Lizzie Borden Took An Ax
Eventually, the jury finds Lizzie not guilty of all charges. Despite the acquittal, she has become the town pariah. During a final confrontation between Lizzie and Emma, the former asks her sister if she wants to know the truth. Lizzie then whispers into Emma's ear as a series of flashbacks show Lizzie committing the murders. A visibly upset Emma leaves the room, and eventually, moves out of their home, never seeing Lizzie again. Lizzie walks outside and hears three children jump roping to the famous nursery rhyme: "Lizzie Borden took an axe/She gave her mother forty whacks/When she saw what she had done/She gave her father forty-one."
Lizzie Borden Took an Ax
In October 2014, Lifetime announced plans for an additional limited series based on the film. Originally named Lizzie Borden: The Fall River Chronicles, the series took place after Lizzie's trial. Christina Ricci and Clea DuVall reprised their roles as the Borden sisters. Cole Hauser portrayed Pinkerton detective Charlie Siringo, who investigates other strange occurrences, including murders, centered around the Bordens.[4] Jessy Schram played Lizzie's actress/dancer friend, Nancy O'Keefe, and John Heard played Lizzie's father's business partner, William Almy.[5] The limited series was written by Greg Small, Rich Blaney, Barbara Nance, Jason Grote, and David Simkins. Stephen Kay directed the first two of the episodes, which began airing April 2015.[4]
Erin Moriarty visits Fall River, Massachusetts, where one of the most sensational crimes of the 19th century took place. The crime inspired the dark nursery rhyme "Lizzie Borden took an ax and gave her mother 40 whacks. When she saw what she had done, she gave her father 41."
Christina Ricci plays Lizzie Borden in this Lifetime movie. Lizzie Borden, as the story goes took an ax and murdered her father and stepmother. How close they stayed to the rest of the story is something I do not know but what I do know is that this is a really lackluster production. The makers put rock and bluesy rock music on the soundtrack as a way to try to liven the film up but it doesn't help. The movie is boring all the way and you really don't care about the outcome or what "really" happened. Skip it.
There was no change in that door, down to the time of the murders; so far as I know it stayed bolted. There was more or less traffic on Second Street-folks, carriages, and teams. I went up to my room Wednesday afternoon, say about a quarter to five. I left the screen door hooked. Mr. and Mrs. Borden were sick on Wednesday morning. I was well until Thursday when I got up with a headache. When I went to the front door on Wednesday to let Dr. Bowen in, the door was spring-locked; when I went out to my friend's on Third St. that evening, I left the back door locked. I let myself in with a key. The back door had two spring locks and a bolt; I locked all of them when I came in, and hooked the screen door, too. I went to the ice chest, took a glass of milk, and went to bed.
The milk was left at the door every morning at five or half-past. I washed a can every day and left it on the doorstep at night; the milkman took that can and left a full one, so there was an exchange of cans every day.
The next morning I felt a dull headache as I got up. I came down at 6:15, went down cellar for wood, started my fire, and went down again for coal. Then I unlocked the back door, took in the milk, and put out a pan for the iceman, and a pitcher with some water in it. When I went in again, I hooked the screen door. I worked in the kitchen and dining room, getting breakfast, and didn't go into any other rooms.
After they had their breakfast, I ate mine and commenced to clear things up. Then I see Mr. Borden and Mr. Morse going out by the back door. Mr. Borden let him out, came to the sink and cleaned his teeth at the sink, and took a big bowlful of water and took it up to his room. First, he took the key off the shelf in the sitting room.
When I came back, I hooked the screen door again. I didn't see Mr. Borden after he went up to his room. I finished my dishes and took them in the dining room. Mrs. Borden was there; she was dusting the door between the sitting room and dining room. She had no covering on her hair. She said she wanted the windows washed, inside and outside both; she said they are awful dirty.
I didn't see Miss Lizzie anywhere about. I can't say exactly, but I think this was about nine o'clock. Then I cleaned off my stove, went in the dining room and sitting room, shut the windows I was going to wash, and went down cellar and got a pail for to take some water. I didn't see anybody in the rooms. I got a brush in the kitchen closet, filled my pail and took it outdoors.
Miss Lizzie came downstairs and came through the front entry into the dining room, I suppose to her father. I heard her ask her father if he had any mail, and they had some talk between them which I didn't understand, but I heard her tell her father that Mrs. Borden had a note and had gone out. The next thing I remember, Mr. Borden took a key off the mantelpiece and went up the back stairs. When he came downstairs again, I was finished in the sitting room, and I took my hand basin and stepladder into the dining room. I began to wash the dining-room windows. Then Miss Lizzie brought an ironing board from the kitchen, put it on the dining-room table and commenced to iron. She said, "Maggie, are you going out this afternoon?" I said, "I don't know; I might and I might not; I don't feel very well" She says, "If you go out be sure and lock the door, for Mrs. Borden has gone out on a sick call, and I might go out, too." Says I, "Miss Lizzie, who is sick?" "I don't know; she had a note this morning; it must be in town."
If I ventured to add my voice, my father quickly left the melody in my quavery custodianship to improvise a flawless harmony. Hitting an especially piquant interval, he would turn to me and say something like, "Flatted sixth," his feigned complacence masking the pleasure he took in the sharpness of his ear.
Forty-five and graying, almost as old as my father was when we took those drives, I eye my future uneasily. Am I going to spend the rest of my life listening to rock-and-rollers chase threadbare melodies across three chords?
Few 20th-century art composers have had a real gift for everyday music; to put it another way, the people who did have this gift went into popular music. They made the artsy, utopian dream of everyday music a reality and, to a great extent, also took over the religious function of classical music. Irving Berlin's songs were like benedictions. They turned the events of everyday life -- drinking coffee, talking on the telephone, getting dressed up, dancing cheek to cheek -- into rituals. 041b061a72