The last time Britain was a major force in world cinema was in the 1960s; a documentary of a few years back on the subject was entitled 'Hollywood UK'. This was the era of the Kitchen Sink, social realism, angry young men; above all, the theatrical. And yet, ironically, the best British films of the decade were made by two Americans, Richard Lester and Joseph Losey, who largely stayed clear of the period's more typical subject matter, which, like all attempts at greater realism, now seems curiously archaic. 　　'King and Country', though, seems to be the Losey film that tries to belong to its era. Like 'Look Back in Anger' and 'A Taste of Honey', it is based on a play, and often seems cumbersomely theatrical. Like 'Loneliness of the long distance runner', its hero is an exploited, reluctantly transgressive working class lad played by Tom Courtenay. Like (the admittedly brilliant) 'Charge of the Light Brigade', it is a horrified, near-farcical (though humourless) look at the horrors of war, most particularly its gaping class injustices. 　　Private Hamp is a young volunteer soldier at Pachendaele, having served three years at the front, who is court-martialled for desertion. Increasingly terrorised by the inhuman pointlessness of trench warfare, the speedy, grisly, violent deaths of his comrades and the medieval, rat-infested conditions of his trench, he claims to have emerged dazed from one gruesome attack and decided to walk home, to England. He is defended by the archetypal British officer, Captain Hargreaves, who professes disdain for the man's cowardice, but must do his duty. He attempts to spin a defence on the grounds of madness, but the upper-crust officers have heard it all before. 　　This is a very nice, duly horrifying, liberal-handwringing, middle-class play. It panders to all the cliches of the Great War - the disgraceful working-class massacre, while the officers sup whiskey (Haig!) - figured in some charmingly obvious symbolism: Hargreaves throwing a dying cigarette in the mud; Hamp hysterically playing blind man's buff. 　　The sets are picturesquely grim, medieval, a modern inferno, as these men lie trapped in a never-ending, subterranean labyrinth, lit by hellish fires, with rats for company and the constant sound of shells and gunfire reminding them of the outside world. 　　The play, in a very middle-class way, is not really about the working class at all - Hamp is more of a symbol, an essence, lying in the dark, desolately playing his harmonica, a note of humanity in a score of inhumanity. He doesn't develop as a character. The play is really about Hargreaves, his realisation of the shabby inadequacy of notions like duty. He develops. This realisation sends him to drink (tastier than dying!). Like his prole subordinates, he falls in the mud, just as Hamp is said to have done; he even says to his superior 'We are all murderers'. 　　This is all very effective, if not much of a development of RC Sherriff's creaky 'Journey's End', filmed by James Whale in 1930. Its earnestness and verbosity may seem a little stilted in the age of 'Paths of Glory' and 'Dr. Strangelove'; we may feel that 'Blackadder goes forth' is a truer representation of the Great War. But what I have described is not the film Losey has made. He is too sophisticated and canny an intellectual for that. 　　The film opens with a lingering pan over one of those monumental War memorials you see all over Britain (and presumably Europe), as if to say Losey is going to question the received ideas of this statue, the human cost. But what he's really questioning is this play, and its woeful inadequacy to represent the manifold complexities of the War. 　　This is Brechtian filmmaking at its most subtle. We are constantly made aware of the artifice of the film, the theatrical - the stilted dialogue is spoken with deliberate stiffness; theatrical rituals are emphasised (the initial interrogation; the court scene, where actors literally tread the boards, enunciating the predictable speeches; the mirror-play put on by the hysterical soldiers and the rats; the religious ceremony; the horrible farce of the execution). Proscenium arches are made prominent, audiences observe events. 　　This is a play that would seek to contain, humanise, explain the Great War. This is a hopeless task, as Losey's provisional apparatus explains, 'real' photographs of harrowing detritus fading from the screen as if even these are not enough to convey the War, never mind a well-made, bourgeois play. Losey's vision may be apocalyptic - it questions the possibility of representation at all - the various tags of poetry quoted make no impact on hard men men who rattled them off when young; the Shakespearean duality of 'noble' drama commented on by 'low' comedy, effects no transcendence, no greater insight. 　　Losey's camerawork and composition repeatedly breaks our involvement with the drama, any wish we might have for manly sentimentality; in one remarkable scene an officer takes an Aubrey Beardsley book from the cameraman! This idea of the theatrical evidently mirrors the rigid class 'roles' played by the main characters (Hamp's father and grandfather were cobblers too; presumably Hargreaves' were always Sandhurst cadets). Losey also takes a sideswipe at the kitchen sink project, by using its tools - history has borne him out.

The last time Britain was a major force in world cinema was in the 1960s; a documentary of a few years back on the subject was entitled 'Hollywood UK'. This was the era of the Kitchen Sink, social realism, angry young men; above all, the theatrical. And yet, ironically, the best British films of the decade were made by two Americans, Richard Lester and Joseph Losey, who largely stayed clear of the period's more typical subject matter, which, like all attempts at greater realism, now seems curiously archaic. 　　'King and Country', though, seems to be the Losey film that tries to belong to its era. Like 'Look Back in Anger' and 'A Taste of Honey', it is based on a play, and often seems cumbersomely theatrical. Like 'Loneliness of the long distance runner', its hero is an exploited, reluctantly transgressive working class lad played by Tom Courtenay. Like (the admittedly brilliant) 'Charge of the Light Brigade', it is a horrified, near-farcical (though humourless) look at the horrors of war, most particularly its gaping class injustices. 　　Private Hamp is a young volunteer soldier at Pachendaele, having served three years at the front, who is court-martialled for desertion. Increasingly terrorised by the inhuman pointlessness of trench warfare, the speedy, grisly, violent deaths of his comrades and the medieval, rat-infested conditions of his trench, he claims to have emerged dazed from one gruesome attack and decided to walk home, to England. He is defended by the archetypal British officer, Captain Hargreaves, who professes disdain for the man's cowardice, but must do his duty. He attempts to spin a defence on the grounds of madness, but the upper-crust officers have heard it all before. 　　This is a very nice, duly horrifying, liberal-handwringing, middle-class play. It panders to all the cliches of the Great War - the disgraceful working-class massacre, while the officers sup whiskey (Haig!) - figured in some charmingly obvious symbolism: Hargreaves throwing a dying cigarette in the mud; Hamp hysterically playing blind man's buff. 　　The sets are picturesquely grim, medieval, a modern inferno, as these men lie trapped in a never-ending, subterranean labyrinth, lit by hellish fires, with rats for company and the constant sound of shells and gunfire reminding them of the outside world. 　　The play, in a very middle-class way, is not really about the working class at all - Hamp is more of a symbol, an essence, lying in the dark, desolately playing his harmonica, a note of humanity in a score of inhumanity. He doesn't develop as a character. The play is really about Hargreaves, his realisation of the shabby inadequacy of notions like duty. He develops. This realisation sends him to drink (tastier than dying!). Like his prole subordinates, he falls in the mud, just as Hamp is said to have done; he even says to his superior 'We are all murderers'. 　　This is all very effective, if not much of a development of RC Sherriff's creaky 'Journey's End', filmed by James Whale in 1930. Its earnestness and verbosity may seem a little stilted in the age of 'Paths of Glory' and 'Dr. Strangelove'; we may feel that 'Blackadder goes forth' is a truer representation of the Great War. But what I have described is not the film Losey has made. He is too sophisticated and canny an intellectual for that. 　　The film opens with a lingering pan over one of those monumental War memorials you see all over Britain (and presumably Europe), as if to say Losey is going to question the received ideas of this statue, the human cost. But what he's really questioning is this play, and its woeful inadequacy to represent the manifold complexities of the War. 　　This is Brechtian filmmaking at its most subtle. We are constantly made aware of the artifice of the film, the theatrical - the stilted dialogue is spoken with deliberate stiffness; theatrical rituals are emphasised (the initial interrogation; the court scene, where actors literally tread the boards, enunciating the predictable speeches; the mirror-play put on by the hysterical soldiers and the rats; the religious ceremony; the horrible farce of the execution). Proscenium arches are made prominent, audiences observe events. 　　This is a play that would seek to contain, humanise, explain the Great War. This is a hopeless task, as Losey's provisional apparatus explains, 'real' photographs of harrowing detritus fading from the screen as if even these are not enough to convey the War, never mind a well-made, bourgeois play. Losey's vision may be apocalyptic - it questions the possibility of representation at all - the various tags of poetry quoted make no impact on hard men men who rattled them off when young; the Shakespearean duality of 'noble' drama commented on by 'low' comedy, effects no transcendence, no greater insight. 　　Losey's camerawork and composition repeatedly breaks our involvement with the drama, any wish we might have for manly sentimentality; in one remarkable scene an officer takes an Aubrey Beardsley book from the cameraman! This idea of the theatrical evidently mirrors the rigid class 'roles' played by the main characters (Hamp's father and grandfather were cobblers too; presumably Hargreaves' were always Sandhurst cadets). Losey also takes a sideswipe at the kitchen sink project, by using its tools - history has borne him out.

一个英国人，在伦敦长大，二战期间加入军队在朝鲜战争中的战斗。

克雷格·比贝洛斯将导演根据Greg Rucka同名漫画改编的《女王与祖国》（Queen & Country）。艾伦·佩吉将饰演女主角Tara Chace，一名英国军情六处的女间谍。

雷德利·斯科特商谈执导福斯新片《女王与国家》(Queen & Country)，若谈好了他也将同Chernin Entertainment共同制片。基于Greg Rucka所著同名漫画，聚焦英国秘密情报局特工Tara Chace，她是三个致力于保护英国情报机构的特工组织中的其中一员，在一次暗杀任务重身份被暴露。 参与插画创作的包括Chris Samnee、Carla Speed McNei、Bryan Lee O'Malley，该系列漫画从2001年至2007年共出版了32本，于2002年获得埃斯纳最佳新系列漫画奖。 艾伦·佩吉曾在2013年时商谈出演，当时操刀剧本的是莱恩·康道尔(《殖民地》《宙斯之子：赫拉克勒斯》)，John Rogers(《终极玩家》《猫女》)和Rucka此前也进行过创作，目前剧本的状态不明。

隶属于冲绳黑帮苍龙会的小混混石桥入狱前曾私藏组织的5亿日元现金。出狱后，他打算和恋人洋子远走高飞，然而却遭到苍龙会会长（大杉涟 饰）的追杀。为求保命，他转而向彻心空手道馆的馆长大东彻原（真樹日佐夫 饰）求助。大东表面上开办空手道场，暗中则经营着一个保镖组织，其麾下网罗众多格斗高手，牙直人（大和武士 饰）便是个中翘楚。大东原本无心插手黑帮事务，但看在巨额赏金的份上，最终派出阿牙保护石桥。苍龙会的刺客逐一被阿牙打败，万般无奈之下，他们绑架了洋子作为人质…… 　　本片根据已故漫画家梶原一騎同名原著改编，此前1973年两个版本由千葉真一主演，三池崇史共担档此系列三部的拍摄工作。

Four years on from a cruel joke that saw an innocent young man turned into a monster. The perpetrators of this skatalogicaly vile act are served up their just desserts.

漫画家・柴田昌弘の超能力少女SFコミック「紅い牙」シリーズ、その中でも人気の高い「ブルー・ソネット」編を全5巻のOVA化。低単価の児童向けビデオ絵本などを販売してきたウオカーズカンパニーが手がけ、CDとセット販売を行うなど独特の販促方法を採用している。 　　古代超人類の神秘の血を受け継いだ少女ラン。彼女が持つ潜在的なサイキックパワーを手に入れんと暗躍するのが謎の組織タロンだ。そのサイボーグ戦士である美少女ソネットとランの戦いがはじまろうとしている……。 　　本作の実制作は虫プロダクションが担当。監督は『機動戦士ガンダム第08MS小隊』のシリーズ前半など数多くの作品で同職を務めてきた神田武幸が手がけ、キャラクターデザインと作画監督は『ヱヴァンゲリヲン新劇場版:破』の副監督・中山勝一が行っている。本OVA用にランとソネットの表情集が原作者の手によって提供された。

在卡姆生活的15岁少年泽多（ゼッド，Zed），每一天都过着居无定所的艰辛日子，对于这里抑郁苦闷的生活备感焦躁，同时也对不时出现的梦境和自己的意义抱有疑问。他渴望前往不受束缚，能够自由生存的地方。某日，泽多被不可思议的风引领到城市的一角，在风汇聚之处打开了神秘的光圈，耀眼的光芒中出现的精灵挥舞着翅膀飞入光圈，如梦境看到的景象一般！跟着风的导向，泽度义无反顾的跳进了光圈，也许他所追寻的“答案”就在前方……