该剧讲述了鬼马少女慕晓如“偶然”闯入来自平行世界的高冷教授晏随的神秘空间，并由此引发出一场颠覆了乱世、古代、平行都市的浪漫逆袭之旅。

该剧讲述了鬼马少女慕晓如“偶然”闯入来自平行世界的高冷教授晏随的神秘空间，并由此引发出一场颠覆了乱世、古代、平行都市的浪漫逆袭之旅。

一群中国留学生穿梭于波士顿的各个地方，游走在市中心与郊区之间。我们不知道他们的具体关系，只知道他们生活的局部，和他们身处的地方。我们看见他们在街道上漫游，或在原地思考些什么。一场偶遇，聚会，别离仿佛即将发生在他们身上，但又因为他们的出画而戛然而止。尽管生活慢慢步入正轨，但仍有一种暗流隐藏在凝滞的日常碎片之中。

VENICE IMMERSIVE 2023 　　Songs for a Passerby is a VR opera in which you yourself are the protagonist. You take a walk through a melancholic fever dream about you and the things that pass.

VENICE IMMERSIVE 2023 　　Songs for a Passerby is a VR opera in which you yourself are the protagonist. You take a walk through a melancholic fever dream about you and the things that pass.

大学生 K 是个普通年轻女孩，某天她竟身处一本历史背景的爱情小说里，还附身成了配角车善采。车善采出身富裕贵族家庭，一心渴望过上平静正常的生活。附身车善采的 K 与小说男主角李凡共度了一夜。李凡出身皇室，备受国王宠爱，他性格冷酷，容貌英俊且武艺高强，还有着一段令人心碎的过往。一次偶然的相遇和交谈中，在车善采的安慰下，李凡向她倾诉了自己那段痛苦的过去，随后两人共度了一夜。此后，车善采试图撮合李凡和小说女主角赵恩爱，按小说原本的情节，李凡和赵恩爱会坠入爱河，可车善采的出现改变了赵恩爱的命运。不管车善采如何努力，李凡的爱始终回到她身上。他们身边还有郑秀谦和都和顺，郑秀谦是出身名门的年轻军官，也是李凡唯一的朋友；都和顺是个有野心的女性，她一心想嫁给李凡，成为王室的一员。

讲述了被小说中的配角附身的主人公后，无意中与男主人公共度一夜而展开的惊险浪漫故事。

卫昕与沈澄轩因对方出轨决裂，后意外相识并产生感情。黎芊芊爱慕沈澄轩，联合常溪寒多次设计陷害卫昕，制造绯闻、伪造受贿证据，还利用卫昕嗜赌的父亲卫理闹事，企图破坏二人关系与卫昕的记者事业。沈澄轩始终坚定维护卫昕，揭露黎芊芊与常溪寒的阴谋。过程中，众人发现父辈间的旧怨。最终，卫昕与沈澄轩收集证据，在法庭上让黎芊芊、常溪寒、陈敬山得到法律制裁。卫昕获年度风云记者，两人也收获圆满爱情。

In English, “trespass” means to intrude, but it could also be an unauthorized entry, or in legal jargon, a “domestic disturbance.” trespass, Paul Wenninger’s ten-minute real-animation film plays with all of these meanings in a technically impressive, varied, and precise tour de force. A consistent element throughout is a type of avatar of the director, a character created from real images, whom the film sends on a world journey, of sorts, within his own four walls. The penetration of the outside world is both abrupt and varied: whereas the strange, inert main figure with his jerky movements initially seems isolated in the bare dungeon of a green-painted cell, all at once, windows are inserted in this monad—to use the terminology of the philosopher Leibniz. A wild process of transgression can now begin. Not only does an excess of “world” suddenly appear in the cell windows, but the entire background, from which the character is set-off, is filled with profuse images of the most distant scenes in Eritrea, Brussels, Helsinki, Vienna, and France. The “backdrops” change and tumble into one another, as though by mouse click, which hardly affords the thoroughly stationary protagonist a hold. Although he maneuvers through and deals with a seemingly endless assortment of everyday objects, he still remains imprisoned in a cell-like existence. In the end, he must attend his own death and the slow draining of his blood—paint that mutates to blood and then back to paint again. The “intrusion” from outside is thus subjected to a paradoxical twist: it is not the world, another life, a foreign power that can suddenly be felt in the here and now, but instead, despite all of its animation and dynamics, the character’s own vitality is increasingly “divested” as the film progresses. trespass hereby brings to bear a clever, visually enchanting subject-object reversal—moving beyond, even moving beyond oneself, which for the longest time, one seems to perceives as an invasion from the outside. (Christian Höller)

In English, “trespass” means to intrude, but it could also be an unauthorized entry, or in legal jargon, a “domestic disturbance.” trespass, Paul Wenninger’s ten-minute real-animation film plays with all of these meanings in a technically impressive, varied, and precise tour de force. A consistent element throughout is a type of avatar of the director, a character created from real images, whom the film sends on a world journey, of sorts, within his own four walls. The penetration of the outside world is both abrupt and varied: whereas the strange, inert main figure with his jerky movements initially seems isolated in the bare dungeon of a green-painted cell, all at once, windows are inserted in this monad—to use the terminology of the philosopher Leibniz. A wild process of transgression can now begin. Not only does an excess of “world” suddenly appear in the cell windows, but the entire background, from which the character is set-off, is filled with profuse images of the most distant scenes in Eritrea, Brussels, Helsinki, Vienna, and France. The “backdrops” change and tumble into one another, as though by mouse click, which hardly affords the thoroughly stationary protagonist a hold. Although he maneuvers through and deals with a seemingly endless assortment of everyday objects, he still remains imprisoned in a cell-like existence. In the end, he must attend his own death and the slow draining of his blood—paint that mutates to blood and then back to paint again. The “intrusion” from outside is thus subjected to a paradoxical twist: it is not the world, another life, a foreign power that can suddenly be felt in the here and now, but instead, despite all of its animation and dynamics, the character’s own vitality is increasingly “divested” as the film progresses. trespass hereby brings to bear a clever, visually enchanting subject-object reversal—moving beyond, even moving beyond oneself, which for the longest time, one seems to perceives as an invasion from the outside. (Christian Höller)