一位喜剧演员打破禁忌，对民族悲剧发表即兴演说，然后以煽动性的方式讲出事实，没有什么比这再黑暗的主题了。

一位喜剧演员打破禁忌，对民族悲剧发表即兴演说，然后以煽动性的方式讲出事实，没有什么比这再黑暗的主题了。

众所周知，没有安东尼·杰斯尼克驾驭不了的话题，他的第二部 Netflix 原创喜剧特辑也没有让人失望。《杰斯尼克：产房一把火》将于 4 月 30 日星期二面向全球上线。继他的 2015 年特辑《杰斯尼克：我思我祷》之后，这位喜剧人继续率性探讨社会禁忌，并将自己的批判和犀利风格贯穿其中。

众所周知，没有安东尼·杰斯尼克驾驭不了的话题，他的第二部 Netflix 原创喜剧特辑也没有让人失望。《杰斯尼克：产房一把火》将于 4 月 30 日星期二面向全球上线。继他的 2015 年特辑《杰斯尼克：我思我祷》之后，这位喜剧人继续率性探讨社会禁忌，并将自己的批判和犀利风格贯穿其中。

Nikifor :his true name Epifan Drowniak (1895—1968) left about 40000 pictures and drawings ; considered one of the most outstanding narve painters of all time. 　　 　　 　　Nikifor is a Polish national treasure. His work is so valued and renowned that the Polish government will no longer allow it to be exported. Throughout Poland, there are three museums, which are solely dedicated to his work. In addition, he has been exhibited throughout the world. 　　 　　Nikifor was born deaf and dumb and little is known about his childhood except that his mother was a beggar and a prostitute and that he did not know his father. He spent much of his life as a traveling beggar and most of his days ill with tuberculosis. 　　 　　During a stay in the hospital, a doctor gave him a box of watercolors and thus began his career as a naïve painter. Painting not only became the way he earned a living, but also his reason to live. He sold his small paintings as souvenir postcards. The large letters on his pictures are mostly meaningless, since he could neither read nor write; however, sometimes the word malarz (painter) can be deciphered. 　　 　　Nikifor often painted himself as a person he desired to be, such as a respected official, a father or a large family, or a bishop. He is considered Poland's greatest self-taught painter.

Nikifor :his true name Epifan Drowniak (1895—1968) left about 40000 pictures and drawings ; considered one of the most outstanding narve painters of all time. 　　 　　 　　Nikifor is a Polish national treasure. His work is so valued and renowned that the Polish government will no longer allow it to be exported. Throughout Poland, there are three museums, which are solely dedicated to his work. In addition, he has been exhibited throughout the world. 　　 　　Nikifor was born deaf and dumb and little is known about his childhood except that his mother was a beggar and a prostitute and that he did not know his father. He spent much of his life as a traveling beggar and most of his days ill with tuberculosis. 　　 　　During a stay in the hospital, a doctor gave him a box of watercolors and thus began his career as a naïve painter. Painting not only became the way he earned a living, but also his reason to live. He sold his small paintings as souvenir postcards. The large letters on his pictures are mostly meaningless, since he could neither read nor write; however, sometimes the word malarz (painter) can be deciphered. 　　 　　Nikifor often painted himself as a person he desired to be, such as a respected official, a father or a large family, or a bishop. He is considered Poland's greatest self-taught painter.

卖座喜剧导演汤西迪雅脑部因意外受创，一度徘徊于生死边缘，期间他对探索人生产生浓厚兴趣，痊愈后决定与四人摄制队飞往各地，去访问不同界别的杰出人士，包括作家、学者、宗教领袖及科学家等，重点探讨两大基本问题：一，我们的世界有何不妥？二，我们可以做什么？本纪录片除探讨人性及我们队周遭的影响，亦带出“只要每人踏出一小步，便能改变世界”的正面讯息。

卖座喜剧导演汤西迪雅脑部因意外受创，一度徘徊于生死边缘，期间他对探索人生产生浓厚兴趣，痊愈后决定与四人摄制队飞往各地，去访问不同界别的杰出人士，包括作家、学者、宗教领袖及科学家等，重点探讨两大基本问题：一，我们的世界有何不妥？二，我们可以做什么？本纪录片除探讨人性及我们队周遭的影响，亦带出“只要每人踏出一小步，便能改变世界”的正面讯息。

It's hard to approach the good and bad in this film without being caught up a discussion of the message of BOSNA!, for this is a film that explicitly sets out to convert its audience to its side, to make people aware of the war and to try to influence them to pressure their governments to intervene. It's a film that's very aware of itself, of the process of its making and of the influence it might have: for example, Mitterand's visit to Bosnia is portrayed as an outcome of information given to the French President by the director, Bernard-Henri Levy. 　　The film is full of very disturbing images: a mother and child fleeing from snipers in Sarajevo; bodies littering a street after a shell has landed on a bread queue, many of them with legs or faces blown off; starving prisoners staring at the camera through the barbed wire of a concentration camp. It's impossible not to be moved by the suffering of these people, and difficult not to feel anger at the inaction of the diplomats who do little but talk while people are fighting for their lives and homes. The film makes much of comparisons between Western indifference to Bosnia today and Western indifference to Czechoslovakia and the Spanish Republic in the 1930s. There is, suggests Levy, the same denial, the same explanations that it's all much too complex to get involved in. In 1945 people saw pictures of the concentration camps in Poland and said "never again", but now that the camps are back it seems that we would rather deny them, or suggest that there's fault on both sides, then determine to stop the atrocities. 　　If there is anything I don't like about BOSNA!, it is the incessant wordiness of the voice-over. Perhaps Levy was so anxious to persuade that he didn't dare to let the audience come to their own conclusions. At times sounding like a Biblical prophet, at times hectoring us, at times reflecting on how the war affects our image of ourselves as Europeans, the narration never lets the eloquent pictures speak for themselves, pictures that have more than enough power to move and to persuade on their own.

It's hard to approach the good and bad in this film without being caught up a discussion of the message of BOSNA!, for this is a film that explicitly sets out to convert its audience to its side, to make people aware of the war and to try to influence them to pressure their governments to intervene. It's a film that's very aware of itself, of the process of its making and of the influence it might have: for example, Mitterand's visit to Bosnia is portrayed as an outcome of information given to the French President by the director, Bernard-Henri Levy. 　　The film is full of very disturbing images: a mother and child fleeing from snipers in Sarajevo; bodies littering a street after a shell has landed on a bread queue, many of them with legs or faces blown off; starving prisoners staring at the camera through the barbed wire of a concentration camp. It's impossible not to be moved by the suffering of these people, and difficult not to feel anger at the inaction of the diplomats who do little but talk while people are fighting for their lives and homes. The film makes much of comparisons between Western indifference to Bosnia today and Western indifference to Czechoslovakia and the Spanish Republic in the 1930s. There is, suggests Levy, the same denial, the same explanations that it's all much too complex to get involved in. In 1945 people saw pictures of the concentration camps in Poland and said "never again", but now that the camps are back it seems that we would rather deny them, or suggest that there's fault on both sides, then determine to stop the atrocities. 　　If there is anything I don't like about BOSNA!, it is the incessant wordiness of the voice-over. Perhaps Levy was so anxious to persuade that he didn't dare to let the audience come to their own conclusions. At times sounding like a Biblical prophet, at times hectoring us, at times reflecting on how the war affects our image of ourselves as Europeans, the narration never lets the eloquent pictures speak for themselves, pictures that have more than enough power to move and to persuade on their own.