The journey of Alain Prost, four-time Formula 1 world champion and winner of 51 races, undoubtedly the greatest and best French racing driver in the history of F1. 　　Le parcours d'Alain Prost, quadruple champion du monde de Formule 1 et lauréat de 51 courses, assurément le plus grand et le meilleur pilote automobile français de l'histoire de la F1.

本剧改编自同名网络漫画书，讲述主人公天才心理学家Dr. Frost秘密加入搜查队，通过正式和非正式的调查，侦破罪案的故事，是一部健康的心理调查剧。

前阵子传出消息说 NBC 将拍摄一部两小时的特别版《老友记》，不过后来证实是误传，真实的情况是 NBC 将召集包括《老友记》和《生活大爆炸》在内的40年来若干部经典情景喜剧的主创拍摄一部特辑，专门献给著名美剧导演詹姆斯·布罗斯，庆祝他执导的美剧满 1000 集。

what motivated me up to the new director's festival to catch 'martin frost' tonight was the brutal review that it got yesterday from the lead critic of the new york times, brutal dismissal, to be more accurate, 'the less said about (it) the better', she said, and i figured that any movie able to teach Ms Dargis the virtue of silence for even a few column inches would be worth the trip. 　　and worth the trip it was. we are brought into a paradise of limpidly beautiful visual textures. the oaken rhythms of a country house ensconced in a springtime parkland of luxuriant trees and luminous skies bestow the soothing natural blessing needed by the main character, martin frost (David Thewlis), a writer rubbed raw by the mechanics of finishing a novel in new york city. (Thewlis makes palpable the casualty of intrapsychic machinery sawed into daemonic reverb against the banausic hive). then paradise morphs into purgatory, leavened comedically, in Dante's sense, by the postmodern angelic visitations of Claire (Irene Jacobs) and Anna (Sophie Auster). 　　unfortunately, to my taste, the verbal dimensions of the film are flaccid, the logic more fanciful than imaginative, the narrative arc crippled by some irredeemably creaky plotting, especially at the crucial initiation of the relationship between martin and Claire where the seeds of common sense are thrown to the magpies of theatricality. 　　but so beguiling is the willful vulnerability of auster's fantasy, and the edgy interplay that it potentiates between Thewlis and Jacobs, and the camera, and later Sophie Auster, and the broad comedy of a rural everyman (Michael Imperioli), that it is very pleasant to be carried along on the visual foam of uncertain sensual delight, eddying into a feeling that this film's oddly louche light touch is uniquely adept at tracing some grave lineaments of the human heart. 　　go innocently.

what motivated me up to the new director's festival to catch 'martin frost' tonight was the brutal review that it got yesterday from the lead critic of the new york times, brutal dismissal, to be more accurate, 'the less said about (it) the better', she said, and i figured that any movie able to teach Ms Dargis the virtue of silence for even a few column inches would be worth the trip. 　　and worth the trip it was. we are brought into a paradise of limpidly beautiful visual textures. the oaken rhythms of a country house ensconced in a springtime parkland of luxuriant trees and luminous skies bestow the soothing natural blessing needed by the main character, martin frost (David Thewlis), a writer rubbed raw by the mechanics of finishing a novel in new york city. (Thewlis makes palpable the casualty of intrapsychic machinery sawed into daemonic reverb against the banausic hive). then paradise morphs into purgatory, leavened comedically, in Dante's sense, by the postmodern angelic visitations of Claire (Irene Jacobs) and Anna (Sophie Auster). 　　unfortunately, to my taste, the verbal dimensions of the film are flaccid, the logic more fanciful than imaginative, the narrative arc crippled by some irredeemably creaky plotting, especially at the crucial initiation of the relationship between martin and Claire where the seeds of common sense are thrown to the magpies of theatricality. 　　but so beguiling is the willful vulnerability of auster's fantasy, and the edgy interplay that it potentiates between Thewlis and Jacobs, and the camera, and later Sophie Auster, and the broad comedy of a rural everyman (Michael Imperioli), that it is very pleasant to be carried along on the visual foam of uncertain sensual delight, eddying into a feeling that this film's oddly louche light touch is uniquely adept at tracing some grave lineaments of the human heart. 　　go innocently.

Rostropovich, who had already achieved international recognition in the 1950s, was forced to flee his country in 1972. He defended Solzhenitsyn who was expelled from the USSR for having published the "Gulag archipelago". Deprived from of his citizenship by the Soviet authorities, Rostropovich settled in Paris and Washington. This gave birth to his legend.

Rostropovich, who had already achieved international recognition in the 1950s, was forced to flee his country in 1972. He defended Solzhenitsyn who was expelled from the USSR for having published the "Gulag archipelago". Deprived from of his citizenship by the Soviet authorities, Rostropovich settled in Paris and Washington. This gave birth to his legend.

No-one has done more for the cello than Mstislav Rostropovich, or Slava as he was widely known. As well as being arguably the greatest cellist of the twentieth century, he expanded and enriched the cello repertoire by the sheer force of his artistry and his personality and composers lined up to write works for him. 　　In this film by John Bridcut, friends, family and former pupils explore the unique talents of this great Russian artist, and listen to and watch him making music. Contributors include his widow Galina Vishnevskaya and their daughters Olga and Elena; the eminent conductors Seiji Ozawa and Gennadi Rozhdestvensky; and cellists who attended his famous classes in Moscow, including Natalya Gutman, Mischa Maisky, Moray Welsh, Elizabeth Wilson and Karine Georgian. 　　The film traces the development of Rostropovich's international career amid the political tensions of the final years of the Soviet Union.

No-one has done more for the cello than Mstislav Rostropovich, or Slava as he was widely known. As well as being arguably the greatest cellist of the twentieth century, he expanded and enriched the cello repertoire by the sheer force of his artistry and his personality and composers lined up to write works for him. 　　In this film by John Bridcut, friends, family and former pupils explore the unique talents of this great Russian artist, and listen to and watch him making music. Contributors include his widow Galina Vishnevskaya and their daughters Olga and Elena; the eminent conductors Seiji Ozawa and Gennadi Rozhdestvensky; and cellists who attended his famous classes in Moscow, including Natalya Gutman, Mischa Maisky, Moray Welsh, Elizabeth Wilson and Karine Georgian. 　　The film traces the development of Rostropovich's international career amid the political tensions of the final years of the Soviet Union.

Originally Das Madchen Rosemarie, this German "musical tragedy" has a lot in common with the Bertold Brecht/Kurt Weill theatrical pieces The Threepenny Opera and The Rise and Fall of the City of Mahoganny; in fact, the music heard throughout was taken from Weill's backlog. Austrian beauty contest winner Nadja Tiller plays the prostitute heroine, based on a real-life call girl whose predilection for blackmailing her high-profile customers ended with her mysterious death in 1957. The film was advertised as a "satire," with the satirical level exemplified by a chorus of capitalist businessmen rhythmically opening and closing their briefcases. The "frivolity" of Rosemary is punctuated by moments of chilling horror, including the film's bleak denouement.