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Just a few years into his career, 24-year-old Alfred Hitchcock was already wearing a lot of hats. On 1923's hastily produced The White Shadow, Hitchcock served as writer, set designer, assistant director, and even editor. Unfortunately, he didn't reap much reward for all that effort. The film about twin sisters, one of whom was good while the other was--brace yourself--evil, quietly bombed at the box office. Before long, all known copies had disappeared.
That is, until 2011. In a twist straight out of one of his own films, three of the movie's six reels turned up in New Zealand. The reels had been nestled safely in the New Zealand Film Archive's holdings since 1989.
How did the British film stock end up on the other side of the world? Blame nitrate. In movies' early days, reels of nitrate film circled the globe as a picture played in one country after another. Because the reels were incredibly flammable, transporting them was risky and expensive. And because New Zealand was often the end of the theatrical line, studios usually destroyed a film's reels there rather than shipping them home.
One projectionist, Jack Murtagh, couldn't bear to trash the art, so he built up a formidable collection of terrible films--including half of The White Shadow--in his garden shed. When he passed away, his grandson donated most of the shed's contents to the Film Archive, where the reels sat patiently for nearly 22 years.
Surprisingly, the first half of The White Shadow held up quite well during its stay in Murtagh's shed, but the last three reels remain lost--as do several of Hitchcock's other early projects. Today, any one of those films would fetch millions of dollars on the market.
Two years before soccer's governing body, FIFA, staged the first World Cup in 1930, it commissioned a trophy to match the quadrennial tournament's prestige: a gold-plated silver cup atop a sculpture of the Greek goddess Nike. After every tournament, the victorious nation would hold onto the fancy hardware until the next Cup. As added incentive, the first nation to win the Cup three times would become the trophy's permanent owner.
In 1970, Brazil accomplished that feat with a Pelé-led squad. FIFA held a design contest to create a new award, while the original trophy was sent to Rio de Janeiro for a quiet retirement. The Brazilian Football Confederation kept it displayed in a special cabinet fronted with bulletproof glass. Unfortunately, the cabinet's wooden frame was less secure. In 1983, thieves burst into the confederation's headquarters, overpowered a guard, and pried open the display to make off with the trophy. Although four men were later convicted for the heist, the trophy was never recovered.
While Pelé has appealed for the hardware's return, police believe it was likely melted down for its precious metals. The trophy's true whereabouts remain unknown, but fans can still enjoy a tangible symbol of Brazil's futebol supremacy--in 1984, Kodak's Brazilian division presented the country with a gold replica.
DON'T MISS: 11 Of The Craziest Events In Olympic History >
When the Modern Library pegged Arthur Koestler's 1940 novel, Darkness at Noon, as the eighth-best English-language novel of the 20th century, it was a curious choice. Not because the book is bad; the incredible account of a Communist revolutionary's fall from grace, imprisonment, and interrogation gave the West a glimpse of the paranoia and repression that infected Stalin's regime. No, praising Darkness at Noon as an English-language novel is odd because it was written in German.
Koestler penned the work in France while living with his companion, the British sculptor Daphne Hardy. The couple sent the German manuscript to Koestler's publisher, but held onto one copy that Hardy had translated into English. With the Nazis advancing on Paris, Koestler and Hardy fled to Bordeaux, where Hardy took the manuscript and boarded a ship home to the United Kingdom. Soon after Hardy set sail, Koestler received terrible news: Her boat had been sunk by a torpedo. Having lost both his lover and the last remaining copy of his novel, Koestler attempted suicide, but failed--and before he could try again, the bereaved novelist learned that the reports had been erroneous.
The English translation of Darkness at Noon was published to great praise in London, but in the chaos of the early days of World War II, the German manuscript disappeared, leaving scholars with no clues about the original text of one of the 20th century's greatest novels.
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