Sylvester, by the hugely underrated Lupu Pick is one of the least known films of the silent era, and unjustly so. Pick, the director of the slightly less obscure Scherben (Shattered), is almost as forgotten as this, his masterpiece... a film that without doubt, in it's time, was one of the most important of the German silent era. 　　This great Kammerspiel is the middle entry in a trilogy written by the master screenwriter Carl Mayer (see here for a web resource for Mayer, as well as a writeup on Sylvester), all three of which were intended to fall under the directorial auspices of Pick: the first was Scherben (Shattered), the second was Sylvester (New Years Eve), and the last was Der Letzte Mann (The Last Laugh), which, as the film went into production, shifted directorial hands-- and was ultimately helmed by another of Mayer's ongoing collaborators, the great F. W. Murnau. 　　Much has been made about the supposed innovations of Der Letzte Mann/Last Laugh: that it was the first film to be produced without intertitles, and that it was the film to "unchain the camera" via the integration of subjective camera movements. Some attribute these innovations to Murnau completely, others give credit to Karl Freund for innovating the moving camera. Others suggest that it was within the script for Letzte Mann that instructions for the moving camera can be located, and that this innovation, in this film, rests wth Mayer. 　　As for the intertitle issue, the myth is easy to debunk: in Germany at least, one can, through exploration of chronologically preceding titles written by Mayer, see that this screenwriter had been seeking out this kind narrative-pictorial purity for years already by the time Letzte went into production. Hintertreppe (Backstairs, 1921, directed by Leopold Jessner, assisted by Paul Leni), Scherben (Shattered, 1921), Die Strasse (The Street, 1923, directed by Karl Grune), Sylvester (New Years Eve, 1924, Pick) all ran, in initial, domestic German release, with one-to-no intertitles. That makes Der Letzte Mann the fifth film that Mayer scripted for execution without intertitles. 　　Putting aside the issue of the preceding use of moving camera by Yevgeni Bauer, Raul Walsh, Giovanni Pastrone, D.W. Griffith, etc-- the issue of who in Germany who first conceived and extensively utilized the subjective moving camera is put to rest with a simple viewing of Sylvester. 　　Like all Carl Mayer tales-- and like Scherben before it-- Sylvester is an exceedingly simple story... it is New Years Eve, and all levels of the social strata are celebrating. Like a restless deity exploring the substance of his human creations, in all the colliding facets of their existence, the camera comes in out of the rolling waves of the void of nighttime... announcing with a single opening intertitle the inscription from the Tower of Babel: "Go go let us go down and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech." 　　With this we move in off of the ocean, and into a city-- it is New Year's Eve and the street is a sea of revelers. Here Pick and Mayer's camera lingers for a couple of minutes before picking up the thread that constitutes the "story", to which the rest of the film is oblivious: 　　A small family unit which runs a low-down bar on the main thoroughfare in town constitutes the central zone of the film. A husband and wife are keeping the food and drinks coming to the drunken, lower-working class revelers tossing confetti and streamers for the holiday. A baby sleeps in a carriage. Suddenly an ominous dark silhouette appears on the frosty outer side of the rear kitchen's window, and is sighted by the wife, who instantly deflates-- all her joy and enthusiasm for the coming countdown to midnight are instantly sapped. 　　The intimate Kammerspiel which follows, triggered by the arrival of the wife's mother-in-law, is constantly orbited by the world outside. (As is typical for a Mayer film, the characters are nameless: The husband, The wife, His Mother) The camera continuously places the emotional strife of the trio of the man and his wife, and her terrible feuding with her schizoid mother-in-law, into context of the larger human universe. Intercut with their scenes of impending tragedy and near operatic gloom are shots of the oblivious streets: grand hotels with elegant appointments and well-heeled revelers in tux flowing out of limousines (welcoed through a revolving door operated by Emil Janning's spiritual predecessor), organ grinders and panhandlers with beaten faces crushedby prison time, bawdy bourgoise, flappers, rowdy laborers, streamers and confetti everywhere. Whereas most films place their characters in the center of the human universe, absorbing all the significance and spiritual gravity made available via the story, Sylvester, despite the pathos of the impending tragedy in the tiny family unit's unfolding drama, de-emphasizes the importance of the family... the narrative strains at times to disassociate itself with them, lingering for solid stretches of minutes, tracking up and down the streets, picking out stranger after stranger, settling on no one and everyone. 　　It's via this dis/association that the power of the film multiplies, gathering the force and impact of the cruel reality of existence: a world paying lip service to the rest of itself, even in it's most awful of crises. The world spins; life goes on. I mentioned in my previous essay (linked above) for Sylvester: 　　I still believe that to be true. What Mayer was attempting to do here is very difficult to articulate in words... thus the opening statement from Babel. This is a film beyond language, beyond a general statement. That barrier that confounds its explanation is the same existential barrier that exists between the family unit and the world outside, which is the barrier that exists between every human heart’s lived life, and the rest of the surrounding world. To paraphrase Tom Regan in Miller’s Crossing: “Nobody really knows anybody—not that well.”

除夕夜，小区业主群突然弹出条消息：“免费送馄饨上门。” 发信人竟是前一天刚去世的张伯，群里瞬间炸开锅，有人以为是恶作剧，有人吓得心头发毛。 陆续有业主收到冒名张伯送来的馄饨，可打开时总闻到莫名寒意。更诡异的是，收过馄饨的人家，夜里总听见门外有轻响。 直到物业调取监控，才揭开真相 —— 是张伯儿子借父亲名义搞鬼，想借除夕氛围宣泄对邻里的旧怨，却意外引发了一连串恐慌。

野蛮霸道、唯利是图、以自我为中心的富商蔡一仁（戚玉武饰），虽然家财万贯，但是妻离子散，与最亲的人恩断义绝，在大年除夕都是一人孤零零地过。在一次阴差阳错，无心的行善后，一位神秘人流浪汉出现，给了他回到过去改变的机会……

又是一年除夕夜

2024年农历新年，于江苏仪征朴席镇李桥村拍摄。

2024年农历新年，于江苏仪征朴席镇李桥村拍摄。

编剧：张力/吴孟章/陆间敏 　　摄影：于学军 　　美术：马跃千 　　本片讲述两代边防通讯兵成长与传承故事反映了部队基层普通士兵真实生活描写了边防哨所执勤官兵面对恶劣自然环境和孤独寂寞所表现出乐观态度和浪漫主义精神一部弘扬爱国主义精神、感动人心、净化灵魂唯美、诗意电影 　　http://hi.baidu.com/2181/blog/item/94b8b82ba67e3ef9e7cd4078.html 　　《寂静的哨所》是今年新推出的小成本制作，赶在建军八十周年的当口应时而生。按照常理来讲，这样的电影是规划创作，有着数不清的束缚与桎梏，很难吸引观众视线，也很难做到精致。但出乎意料的是，它的清新气质与文学化的影像将旧有的主旋律味道掩盖，不仅可看，而且可贵。我说它是我这几年中所看到的“最舒服的一部电影”，确实是由衷之言，发自肺腑。 　　影片的故事很熟悉，很多年以前，曾拜读过几篇与其类似的报告文学，其中留下印象最深的就是《两棵树》。小说中讲述的是一个学业无成的知识青年，被父母要求参军，并被发配到了条件最为艰苦的边防哨所值勤。那里荒无人烟，陪伴他的除了手里的钢枪之外，陪伴他的就只有门口的两棵大杨树。这与影片很相似，不同的就是影片中的主人公是将军的儿子，而且，他的哨所前也没有树，只是有两根光秃秃的通讯架线杆罢了。 　　我不知道剧本是否有创作原型，也不清楚是否也是由军旅文学作品改编而来。但影片自一开场，由很多年之后的第一人称的“我”娓娓道来，并以大量的回溯贯穿始终，其委婉的风格与淡淡的调子，还就真有了那么点文学电影的味道。现在的我与从前的我，两种境域与心曲，为影片缔造了一种沧桑的时代感。还有人与人之间那种从陌生到相互依偎的情感，也在孤独的环境中被无数此升华，友谊与爱，都被装点得象诗一样。 　　开场时，在主人公的回忆中，镜头给出八十年代初的城市影像。高墙、甬道、厂房、马路，都显露着一种创痕感十足的破败。“我”，作为那刚刚从时代深渊中攀爬出来的一份子，有艺术梦想、有知识情怀，还有，对美的追求与对纯洁爱情的向往。与小婷的邂逅是唯美的，但那种瞬间的冲动与希翼却又显得那么短促。当主人公身披军装重回故地时，告别的序曲已经在她那宛尔一笑间被拉响。这几组戏是全片的亮点之一，不仅铺陈了一种淡淡的感伤情怀，同样也让影片的后话均在“且行且珍惜”的语境中被良好陈述。照相机捕捉的瞬间，在刹那的黑白转换中沦为记忆的一部分，顷刻间，让沉浸于其间的观者在遗憾中牢记了那短暂的美，更在其后风雪连天的他乡异地复制了一种事过境迁的感动。 　　老班长的执拗曾让人讨厌，“我”在负气后才发觉，在这塞外的冰天雪地里，他的存在居然是自己孤独内心温暖起来的理由。影片在阐述“我”与老班长的友谊是很有智慧的，并没有使牛马不相及的两者直接交流，而是沿自哨所到深山老林中的寻边之路，通过一根根被起了名字的通讯架杆。“我”在那段路上发现了老班长的可爱，同样也察觉到了他的细腻本质。他有自己的情感，却被寄托在那风雪漫天的大山里，责任与爱，也是他反复矛盾却又难以割舍的一处症候。 　　老班长这个角色煞是可爱，不光是那诙谐的西北腔调，还在于他那随时绽开的笑脸与满怀炽热的心胸。电影中的“我”，如果不是因为一个岗位与这个哨所，本不该相处在一个天地里。一个是将军世家，一个是田间莽汉；一个是城市文学青年，一个是见识有限的大老粗。可是，短暂的相处却令两人产生了一种亲人般的关系，可以说自精神意义上的相互依偎。那不仅仅是他每个月都能从远方开车送来蔬菜给养，也不仅因他能带来远方小婷的来信…… 　　自己在哨所独处后，打发闲暇时光的段子可是既惬意又轻松，学《林海雪原》中的杨子荣，砍了两块木板做滑雪板，可又总是摔得人仰马翻。唱着那走了音的样板戏调子，自己出操生国旗，练着攀爬竖杆，学着与通讯杆聊天说话，夜晚，除了给她写信之外，就是读那本发黄发旧的《林海雪原》小说。一种孤独的浪漫，在渐渐随风雪迷茫的白山黑水间蔓延开来。理想、爱、友谊、希望，都在那被诗意化了的语境中被小心呵护。 　　可以说，老班长的意外死亡以及小婷的凄然离去，为故事的最终营造了一种决绝的氛围。“我”在成长，却要先忍伤忍痛，这不仅是一个兵的人生心路，同样也是所有曾经年少的我们所必须经受的苦涩。大年夜将至，暴风雪却来临，父亲那拒绝他回家探亲的电话，让正深陷悲苦中的“我”更加冰冷。忘了那些带伤带痛的情感，那就只剩余下手里的枪与肩上的责任。风雪夜，通讯故障，他奔向深山，脱下外套大喝一声，徒手攀到电杆顶上，死死地攥住断线的两端…… 　　看到这时，内心深处泛起了很多的感慨，颇为触动。假如，我是把这部电影看作是一首长诗的话，那他是潜藏着哀伤的，虽然它未能歇斯底里。眼前这随风雪渐模糊的一切均复制着人间最质朴的情感，而那走音的唱腔与那悠扬的信天游小调，也开始在回忆的影像里变得生动。孤单的哨所、寂静的远山、喧嚣的时代、奔走的人流。即时，我开始发觉，导演并未刻意去铺陈一个孤单个体的逝去情感，而是对那个旧有时代做了一次感人至深的祭祀。如果我愿意相信电影中所裸现的人性都是最单纯、最质朴的，那我必须承认那个关于回忆的回忆，是布满了创痕的。 　　这是张力所导演的第二部剧情片，之前，曾看过他的一个小成本作业《洗手》。影片的成熟超出了我的想象，划一的节奏与纯熟的影像，让这原本很简单的故事拥有了一份深邃的质感。映后，很多人都不相信这是出自一个新导演之手，倒是自里至外显现出一种接近于第五代甚至第四代电影人的大气。虽然，它只是一个小成本的实践，只有一百多万的投入，但他却以稳健的作风赋予了该片无数可看的理由。 　　主演郭晓峰对角色的拿捏很可信，对于这种有着三种年龄段与心境跨度的尝试，他在有限的条件下已然做得极其出色。我可把这个角色称作是他演艺生涯中的代表作，虽然，受于成本以及发行的局限，影片未必能带来更广泛的影响与社会效应。但是，他扎实的演技与朴素无华的演绎，是无法被涂抹掩盖的。一时间，我开始重新认识眼前这个削瘦而谦逊的大男人，开始忘了以往对他的印象——郭晓冬的哥哥。在这部影片中，他除了表演之外，更是承担了大量的幕后工作与筹备工作，可谓是辛苦之极。在从影片的外景地——内蒙古洪山军马厂赶回后，他曾坦言说，自己虽然挺了下来却再也不想经历第二次了。零下二三十度的低温，大山口的狂风与暴雪，给了他一次真正意义上的人生洗礼。对于这种经历，开始我尚觉得够神奇，很不可思议，可之后我却不得不承认，他的这次苦旅很值得，是有特殊意义与价值的。 　　如果你有机会看到这部电影，切莫被它的主旋律标签所影响。它的不同意义就在，没有持过多的篇幅替政治说教，也没有借着一切可称之机狂起高调子，而只是一个对人生、对人性蜕变的一次单纯的反溯。诗一样的镜头语言与诗一样的调子，使其更为文学化，却又未觉枯燥与罗累。假若你想借电影换一种心情，在淡淡的语境中寻找些人生感悟，那你该走近它、看到它、不带任何情绪与负担地去欣赏它。然后能与我一样，记住那首人生之诗，记住这部《寂静的哨所》。

除夕夜凌晨，小区物业杨大叔在业主群发消息：我们小区有哪些业主今年没有回家过年？可以报一个门牌号，物业上门送春节礼物哦。几个没回老家的业主纷纷在群里发了他们的门牌号，我正准备将自己门牌号发出去，楼上503的业主突然发来私信：“别发，他是想确认哪户有人，他是嘎人犯”

本美术片为剪纸片，讲述了“除夕”和“年”的由来。 古时候，名叫“夕”的怪兽每逢腊月三十晚上会来到人间祸害老百姓，连灶王爷都对它无可奈何。后来灶王爷上天请天神帮忙，仙童“年”自告奋勇来到人间，在灶王爷半信半疑的目光中，“年”和“夕”大战几个回合，用手中的竹竿和红绸将之打死。老百姓为了庆祝此次胜利，将腊月三十叫做“除夕”，为了纪念“年”的功绩，将“正月初一”叫做“过年”，风俗延续至今，不过“烧竹竿”变作了“放鞭炮”，“挂红绸”变作了“贴春联”。