The Oxford Murders
Go!
Go!
What is that?
It's a man!
- What is he, dead?|- No, sir. He's writing!
Repeat!
He's writing, sir.
He's writing in a notebook!
That man was not mad.|He was working
with shrapnel whistling round him|because he couldn't wait.
The contents of that notebook|were too important
to write it down later.
He had to do it|when his mind dictated,
he couldn't put it off|a single second.
What was so important that|he would risk his life for it?
What was he writing that|stopped him from standing up
and running, like any other man|would have done?
The "Tractatus|Logico-philosophicus",
the most influential philosophical|work of the twentieth century.
That soldier was called|Ludwig Wittgenstein,
the man who set the limits|on our thoughts.
The enigma that|he tried to decipher
was the following:
Can we know the truth?
All the great thinkers|throughout history
have sought a single certainty,
something which|no one can refute,
like "two and two make four".
In order to find that truth,
Wittgenstein used, in fact,
mathematical logic. What better|means of obtaining a certainty
than an immutable language,|free from the passions of men?
He advanced slowly,|using equation after equation,
with impeccable method,|until he reached
a terrifying conclusion.
There is no such truth
outside of mathematics.
There is no way of finding
an irrefutable argument
which might help answer|the questions of mankind.
Philosophy,|therefore, is dead.
Because "Whereof we cannot speak,
thereof we must be silent."
Don't touch that, please.
This is an Enigma machine!
Just a copy. The original's in|the Imperial War Museum in London.
Sorry to sneak in like that...|The door was open.
Of course it was open. You surely|didn't expect me to get up
and let you in|on these legs, did you?
I'm...
Martin, our new overseas|student lodger, I presume.
- This man in the photo with you...|- Yes.
That's Turing, Alan Turing,
the man who deciphered|the Enigma code.
Thanks to him, we won the war.
Poor man died|such a strange death...
a poisoned apple, like Snow White.
And the one on the left?
My husband, Harry.
Harry Eagleton. He developed the|concept of fractional dimensions...
He deserved a bloody Nobel prize,|but he hated sucking up
to politicians.|Politicians or anybody.
He never had many friends.
He had one at least.|Arthur Seldom.
Poor boy. He spent day
after day in the house,|tidying Harry's papers.
He'd go without lunch or dinner,|going over the equations.
Eagleton tutored his doctoral thesis|on the logical series. In 1960,
- wasn't it?|- I see you've done your homework.
I know everything there is|to know about Arthur Seldom.
In fact, Mrs. Eagleton,|it's because of him that I'm here.
In Oxford, I mean.
I know what you mean.|Seldom is... unique.
Every prize,|every acknowledgement
he's received over the years|has been a real joy for me.
Careful, mother, or|your secret will be discovered.
What secret?
After daddy died,|you tried to marry him.
How dare you!|That's not true.
He's always been|like a brother to me.
Only because there was no chance|of him being anything else.
Beth!
There's no doubt|Professor Seldom is a genius,
but there's one area|he's no different from other men.
Beth, darling, couldn't you stop|being so spiteful just for a second?
Sorry, mother.
Take no notice of us.|We're like two bitter old spinsters.
Thank you, mother, for tarring me|with the same brush.
I'm sorry,
you are?
I sent a fax a few weeks ago,|about renting a room.
Ah, our overseas student.
Why don't you|show him to his room?
If I'd known,|I'd have rented a tux.
You look stunning.
My daughter has|a concert tonight. That's all.
A concert?
I play the cello|in the Sheldonian.
- It's the local amateur orchestra.|- Yes.
We're not quite|the London Symphony.
I... I love the cello.
Me too. Maybe it's because|it's all I get to cuddle
- these days.|- Beth.
Please.|You'll scare the young man.
Mother.
My daughter's suitors|tend not to be
around very long.
Difficult character, you know.
Having an old lady hovering in the|doorway doesn't exactly help either.
Are you calling me a busybody?
No, mother. You just want|to protect me, don't you?
Of course.
My mother has this theory
that unless a man lived|through the Second World War
he's not to be trusted.
My daughter
thinks I've gone a bit
gaga, but she knows
I'm right.
on that damned machine|every bloody day,
that altered the code, and we|had to decipher it all over again.
There were no computers|in those days,
calculations were done by hand.
You must have been very young.
Time for me to go.
Fancy a game of Scrabble?
Well, this is your study.
I trust you'll be comfortable.
It's perfect.
You should also be thinking|of a supervisor
for your thesis.
I've had one in mind|for a long time; Arthur Seldom.
Your parents?
Yeah.
Very American.|Is it close to the beach?
Not at all.|It's the desert, Arizona.
It actually happens to be my home.
Really? Lovely.
Anyway...
all the studies are shared.
Your colleague is|also an overseas student.
I'm sure we'll get on fine.
By the way,
I think you'll find Professor Seldom|only works as a researcher now.
I know, but the college told me that|he could supervise my doctorate.
Who told you that?
I've got a fax...
here.
I see.
I'm sorry to say Mrs. Keeman
was being rather over-optimistic.|Also,
But there must be some way,|perhaps if I speak to him...
You're free to talk|to whoever you want,
of course, but I must|warn you Professor Seldom
is not one for|this sort of spontaneity.
If you take my advice,
I suggest you approach your studies|in a more realistic way.
I'm sure you'll find some excellent|tutors among our teaching staff
who will more than understand|the nature of your work.
- Don't take it out on the wall.|- Walls?
Don't talk to me about walls. That's|all you get in this f***ing city.
Sorry, just letting off|a little steam.
Well, at least they come in|handy for doing your homework.
These? I was just trying to save|myself 16 years of practice.
See, I'm trying to calculate|where I need to run,
depending on where|the ball bounces,
and what height it makes contact
with my racquet.
Makes it easier. Here.
See? It works.
Yeah, and what would happen|if you played against a person?
There would be more variables
but it would still be possible|to work out the trajectory.
Please.
Give me time.
I have to rethink my calculations.
Okay.
Thanks for the beating.
Do you want to continue|letting off steam
on your own|or do you prefer company?
Wednesday, same time?
Yes. Bring a proper squash racquet.|Makes life much easier.
Okay.
I see you're picking up|the local customs very quickly.
I try my best.
Maybe she can help you|with your doctoral thesis,
since uncle Arthur|is out of the question.
- Can nothing be done?|- No.
And if you're suggesting my mother|have a word with him, forget it.
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