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The original Sailor Moon series (1992-1997) included 200 episodes, which means that for most of the show Usagi Tsukino and Sailor Moon were one and the same. It is all the more curious to go to the very beginning of the story, when the then fourteen-year-old protagonist is granted her magical powers.

The recipe for the show's success was right there: from the start, there is a combination of the most mundane and daily experiences of a student (Usagi oversleeps, fails a test, would rather stop by a video arcade than go home) and the magical and supernatural events that are yet to be explained, but include talking cats and horrible demons. The contrast is also visual: some of the most striking imagery is that of the Dark Kingdom, suitably Gothic in its style. In comparison, the transformation sequence - Usagi turning into Sailor Moon - is made out of light, stars, ribbons, and a fresh manicure.

Much of what is seen in the first episode grounds the heroine - we meet Usagi's mother, younger brother, best friend Naru, classmate Umino - but will not have a lasting presence. Yet, Usagi also encounters Mamoru Chiba (and the conflict between the two is immediate), while Sailor Moon meets Tuxedo Mask (who is supportive and charming), thus establishing one of the core plot-lines of the series.

There is a promise of romance, there is adventure, there is mystery. There is a fascination with jewellery and empowerment; both being key themes for the show. There is a fair bit of complaining and screaming, with 'crybaby' Usagi coming in sharp contrast with Luna, the little black cat who is now the girl's companion. Luna has limited patience and a no-nonsense attitude. She is here on a mission, after all.

Structurally, the first episode establishes the 'monster of the week' pattern. In terms of its atmosphere and imagery, the instalment is true to the rest of the series; seeing it again feels like coming home.

The Draughtsman's Contract (1982) is a picture crafted with such exceptional skill that any thoughts of what one has just watched, any analysis of the film, any contemplation of the cinematography or writing - all of it calls for further appreciation of the work.

Set in rural Wiltshire in 1694, the film is concerned with the pastimes of an aristocratic circle and an artist invited into it. The latter is Mr Neville (played by Anthony Higgins), the draughtsman of the title. He has arrived at the Herbert estate to produce a series of drawings - those are intended by Mrs Virginia Herbert (Janet Suzman) as a gift for her husband. While Mr Herbert is away, his wife should have no trouble fulfilling the contract she entered with Mr Neville in its entirety: in addition to the money and the board, Mrs Herbert has agreed 'to comply with his requests concerning his pleasure'. How perfectly, deliberately scandalous!

At the heart of it, The Draughtsman's Contract is a country-house murder mystery, but not in a way that is typical; nor is that the only puzzle to be solved.

Much like Mr Neville's drawings (in reality, made by Peter Greenaway, the film's director), the movie contains no accidental decisions. Each line of dialogue, each frame, the development of every seemingly inconsequential plot-line - all of it is deliberate, infused with symbolism, symmetrically arranged, and presented in the most elegant and ornamental fashion. The acting is superb, the music written by Michael Nyman is absolutely perfect, the wigs and outfits are even more elaborate than their historical prototypes, and the ending remains astonishing. Passions, it would seem, are complementary to extreme restraint.

After Episode 7 of the second series, 'Flipping the Pieces (2022)', I speculated the show was turning into a melodrama. I stand corrected: as of Episode 8, Only Murders in the Building (2021) is closer to pantomime - in the British meaning of the word.

The dwellers of the Arconia are plunged into the dark, as the Upper West Side suffers a power outage; hence the episode title 'Hello, Darkness'. Charles (Steve Martin), Oliver (Martin Short), and Mabel (Selena Gomez) return to the building, having just learned that Charles's not-quite-adopted-daughter Lucy (Zoe Colletti) is inside, while the murderer remains on the loose.

One may expect a sense of urgency - after all, this is a literal matter of life and death. There's none. The episode meanders along, unconcerned with any questions previously posed by the show. (What was the meaning behind the painting of Charles's father? Is Oliver biologically related to Will? Somewhere within the Arconia, there are Amy Schumer and Cara Delevingne, with their plot-lines suspended. Not that I miss those characters, exactly; however, the great Shirley MacLaine - who briefly appeared as Bunny's mother - definitely does not deserve such neglect.)

The building stairs are revealed to be the true enemy. Martin Short bravely carries the bulk of the episode (and a bag of dips) on his shoulders, while the show continues to be largely well-acted and so, so poorly written.