大学毕业前夕，足立郁子被解雇，并发现了一个令人震惊的事实：她的父亲曾是一个乐队成员。而他本人也即将以独唱歌手的身份出道。就连她的母亲也宣布自己想成为一名海豚训练师。郁子感到困惑，于是去东京拜访一位朋友，却发现自己也正急于追寻自己的梦想——加入宝冢。郁子追寻父亲的足迹，在与形形色色的人的接触中，开始重新审视自己……

大学毕业前夕，足立郁子被解雇，并发现了一个令人震惊的事实：她的父亲曾是一个乐队成员。而他本人也即将以独唱歌手的身份出道。就连她的母亲也宣布自己想成为一名海豚训练师。郁子感到困惑，于是去东京拜访一位朋友，却发现自己也正急于追寻自己的梦想——加入宝冢。郁子追寻父亲的足迹，在与形形色色的人的接触中，开始重新审视自己……

Truman Capote's semi-autobiographical first novel about coming of age in the Deep South during the 1930s centers on 13-year-old Joel Sansom (David Speck), who reunites with his estranged father at the family's shabby plantation, where he must contend with his father's feisty mistress and a strange cousin. Against this less-than-ideal backdrop, Joel slowly matures into an upstanding young man.

A couple goes on the run after being accused for a crime they didn't commit.

On New Year's Eve, an insecure, struggling actress (Anna Magnani) has nothing to do. When a colleague invites her to a New Year's party, she jumps at the opportunity. Accidentally she runs into an old acting acquaintance (Toto), who is helping a professional pickpocket (Ben Gazzara) steal from people during the hustle-bustle of New Year's Eve festivities. During the course of the evening, they have numerous crazy, humorous adventures all over Rome at different parties, restaurants, and even the Trevi fountain. Magnani's character (Tortorella) falls for Gazzara's character (Lello) without knowing what he's up to, while Toto tries to placate them both. Written by Miriam Kramer

A telephone rings in the dark—three times, pauses, then rings three times again. A fully-clothed figure lights a cigarette before rising from bed, dons a raincoat, then sets out into the night. Another figure emerges from the shadows, lights a cigarette, then discards a crumpled cigarette pack, which the first picks up and carries home. Back in his room, the first man places the refuse on his desk, paces apprehensively about his apartment before he finally removes the inner foil and examines it. After letting what it reveals sink in, he sets it on fire, and a cold look comes over his face... 　　Thus begins The Thief, a 1952 cold war, espionage thriller—unique in that it is completely without dialogue—directed by Russell Rouse, and produced by Clarence Greene, who co-wrote the screenplay. Allan Fields (Ray Milland) is an award-winning nuclear scientist working at the Atomic Energy Commission research laboratory. He is also a spy, photographing top secret documents, then relaying the miniature film canisters back through an elaborate network to enemy agents in Egypt. His signal is the telephone, and his liaison outlines his assignments through instructions on his cigarette refuse, with nary a word spoken. It is a dangerous business, and one that creates many close calls—too close for comfort. When one of his assignments goes awry, the FBI begins to close in, and the race is on to leave the country before he is caught. 　　The Thief has all the trappings of classic noir. Produced at the height of the "Red Scare," the film manages to maintain a constant state of tension, relying heavily on reaction shots and Herschel Burke Gilbert's riveting musical score. The cinematography heightens the effect, utilizing lighting and camera angles to convey the unspoken. Milland, who won an Oscar® for his role in Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend, carries the part off to perfection, letting the audience read his character's thoughts solely through facial expression and body language. The direction also fools the audience into anticipating dialogue, then cleverly avoiding it. Only the Oscar®-nominated score and sound effects break the silence. 　　This is a fascinating use of visuals to tell a story, and a gripping suspense film, which held my interest throughout, and aside from one sequence where Fields' conscience begins to plague him, the narrative is fairly straight forward, without much in the way of gimmickry. Avoid the back cover text because it gives away the ending, which was the only part that didn't really work for this reviewer. For those interested in cold war-era film noir, this is certainly worth a look, if for no other reason than its uniqueness.

你的大脑像男人还是像女人那样思考是天生的吗？真的是女性更善谈，男性更不易动感情吗？你的第二和第四根手指的长度比例和这有什么关系？我们也许都习惯性地认为，男人和女人是一样的，但该系列片将会表明，男女是完全不同的。从人类刚刚出现时起，就已注定了这种不同。不仅如此，不是所有的男人都有男人的大脑，也不是所有的女人都有女人的大脑：“身体性别”和“大脑性别”并非同样的事。在生动有趣的三集节目中，讲述了性别差异的六大区域：情绪认知、同理心、交流、基本认知、竞争以及大脑解剖结构。科学家们将把真实生活中的人纳入测试当中。结果有的很有趣，有的也很刺激，这是一个发人深思，而又非常有趣的旅程，将会揭开有关性别定义的神秘面纱，揭示出令人惊讶的真相。我们即将发现“一点点的自信”如何能在伙伴关系中发挥重要作用，如何成为幸运儿。

Community of Parting traces a different approach to borders, translation, and artistic expression by invoking the ancient shamanic myth of the Abandoned Princess Bari and engaging female Korean shamanism as an ethics and aesthetics of memory and mutual recognition across time and space. 　　Rooted in oral storytelling and embodied by female shamans, the myth about Bari and her abandonment at birth for being born a girl has been mainly understood as a story of filial piety. However, Kaisen frames the myth as an initial story of gender transgression that transcends division logics but has the experience of othering and loss at its core. According to the myth, Bari regains the community’s acceptance after reviving the dead and is offered half the Kingdom. Yet, the heroine refuses to abide by human borders and chooses instead to become the goddess who mediates at the threshold of the living and the dead. This is what distinguishes the myth of the abandoned from other Korean myths about women. 　　Community of Parting derives from Kaisen’s extensive research into Korean shamanism since 2011 and her long-term engagement with communities effected by war and division. The piece is composed of imagery filmed in locations such as Jeju Island, the DMZ, South Korea, North Korea, Kazakhstan, Japan, China, the United States, and Germany. Combining shamanic ritual performances, nature -and cityscapes, archival material, aerial imagery, poetry, voiceover, and soundscapes, the piece is configured as a multi-scalar, non-linear, and layered montage loosely framed around Bari’s multiple deaths. 　　Both inter-subjective and deeply personal, Kaisen treats the myth of the abandoned as a gendered tale of migration, marginalization, and resilience told from a multi-vocal site. In the shamanic ritual the shaman abandons herself to mediate and gathers an assembly of the living, the dead, and multiple spirits witnesses. In a similar vein, a Community of Parting is formed in the piece around the shared sentiment of the abandoned: Ritual performances and chants by shaman Koh Sunahn, a survivor of the 1948 Jeju Massacre in South Korea constitutes a recurring rhythm and culminates in a ritual for the dead that involves the artist. The myth is also reflected in the poetry of Swedish poet Mara Lee and in the poetics of Kim Hyesoon from whose book ‘Woman, I Do Poetry’ the translated title Community of Parting derives. It further resonates in various narratives by South Korean, North Korean, and diasporic women who negotiate how gender bias along with colonialism, modernity, and war have resulted in radical ruptures while unfinished histories continue to linger. 　　Infused by the living, the dead, and those yet to come, Community of Parting is actualized through a process of dissolution, revival, and becoming. Informed by shamanic practice, properties integral to the filmic medium are employed to contest and diffuse spatiotemporal boundaries and hierarchies of knowledge and being. Doing so, Community of Parting proposes other ways of thinking and being with others, including the relationship to nature and other life-forms.