Film, music, letters, and the symbolic apparatus of the entertainment industry. Criticism is labelled as criticism.
Seventeen years of the utility's billing records for both service points at Montauk, released after appeal: 1.2 megawatts while the radar transmitted, then six unbroken years of a dehumidifier and a well pump.
The last two puzzles failed on geography and on a clock. This one has nobody in the wrong city and nobody moving faster than an aeroplane, and one entry is impossible anyway.
A reader broke last week's puzzle in fourteen minutes and then found a flaw the setter had not intended. This one states where every registry stands, because that was the flaw.
A new puzzle for the back of the book. You are given six custody entries for a single folder and the movements of the six people who signed them. Exactly one entry cannot have happened. Find it.
Forty-one donated schoolbooks and a pencilled slip dated March 1963 explain a national misquotation. A compositor shortened the line to fit a narrower page, the plate ran for twenty-six years, and 1.1 million copies went into classrooms.
The 1985 videocassette was open-matte: it kept fourteen per cent of the camera aperture that projection cut away. The microphone sits three points above the theatrical mask line. It is on the negative and was never on a screen.
Rosalind Quayle-Abendroth ran a deposit library's variant-editions desk for 41 years and died in April at 88. Her logbooks confirm a genuine printing variant in 903 cases, find none in 4,988, and leave 521 open.
Sixty-one volunteers carried four instruments for eighteen months and pressed a button the moment it began. Every logged minute is accounted for. In nine of the fourteen episodes the body had stopped moving first.
Thirty-one copies of a 1957 mimeograph survive. A document examiner, told nothing about the book, compared 640 characters in three inks and found one hand at three speeds. The vessel was at a deperming pier.
A 1994 paper in a statistics journal reported names and dates hidden in Genesis at odds of fifty thousand to one. Five years later the same journal printed the answer: run the method on Tolstoy and it works as well.
Every few months a film is found to have predicted something. Nobody counts the films that predicted nothing. We took 240 titles from one decade, logged every specific catastrophe depicted in them, and checked all of them.
The extra letter on the headstone is the most-cited proof that the grave is a decoy. His birth certificate carries it too — the state wrote it that way by accident, and when he found out he decided he preferred it.
Kicked regolith leaves the boot in a clean parabola and lands. It cannot billow, because there is no air to billow in. We hired an effects supervisor to reproduce ninety seconds of it with 1969 tools. Her costing has one line.
Fourteen clues. The initials, read downward, give the piece of advice this newspaper's FOIA correspondent gives more often than any other.
A new documentary makes twenty-two claims about the production design of a 1980 film. Four are true, three are genuinely unresolvable, and the rest are what happens when you look at anything for nine hours.
We sent the same 4.1-second file to four forensic phonetics laboratories with no context and identical fees. Two heard nothing. Two heard something, both marked their own confidence low, and neither heard the famous sentence.
