authority. Other students would pay for him to do their homework. If someone annoyed him it was very likely that he would pull some kind of prank on them, the worst part is he always got away with it. Edgar has anxiety, but one thing he takes pride in is his intelligence. When Edgar becomes comfortable with a group he can become kind of unhinged, he also has people pleaser tendencies when he really cares about someone, he is just very afraid of losing them.

* Edgar left the military to become a detective in June 2007, which would make him a college drop out because he was attending West Point at the time. Edgar did very well as a detective, he was the departements best. Then Ranpo came along, when Ranpo solved that case the answer was on the tip of Edgar's tongue, but Ranpo was faster in his deduction. Edgar left the police and became a part of the guild, he needed to beat Ranpo, he couldn't just torture him with a horror book or something like that, no he needed to outsmart him. Found Karl along the way.

* dates. William Henry Leonard Poe was born on the 30th of january in 1985. Edgar Allan Poe was born on the 19th of january in 1987. Rosalie Mackenzie Poe was born on the 8th of december 1988. Elizabeth Arnold Hopkins Poe died of tuberculosis on the 8th of december 1994. David Poe, Jr. Was declared missing on the 22nd of June 1994 by some bar buddies. David Poe, Jr. Died on the 15th of June 1994. Edgar Allan Poe was taken in by the Allans in March 13th 1995, and was taken to the military to check if he was an ability user on the 30th of April 1995. Edgar Allan Poe began military training on the 1st of May 1995. Edgar began in the millitary on the 19th of January 1996. Edgar Allan Poe left the millitary to work as a detective on the 1st of June in 2007. Edgar Allan Poe burned the poam his father died in, on the 15th of June 2007.

* Edgar's opinion on other members of the guild: F. Scott Fitzgerald: as long as he doesn't stick his nose in his business then he's fine. Doesn't like how uncaring he is towards the poor, but does like how attentive he is towards his wife. Herman Melville: he likes him. He respects his devotion to his ship and the guild, as well as his competence. H. P. Lovecraft: he likes him. He thinks he is great inspiration for writing, and has followed him around a few times. If Edgar wasn't focused on other things, then maybe he would have tried to make friends with him. Overall he finds him very fascinating, as he does most things macabre. James L: doesn't really care. John Steinbeck: He likes him. He respects his devotion to his family and cunning. He likes how easygoing he is, it makes him easier to be in a room with. Lucy M. Montgomery: he likes her well enough. He doesn't pity her out of respect. Lousia May Alcott: as a fellow wallflower he likes her. He hasn't really talked with her a lot, since she mostly only talks to fitzgerald, but if he hadn't been busy planning revenge he would have probably tried to befriend her. Margaret Mitchell: he knows she has a softer side, yet he still doesn't really care for her all that much, mostly finding her irritating for how often and how often she underestimates her opponents(I personally like Margaret btw, she is awesome). Mark twain: he actually really likes him, he finds him cheerful and appreciates his effort into trying to befriend him, maybe if he hadn't been so focused on revenge he would have agreed. Thinks his marksmanship is very good. Once showed him his knife and gun collection. Nathaniel Hawthorne: he finds him obnoxious.

* Edgars mansion has a bunch of different hidden passege ways, rooms, and mechanisms where he hides all kinds of stuff, most notably his knife and gun collections.

* Edgar has some mental illnesses here is a list: anxiety, depression, PTSD, Autism. He May or May not have BDP or Bipolar, seriously i don't know if he does, and if he does which one.

* Edgar is actually really hard to scare, outside of his social anxiety and slight fear of abandoment and judgement, and trust issues… and heights, it is really hard to scare him, like you could put on the scariest horror movie or book and he will only find it fascinating. He loves horror and all, but he is really hard to scare, and he is so fucking macabre. He is also really hard to disgust, like he has watched the entire disturbing movie iceberg and more, this man can watch slow torture puck chamber and all it's sequels with a straight face, he HAS watch the entire franchise with a straight face.

* He pranks people that annoy him, and people that he dislikes. Hawthorne has been the victem of so many pranks by now(it is a non-confrontational way of getting revenge, and this man holds grudges)

* He is a beast online, i mean what introverted person isn't?

* He is actually really good at psycho analysing people

* He doesn't trust his own judgement when it comes to Ranpo, he knows he is smart but Ranpo beat him and he doesn't want to face that judgement again.

* Edgar is not oblivious, he can see Ranpo's feelings for him crystal clear. He just doesn't know how to feel about it, he's just afraid of vulnerability, especially to a guy he hates(d?), plus he himself has some very conflicting feelings about him.

* Edgar has been practising piano because of his adoptive mother.

* Frances is dead

* Edgar is jealous of Ranpo, no it was not love, now he is jealous of Ranpo but also inlove with him and he doesn't know what to do or how to feel.

* Edgar can see when Ranpo is trying to hide his emotions, he knows Ranpo is afraid, he doesn't bring attention to it however, but he knows, and he will help in whatever way he can

*Edgar doesn't just have a lot of IQ, he also has a lot of EQ.

*Edgar doesn’t have a lot of connections in his life so he is very attached to Ranpo, to the point it is unhealthy. When he hated him his anger and spite was what got him through the day. He still uses some of that anger and spite to get through the day.

*how Edgar looked though out his life. When he still lived with his biological parents he mostly wore oversized sweaters, and worn shorts or jeans, plus his og hairstyle. When he began living with his adoptive parents he wore more casual formal clothes, plus his og hairstyle, however Frances would sometimes try to get at least one side of it behind his ears. When he was in the military he wore more tactical clothing, and he had a military haircut. When he got out of the military he grew his hair back out and started wearing lighter clothes.

Feel free to use. This isn't theory this is headcanon, just to make that clear.

[amatesura]

Drowning by Numbers (1988) | dir. Peter Greenaway

[tedhead]

the tubi copy of drowning by numbers (1988) is so beautiful saturation contrast no weird tint. run don’t walk

[kino-zoo]

Drowning by Numbers (1988)

[savemewattpad]

Wicked and Divine: Part 1, Chapter 1

all her life, she's bound to lose...

Summary:

When John Winchester gets a call from a thirteen-year-old girl claiming to be his daughter, he and Dean go to investigate, bringing them into a complicated web woven by a charismatic cult leader named David Elwood--who also claims to be the girl's "husband."

Or, how Esther Smith became Leila Winchester.

Warnings: Sexual Abuse, Religious Abuse, Cults, Child Marriage, Pregnancy, Miscarriage

Pairings: None

Next Chapter | Masterlist

Read on AO3

Oregon, 1988

“I shouldn’t be flirting with you,” Melisa says, taking another drink of whiskey. It burns, and she knows it’s supposed to. It still feels like punishment. 

John Winchester sits across from her, studying her. He’s a quiet man, she’s found, in the short time she’s known him, but she thinks there’s nothing that really gets past him. 

“And why’s that?” he asks, a smile toying at the corner of his mouth. “You got someone at home?”

An icy chill settles into her gut. “Define ‘home,’” she says. There’s nobody waiting for her in her apartment, but there’s a presence that follows her everywhere ever since she met him . The man that changed her life. Sometimes, in petty, ungrateful, cowardly moments, she wonders if it was really for the better. 

John looks away, pensive, and takes a swig of his own drink in lieu of a response. She wonders what home is to him. 

She takes him to her apartment anyway. Maybe she shouldn’t--despite the fact that he saved her life, he’s still a stranger, and a sketchy one at that. Maybe it’s that risk that makes him appealing to her. Maybe that’s what it all comes down to. 

She keeps looking at her Gibborim Bible on her side table, like she’s asking it for forgiveness. John follows her gaze. He doesn’t ask about it. She supposes he’s seen too many crazy things to call anyone’s religion crazy. 

“I can’t stay the night,” John says as he starts getting dressed. “Sorry.” He sounds genuine, if cavalier. 

“Do you believe in faith healers?” Melisa asks him instead, apropos of nothing, and he gives her that scrutinizing look again, the one that seems to pierce right through her. 

“I’ve never seen one that was legit,” he says finally, with a shrug. 

“And you’ve seen a lot of crazy things,” she clarifies. 

He smiles bitterly. “Something like that, yeah.”

He looks at her again, a little softer this time, and she thinks he’s about to ask if she’s okay--she’s already bristling, ready to lash out at the question--

He shakes his head and looks down, pulling out a small notebook and scribbling something down. 

“This is my phone number,” he says, tearing the page out and setting it on her side table. She could swear there’s something...pointed, about the way he sets it on her bible. “In case there’s any more dybbuk trouble.”

Melisa nods a little. It’s unlikely. She’s probably never seeing him again, she realizes. There’s something bittersweet in that. It’s better that way. 

“Thanks for saving my life,” she tells him. 

He smiles. “You already told me that.”

“It’s worth repeating.” She smiles a little. “Goodbye, John.”

John has only been gone for a minute or so when he calls. And it’s one of those things that keeps her coming back, one of those things that doesn’t make sense unless he is what he says he is: he always knows when to call. He always knows when something’s happened, when she needs guidance. 

“David,” she says when she picks up. Thank God.  

“Melisa,” David says in that calm, velvet voice. “How are you?”

“I’m--” she almost says ‘good,’ reflexively, but she promised him she would never keep secrets from him. It’s liberating, in a way. 

She can’t find the words, so she sighs. 

“I sensed turmoil in your spirit,” David says, after giving her a moment to speak. “That’s why I called. Are you alright?”

“I--” she hesitates for a long moment. All of her guilt, all of her fear, it hits her all at once, and she feels like she could drown in it. Finally, she admits, “I need help.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” David replies. “We’ll pray together, you and me. It’ll be alright.”

And there’s something in his voice that makes her believe him, more than she’s ever believed in anything. 

2002

It’s early in the afternoon when Jim Murphy gets the call. 

Sam is in the kitchen doing homework. Jim had told him to ask if he needed help, but Sam doesn’t seem to need it. He’s a smart kid. Jim wonders, idly, what he could do in a family that stayed in one place for longer than three months at a time. 

“Jim Murphy.”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. 

“Hello?”

“Um. I’m looking for John Winchester?” The voice on the other end is young, female, and sounds scared. Quiet, like she’s trying not to be overheard somehow. 

Jim knows that John used to give out his number as his own, back before cell phones were ubiquitous, but he hasn’t gotten a call for him in nearly a decade. “How’d you get this number, kiddo?”

“It was in my mom’s stuff. Her name was Melissa Smith. I--I think I’m his daughter.” Her voice breaks as the words tumblr out, quickly, like she’s running out of time. “And I need his help.”

“How old are you?” He reaches for a pad of paper and a pen on the counter. 

“Thirteen.”

“What’s your address?”

“I don’t--I don’t know what that means. Please can I just talk to John? I need help.”

How does a thirteen year old not know their address? “Where do you live? I’ll send him.”

“Woodscross.”

“Where is that?”

“In Oregon.” She pronounces Oregon strangely, like Oree-gone . He files away that detail for later. “Please help me. I think he’s trying to kill me.”

Jim Murphy is good in a crisis--it’s kind of his job--but the words do surprise him. He tries to keep his voice calm, for her sake. 

“Whoa, slow down. Who’s trying to kill you?”

There’s another long pause, and then: “I have to go. I think they found me.”

“No, wait, what’s your n--”

Click.

[myhauntedsalem]

Ghosts of the Queen Mary

On May 27, 1936, the RMS Queen Mary set sail from Southampton, England, completing her maiden voyage in New York just a few days later. For the next three years, the ship was the height of luxury, transporting such notable passengers as Clark Cable, Bob Hope, Elizabeth Taylor, and Winston Churchill. Its elaborate facilities included two indoor swimming pools, beauty salons, libraries, tennis courts, and more. However, the luxurious amenities didn’t last.

In 1939, the Queen Mary was stripped down and began service as a World War II troop transport ship. For the next eight years, the ship hauled tens of thousands of servicemen across the sea, earning the nickname the Grey Ghost due to its color and speed. After the war ended, the Queen Mary was refitted for passenger travel and again served as a luxury liner until retiring from service in 1967.

Now permanently moored in Long Beach, California, the Queen Mary serves as a popular tourist attraction, complete with restaurants, a museum, and a hotel. Legend has it the historic ship is also haunted by the men, women, and children who died aboard.

A little girl named Jackie reportedly haunts the second-class swimming pool. Legend has it she drowned there, though there are no historical records of such an event. Nevertheless, staff and visitors report seeing a child’s ghostly figure near the pool. An elderly woman in black and white also haunts the area.

On October 2, 1942, the Queen Mary accidentally rammed and sank her escort ship, the HMS Curacoa, as she carried over 10,000 troops to Europe. More than 200 men died in the collision, and now Queen Mary staff and visitors reportedly hear strange sounds coming from the ship’s bow.

In 1988, a former marine engineer told Unsolved Mysteries he once heard the sound of water pouring into the Queen Mary. Thinking there had been a rupture of some kind, the man rushed to investigate but found nothing unusual. The engineer later learned he’d been in the part of the ship that had collided with the Curacoa. Unsolved Mysteries also left a voice-activated recorder in the same area and reportedly captured the sounds of rushing water, tearing metal, and crying men.

A man named John Peddler reportedly haunts the lower area of the ship. It seems John was crushed by Door 13 during a routine drill and now lingers near the site of his death. The legend got its start after witnesses claimed to see a bearded man in blue overalls disappear in front of the ill-fated door.

According to a plaque on the ship, at least 16 crew members died on the Queen Mary, succumbing to everything from tetrachloride poisoning to a fall from the gangway. Some reports place the total number of deaths, including passengers and servicemen, at 49. Is it possible the men, women, and children who died aboard still roam the ship today? Or are the stories nothing more than fanciful legends?

[lucienballard]

Drowning by Numbers

( 1988 )

Peter Greenaway

[weaversweek]

How poor production on Going Live led to The Wheel

Five Star rose from nowhere to become the biggest band in Britain, and then they fell away as quickly as they'd arrived. By 1 April 1989, the group was really unpopular, and they appeared on Going Live. The Sunday Mirror reported what happened next:

A youngster stunned a children's BBC TV programme with a stream of four-letter abuse at pop group Five Star. The band were answering phone-in questions on Going Live when Elliot (sic) Fletcher blurted out, "I would like to ask Five Star why are they such f---ing c---." As presenter Sarah Greene sat in shocked silence, he added, "They are f---ing p---" before being faded out.

Five Star were a family group. Lorraine, Doris, Denise, Steadman, and Delroy were the children of Buster Pearson, who was also their manager, and who styled them in the mode of the Jackson Five. Signed to Tent Records (prop: B. Pearson), the group made vocal pop with synth stylings. It was the way of the mid-80s. After a couple of small-release singles, "All fall down" very gently grew its way up the charts during late spring 1985, and follow-up single "Let me be the one" gave them a chance to get into the TOTP studio.

"System Addict" propelled them into the top five at the start of 1986, and began a proper Imperial Phase; for a couple of years, we couldn't avoid Five Star, and didn't really want to. Second album Silk and Steel yielded five top ten hits, ranging from sweet love song "Rain or shine" to the yearning horniness of "Can't wait another minute" and "If I say yes". A massive stadium tour was sponsored by Crunchie chocolate bars, and the group won the BPI Award for Best Band. Better than Genesis! Even more fun than Mike + the Mechanics!

Third album Between the Lines was harsher, harder, more aggressive. Five Star gave up the chocolate sponsorship, replaced by toothpaste. But even that wouldn't clean their image from the deliberate dirt and grunge. "Strong as steel" and "Somewhere somebody" were the worst sort of single release - reminding us only of how good Five Star used to be. When the bubble burst, it collapsed quickly. 1988's album Rock the World was even worse.

By early 1989, the group are promoting a forthcoming Greatest Hits album, and new song "With every heartbeat". Reviews were not pleasant reading.

Carol Decker from T'Pau summarised the problems. "Her voice doesn't sound as distinctive as it used to. Now she just sounds like Gloria Estefan. They used to be very good but this is disappointing." Bandmate Ronnie Rogers also reviewed the single for Smash Hits "It's a groove with no tune. As soon as they changed their image every one of their singles has been dead boring." Record Mirror had dismissed the single: "Listening to a 5 Star record is like drowning in a bubble bath."

The hostility continued through the interview on Going Live!. The segment began with a profile put together using clips of the band talking about themselves, which rather over-stated how popular they were now. Sarah Greene, the show's presenter, pointed out how prolific and busy the band had been. "Are you ever tempted to sit back, rest on your laurels for a bit?" No, they're very busy people and have been working on their next album. "Next album? You only put one out last August! Many others take two years to make an album." Was there a lack of quality control at Five Star HQ? Apparently, they're feeling very creative, including a new book which gets a quick plug.

To the phones, and Barbara asks "Why Five Star have changed their image?" No, we've not changed our image, we've changed to reflect our new music, it changes gradually through fashion and our age. Barbara thinks they're more rock 'n' roll, harder, more leather and less of the spacebot matching jumpsuits.

In the studio, Tony asks what it felt like to have a number one hit. "That's a nice question!" says one of the band. Ooh, is someone feeling got at from a viewer asking a difficult question?! They never had a number 1 single in any market, though album Silk and Steel did make its way to number one.

Back to the lions' den, Eliot from Langley - and his dog Tammy, who barks down the phone.

"Thanks very much Eliot, nice to hear from you!" breezed Sarah. "Tammy would have made a lot more sense." There's general sniggering and laughter in the studio audience, carefully kept out of the microphone. Let's move on to the next phone call "I heard that! Did you hear that? Crap!" said the confused caller.

Charlotte in the studio asks if the band get fed up with each other and argue a lot. Of course they do, but they're family and they get along really. Of course they do.

Oh dear. This segment is falling apart. With the producer making the wise decision to drop the phone callers, and two minutes to fill, Sarah asks the studio audience for any questions. Young lad sitting next to Charlotte?

"How many countries have you released records in?" asks the flop-haired youth, after a little false start. Good question. Lots of them. "So there's nowhere left for you to go?" he cheekily asks. Watch that lad, he's going to be trouble for somebody.

Sarah builds on the discussion - have Five Star forgotten what it's like to be anonymous? Not really.

And if they have, it won't be long before they're completely anonymous. Five Star never had another hit album, and had to sell their swank-pad in Sunningdale when the royalties ran out.

The star of the piece was unplanned audience questionner, stand up comedian, and general loudmouth Michael McIntyre. This early brush with stardom doesn't merit inclusion in his autobiography, which begins in 2005.

And we wonder, if Michael hadn't had those twenty seconds of fame in 1989, would he have become such a hugely famous person? Would he have got his own primetime feelgood tv show? With a soundtrack deserving five stars?