Manifest’s abrupt cancellation left a number of loose ends, but not all of the show’s mysteries went unsolved.
Over the course of its three-season run, the Flight 828 passengers have worked hard at heeding the Callings they receive in each episode.
Due to their investigations and attempts to understand the meaning behind these messages, the characters have learned a lot during their journeys.
Ever since the show began, Ben (Josh Dallas), Michaela (Melissa Roxburgh), Saanvi (Parveen Khaur), and all the others have been determined to find out the truth behind the plane’s disappearance, the purpose of the Callings, and how they can survive the Death Date.
Later, the Al-Zuras reveal, Zeke (Matt Long), and other related discoveries made them realize that Flight 828 wasn’t an isolated incident. Unexplained vanishings and sudden returns like what occurred with their plane have happened at other points in human history.
Following these leads has resulted in some important revelations, thanks in large part to the introduction of Eureka in season 3. Though the government-sanctioned operation hasn’t always been on the same page as the passengers, their scientific resources have proved useful.
Within seconds of the opening of Roadrunner, a new documentary from the Oscar-winning filmmaker Morgan Neville (20 Feet from Stardom,Won’t You Be My Neighbor?), the writer, chef, and TV personality Anthony Bourdain is already talking about death.
Sitting at a table with an unseen companion, he says that he has no investment in what happens to his remains after he is gone, except insofar as it might provide “entertainment value” for his body to be, say, fed into a woodchipper and sprayed around the London department store Harrods at rush hour.
Given that Bourdain died by suicide in 2018 during the filming of an episode of his CNN show Parts Unknown in Alsace, France, this mordant joke takes on extra-gruesome meaning—and as a montage later on in the movie shows, it was far from the only time he cracked wise on camera about his own death.
In its mix of playful irreverence and punk-rock attitude, the put-me-in-a-woodchipper-at-Harrods line is pure Bourdain, an example of the way he could charm, seduce, shock, and amuse all at the same time.
On one level, “Mare of Easttown” was a smashing success.
The Pennsylvania-set crime series starring Kate Winslet inspired numerous memes, truckloads of media coverage and even a “Saturday Night Live” parody after it debuted on HBO in April.
More importantly, thanks to its head-fake mysteries and town with more secrets than beer bottles, the show quadrupled its audience between its premiere and its finale. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that its audience began modestly enough that even with all that growth, the finale was watched by only 4 million people over Memorial Day weekend. For all its buzzy enthusiasm and hardcore fan interest, the “Mare” finale was not seen that weekend by nearly 99 percent of Americans.
The television hit — the most abiding of entertainment traditions — appears to be dying. That isn’t to say shows don’t have fans; they do, and some of them are more passionate than ever. But according to its long-standing definition — a universally recognized show that gathers a large, verifiable audience and becomes unavoidable in all the places people talk about television and endures well beyond its run — the TV hit is vanishing.
While watching S3 E4, “Tailspin,” of “Manifest,” on NBC, I saw this intriguing image of a tablet and a book. It made me think of the ways technologies (of now and the future) often integrate and merge with older technologies (i.e. books in this case).
I was thinking about how television didn’t replace radio –it changed it and made it different, but it’s still there.
Modern technology tools like smartphones and tablets are not going to replace the old technology, books. They will change how the two or more work together, and shape the world, and are useful in ways we cannot truly imagine yet…
Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle was born on May 22, 1859, in Edinburgh, Scotland.
The Doyles were a prosperous Irish-Catholic family. Charles Altamont Doyle, Arthur’s father, a chronic alcoholic, was a moderately successful artist, who apart from fathering a brilliant son, never accomplished anything of note.
At the age of twenty-two, Charles had married Mary Foley, a vivacious and well educated young woman of seventeen. Mary Doyle had a passion for books and was a master storyteller. Her son Arthur wrote of his mother’s gift of “sinking her voice to a horror-stricken whisper” when she reached the culminating point of a story. There was little money in the family and even less harmony on account of his father’s excesses and erratic behaviour.
Arthur’s touching description of his mother’s beneficial influence is also poignantly described in his autobiography, “In my early childhood, as far as I can remember anything at all, the vivid stories she would tell me stand out so clearly that they obscure the real facts of my life.”