CRISP-19 (english version)

Episode 1: Goodnight Gotham

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Andy Warhol said in the 1960s that in the future, everyone would be famous for 15 minutes.

He was right about one thing.

... As for the fifteen minutes, it turned out he had greatly overestimated our attention span.

Episode 1 // Goodnight Gotham

Rihanna cracked her eyes open as the housekeeper entered the room.

« Rain again... I told you so, Carla. »

« It's true, Madame. I covered the pool. »

« You did the right thing... RZA loves to play around too much. »

« The little one is lively. You have a beautiful child. And Aaliyah is following in her footsteps. »

A melancholic smile graced the star's lips. She pushed aside the covers. Her gaze grazed the crib. Despite the five-bedroom property, she had insisted on having the child sleep in her room. She wanted to watch over her during the rare moments spent at her Los Angeles mansion.

Six o'clock chimed, a notification reminded her of what she already knew: her video meeting was starting in thirty minutes. Rihanna wrapped herself in the blanket, trying to steal a few extra minutes of sleep that would never come. She had tossed and turned all night. She didn't feel well. A headache ricocheted through her thoughts. She swallowed a painkiller, aware that this migraine was just a symptom of the broader, underground malaise that had been gnawing at her for weeks. Gurgles rose from the crib, and a wave of love dammed the pain. Aaliyah slept peacefully and dreamlessly.

The singer had been alone for a month, Asap was in Europe for the second part of his « At. Long. Last. ASAP » ten-year anniversary tour.

Carla opened the blinds and left the room. A pale sun had risen, stretching its elongated shadows against the walls. A gust of air infiltrated the room. Drowned in the drizzle, the muted sounds of cars – few at this hour – emanated from Coldwater Canyon Drive.

Rihanna slipped out of bed, and the headache solidified its grip; she staggered into the bathroom. The marble glistened in the violet twilight. She stepped inside and recoiled. An unfamiliar object lay in a corner. It was an umbrella. Or maybe a parasol. Either way, it didn't belong to her. How had this thing ended up here? The star shrugged, contemplated taking a bath, even thought she might attend her meeting while luxuriating in it. A modern Nefertiti. Queen of Egypt at the helm of an empire sporting a unique symbol: the dollar sign. She dismissed the idea and hummed under the shower:

« Got me looking so crazy right now, Your love's got me looking so crazy right now. »

Crazy in Love. This song haunted her, over and over again. The lyrics had taken on bitterness. Something was aggregating in her gut. She no longer felt quite like herself. As if, after all these years, success, money, and fame were no longer enough to fill that small empty room inside her. She wondered where one was supposed to go when they already had it all. And she thought that despite the triumph of her latest album, « Robyn, » she had never managed to recapture the powerful simplicity of her first hit: « Crazy in Love, » a duet with Jay. Because « crazy in love » with life, with music, she wasn't so sure anymore.