His address. The house he was sitting in.

The footage was shaky, as if shot by a child holding a Super 8 camera. It showed a living room—not a soundstage. A cramped living room in what looked like the late 1970s: wood-paneled walls, a heavy Zenith television, a half-empty glass of milk on a coaster. A man in a brown corduroy jacket stood with his back to the camera, holding something wrapped in a red towel.

But the third video file was different. The thumbnail was just a black square. The title:

Most of the clips were familiar. Christopher Reeve tilting his head, adjusting the horn-rimmed glasses. Margot Kidder laughing between takes. Grainy, beautiful, 35mm warmth.

Then the man turned.

The Internet Archive page loaded slowly, as if the files were heavy with age.