In Way Too Deep

And from there I thought, Glass Onion is a period piece. It exists just as vividly in its 2020 context as Sherlock Holmes inhabits the Victorian era, or just as Poirot stories span the middle part of the 20th century.

One: Martha chose not to wear her real pearls to the theatre that night, as it was a night where there was no one to impress. The string snapped because the pearls were not real, and Martha died for a $100 set you could pick up at Macy’s.

Two: The Pearls, upon understanding this was a symbolic moment in at least one Wayne’s future [and two Wayne’s end], chose to disregard their quality for the sake of a Dramatic Tableau.

Three: no more then three pearls ever snapped off the strand, but to a boy watching his mother choke on her own blood, gasping his name into the suddenly silent night, three pearls was enough.

Four: an opportunistic officer slipped the pearls off Marthas neck as she was loaded into the morgue van, figuring Bruce would not have the wherewithal to miss them. The pearls were subsequently reported as lost, having probably rolled down the drain in the following chaos. Only three were ever recovered, having become stuck in the puddle of blood that was under Martha Wayne’s head.

Five: the pearls, a set Thomas Wayne picked up as an engagement gift and a promise when Wayne industries was collapsing and his fortune nonexistent, were fake, and Martha adored them far more then any of the expensive jewels he was eventually able to afford. She made a habit of wearing them on family outings. Martha died for the sentimental value of a $100 set you could pick up at Macy’s.

Even in the house it was LOUD.  Probably the loudest thing I have ever experienced but at a normal, predictable interval.  You would begin to time your sentences with little pauses with the rest of the lighthouse crew so you would talk like this while making your………..HORN…………. tea and then carry on talking because you knew when it would go off.  It rattled the walls and the dishes in our cabinet.

At least one girl had died there. They kept photos of her everywhere “in honor of her sacrifice” because she had decided to take the winter watch alone and died in a storm where bounders the size of mini vans had been lifted out of the ocean and left scattered across the island, to say nothing of the ice chunks.  People weren’t allowed to be alone on the watch after that.

One day a dead moose washed up on shore and it took my entire crew all day but we managed to rig up a line to hang it up to dry because we thought having a moose skeleton in the house would really spice the living room up a bit.  It did.  Weird shit happens when six of you are left alone, like ALONE ALONE, no cell reception, no wifi, just a radio to contact the real world and not a lot of reason to do that.  People don’t go on lighthouse jobs if they want to stay connected, I’ve found.