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And she has much. As bona fide movie stars go, for an actress of her age Kirsten Dunst has exceptional credentials. At just 33, she has 26 years of acting experience under her belt and over 50 movie credits to her name, making her a veritable veteran of the industry. While that season focused on the dogged detective Molly Solverson, season two rewinds to to and turns the focus on her. So I understand the mentality - but not so much Peggy!

What happens in the first episode, though, kind of spins her off a little bit. She lives for her magazines where she reads about this other life she wants. While the intricacies of the plot and characters remain shrouded in secrecy, the teaser trailer for season two shows Peggy frantically washing blood red hair dye from her hands, clearly haunted by something she has seen… or perhaps done. If the latter proves true, Fargo might be about to give us something so lacking from the current television landscape — a female antihero.

In this golden age of television, showrunners. Unapologetic promiscuity? Lack of maternal warmth? Unable to accept that your husband is a lying, murdering drug lord? Recall the vitriol reserved for Skylar. All Q-Park parking charges remain reduced in Cork! Q-Park introduced fairer pricing for customers in late and the good news is that prices remain unchanged in There is still an option to save even more money if you park on the roof. We have proven ourselves willing to accept despicable behaviour from our leading men — but only our leading men.

And then there is Annalise Keating. Anyone who became addicted this year to the preposterous but. Ruthless but charismatic, manipulative but sensitive; whether she is defending the guilty or framing the innocent, she has you rooting for her all the way. So if you find yourself watching Fargo and wondering where have all the good girls gone? Season two of Fargo premieres on Channel 4 on Monday October 18th at 10pm. At the Salt Therapy Clinic we produce a micro-climate better than what is found in natural salt chambers.

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You can then sit back and relax breathing normally and enjoying the positive effects of your treatments. Nearly half of Irish people think those with mental health issues are untrustworthy, while two thirds agreed people view being treated for a mental health difficulties as a sign of personal failure. For things to change, conversation needs to happen. In a course she hated; living in a new place; and then hit by a bereavement, Lisa was unable to cope. I needed. I went to the psychiatrist and counselling service in the student health centre and was diagnosed with depression.

It's Time to Talk About It: The Brain and Eating Disorders

Several years later, when her son was five months old, Lisa was diagnosed with postnatal depression PND. Here I was, with a gorgeous little boy — well behaved, no colic but a little clingy — and I was wanting to walk away from it all and not look back. Embarking on a teacher training course, Lorraine realised yoga IS therapy. She discovered the process of practising stretching and strength—building positions, along with mindfulness and breathing techniques, provided opportunities for a greater sense of inner peace.

She spent 12 years working as a specialist counsellor in eating disorders units in Liverpool and as an in—house counsellor in GP surgeries. In her late 30s Louise entered another stressful period with her mother dying from cancer and her husband relocating to a job in Cork. Having first tried yoga in her 20s, Louise then found her way back to the discipline, this time seeing how powerful it can be. Students often tell me their doctor suggested they try yoga, or even their dentist, as a way of reducing pain caused by teeth clenching! The music video showed nine people who lost a loved one, including Internet comedian Cian Twomey, whose father passed away in A wave of empathy washed over me and it brought me back to the feeling I had when I lost my nephew.

I knew some of those people were going to experience the pain of loss. I drove home and had the song written in no time. Kate, Doughcloyne. The best way to discuss mental health is through personal narratives and people sharing their lived experience. Azure Jewellery specialises in exquisite handmade jewellery, bridal jewellery and hair accessories, all of which are andcrafted in their studio in the heart of Cork City, Ireland.

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Amongst the data and meta-data, there are individuals that have their own experiences to voice; and though we often seek re-assurance in this statistical data, we are less inclined to see how this draws our attention away from the individual. In real terms, depression, anxiety and stress are just some of the most. To call something a disorder or an illness, we must have an understanding of order, or a definition of wellness. Perhaps a good place to start would be to move away from using language like illness and disorder; terms that often do more harm than good, and contribute to stigmatisation.

For most people, life has many ups and downs: work pressures, family dynamics, economic and political forces, all of which affect us as individuals, and equally we respond to these events as individuals. In good times, and in bad, we cannot predict with any certainty how any one person will react to a life-altering event, be it the birth of a child, a bereavement, or winning the lottery. When it comes to times of emotional.

Experience cannot and should not be reduced to a statistic. Key figures like Thomas Szasz, R. Laing, Jacques Lacan and Michel Foucault had differing opinions on the causes and treatments of mental health, but all were sceptical of how much we can actually know about another person without taking into consideration the entire constellation of events that have led them to their particular outlook on their life.

In chairing a task force assigned with cataloguing mental disorders for. This is where it becomes important to look at language itself - how we use it, and how it shapes and influences our perspectives on the world. This is the value of being able to talk about your experiences to someone. Words shape human experience, and by our ability to express ourselves, we can convey and create different perspectives.

For example, think about how you might watch a movie or TV show and think it is the best thing you have ever seen, but when you talk to your friend, family member or work colleague they think it is the worst thing they have ever seen. There is no absolute or final way of viewing the movie or TV show, because each person will have their own opinion of what it means to them. There is no right or wrong way of looking at it, there are just different perspectives.

By virtue of creating a definition of a mental state such as depression or stress, there is an implicit assumption that the definition holds true for all people; but in the lived world, we deal with individuals, and what makes one person feel depressed, does not necessarily make another person feel depressed. We must give people the opportunity to express themselves through their words, through their stories and experiences.

Even as we seek to help people as they deal with mental health issues, we should be wary of rushing into a diagnosis, and instead encourage people to explore their way of being and the challenges they face. We need to ask what they are comfortable talking about, what they are uncomfortable talking about, and why this and not that? These questions would have to go on for a long time in order to get.

Tobacco Smoking Addiction: Epidemiology, Genetics, Mechanisms, and Treatment

This is the value in learning to communicate openly and honestly our thoughts, fears, emotions and desires. If we negate these existential questions, if we are never taught that self-reflection is part of the human experience, that there are different ways of looking at our experience and that we should be compassionate to one another, how much do we lose, and how little do we gain? Cormac holds a B. Hons in Psychology, and is currently studying towards a M.

He volunteered for over two years at mental wellbeing agency MyMind, working as an online therapist. Now, to reduce excess stock and introduce new ranges, we will proceed with a massive showroom and warehouse, clearing and remerchandising project. We must clear the floor without delay, so that this major work may commence. While statement walls and chairs have been key interior trends in recent While statement walls and chairs have been key interior trends in recent years, now windows are the vogue—du—jour for transforming a space.

They caninexaggerate shutters create a stunning visual effect, framing dressings. However, as the economy reand texture. However, as the economy and texture. However, economyhas reemerges, emerges, so too has theas demand. Now a re— available. Home heating is on our minds, from the need for high-grade insulation to what heating source is best for efficient, renewable energy.

See finlinefurniture. With the news that the fabulous EZ Living has opened a third superstore, this time in Cork at East Gate Retail Park, Little Island, comes the opportunity to indulge, with temptation around every corner. Taking inspiration from the blue of the Med, from gorgeous cornflower to deep turquoise; bright cobalts to perfect periwinkle; shades of all things blue are bringing richness and depth to interiors. This blue iron bucket, including the chipped off paint spots, can be used as a plant pot or ice bucket!

Talk to one of our hardwood flooring experts today and explore the full range of natural wood flooring, precision engineered for guaranteed durability and beautiful aesthetics. Cork www. Maria Tracey steps inside her —year—old cottage, and discovers old things in a new light. Photographs by Fiona Casey. However, for Sharon Swanton they have a function and a future, as she reinvents seemingly useless pieces through her upcycling business The Eclectic Attic.


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For years the bath taps at home were actually car door handles, which my dad screwed on after the taps broke! You improvised then and I suppose, we still improvise. Splashes of colour dot the kitchen like the mustardy yellow chalkboard and turquoise chest of drawers. Lissarda, and this improvisation is evident. When Sharon and her husband Brian moved in 10 years ago, the house needed major renovation and extension.

I made the curtains — YouTube is great — and because I was making them, I was able to afford nicer fabrics. However, I do love colour, and once I started painting and putting it into a house, I could never go back. Also, as every colour is in it, I can get away with putting every colour in the kitchen. With our extensive range of goose-down quilts and pillows, mattress-toppers, linens, thread-count cottons you can have that five star feeling every night. Cork Opposite Ballyseedy.

In the sitting room, antique suitcases are treasure chests full of interior design magazines, and dotted throughout the house upcycled finds have become guardians of prized possessions. My neighbour made it years ago, and it had these little calculations on the side in pencil — somebody put a lot of work into it. See The Eclectic Attic on Facebook. Why not take your measurements and drop in to us? Taking a cue from Mother Nature, the splendour of autumn foliage is a perfect way to update your home this season, using a subtle blend of warm golds, coppers, and burnt oranges to add richness, cosiness and depth to a space.

Dark wood, burnished gold, cosy textures — Autumnal perfection at Laura Ashley. For instant impact, there is no denying rugs are the interior design masters. Incorporate seasonal colours into a rug for a serious style update… in an instant. Not a digital one but an old fashioned paper one that hangs on the wall, with every hospital appointment, birthday party and extra curricular activity marked on it. Looming over this month is Halloween, which I would happily ignore but for school projects and euro shop window displays reminding my children, who in turn remind me.

I was at an age where dressing up seemed childish anyway, and my self-preservation instincts were strong when it came to bonfires and fireworks, so I steered clear. I was done with Halloween. We are expected to decorate our houses as if it were Christmas - Halloween you are not and never will be Christmas!

Pumpkins are now integral to the occasion, with pumpkin patches thriving and carving kits sold everywhere. I hate the bloody things. After a few days the pumpkin starts to decompose and attract flies, an unwelcome addition to my Halloween decor. If my kids get sugar, it ignites a Molotov cocktail of hyperactivity and they can appear rabid and incoherent with the strength of the Hulk and the ingenuity of Horrid Henry. In the evening I can do nothing but watch and wait as they gorge on the enormous. With fireworks comes the fear of someone getting hurt.

If anyone gets burnt, it is usually me as I remove the skin on my thumbs with the heat of the lighter. If I ever embark on a life of crime, I am now finger-print proof! Aisling blogs at fazedandconfused. Spooky Family Fun Looking to entertain the kids over the midterm break? Phone , email info leahysopenfarm. Unforgettably gruesome good fun! The Nightmare Realm is open daily from October 2nd to November 1st.

Phone , or see thenightmarerealm. However, for parents of young children it can be a more challenging experience. Paediatric sleep consultant Lucy Wolfe tells Maria Tracey how to help little ones adjust to the time change ahead. For some that one hour shift on the last Sunday in October means little beyond the small pleasure of savouring that extra hour in bed.

However, for babies and young children, the time change is not so straightforward, as normal scheduling is turned on its head, and that 7am start becomes 6am. She outlines that in advance of the clocks going back, parents of young children can make themselves aware of a few strategies they can employ so that their little sleepers continue to sleep well or, at the very least, that.

The first step, she explains, is ensuring that your child is well rested in the lead—up to the last weekend in October. This can be achieved through obtaining good naps, if age appropriate, and uninterrupted. Parents can then consider a number of different approaches to ensure a smooth transition when the clocks fall back, keeping their little one snoozing soundly.

I like. The wife. She wears yellow too much. Too matchy-matchy. Who I think is, again, terrific. How can she wear dresses above the knee? Dunham was a hypocrite for doing Vogue, she said, because it showed that she cared about being pretty. Try to look better! Why would Dunham want to marry Stern? From the nineteen-sixties on, Rivers had been the purveyor of a harsh Realpolitik, one based on her experience: looks mattered.

If you got cut off from access to men and money—and from men as the route to money—you were dead in the water. For half a century, this dark comedy of scarce resources had been her forte: many hands grasping, but only one golden ring. Rivers herself had fought hard for the token slot allotted to a female comic, yet she seemed thrown by a world in which that might no longer be necessary. Was that a joke or an insult? A message to Winslet or to other girls watching? In many ways, Joan Rivers was the first Real Housewife: she was brazen, unapologetically materialistic, a glamorous warrior in an all-female battleground—a gladiator.

When I first noticed Joan Rivers, she looked like the enemy. This was in the early eighties, at the height of her fame. I was eager for female role models, of whom there were only a handful, other than Gilda Radner and the mysterious Elaine May, no longer on the scene. Yet Rivers terrified me. Glamorous in her Oscar de la Renta dresses and her pouf of blond hair, she was the body cop who circled the flaws on every other powerful woman—she announced who was fat, who had no chin, who was hot but, because she was hot, was a slut or dim.

She made it clear that if you rose to fame the world would use your body to cut you down. But, if Rivers was chilling to me, I was a prig about her. The kitchen was painted pink, to be more flattering when they brought boys home. In the early fifties, when Rivers was a chubby freshman at Connecticut College, that mating ground for Wasps she later transferred to artsy Barnard , a blind date picked her up at her dorm. Sondra Meredith. She stole routines; agents shunned her.

Once, after a promising gig, her parents encouraged her to perform at their Westchester country club. She flopped so aggressively that the Molinskys sneaked out through the kitchen. For months, she was homeless; with the help of her Brooklyn boyfriend, she shacked up at midtown hotels, ducking the bill, fixing her face at Grand Central. Eventually, exhausted, she slunk back to her teen-age bedroom.

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During a stint at Second City, in Chicago, in , she introduced a character named Rita, a desperate, needy, aging single girl. Back in Greenwich Village, in dingy clubs like the Duplex, she experimented with this autobiographical material, raw stories of bad dates and shame about her body. She dished about birth control, her affair with a married man, and her gay friend, Mr. Girl, you have to wait for the phone to ring, right?

And when you finally go on the date, the girl has to be well dressed, the face has to look nice, the hair has to be in shape. Hooray, hooray. Do you know how that feels? In the Times, in October, , Charles L. But it is not Jack Benny. Benny may be a tightwad on stage and a philanthropist off. Not so with the new comedians. They write their own jokes and are expected to live them offstage as well as on. Obsessively groomed, the JAP has been crippled by her mother, who refuses to let her daughter call herself ugly. Rivers took that sexist bogeywoman and made it her own, raging at society from inside the stereotype: she was the Princess who did nothing but call herself ugly.

She vomited that news out, mockingly, yearningly, with a shrug or with a finger pointed at the audience. A woman I know used to sneak into the TV room, after her parents fell asleep, for the illicit thrill of seeing another woman call herself flat-chested. From the sixties to the eighties, Johnny Carson was, for aspiring comics, the model of a scarce resource: to get to the big time, you had to make it with Johnny. Yet, back in , Joan Rivers had slipped through the eye of that needle: she was funny enough, feminine enough, new enough, traditional enough, just right.

Within days, it was true: she got press, she got gigs, she got famous. Two weeks after her appearance, Carson learned that Rivers had signed to do a competing show on Fox. She called to explain; he hung up. He never spoke to her again. One of her early books was a pregnancy guide. Then, in , Rivers had a new breakthrough: she saw Elizabeth Taylor on the cover of People. These crude gags—about Liz, Christie Brinkley, Madonna—became her hottest material, on Carson and in front of Vegas crowds, as Rivers plugged into tabloid culture.

Liz Taylor puts mayonnaise on aspirin! When she pierces her ears, gravy comes out. For both women, there was little use in trying to change, or even reason with, men: you just needed to find a way to get their attention, then harness their power as your own. We did it to ourselves. I am raging out like King Lear—Queen Lear—screaming into the wind, screaming for all us women. Still, other times I get it. Among women, the pugilistic brutality can be delicious, the fun of using these goddesses or Bachelorettes, or Housewives as shorthand: conduits for taboo emotions like envy, disgust, fear, the anxiety of falling short.

As a teen-ager, Rivers looked much like the teen-age Dunham: she was pudgy, with a beaming grin and friendly eyes. Look at Johnny Carson, or at Jerry Lewis, who is still repelled by female comics. Everywhere but in late-night TV: decades after Carson, there are still ten men on that list. Rivers came first—and if her view darkened, if she became an evangelist for the ideas that had hurt her the most, she also refused to give in, to disappear. I am not to be revived unless I can do an hour of stand-up. We can celebrate it without looking away. This is a man, after all, who, long after the mysterious disappearance of his first wife, Kathie, fled to Galveston, Texas, disguised himself as a mute woman, and then, while out on bail for the murder of a neighbor—whose corpse Durst dismembered with a bow saw—was arrested for shoplifting a chicken-salad sandwich at a Wegmans.

At the time, Durst had thirty-eight thousand dollars in his car. For Jarecki, it paid off in spades. The series acts as an extension of the legal process and as a type of investigative journalism. Guilty as charged. The first two got their subjects out of prison; the second helped put the priest back in. These projects have an afterlife online, where amateur detectives reinvestigate both the crimes and the documentaries themselves. Yet, perhaps inevitably, the most watchable participants are the bad apples.

This is particularly true of Durst. When he feels misunderstood, a Larry David-like querulousness creeps into his voice. He answers questions about whether he hit Kathie yes, he did—but, hey, it was the seventies with a candor that no sane or diplomatic individual would use. Many of the best documentaries have this ugly edge, which may be why we cling to the idea that their creators or, at least, those not named Werner Herzog are as devoted to truth as to voyeurism.

Their head cut off. Their arms cut off. Their legs cut off. And packaged up. Like garbage. The transition was unsettling enough to make me wonder whether those home movies, too, were a reconstruction. Against this Barnum-like theatricality, spontaneous gestures stand out. As soon as the filmmaker leaves the room, Durst, who is still wired for audio, lowers his head and mutters a sentence to himself. I did make mistakes. His lawyer tells him that his microphone is hot. Durst is fascinatingly unconcerned.

I made mistakes. Nobody tells the whole truth. But females. Are strong as hell. Do you need help? At times, it resembles a Nickelodeon tween show—which is just how its heroine might imagine her own life. The backstory that emerges combines elements from a number of familiar tabloid stories: those of Katie Beers abducted from her abusive family, kept in an underground bunker , Elizabeth Smart snatched from her bedroom by a self-styled messiah , Jaycee Dugard abducted from her front yard , and the three women who were rescued two years ago in Cleveland, after having been beaten and raped for years by Ariel Castro.

Roaming around New York, she binges on candy, like a crazed toddler. She buys sparkly sneakers. She has an unexplained Velcro phobia. At night, she wakes up from a fugue state and finds herself rinsing off a knife in the shower or attacking her roommate. This is rare material for a sitcom. Titus, an effervescently gay, black failed actor from Mississippi, pulls off every daring gag. When it comes to jokes about trauma, however, the show takes more risks. Kimmy buries her P. When Kimmy is disturbed by seeing her first selfie, Jacqueline takes her to her plastic surgeon, played by a deranged Martin Short, his face perverted into gargoyle features.

Are you a coal miner? Submarine captain? Because you have very distinct scream lines. Where did those come from, I wonder. It could be a kind of freedom, too. Once I got comfortable with hitting Pause and consulting Wikipedia as needed, I found the series beginning to expand and deepen, intensifying with each episode.

Instead, we are privy to something realistically ugly: a hellscape of gossip, dominated by old men making mean remarks about the miscarriages of potential queens. Instead, Kosminsky doubles down on the most alien qualities of the period, using hypnotic closeups and quietly formal frames, presenting burnished, candlelit images that resemble paintings from the era, along with some of the more memorable hats in TV history.

But such small weaknesses are outweighed by the potency of other relationships, which feel rich and terrifying—the Tower of London looms behind even the most innocent chitchat. In one scene, the fixer and the aspiring queen stand side by side at a window, and he allows himself a brief reverie: as she lifts her face in profile, unmoving, he strokes her neck—a moment that doubles as an erotic fantasy and a death threat.

Based on J. Phelps also trims characters, turns strangers into family members, and simplifies the plot, which in the book deals with the rather abstruse question of whether to rezone a poor community adjacent to Pagford. In the TV show, a pair of venal richies Michael Gambon and Julia McKenzie, having a blast scheme to turn a quietly useful community center into a lucrative destination spa.

In her first scene, Lawrie, in short shorts, eyes flashing, struts into a large room full of mocking schoolmates, upending her audience with bravado. To the town elders, Krystal is merely the skank daughter of a junkie. She seduces sons; she sinks property values. But, in the course of three episodes, we begin to see the world through her eyes, and this change, rather than making the story treacly, makes it angrier, earning any agitprop. However, she refuses his demand that she stop drinking.

A blend of standup routines, mostly about sex; person-on-the-street interviews, also about sex; and satirical sketches, the series had an unusually high hit rate for a new comedy show. Both skits were timely and also very funny. Louis C. Foundation event last year, in which she described, in raw detail, a cruddy college sexual encounter.

Anti-feminists have always disguised their insults as jokes. Comedy with a message can also easily turn didactic—or, worse, smug. In contrast, the girl whom Schumer satirizes in her sketches, in many permutations, is brutally clueless. Is it a rescue? Such comparisons are often a trap: they suggest that women artists exist only in the context of one another, and must be compared, so that some may be deemed insufficiently radical.

Louis is a drunken slut, too, after all. But graphic sex talk gets Schumer to uncomfortable places, including rare candor about the underside of a porn-soaked world. Even better, just as she hits the mainstream, Schumer is increasing the number of her targets. This somehow leads to duelling dildos, which replace the knives from the movie. His show included stars, but they were never the point—the charge came from the bits. Ilustration by Stanley Chow.

For more than thirty years, David Letterman has been the guy working the talk-show host. But back when I was sixteen, trapped in the snoozy early eighties and desperate for something rude and wild, Letterman seemed like an anarchist. His manner suggested that TV could puncture the culture, rather than prop it up.

All of us imprinted like ducklings on his persona, the nice guy with the mean streak, making the world safe for smart comedy. The truth is, the show that Letterman oversaw in those early years was a far lighter, freer, more strange and cerebral and surreal project than it eventually became.

They considered doing Stupid Baby Tricks, but worried about the legal implications. The pair, who were together for a decade, met at the Comedy Store, in Los Angeles. In , pulling from earlier experimentalists, like Ernie Kovacs and Steve Allen, they built a daytime talk show on NBC, full of oddball pranks, which bored housewives but won over college kids. Squint, and Letterman is Harrison Ford. But he vibrated with a contradictory charisma: he had a discomfort with back-patting and schmoozing, an odd characteristic for a man whose longtime dream job was TV host.

In a sense, Letterman was a bridge between two eras of male superstars. Like the white-guy comedians of the seventies, Bill Murray and Chevy Chase and Steve Martin, he was a smart-ass, a trickster. Like Holden Caulfield, Letterman was on the defense against looking like or being a phony, looking like or being a sellout, and curdling into a Hollywood jerk. Regulars included Larry Bud Melman, an elderly character actor who was both mocked and adored.

One episode was filmed, for no reason, with a camera that rotated three hundred and sixty degrees.

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It was a prescient zinger. Once the Internet arrived, he never mastered the viral clip. Pop culture often seemed to bore him. He stayed inside more. But, even as his teen acolytes grew up to become his cable competition, Letterman retained an itchy, mercurial self-consciousness, and an inability to fake it with strangers—in a genre devoted to snake-oil synergy, he remained a lousy salesman.

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Then Letterman reacts beautifully. He shifts his jaw, he grins, he runs his hand over his forehead. Like, what would have been a better thing to say to you? Most television shows—even dark or cynical ones—find a way to go out warmly. The show featured a cavalcade of wry, dry introverts and cerebral performers, from Steve Martin to Barack Obama; outrageous types, like Martin Short and Nathan Lane, satirizing Hollywood smarm; and Don Rickles and Howard Stern, lobbing put-downs.

Letterman remarked to Martin that their friendship dated back to the daytime show. Irony can be as cloying as gushiness, in excessive doses. And, truthfully, for a fan seeking closure, the harsher of these routines were sometimes hard to watch. But a welcome taste of sweetness, after so many decades playing defense.

Each time, the decision felt like a sane and, maybe, ethical position. Enough nihilism, enough torture, I thought. Enough serial killers glamorized as artists and geniuses. But that righteous high never lasted. Gradually, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. It reflexively turns the ordinary into the alien and vice versa. Corpses pile onto a nightmarish totem pole; bees pour out of eye sockets; men swallow songbirds whole. Most episodes feature dazzling cooking montages, notorious for making viewers hungry, then making them feel guilty. Played by the sad-eyed Hugh Dancy, Will is a criminal profiler for the F.

In a recent interview on RogerEbert. This is a pretentious art film. When Will examines that heart sculpture, for instance, it folds open, ventricles falling to the floor, and then walks toward him on twisted, black, nightmare legs, transforming into a demonic elk. Murder, on the other hand, is up for grabs—and treated with brazen disrespect. Skin is stretched into wings, corpses are bent into apiaries, belladonna is planted in heart cavities.

It would be easy to see such choices through a cynical lens, as shock effects: Nietzsche is peachy, but sicker is quicker. It certainly makes the show a tough one to recommend to strangers. But these images coalesce into metaphors for mortality and loss. Tears are stirred into Martinis. Symbols overlap eerily, as senses do in synesthesia: a heartbeat is a clock tick is a drumbeat.

When Hannibal climbs a ladder to the top of a corn silo, he looks down and sees a pattern: from above, the curled bodies form an eye. The scene was so outlandish that it made me laugh out loud. There are moments when one suspects the show is sponsored by PETA. House and Francis Underwood. This is his design. When their sedan lingers, two giggly teen-age girls go silent, then shoot their middle fingers up in defiance.

Click goes the camera. Meanwhile, a weary older woman walks by, lugging groceries. The six-episode miniseries, set in the nineteen-eighties and nineties, is a dramatization of the battle to desegregate Yonkers, punctuated by swigs of Maalox. The title comes from F. Well cast, solidly structured, and emotionally stirring, the show is as sincere as the Bruce Springsteen songs that make up its score, a ballad of pragmatism with a passionate heart. To a large degree, this is because of Oscar Isaac, who plays Nick Wasicsko, in a star performance agile enough to elevate scenes that might veer into agitprop.

Only then must he face facts: any court appeal is doomed, and, anyway, would bankrupt the city. Somehow, he needs to make this unpopular plan work. Right away, the white residents who elected Wasicsko turn against him. Civic meetings boil over into near-riots. Former supporters spit in his face. They rock his car, then shatter the windshield—and these scenes, filmed in the locations where the events the show is based on occurred, feel wild and kinetic, placing us right in the action. But Wasicsko barrels forward.