@article{discovery1461739,
         journal = {Lancet Neurology},
           pages = {467},
           month = {May},
       publisher = {Elsevier},
            note = {Copyright Elsevier 2015. This article is published under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-commercial Non-derivative 4.0 International license (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0). This license allows you to share, copy, distribute and transmit the work for personal and non-commercial use providing author and publisher attribution is clearly stated. Further details about CC BY licenses are available at http://creativecommons.org/ licenses/by/4.0. Access may be initially restricted by the author.},
           title = {Electricity crackles with authenticity},
          number = {5},
          volume = {14},
            year = {2015},
          author = {Baxendale, S},
             url = {http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/S1474-4422(14)70269-8},
        abstract = {Since the dawn of cinema, epilepsy has been employed by film makers as shorthand to convey madness, stupidity, or both. In 1929, in one of the first British talking pictures (To What Red Hell?), an aristocratic young man named Harold murders a woman while having a seizure. In the climax of the film, Harold is told he has epilepsy and that the murder is not his fault; his immediate relief that he is not morally culpable for his crime is short-lived. Within seconds, he realises that the diagnosis means he will be a danger to his friends, family, and indeed anyone he may come into contact with.},
            issn = {1474-4465}
}