On July 30, 1996, the media identified Richard Jewell as the F.B.I.'s prime suspect in the Olympic Park bombing. For the first time, the 34-year-old security guard tells his extraordi【详细】On July 30, 1996, the media identified Richard Jewell as the F.B.I.'s prime suspect in the Olympic Park bombing. For the first time, the 34-year-old security guard tells his extraordinary story, to MARIE BRENNER: his brief moment as a national hero, his hounding by the Feds and the press, and his eccentric friendship with the unknown southern lawyer who helped him through his public torment.FEBRUARY 1997 MARIE BRENNERDAN WINTERSThe search warrant was short and succinct, dated August 3, 9:41 A.M. F.B.I. special agent Diader Rosario was instructed to produce "hair samples (twenty-five pulled and twenty-five combed hairs from the head)" of Richard Allensworth Jewell. That Saturday, Atlanta was humid; the temperature would rise to 85 degrees. There were 34 Olympic events scheduled, including women's team handball, but Richard Jewell was in his mother's apartment playing Defender on a computer set up in the spare bedroom. Jewell hadn't slept at all the night before, or the night before that. He could hear the noise from the throng of reporters massed on the hill outside the small apartment in the suburbs. All morning long, he had been focused on the screen, trying to score off "the little guy who goes back and forth shooting the aliens," but at 12:30 the sound of the telephone disturbed his concentration. Very few people had his new number, by necessity unlisted. Since the F.B.I. had singled him out as the Olympic Park bombing suspect three days earlier, Jewell had received approximately 1,000 calls a day—someone had posted his mother's home number on the Internet."I'll be right over," his lawyer Watson Bryant told him. "They want your hair, they want your palm prints, and they want something called a voice exemplar—the goddamn bastards." The curtains were drawn in the pastel apartment filled with his mother's crafts and samplers; A HOME WITHOUT A DOG IS JUST A HOUSE, one read. By this time Bryant had a system. He would call Jewell from his car phone so that the door could be unlatched and Bryant could avoid the questions from the phalanx of reporters on the hill.Turning into the parking lot in a white Explorer, Bryant could see sound trucks parked up and down Buford Highway. The middle-class neighborhood of apartment complexes and shopping centers was near the DeKalb Peachtree Airport, where local millionaires kept their private planes. The moment Bryant got out of his car, the reporters began to shout: "Hey, Watson, do they have the murderer?" "Are they arresting Jewell?" Bryant moved quickly toward the staircase to the Jewells' apartment. He wore a baseball cap, khaki shorts, and a frayed Brooks Brothers polo shirt. He was 45 years old, with strong features and thinning hair, a southern preppy from a country-club family. Bryant had a stern demeanor lightened by a contrarian's sense of the absurd. He was often distracted—from time to time he would miss his exits on the highway—and he had the regional tendency of defining himself by explaining what he was not. "I am not a Democrat, because they want your money. I am not a Republican, because they take your rights away," he told me soon after I met him. Bryant can talk your ear off about the Bill of Rights, ending with a flourish: "I think everyone ought to have the right to be stupid. I am a Libertarian."At the time Richard Jewell was named as a suspect by the F.B.I., Watson Bryant made a modest living by doing real-estate closings in the suburbs, but Jewell and his lawyer had formed an unusual friendship a decade earlier, when Jewell worked as a mailroom clerk at a federal disaster-relief agency where Bryant practiced law. Jewell was then a stocky kid without a father, who had trained as an auto mechanic but dreamed of being a policeman; Bryant had always had a soft spot for oddballs and strays, a personality quirk which annoyed his then wife no end.The serendipity of this friendship, an alliance particularly southern in its eccentricity, would bring Watson Bryant to the immense task of attempting to save Richard Jewell from the murky quagmire of a national terrorism case. The simple fact was that Bryant had no qualifications for the job. He had no legal staff except for his assistant, Nadya Light, no contacts in the press, and no history in Washington. He was the opposite of media-savvy; he rarely read the papers and never watched the nightly news, preferring the Discovery Channel's shows on dog psychology. Now that Richard Jewell was his client, he had entered a zone of worldwide media hysteria fraught with potential peril. Jewell suspected that his pickup truck had been flown in a C-130 transport plane to the F.B.I. unit at Quantico in Virginia, and Bryant worried that his friend would be arrested any minute. Worse, Bryant knew that he had nothing going for him, no levers anywhere. His only asset was his personality; he had the bravado and profane hyperbole of a southern rich boy, but he was in way over his head.For hours that Saturday, Bryant and Jewell sat and waited for the F.B.I. From time to time Jewell would put binoculars under the drawn curtain in his mother's bedroom to peer at the reporters on the hill. Bryant was nervous that Jewell's mother, Bobi, would return from baby-sitting and see her son having hairs pulled out of his head. Bryant stalked around the apartment complaining about the F.B.I. "The sons of bitches did not show up until three P.M.," he later recalled, and when they did, there were five of them. The F.B.I. medic was tall and muscular and wore rubber gloves. He asked Jewell to sit at a small round table in the living room, where his mother puts her holiday-theme displays. Bryant stood by the sofa next to a portrait of Jewell in his Habersham County deputy's uniform. He watched the F.B.I. procedure carefully. The medic, who had huge hands, used tiny drugstore tweezers. "He eyeballed his scalp and took his hair in sections. First he ran a comb through it, and then he took these hairs and plucked them out one by one."Jewell "went stone-cold," but Bryant could not contain his temper. "I am his lawyer. I know you can have this, I know you have a search warrant, but I tell you this: If you were doing this to me, you would have to fight me. You would have to beat the shit out of me," Bryant recalled telling the case agent Ed Bazar. Bazar, Bryant later said, was apologetic. "He seemed almost embarrassed to be there." As he counted out the hairs, he placed them in an envelope. The irony of the situation was not lost on Bryant. He was a lawyer, an officer of the court, but he had a disdain for authority, and he was representing a former deputy who read the Georgia law code for fun in his spare time.It took 10 minutes to pluck Jewell's thick auburn hair. Then the F.B.I. agents led him into the kitchen and took his palm prints on the table. "That took 30 minutes, and they got ink all over the table," Bryant said. Then Bazar told Bryant they wanted Jewell to sit on the sofa and say into the telephone, "There is a bomb in Centennial Park. You have 30 minutes." That was the message given by the 911 caller on the night of the bombing. He was to repeat the message 12 times. Bryant saw the possibility of phony evidence and of his client's going to jail. "I said, 'I am not sure about this. Maybe you can do this, maybe you can't, but you are not doing this today.'"All afternoon, Jewell was strangely quiet. He had a sophisticated knowledge of police work and believed, he later said, "they must have had some evidence if they wanted my hair. ... I knew their game was intimidation. That is why they brought five agents instead of two." He felt "violated and humiliated," he told me, but he was passive, even docile, through Bryant's outburst. He thought of the bombing victims— Alice Hawthorne, the 44-year-old mother from Albany, Georgia, at the park with her stepdaughter; Melih Uzunyol, the Turkish cameraman who died of a heart attack; the more than 100 people taken to area hospitals, some of whom were his friends. "I kept thinking, These guys think I did this. These guys were accusing me of murder. This was the biggest case in the nation and the world. If they could pin it on me, they were going to put me in the electric chair."I met Richard Jewell three months later, on October 28, a few hours before a press conference called by his lawyers to allow Jewell to speak publicly for the first time since the F.B.I. had cleared him. Jewell's lawyers also intended to announce that they would file damage suits against NBC and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. It was a Monday, and that weekend the local U.S. attorney had delivered a letter to one of the lawyers stating Jewell was no longer a suspect. "Goddamn it," Bryant had told me on the phone, "the sons of bitches did not even have the decency to address it to Richard Jewell."I had been instructed to come early to the offices of Wood & Grant, the flashy plaintiff lawyers Bryant had pulled in to help him with Jewell's civil suits. When I arrived, I was alone in the office with Sharon Anderson, the redheaded assistant answering the phones. "Wood & Grant . . . Wood & Grant . . . Wood & Grant"—the calls overwhelmed her. Lin Wood and Wayne Grant were rushing from CNN to the local NBC and ABC affiliates, working the shows. "Everyone has theories of who the real bomber is," Sharon said. "I just write it all down and give it to the boys."When Lin Wood arrived, he was still in full makeup. Movie-star handsome with green eyes and styled hair, Wood has the heated oratory of a trial lawyer. "It's a war! Why in this bevy of stories does not anyone point out the fact that Richard was a hero one day and a demon the next? They have destroyed this man's life!"Watson Bryant had worked with Wood and Grant years before in a local law firm. He admired Wayne Grant for his methodical sense of detail; Grant, a New Yorker, had once forced the city of Atlanta to pay large damages to a man injured while illegally digging for antique bottles in a park. But Lin Wood's suppressed rage was a marvel to Bryant. "He is so tough he could make people cry in depositions when we were kids," Bryant told me. Wood possessed the smooth style of a member of the Atlanta establishment, but he had a hardscrabble past. He was a boy from "the wrong side of the tracks" in Macon who at age 17 discovered his mother's body after his father had murdered her. His father went to jail, and Wood wound up as a lawyer. He went through college and law school on scholarships and with part-time jobs. I could hear Wood on Sharon's telephone: "He's more than innocent. He's a goddamn hero. . . . Everyone is going to pay who wronged Richard Jewell. Besides NBC and The A.J.C., we are going to look into suing CNN and Jay Leno."Through the large picture window, I had a clear view of the remains of the Centennial Olympic Park, where the bomb had exploded on the night of July 26. Where the sound-and-light tower had once been, there was now a flattened dirt field. It was possible to see the Greek commemorative sculpture that Richard Jewell used to describe for tourists at the AT&T pavilion, where he worked as a security guard.Suddenly, Jewell was in the room. "Hi. I'm Richard. I'm a little late. I don't want you to think I am rude. I am not like that." He had an open face, a bland pleasantness, an eagerness to please. "Can I get you a Coke?" he asked me. "How about some coffee?" Jewell wore a blue-and-white striped shirt and chinos. He occupied physical space like a teenager; he sprawled, he lumbered, he pawed through Sharon's candy bowl. On TV his face had a porcine blankness; he appeared suspicious. In person, Jewell has a hard time disguising his emotions.We were alone in the conference room; I noticed that Jewell avoided looking out the window toward the park. He shifted his glance nervously away from the view. He often awakens in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, thinking of the events in the park in the early morning hours of July 27. "It took me days before I could even come in here," he said anxiously.The newsroom atmosphere resembled that at F.B.I. headquarters; there was a frenzy to be first.When Jewell noticed a local ABC reporter outside near Sharon's desk, his face darkened. "I don't want to be around reporters right now. I guess I am a little nervous. What is he doing here?" The atmosphere was now filled with tension; the reporter was escorted out.Moments later, we gathered in the hallway. Wood was steely: "We are going in two cars. Richard, you drive with me. Your mother will go with Wayne. As we walk down the hall right now, if the ABC people are outside, I will tap you on the shoulder and I will say, 'How are you doing?' You will say, 'Fine.' Is that understood?" "O.K., Lin. I understand," Jewell said quietly, head bowed.As Jewell walked down the hall, an ABC cameraman photographed him looking grim. Seconds after the elevator doors closed, Jewell exploded: "What are they doing here, Lin? Did you invite them? They are animals. Why didn't you get them out of here?""ABC has been good to you. How do I get them out of the office on the day of your press conference?""That is what security is for!" Jewell said, quivering with rage. "Where is Watson?" he asked in the garage. "I told you: he's at a real-estate closing. He will meet you at the press conference," Wood said. Jewell moved to his mother's side, as solicitous as a child. "Are you all right, Mother?" he asked. "It is all I am going to be able to do not to do something!" she said angrily.When we arrived at the Marriott hotel on 1-75, there was another discussion in the parking lot, about who would walk with whom in front of the cameras. Jewell turned to his close friend Dave Dutchess: "Are you all right, man?" Dutchess, a truckdriver who worked with Jewell years ago, has long hair and a tattoo of a panther on his forearm. "Richard and I are like brothers," he told me. "I would die for him." As the cameras closed in on them, the group fled to a private room in the Marriott. The auditorium was filled with reporters. "Showtime! Showtime!" the cameramen yelled when Jewell, his mother, and all the lawyers took the stage."I hope and pray that no one else is ever subjected to the pain and the ordeal that I have gone through," Jewell said, his voice breaking. "The authorities should keep in mind the rights of the citizens. I thank God it is ended and that you now know what I have known all along: I am an innocent man."After the press conference, Bobi and Richard Jewell remained in a private room. The bookers from Good Morning America and the Today show pressed Jewell to step before their cameras, and when Watson Bryant told them no, Monica, the G.M.A. booker, began to cry, "I'll lose my job." Then Yael, the Today-show booker, cornered Nadya Light: "Is Richard doing something with G.M.A.?'Upstairs, Jewell and his mother were being filmed by a CBS camera crew for a 60 Minutes news update. "Well, Bobi, did you get your Tupperware back?" Mike Wallace asked by phone from New York. "Richard, you need to lose some more weight." Despite Wallace's festive spirit, the atmosphere was curiously flat. Bryant urged Jewell to talk to a USA Today reporter. Jewell balked: "They can all go suck wind."In the car on the way back to Wood & Grant, Bobi was angry. All of her possessions had come back from the F.B.I. marked up with ink. "Every piece of Tupperware I own is ruined, thank you very much. They wrote numbers all over it, and I have tried everything to clean it—Comet and Brillo—but nothing works."Back at the office, she sat on the sofa and listened as Bryant negotiated with Yael for a flight to New York— Delta, first-class, 9:30 P.M. Jewell was scheduled to appear on three shows in New York, visit the American Museum of Natural History, and then fly to Washington, D.C., for Larry King Live. "I would like to go home, put on my outfit, and walk in the woods," Bobi said. "Richard, we are leaving.""Yes, ma'am," Richard said.One hour later, a telephone call came in to the offices of Wood & Grant. The lawyers had the call on speaker, and it blared through the room. "Goddamn it, Lin. When will this be over?" In the background, you could hear Bobi sobbing. "What in the world?" Wood asked. Jewell explained that a sound truck from ABC had been waiting in the parking lot when the Jewells got home. There had been words and threats, and Dave Dutchess had taken his stun gun off his motorcycle and waved it at the ABC van. The cameraman yelled: Stop harassing us! Dave yelled back: You are harassing us! Now get your ass out of here!Wood shouted into the speakerphone: "Do not meddle! You cannot jeopardize where you have gotten to and what you want to do! All you have to do is put up with this for one more day and the damn thing is over. Bobi, there is nothing you can do about it; you have to stay cool." Bobi cried back, "They are going to destroy me!"The moment they hung up, Wood turned to Bryant. "New York is canceled. No Katie Couric. No Good Morning America. They are losing it. You better call Yael." "No," Bryant said, "they have lost it. All of the above: their patience, their temper and heart."That evening a very testy Katie Couric tracked Bryant down at Nadya Light's apartment, where we had gone to watch the news. "I want you to know that I canceled interviewing Barbra Streisand in L.A. for Richard Jewell. Don't think he is always going to be a news story. No one will care about him in three days," she said, according to Bryant. "Look, Katie, I am sorry. But Richard is in no condition to talk to the press. He is worn out," Bryant told her.Later, Jewell would tell me that that day, which should have been one of his most satisfying, was actually his worst. His notoriety had tainted the triumph; everything positive had become negative. "I was in despair," he said. As he had for most of the previous 88 days, he spent the night confined in the Buford Highway apartment, a prisoner of his circumstances, with his mother, Dave Dutchess, and Dave's fiancee, Beatty, eating Domino's Pizza and watching himself lead the newscasts on NBC, CBS, and ABC."This case has everything—the F.B.I., the press, the violation of the Bill of Rights from the First to the Sixth Amendment."'This case has everything— the F.B.I., the press, the violation of the Bill of Rights, from the First to the Sixth Amendment," Watson Bryant told me in one of our first conversations. It has become common to characterize the F.B.I.'s investigation of Richard Jewell as the epitome of false accusation. The phrase "the Jewell syndrome," a rush to judgment, has entered the language of newsrooms and First Amendment forums. On the night of Jewell's press conference, a commentator on CNN's Crossfire compared Jewell's situation to "Kafka in Prague." The case became an investigative catastrophe, which laid bare long-simmering resentments of many F.B.I. career professionals regarding the micromanagement style and imperious attitude of Louis Freeh and his inner circle of former New York prosecutors, who have worked together since their days at the U.S. Attorney's Office in the Southern District. Within the bureau, the beleaguered director now has a new nickname: J. Edgar Hoover with children. Like Freeh, those near him have also acquired a nickname: Louie's yes-men. Two of Freeh's closest associates, F.B.I. general counsel Howard Shapiro and former deputy director Larry Potts, have been severely criticized, respectively, for advising the White House of confidential F.B.I. material and for an alleged cover-up of the mishandling of the 1992 standoff at Ruby Ridge, where F.B.I. agents killed the wife and son of Randy Weaver, a white supremacist.In November and December, the Office of Professional Responsibility conducted an exhaustive investigation into the Jewell affair. Responding to an attempt by headquarters and certain officials to distance themselves, according to F.B.I. sources, several agents, including a senior F.B.I. supervisor in Atlanta, have provided the O.P.R. with signed statements insisting that Freeh himself was responsible for "oversight" during the crisis. These agents "shocked the investigators" because they reiterated, when asked who was in charge of the overall command of the investigation, that it was the director himself.What happened to Richard Jewell raises an important question central to Freeh's future tenure: in the midst of a media frenzy, does the F.B.I. have any responsibility to protect the privacy of an innocent man? Over the last year, this concept was broached with Bob Bucknam, Louis Freeh's chief of staff. During the long Pizza Connection trial in the 1980s, it was Bucknam who handed Freeh files at the prosecutor's table. According to highly placed sources in the bureau, Bucknam's answer was immediate: the F.B.I. has no responsibility to correct information in the public domain.Richard Jewell had a reverence for authority that blinded him to the paradox of his situation. He idealized the investigative skills of the F.B.I. and could not understand that he had become ensnared in a web fraught with the weaknesses of a self-protective bureaucracy. Pennsylvania senator Arlen Specter has invited Jewell to Washington to testify at congressional hearings on the F.B.I.'s conduct in the Atlanta bombing. Ironically, the bungling of the investigation might lead to the reshuffling of personalities at the top of the bureau and threaten Freeh's reputation. In October, according to The Washington Post, Freeh sent an unusual memo to all 25,000 F.B.I. personnel: He would not be abandoning his post amid reports of problems with the Jewell case and Filegate, and of a growing dissatisfaction inside the bureau. "I am proud to be the F.B.I. director," Freeh wrote.From the beginning, Jewell was perceived in the public imagination as a hapless dummy, a plodding misfit, a Forrest Gump. On one of the first days he worked as a security guard at the AT&T pavilion, he noticed that his co-workers were covering the steps inside the sound tower with graffiti. On one step Jewell scrawled with a flourish two bromides: IF YOU DIDN'T GO PAST ME, YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE and LIFE IS TOUGH. TOUGHER WHEN YOU ARE STUPID. Soon after he was targeted as a suspect in the Olympics bombing, the F.B.I. confiscated the step. Analysts appeared to believe that the graffiti contained a clue to his character. "They told the lawyers the statement was an obvious taunt," Jewell said. In fact, the second line was an expression he had cribbed from one of his favorite actors, John Wayne.Within the F.B.I., the beleaguered director has a new nickname: J. Edgar Hoover with children."To understand Richard Jewell, you have to be aware that he is a cop. He talks like a cop and thinks like a cop," his criminal lawyer, Jack Martin, told me. The tone of Jewell's voice drops noticeably when he says the word "officer," and his conversation is filled with observations about traffic patterns, security devices, and car wrecks. Even the vocabulary he uses to describe the 88 days he was a suspect is out of the lexicon of police work, and he continues to talk about his situation then in the present tense: "This is an out-and-out ambush, and I am a hostage."Jewell has a need to accommodate. He can be startlingly opaque. On the afternoon of July 30, Jewell answered the door of his mother's apartment to Don Johnson and Diader Rosario from the F.B.I. "We need your help making a training film," they told him. "I never questioned it," he told me. The next day Rosario appeared again with a search warrant. "The weird thing was that when they were searching my apartment I was, like, 'Take everything. Take the carpet. I am law enforcement. I am just like you. Guys, take whatever you are going to take, because it is going to prove that I didn't do anything.' And a couple of them were looking at me like I was crazy."Leaving the apartment on one occasion, he told the agents, "I am wearing a bright shirt so y'all can see me easier." He recalled feeling anger when he read descriptions of himself as a child-man, a mama's boy, and "a wannabe policeman," but he said, "If I was in the place of everybody else and I saw a 34-year-old guy living with his mother, I would have reservations about that, too. I would think, Why is he doing that?"The December issue of Atlanta magazine reported that there was no record of a Jewell family in Danville, Virginia, where Richard Jewell was born. Atlanta referred to an article in the Danville Register & Bee which asked, "Did Richard Jewell ever sleep here?" "This is a part of my life Richard and I do not like to speak about," Bobi Jewell told me one night at dinner. Richard was born in Danville, but his name was Richard White; his father was Bobi's first husband, Robert Earl White, who worked for Chevrolet. According to Bobi, Richard's father, who died recently, was "irresponsible and a ladies' man." When Richard was four, the marriage broke up. Bobi found work as an insurance-agency claims coordinator and soon met John Jewell, an executive in the same business. Shortly after John Jewell married Bobi, he adopted Richard.From the time Richard was a child, he and his mother were a unit. Bobi, a woman of intelligence and disciplined work habits, is both tender and tough on the subject of her son. She still calls Richard "my boy," but she has a peppery disposition. Richard was brought up in a strict Baptist home. "If I didn't say 'Yes, ma'am' or 'No, ma'am' and get it out quick enough, I would be on the ground," he said. When he was six, the family moved to Atlanta. Richard was the boy who helped the teachers and worked as a school crossing guard, but he had few friends in high school. "I was a wannabe athlete, but I wasn't good enough," he said. He ran the movie projector in the library. A military-history buff, he liked to talk about Napoleon and the Vietnam War and read books on both World Wars.Jewell's ambition was to work on cars, so he enrolled in a technical school in southern Georgia. On his third day there, Bobi discovered that her husband had packed a suitcase. "He left a note saying that he was a failure and no good for us," Jewell said. Almost immediately, Richard moved back home and took a job repairing cars. "My mom and I tried to take care of each other," he said. "I think I handled it pretty much better than she did." Richard took the brunt of his father's abandonment; Bobi pulled even closer to her son. "She hated all men for about three years after that, and she became overly protective of me. She looked at it that I was going to do the same thing that my dad did. I was 18 or 19. I was working. She never liked my dates, but I never held that against her. We have always been able to lean on each other."Richard managed a local TCBY yogurt shop and once stopped a burglary in progress. At the age of 22, he was hired as a clerk at the Small Business Administration, and he impressed Watson Bryant and the other lawyers in the office with his personable nature. They called him Radar because of his efficiency. "You could say, 'I'm hungry,' and suddenly this kid would be by your side with a Snickers bar," Bryant recalled. When Jewell's contract with the S.B.A. ran out, he moved on to be a Marriott house detective. In 1990 he was hired as a jailer in the Habersham County Sheriff's Office, and in 1991 he became a deputy. As part of his training, he was sent to the Northeast Georgia Police Academy, where he finished in the upper 25 percent of his class. He finally had an identity; he was a law-enforcement officer.Jewell was unlucky in love. He presented one woman with an engagement ring, and later, in Habersham County, he would give another a large wooden key with a sign that read, THIS IS THE KEY TO UNLOCK YOUR HEART, but both relationships came apart. In northern Georgia, Jewell worked nights and became wedded to his job. By his own description, he was methodical. "I am the kind of person who plans everything. I like to go from A to B to C to D. This going from A to D and arguing over everything—I say no." Habersham County, a scenic part of the piney woods in Georgia's Bible Belt, was for Jewell like "leaving the 1990s and going into the 1970s in terms of law enforcement." Many rich Atlantans have country houses in the mountains, but the small towns of Demorest and Charlottesville are relatively undeveloped, reminding one of Jewell's lawyers of the scenery in the movie Deliverance. "If you get lost up there, you might find a guy with a bow and arrow," the lawyer said.Recently, Jewell and I took the 90-minute drive from Atlanta to Habersham County, which has acres of apple orchards. The leaves were turning, and the roads were mostly deserted. In the towns, however, were stores, apple stands, and even a good Chinese restaurant. As Jewell's blue pickup truck turned into the parking lot of a shopping center, several people came out to greet him.Jewell had lived in a small yellow house up a steep rocky driveway. On the day we visited, the current resident's Halloween decorations were still up, as were faded white satin ribbons hanging from many trees, remnants of a campaign to clear Richard Jewell organized by area friends. Jewell had lived 50 yards from the Chattahoochee River near a kayak-and-canoe tourist concession on a main road—not in a "cabin in the woods," as several reports stated after the bombing. He worked the night shift, and when he would arrive home at dawn, he told me, he could look up and "see a sky filled with stars."He was not a loner; he made friends with several local families. He would often leave a box of Dunkin' Donuts on friends' porches at four A.M. During the O. J. Simpson trial, he and the other deputies would meet in the turnaround on Highway 985 in the middle of the night and review the day's events and the bungling by the Los Angeles Police Department. Jewell would later be annoyed that the F.B.I. confiscated his copy of former prosecutor Vincent Bugliosi's account of the trial. Jewell dated a local girl, Sheree Chastain, and had a close relationship with her family.Jewell had a complex history working at the Habersham County Sheriff's Office. When he was still a jailer, he arrested a couple making too much noise in a hot tub at an apartment building where he did part-time security work. He was arrested for impersonating an officer and, after pleading guilty to a lesser charge, was placed on probation on the condition that he seek psychological counseling.By his own estimation, Jewell's strength as a cop was "working car wrecks." He had his mother's diligence; he worked 14 hours a day and organized a safety fair. Later in 1995 he wrecked his patrol car and was demoted to working in the jail. Rick Moore, a local deputy, advised him to accept the job, but Jewell despised the jailhouse atmosphere. He told me, "It was a small room filled with cigarette smoke. I couldn't take it." He resigned, and in a short time he moved to a police job at Piedmont College, a liberal-arts school with approximately 1,000 students on the main road in Demorest. The college police had jurisdiction only on campus and in an area extending out 500 feet. Jewell chased cars speeding down the highway and had arguments over turf with other officers. He was instrumental in several arrests, including that of a suspected burglar he discovered hiding at the top of a tree. For his work on a volunteer rescue squad, he was named a citizen of the year.According to Brad Mattear, a former resident director, Piedmont was a school of "P.K.'s"—preachers' kids. It was 80 percent Baptist with a strict no-drinking rule. The college had many rebellious students, according to Mattear, kids who were "away from home for the first time and wanted to party and drink." Mattear knew Jewell well and recalled his good manners and playful nature. "It was always 'Yes, sir' and 'Yes, ma'am.'" Jewell would tell students, "I know y'all are going to drink. Don't do it on campus."Jewell felt confined by his boundaries and could be heavy-handed when it came to writing out reports on minor infractions. Once when we were driving by the campus, he pointed to a small brick dormitory. "That was where all the partying would go on," he told me. Jewell would raid dorm rooms and report drinking violations. "I did not hesitate to tell the parents—in no uncertain terms—what their kids were up to," he said.He soon made enemies at the school. "Three or four times a week," Mattear said, Piedmont students were in the office of Ray Cleere, the president of the college, complaining about Jewell and other Piedmont police. After Jewell was admonished for a number of controversial arrests, he resigned.Jewell had an out: his mother was going to have an operation on her foot. He would go home to Atlanta for the Olympics and look for a new job. He called his mother: "Is it all right with you if I stay with you while you have your surgery?" He hoped he might get a job with the Atlanta police or, failing that, work security at the Olympics. "I thought, Working at the Centennial Olympic Park will look really good on my resume."At the age of 33, back in his mother's apartment, he was at first treated like a wayward teenager. Bobi was sharp with him about his slovenly habits, his weight, and his driving. Bobi had carved out a life for herself; she arrived at work by eight A.M. each morning and had many friends. Trim, with short-cropped hair, Bobi Jewell is the kind of woman who labels her clothes and spices and spends much of her spare time baking cakes and babysitting for extra money. She carries on telephone friendships with claim adjusters at other companies. It was somewhat unsettling for her, she told me, to have Richard at home after she had grown used to living with only her dog, Brandi, and her cat, Boots. Bobi was annoyed that he had wrecked a patrol car, and worried about his safety. "Every time he leaves the apartment, I'll say, 'Richard . . . ' And he'll say, 'Yes, ma'am. I know. The person that I am going to see will be there when I get there,'" she said. On one occasion Bobi talked about Richard's return to Atlanta. "What is wrong with trying to revamp your life?" she asked me. Her eyes filled with tears. "Why does everyone in the media think it is so strange?"On Friday, July 26, Bobi Jewell was home waiting for her niece to arrive from Virginia for the Olympic softball competition the following week. In preparation, she had stocked her apartment with food. It was a clear Georgia evening, not as hot as had been expected. As usual, Richard left for the park at 4:45 P.M. and arrived at the AT&T pavilion about 5:30. His stomach was bothering him; he was convinced that he had eaten a bad hamburger the day before. Lin Wood and Wayne Grant had arranged to take their children to Centennial Park that night. The park, in downtown Atlanta, stretches over 21 acres. There were air-conditioned tents, concerts on the stage, and hot-dog and souvenir stands. Downtown Atlanta was usually deserted in the oppressively hot, humid summer, but this year thousands of tourists filled the sidewalks, or sat on benches in the shade of some crape-myrtle trees, or cooled off by a fountain. Tour buses clogged the main arteries, and everyone complained that it took hours to get anywhere; stories were traded about athletes' getting to their competitions late because of the poor planning of the Atlanta Committee for the Olympic Games.As always, Jewell was working the 12-hour night shift near the sound-and-light tower by the stage. He was pleased because one of his favorite groups—Jack Mack and the Heart Attack—was going to perform at 12:45. Jewell had a routine: he would check in and fill the ice chest he kept by a bench at his station. Jewell liked to offer water and Cokes to pregnant women or policemen who stopped to rest.After he arrived at the park, his stomach cramps grew worse and he had a bout of diarrhea. At approximately 10 P.M. he took a break to go to the bathroom. The closest one was by the stage, but the security staff was not allowed to use it. "I really have to go," Jewell says he told the stage manager. "And he said, 'Well, O.K. this time.'"When Jewell came out, he noticed that it was "real calm" and there wasn't much wind blowing. At that time of night, the crowd from Bud World became a little more raucous. Jewell was annoyed when he saw a group of drunks near his bench and beer cans littering the area beside the fence nearby. As he went to report the trash and the group that was carousing, he spotted a large olive-green military-style backpack, known as an Alice pack, under the bench. There had been a similar bag found the week before. Jewell later told an F.B.I. agent that he was annoyed that one of the drunks had tried to get into the lens of a camera crew. Jewell had told them to cut it out. "They were running off at the mouth," Jewell would later tell Larry Landers of the Georgia Bureau of Investigation (G.B.I.)."I was light about the package at first," he told me, "kidding around with Tom Davis from the G.B.I.: 'Well, are you going to open it?' At that point, it was not a concern. I was thinking to myself, Well, I am sure one of these people left it on the ground. When Davis came back and said, 'Nobody said it was theirs,' that is when the little hairs on the back of my head began to stand up. I thought, Uh-oh. This is not good."I never really had time to be frightened. My law-enforcement background paid off here. What went through my head was like a computer screen of this list I had to do. I had to call my supervisor. I have to tell people in the tower that something was going on. I have to be firm with them, stay calm, and be professional."Almost immediately, Jewell and Tom Davis cleared a 25-foot-square area around the backpack; Jewell made two trips into the tower to warn the technicians. "I want y'all out now. This is serious."Two blocks away on Marietta Street, approximately 300 editors, copywriters, and reporters from Cox newspapers around the country had taken over the extra desks in the new eighth-floor newsroom at The Atlanta Journal-Constitution to prepare the special Olympics edition they put out each afternoon. The paper had gone "Olympics-crazy," according to one reporter. The editor, Ron Martin, and the managing editor, John Walter—"WalMart," as they were called—had let it be known that no expense would be spared. Ann Hardie, who normally covers science, had been sent around the world to master the fine points of beach volleyball; Bill Rankin, officially on the federal-court beat, was assigned table tennis. The paper intended to set new standards in its hometown during the games, but in addition there was a hint of redemption in the air.Since Cox newspaper executives had forced the resignation of the distinguished editor Bill Kovach in 1988, the paper had suffered a severe loss of reputation. "We all felt just kind of beaten down," one reporter said. Kovach had been brought to Atlanta from The New York Times to elevate The A.J.C. into being the definitive paper of the New South, but eventually he irritated the local powers. Atlanta was inbred, a city of deals, and he resigned in a blaze of press outrage. Kovach now ran the Nieman journalism-fellowship program at Harvard, and the movie rights to his turbulent years in Atlanta—reported in these pages by Peter J. Boyer—had been sold to Warner Bros.Within the profession, The A.J.C. had become something of a joke. More and more, its emphasis was on what John Walter called "chunklets"—short bits in a soft-news style known as eye-candy. The paper published features on couples massage and how mushrooms grow in the rain. Walter had fired off several terse memos to ensure that there would be no more jumps of news stories to back pages and no more unsourced news stories, except on rare occasions. "I don't see any reason why you can't report hard news in a short form," one editor told me.The A.J. C. style of reporting in declarative sentences had a name, too: the voice of God. It was omniscient, because it allowed no references to unattributed sources. Subjects such as AIDS, which often required confidentiality, could not be covered properly in the paper, in the opinion of several reporters. The A.J.C. picked up news stories with unnamed sources from The New York Times, however, and reporters groused about the hypocrisy of the double standard.On Saturday morning, July 27, Bob Johnson, the night metro editor, left the newsroom at one A.M. The sidewalks were still crowded; Johnson sat on a wall outside waiting for an A.J.C. shuttle bus to pick him up. About 1:25 he heard a strange noise. "It sounded like an aerial bomb at a fireworks show," he said. He recalled thinking, Damn, that is sort of foolish. Then he heard screams and saw people running. Johnson rushed back upstairs to the almost deserted sixth-floor newsroom. Lyda Longa, a night police reporter, was still there. Johnson sent her down to the park and turned on the news, but nothing had moved across the wires. Just after two A.M., Longa called from the park. She told Johnson that one person had been killed and dozens were down—it was absolute chaos. Johnson could hear the sirens and the screams through the telephone; he began to type into his computer. "We were trying to get a bullet into the street edition," Johnson recalled. In the crisis, it took only minutes for reporters to return to the newsroom; several had been at the park when the bomb went off. Rochelle Bozman, an Olympics editor, appeared and took over for Johnson. Soon John Walter was there, as was Bert Roughton, who would assist him in supervising the A.J.C. coverage of the bombing.At the park, Jewell spoke with the first F.B.I. agents to arrive on the scene. The smell and the noise, he remembered, were overwhelming, and sensations blurred together. "It was hard to describe the sound," he said. "It was like what you hear in the movies. It was, like, KABOOM. I had seen an explosion in police training. We had ear protection when it went off. It smelled like a flash-bang grenade. The sky was not filled with black smoke, but grayish-white. All the shrapnel that was inside the package kept flying around, and some of the people got hit from the bench and some with metal."Bobi Jewell had just gone to sleep when the telephone rang. It was Richard. "Mom, they had a bomb go off down here, but I am O.K. regardless of what the TV says." He could hardly speak; he seemed paralyzed. Jewell did not mention to his mother that he had found the backpack and alerted Tom Davis. Bobi was perplexed. "I thought, What does he mean?"All night long she stayed on the foldout sofa watching the news reports. She was frightened by the ambulances, the noise, the bodies in the park.Soon veteran homicide detectives in the Atlanta police arrived at the bomb site. One sergeant was trying to make his way through the crowd when an Olympics official stopped him. "Tell these cops to get the hell out of here," he said, according to a captain in the homicide division. "Well, you get the fuck out of here. Who are you?" the sergeant demanded. Agents from the Atlanta F.B.I. office and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms were in a shouting match over jurisdiction. "We are handling this!" one said. "No, this is ours!" an F.B.I. agent snapped.In the command center at F.B.I. headquarters in northeastern Atlanta, there was complete pandemonium. The Olympics were a national convention for law enforcement. Some 30,000 security personnel were on hand. Over the next few days, there would be an internal debate: Who was going to be in charge of the bombing investigation? In Atlanta at that time were three veteran investigators with executive experience: Tom Fuentes, who is credited with helping to bring John Gotti to heel; Barry Mawn, who has worked extensively in organized-crime probes; and Robin Montgomery, the head of the critical-incident unit at Quantico, who at Ruby Ridge in 1992 questioned the disastrous "rules of engagement" which led to tragedy.In the early-morning hours, F.B.I. agents picked up several suspects, including one referred to as "the drunk in the bar." According to F.B.I. sources, Louis Freeh himself got on the telephone to Barry Mawn. Freeh, a former F.B.I. agent, was personally monitoring the initial investigation by means of a series of conference calls from the command post at F.B.I. headquarters. He focused on "the drunk in the bar," who had been making threats the night before, and within hours the information was leaked that the F.B.I. had a suspect. From Atlanta, Barry Mawn contacted his superiors in Washington. "This suspect is not the bomber," he reportedly said, according to a former highlevel F.B.I. executive. Freeh allegedly lost his temper and belittled Mawn's professional abilities. He is said to have told Mawn that he "had handled this all wrong." The words one hears characterizing Freeh's telephone calls to the agents on duty in Atlanta are "abusive," "condescending," and "dismissive." A story went around the command center that Freeh was already saying, "We have our man," according to a source in the bureau.Watson Bryant was thinking, I cannot believe that I know anyone who throws pipe bombs into gopher holes.Freeh made a decision: however experienced Montgomery, Fuentes, and Mawn were, this investigation would be run by Division 5 of the F.B.I., the National Security Division, a former counterintelligence unit that has been looking for a purpose since the Cold War ended. Trained in observation, division members rarely made a criminal case—their strength was intimidation and manipulation rather than the deliberate gathering of evidence to be presented in court. The F.B.I. promptly declared the bombing a terrorism case and placed it under the authority of Bob Bryant, head of the division. David Tubbs of Division 5 was sent to Atlanta to be the spokesman and to augment Woody Johnson, the Atlanta special agent in charge (S.A.C.), who had been trained in hostage rescue and who was awkward in press briefings. Tubbs was not as experienced in criminal cases as Mawn or Montgomery, who returned to Newark and Quantico, respectively, "to get out of the line of fire," according to numerous F.B.I. sources. But Bryant and Freeh were reportedly micromanaging the S.A.C.'s and, later, the case agents Don Johnson and Diader Rosario.106107 VIEW ARTICLE PAGESOn the morning of the bombing, Watson Bryant's alarm went off at six A.M. He was going to the Olympic kayak competition on the Ocoee River with Andy Currie, a friend from his Vanderbilt University days. He learned of the bombing on the radio as he was getting ready to go to Currie's house. "Whoever has done this should be skinned alive," he told Currie. He spent the day in the country, and on Sunday he went out to run errands. When he got home, there was a message on his answering machine: "Watson, this is Richard Jewell. You may have heard that I found the bomb and people are calling me a hero. Somebody told me I might get a book contract." It had been years since Bryant had spoken to Jewell, but he did not immediately return the call; he was busy finishing up some contracts so that he could take a few days off to enjoy the Olympics.In addition, Bryant was annoyed with Jewell. After Bryant had befriended him in their days at the Small Business Administration, Jewell had borrowed his new, $250 radar detector and never returned it. He had promised to pay him $100 for it, but he never had. In the meantime, Bryant's life had changed; he had set up an office as a solo practitioner. Bryant despised corporate politics and had no gift for them. His penchant for taking on pro-bono work for friends annoyed his wife, however. Bryant believed that Richard Jewell had attached himself to him years earlier because he lacked a father, but nevertheless Jewell could get on his nerves. By the summer of 1996, Bryant was preoccupied; his marriage had come apart two years earlier, and he was trying to sort out his life.When he finally returned Jewell's phone call, he said, "Well, damn it, where's my $100?" Jewell laughed uneasily and told him about discovering the green backpack that contained the bomb. "Didn't you see me on the news?" Bryant reminded him that he rarely watched TV. "I am proud of you, Richard," he said. "About this book contract, I think it's far-fetched, but don't sign anything unless I see it first."In the Newsweek cover story detailing the bombing, published Monday, July 29, there was no mention of Richard Jewell. It said only that "a security guard" had alerted Tom Davis of the G.B.I. that no one had claimed the backpack under his bench. By the time Newsweek was on the stands, however, Jewell had been interviewed on CNN. The AT&T publicity department had booked him on TV and told him to wear the shirt with the AT&T logo. Jewell reluctantly agreed. "The idea of going on TV made me nervous," he told me. "I was not the hero. There were so many others who saved lives."In Demorest, Ray Cleere, the president of Piedmont College, was home on Saturday, July 27, watching CNN. Cleere had at one time been Mississippi's commissioner of higher education, but he was now posted at the rural Baptist mountain school. He was said to feel that he had suffered a loss of status in the boondocks, where he was out of the academic mainstream. He called Dick Martin, his chief of campus police. Shouldn't they call the F.B.I. and tell them about Richard Jewell? he asked. Cleere had had a strong disagreement with Jewell when one of the students was caught smoking pot. Jewell wanted to arrest him; Cleere said no. Cleere, Brad Mattear recalled, "worried constantly about the image of the college." According to Mattear, "Cleere loved the limelight. He wanted public attention"—the very trait he reportedly ascribed to Richard Jewell.Dick Martin, who was fond of Jewell, suggested a compromise, according to Lin Wood: he would call a friend in the G.B.I. Cleere then called the F.B.I. hot line in Washington himself. Wood says Cleere later complained that no one had seemed to want to listen to what he had to say about Richard Jewell. But his telephone call would trigger a complex set of circumstances in Habersham County, where F.B.I. investigators fanned out over the hills, attempting to uncover evidence that could lead to Jewell's arrest. "The F.B.I. took his word, and what it actually did was get them both in a bunch of trouble," Mattear said. (Cleere has declined to comment.)For Richard Jewell, Tuesday, July 30, would become a haze in which his life was turned upside down. "The hours of the day ran so fast it is hard to remember what all happened," he told me. He started the day early at the Atlanta studio of the Today show. He was tired; the evening before he had had his friend Tim Attaway, a G.B.I. agent, for dinner. He had made lasagna and had drawn Attaway a diagram of the sound-and-light tower. Jewell had talked into the night about the bombing; only later would he learn that Attaway was wearing a wire.Despite the late evening, Jewell was excited at the thought of meeting Katie Couric and being interviewed about finding the Alice pack in the park. His mother asked him to try to get Tom Brokaw's autograph. "He was a man my mom respected a great deal," he said.When he got back to the apartment, he was surprised to see a cluster of reporters in the parking lot. "Do you think you are a suspect?" one asked. Jewell laughed. "I know they'll investigate anyone who was at the park that night," he said. "That includes you-all too." Jewell did not turn on the TV, but he noticed that the group outside the door continued to grow. At four that afternoon, Jewell received a phone call from Anthony Davis, the head of the security company Jewell worked for at AT&T. "Have you seen the news?" Davis asked. "They are saying you are a suspect." Jewell said, "They are talking to everybody." According to Jewell, Davis said, "They are zeroing in on you. To keep the publicity down, don't go to work."Within minutes, Don Johnson and Diader Rosario knocked on Jewell's door. They exuded sincerity, Jewell recalled. "They told me they wanted me to come with them to headquarters to help them make a training film to be used at Quantico," he said. Johnson played to Jewell's pride. Despite the reporters in the parking lot and the call from Anthony Davis, Jewell had no doubt that they were telling the truth. He drove the short distance to F.B.I. headquarters in Buckhead in his own truck, but he noticed that four cars were following him. "The press is on us," Jewell told Johnson when they arrived. "No, those are our guys," Johnson told him. This tactic would continue through the next 88 days and be severely criticized: Why would you have an armada of surveillance vehicles stacked up on a suspected bomber?It was then that Jewell started to wonder why he was at the F.B.I., but he followed Johnson and Rosario inside. Rosario was known for his skills as a negotiator; he had once helped calm a riot of Cuban prisoners in Atlanta. Johnson, however, had a reputation for overreaching. In Albany, New York, in 1987, he had pursued an investigation of then mayor Thomas Whalen. According to Whalen, the local U.S. attorney found no evidence to support Johnson's assertions and issued a letter to Whalen exonerating him completely, but Whalen believed it cost him an appointment as a federal judge.As Jewell sat in a small office, he wondered why the cameraman recording the interview was staring at him so intently. After an hour, Johnson was called out of the room. When he returned, he said to Jewell, "Let's pretend that none of this happened. You are going to come in and start over, and by the way, we want you to fill out this waiver of rights.""At that moment a million things were going through my head," Jewell told me. "You don't give anyone a waiver of rights unless they are being investigated. I said, 'I need to contact my attorney,' and then all of a sudden it was an instant change. 'What do you need to contact your attorney for? You didn't do anything. We thought you were a hero. Is there something you want to tell us about?'" Jewell grew increasingly apprehensive and later recalled thinking, These guys think I did this.When the agents took a break, Jewell asked to use the phone. "I called Watson four times. I called his brother. I told his parents that I had to get hold of Watson—it was urgent. I was, like, 'I have to speak to him right now.' What was going on was that Washington was on the phone with Atlanta. The people in Washington were giving them questions." Jewell said he knew this because the videotapes in the cameras were two hours long and "Johnson and Rosario would leave every 30 minutes, like they had to speak on the phone." The O.RR. report, however, would assert that no one at headquarters knew about the videotaping or the training-film ruse. Lying to get a statement out of a suspect is, in fact, not illegal, but clearly Johnson and Rosario were not making decisions on their own. Even the procedure of having a fleet of cars follow a suspect was an intimidation tactic used by the F.B.I. Later, according to Jewell, Johnson and Rosario would both tell him privately that they believed he was innocent, but that the investigation was being run by the "highest levels in Washington."Within the bureau, the belief is that during one of the telephone calls Freeh instructed Johnson and Rosario to read Jewell his Miranda rights. Freeh is said to have learned of Johnson's history from a member of his security detail, who had worked in Atlanta. He told Freeh that "Johnson had a reputation for being obnoxious and a problem." In addition, a week after Jewell's interview, Freeh reportedly received a call from Janet Reno, who had learned about the ruse from Kent Alexander, the local U.S. attorney, and Deputy Attorney General Jamie Gorelick. Freeh wondered aloud how it was that, of all the agents in Atlanta, Johnson had been selected to work on the Jewell case. Like Jewell, Johnson had wound up in Atlanta because of his overzealous behavior—according to an F.B.I. source, the Whalen episode had resulted in a "loss-of-effectiveness transfer," an F.B.I. euphemism. (Johnson declined to respond.)On that same Tuesday, Watson Bryant and Nadya Light closed the office early and went to Centennial Park. Light, 35, a pretty Russian immigrant, had never met Radar, Bryant's old friend, and wanted to buy him a celebratory meal. Killing time until Jewell came on duty, they went into the House of Blues and then bought some hot sauce. Walking toward his car, Bryant saw newsboys hawking the afternoon edition of The Atlanta Journal-Constitution. "It was like out of a cartoon. They were all yelling!" he recalled. "I caught the headline out of the corner of my eye." The headline read: FBI SUSPECTS 'HERO' GUARD MAY HAVE PLANTED BOMB.Bryant borrowed 50 cents from Light to buy the paper and began to read: '"Richard Jewell, 33 . . . fits the profile of the lone bomber.' I could not believe it."At that moment, Bryant's brother, Bruce, who was on his way to the diving competition, got a call from Jewell. "Where is Watson?" As Bruce Bryant walked past a Speedo billboard with a TV screen, he saw Richard Jewell's face filling the screen. "Oh, my God," he said to his wife. At the same moment, Watson was in his car a block away on Northside Drive when he too noticed the Speedo screen. He could not get back to his house—the streets were blocked off for the cycling competition. From his car he called F.B.I. headquarters and demanded to speak to Jewell. "He is not here," the operator said. From his home phone, he picked up his messages and heard Jewell's low, urgent tones. "He didn't leave a number," Bryant told Light. "Call Star 69," she said. The number came back: 679-9000, the number for F.B.I. headquarters, which he had just dialed. Within minutes, Bryant had Jewell on the phone. Jewell told him he was making a training film. "You idiot! You are a suspect. Get your ass out of there now!" Bryant told him.Before The Atlanta Journal-Constitution broke the story of Richard Jewell, there had been a debate in the newsroom over whether or not to name him. One block away, CNN's Art Harris and Henry Schuster had alerted the network's president that Jewell was targeted, but they held the story, because they understood its potential magnitude. At The A.J.C., Kathy Scruggs, a police reporter, who had allegedly gotten a tip from a close friend in the F.B.I., got a confirmation from someone in the Atlanta police. According to the managing editor, John Walter, the first edition of the paper that Tuesday had a brief profile of Jewell. It was dropped in later editions as Walter questioned whether the paper had enough facts to support the scoop. Because of the voice-of-God style, the paper ended up making a flat-out statement: "Richard Jewell . . . fits the profile of the lone bomber."When I asked John Walter about the lone-bomber sentence, he said, "I ultimately edited it. . . . One of the tests we put to the material is, is it a verifiable fact?" One editor added, "The whole story is voice-of-God. . . . Because we see this event taking place, the need to attribute it to sources—F.B.I. or law enforcement—is less than if there is no public acknowledgment." John Walter indicated that he had not seen a lone-bomber profile. I asked him, "Whose profile of a lone bomber does Richard Jewell fit? Where is the 'says who' in this sentence?" Walter said that he felt comfortable with the assertion.The page-one story had a double byline: Kathy Scruggs and Ron Martz. Walter had told these two early on that they would be the reporters assigned to any Olympic catastrophe. Martz, who had covered the Gulf War, had been assigned the security beat for the Olympics; Scruggs routinely covered local crime. Scruggs had good contacts in the Atlanta police, and she was tough. She was characterized as "a police groupie" by one former staff member. "Kathy has a hard edge that some people find offensive," one of her editors told me, but he praised her skills. Police reporters are often "dictation pads" for local law enforcement; recently the American Journalism Review sharply criticized The A.J. C. for the scanty confirmation and lack of skepticism in its coverage of Jewell.The newsroom atmosphere resembled that at F.B.I. headquarters; there was a frenzy to be first. Kent Walker, a newsroom intern, published a story in the same edition, with a glaring mistake in the headline: BOMB SUSPECT HAD SOUGHT LIMELIGHT, PRESS INTERVIEWS. Since Ray Cleere's tip to the F.B.I., the "hero bomber" theory had been circulating among Atlanta law enforcement officers. Maria Elena Fernandez, a reporter, was sent to Habersham County on July 29. By coincidence, William Rathburn, the head of security for the Olympics, had been at the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984 when a fake bomb was found on a bus—left by a policeman who sought attention.On the surface, the story had an irresistible newsroom logic: Jewell was clearly looking for recognition. Bert Roughton, the city editor, had answered the telephone when a representative from AT&T called to ask if the paper would like a Jewell interview. According to Walter, Roughton himself typed a sentence in the Scruggs-and-Martz piece: "He [Jewell] also has approached newspapers, including The Atlanta JournalConstitution, seeking publicity for his actions." But he hadn't. Walter explained, "There was nothing wrong with that sentence. That's journalistically proper. It is not common practice, to my knowledge, to ask someone you are interviewing . . . 'Are you here of your own free will?'" Jewell had not contacted the paper—a fact which would have been easy enough to check. Walter became snappish when I described the sentence as "a mistake." "It was not a mistake," he said angrily. Scruggs and Martz quoted Piedmont College president Ray Cleere as backup. According to Cleere, Jewell had been "a little erratic" and "almost too excitable."There was no doubt raised by The A.J.C. about the value of Cleere's information or the fragility of the F.B.I.'s potential case. On Tuesday morning, July 30, Christina Headrick, a young intern on the paper, was sent to Buford Highway to stake out Richard Jewell's apartment. She phoned in that there were men doing surveillance. By deadline, John Walter had made a decision: he would tear up the afternoon Olympics edition and lead with Jewell.Several states away, Colonel Robert Ressler was watching CNN when the A.J.C. extra edition was shown. Ressler, who was retired from the behavioral-science unit of the F.B.I., had, along with John Douglas, developed the concept of criminal-personality profiling. He was the co-author of the Crime Classification Manual, which is used by the F.B.I. He had interviewed Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, and John Wayne Gacy, and as he watched the TV report, he was mystified. "They were talking about an F.B.I. profile of a hero bomber, and I thought, What F.B.I. profile? It rather surprised me." According to Ressler, the definition of "hero homicide"—a person looking for recognition without an intent to kill— perhaps emerged as "hero bomber." "There is no such classification as the hero bomber," he told me recently. "This was a myth." Later he said, "It occurred to me that there was no database of any bomber who lived with his mother, was a security guard and unmarried. How many hero bombers had we ever encountered? Only one that I know of, in Los Angeles, and his bomb did not go off." Ressler knew that something was off; profiles are developed from a complex set of evidence and facts derived only in part from a crime scene. The bomb had been deadly, which was not consistent with the "hero complex." Furthermore, he wondered, where did they get the information to put the profile together that fast? He asked himself, What came first here, the chicken or the egg? Was the so-called profile actually developed from the circumstances, or was it invented for Richard Jewell?When Jewell returned home from F.B.I. headquarters just before eight P.M., NBC was showing special Olympic coverage. He sat on the sofa and watched Tom Brokaw say, "They probably have enough to arrest him right now, probably enough to prosecute him, but you always want to have enough to convict him as well. There are still holes in this case."Jewell knew that Brokaw was his mother's favorite newsman; he looked at her and noticed "the color and the blood flow out of her face when she heard that." Bobi turned to him and asked, "What is he talking about?" Jewell later recalled, "Brokaw was talking about her son as a murderer. . . . She started crying, and what am I going to say to her? 'Mom, Watson is going to fix this'? What do you say? She doesn't hear anything anyway—she was in hysterics." At that point, Jewell said, he broke down as well.The day Watson Bryant inadvertently became the lead lawyer for Richard Jewell, he was an attorney whom almost no one in the Atlanta legal establishment had ever heard of. "Who the hell is Watson Bryant?" a caption in the daily legal sheet, the Fulton County Daily Report, would read after he had appeared on the Today show. Bryant understood Jewell's vulnerability and decided on a strategy: he would treat him as a member of his own family. In Atlanta, the Bryants were a clan: Watson's father, Goble Bryant, had been a West Point tackle, on the 1949 college all-star team; his grandfather had invented a process for putting handles on paper bags. Watson had partied through Vanderbilt University and had barely gotten accepted to law school at the University of South Carolina. He had a close relationship with his brother, Bruce, and their sister, Barbara Ann, and if he lacked staff at his office, he knew he could count on his family to pick up the slack. Bruce enlisted Jewell to help coach his junior football team; Watson had a picnic for Richard and Bobi at his parents' house at the Atlanta Country Club.When Bryant arrived at the Jewells' apartment that night, he pushed his way through the crowd standing outside in the spongy Atlanta humidity. Microphones were shoved in his face. "What is happening, Watson?" Bobi asked him. Bryant asked Jewell to speak to him alone. "I want to know if you can tell me, without any hesitation at all, if you had anything to do with the bombing," he said. "I didn't," Jewell told him. "I said, 'I am going to ask you again.' He would not look me in the eye. I said, 'Don't give me this "sir" shit.' I said, 'Richard, these people want to kill you. I cannot help you unless you tell me the absolute, unequivocal truth.' I was in his face. He said he did not have anything to do with it." Jewell was bewildered and numb, said Bryant, who left at 10:30 P.M. At midnight, Jewell called him to say, "They are massing outside the apartment, Watson."The next morning, Bryant went from talk show to talk show, starting with NBC. With the notable exception of The New York Times, virtually every newspaper in the country had picked up the A.J.C. story and run it as front-page news. There were 10,000 reporters in Atlanta; the Los Angeles Times would later call the squad bearing down on the Jewells "a massive strike force . . . Tora! Tora! Tora!" Bryant was in a daze, but he held his own. "Is it true that Jewell was at some time ordered to seek psychological counseling?" Bryant Gumbel asked him. "I know a lot of people that ought to have psychological counseling," Watson Bryant replied.By 10 A.M. he was back at the Jewells' apartment, studying a search warrant that had been delivered that day. The F.B.I., Jewell recalled, said that he could not be inside the apartment during the search. Bryant called F.B.I. headquarters: "What the hell is this? Why can't he be there?" Within an hour, at least 40 members of the F.B.I. had arrived, with dogs. "There was a physical-evidence team. There was a scientific team. There was a team for the bomb-squad people, and then the A.T.F. . . . They all had different-color shirts. Light blue for bombs, dark blue for evidence protection, red and yellow." Bryant could not believe what he was seeing. "This is like damn Six Flags over Georgia," he told them."I kept saying to Watson, 'I didn't do this.' And he said, 'Hey, kid, I believe you—we are doing what we can.'" Jewell was a gun collector. Bryant was sharp with him: "You get all those guns out of your closets and put them on your bed. We don't want any trouble."For seven hours, Jewell sat outside on the staircase in what has become one of the most famous images of last summer. Bryant had to take his daughter, Meredith, to the Olympic equestrian competition, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for her. As he left, he said, "Don't do anything stupid. Just shut up and let them do what they have to do." Hours passed as Jewell sat in the heat. "Finally I decided I would ask them if I could go in and use the rest room. They said, 'We got the order a couple of hours ago you could come in; you just can't get in our way.'" Jewell was told he had to wear rubber socks and gloves in order not to contaminate the site. The Jewell apartment is small—two bedrooms with a bathroom in between, a living room, an alcove dining room that has been turned into a den. As Jewell sat on the sofa, he thought he heard a crash in his bedroom. "I thought my CD player was on the floor, and I said, 'What are you-all tearing up?' and they said, 'You can't go in there right now; we are searching.' I said, 'I want to know what you-all just broke.'" One search warrant listed some 200 items the F.B.I. could confiscate, including "magazines, books . . . and photographs which would include descriptive information such as telephone numbers, addresses, affiliations and contact points of individuals involved in a conspiracy to manufacture, transport and . . . detonate . . . the explosive device used in the bombing at the Olympic Centennial Park on July 27, 1996.""They had all my pictures, all the stuff that was in the drawers. My personal things. How would you like to know that 12 different guys had been in your underwear, laid it out on the floor, probably walked on it and then folded it back up like nothing ever happened and put it in your drawer? So then Mom got to go and watch it on TV: 'Live from the Jewell house, the search continues. . . . We are expecting an arrest any minute.'"When Bobi Jewell returned home, the apartment appeared neat, until she walked into her kitchen. She looked down at her counters, where all her condiments, dog biscuits, spices, and crackers had been taken out of their Tupperware containers and placed in Ziploc bags. She began to cry. And then she went into the bedroom and "immediately started washing clothes," Jewell said.Driving home from the equestrian events, Bryant heard the live coverage of the search on the radio. "Why are you helping this guy if he's guilty?" Meredith asked.The next morning, Bryant received a copy of the F.B.I. inventory of articles confiscated in the apartment. On the list he was stunned to see "one hollowed-out hand grenade, ball-shaped" and "one hollowed-out hand grenade, pinecone-shaped." "What the hell is this?" he asked Jewell. "They were paperweights," Jewell said. "I bought them at a military store." "Oh, shit," Bryant said.For the first few days, the Jewells lived on ham omelettes; a neighbor had brought them half a ham from the Honey Baked Ham Company on Buford Highway. Bobi Jewell had a vacation scheduled, so she remained at home, lying on the bed and "listening to the ball game if it was on." For two weeks, she cleaned out her bureau drawers. Richard would spend the day watching CNN or movies such as Backdraft and Midnight Run. "I would look out the window and see about 150 to 200 press people. Then it would drop to five or six on the hill. They had one person sitting up there at all times with their binoculars." Richard believed they were being monitored. "They heard everything that was going on. They were over there with high-intensity zoom lenses. They had people over there who could read lips. They had a sound dish. They could hear everything that we said. They had a person writing down everything we said. I saw them."When Bobi walked out the door, Jewell said, they would holler obscenities and yell, 'You should both die'Once, Bobi's cat jumped on the window ledge under the curtain and the photographers began frenetically shooting pictures, believing that one of the Jewells was in the window. Sound trucks and boom microphones prevented the neighbors from getting near the apartment. Three F.B.I. agents were usually sitting near the tiny swimming pool; each time Jewell or his mother left the house, a cavalcade of unmarked cars would follow. Richard soon began to write a speech describing the horror he felt at being falsely accused. He ate grilled-cheese sandwiches, huge pans of lasagna, and can after can of Campbell's tomato soup."If my mom and I had something we wanted to talk about that we didn't want anyone to hear, we wrote it on pieces of paper. When she left to go to work the next day, she would take it with her, tear it up, and put it in the trash! That is how I kept my mother informed about what was going on with the case." The notes were specific: "What the Justice Department was saying, what my attorneys were hearing through the grapevine that I could tell my mom that was not privileged. It was mainly stuff like 'Keep the faith' and 'Can I borrow $10 for gas in the truck?' "Jewell described how, when his mother would walk out the door, "they would holler obscenities at her. They would yell, 'Did he do it? Did he blow those people up?' They would yell, 'You should both die.'" According to Jewell, "The cameramen were just trying to get us aggravated so they could get it on camera. You don't know how hard it is when they are saying stuff about my mother and me. . . . All she was trying to do was walk her dog. And she cannot do that without hearing that yelling. When someone did that to my mother, I would want to be up on the hill calling the police, because I would want them arrested. I was going to say, 'Mom, tell me which one said that!' And I was going to walk up to that person and introduce myself and say, 'Hi, my name is Richard Jewell. What is yours? Who do you work for? Who is your supervisor?' And I was going to go home and call 911 to get a warrant."By disposition, Jewell is a night person, but he would get up early when his mother went back to work and make her breakfast. By 11 A.M. he would be playing Mortal Kombat II and listening to 96 Rock on the radio, where one of his friends is a disc jockey. Four days into his period of captivity, he called the DeKalb County police. He recalled telling a Mr. Brown, "'This is Richard Jewell. I am sure you are aware of my situation over on Buford Highway.' He said, 'Yes, Richard, I know.' I said, 'I just want to tell you my situation. Number one: I did not do this. Number two: I am here and I am not leaving the apartment for any reason at all.' I said that all the press was doing right now was aggravating my mother and disturbing my neighbors, and I would really appreciate it if the neighbors could return to a normal life."On Saturday, August 3, as Bryant stared at the F.B.I. agent plucking Jewell's hair, he had already made a decision. "It was, like, screw it. I had had it." The next day was the closing ceremony of the Olympics; Bryant imagined that that would be the day the government might choose to arrest Jewell. "Who is the best criminal lawyer in Georgia?" he asked a state lawyers' association. Within a day, he had brought in Jack Martin, an expert on the federal death penalty and a Harvard law school graduate with close ties to the local U.S. attorney, Kent Alexander. "Let me tell you something about myself," Jewell told him in their first meeting. "I hate criminal lawyers." "Well, Richard," Martin said, "I don't much like cops, but sometimes I need one, and this is a time you sure need a criminal lawyer."That weekend, watching the Olympic basketball finals, Bryant had an idea: he wanted to be prepared with his own polygraph test of Jewell if the F.B.I. arrested him. From the game, Bryant called a close friend who was a former federal prosecutor. "Try Richard Rackleff," he said. "We worked together on the Walter Moody bombing case." Rackleff had recently set up a private practice, and he agreed to test Jewell the next day. On Sunday morning, Bryant was up early, unable to sleep. He drove around town, making calls from his cell phone. He dialed 679-9000—the F.B.I. "This is Watson Bryant. I am going to pick up Richard Jewell. I just want you to know that. I don't have a white Bronco. I don't have a wig, and I don't have cash in my car. We are just going to my office."Watson had coordinated an elaborate plan with his brother to dodge reporters; he would use a decoy and snake through a parking garage. Rackleff had been instructed to park blocks from Bryant's office, because his car could be identified easily, since he was well known in Atlanta law enforcement.When Rackleff sat down with Richard Jewell in the conference room, he later told me, he sensed almost immediately that Jewell was innocent. Rackleff had tested many bombers before, including Walter Moody, who was convicted of killing a federal judge. "They are strange ducks—they leave their attorneys cold," Rackleff said. Although no one knew Rackleff was in the building, more than 100 reporters gathered outside to get a look at Jewell. Inside, Jack Martin, Bryant, Nadya Light, and Jewell spent 12 hours in Bryant's office. Rackleff asked Jewell a series of questions, but the test was inconclusive. "Richard is tormented. He is exploding on the inside," Rackleff said. While he was testing him, CNN's Art Harris was visible through the window of Bryant's office, but he could not see inside. Bryant was thoroughly deflated, close to despair. "You have got to try to buck Richard up," Rackleff told him. "Who is going to buck me up?" Bryant asked.'We are not in missile range of arresting Richard Jewell, but we want him to take our own polygraph," Kent Alexander told Bryant and Jack Martin in their first meeting on the case. In the meantime, Rackleff had tested Jewell again, and he had passed with "no deception," the highest rating. By this time, it was clear that there was no damning evidence against Jewell discovered at the apartment or in his old house in Habersham County.Alexander was only 38, but he had been groomed for politics in a fancy local family. His father was a senior partner in a good Atlanta law firm, and he had worked as an intern for Senator Sam Nunn. Bryant worried about Alexander's lack of experience, but Alexander told colleagues that he was disturbed by the lack of substantial evidence against Jewell. He was trying to operate with decency, but he was cautious and had to check every detail with Washington.Bryant, however, didn't trust Alexander; he had had a bad experience with Alexander's predecessor. In 1990, Bryant had almost been put out of business in a tussle with the then U.S. attorney. The local Small Business Administration accused a bank Bryant represented of improper use of funds; the bank blamed Bryant, who was brought before a grand jury and over the next two years almost lost his practice. He spent $50,000 defending himself, and Nadya Light had to take another job, but eventually the case was settled with Bryant's agreeing not to do business with the S.B.A. for 18 months. Bryant had always felt that he had been manhandled by the office. "I learned everything I needed to know about dealing with this office in 1990," Bryant recalled telling Alexander. "No polygraph for Richard."At the meeting, Alexander told Bryant and Martin, "This is all off-the-record. This is a request that is strictly confidential." Weeks later, Louis Freeh came to town to address a breakfast of former F.B.I. agents. Almost immediately, the polygraph request was reported on CNN. "Kent, I thought we had an agreement," Bryant told him. "I cannot control Washington," Alexander said.When two of the bomb-blast victims sued Richard Jewell, Bryant brought in Wood and Grant to handle the civil litigation. Martin opposed the move. He believed in the cone of silence: "Circle the wagons and don't speak." He said that Wood and Grant had a different perspective: Attack, attack, and if you give any quarter, it is a sign of weakness. Martin had been reassured in private by Kent Alexander that Jewell was not in any immediate danger of being arrested, but the team disagreed about press tactics. Martin worked through the Atlanta-establishment back channels; Lin Wood was a rhetoric man. He favored "one big newsbreak a week." "You know who wrote the book Masters of Deceit? J. Edgar Hoover! And that was about the Communist Party in America. So now they have gone from masters of investigation to masters of deceit!" he would routinely tell reporters who called.Three days after Wood and Grant surfaced as the two new civil lawyers, a Ford van with a tinted bubble-shaped window appeared on the top level of the Macy's parking garage which faced the conference-room windows of their offices. According to Wood, the van did not move for 10 days. "We used to sit there and wave at it." Then the lawyers placed a camera in the window, and the next day the vehicle was gone. "For sure that van had laser sound-detecting equipment," Wood said.Jewell was annoyed that press descriptions of him always emphasized his "overzealousness"; he considers himself a man of details. Often, when he's watching movies at home, he freeze-frames in order to study props in scenes. The second weekend he was considered a suspect, he told me, "I walked in and I noticed white powder all over the telephone table in the conference room." It was a Saturday morning, and Jewell had been with his lawyers until late the night before. He told me he was convinced that the F.B.I. "had lifted a ceiling tile," and that the white powder was "dust that came down." Bryant and Jewell made light of it and did not sweep their phones, believing that any tap the F.B.I. would use would be of a laser or satellite variety and impossible to trace. "In the beginning of every conversation, Watson would curse for about a minute and tell them what lowlives they were. And then he would say, 'By the way, this is Richard's lawyer. Y'all can cut your tape players off,"' Jewell said. "I would call them dirty scumbags," said Bryant. But the local U.S. attorney, Kent Alexander, insisted that their phones were not tapped. "There are no wiretap warrants," he said.The F.B.I. did turn up one bit of potentially troublesome evidence in the Jewells' apartment—fragments of a fence that had been blown up in the explosion. After a telephone conversation with Watson Bryant, Kathy Scruggs quoted him saying, "Yes, he did have a sample of the blown-up bomb." Bryant accused her of egregiously misquoting him. He remembered saying to her, "Yes, Richard had souvenirs of the bombing." Scruggs had not taped their conversation. "She cut the 'ing' off of 'bomb,'" Bryant later told me, but Scruggs strongly denies this. The day the story broke, Bryant criticized Scruggs on local radio. That afternoon she appeared at his office to attempt to clear up the misunderstanding. "I don't like your reporting," Bryant recalled telling her. "I'm human, too," she said. The next day, Ron Martz inserted a quote from Bryant in an unrelated news story: "Oh, man, it's not even a scrap of the bomb—it's a piece of damned fence, for God's sake." But the quote would have little impact. Scruggs's version had been picked up; gathering force, it was eventually related by Bill Press on Crossfire on the evening of October 28: "The guy was seen with a homemade bomb at his home a few days before." (The next day CNN would be forced to apologize for the mistake.)By this time Bryant had grown enraged by the media coverage. The New York Post had called Jewell "a Village Rambo" and "a fat, failed former sheriff's deputy." Jay Leno had said that Jewell "had a scary resemblance to the guy who whacked Nancy Kerrigan," and asked, "What is it about the Olympic Games that brings out big fat stupid guys?" The A.J. C. s star columnist, Dave Kindred, had compared Jewell to serial murderer Wayne Williams: "Like this one, that suspect was drawn to the blue lights and sirens of police work. Like this one, he became famous in the aftermath of murder."Television journalism was also a revelation to Bryant; he felt he had "landed on Mars," and spent hours channel-surfing. On CNN, one criminologist said "it was possible" that Jewell had a hero complex. Bryant told his brother, Bruce, "I know I am going to sue someone. I just don't know who." Bruce Bryant searched for Jewell's name on the Internet three weeks into his ordeal and found 10,000 stories. The tone many of the journalists took was accusatory and pre-determined, with a few rare exceptions, such as that of CBS correspondent Jim Stewart. "Don't jump to any conclusion yet," he said sharply in a broadcast at the height of the frenzy.In his first week as Jewell's lawyer, Bryant went to the CNN studio to be interviewed by Larry King. After the broadcast, he was asked to stop in at the office of CNN president Tom Johnson. "They wanted to know what I thought of their reporting so far." Art Harris was in the room. "I turned around and I said to Art Harris, 'Who the hell are you and the rest of the media to make fun of how Richard Jewell and his mother live? Who are you to make fun of working people who live in a $470-a-month apartment? Is there something wrong with that? Who are you to say that he is a weirdo because he lives with his mother?' "According to Jack Martin, the F.B.I. spent weeks on one erroneous early theory—that Richard Jewell was an enraged homosexual cop-hater who had been aided in the bombing by his lover. Jewell had purportedly planted the bomb; the lover then made the 911 phone call warning that it would go off in Centennial Park. The rationale behind this idea was that Jewell was "mad at the cops and wanted to kill other cops," Martin told me.The rumor began at Piedmont College, perhaps invented by several of the students Jewell had turned in for smoking pot, but it had a chilling consequence. In mid-August, three agents appeared at the Curtis Mathes video store in Cornelia, where Chris Simmons, a senior at Piedmont, worked part-time. Simmons, a friend of Jewell's, who was engaged to be married, was a B student, but he displayed the same porcine blankness as Jewell and spoke in a slow drawl. He had a deep distrust of the government and carried a card in his pocket that read: CHRISTOPHER DWAYNE SIMMONS-CAMPAIGN SUPPORT FOR CONSERVATIVE CANDIDATES.The agents questioned Simmons in the store for one and a half hours. "They asked me if I was a homosexual. They asked me if I had accessed the Internet. . . . They later wanted to wire me. They said, 'If he is really a hero, we will find out, and if not, he has killed someone and injured a lot of people.' " Simmons was short with the agents and denied everything. They accused him of lying and said they could take him to Atlanta. The agents told someone Simmons had once worked with that Simmons might be involved in the bombing. "They kept wording questions differently. They kept saying: Do you think Richard Jewell could have done this if he believed that he could get people out in time and nobody would get hurt?" Simmons later called one of the F.B.I. agents and said, "I hear you don't believe my story." He recalled their conversation: " 'I think you are sugarcoating your answers,' he said. I said, 'Next time I talk with you, it will be with a lawyer.' And he asked me if I was threatening him. Then he hung up on me." Ultimately, Simmons volunteered to take a polygraph, which he says he passed. "I was a nervous wreck," he said. "I had only seen this on TV."What was not known outside a small circle of investigators was how deadly the Centennial Park bomb really was. It was well constructed, with a piece of metal shaped like a V, and inside, it had canisters filled with nails and screws. Jack Martin, who had spent time in Vietnam, compared its construction to that of a claymore mine, a sophisticated and lethal device. The bomb weighed more than 40 pounds. It was "a shaped charge," F.B.I. deputy director Weldon Kennedy would announce in December. It could blast out fragments from three separate canisters, but only one of the canisters exploded on July 27. Someone had moved the Alice pack slightly before the bomb detonated, causing most of the shrapnel to shoot into the sky. The composition of the bomb did not suggest the work of an amateur, Kathy Scruggs would ironically later report, after interviewing an A.T.F. chemist.As the weeks went by, Richard Jewell withdrew into a state of psychological limbo; he began to try to analyze what the agents might think of his behavior within the small apartment. "I would be watching a spy show on TV or something like a John Wayne movie. Someone would be talking about blowing something up, and I would think to myself, My God, that is going to sound really bad if they think I am listening to that." He worried that "they would think I was some kind of a nut," and often, when he could not sleep, he would find himself consciously switching to exercise videos and soap operas.Over Labor Day weekend, he drove up to Habersham County for a picnic with his ex-girlfriend's family, the Chastains. As usual, three F.B.I. cars followed him, but he had gotten adept at picking out the unmarked vehicles. As Jewell drove into town, he noticed that white ribbons hung from hundreds of trees; the Chastains had organized a campaign in his behalf. On the way home, Jewell drove with his friend Dave Dutchess. For the first time, he did not see an F.B.I. car following him, but he noticed an airplane flying low overhead. He drove another 20 miles, and the plane was still on him. "I said, 'Dave, do you think the F.B.I. would be following us in an airplane? It wouldn't be that hard to do, if they put some kind of beeper on the car.'" The plane followed them through Gainesville all the way to Atlanta—an hour's drive. "Just to make sure, we got off on an exit ramp and went about five miles back north. And I got out and took a picture. They followed us all the way back to the apartment! And they circled the apartment for about 15 minutes, until the F.B.I. car showed back up. I got very emotional. My cheeks got beet red. And Mom came home and said, 'What is going on? What is the matter?' It just destroyed the whole day."On September 2, Dave Dutchess and his fiancee, Beatty, were driving to their house in Tennessee. It was raining hard, and they noticed they were being followed by several F.B.I. cars. The storm grew worse, and they stopped at a hotel for the night. The next day, while getting coffee at a McDonald's, they were surrounded by F.B.I. agents. "We just want to talk to you. We are trying to be discreet." One agent, Dutchess recalled, spoke into his radio: "We have the suspect in hand." As they walked back toward their car, Dutchess said to Beatty, "They think I am his accomplice. I heard on the news they were looking for his accomplice!"After the interview, which lasted several hours, Dutchess spoke to Watson Bryant. "What did they ask you that concerns you?" Bryant asked him. "Well, I decided that I had to tell them the truth. Me and one of my friends used to set off pipe bombs for fun," Dutchess told him. "What?" Bryant exclaimed, incredulous. "Yeah, I told them we liked to throw pipe bombs down gopher holes when we lived out in West Virginia.""Did Richard know this friend?" Bryant asked apprehensively. "Hell, no. He never met him," Dutchess said, but Bryant knew that this could prolong the F.B.I.'s investigation perhaps by months. "I hung up and I was thinking, I cannot believe that I even know anyone who throws pipe bombs into gopher holes."As part of their strategy, Wood and Grant decided to mount a strong counterattack against the government. Wayne Grant had come up with the idea: Bobi Jewell should hold a press conference during the Democratic convention and make a direct plea to Bill Clinton. The day before she was to appear, Grant rehearsed her. It was difficult to work with Bobi; she was exhausted and could not stop crying. Confined under siege for almost a month, she could not see an end to it, since every day brought a new humiliation. The resident manager had threatened to take away their lease, and the manager's son was out selling pictures he took of them. A close friend from church was dying, Bobi said, and Richard could not go to see him, because of the swarm of F.B.I. agents and reporters who followed him everywhere. All of it came out in a rush in the conference room with Wayne Grant: Bobi had even had to give Bryant and Nadya Light the Olympic-basketball tickets she had won as colleague of the year, and every night she and her son were stuck together, staring at each other across the kitchen table. They were often irritable, and Richard sometimes lost his temper. "Mother, just shut up," he would tell her when she nagged him about the case. Then, Bobi later recalled, she would go into her bedroom and lie on the four-poster bed hoping that the photographers who rented an apartment across the way for $1,000 a day had no way of knowing what was going on.Grant kept careful notes on the session. Bobi was terrified about appearing in front of cameras. She sobbed and told him, "If I go on TV Monday, I'll be embarrassed. It will be, like, whenever I go anywhere, people will be looking at me: 'Did he do it or didn't he do it?' ""If you talked to the person who is in charge of the investigation, what would you say?" Grant asked her calmly. Bobi's voice was halting, but she was firm: "He is innocent. Clear his name and let us get back to a life that is normal."A few weeks later, Wayne Grant went to a party for a Bar Mitzvah, and a guest cornered him. She asked him if he had told Bobi Jewell to cry at the end of her press conference, and then added coldly, "Nice touch."The lawyers' strategy worked: after Bobi's press conference, the Jewells were deluged with interview requests. Bryant often received 100 phone calls a day. Bobi soon developed a system: letters from Oprah Winfrey, Sally Jessy Raphael, and TV producers were stacked on the console in the living room; flowers and baskets of Godiva chocolates and cheese and crackers from the networks were sent to the offices of Wood & Grant and then on to a children's hospital.At the U.S. Attorney's Office, it had become increasingly clear to Kent Alexander that something had to be done about Richard Jewell. Janet Reno had seen Bobi Jewell on TV and was moved by her sincerity. Privately, Reno and Deputy Attorney General Jamie Gorelick were said to be concerned about the heavy-handed tactics of the F.B.I. "The case had become a total embarrassment," a Justice Department official told me, but Alexander was in a complicated situation. He was working closely with the F.B.I., and there was no sign that the bureau was ready to let go, despite growing consternation among the local agents that the Washington command center had mishandled the case. And there was another problem: Alexander did not trust Lin Wood.By late September, there was a tremendous strain within the team Bryant had hastily assembled. The other lawyers accused Jack Martin of cutting private deals with his friend Kent Alexander, pulling focus, and not being tough enough. For his part, Alexander, according to Martin, admired Bryant even though he believed he was a loose cannon, but he was fed up with Lin Wood."Alexander would say something fairly candid to me, and I would report it to the attorneys, and the next day he would see it on TV," said Jack Martin. "Alexander had checked out Lin, and he knew that he was a take-no-prisoners guy." The lawyers often argued among themselves. Wood insisted on a full-blowout press-attack strategy. Bryant had mastered his sound bite: "The F.B.I. is a 500-pound gorilla who will kick the shit out of anyone." Martin wanted the lawyers to ease up on the hyperbole: "I would say, 'We do not need to do this.' And Lin would say, 'Let's go public with this.' He was manic about it." In one argument, Wood told him, "Goddamn it, Martin, you're like my ex-wives. There isn't anything you can say I won't object to."There was an atmosphere of extreme apprehension between Bryant and Jewell as they drove to F.B.I. headquarters on the afternoon of October 6. They were on their way to what would seemingly be a session with conclusional overtones, but Jewell was worried: What if this meeting was a trick? It was difficult to believe that the bureau was really ending its two-month-long investigation into his life. For weeks, Jack Martin and Bryant had been going back and forth with Kent Alexander. Finally, Jewell had agreed to an unusual suggestion: if he submitted to a lengthy voluntary interview with the bureau, and if Division 5 was satisfied, then perhaps the Justice Department could issue a letter publicly stating that he was no longer a suspect. Jewell tried to imagine the questions he would be asked. "I wanted to look at everything from their angle," he told me, "trying to assess it and reassess it in my head."On the day of Jewell's exoneration, Jay Leno apologized for having called him a Unadoofus.Kent Alexander had set a firm ground rule: Only one lawyer representing Jewell could be in the room. It had been agreed that Jack Martin, the criminal specialist, would be the man, which enraged Lin Wood. "You could really see how these guys did not like each other," Jewell said."I am not comfortable with the one-lawyer agreement," Wood told John Davis, Kent Alexander's second-in-command, when they were assembled. "We have an agreement. If you attempt to renegotiate it, I will have egg on my face," Davis said, adding, "You are not a man of your word." With that, Wood recalled, he rose from his chair and started screaming, "You are not going to say that to me, you son of a bitch!" Kent Alexander interrupted, saying, "This is deteriorating. We aim to stop this. Let's just regroup."When Jewell, Davis, and Martin finally sat down for the interview, Larry Landers, a special agent with the G.B.I., and F.B.I. special agent Bill Lewis had lists of questions with blank space for answers in front of them. On the wall of the windowless room, there were extensive aerial photographs of the park and, as a prop, an actual park bench was later brought in. Martin believed that the agents intended to resolve areas in the affidavits and other questions: Had Richard ever accessed Candyman's Candyland for information on the Anarchists' Cookbook? Had Richard picked up any pieces of pipe when the park was under construction? Had he told anyone, "Take my picture now, because I am going to be famous"? None of this had happened, Jewell said. All he could remember telling someone was that he was off to Atlanta and "going to be in that mess down there," meaning the traffic jams. They pressed him about seemingly inconsistent statements he had made on the morning of the bombing: Why had he told Agent Poor everything was normal when he checked the perimeter of the fence? Jewell explained that he had been walking the "inside of the fence." He once again explained that he had wanted to work the sound-and-light tower so that he could watch the entertainment; he had arranged for his mother to hear Kenny Rogers four days before the explosion.The area, he told Landers, was "a sweet site" and a great place to look at girls. During a break, Martin asked about all his references to women. Jewell said he wanted them to know he wasn't gay. On several occasions, Landers became annoyed: Why couldn't Jewell pin down the times? Had he seen the drunks on the bench between 10:30 and 11 or between 11 and 11:30? Why hadn't he looked at his watch? Jewell later recalled, "I said, 'I don't go through my life looking at my watch. I don't care about time. When the bomb went off, I did not look at my watch.' They were wanting to know what time I went to the bathroom and stuff like that. When you have the runs, you are not really concerned about what time it is. You are concerned with getting to the bathroom."On the day after the F.B.I. meeting, Jack Martin dictated a 27-page account of everything that had been said during the six-hour interview. In the last moments, Davis said, "he wanted to give Richard the opportunity once and for all to say that he didn't do it." Jewell, Martin wrote, "unequivocally and fortunately said that he had nothing to do with the bomb and didn't know anything about the bomb and if he did he would be the first to deliver the bastard to their door." When Martin walked out, he thought to himself, This really was a formality. They had nothing.In November a rumor swept through the newsroom of The A.J.C. that Cox newspaper executives were rethinking their news policies. According to one reporter, "The sloppiness of the Jewell reporting and the lack of sources was the last straw." A reporter named Carrie Teegardin was assigned to write a piece examining how the media spotlight was turned on Richard Jewell. In large part, her article wound up being an examination of the role of The A.J.C. After Wood and Grant threatened to sue, the article was killed. "We didn't get through the editing of it," John Walter said. "The Jewells' attorney began saying, 'We're thinking lawsuit' . . . and that made us more cautious." Meanwhile, Lin Wood and Wayne Grant were busy holding meetings with lawyers from NBC and Piedmont College. At NBC, Tom Brokaw's carelessness reportedly cost the network more than $500,000 to settle Jewell's claims, although Jewell's lawyers would not confirm a figure, BROKAW GOOFED AND NBC PAID, the New York Daily News would later headline. In talks with Ray Cleere, the figure of $450,000 by way of settlement was first suggested, then withdrawn when Piedmont College learned that it had insurance. "This will cost them millions now," Lin Wood believes.On one occasion I asked Richard Jewell if he had any theories about who might have placed the bomb. Jewell said he had popped "two or three theories off the top of my head" on the night he was interviewed by the F.B.I. "I have gone over that night hundreds of times in my head. You try to think, What type of person would do that? I know it is someone who wanted to hurt people. It is someone who is sick. I hope they find him so he can get the help he needs. Because I am totally torn up about what happened. Every day I think about it, and I will think about it for the rest of my life."Jewell often speaks with Bryant three times a day. As Jewell searches for a new job, he hangs around Bryant's office, and he recently studied handwriting analysis at the police academy. He has been offered several security jobs with Georgia companies, but he is hoping he will be hired as a Cobb County deputy. In the meantime, Bryant, Wood, and Grant have become sought-after speakers on the First Amendment.At F.B.I. headquarters in late October, Bobi Jewell broke down and cried as she identified their possessions—the Disney tapes, the Tupperware, Richard's AT&T uniforms, address books. It was a tableau of ordinary middle-class life, laid out on brown paper on a long conference-room table. "I just don't fucking believe this," Watson Bryant said angrily as he packed Bobi's videos into packing crates. "The agents tried to shake my hand," Bobi told me. "I wouldn't touch them." It took 10 hours to remove their possessions, Bobi recalled, and four minutes to return them.The F.B.I. is working on a new and elaborate theory of who did place the bomb in Centennial Park. There is an informed opinion that the backpack discovered a week earlier had in fact been a test run to check F.B.I. procedures, and that the bomber—perhaps a member of a militia group—was quite experienced and had struck before. After a torrent of criticism in the press, Louis Freeh announced that the F.B.I. had arrested Harold Nicholson, an alleged spy for Russia, and he used the opportunity to appear on the Today show and Good Morning America, hyping his role in what was a minor arrest, according to one former F.B.I. agent.In Australia in November, Bill Clinton was asked about his campaign contributions from Indonesia. "One of the things I would urge you to do, remembering what happened to Mr. Jewell in Atlanta, remembering what has happened to so many of the accusations . . . that have been made against me that turned out to be totally baseless, I just think that we ought to . . . get the facts out." When Jewell learned of his comment, he pulled up the transcript from the Internet and became angry: "The president is just using me, like everyone else."What rights does a private citizen have against the government? The legal precedent for suing the F.B.I., Bivens v. Six Unknown Agents, focuses on the behavior of individual agents. Wood believes that Jewell has a strong case against Johnson and Rosario. When Wood learned of Colonel Ressler, he hired him as a possible trial expert. In December, the F.B.I. announced that it would pay up to $500,000 to anyone who could lead it to the Olympic Park bomber.As Jewell and I drove back from Habersham County in November, he went over the early-morning hours of July 27: "I remember all of the people who were my responsibility. I remember the guys' faces who were flying through the air. I remember people screaming. The sirens going off. I don't think I will ever forget any of that. You just kind of wish sometimes. You think, Could I have done something else? . . . What if we only had five more minutes? Then maybe nobody would have been hurt. But you are what-if-ing. I have been over it a thousand times. I think we could not have done it any better. I think that is something I will always be wondering."He said he was not sure if he would ever get a job in law enforcement again, particularly since he had been held up as a cartoon figure. On the day of Jewell's exoneration, Jay Leno apologized for having called him a Unadoofus, and said, "If Jewell wins his lawsuit with NBC, he will be my new boss." He later said that this was "the greatest week in trailer-park history." The Atlanta radio station 96 Rock had put billboards of Jewell all over town; "Freebird," they said, a reference to the Lynyrd Skynyrd song. Jewell would later file suit against the station, but the billboard's message was clear. Jewell knows that for many people in America there will perhaps always be a subtle doubt: What if, after all, Richard Jewell really did do it? What if the government let him go simply because it could not make its case? Then he becomes not the innocent Richard Jewell, but the Richard Jewell who may be innocent. "You don't get back what you were originally," he told me. "I don't think I will ever get that back. The first three days, I was supposedly their hero—the person who saves lives. They don't refer to me that way anymore. Now I am the Olympic Park bombing suspect. That's the guy they thought did it. "February 1997 | Vanity Fair
这就直接给金摄影机吧,我也是这个意见,低机位同时又代表着儿童视角,焦点虚虚实实有着自己的想法,可以把儿童的视角外放亦或是把情绪和迷茫的状态框定,直击那个儿童世界里隐秘的角落。
同一个世界,不同的你,而同一套生存法则和机制,以及同一条传播恶的链条,虽然最后一个拥抱有些突兀,但是确实是真的让人些许的感动与释怀,难道我们就不能正常
这就直接给金摄影机吧,我也是这个意见,低机位同时又代表着儿童视角,焦点虚虚实实有着自己的想法,可以把儿童的视角外放亦或是把情绪和迷茫的状态框定,直击那个儿童世界里隐秘的角落。
同一个世界,不同的你,而同一套生存法则和机制,以及同一条传播恶的链条,虽然最后一个拥抱有些突兀,但是确实是真的让人些许的感动与释怀,难道我们就不能正常一点儿吗?
我之所以看《拳拳四重奏》,最初是被“腾讯首部多结局恋爱互动剧”的创意设计吸引。校园恋爱剧,emmmm烂大街了,但多结局的校园恋爱互动剧还是第一次见,确实让我有点好奇。
我之所以看《拳拳四重奏》,最初是被“腾讯首部多结局恋爱互动剧”的创意设计吸引。校园恋爱剧,emmmm烂大街了,但多结局的校园恋爱互动剧还是第一次见,确实让我有点好奇。
第一次看这种桌面剧的形式,既新颖又惊叹,《云端》每集很短,10分钟左右,整个剧情都把镜头聚焦在了电脑屏幕上,由黑客通过电脑屏幕在社交网站上,搜集“猎物”张言的信息开始一步步推进剧情,照理说电脑屏幕不好展示剧情,会让观众觉得乏味,但《云端》却把主角人物的展示和剧情的铺开在剧中结合得很好,让我想起来前几年一部小成本黑马电影《网络谜踪》,两个片子在借由电脑屏幕展示人物和剧情方面有异曲同工之妙。不
第一次看这种桌面剧的形式,既新颖又惊叹,《云端》每集很短,10分钟左右,整个剧情都把镜头聚焦在了电脑屏幕上,由黑客通过电脑屏幕在社交网站上,搜集“猎物”张言的信息开始一步步推进剧情,照理说电脑屏幕不好展示剧情,会让观众觉得乏味,但《云端》却把主角人物的展示和剧情的铺开在剧中结合得很好,让我想起来前几年一部小成本黑马电影《网络谜踪》,两个片子在借由电脑屏幕展示人物和剧情方面有异曲同工之妙。不同的是,《云端》通过悬疑剧的形式,直击网络信息安全这一社会热点,正如剧方宣传“如果有一天,你最不堪的隐私被公布在网上任人观赏……”,当主角的命运和人性在游戏中疯狂挣扎摇摆,讽刺意味满满。总之,我不剧透了,这部剧在国内悬疑剧的新手法上开了先河,让我们也深思如何用单一场景写好悬疑剧。《云端》,值得推荐!
难怪换导演之后某些人跳得那么厉害。
有些演员混不出来是有原因的,没有导演一字一句扣台词,帮他们入戏适应人设,这群人啥也不是哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈。这群人和贱独一样鼠目寸光,你们知道吗?你们毁了自己职业生涯里面唯一一个能被观众记住的角色,还是你们自己亲手毁掉的。当然可能你们也不在意有没有角色能被观众记住,你们只在乎自己能不能拿到钱。谁又不喜欢钱呢?可是为了钱背刺一手带自己出头的导演真的
难怪换导演之后某些人跳得那么厉害。
有些演员混不出来是有原因的,没有导演一字一句扣台词,帮他们入戏适应人设,这群人啥也不是哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈。这群人和贱独一样鼠目寸光,你们知道吗?你们毁了自己职业生涯里面唯一一个能被观众记住的角色,还是你们自己亲手毁掉的。当然可能你们也不在意有没有角色能被观众记住,你们只在乎自己能不能拿到钱。谁又不喜欢钱呢?可是为了钱背刺一手带自己出头的导演真的不会良心不安吗?你们亲手把刀子递给资本,往毕导心上狠狠扎刀,过河拆桥、农夫与蛇,这部偷来的东施效颦的东西却叫《一起同过窗三》,多么讽刺,多么可笑。
之前看第一季的幕后纪录片,觉得导演真的好辛苦,什么都要自己扣自己上,一字一句帮顾一心的演员扣台词,当然最后看见也还是演成那个样子。
我祝这些换导演之后跳得最厉害的人,这辈子糊穿地心??????祝贱独早日倒闭。
Jep的第1篇影评
1. 我与这部经典的若干情节
第一次看这部片是在2003年,碟片时代,那时我和几个哥们看完后只觉得很开心,印象最深的就是刘青云吃完那颗米粒后的那句"还是热的",戳中了那个年代我们莫名其妙的笑点。在那个港片巅峰的时代,年少的我只沉浸在无厘头的段子中。
四年后我已经成年,上了大学,高考成绩并不好,妥协上了不理想的大学,读
Jep的第1篇影评
1. 我与这部经典的若干情节
第一次看这部片是在2003年,碟片时代,那时我和几个哥们看完后只觉得很开心,印象最深的就是刘青云吃完那颗米粒后的那句"还是热的",戳中了那个年代我们莫名其妙的笑点。在那个港片巅峰的时代,年少的我只沉浸在无厘头的段子中。
四年后我已经成年,上了大学,高考成绩并不好,妥协上了不理想的大学,读了很烂的专业。我清楚的记得,一个十八岁的爷们竟然大过年在爸妈面前哭鼻子,觉得自己没有读好的专业未来就肯定充满艰难,前途难料,弄的爸妈一脸懵逼…
也正是在那样的心情里,寒假过完我坐上火车返校的途中,无意中又看了一遍这部电影。也许是遇到了挫折,所以当看到华仔的牌不再好,他慢慢去适应,慢慢去想如何先不输的很惨的片段,听到华仔在片中说"好牌有好牌的打法,烂牌有烂牌的打法"时,我感觉顿时虎躯一震,菊花一紧,醍醐灌顶!想法的改变就是在那列绿皮火车车厢里,巨厚无比的联想笔记本电脑前开始的。
从那以后我开始不再灰心丧气,遇到不顺就会想起那句烂牌的打法,只想对策,不再抱怨。学业上,自知专业的劣势,我下足了功课,学好专业的同时,也修别的学位;能力上,深感与别人的差距,突破自己的舒适区,举办活动,积极实习。终于一步一步成长为现在的样子。
有些电影出现可能只是博人一笑,然后沉没在人们的记忆中,但是有的电影,它真的可以改变一个人,经典之所以成为经典,就是因为它们都有精神的内核在里面。
2. 一手烂牌如何打?
好牌有好牌的打法,烂牌有烂牌的打法,牌越烂越要用心去打!
华仔在剧中是一个牌运亨通的专业麻将手,很长一段时间里从未输过,他靠着一身的绝技与牌运还有东西南北白板中这些老朋友拥有了大房子,帮人打牌治病,帮人出手教训老千,一副盖世英雄的人设。
很多的人在遇到挫折时,都会想象自己会像他这样一路顺风顺水,牛逼上天。但是人生漫漫几十年,总会经历风风雨雨,就算比尔盖茨也有睡不着的时候吧。挫折,有大有小,也许只是一次考试的失利,也许是事业的失败,更糟的或许也失去亲人,失去健康。无论多严重的困境,都有人坚持住挺了过来,但是有很小的逆境,有人就选择了轻生。在学校里,老师教我们要积极上进,好好学习,却很少告诉我们,遇到阻碍,该如何摆正自己的心态。
华仔一家在他牌运掉入低谷时,拿到了他十年前申请的公租房入住通知,竟然开心的像一群小孩子。从别墅搬入贫民区,他们依然能够泰然自若,老太婆为他们盖好被子,淡定地关上灯,说有什么不习惯的,以前我就是这样卖塑料花供你们读书。淡然看待得失,让我回味很久。
华仔带着咏琪继续打牌,面对极差的牌运,他们想的不再是如何赢下这局,而是想如何输的最少。虽然输了,他们却比以前赢钱的时候还开心,这时,赢了一小把的牌友气急败坏的样子真的让人沉思良久。这不就是生活里很多人的样子吗,顺利地完成一个小目标,却总是很贪心地关注那个本可以取得的更好成绩,反而过的不开心。遇到一点挫折就扶不上墙。
所以华仔说烂牌有烂牌的打法,不一定赢,但是只要打最正确的牌,就能很开心!
梁咏琪说牌越烂越要用心地去打!
想想我们生活里知道的,遇到的事情不就这个道理吗?
力克胡哲,生下来身体残缺,一生下来就是烂牌,无比烂,但是他用乐观的心态,积极的态度赢得了世界的尊重。
学校里的烂专业的学生,却往往比好专业的学生更优秀,就是因为他们牌不如人,更不能技不如人,花更多的时间努力,用更好的心态面对,一切都可以回归到一样的水平线。
电视剧《小幸福》中,余福财本来是一顺百顺公司的法人,又持公司技术股份,只负责公司技术。在公司也是一人之下,百人之上。又深受董事长姜德顺的信任和尊重。在董事长姜德顺为家中事情分不开身的时候,把公司全权委托给他,由此可见对他的信任和器重。刚开始接手公司的时候,余福财也是诚惶诚恐,战战兢兢,一心一意的想担负起这个重大责任。也好不辜负姜董事长对他的信任和委托。可自从身边来了个朋友吕丁之后,吕丁天天在
电视剧《小幸福》中,余福财本来是一顺百顺公司的法人,又持公司技术股份,只负责公司技术。在公司也是一人之下,百人之上。又深受董事长姜德顺的信任和尊重。在董事长姜德顺为家中事情分不开身的时候,把公司全权委托给他,由此可见对他的信任和器重。刚开始接手公司的时候,余福财也是诚惶诚恐,战战兢兢,一心一意的想担负起这个重大责任。也好不辜负姜董事长对他的信任和委托。可自从身边来了个朋友吕丁之后,吕丁天天在他耳边吹歪风,撺掇他甩开姜德顺,实际控制公司。刚开始余福财也是拒绝的,也是讲情义的,也心存善良正直的一面。但是经不住吕丁这个小人,天天在他耳边念叨,天天在他身边鼓动。慢慢地,他的私欲性,贪欲心,好名之心,被吕丁捣鼓的升腾了起来,经过一番激烈的思想斗争之后,他决定听从吕丁的建议,开始着手干起暗箱操作,控制公司股权,甩开姜德顺的勾当。可是这个世界上,哪有不种树,白白上树轻松摘桃子的事?姜德顺动用一切关系,通过各种方法终于夺回公司。余福财因为负债累累,不得不选择逃亡,最终导致身陷囹圄。从古至今,都有“清君侧,远小人”的说法。说的就是一定要注意身边的小人,因为小人会影响一个正常人的行为判决做事的方向能力。俗话说的好,谎言说了千遍也快成了真理。有一个奸佞小人在你的身旁,常常给你灌输一些歪风邪气,歪门邪道的思想和理论,慢慢地,你的思想就被他拉向了偏离的航道。古代孟母三迁,也是怕孟子在被周围的环境,和周围的人所影响,所以在不停地给他选择交友的范围,和身边交往的人群。和什么样的人在一起,就会成为是一个什么样的人。和正能量的人,正直的人,上进的人在一起,就会在正道上行走,一同进步,一同前行。在我身边,有一个熟人的孩子,从海外学成归来,一身的才华和超群的能力,回到家族,打理公司,几年的时间把公司打理成拥有几千万资产的公司。可在后来运行公司的过程中,他认识了一个爱赌博的朋友,这个朋友经常带他去赌博,慢慢的他迷上了赌博,短短两年的时间,将几千万的公司资产变卖,输掉。最后倒欠几百万的外债,落到连房子都抵债出去的下场。《小幸福》的结尾,姜德顺原谅了余福财,而且还帮助了余福财,是一个皆大欢喜的结局。因为姜德顺跟余福财合作经营公司20年,他清楚地知道余福财心本善良,只是受到了小人的蛊惑,迷失了方向。所以再善良的人,一旦有小人在你身边鼓捣吹风,慢慢地都会让你心生邪念,走上歪道,做出让朋友,让亲戚,让自己陷入难堪和万劫不复的境地。擦亮眼睛,看清身边的人,尤为重要。选择讲道义,讲信用,心底善良,正直无私的人为朋友,这样的人,才能带领你一路走向康庄大道,走向幸福未来的生活。
1949年,使用传真机,居然还能传高清照片,太荒唐。
剧中大量使用便携式可移动对讲机?这是当然美军的装备,不管是我方,还是敌特,哪搞来的?
剧中大量使用汽车,特务们的经费真充足。剧中大量小概率事件?故事胡编滥造,令人感觉非常不真实,特务不厉害,我方更笨。
1949年,使用传真机,居然还能传高清照片,太荒唐。
剧中大量使用便携式可移动对讲机?这是当然美军的装备,不管是我方,还是敌特,哪搞来的?
剧中大量使用汽车,特务们的经费真充足。剧中大量小概率事件?故事胡编滥造,令人感觉非常不真实,特务不厉害,我方更笨。
真是一部侮辱观众智商的超级烂片。
最近看了爱奇艺的《芳心荡漾》,很特别的一部小短剧,其实很难界定它的类型,有点喜剧的意思,又像爱情剧,但剧情走向则完全脱线,怎么抓马怎么来,看到最后,才发现藏了那么多深刻的女性表达。怪不得用李雪琴来“承上启下”,这部剧可不就跟雪琴妹子一样,属于货真价实的宝藏了。
剧中三条支线,看似互不相干,其实互为镜像。我个人最爱潘晓晨这条
最近看了爱奇艺的《芳心荡漾》,很特别的一部小短剧,其实很难界定它的类型,有点喜剧的意思,又像爱情剧,但剧情走向则完全脱线,怎么抓马怎么来,看到最后,才发现藏了那么多深刻的女性表达。怪不得用李雪琴来“承上启下”,这部剧可不就跟雪琴妹子一样,属于货真价实的宝藏了。
剧中三条支线,看似互不相干,其实互为镜像。我个人最爱潘晓晨这条线,扮演者蓝盈莹在三个主演里,可能并不打眼,潘晓晨这条故事线也相对更平淡,但其实更像整部剧的定海神针。如果只有张帆那条线,聊的是霸气姐姐跟年下男的姐弟恋,则过于小众;如果只保留罗潇潇的线,则是女孩初涉爱河遇渣男,故事无论如何抓马,都会显得单薄,毕竟只聊了恋爱阶段,人生还很长嘛。但加了潘晓晨的现实与爱情的拉扯,则为剧集平添很多烟火气,与之对比,张帆则变成历尽千帆后的勇敢,罗潇潇则代表打破傻白甜固有印象的反叛。那些看起抓马的剧情,有了深刻的女性表达打底,都落笔在另有深意。
整部电影没有一句台词 没有让各种小动物小昆虫们拟人化的说台词 而是保留它们自己独有的声音 我居然一分钟不落的看完了 不得不夸一句 小瓢虫实在是太可爱太可爱太可爱了我的妈 丢了一只翅膀也没有丧气 跌跌撞撞的飞来飞去 在糖盒那块碰见蚂蚁来搬糖块 那只蜥蜴来的时候 蚂蚁们都躲起来不敢动 但是他真的好勇敢啊 爬到铁盒里面扩大自己的声音吓跑了蜥蜴 后面跟蚂蚁交流 那个发声的小喇叭应
整部电影没有一句台词 没有让各种小动物小昆虫们拟人化的说台词 而是保留它们自己独有的声音 我居然一分钟不落的看完了 不得不夸一句 小瓢虫实在是太可爱太可爱太可爱了我的妈 丢了一只翅膀也没有丧气 跌跌撞撞的飞来飞去 在糖盒那块碰见蚂蚁来搬糖块 那只蜥蜴来的时候 蚂蚁们都躲起来不敢动 但是他真的好勇敢啊 爬到铁盒里面扩大自己的声音吓跑了蜥蜴 后面跟蚂蚁交流 那个发声的小喇叭应该是它的口器吧 嘟嘟嘟的太可爱了 哈哈哈哈哈哈 我真的被萌到不行 后半截跟蚂蚁一起对抗红蚁也是挺好玩的 黑蚂蚁足智多谋且团结 跟小瓢虫合作的很好 最后我要再夸一下小瓢虫 实在是太可爱了!
我给分还是比较宽容的,这个剧我实际上给3.5星,反复权衡后给出的豆瓣评分是4星。这部剧里我最喜欢的地方其实是背景音乐,BGM很多,或磅礴或典雅,却又总暗含着淡淡的忧伤。
12集后降为三星,剧情在框架上逻辑经常崩盘,好评区在于男女主的生活互动,所以综合评价中规中矩毁誉参半。剧情越往后发展,暴露出的逻辑漏洞越多,即便有BGM的好
我给分还是比较宽容的,这个剧我实际上给3.5星,反复权衡后给出的豆瓣评分是4星。这部剧里我最喜欢的地方其实是背景音乐,BGM很多,或磅礴或典雅,却又总暗含着淡淡的忧伤。
12集后降为三星,剧情在框架上逻辑经常崩盘,好评区在于男女主的生活互动,所以综合评价中规中矩毁誉参半。剧情越往后发展,暴露出的逻辑漏洞越多,即便有BGM的好感度加持,也是3.5-星的评价,已经不值得打四星了。
【1-10集】
这个剧本最大的问题就是流水线的统一节奏,缺乏一张一弛,或详尽或简略,所以就成了现在这种毫无重点模糊中心的结果。这部剧的基调其实与《鹤唳华亭》类似,都是时代的身不由己,充满了妥协与无奈,而周生辰是一个介于萧定权与顾逢恩之间的角色。
周萧之间的区别在于,萧定权是君,周生辰是臣,虽然说萧定权只是个储君,但他却是名正言顺的继位者,其实萧定权是可以反的,倘若他架空了老皇帝并逼其退位,世间普通民众是不会察觉到皇位交接中有什么猫腻的,更何况老皇帝的这种为了平衡而平衡、恶意打压与压榨朝堂各方势力的行为本身就不得臣心。而周生辰是不能反的,他是臣,从他皇兄继位那一刻就注定了他这一系与皇位无缘,所以第一集里皇帝驾崩皇后跑去质问妃嫔擅作主张,这个剧情真的是莫名其妙,储君继位又何需皇后态度,储君不迅速继位,难道等着谁来篡位吗?!
其实开篇皇帝驾崩的剧情是个渲染周生辰人设基调的绝佳时机,只可惜编剧没有抓住这个渲染的机会。《风起长林》中有这样一段点睛之笔,老皇帝弥留之际喊萧庭生“哥哥”,而长林王却回答“臣在”,机会给到了眼前却依然坚守原则与底线,这才是彰显人设张力的地方。本剧也类似,从周生辰最初选择不入中州为皇帝送别,到在太后的施压下选择打破誓言只为助新帝稳定局势,再到最后自断后路的立誓不娶,这本是一条角色心态层层递进的忠君线,周生辰明知太后诱自己入局,却为了江山稳固愿以自身为祭,他自己做案板上的肉,却又不忘给对方递上趁手的刀,立誓不娶是人设升华的顶点,为了让新帝继位尘埃落定,周生辰选择的祭献他后半生的个人幸福。剧中这段剧情第一个问题是对各方势力暗潮涌动的刻画不足,无论是周生辰直系部队的担忧,还是后宫对小南辰王的算计,还有朝堂群臣对新格局的揣度,剧中只是干涩的几句台词带过,没有与男主形成鲜明的对垒之势。此外,这段剧情最缺乏的一部分内容就是男主对先帝的回忆,周生辰选择一生于西州遥望中州,是君臣之间的承诺,更是兄弟之间的信任,不见面不代表没有书信的往来,两地分离不代表抹杀童年的回忆,而剧里一句简简单单的少年誓言,剧本为了省事之间删了先帝的这个角色,真不是个明智的选择。
再说说周生辰与顾逢恩之间的共性与区别。他们都是臣,但周生辰有皇室的背景且追随帝王,而顾逢恩只是名臣之子且效忠储君,终究,周生辰人设的自由度更大,他虽然也有自己的隐忍,但终究可以躲在西州,可以主动远离权力漩涡,他没有顾逢恩那么憋屈,看到自己主子的决定却那般无能为力。
周生辰再入中州清君侧诸阉贼,其实算得上剧中矛盾爆发比较集中的剧情了,而剧里最终呈现的结果总是欠点火候。幼时一起埋酒的人,有些人不在了,有些人阵营对立了,曾经的豪言壮语都随着时间的风化而化为尘埃,那坛说好凯旋而来再启封的酒,最终却成了断头的送行酒,周生辰与刘元的过去,甚至没有就几笔回忆来补充,真的是剧情上的缺憾。这段剧情里我最喜欢的部分是男主醉酒那段,一个一向矜持不愿吐露内心复杂想法的人,却在那一夜自我放纵了一回,却只是面对女主一个人,终究,漼时宜在他心中的地位是与其他人不同的,这段剧情的安排让不染尘埃的男主瞬间多了烟火气,很赞。
说完了男主,再说说女主这条线上的问题。如果说第一集男主部分是缺乏忠君线的渲染,那么女主这边的登场基点就是缺乏爱情线的渲染。十一是个什么样的人?其实她不是个骨子里循规蹈矩的人,否则周生辰怎么教化,都无法把她教成现在这个样子。漼家的规矩,只是让十一碍于世俗的默认而收敛起自己的个性,而周生辰就是那个解除其封印的人,小皇帝来访的时候,十一习惯性的没用敬称,其实就是因为十一本身就是这种不屑身份尊卑的人。前两集女主这边的登场,比较有华彩的地方就是女主注意到了周生辰话语里用的是“我”,而不是“本王”,这是男女主三观上的共识与碰撞。男女主CP好磕不?其实挺好磕的,但为什么开头觉得不知所云,其实是因为铺垫与先抑后扬的对比做得不到位。在女主见到男主之前,应该增加一些女主对道听途说中的男主的印象,或者加一些她对世俗风情的矛盾看法,以此为铺垫才能更突出女主行为上的转变。男女主CP升温的地方其实是从请安开始,丫鬟的滔滔不绝,男主的讨价还价,女主的例行习惯,三方不同的风格凸显了剧情张力,故事瞬间有了烟火气。后面的CP剧情里,我比较喜欢的还有男主醉酒,女主从试探失望到发现驴唇不对马嘴的真相时的窃喜,喜欢男主说“我府里有十个孤儿和一个徒弟”时的专注,喜欢男主直男视角的送降将印章作为生辰贺礼,可以看出,编剧是会写感情线的细节的,只不过在逻辑格局与谋篇布局上有些欠缺。另外再说说女主的演技,其实她演得一般,她比较得心应手的角色还是《招摇》这种女汉子类型的,有些人说配音不贴脸,其实是因为她演得不够好,温声细语的女性质感不够突出,对比三娘四娘,你就会发现女主身上大家闺秀或小家碧玉的仪态气质还是不够的。
目前十集里,我觉得人设整体张力比较好的角色是漼风,也可能是因为他是配角,出镜时长有限,爆发戏时机的安排也天时地利人和。从清君侧成功,到家主病重进宫定婚约,到漼风宁愿挨打也不妥协,到家主病危,到最后与宏将军情断,这一系列的矛盾爆发很集中,人设也在短时间内走完了一个完整的蜕变。漼风的身不由己也是时代的产物,他爱情线的升华就在于与宏将军的那场诀别,表达了爱意,却坚持声明自己是单相思,即使什么都没有了,他依然要尽最后的努力维护好女孩的尊严。漼风的新婚夜,宏将军默默地烧掉了情人收集的捷报,这场爱情来的快,收的也快,至此,有情人终成陌路。
目前追更至第10集,我最不喜欢的情节就是女主在救援雍城时的举动,女主凭什么勇气率部下救援雍城,她是会兵法么?女主风尘仆仆的赶到雍城,上了城楼却说不出个排兵布阵的所以然,那还要跟着去看城防干嘛?剧中其实是安排女主会兵法的,会兵法还能在那种情况下要求守将开城门吗?这段剧情严重反映出编剧逻辑构图上的欠缺,只是为了写故事而写故事,完全忽略了剧情对人设的增幅与强化。女主第一次亲临战场,真正面对战争与生死时会胆怯与后怕,这些都是情理之中,但是在正式开战之前,剧本应该给女主一点排兵布阵的空间,即便是纸上谈兵,也可以突出女主在西州王府的耳濡目染,这是男女主CP情感的有效增益。此外,女主也不应该纠结开城门这么低级的军事问题,她对师兄的歉疚应该体现在自己为了城中更多的百姓不得不选择放弃开城门,她可以自责于自己主动选择放弃师兄的生命,师兄与男主的安慰也可以借此围绕这方面情感建设而展开,理性与感性终究不能两全,这也是这个社会矛盾与无奈的根本,完全契合全剧基调。只可惜,编剧在这个情节上的处理太烂俗了,雍城之战明明可以揭示出女主人设中刚毅的一面,这也是师承小南辰王的重要佐证,是女主人设上的突破与完善。
【11-12集】
既然是古偶言情剧,CP向的YY是可以理解的,比如说男主收了个女主这种名门贵女做徒弟,比如最初男主不敢碰女主只能裹着狐皮抱她回去,而现在却独处一室过夜,还手把手教射箭,以上这些不符合封建社会风俗的言行举止,为了男女主CP升温,我都不会计较。但是,其他逻辑上的剧情安排是不是也该好好打磨反思一下呢?编剧也别把观众当傻子吧。
男主追去南萧与女主异国游历一番,旨在增加男女主的独立互动,故事如此走向的目的性也算合情合理。但是,小南辰王怎么敢一个人去追女主的啊?他是不怕自己在南萧出事,但是,如果他在北陈境内去往南萧的途中遭遇埋伏,这责任肯定与南萧无关啊,男主自己孤身深入,甚至连句安排亲信跟随,大军压后的台词都没有,还需要自己的徒弟来收拾烂摊子,真当自己是男主没到大结局死不了,就可以横着走么?!
女主被救后,男女主在南萧闲逛,如果说男主算到了南萧皇帝不敢动他,那女主不应该替她师父担心一下么?北辰这边徒弟们急死的剧情有,军师与皇帝分析周生辰没事的剧情有,和尚推测南萧会偷偷放了周生辰的剧情有,就唯独没有事发当时男女主对此事的反应。不管是男主决定领着女主在南萧开阔一下眼界,还是女主表达自己的担忧但却被男主分析一番局势后放下心来,还是男女主决定迅速离开南萧却未来得及赶在封城之前,无论是以上哪条逻辑承上启下,都是需要细节进程的,而不是像剧里这样与环境脱节的男女主CP互动。
此外,女主在书院舌战群生的剧情又被一句台词带过了?这两集女主除了提出赠书以外,哪有什么人设高光啊?不是典型的花瓶么,干啥啥不行,拖后腿第一名。那个桓愈的过去也变成台词了,他老婆也是在台词里死掉的,这剧是不是只有和尚和他爹有回忆啊。
这两集男女主CP互动的剧情,其实编的还是不错的,矜持感有的,配角以及NPC也有很多推波助澜,两个人也在界限边缘疯狂的试探。
【13-14集】
书院的戏份终于结束了,桓愈的戏份是最难看的,过犹不及言多必失,桓愈天天没事干只磕CP,一个破事反复说变着花样说,这就是个八卦女生的视角,严重缺乏男人的阳刚豪爽之气。其他角色也磕CP,但都没像桓愈的台词这么夸张冗长,就跟硬广告植入一样,生怕观众看不见看不懂,本来男女主之间的那种朦胧美,被桓愈这么一集揭底,直接破坏了意境,反而给观众一种生磕硬磕的不自然的感觉,该甜的地方都不甜了。
漼风这条线的质量依然给力,发现自己被绿了,三言两语摊牌谈妥,他与宏将军正面的对手戏被压缩的很少,而恰恰是间接的互动与联系,突出了这对儿爱的朦胧与无奈。漼风要守寿阳,守的不仅仅是一座城,也是他与宏将军的回忆。
和尚与凤将军的事我也挺喜欢的,和尚就是个矛盾体,自身就是个很别扭的人,所以他与凤俏的唇枪舌剑反而给人设增添了些生气。和尚也磕男女主CP,但是对比他与桓愈就能明显发现,和尚磕CP的台词并不多,而且基本上都是因地制宜,不像桓愈这种男女主没啥事他还非要搞点事情弄得鸡飞狗跳。
这两集里我最不喜欢的安排有两点:其一,桓愈问男主是否对誓言后悔,难道男主就说不出一句“不悔”么?身为将领,必将以守卫国家为己任,先天下而后自身,明明可以拔高男主人设的时候,编剧在这里安排男主犹犹豫豫做什么,真是矫情的女性视角;其二,太后那边搞到秦将军的过程已经很小儿科了,结果所有人都把“侍寝”二字挂在嘴边,搞得跟个女尊文一样,演员说着都不觉得别扭么。
【15-16集】
中州宫廷戏不会写就别写,懂得让先帝死在台词里,不懂得把夺权也写在台词里么?太后小皇帝新太子就是三个多余的人设,权谋过家家,严重拖全剧的后腿。《琅琊榜》里跳过了梅长苏的多年谋划,让故事直接从回归王城开始,整个江湖势力直接留白,才能专注于宫廷权谋争斗。而本剧呢,如果亮点是人设间的感情刻画,那么就回避权谋吧,以目前剧中呈现出的谋篇布局水平来看,作者是驾驭不了复杂多线逻辑的。
三娘对女主说的那些话,如果我是编剧的话,一定不会安排三娘来说,而是安排女主在看到懿旨后秒懂,而后在母亲面前自言自语的独白。这个剧女主除了哭哭哭和被别人教教教,就没看见女主干成过几件大事,有个强大的师傅,自己又身处权力漩涡之中,这么多年了还一点也没有长进,走哪都是个需要别人呵护的花屏。如果改成女主的独白,至少可以解释女主给母亲写信只是象征意义上的抗争,她明白自己终有一天会不得不离开西州,但是至是希望这一天来得晚一些,向母亲言明自己要留下,只是吐露一下心迹,争过失败是一回事,没挣过终身遗憾又是另一回事,女主也只是求个心安来骗骗自己。
男主这边,编剧不会写权谋戏,完全可以写写男主与军师怎么化敌为友的。得知军师去世的消息后,女主对男主的陪伴与安慰也太平淡,应该花笔墨渲染一下。军师这条线最让我感动的地方,其实是军师决定留在中州时,对男主说他希望自己可以葬在西州,其实那个时候他就已经看到了自己的结局,这个镜头其实是悲壮的,也是这条线上唯一感动到我的情节。
美人骨终于又出现了,这一次比较具体了一些。我还是那个观点,如果拆骨是最后的结局,那么片头就应该应用坊间传闻把这条背景伏笔交代清楚。
【17-20集】
我就不想说这个小皇帝毒个太后都下不去手,最后把自己给毒死了,这么狗血弱智的剧情恐怕三流言情剧本都看不上吧。周生辰凭什么立六岁的小孩为新帝啊?广凌王目前还是名正言顺的太子吧,没什么理由废了他啊?还有女主又是凭什么当新帝的老师的?别拿什么史实更乱这种挽尊借口,但凡社会风貌都上行下效,宫廷注重礼仪民间才会效仿,剧里设置男女主恪守礼仪,介怀于坊间传闻,那就说明整个国家是注重礼仪的,宫廷淫乱继位随便根本就不符合社会风貌,编剧自己设定的世界观都自相矛盾。
整个宫变莫名其妙,宫里与中州城的兵力究竟掌握在谁手里?看上去宫里的兵力就是禁军,禁军首领是个墙头倒,跟谁谈得来禁军就立刻归谁?!没搞错吧,偌大一支皇族护卫军,说换主子就换主子,那干脆禁军统领做皇帝算了,反正皇城的兵都是禁军统领一个人说得算。再者,都城守卫呢?守城的和守宫的应该是两波人吧,那么多朝臣没有控兵的,难道满朝权臣都是文官,天天就知道围着皇帝侃大山?最后还能安排广凌王摄政,广凌王难道不是曾经的帝位候选人么,曾经与帝位只有一步之遥的人,群臣还敢放下让他指导小皇帝,这不是天天盼着广凌王篡位么?群臣能想到这个解决办法,男主和漼家还能同意,全剧所有涉事人设的脑子进屎了吧?!
最后说说漼风的事,新皇招刺史回来他无视,女主写了一封家书提点他就回来了?什么都明白,还不知道时局微妙,还不隐匿行踪么?看来这个哥哥是啥都没明白啊!
这四集里,总算女主干成了一件大事,就是帮助她哥解决了婚姻和离的问题。男主拒绝跟太皇太后谈判那个地方,难得真正霸气强势了一次。除此之外,这宫廷戏的逻辑真是一团糟。
【21-24集】
感谢漼风宏将军再次贡献了两个印象比较深刻的镜头,宏将军那一箭真的射出去了,给这个果断的女人好评。雍城一战我一直期望在女主身上看到的性格,却在这个女配身上看到了。我很喜欢宏将军弥留之际的台词,她强调是自己先爱上了漼风,弥补了当年那一场诀别的遗憾。漼风这条线整体来说是写得真的很好,除了我觉得他被金荣抓那个地方有些粗糙外,其他的剧情我都很满意,最后还有一个小小的升华,漼风最终还是抛弃了族姓,活出了小南辰王的样子。
和尚和凤俏真的没有后文了,这是我没有想到的,凤俏喜欢和尚挺明显的,因为她有很刻意地去探究和尚的情史,和尚其实也对凤俏不同的,夜游那一夜帮凤俏挡雨已经微微越距了。只不过如今两人鉴证了太多生离死别,南辰王军大变故,两个人之间萌发的小小火焰终究是灭了。我很喜欢和尚去要周生辰遗体时的那几句台词,话很简单,但真的不怒自威挺霸气的,真衬他曾经的身份。
男女主的死其实也有对照,都是自己可以脱身,却为了大家的安慰而最终选择了牺牲自己,女主登楼我没什么触动,反而是杨劭的那句“送别姑娘”带给我很大的感慨,终究女主还是选了与男主同样的路,不愧是同一类人。
说说我对男女主的死为什么没太多触动,其实是因为他们的路都被自己堵死的。小皇帝死的时候,男主就应该拥立广凌王为帝,这样广凌王也不会急急忙忙向王军发难。而女主这边做的也不好,她既然决定了嫁人并辅佐丈夫,就不应该对广凌王冷漠拒绝,她是见过广凌王发飙不择手段要得到自己的状态的,她让自己的男人充满危机感,就是在挑衅自己男人的尊严与权威,更是激化了广凌王对周生辰的敌意。其实十一就是周生辰的护身符,而且十一已经得到了广凌王的心,只要十一表现出一点点帮着广凌王来算计或压制周生辰,就会让广凌王觉得周生辰是可控的,至少受制于漼时宜,而漼时宜又是站在自己这一边的,自己女人的狗,多一条有何乐而不为呢。对比《延禧攻略》里的魏璎珞,其实即使魏璎珞嫁给了皇帝,她心中最重要的依然还是傅恒,只不过魏璎珞把她对傅恒的这段感情隐藏得很好,即使是海兰察带回傅恒的遗言,魏璎珞也没有当面流露出自己的情感,此外,魏璎珞经常算计皇帝与皇帝互动,让皇帝感觉到女人的心在自己身上,而漼时宜在这方面做的就跟木头一样,只能滋生男人的不满与嫉妒。
再对比跳楼的镜头,我比较喜欢的是女主一件件丢掉首饰的动作安排,暗示了女主唾弃金钱权势向往自由的心态。对比《延禧攻略》里富察容音的跳楼,富察容音给人带来的绝望感的冲击力更强,那是因为前面剧情的伏笔与蓄力较强。漼时宜的跳楼,更多是因为周生辰死后自己生无可恋,而她本身对命运的抗争并不激烈,所以在登楼过程中回味起过去,就会感觉情感平平。而富察容音真的大起大落过,第一个孩子死后沉寂多年,好不容易在璎珞和傅恒身上看到了希望,却最后有情人终成陌路,富察容音曾经不顾一切的求皇帝取消傅恒的婚约,哪怕忤逆了皇帝,哪怕直接指出皇帝对璎珞有私情,孩子得而复失,尔晴的背叛压垮了富察容音最后的希望,所以她的纵身一跃充满着悲伤与绝望。漼时宜本来也可以有很多值得回味的镜头,我希望看到她在雍城之战中懂得战争的残酷与牺牲的必要,我希望看到她努力学习兵法期望有一天可以与周生辰并肩而立,我希望看到她为了爱情最后一搏,我希望看到她博学多才侃侃而谈,只可惜,剧里的镜头平淡又平庸。
(注:粉丝歪曲重心洗地也真逗,没有弱逼对手广陵王,我会说男女主自己把路堵死吗?!对待剧里这个弱逼对手,小小招数就能把他忽悠得团团转。有本事就让你家编剧把广陵王写强一点,对得起男女主的牺牲,别让男女主输给一个制杖捡漏王,仿佛小丑献身一般。)
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如果我是编剧,我就在小皇帝死后,安排男主扶刘子行上位,刘子行一边培植自己的皇城势力,一边纵容金荣与周生辰内斗,假意中了金荣的奸计逼得周生辰引颈就戮,然后反手干掉金荣,冠冕堂皇的说是给周生辰平反报仇。女主知道了事情的真相也不能做什么,因为刘子行的做法在世人眼里就是个逆风翻盘的好皇帝,所以最后女主殉情了,死前女主和刘子行摊牌,刘子行说“世人都说贵妃大度,不争不抢且让出后位,殊不知贵妃早已心有所属,温婉大气都是假象。既然如此,那我宁愿让他彻底消失,这样,才能让你的眼里只能看到我。你记住,周生辰不是死于功高震主,而是死于你的执念”。漼时宜跳楼后,刘子行追上城楼崩溃,之后又平复好心态走下城楼,追封漼时宜并以皇后之礼下葬,接着继续和没有靠山的金贞儿过日子了。
【贴一个B站自制up剪辑,比剧版逻辑强】
故事发展像是解迷的过程,克莱尔的相机把人物都联系起来,所有人扁平化地排列在照片里,然后展开。很多解构式的影评可以从电影的细节挖掘,相机、大狗狗、女主穿热裤、将衣服随意剪开都代表着什么,已有众多有深度的评价了。
相比《独自在夜晚的海边》侧重描写女主的心境变化,我觉得这出戏更聚焦概念表达。比如如何改变已经发生的事
故事发展像是解迷的过程,克莱尔的相机把人物都联系起来,所有人扁平化地排列在照片里,然后展开。很多解构式的影评可以从电影的细节挖掘,相机、大狗狗、女主穿热裤、将衣服随意剪开都代表着什么,已有众多有深度的评价了。
相比《独自在夜晚的海边》侧重描写女主的心境变化,我觉得这出戏更聚焦概念表达。比如如何改变已经发生的事物呢,只能再仔细地看一次;男性凝视是怎样无理的呢;老板的嫉妒是什么样的呢。可能太注重冷眼旁观的叙事态度,感觉每一个演员在里面的个人魅力都没有得到充分发挥。