Taking the last verses of Paradise in Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, Straub extends the same didactic/exploratory tendencies he already was trying with texts by Cesare Pavese in Dalla nube alla resistenza (1979) and its sequel, Quei loro incontri (2006). Now, the meditation deals with repetition, light, and absence, using Edgar Varèse’s genius in an introduction that sets a somber tone so what comes next would be pure light and sublimation. (-bafici.gob.ar) 　　There's no denying that the late work of Jean-Marie Straub can be highly forbidding, even by the tough-minded, rigorous standards established throughout his career with his late partner Daniéle Huillet. Ironically, one of the aspects of Straub-Huillet work that has made it so challenging, so seemingly resistant to immediate viewing comprehension as well as closer analysis, is the fact that on its surface it often appears quite simple. 　　The Straubian method entails shooting with direct sound, minimal camera movement, and a highly focused, almost declamatory performance style that foregrounds the text being presented rather than any actorly or theatrical values. There is almost a "readers' theatre" quality to Straub's films. But if one were forced to generalize about this highly developed method, it would probably be most correct to say that it stakes out a territory between two kinds of modernism.. On the one hand, the modernism of Clement Greenberg is present, in that these films insist upon the separation of their elements and the maintenance of each contributing artform in its irreducible specificity. Writing remains writing, not theatre; music is music; and film, film. On the other hand, Straub employs the modernist intransigence of Theodor Adorno's "negative dialectic." The films exist as aesthetic objects, in a relative autonomy. But they simultaneously gesture outward, into the material specificity of the landscape they occupy, the concrete visual and soundworld that envelops the filmic act, but does not transform it into fiction (or vice versa). Straub's method maintains a tension between a documentary foundation -- that which is recorded in the profilmic scene -- and a rehearsal or reconstitution of the creative energies of a previous moment in history -- the instantiation of a text or set of texts not from the "now." From an Adornian standpoint, these two times might one day be reconciled in a utopian social form as yet unformulated. For now, their irreconcilability indicates the work we still have before us. 　　In some ways, O somma luce is the most satisfying of Straub's landscape based works, although I hesitate to say so. I tend to find it the most open and inviting of his films since Huillet's passing. But I don't entirely trust this impression, and even as I articulate it I wonder if perhaps I missed some complicating nuances. Here, the separation of aesthetic elements is made nearly absolute, and while Straub has mined this terrain before, O somma luce's use of stark sensory contrast is more explicitly bolstered through the film's own thematics. The first eight or so minutes of the film are imageless black digital video. Inside this "video void" (to borrow David Larcher's term), we hear one of the most distinctive works in the modern repertoire, Déserts (first movement) by Edgard Varèse. This 1954 chamber work, which includes electronic elements on tape, is notable for its wide ranging dynamics -- piercing horns, pealing bells, a substantial percussion variance at the base, and generally a great deal of sonic space throughout. In a sense, Déserts is a logical extension of the explorations one finds in Mahler (a Straub favorite), while Varèse has clearly abandoned tonality for clusters of sound that, for lack of the technical expertise to describe them, I would have to call primal in their sense of generative force. This could be said to rhyme, in a broad sense, with Straub's cinematic use of space and landscape. There is a radical particularity in the land formations Straub commits to film or video; in using the camera to register a place's sonic existence, or its reflected light, Straub is also giving us a concrete segment of its accumulated physical history, practically a core sample. So in that regard, Déserts is music that hints at pure sound, the sound between sounds, and the molecular level of deep listening. 　　The final few notes of the movement are heard in a "sound bleed," a (literally) pivotal moment in O somma luce. This half-second, which takes us from darkness to light, is so out of character with Straub's customary insistence on separation, and on unadulterated straight cuts, that it is quite shocking indeed. Of course, in the context of another filmmaker's work, it wouldn't register as anything strange at all. But there is something in the explicit themes of O somma luce which could explain why such an uncharacteristic transition seemed like Straub's best choice. This pivot, after all, gives us a moment of "total cinema," of music, text, performance, and conventional editing -- an Adornian utopia, if you will -- which then slips away. Afterward, we are in a rustic but nondescript Italian landscape, rocky hills in the background, as actor Giorgio Passerone reads Canto XXXIII from Dante's Paradiso. This Canto is the story of the creation and recognition of Light. In fact, in its description of moving from darkness to illumination, ignorance to knowledge, Canto III clearly prefigures the "Untutored Eye" doctrine of Stan Brakhage's Metaphors on Vision. Dante was an obvious influence of Brakhage, and just as Brakhage posited a pre- and post-lapsarian narrative of light-bathed sensation and the subsequent fall into language, so O somma luce presents an unexpected "knot" of confluence (the music / image union) which is instantly thrown into the past the minute its existence is even recognized. This desire to reclaim the moment of Light's epiphany, while recognizing its impossibility, is encapsulated in lines 67 through 75 of Dante's Canto: "O Light exalted beyond mortal thought, / grant that in memory I see again / but one small part of how you then appeared / and grant my tongue sufficient power / that it may leave behind a single spark / of glory for the people yet to come, / since, if you return but briefly to my mind / and then resound but softly in these lines, / the better will your victory be conceived." 　　It is, interestingly, at this point in O somma luce that Passerone pauses, picks his script up from the ground, adjusts his glasses, and continues reading. The film then cuts to a left to right tracking shot of the skyline above the landscape, with mountains in the background. The shot ends on a thicket of brush tangled in a ragged fence. Straub repeats this arc (Heideggerian earth and sky, down to the banal ground of private property) twice, with slightly different qualities of sunlight. During this segment, Passerone reads the following lines: "substances, accidents, and the interplay between them, / as though they were conflated in such ways / that what I tell is but a simple light. / I believe I understood the universal form / of this dense knot because I feel my joy expand, / rejoicing as I speak of it." That is to say, Dante believes that he can extract the sense of Holy Light from the ordinary, profane illuminations surrounding him. O soma luce clearly agrees, but from the same sort of standpoint that, once upon a time, "stood Hegel on his head." "Exalted Light" is the close, sensual appreciation of this world, the only one within which we're privileged to exist, the one we are charged with stewarding. For Straub, this is the materialist reading of Dante. It's Canto XXXIII, refracted through the window of "Feuerbach" Thesis 11. (-academichack.net)

Taking the last verses of Paradise in Dante Alighieri’s The Divine Comedy, Straub extends the same didactic/exploratory tendencies he already was trying with texts by Cesare Pavese in Dalla nube alla resistenza (1979) and its sequel, Quei loro incontri (2006). Now, the meditation deals with repetition, light, and absence, using Edgar Varèse’s genius in an introduction that sets a somber tone so what comes next would be pure light and sublimation. (-bafici.gob.ar) 　　There's no denying that the late work of Jean-Marie Straub can be highly forbidding, even by the tough-minded, rigorous standards established throughout his career with his late partner Daniéle Huillet. Ironically, one of the aspects of Straub-Huillet work that has made it so challenging, so seemingly resistant to immediate viewing comprehension as well as closer analysis, is the fact that on its surface it often appears quite simple. 　　The Straubian method entails shooting with direct sound, minimal camera movement, and a highly focused, almost declamatory performance style that foregrounds the text being presented rather than any actorly or theatrical values. There is almost a "readers' theatre" quality to Straub's films. But if one were forced to generalize about this highly developed method, it would probably be most correct to say that it stakes out a territory between two kinds of modernism.. On the one hand, the modernism of Clement Greenberg is present, in that these films insist upon the separation of their elements and the maintenance of each contributing artform in its irreducible specificity. Writing remains writing, not theatre; music is music; and film, film. On the other hand, Straub employs the modernist intransigence of Theodor Adorno's "negative dialectic." The films exist as aesthetic objects, in a relative autonomy. But they simultaneously gesture outward, into the material specificity of the landscape they occupy, the concrete visual and soundworld that envelops the filmic act, but does not transform it into fiction (or vice versa). Straub's method maintains a tension between a documentary foundation -- that which is recorded in the profilmic scene -- and a rehearsal or reconstitution of the creative energies of a previous moment in history -- the instantiation of a text or set of texts not from the "now." From an Adornian standpoint, these two times might one day be reconciled in a utopian social form as yet unformulated. For now, their irreconcilability indicates the work we still have before us. 　　In some ways, O somma luce is the most satisfying of Straub's landscape based works, although I hesitate to say so. I tend to find it the most open and inviting of his films since Huillet's passing. But I don't entirely trust this impression, and even as I articulate it I wonder if perhaps I missed some complicating nuances. Here, the separation of aesthetic elements is made nearly absolute, and while Straub has mined this terrain before, O somma luce's use of stark sensory contrast is more explicitly bolstered through the film's own thematics. The first eight or so minutes of the film are imageless black digital video. Inside this "video void" (to borrow David Larcher's term), we hear one of the most distinctive works in the modern repertoire, Déserts (first movement) by Edgard Varèse. This 1954 chamber work, which includes electronic elements on tape, is notable for its wide ranging dynamics -- piercing horns, pealing bells, a substantial percussion variance at the base, and generally a great deal of sonic space throughout. In a sense, Déserts is a logical extension of the explorations one finds in Mahler (a Straub favorite), while Varèse has clearly abandoned tonality for clusters of sound that, for lack of the technical expertise to describe them, I would have to call primal in their sense of generative force. This could be said to rhyme, in a broad sense, with Straub's cinematic use of space and landscape. There is a radical particularity in the land formations Straub commits to film or video; in using the camera to register a place's sonic existence, or its reflected light, Straub is also giving us a concrete segment of its accumulated physical history, practically a core sample. So in that regard, Déserts is music that hints at pure sound, the sound between sounds, and the molecular level of deep listening. 　　The final few notes of the movement are heard in a "sound bleed," a (literally) pivotal moment in O somma luce. This half-second, which takes us from darkness to light, is so out of character with Straub's customary insistence on separation, and on unadulterated straight cuts, that it is quite shocking indeed. Of course, in the context of another filmmaker's work, it wouldn't register as anything strange at all. But there is something in the explicit themes of O somma luce which could explain why such an uncharacteristic transition seemed like Straub's best choice. This pivot, after all, gives us a moment of "total cinema," of music, text, performance, and conventional editing -- an Adornian utopia, if you will -- which then slips away. Afterward, we are in a rustic but nondescript Italian landscape, rocky hills in the background, as actor Giorgio Passerone reads Canto XXXIII from Dante's Paradiso. This Canto is the story of the creation and recognition of Light. In fact, in its description of moving from darkness to illumination, ignorance to knowledge, Canto III clearly prefigures the "Untutored Eye" doctrine of Stan Brakhage's Metaphors on Vision. Dante was an obvious influence of Brakhage, and just as Brakhage posited a pre- and post-lapsarian narrative of light-bathed sensation and the subsequent fall into language, so O somma luce presents an unexpected "knot" of confluence (the music / image union) which is instantly thrown into the past the minute its existence is even recognized. This desire to reclaim the moment of Light's epiphany, while recognizing its impossibility, is encapsulated in lines 67 through 75 of Dante's Canto: "O Light exalted beyond mortal thought, / grant that in memory I see again / but one small part of how you then appeared / and grant my tongue sufficient power / that it may leave behind a single spark / of glory for the people yet to come, / since, if you return but briefly to my mind / and then resound but softly in these lines, / the better will your victory be conceived." 　　It is, interestingly, at this point in O somma luce that Passerone pauses, picks his script up from the ground, adjusts his glasses, and continues reading. The film then cuts to a left to right tracking shot of the skyline above the landscape, with mountains in the background. The shot ends on a thicket of brush tangled in a ragged fence. Straub repeats this arc (Heideggerian earth and sky, down to the banal ground of private property) twice, with slightly different qualities of sunlight. During this segment, Passerone reads the following lines: "substances, accidents, and the interplay between them, / as though they were conflated in such ways / that what I tell is but a simple light. / I believe I understood the universal form / of this dense knot because I feel my joy expand, / rejoicing as I speak of it." That is to say, Dante believes that he can extract the sense of Holy Light from the ordinary, profane illuminations surrounding him. O soma luce clearly agrees, but from the same sort of standpoint that, once upon a time, "stood Hegel on his head." "Exalted Light" is the close, sensual appreciation of this world, the only one within which we're privileged to exist, the one we are charged with stewarding. For Straub, this is the materialist reading of Dante. It's Canto XXXIII, refracted through the window of "Feuerbach" Thesis 11. (-academichack.net)

蛮荒西部，非法横行。杰瑞是当地一个臭名昭著的奶酪大盗，他经常潜入当地的奶酪店大快朵颐，任凭老板如何防范也挡不住他的脚步。奶酪老板恼羞成怒，找到小镇治安官要求严惩杰瑞。警长淡定自若，声称已经请来技术高超的捕鼠专家汤姆，不日将把杰瑞捉拿归案。这一消息也让在门外偷听的杰瑞恐慌不已。未过多久，高傲自信的汤姆抵达小镇，他在警长面前大秀自己拙劣的手法和技巧，稍后奉命和杰瑞站在小镇中央决斗。可是他忙中出错，闹出丢脸的事来，反倒由此助长了杰瑞的嚣张气焰。 　　此后，杰瑞逃进家中，而愤怒的汤姆依然想将他捉拿归案，警匪之争逐渐升级……

蛮荒西部，非法横行。杰瑞是当地一个臭名昭著的奶酪大盗，他经常潜入当地的奶酪店大快朵颐，任凭老板如何防范也挡不住他的脚步。奶酪老板恼羞成怒，找到小镇治安官要求严惩杰瑞。警长淡定自若，声称已经请来技术高超的捕鼠专家汤姆，不日将把杰瑞捉拿归案。这一消息也让在门外偷听的杰瑞恐慌不已。未过多久，高傲自信的汤姆抵达小镇，他在警长面前大秀自己拙劣的手法和技巧，稍后奉命和杰瑞站在小镇中央决斗。可是他忙中出错，闹出丢脸的事来，反倒由此助长了杰瑞的嚣张气焰。 　　此后，杰瑞逃进家中，而愤怒的汤姆依然想将他捉拿归案，警匪之争逐渐升级……

去年乐高成为最盈利的桌面游戏制造商。我们去探索使它与众不同的原因，采访它的一些关键人物，并且前所未有地揭示该公司更多的DNA。

通过某帝国主义国家企图盗窃苏联军事设计图样，揭露了帝国主义间谍、特务分子的无耻阴谋，歌颂了苏联保卫工作者认真负责、忘我的工作作风和机智勇敢的高度爱国主义精神，使间谍特务全部落网。

居住在水天镇的三为中学生，都有着各自无法抹杀却又不想回忆起的过去，不知是否因为相同的原因，他们的灵魂会发生体外脱离，并以这种形式穿梭于现世与“幽世”之间。这个现实世界本没有神灵，随着“幽世”中不断发生异常，而开始吞噬现实世界。三位少年在“幽世”冒险的时候，逐渐了解到“幽世”与什么地方相连——献给持有少年心的成人们，一部永远的心灵少年谭。

在一片神秘的土地上，有另一个世界，那里的人类在神灵和暗灵的交战中勉强生存。一次，身为人类的瓦育被师傅指派讨伐暗灵，瓦育跟随暗灵来到仙灵村——与世无争的神灵们久居于此。在此，他遇到仙女桑当，二人日久生情，生下半人半神的布莱，没想到却引起了一场大战。瓦育和桑当在此战中失去了生命，临死前，桑当将自己的儿子布莱托付给娜迦王，布莱从此成为了娜迦王的徒弟，勤奋习武学习娜迦神剑。布莱长大后成为一个武力高强、身怀正义的剑客。与此同时，人类潘瓦王觊觎金矿，决定开采矿山，没想到他的贪婪却唤起了蜈蚣精，带给了人类巨大的灾难。好在布莱及时出现，和另一位正义之士巴拉蒂一起战胜了蜈蚣精，为人类世界带来了和平。在矿山洞穴深处，布莱找到了佩特拉娜迦三大宝物之一的“土灵珠”，此战告捷之后，布莱整装待发，踏上了寻找另外两个宝物“冥尘”和“天奥镜”之路。

Robert Lachmann was a German-Jewish ethnomusicologist. In the 1930s, his radio show "Oriental Music" explored the musical traditions of Palestine and included regular live performances by musicians from different ethnic and religious groups. 　　Inspired by Lachmann’s musicological studies, Palestinian artist Jumana Manna travels through Israel and the Palestinian territories of today with recordings from the programme. What do these songs sound like now when performed by Moroccan, Kurdish, or Yemenite Jews, by Samaritans, members of the urban and rural Palestinian communities, Bedouins and Coptic Christians? 　　When a true fascination for history meets the sounds of the rababa, the saz, the oud and tin cans, a cultural diversity emerges that subverts the distinction between "Arab" and "Jewish". There are no national borders here, only different kitchens where people make music together – with their guests, while cooking, while someone makes the coffee. Until the music becomes so infectious you can’t help but dance along. berlinale 2016

一位林区农民和他的女儿，用自行车从医院运回被野象袭击致死的妻子尸体。导演比斯瓦吉特·博拉关心社会和环境议题，曾拍出在制片过程中实现零排碳的“碳平衡”电影。在这部新作中他聚焦家乡阿萨姆邦，展示了阿萨姆林区老百姓为洪灾、交通不便、野象侵扰所苦的真实日常。故事情节质朴、苦涩但不悲情，还充满各种黑色幽默。影片荣获2020年加尔各答国际电影节印度电影竞赛单元最佳导演奖。