Is 'Colored Television' Based On A True Story?

That first broadcast still sticks with me: 'Ashes to Ashes' premiered on BBC One on 7 February 2008. I watched it live back then, delighted and a little unnerved by how it picked up the weird, time-hopping vibe from 'Life on Mars' but with a fresh, 1980s-flavored twist. Keeley Hawes's Alex Drake arriving in the past and Philip Glenister's Gene Hunt felt like meeting old friends with a new edge, and the premiere set that tone immediately. I like to think of that night as the start of a small cultural moment. The series ran across three seasons, each one moving through a different year in the early ’80s, and that first episode hooked people with its mixture of police procedural and metaphysical mystery. For me, it was the music, the wardrobe, and the strange familiarity of the setting that made it unforgettable — and I still go back to scenes from that first episode when I want a bit of retro drama and clever plotting.

The impact of 'Bates Motel' on horror television storytelling is absolutely profound, don’t you think? From the very first episode, it sets a unique tone that intertwines psychological depth with traditional horror elements. This series reimagines the iconic character of Norman Bates, portraying not only his descent into madness but also the complex relationships he has with his mother, Norma. I found myself incredibly invested in their dynamic, which is far more captivating than simple jump scares or slasher clichés. With its deliberate pacing, 'Bates Motel' dares to delve into themes of mental illness, family dynamics, and the moral ambiguities of its characters. It's not just about the horror elements; it's about what drives them. Each episode leaves viewers questioning not only Norman's sanity but also the impact of his mother’s overbearing nature on his psyche. Between shocking revelations and character development, I was hooked, eagerly anticipating how they would push the boundaries of horror storytelling. This show truly reshaped the landscape by emphasizing character-driven narratives. Unlike many horror series that rely heavily on external threats, 'Bates Motel' shows that the mind can be the most terrifying landscape of all, which is a refreshing change!

Color pages for 'Attack on Titan' do exist, but whether you can get the official ones where you live is a bit of a patchwork. When the manga was serialized in the Japanese magazine, a number of chapters ran with color pages and full-color spreads — that's how lots of manga roll. Those color pages were often preserved in special Japanese editions, tankoubon special prints, or artbooks, but standard collected volumes tend to be mostly greyscale. Over the years Kodansha and regional licensors have selectively restored or released those colored pages in different formats: some digital editions include the original magazine color pages, deluxe box sets or special prints sometimes include color inserts, and official artbooks compile high-quality color illustrations. From my hunting around online stores and my own shelf, the trick is that availability depends on the edition and the territory. If you buy Japanese special editions or official artbooks from Japan, you’ll almost certainly get the color work. For English readers, certain digital releases and deluxe volumes from Kodansha’s overseas branches have included colored pages, but not every print run worldwide gets them. So you might find official color pages in your country if the local publisher included them, or you might have to seek out an import or a digital version that specifically advertises restored colors. If you care about owning official color pages, check for words like ‘color pages restored’, ‘special edition’, or look at artbook releases from the publisher rather than assuming every tankobon will have them. Personally, tracking down a few of the colored spreads in legitimate artbooks made me appreciate Hajime Isayama’s palette choices even more — they’re gorgeous when you can see them in full color.

I've hunted down prints of 'Attack on Titan' for years, so I'll break this down the way I wish someone had for me back when I was building my wall of posters. Yes — you can buy colored pages and high-quality prints related to 'Attack on Titan', but how easily you find them depends on whether you want officially licensed art or fan-made pieces. Official routes are your safest bet: publishers and licensed retailers sometimes release artbooks, poster sets, or limited-edition prints that collect colored pages, promotional illustrations, and cover art. Look for releases from the publisher or the official store tied to the franchise — those are the ones that won't leave you feeling guilty about copyrights. There are also event-exclusive prints sold at conventions or collaboration shops. If you're after original magazine color pages (the actual physical pages that ran in a magazine), those are rare and occasionally show up on auction sites or through specialized collectors. They can be expensive and often need a proxy buyer if the seller is in Japan. For most fans, buying a high-quality licensed print or an artbook reproduction is the practical route. Personally, I snagged a lithograph of one of the color spreads and framed it — it makes the room feel like a tiny gallery and every time I walk by I think about how much power a single illustration can hold.

Manga color work is kind of a backstage tapestry — lively, collaborative, and not always credited in a big way. For 'Attack on Titan', the colored pages you saw in magazines were sometimes colored by Hajime Isayama himself (he’s done a number of colored illustrations and covers over the years), but a lot of the time the actual magazine spreads were handled by the publisher’s coloring staff or Isayama’s studio/assistants. Japanese magazines often have an in-house team that takes the black-and-white line art and prepares a print-ready color version, especially for tight weekly or monthly schedules. I used to keep stacks of old issues and one pattern popped up: special feature pages or commemorative pieces were more likely to carry the creator’s personal coloring, while regular chapter color pages tended to list a small credit like ‘coloring: editorial’ or didn’t credit an individual at all. If you dig into collected artbooks and author collabs, you’ll see more pieces explicitly labeled as Isayama’s colored work. So if you loved the mood of a specific spread, it might be Isayama’s personal palette—or the magazine’s colorist interpreting his lines. Either way, those magazine colors added so much atmosphere; they felt cinematic, which is part of why I kept them.

I'm still a little giddy thinking about how manga publishing works, so here's the long, nerdy take: when 'Attack on Titan' chapters ran in the magazine they often had color pages, but those magazine color pages haven't been treated uniformly across every collected edition. In general publishing practice, serialized color pages sometimes get converted to grayscale for the first tankobon run to save costs, or they're reproduced as separate color inserts on glossy paper. For 'Attack on Titan' specifically, a bunch of the original magazine color pages were reproduced in collected volumes and special releases, but there was never one single guaranteed policy that every reprint would restore every color page. What that means in practice is: standard printings of the Japanese tankobon sometimes include color pages (especially early pressings), sometimes not; later reprints may or may not restore them depending on the edition. Deluxe or “complete” editions, artbooks, and certain omnibus formats are the most likely places to find restored color pages and extra color art. Kodansha also collected many color illustrations into artbooks and special guides, which is a safer bet if you want full-color material. Personally, I hunt down the special editions and artbooks when I want the prettiest spreads — they feel like tiny treasures compared to plain B/W volumes.

There’s a cozy, slightly bittersweet vibe to 'Television / So Far So Good' that hits me in the chest like a late-night walk home. The lyrics read like someone narrating small moments—watching TV, checking in with themselves, measuring progress not in grand milestones but in tiny, everyday wins. To me it's about gentle self-reckoning: not denying that things can be messy, but recognizing that, for now, life isn’t collapsing. That repeated refrain of "so far so good" feels less like bragging and more like a sigh of relief, a way of keeping panic at bay by celebrating the present minute-by-minute. I also hear a contrast between passivity and presence. Television is often a default background for life—stuff happens while we scroll through channels or binge shows—but the song flips that. It treats those small domestic scenes as meaningful markers of being alive. There’s an intimacy to lines that describe mundane details: they’re anchors. On a rainy afternoon I’ve zoned out to this track while doing dishes, and suddenly it feels like company, like someone else is saying it’s okay to be imperfect. If you’ve dug through Rex’s other tracks like 'Loving Is Easy' or the more introspective pieces, this fits neatly into his knack for blending sharp emotional honesty with warm, understated melodies. It doesn’t hand down answers; it offers comfort and a reminder that progress can be quiet. That kind of realism—hope without pressure—is why I keep coming back to it when life feels cluttered.

I was half-asleep doing dishes when 'Television / So Far So Good' came on and it stopped me in the middle of a plate scrub — that’s the kind of tiny, real moment where this song’s lyrics hit hardest. What makes the words so popular, to me, is how plainly they talk about being messy and hopeful at once. They sound like someone speaking across a kitchen table: honest, a little awkward, and strangely comforting. That conversational honesty is rare in pop; instead of big metaphors, you get concrete little images and confessions that stick in your head and your captions. Another thing that keeps the lyrics alive is how singable they are. The melodies are simple but clever, and Rex’s vocal phrasing accentuates lines in ways that make them perfect for covers, late-night piano sessions, or that one lyric you screenshot for an Instagram story. Social media did the rest: people clipped short, relatable lines and used them as mood tags or memes. Also, the production—warm piano, soft percussion—gives those words space to breathe, so they feel like a private conversation even when a thousand people are listening. I also think nostalgia plays a role. Whether you first heard it during a breakup, a move, or a rainy commute, the lyrics bookmark moments in life. They’re personal enough to mean something specific to you while being universal enough that lots of people can slot them into their own stories. That blend of intimacy and universality is why I keep coming back to the lines long after the track ends.