전 세계 어디든 대한민국 식판을 들고 날아가 K-급식을 만들어주는 프로그램

전 세계 어디든 대한민국 식판을 들고 날아가 K-급식을 만들어주는 프로그램

是一部以分裂的朝鲜半岛为背景的间谍剧，改编自美国FX电视台人气剧集《美国谍梦》。

是一部以分裂的朝鲜半岛为背景的间谍剧，改编自美国FX电视台人气剧集《美国谍梦》。

The Belgian filmmaker spent a period of time, unspecified, a week or two, in an apartment in Tel Aviv that was lent to her. She lived there alone, in virtually complete isolation, indirectly filming and narrating the experience, sustained only by "provisions" found in the kitchen, especially rice and carrots, having had stomach trouble from an Israeli salad; didn't go to cafes or supermarkets, and rarely even went out, except for a couple of forays to the sea; the apartment was a block or so from the beach. 　　La-bàs is a series of long stationary shots out the windows, often showing figures of old people on balconies on the roof or buildings opposite. A woman, immobile, is tended to by her husband. One man sits for long periods motionless. Ackerman in voice-over says she thinks he's watching his plants grow. "But I don't think plants grow any faster in Israel," she says. 　　Is this any better than the proverbial watching paint dry? Two aspects, visual and auditory, save this thin, dry, austere documentary from being a sterile art piece and make it both thought-provoking and haunting, for those who have the patience to sit through it; many will not. 　　To begin with, screens filter the light of the windows in a beautiful way: the shots are often handsome, not unworthy of something by Hou Hsiau-hsien or Tsai Ming-liang, if without their human figures moving about. 　　Further, Ackerman's voice overs, spoken off-camera during the shots, though skimpy, provide fleetingly penetrating, brutally frank self-revelations and contexts that range from the personal to the universal. Her father was once going to emigrate to Israal just after WWII and was waiting in Marseille to go, but he was warned that the Palestine environment was too harsh. The family settled in Belgium instead. She speaks of an aunt who committed suicide. Is she herself depressed? She speaks of passivity and laziness. She may be agoraphobic. She clearly is going through an agoraphobic period. She may also be afraid of bombs. A parent calls and expresses concern about her going out to dangerous places; she promises she won't. She speaks of prisons, external and self-imposed: this is one of the latter kind. 　　People call and invite her out. She says she can't because she's working. This devotion to the enterprise makes something positive and substantial, even noble, about this otherwise evanescent, uncertain project. This is an act of painfully heightened self-consciousness, a self-examination, a journal both Zen-like and intensive. She also speaks of reading; making extensive notes; having "complex" thoughts. A certain ambivalence toward her Jewishness is also involved. Finally, with minimal means, Ackerman has forged something unique. 　　A telling image: a Chasidic family leaving the beach. The man, in his quaint outfit, symbolizes the oddity of the Israeli enterprise. Ackerman doesn't comment on the oppression of Palestinians or Israeli dependence on the US. Her seclusion in the middle of Israel's largest city may be comment enough. This is something she apparently can't be a part of. But in her alienation, she couldn't be more Jewish.

The Belgian filmmaker spent a period of time, unspecified, a week or two, in an apartment in Tel Aviv that was lent to her. She lived there alone, in virtually complete isolation, indirectly filming and narrating the experience, sustained only by "provisions" found in the kitchen, especially rice and carrots, having had stomach trouble from an Israeli salad; didn't go to cafes or supermarkets, and rarely even went out, except for a couple of forays to the sea; the apartment was a block or so from the beach. 　　La-bàs is a series of long stationary shots out the windows, often showing figures of old people on balconies on the roof or buildings opposite. A woman, immobile, is tended to by her husband. One man sits for long periods motionless. Ackerman in voice-over says she thinks he's watching his plants grow. "But I don't think plants grow any faster in Israel," she says. 　　Is this any better than the proverbial watching paint dry? Two aspects, visual and auditory, save this thin, dry, austere documentary from being a sterile art piece and make it both thought-provoking and haunting, for those who have the patience to sit through it; many will not. 　　To begin with, screens filter the light of the windows in a beautiful way: the shots are often handsome, not unworthy of something by Hou Hsiau-hsien or Tsai Ming-liang, if without their human figures moving about. 　　Further, Ackerman's voice overs, spoken off-camera during the shots, though skimpy, provide fleetingly penetrating, brutally frank self-revelations and contexts that range from the personal to the universal. Her father was once going to emigrate to Israal just after WWII and was waiting in Marseille to go, but he was warned that the Palestine environment was too harsh. The family settled in Belgium instead. She speaks of an aunt who committed suicide. Is she herself depressed? She speaks of passivity and laziness. She may be agoraphobic. She clearly is going through an agoraphobic period. She may also be afraid of bombs. A parent calls and expresses concern about her going out to dangerous places; she promises she won't. She speaks of prisons, external and self-imposed: this is one of the latter kind. 　　People call and invite her out. She says she can't because she's working. This devotion to the enterprise makes something positive and substantial, even noble, about this otherwise evanescent, uncertain project. This is an act of painfully heightened self-consciousness, a self-examination, a journal both Zen-like and intensive. She also speaks of reading; making extensive notes; having "complex" thoughts. A certain ambivalence toward her Jewishness is also involved. Finally, with minimal means, Ackerman has forged something unique. 　　A telling image: a Chasidic family leaving the beach. The man, in his quaint outfit, symbolizes the oddity of the Israeli enterprise. Ackerman doesn't comment on the oppression of Palestinians or Israeli dependence on the US. Her seclusion in the middle of Israel's largest city may be comment enough. This is something she apparently can't be a part of. But in her alienation, she couldn't be more Jewish.

一个平静的夜晚，楼下传来的声⾳引发了不同的反应和相似的冷漠。

诗人兼小说家鲁伊·杜阿尔特·德·卡瓦略（Ruy Duarte de Carvalho）在得知一份名为“英国人的文件”的文档可能是解决1923年事件的关键后，开始寻找这份他父亲留在纳米布沙漠中的文件。影片通过他的寻找过程，展现了一段发生在20世纪初的史诗故事，背景设定在当时还是葡萄牙殖民地的安哥拉。执导《英国人的文件》的是塞尔吉奥·格拉西亚诺（Sérgio Graciano），他曾导演过安哥拉题材的电影。影片基于卡瓦略的作品改编，卡瓦略出生于葡萄牙，幼年时移居安哥拉，后来成为安哥拉文学界的重要人物。以制作奥利维拉影片而闻名的保罗·布兰科（Paulo Blanco）担任了这部电影的制片人。

“玉兰风物”行走于中国200余市县，挖掘当地的风物与文化。《玉兰风物·中国人的年》主要聚焦春节前后的民俗与冬天里各地人们的活动。是人们筹备的年货，是年的庆祝方式，是冬天里的一项活动，用20个瞬间陪你回家过年。

诗人兼小说家鲁伊·杜阿尔特·德·卡瓦略（Ruy Duarte de Carvalho）在得知一份名为“英国人的文件”的文档可能是解决1923年事件的关键后，开始寻找这份他父亲留在纳米布沙漠中的文件。影片通过他的寻找过程，展现了一段发生在20世纪初的史诗故事，背景设定在当时还是葡萄牙殖民地的安哥拉。执导《英国人的文件》的是塞尔吉奥·格拉西亚诺（Sérgio Graciano），他曾导演过安哥拉题材的电影。影片基于卡瓦略的作品改编，卡瓦略出生于葡萄牙，幼年时移居安哥拉，后来成为安哥拉文学界的重要人物。以制作奥利维拉影片而闻名的保罗·布兰科（Paulo Blanco）担任了这部电影的制片人。