You die. But your identity keeps on living. Crystal and James fell in love in an online virtual world but have never met. When James dies mysteriously Crystal travels to see him for the first time - dead. But some residue of James is still alive online.

You die. But your identity keeps on living. Crystal and James fell in love in an online virtual world but have never met. When James dies mysteriously Crystal travels to see him for the first time - dead. But some residue of James is still alive online.

With Jam, the TV follow-up to his Radio 1 series Blue Jam, Chris Morris focuses more on unease more than the satire of Brass Eye. Indeed, it's a moot point whether Jam can actually be categorised as comedy at all. Each sketch is steeped in a heavy brine of dark, ambient music (including Bark Psychosis, David Sylvian and Brian Eno), grainy imagery, fast-cut editing and slo-motion. Its mirthless, Kafka-esque scenarios feel like an attempt to morph into some new species of post-comedy that is more like the stuff of nightmares. The credits, in which Morris stalks the moving camera, uttering Lear-esque words of foreboding immediately announce that this "sketch show" is a galaxy apart from The Two Ronnies. 　　The appalled look on actor Kevin Eldon's face in the opening sketch of the series, as a young couple invite him to endure being buggered by a mutual acquaintance ("I need a break"), sets the tone. Rape, chemotherapy, wanton urination--as a naked "Robert Kilroy-Silk" goes insane in a sketch full of detestation for the oleaginous TV presenter--and recurring sketches involving callously authoritarian NHS doctors, all go to make up these annals of the bizarre and perverse. 　　Ultimately, Jam doesn't quite work, not on TV anyway. The repetition of the same, small cast over and over, broken up too briefly by Morris' own appearances (as a "country gentleman" living outside his house, for instance), coupled with the gruelling treatment of the sketch material makes for a psyche-probing, jaw-dropping experience--but in parts also a nullifying and strangely predictable one. Morris's "failures" are far more interesting than most people's successes. --David Stubbs

With Jam, the TV follow-up to his Radio 1 series Blue Jam, Chris Morris focuses more on unease more than the satire of Brass Eye. Indeed, it's a moot point whether Jam can actually be categorised as comedy at all. Each sketch is steeped in a heavy brine of dark, ambient music (including Bark Psychosis, David Sylvian and Brian Eno), grainy imagery, fast-cut editing and slo-motion. Its mirthless, Kafka-esque scenarios feel like an attempt to morph into some new species of post-comedy that is more like the stuff of nightmares. The credits, in which Morris stalks the moving camera, uttering Lear-esque words of foreboding immediately announce that this "sketch show" is a galaxy apart from The Two Ronnies. 　　The appalled look on actor Kevin Eldon's face in the opening sketch of the series, as a young couple invite him to endure being buggered by a mutual acquaintance ("I need a break"), sets the tone. Rape, chemotherapy, wanton urination--as a naked "Robert Kilroy-Silk" goes insane in a sketch full of detestation for the oleaginous TV presenter--and recurring sketches involving callously authoritarian NHS doctors, all go to make up these annals of the bizarre and perverse. 　　Ultimately, Jam doesn't quite work, not on TV anyway. The repetition of the same, small cast over and over, broken up too briefly by Morris' own appearances (as a "country gentleman" living outside his house, for instance), coupled with the gruelling treatment of the sketch material makes for a psyche-probing, jaw-dropping experience--but in parts also a nullifying and strangely predictable one. Morris's "failures" are far more interesting than most people's successes. --David Stubbs

Adapted from Blue Jam, a late night radio show, Jam consists of six shows featuring dark humour and unsettling sketches unfolding over an ambient soundtrack. From the mind of Chris Morris.

Archaeologist Shum finds an antique jade with supernatural power in Greece. The stone is wanted both by KGB's agent Karoff and the Interpol. Shum asks his friend Nike for help. However, Shum is finally caught by KGB but the jade is slipped into the hands of a boy called Pan.

Experimental drama set in London during the Thatcher administration involving four characters: Neil, a science-fiction illustrator; Kim, a woman rock musician; Vermilion, an analyst of satellite photography; and Julian, an old friend of the illustrator who has just finished his Ph.D thesis on the fairy-tales of Charles Perrault. Their four lives are closely interlinked as events happen to each of them.

The towns of Gschaid and Millsdorf are in a constant state of feuding with each other. Nevertheless Gschaid's Sebastian and Millsdorf's Susanne are married. In her husband's town Susanne has to put up with daily harassment by the locals, which also extends to her two children. Finally she moves back to her parents, alone. When the children, who long to find a magical crystal they believe has the power to reunite the family, get lost in a howling blizzard on the exposed mountain after bringing their mother her Christmas presents, both towns set up rescue missions.

Imperio de Cristal is a Mexican telenovela that aired on Televisa in 1994 with 124-episode from the plot to the main cast it was officially first launched on Monday, 29 August 1994 & ceased transmission on Friday, 17 February 1995 was aired runtime of 45-minutes with commercial on weekday at 21:00 to 22:00 CST/22:00 to 23:00 MST/23:00 to 00:00 PST.

Inspired by J.G. Ballard's science fiction novel, a crystal growth comes to life and invades scenes from the iconic film The Night of the Hunter (1955).