“If You Don’t Like My Story, Write Your Own”
November 10, 2019
Somewhere in the farmlands outside of Tulsa is a sweet farm couple, the Clarks, just trying to get by. She sells fresh eggs on the side of the road — unsuccessfully — but when she trips when carrying the cartons back in, he’s right there to catch an egg or two and let her know it’s alright.
They eat dinner together, do a puzzle together, brush their teeth together, and go to bed tog—
Enter Lady Trieu.
One evening, just as the Clarks are about to go to bed, they are startled by a visitor at their front door: Lady Trieu, the reclusive
billionaire trillionaire who is building that weird clock thing down the road. She is on their doorstep with an offer, and they have three minutes to decide. She wants their house and the 40 acres it sits on.
And listen, she gets it, it’s “not for sale” because “family legacy.” But the thing about legacies is that they don’t exist in the land, they exist in blood. Legacy is passed down from ancestors and to children. And Lady Trieu, she happens to know that 10 years ago the Clarks came to one of the fertility clinics she happens to own — because, see, she made her fortune through advanced pharmaceuticals and biomedical technology so just file that away — and Mrs. Clark was told that she was non-viable.
To that, Lady Trieu says:
She’s not going to offer the Clarks money for their land, she’s offering a legacy: a child for their house. Mrs. Clark is understandably pissed and demands that Lady Trieu exit her house fucking immediately, but Lady Trieu is like, “Oh, I’m not offering to make you a baby, I’ve made you a baby.”
With that, Lady Trieu’s assistant enters and hands Lady Trieu what appears to be about a 5 or 6-month-old baby, which Lady Trieu assures the Clarks is biologically theirs. She hands them the child while explaining that with the baby comes $5 million for relocation costs and baby food. They have 10 seconds to decide or she’ll have no choice but to destroy the baby.
Hahahaha, little joke, she’ll just give him to a loving family.
The Clarks, once they hold the baby, have no other choice and sign away the farm, just as the ground begins to rumble and the lights begin to flicker and the last of the sand trickles through Lady Trieu’s hourglass. Lady Trieu hastily grabs her things and with the Clarks trailing behind her heads out to the front porch just in time to see some sort of object streak through the sky and crash in a fireball somewhere in the
Clarks’ Lady Trieu’s woods. “What is that?” the Clarks wonder.
“That is MINE,” replies Lady Trieu.
Over in downtown Tulsa (the same night? sometime in the future? sometime in the past? WHO KNOWS), Angela heads to her bakery where she takes apart Will’s wheelchair and puts it in a duffel bag. She also considers burning that “WATCH OVER THIS BOY” note when she is distracted by a voice mail from the Greenwood Cultural Center alerting “Will” that another branch of his family has been identified. While Angela listens to the message, the other message in her hands goes up in flames.
Angela suits up as Sister Night, calls into the precinct to let them know she found a window broken at the Greenwood Cultural Center and is going to check it out, so ignore any alarm notifications they might receive.
She then proceeds to break into the Greenwood Cultural Center.
There, at one of the kiosks, she retrieves her “acorn” which she puts into the “Ances-Tree”
… a blue hologram tree that reveals to her that there is a new branch on her father’s side: her great-grandparents. Obie Williams was a soldier in World War I who returned to Tulsa a hero and married his childhood sweetheart, Ruth. They had one son, but all three tragically died in the massacre.
Angela kneels before the picture of Will as a boy and blah blah blah, “you’re not dead, but you’re going to show up 100 years from now and blow up my life and in conclusion, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.”
Yeah, it’s not going to be that easy.
And in fact, that’s when Angela’s minivan falls out of the sky.
Angela rushes out of the Greenwood Cultural Center to find Laurie laughing hysterically at the situation, and Angela identifies the minivan as her own. Angela calls into the precinct to let them know a stolen car has been retrieved, checks out the vehicle, finds Will’s pills in the glove compartment, and assures Laurie that she has everything under control. G’bye.
That night, when Angela finally returns home, she finds her place in her bed occupied by her two daughters, so she takes the bottom bunk in Topher’s room. Topher, he’s not asleep, and he insists that he did not see that man — the terrorist — get shot in the head. But he did. And Angela says as much. He asks her if she was scared when she saved everyone at the funeral, and she is honest: she was, and she still is a little.
The next morning, while they make eggs for the kids, Angela tells Cal about breaking into the Greenwood Cultural Center and the car and running into Laurie. However, the conversation is interrupted by the children bickering about whether or not Judd has gone to heaven: Topher taking the position that he has not, the girls protesting that he most certainly has.
Cal ends the fight by telling the children that heaven is pretend and that Uncle Judd is “nowhere” now. Who wants waffles?
Angela goes to Looking Glass’s — or rather, Wade’s place. Well, his nuclear bunker, actually, where he’s spending his Saturday developing photographs from the squid shower. He almost feels sorry for the poor bastards: raining down from another dimension, just as confused as we are. They spend 30 seconds alive, and all of it is spent dying.
Angela is like, “Alright, weirdo,” before giving him Will’s pills. She’s hoping Wade will have his ex test them and figure out what they are. Wade is reluctant because, you know, SHE’S HIS EX, but Angela makes it clear that she doesn’t want this run through the precinct’s lab. Wade catches on that this might have something to do with Judd’s death, so she pulls out the Ku Klux Klan robe and informs Wade that she found it in Judd’s closet, before asking him to hang on to it for her.
“You reckon he was Kalvary?” Wade asks.
“You reckon he was?” Angela asks back.
“Looks like we have a reckoning.”
Angela then suits up as Sister Night and takes the duffle bag with Will’s wheelchair parts to a bridge to throw it off and into a passing garbage truck. It is on that bridge where Sister Night spies another costumed character — one that she doesn’t recognize: a tall skinny guy in a silver bodysuit who takes off running when she notices him. Sister Night gives chase, but before she can catch him, he takes out two squirt bottles of … something … douses himself with it and then slides into a sewer grate.
Sister Night heads to the precinct where she runs into Senator Keene. He thanks her for saving his life before remembering that he’s not supposed to know who she is. (But come the fuck on.) He apologizes for ruining the funeral and she advises him to not get kidnapped next time.
Sister Night checks in with Red Scare and Pirate Jenny to see if they know anything about this silver lube dude, but they point out that if he’s not a Seventh Kalvary member, the new boss probably won’t give a shit. The new boss being, obviously, Laurie.
In Judd’s office, Laurie informs Angela that they dusted her minivan for prints and fascinatingly, besides the kids’ fingerprints and her own, they also pulled up the fingerprints of one William Reeves: a cop who lived in New York City in the 40s and 50s before retiring and falling off the grid altogether. This also means that a William Reeve would be around 100 years old, and you know how centenarians often get around? WHEELCHAIRS.
And that’s when Agent Petey interrupts with some information: they have a lead on Angela’s minivan: it involves the Millenium Clock.
On the drive there, Laurie explains that it could be a coincidence that Angela’s minivan disappeared the night Judd was murdered and reappeared the night of his funeral, or it could be, as her ex would call it, a “thermodynamic miracle.” When Angela wryly notes that her ex “sounds fun,” Laurie concedes that he’s no Cal, before adding that she saw Cal earlier in the day. Nice guy! And she learned that Angela and Cal met in Vietnam. Does Angela still have family there?
Angela, irritated, explains that her parents died when she was very young, and Laurie is all, “Well that explains the whole mask thing: people who wear masks are hiding their pain. Often they are driven by trauma, obsessed with justice because of an injustice suffered when they were a kid. So what’s the deal with the whole nun thing? Did nuns kill her parents? Was she raised by nuns?”
Laurie insists there’s no judgment: she used to dress up and chase bad guys, too. So Angela is all, “Oh yeah? What’s your trauma?” So Laurie instructs Petey to tell her. And he does: Her parents were both in the Minutemen, you know like the TV show. Silk Spectre, The Comedian, The Comedian tried to rape her mother, yadda.
They arrive at the Millennium Clock where they meet an engineer working on some sort of large drone — a drone with a 100-kilometer range, and large enough to carry away a minivan. When Laurie asks for a list of people who know how to fly the drones, they are approached by Bian, Lady Trieu’s daughter, with an invitation to meet her mother. But only Laurie and Sister Night.
On the way to Lady Trieu’s vivarium, Bian explains that the Millennium Clock, unlike other “wonders of the world,” is designed to withstand natural disasters: it will be the first wonder of the new world.
And what does it do? It tells time.
The ladies are introduced to Lady Trieu in her humid vivarium, (which is not a euphemism) and she apologizes for the dampness — they have to get it just right for the plants. On her deathbed, her mother made her promise to never leave Vietnam, so the vivarium is her loophole around that: she brought Vietnam here. And what a small world! Sister Night, she’s from Vietnam, too!
Anyhoooooo, they are here about the weird thing with the car and they’d like the list of everyone who can fly those weird drone thingys. Lady Trieu happily obliges, before sharing with Sister Night an old Vietnamese expression: “Your grandfather wants to know if you got the pills?” And Sister Night responds with another old Vietnamese expression: “Tell that old fucker he can ask me himself.”
Before they leave, Laurie notices a statue of Adrian Veidt all dolled up in his Ozymandias costume and wonders why Lady Trieu made him look so old. “Because he is old,” she replies.
Speaking of Adrian, over wherever the hell he is, he’s on a midnight boat trip in some sort of pond or lake, checking his crab traps for babies. Human babies. After throwing a few back into the pond, he brings a pair to some sort of lab where he puts them in some sort of steampunk device that he winds up. After a minute or so, he stops the device and one adult Mr. Phillips and one adult Ms. Crookshanks emerge.
Veidt loads them onto a carriage and brings them to the manor where, while dressing them in their servants’ clothes, he explains that while he may be their master, he is certainly not their creator. Because he would never give such a pathetic creature the gift of life.
They enter the manor where they discover the dining room littered with dead Mr. Phillipses and Ms. Crookshanks. Veidt apologizes for the mess: he’d had a bad night.
Oh, and I should note that he angrily takes a horseshoe off of one of the dead Mr. Phillips and grouses that he doesn’t need it yet. What the fuck is that about?
But the corpses have a purpose, and the new Mr. Phillips and Ms. Crookshanks help Veidt load them up into a giant catapult and launch them into the sky where instead of submitting to gravity and falling back to Earth (or maybe just “earth”) they simply vanish. With their help, Veidt explains, he will escape this prison where he has been trapped for the past four years. And he watches another body disappear into the sky through his scope, the circular lens of which becomes the moon back in Tulsa.
IS THAT A CLUE?
When Angela returns home that night, she interrupts Cal who is reading Things Fall Apart, by telling him that Okonkwo SPOILER ALERT! hangs himself in the end. When Cal doesn’t take the bait, Angela explains that she’s trying to pick a fight with him for not telling her that Laurie came by the house to question him. He assures her that he lied about what happened the night that Judd died, and he hates lying. Angela notes that Laurie knew about them meeting in Vietnam and wonders if he told her about his accident …
… but he insists he did not. Cal does add that he believes Laurie wants to help her, that he has a feeling she will know how to find Will, but Angela is NOT INTERESTED. She can find him ALL BY HERSELF. And then Angela invites him to meet her in the sex closet.
Back at the Millennium Clock, Bian wakes from a nightmare, detaches an IV, puts on her glasses and pads into her mother’s tearoom. There, she tells Lady Trieu that she had a nightmare: she was in a village, the men came and burned it and forced the villagers to walk for miles and miles. Her feet, they still hurt.
Lady Trieu’s response: “Good.”
Bian asks her mother to walk her back to bed, but Lady Trieu refuses, so Bian leaves alone, saying good night to Will Reeves on her way out.
As for Will, he’s having tea with Lady Trieu, who is concerned that he isn’t fully committed to whatever the hell they’re up to. She calls the pills “passive-aggressive exposition” and tells him to just tell Angela who he is if he wants her to know. But Will insists that Angela can’t be told — she needs to experience things on her own. Will also points out that she is doing the same thing to her own daughter, though she protests that it’s entirely different.
This is the root of Lady Trieu’s concern: that when it comes to family, judgment can be clouded, feet get cold. That’s when Will pulls what we will call a Reverse Locke, and he stands up and walks across the room: his feet are just fine, he says figuratively (and literally).
Will wonders how much longer before … whatever … is going to happen, and Lady Trieu tells him it will be in three days. Will sighs that Angela will know then that he betrayed her, she’ll know in three days what he has done, and she will hate him for it. But he is in all the way: TICK TOCK. TICK TOCK. TICK MOTHERFUCKING TOCK.
I’m not going to begin this part of the recap with a discussion of original Watchmen comic characters, because we only have one left, Rorschach, and I think we’ll be better served talking about him with the next episode which appears to be about Looking Glass.
Instead, we’re just going to jump to it and try to make sense of this episode. While watching this episode, I was kicking myself that I didn’t discuss eggs two episodes ago. The second episode ends with Angela returning to her bakery to find that Will had freed himself from her handcuffs, and had made himself some hardboiled eggs. The episode then ended with the Beastie Boys song, “Egg Man” …
… and at the time, I wrote down in my notes, “talk about egg symbolism” because obviously they were pointing to something.
Oh, and also, there was this in the first episode:
But did I write about eggs? NOPE. And then this episode comes along and is like, NO, WE’RE SERIOUS. EGGS. PAY ATTENTION.
So here we are. Eggs. And I think they serve as a symbol of two very big themes for this series: reproduction/inheritance and creation (which are kinda related but WHATEVER. You’ll see where I’m going.)
Before we get to that, some quick notes about egg symbolism. Eggs are a very simple, loaded and ancient symbol of creation for obvious reasons — life springs forth from these strange, non-organic-seeming, rock-like things, almost miraculously. Eggs also represent renewal, rebirth, resurrection, hope, promise, and change. And, again for obvious reasons, fertility.
This brings us to this episode and that cold open and the infertile Clarks who can’t sell any eggs, the eggs breaking on the porch of the house and the miraculous baby that arrives on that same porch. Their eggs, they didn’t fail them — they just had to be hatched differently. (Unless, of course, that is not actually their child, but for our purposes, we will assume he is because I doubt we will see the Clarks again, and it feels too laborious to go back and explain that the child isn’t theirs.)
And when we look, there are plenty of other examples of complicated parentage in the series: we have the Abars who are raising the children of Angela’s dead partner (and there is some suggestion that after the events of The White Night, she might not be able to have babies, either); Angela herself who lost her parents when she was a kid, whose grandfather shows up out of nowhere and “blows up” her life; Lady Trieu and whatever the hell is going on with her daughter Bian (clone? maybe!), and her own relationship with her mother; Laurie and her messed-up history with her parents — raised by one man while believing another man was her real father only to discover a third man, a man who tried to rape her mother, was her actual father; and, obviously, Adrian Veidt and all those weird pond babies/clones that he “raises.”
Hand-in-hand with this theme of messy parentage is this issue of trauma: Laurie discusses her own trauma (or rather has Petey recount it for her), while asking Angela about her own damage; Topher is clearly traumatized by what he witnessed at the funeral; it could be argued that those poor servant-clones are born into trauma, forced to fling their dead doppelgangers into the heavens on a giant catapult; and then there is Bian, who appears to have traumatic memories of some sort being forced fed into her via drug. For some reason.
So, a few things about that. This is purely speculation based on that last scene of the episode, but if I’m correct, Lady Trieu seems to have created some sort of memory drug. I suspect this is what Will’s pills will be: some sort of distilled version of his memories. When Trieu is scolding him for being “passive-aggressive” with his pills, he notes that Angela has to experience things for herself, and I suspect that he wants Angela to take the pills so that she can understand him and what he has lived through as a first-hand experience. And for some reason, Lady Trieu seems to be implanting Bian with memories from Vietnam, specifically the war. Why? Who knows. But it would explain why the episode begins and ends with focus on some of Lady Trieu’s items which prominently feature elephants:
After all, elephants never forget.
And did I mention that Veidt Enterprise used to have a line of cosmetics called, “Nostalgia” which is prominently advertised throughout the comic? Yeah, Veidt discontinues the line and replaces it with a new brand: Millennium.
But back to trauma and inheritance: There is a line of scientific thought that trauma can leave a chemical mark on a person’s genes, which can then be passed down to subsequent generations. The science is sketchy and unproven, but I can’t help but think these memory drugs (if that is what we are dealing with here) are almost a metaphor for this idea that trauma and memories are inheritable which itself could be understood as a metaphor for racism in this country. An entire people were so brutally traumatized by our government, by our whole system that the pain remains and is passed down generation from generation — as does the hate and resentment on the other side.
But putting all that metaphorical stuff aside, what is going on with this memory drug (if, again, that is what it is?)? Why would Lady Trieu be implanting someone else’s memories in her daughter? I obviously don’t know, but my leading theory is that this is some sort of immortality project on Lady Trieu’s part. We know that clones exist in this universe. So what if Bian is actually Lady Trieu’s clone and not her biological daughter? Cloning yourself would ostensibly be one way to live forever — but for you to truly become immortal, your consciousness would have to be replicated and hosted somewhere. And what I’m saying is that Lady Trieu has cloned herself and is now implanting her own memories into the clone so that she will, in a way, become immortal.
Which leads me to another crazy idea. So let’s talk about Vietnam. In the Watchmen comic, the end of the Vietnam War is a key departure moment between our universe and the Watchmen universe. In the comic, President Nixon sends Doctor Manhattan to end the war, which he does by virtue of his Godliness. As a result, Nixon becomes an incredibly popular president, term limits are undone, he goes on to serve in the White House for five terms, and Vietnam becomes the 51st state. Angela, as we have learned, grew up there, as did Lady Trieu.
NOW. Here’s where I get all tinfoil-hatty, so feel free to dismiss this altogether. BUT. There was someone else who went to Vietnam on behalf of the United States, who also had an eventful experience there: The Comedian. Soon after the Vietnamese surrender to Doc Manhattan, The Comedian is confronted by a Vietnamese woman who is pregnant with his child. She is incredulous that he is going to walk away from her and their unborn baby, after all, she doesn’t get to just walk away, she can’t just forget their relationship. The Comedian insists that that’s exactly what he’s going to do — forget her, forget Vietnam, forget all of it. Furious, she promises him that he’ll remember her for as long as he lives. She breaks a bottle and uses it to slash his face. Doctor Manhattan walks in just as The Comedian shoots the woman, but he doesn’t stop him — a point that the Comedian makes when Doc Manhattan seems to judge him. The flashback ends with Doctor Manhattan standing over the woman’s body, pondering.
You see where I’m going with this, right? That Doctor Manhattan either saved the woman or the baby or both? And that the baby grew up to be Lady Trieu? Because that’s where I’m going.
And while the simplest answer is that he saves the baby, Lady Trieu does make the comment to Laurie and Angela that she promised her mother on her deathbed that she would never leave Vietnam, so I wonder if Doc Manhattan didn’t save them both. (Of course, she could also be talking about an adoptive mother which would also be thematically appropriate, so.)
Lady Trieu, like her mother, never forgets.
But about that deathbed promise … what if Lady Trieu kept that promise? What if the reason the space in the vivarium is so humid and Vietnam-like because it actually IS Vietnam? What if the Millenium Clock is not merely a clock, it’s a portal of some sort, and when the characters are in the vivarium, they are no longer in Oklahoma but instead in Vietnam? It’s a little crazy, but it would tie into the repetitive Axis Mundi, tunnel and tower symbolism.
But I don’t think it’s just about Vietnam — I think Vietnam is just the initial phase, and that the Millennium Clock is being designed to be used as a different kind of portal: a portal to the other dimension that the world believes exists. Again, crucial to understanding the Watchmen universe is Operation Giant Psychic Squid: that the world was led to believe that we were attacked by an interdimensional giant psychic squid. But what if Lady Trieu, the woman who took over Veidt Enterprises, is trying to do that which Adrian Veidt could only fake, and actually open up a door to another dimension?
So let’s return to that original symbol: eggs. As I noted, eggs are a creation symbol for obvious reasons. And in fact, among the ancient Celts, Greeks, Egyptians, Phoenicians, Canaanites, Tibetians, Hindus, Chinese and ~cough~ Vietnamese and many, many more, the notion that the Earth hatched from an egg is a common creation myth. From The Complete Dictionary of Symbols: “a cosmic egg (sometimes fertilized by a serpent but more often laid in the primeval waters by a giant bird) gives form to chaos, and from it hatches the sun (the golden yolk), the division of earth and sky, and life in all its forms.” And in Hindu culture, the Cosmic Tree grows from the golden egg, which in turn bore Brahma.
WHAT I AM TRYING TO SAY IS, Lady Trieu, with this Millennium Clock, is trying to hatch her own cosmic egg, to birth a new world. So, if that’s the case, why it’s a clock?
I don’t know but maybe opening the dimension requires a specific time and place — thus why it was so crucial for Lady Trieu to acquire the Clark’s farm and why this whole Wonder of the New World (ANOTHER CLUE, YOU GUYS) is in Oklahoma in all God-forsaken places.
As to why Lady Trieu and Will are working together to open this portal, to access this new world, my gut tells me it has to do with them wanting a better world, a more just world. A world in which people of color, like themselves, are treated equally.
Will is a survivor of this horrific act of racial violence, and the only thing he had of his own legacy was this reminder from World War I that his race is mistreated in his country. Furthermore, if he is Hooded Justice as I suspect, his own hero story has been completely whitewashed. America’s first hero is a racial lie.
As for Lady Trieu, she is the native of a country that was brutalized by America. And even if she is not the daughter of The Comedian and the woman he viciously murdered, that entire episode still serves as a metaphor of America’s relationship with Vietnam.
It’s not so far-fetched to think that these two people, like Adrian Veidt (and to some degree The Comedian, too) before them would look around, recognize that solving injustices on some small personal scale wasn’t enough, it’s not ever going to solve systemic and ingrained racism and bias, and that they need to do something BIGGER. You’ll never solve racism in this world, but maybe if you could start over, maybe if you could access someplace new …
That said, I keep going back to Adrian Veidt’s comments in this episode as he brings New Mr. Philips and Ms. Crookshanks to the manor. He notes that he thought this place would be a paradise, but all it is is a prison. I suspect whatever there plan is will open up the whole theme of the cost of “the greater good.” Just as Operation Giant Psychic Squid averted nuclear war, but a the cost of millions of lives, whatever Trieu and Will are doing will be something that they believe is ultimately for the best, but will come at a price. They might believe they are building a paradise, but for some, it might turn out to be a prison.
(Also, I can’t help but notice the parallel imagery in this episode: it begins with something crashing into the earth, and in the Adrian Veidt interlude, they fling something into the sky. It’s a parabola. The question is whether the parabola is being completed between these two scenes.)
One or two final little things that I just included because I’m not sure what, exactly, to do with them, but they feel important:
There are plenty of Axis Mundi symbols, specifically the Millennium Clock and the Ances-Tree in the cultural center.
But more interesting to me is the fact that Angela spies the Loober on a bridge. A bridge is a liminal symbol — a space between two other spaces, an in-between place if you will. I don’t know who the Loober is (Petey? Is that you?) But, the scene takes place on a bridge, it represents a moment of transition, of change, probably for Angela. But I would also argue that it ties into the Millennium Clock and it being some sort of liminal space, as well. (If that’s what it is.) (That’s what it is.)
We can’t leave this episode without discussing the fact that Cal is reading Things Fall Apart by China Achebe, and note that the episode title itself is a quote from Achebe. Things Fall Apart, Achebe’s masterpiece is about the devastating effects of white colonialism in Africa (and there are some mask themes in there, too) which brings me back to wondering about Will and Trieu’s motivations behind whatever they are about to do.
And speaking of Cal, some have noted that there are some interesting parallels between Cal and Doctor Manhattan — his calm reserve, his dislike of lying, the matter-of-fact way he delivers the news about heaven to his daughters. The question being asked by some is Cal actually Doc Manhattan? And is that why Laurie is so hot for him? And is that how Angela survived The White Night? And if so, would this tie back to the Vietnamese woman who Doctor Manhattan saved after she was also shot — at least in my batshit insane theory? Maybe! Probably not! But maybe!
Oh, and what’s that about Will Reeves living in New York City in the ’40s and ’50s? Yeah, he’s totally Hooded Justice. Calling it now.
Finally, since we are talking about Laurie, I want to know if this is a detail the writers missed, or if it’s going to be something bigger. Angela drove to the tree to meet Will in her minivan, and then later showed up at the scene in her Sister Night car. If Laurie was able to find wheelchair tracks in the dirt, wouldn’t she also have found the minivan tracks? I mean, there’s an argument that the scene might have been trampled, but at the same time, processing tire tracks is something cops often do at crime scenes? So … uh … mistake or intentional?
WHO KNOWS. I’M PROBABLY WRONG ABOUT ALL OF THIS. NOTHING ACTUALLY MATTERS. LOAD ME UP INTO A CATAPULT AND FLING ME INTO THE SKY.
Watchmen airs on HBO on Sundays at 8/9 p.m.