Příběh o důležitosti rodiny, lásky a cti vyniká fascinujícím mistrovstvím animace japonského režiséra Mamoru Hosody. Devítiletý Kjúta je obyčejný kluk z moderního Tokia. Hodně věcí o životě ještě neví a neměl dosud ani tušení o tom, že vedle reálného světa existuje ještě skrytý fantazijní svět obývaný zvířaty. Až do chvíle, než se v něm náhodou sám ocitl. V kouzelném světě Džútengai ale nejsou lidé příliš vítáni a celou zemí navíc zmítají nepokoje s nástupem nového panovníka. Chlapce se ujme osamělý medvědí válečník, aby ho uchránil nebezpečí v neznámém světě. (AČFK)

Drátěnou košili v pračce nevypereš, aneb současná doba si nedokáže vážit statečných rytířů.Stačilo se jen omylem napít lektvaru namíchaného nepřátelským kouzelníkem a rázem se rytíř Godefroy a jeho sluha Jacquouille (již podle tohoto jména poznají Francouzi, že se jedná o zcela neurozeného člověka) ocitli ve 20. století. Samozřejmě, jak už to ve Francii bývá, našli své potomky, i když zrovna ne na takové úrovni, jakou by si představovali. Šlechta, potomci statečných rytířů, zchudla a v jejím zámku se naopak usídlil potomek vykutálených sluhů, který si jen změnil jméno z posměšného Jacquouille na důstojnějšího Jacquarta. Samozřejmě, že se pán i jeho sluha nejdříve ocitnou v blázinci, ale šlechtická krev se nezapře a Beatrice, jako přímý potomek rytíře Godefroy de Montmirail, se o svého předka postará... Režiséra Jean-Marie Poirého známe především díky jeho vynikající komedii Operace Corned Beef, kde se také objevila trojice komiků, kteří ve Francii patří ke špičce v tomto žánru: Jean Reno, Christian Clavier a herečka s neobyčejným komediálním talentem Valérie Lemercier. V Návštěvnících si je navíc užijeme v dvojrolích předků a potomků.

Tenhle oceněný animovaný film vypráví o dobrodružství, mladé lásce a vzpomínkách z dětství. Paříží se zatím pohybuje ruka oddělená od těla a hledá svého majitele.

16letý Yuuta je zatížen monstrózním prokletím. Jeho situace přitahuje pozornost kouzelníka Goja Satoru. Ten v Yuutovi vidí obrovský potenciál a doufá, že mu pomůže přeměnit jeho smrtící břemeno v prospěšnou sílu. Ovšem Yuuta upoutal i pozornost kouzelníka Geta Suguru, jenž v jeho síle vidí možnost genocidy.

Báje o princezně Kaguje představuje jednu z nejzásadnějších literárních klasik japonské kultury. Pojednává o nebeské princezně, kterou v podobě maličké holčičky najde starý sběrač bambusu uvnitř zářícího stonku. Spolu se svou ženou ji vychová jako vlastní dceru. Rychle rostoucí dívka dospěje do krásy, ale z bezstarostných radostí dětství ji vytrhne otcova ambice zajistit jí dokonalý život a udělat z ní dvorní dámu. Její srdce, spoutané povinnostmi a snahou dostát očekáváním, ale touží po něčem zcela jiném. Spoluzakladatel studia Ghibli Isao Takahata vytvořil srdcebolnou oslavu nádhery i stesku života.

Film sleduje cestu hlavní postavy Bilbo Pytlíka, který se ocitne na dobrodružné výpravě. Cílem cesty je si znovu nárokovat ztracené trpasličí království Erebor. Bilba nečekaně osloví čaroděj Gandalf Šedý, díky kterému se ocitne ve společnosti třinácti trpaslíků v čele s legendárním bojovníkem Thorinem. Cesta do divočiny vede přes tajemné země, kde se to hemží zlobry, skřety a kouzelníky. Ačkoliv cíl jejich výpravy - Osamělá hora, leží na Východě, musí projít nejdříve jeskynním systémem, kde Bilbo potká někoho, kdo mu navždy změní život…Gluma. Skromný Bilbo Pytlík pak sám s Glumem na břehu podzemního jezera objeví nejen hloubku lstivosti a odvahy, která překvapí i jeho samotného, ale také získá do svého vlastnictví Glumův prsten „miláška“, který má nečekané a užitečné možnosti... Jednoduchý zlatý prsten je spojen s osudem celé Středozemě takovým způsobem, jaký Bilbo nemůže zatím ani tušit. (oficiální text distributora)

Narodený z obesenej ženy sa sirota Guts dostáva do výchovy žoldniera. Napriek neľahkému detstvu vyrastie z tohto dieťaťa silný mladík a veľmi schopný bojovník. Jeho sila mu dovoľuje používať aj masívny meč, ktorý presahuje dĺžku dospelého človeka.Pri jednom z mnohých vojnových ťažení spoznáva Cascu a charizmatického Griffitha, vodcu žoldnierskej Skupiny Jastraba a držiteľa záhadného prívesku - Behelit. Guts mu očividne padne do oka a stane sa jedným z nich. Medzi členmi družiny nájde skutočných priateľov a postupom času získa pozíciu ako Griffithova pravá ruka.Toto je iba jedna kapitola príbehu z rozsiahlej manga ságy od autora menom Kentaro Miura. Veľmi temný fantasy príbeh láka stále nových fanúšikov, pretože dej nie je ani po vyše dvadsiatich rokoch od jeho uvedenia v roku 1990 stále uzavretý. V roku 1997 sa Berserk dočkal aj svojho 25 dielneho anime prevedenia, ktoré slávilo tiež veľký úspech. Po približne ďalších pätnástich rokoch sa dostávame opäť k anime, ktoré bude ale na rozdiel od svojho seriálového predchodcu rozdelené do niekoľkých dlhších filmov. Prvý z radu filmov, ktoré majú pokryť dej celej manga predlohy, bude uvedený v roku 2012. Nesie názov Berserk Golden Age Arc I: Egg of the Supreme Ruler a ako jeden z troch filmov nám zachytí časť príbehu „zlatého obdobia“.

Malá dívenka Hotaru se ztratí v lese, o němž se vypráví, že se v něm vyskytují zvláštní bytosti. Jedna taková bytost se před ní objeví a z lesa ji vyvede. Laskavý zachránce se jmenuje Gin a kromě masky na něm nic zvláštního není. Nebo vlastně je: dotkne-li se ho nějaký člověk, tak nadobro zmizí. I přes tento nedostatek se mezi Hotaru a Ginem vytvoří pouto, které časem sílí i bez fyzického kontaktu.

Třpytivé vody Karibiku jsou pro mazaného kapitána Jacka Sparrowa nevyčerpatelným zdrojem tajemných a vzrušujících dobrodružství. Jeho idylický život se razantně změní ve chvíli, kdy se lstivý kapitán Barbossa zmocní jeho lodi Černá perla a napadne město Port Royal. Nelítostná bitva má jediný cíl: únos guvernérovy krásné dcery Elizabeth. Na její záchranu se vydává přítel z dětství Will Turner, ale sám na to nestačí. Proto se spojí s Jackem, který touží získat zpět svou loď. Nikdo z nich netuší, že prokletý poklad změnil jejich největší rivaly, lstivého kapitána Barbarossu a jeho posádku, v nesmrtelná stvoření. Kletbu může zlomit pouze vrácení pokladu na jeho původní místo a vše musí být zpečetěno Elizabethinou krví. Myslí si totiž, že je dcerou Willa Turnera - otce mladého Willa.

Benjamin Button se narodil v New Orleans té noci, kdy skončila první světová válka. Rodiče místo radosti čeká šok. Zjistí, že jejich syn vypadá jako stařec. Matka umírá krátce po porodu a vystrašený otec ho položí na schodech starobince v černošské čtvrti, kde ho najde černá kuchařka Queenie a rozhodne se jej přijmout za svého. Lékaři mu nedávají moc dlouhé šance na život - jeho tělo je opotřebované, jako by opravdu žilo už osmdesát let. Zatímco všichni očekávají, že chlapec zemře, on celý život mládne. Časem se vydává do světa, aby zjistil, že nejlépe mu bylo doma. Po svém návratu se setkává se svou přítelkyní z dětství, z které je nádherná žena. Vznikne mezi nimi silné pouto podporované vzájemnými sympatiemi, které postupně přerůstá v hlubší cit. Jak ale jejich vztah vydrží, když Daisy je předurčeno stárnout a Benjaminovi mládnout?

Edward Bloom (Albert Finney) byl odjakživa vášnivým vypravěčem neuvěřitelných historek ze svého mládí (Ewan McGregor), kdy jej jeho záliba v cestování zavedla na úžasnou výpravu okolo světa. V jeho mýtických dobrodružstvích nechybí obři, vlkodlaci, zpívající siamská dvojčata ani čarodějnice se skleněným okem, která dokáže nahlédnout do budoucnosti. Se svými fantastickými historkami se Bloomovi daří okouzlit každého kromě jeho syna Willa (Billy Crudup). Když pak Edward onemocní, jeho žena Sandra (Jessica Lange) se pokusí Willa přimět, aby ke svému otci znovu našel cestu. Will se musí pokusit oddělit pravdu od fikce a naučit se s heroickými činy i velkými prohrami svého otce žít. (oficiální text distributora)

The Animatrix

The Message (Arabic: الرسالة, Ar-Risālah; originally known as Mohammad, Messenger of God) is a 1976 epic film directed and produced by Moustapha Akkad that chronicles the life and times of Muhammad, who is never directly depicted.[4]

In the beginning of the film, a message appears that states the film encompasses historical facts as well as free personal impressions about Muhammad. Accordingly, some of the film's events did not actually take place in real life, but are indeed similar to events in Muhammad's biography.[6] Majidi stated that the objective behind presenting these scenes is to show that the whole existence could feel Muhammad's presence as well as his mercy.

Muhammad: The Messenger of God (Persian: محمد رسول‌الله, romanized: Mohammad Rasulollah) is a 2015 Iranian Islamic epic film directed by Majid Majidi and co-written with Kambuzia Partovi. Set in the sixth century, the plot revolves around the childhood of the Islamic prophet Muhammad.

I suggest to Caro that it’s become one of those things young New Yorkers do, or at least say they do, on the path to becoming a serious adult: Get a Met membership, figure out where Film Forum is, buy (and maybe even finish) The Power Broker.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Their success from a technical aspect was based in part on separating the camera from the sound recording device (David used a Nagra) by accurately controlling the speed of the camera and the tape recorder, allowing the two devices to be moved independently with respect to each other, an impossibility in commercially available equipment at the time. Long takes with ordinary equipment of the era would invariably lose synchronization.

Press Kit

an exotic portrait, partly factual and partly speculative,

Essentially, the studios would force theaters to buy a block of several films to screen (block booking), sometimes without even knowing what they were paying for (blind bidding). One or two might be prestige films with well-known actors and higher production values, but the rest would be low-budget westerns or thrillers that theaters would be forced to exhibit. The studios made money regardless.

Bottoms

What made the deal so unusual - and sparked concern among exhibitors - is that 2929 plans to distribute the projects simultaneously in the theatrical, home video and cable arenas.

LYNCH: Well, I could say that Dino De Laurentiis cutmy salary and cut the budget, and then gave mefinal cut. So he was into cutting! (

frank danielle at the 1:29 american film institute 1:30 who was dean of the school uh center for 1:33 advanced film studies 1:34 and he taught a way to do it 1:39 um you get yourself a pack of three by 1:42 five cards 1:44 and you write a scene 1:47 on each card and when you have 70 scenes 1:52 you have uh a feature film 1:56 so on each card you write the heading of 1:58 the scene 1:59 and then the next card the second scene 2:00 the third scene four scenes so you have 2:03 70 cards 2:04 each with the name of the scene then you 2:07 flesh out each of the cards 2:09 and walk away you got a script

Art is the hook that engages students…. The subjects are familiar so that students have much to recognize but they also contain elements of mystery so students have observations, ideas, and emotions to puzzle over [my emphasis]. (p. 24)

Reality

but this time it was like the entire film, and some scenes in particular, needed extra rhythm and vitality. T

I wanted the colour pal-ette of this film to convey a cinematic reality, which is somewhat different from the actual reality. That is why we picked pastel colours with a sum-mery tone. Up to the post-production phase, my DoP Kim Ji-Hyun kept on working on colour details. Creating this special universe was the result of a true collaboration with the entire crew.

Though the film ended up as a fictional romance, it drew on documentary techniques and precedents.

Yoon places all her shots at the children’s eye-level, which results in the adults in their lives being cropped out of frame. The director only uses diegetic sound to populate neighbourhoods, with the exact sounds as the children would hear it. Plus, if the children get distracted, so does the audience.

At the University of California, Berkeley, Tom studied physics and then literature, graduating with a B.A. in English. He also ran a film society and played on the varsity golf team.

“I Vitelloni,” Federico Fellini’s 1953 film about a group of young men on the brink of adulthood drifting about in a small Italian village, to George Lucas before he made “American Graffiti.”

It was a measure of Mr. Luddy’s influence, The Times noted in 1984, that he showed “The Italian,” a 1915 film that is considered a model for the immigrant-gangster epic, to Mr. Coppola before he made “The Godfather,”

As director of special projects for Francis Ford Coppola’s company American Zoetrope, he produced movies like Paul Schrader’s “Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters” (1985), a complicated film about Yukio Mishima, the eccentric Japanese author who killed himself publicly in 1970 — a passion project that Mr. Schrader has described as “the definition of an unfinanceable project.” Mr. Luddy was its tireless booster and supporter, funding it early on with his American Express card.

Watch The Film

Donations

In late 2006, Eno released 77 Million Paintings, a program of generative video and music specifically for home computers. As its title suggests, there is a possible combination of 77 million paintings where the viewer will see different combinations of video slides prepared by Eno each time the program is launched. Likewise, the accompanying music is generated by the program so that it's almost certain the listener will never hear the same arrangement twice.

very list is by necessity impossible, and must remain unwritten, a private reckoning.

Klar ist auch, dass dieMehrzahl der kommerziell produzierten Filme unter didaktischen Gesichtspunktenabzulehnen ist

Wenn Philosophielehrerinnen und -lehrer in (Spiel-)Filmen philosophische Fra -gen oder Probleme ausmachen, dann liegt es daran, dass sie mit ihrem philosophi-schen Blick Sequenzen, Szenen, Gespräche, Beispiele etc. aufspüren, an denen einephilosophische Idee oder Position exemplifiziert oder eine philosophische Fragebzw. ein philosophisches Problem aufgeworfen werden kann

DiephilosophischeProblemreflexionkannangeregtwerdendurcheigeneinlebens-weltlichem Zusammenhang entstehende grundsätzliche Überlegungen oder durchdiskursive,d.h.traditionellphilosophischeoderandereSachtexte;siekannauchanset-zenanpräsentativenMaterialienwieliterarischenTexten,Bildern,FilmenundanderenKunstwerken,dieeinenimplizitenphilosophischenGehaltaufweisen.

All of us, then, are effectively bilingual: we speak one or more languages, butwe are also fully fluent in gesture.

The Laemmle Theatre’s Playhouse 7 was the first arthouse movie theater chain in Los Angeles.

film sites on the web have become the minor leagues of the movie and television industry.

Die Dokumentation erhielt die Auszeichnung als „Bester Wissenschaftsfilm“ beim Internationalen Green Screen Naturfilmfestival in Eckernförde 2020. Die Einschätzung der internationalen Jury des Green Screen Festivals in der Laudatio zum Film: „Er zeigt anhand anschaulicher Einzelschicksale und verstörender Bilder die Auswirkungen des Klimawandels auf Rentierhirten und die Natur Sibiriens, ohne den globalen Bezug aus den Augen zu verlieren." Außerdem gewann der Film 2020 beim „Jackson Wild Festival“ in der Kategorie „Best Changing Planet Film - Long Form“.

Look at filmmaker Anubhav Sinha’s last three films. He went for Muslim minority story (Mulk) then he went to do a Dalit-related, anti-caste-related story in Article 15, and now he has gone for domestic violence (Thappad). He has touched religion, caste and gender.

John Grierson, a Scottish filmmaker and critic who was one of the first people to coin the term “documentary film” in the 1930s, advanced the idea, drawing from the work of radicals like Dziga Vertov, that documentaries can awaken people to liberal ideas and show them the necessity of social change.

Dexter clearly wasn’t sleeping. He had insisted on using old equipment, and avoided digital almost entirely, to the point where several of the crew were using pieces of kit they’d never even seen before. This meant that a work print had to be made manually for the dailies, something he refused to let anyone else do.

while the material of literature (graphemes, words, and sentences) may be of a different nature from the materials of cinema (projected light and shad-ows, identifiable sounds and forms, and represented actions), both systems may con-struct in their own way,

I hasten to add that my own liking for this movie, as with Lucy, has nothing to do with academic enlightenment and is strictly and exclusively a matter of fun (without scare quotes, and speaking in terms of both erotics and aesthetics, at least insofar as anyone can separate these two forms of sexiness).

touching and examining

No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century

The pattern of Hollywood is to balance the independent woman with the female stereotype so that the net sum of progressivism remains zero.

If you just want pictures, film photography is probably not for you, but if you want to be physically connected to the images you produce – then maybe it is.

I am the product of male gaze – we all are. I've spent my life loving films that sometimes hated me, identifying with Superman, for example. Female gaze is a hybrid – it’s really about knowing both of these worlds. I am a lesbian, and I know how to live in a male-dominated environment. But the question is, can they?

A big greyish rounded bulk, the size perhaps of a bear, was rising slowly and painfully out of the cylinder.

Asked which of his films are his personal favorites, Kore-eda — in characteristic fashion — expounded upon a familiar adage until it felt new: “It’s like asking someone which of their 10 kids you like the most. You may have one child who’s just ridiculously successful and making tons of money, and then you have this other child who’s living in poverty, but they’re just so lovable.” He grew silent for a moment, and then went on: “I would say there are two children who are most similar to myself. ‘Nobody Knows’ is the film that I became a director to make. ‘Still Walking’ is special to me because I made it shortly after losing my mother. Having said that, I also have to mention ‘Like Father, Like Son,’ because that film took me to the next level, to the point where I couldn’t believe this was really my career.”

The truth, as always, is more complicated. Kore-eda cited the formative experience he had with “After Life” in 1998, which premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival after a programmer sent the director a handwritten fax proclaiming his love for the movie. But a gala debut wasn’t enough to get the movie sold. The director sighed: “I received very blunt information from the agent saying that this isn’t the kind of film that people want — they didn’t want to see people in heaven, they wanted the kind of typical Japanese film that would be representative of a national cinema.” Emotionally inhibited parents drinking sake on tatami mats, rogue samurai wandering the countryside, geishas scuffling around the Gion, that sort of thing. It could have been a devastating moment, but Kore-eda chose to see it as a call to action. “That process made me realize that I don’t have to make what other people want,” he said. “‘After Life’ led me to have confidence that if I make something that I love, there will be fans and critics out there who will love it also, and won’t start putting labels on it.” To his point, “After Life” now regularly appears on (American) lists of the best films of the ’90s. “I feel really fortunate that I’ve been able to find those people,” Kore-eda continued, “even when I’ve wanted to make films just because I liked them.”

“The traditional concept of family was already being dismantled or destroyed in Japan, and 3/11 just made it obvious that was happening. I believe you can no longer interpret the true value or purpose of family based on the antiquated traditional tropes of Japanese society. In ‘Shoplifters,’ I was looking at three generations living together, because that’s typically what you’d find in a Japanese household. But I wanted to play with that, and show that even within those terms the nuclear family is undergoing a permanent change.”

To watch Kore-eda’s films — and certainly to hear him talk about them — it’s clear that he’s not interested in judging this perceived degradation of traditional norms. These movies don’t lament what’s been lost so much as they wonder about what’s been found, a dynamic that allows even the most devastating pieces of Kore-eda’s work to feel intrinsically hopeful (his thoughts on the ending of “Shoplifters” were too spoiler-heavy to share here, but they made it clear the director savors that bittersweet aftertaste). His films are less concerned with passing a verdict on the state of things than they are in studying the various mechanisms that bind people together, and the performative elements required to keep us that way.

That’s exactly right. What’s the technique to avoiding that stance?I don’t think it’s a technique. I don’t think that’s something you can make up, or trick people into believing through your filmmaking. It comes from the fundamental worldview, the sense of humanity. It comes from the depth of the work’s creator. If you have that empathy, you won’t go down the road of voyeurism. You can’t just sympathize; you have to make visible what is invisible. Make visible the factors that have brought the impoverished to this point, so that the audience can see them in a fuller and more complex way. That skirts the trap of poverty porn. Regarding your initial question: I don’t want to present the film in such a way so that when the audience leaves the theater, they say, “Well, it’s the government’s fault! It’s the system’s fault!” That’s not what I’m trying to portray. They’re part of it, but the people watching the film are part of it, too, and they need to feel that by the end.

I’ve read that you visited an actual orphanage while researching this subject. What sort of emotional response did you have at that time?I did not go to an “orphanage,” per se. I went to a facility run by the government that houses children with parents who are dysfunctional in some way, through alcoholism or domestic abuse or something like that. Just wanted to clarify that first. While I was there, a young girl in grade three had just come back from school, and she read for me the book Swimmy by Leo Lionni. I happened to be there in time to witness this. The people who worked at the facility went, “Oh, no, don’t bother him; he doesn’t want to listen to this.” But she completely ignored them and kept reading this book right to the end. And at the very end, I applauded because she had done so wonderfully. The girl was absolutely thrilled by this, and she smiled a big smile, and it occurred to me that it was her parents that she wanted to have witness this reading of Swimmy. This moved me. That was the feeling I took with me when I made Shoplifters. The young boy in the film reads Swimmy, to show to his parents that he’s reading. That sense of pride and joy that the little girl had was something I held with me.

Sakura Ando gives a phenomenal performance as Nobuyo. Can you talk about your collaboration with her? I agree that she is phenomenal. To answer quite honestly, I first heard about Sakura Ando through actors or cameramen who are friends of mine or who I worked with. They all said she was amazing. I was still unsure she’d be right for my film because the part of Nobuyo was written for someone who’s in their 40s. However I ran into her in the neighborhood and we just talked for a little while. And then I ran into her a second time. After that I thought she might be the best person for this role [despite her age] and I offered her the job. You are a director who has successfully directed children in many of your films. How do you work with them? Thank you saying they are successful. For 15 years the way that I have worked with children is I never give them a script. They have no idea about the full story. Everyday when they come on set, I tell them each individual line when they need to know it. So I whisper in their ears this is your line, this is what you are going to talk about, sometimes they choose their own words. But also during auditions I choose children who specifically seem to respond to that method well. Once I’ve chosen them I organize activities to create trust and a relationship with them. My goal is to have them come to set every day smiling, excited and looking forward to the work. That’s my approach.

There is a density and depth to your stories and characters that’s reminiscent of novels. I’m interested in your writing process and how you come about it? That is a difficult question. First there's the person, a human. Then the situation and what if that situation causes the human to do something? I don’t know if it’s right or wrong but I don’t actually sit down and write all the details about each character, their whole history. If you were to attend a screenwriting course, often they’d tell you to sit down and define each character before writing the script. I don’t believe in that, I don't think character development is the way to go. For me it’s the relationships. The relationship between one person and the person standing in front of them. It’s the way they move, the way they react, and how they relate to each other. That’s what defines them. Take for example the character of the father Osamu, he’s defined by the context of the relationships around him. The story comes out of the numerous interactions between these different people.

Thinking of happy accidents, it looked like Miyu Sasaki, who plays the young Juri, really did lose a tooth. Is that something you had to incorporate into the script? On the first day of shooting, we were shooting the scene where she’s discovered on the veranda and it just happened that the tooth came out. [And she yelled] “Oh no, my tooth came out!” We talked about fixing it so there was a fake tooth there, but then I thought I might as well write a scene about losing her tooth. [SPOILERS AHEAD] Then I thought what would be really interesting would be to write a scene where the grandmother who has no teeth dies and the granddaughter loses her teeth and then you throw the teeth up on the roof, so I thought the combination of those two things would make it very interesting and I wrote it into the script.

Was the family’s home on screen a set or a real location? We did use a real house [for exteriors]. There was a small house that existed within all those high-rises, but most of the interior scenes were shot on set. There’s a scene where [you see] the entrance to the home [where] they’re on a little corridor or a little porch outside and when I went to see the house, I was just looking around it with my crew. it’s very near Sumida River, which is very famous for the fireworks coming up, so I just thought, “Oh, it’s very near the river, but [the family] would never be able to see the fireworks,” [which] stayed with me, so I decided to write a scene about it.

Is it true you got to shoot the first scenes of the film in the summer and then go back later to shoot the rest of the film, after you had an idea of how they might interact with one another? Yes. When we started shooting in the summer, the truth is the script wasn’t really finished. I hadn’t really had a complete script by that point and we shot it anyways because we thought we might need it. I told all the actors we may not even keep this scene and Kiki Kirin [who plays the grandmother] said, “Well, in that case, it probably won’t stay. It won’t survive.” [laughs] But then there’s the scene where it rains suddenly and where [the family] finds the cicada, so it was fortuitous when those things all happened. And then when I went back and wrote the script properly in the autumn, I incorporated some of those things in it.

There is a bit of a fantastical quality to the film, which comes through subtly through the score, and I loved how visually, there are often boxes created throughout the frame, particularly inside the family’s house. How did you go about getting the tone right aesthetically? In terms of the visual, in terms of Kondo [Ryuto, the cinematographer], when he talked to me about how he viewed it, he really wanted a poetic state, so visually we were looking at poetic images around their lifestyle and after about a certain amount of filming, I just let Kondo-san go — he was the one that decided the framing, so it was his sensibility that created those lines that you’re talking about. With Honoso [Haruomi, the composer], it was more the image of swimming, so the family were like a bunch of little fishes at the bottom of an ocean swimming around and they would look up at the surface and see the sparkling night, but the sound of that sparkling night would come down to the bottom and twinkle around it.

You’ve acknowledged that “After the Storm” marked a bit of a turning point where you’d start making films about broader Japanese society. What inspired that shift? I look at it a little bit differently because for me, from “Still Walking” to “After the Storm,” that thread was really very much about me looking at what went on inside of a family, inside of the home, [with] a narrow and deep perspective. But that was more the exception. With “The Third Murder,” I felt I went back to where I started, which was with “Nobody Knows” and looking at the family within society. That’s the thread I was following and then I got disrupted by my own personal inquiry.

Shoplifters’ question of whether this family counts as a “real” one does occasionally feel belabored. But its exploration of the layers, and limits, within this unlikely clan is so moving and observant that one can easily overlook that foible. Like nearly every mystery in the film, it isn’t meant to be resolved anyway. To spend time with the Shibatas is to make peace with a lack of answers. In so doing, Shoplifters achieves that ultimate goal of art as expressed by the artist Robert Filliou: It’s art that makes life more interesting than art.

All well and good, but what makes Kore-eda's movie so quietly devastating, the work of a master in full command of his art, is that its emotional rewards stem from a deep engagement with the world rather than a retreat from it. It's the rare movie indeed that can unite a jury without even remotely smacking of compromise.

L.A. has this amazing Koreatown and the most Korean Americans anywhere in the states. At the same time, the industry that you wanted to break into when you arrived is extremely white. What were your impressions of L.A. when you first got here, and has your relationship to the city changed in any significant way? Koreatown at first became a safe haven for me where you can go to not feel othered. I wasn’t cognizant of [being othered then]. I was aware of me being an Asian actor, but I was not thinking about anything but just working within the system, whatever that meant. I wouldn’t take roles that would be bad as an Asian person, but I was looking to just get work. So you do that on the daily and then you come back, and for some reason you always just keep gravitating toward K-Town. It’s comfortable. Then you start to let it go for a bit. Because you go, “Oh, I don’t need the security blanket of this place.” And then you find it again, where now you’re approaching K-Town not from a place of fear. Rather, now you’re just going there to go eat some bomb food and celebrate your culture. That’s the confidence that you build over time, or you hope to.

What do you feel like that gaze wants you to do? I won’t speak for other Asian American actors, because I don’t know what they’re being offered. But for me, it’s like: nice guy, dependable, supportive, benign. Beige. And as a Korean man, I am not beige. And I felt that when I was over there [shooting Burning].

Do you think of yourself as a heartthrob? Ay-yi-yi. I’m at this interesting point of not rejecting it, because I want to be representative of the idea that anyone can be that and feel that. For that reason, I don’t want to reject it. But definitely I want to reject it. Why? Self-hatred. Maybe when I was young, I wanted that. I was like, “Why not me, why can’t an Asian man be this?” Then you try to find that through systems that aren’t native to you. You’re like, “I know what it means to be hot. It means you work out. It means you drink a ton of milk, so you get huge. It means you’re mean to people. Toxic masculinity.” Then you realize it’s so stupid. Just be comfortable with yourself.

You’ve worked with heavyweights in the Korean film world: Joon-ho Bong on Okja and Chang-dong Lee on Burning. They’ve given you meaty roles, as well as the opportunity to work with art-house auteurs. What do you make of the fact that these opportunities seem to be primarily coming from the Korean side, rather than the American side?  Sometimes it’s tough. I’ll come back from Burning, and I’ll be like, “Will I ever get this experience again? Will I ever feel this free in a character? Will I ever feel like they’re looking to get my best performance? Down to the lighting, the makeup, the boundarylessness that they project on me?” I feel like there’s a mold here in America, that even in my daily walking around I feel subjected to. Someone’s projecting, like, “This is how you’re supposed to fit in this world.” It’s this generic Asian man mold that pervades.

I like to joke that Korean cinema, which is known in part for its intensity of emotion, is 5,000 years of suffering condensed into an art form. Yeah, that’s real.

Yesterday, when you were introducing the movie [at a screening], you called Chang-dong Lee a “film genius.” What draws you to him? He reached out to me through his films first, obviously. Peppermint Candy helped me understand why I have this han [an untranslatable strain of sorrow that makes up a pillar of Korean national identity] in my body that I can’t explain. I couldn’t explain how me being a 5-year-old immigrant in America was filled with so much rage. It wasn’t just the fear of my environment, or being an Asian kid in America. That probably stoked it a little bit, but I didn’t experience war, I didn’t experience trauma. You don’t know where it comes from, but then you watch [the movie] and you go, “Oh my God, there’s a whole level of Korean experience that I’m missing out on.” There was this deeper level that I couldn’t access, and that film helped me get there.

Are you disappointed that American or international audiences won’t get all of the nuances in the dialogue? No, because we’re talking about one layer of this story, and really the human layer is the thing that binds it all together. Do you mean the romantic triangle in the film? I mean the feeling of unrequited loneliness. The feeling that we’re all alone. We can try to put labels on ourselves and try to separate each other, but really, we’re all fucking alone and that’s what it is. And it’s scary, and it sounds terrible, but really, it’s OK.

The whole movie is about the tension between three people, just like a ghost story at certain points. And in the middle, there’s this chilly sequence where they just hang out during the magic hour. How did you approach the structure of the film and how did you shoot this particular sequence? _________________   After the dance scene, something had to change. That’s what I felt, and the audience can feel that we’re heading to another road as well. The scene itself is in the middle, storyline-wise, and also it’s a quarter of the film. A lot of people think of it as a thriller that it’s mostly about finding Hae-mi’s whereabouts, but we’re not doing that: we’re doing something that’s more about what she was looking for and who she really is. We wanted to shoot the dancing scene after sunset, and so that we could emphasize the boundaries between darkness and lightning, as well as the mixture of reality and surrealistic reality. And when you look at the set, you can see the Korean flag which reflects Korean politics, you can see a dirt, the grass and nature elements, where on the other side you can even see cars passing by. So it’s a mixture of all kinds of life around us, in the scene, and in here Hae-mi is looking for the meaning of life. She is dancing with great hunger. We tried to film that scene without any artificial light. Also, I wanted that scene to show the freedom which she’s getting through and the spontaneity she’s also getting through. That’s the most important thing I wanted to capture in the scene.

Crazed Fruit: Imagining a New Japan—The Taiyozoku Films

Though this genre has existed for quite some time, it really blossomed the decade following World War II thanks to so-called “sun tribe” youth movies (these featured teens interested in violence and sex, similar to America’s Rebel Without A Cause). In the decades since, seishun eiga have generally focused on the ups and downs of adolescence, particularly high schoolers. “Seishun eiga offer the sort of clear window into Japan’s national culture, society and psyche that other, more internationally popular, genres don’t. Most Japanese survived high school; relatively few joined yakuza gangs,” the Japan Times film critic Mark Schilling has written. Since these movies can be loaded with cliches and melodrama, the laziest iterations of this style are often deeply formulaic.

Theo bà Ngô Phương Lan, năm 2017, Việt Nam đạt 3.250 tỷ đồng trong lĩnh vực điện ảnh. Trong đó, doanh thu từ phim Việt chiếm 28% nhờ quy định số suất chiếu phim Việt ở mỗi rạp phải chiếm 20% trên tổng số (theo nghị định 54). Tuy vậy, phim trong nước vẫn bị phim ngoại lấn át về sức cạnh tranh.

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“Korea is very dynamic, it is undergoing social and political change. Its culture reflects that. Its films are rooted in change,” Rayns said. “In Japan I don’t see that. I see stasis. I still see same right wing politicians denying the existence of comfort women, the same old stuff we’ve heard for 20, 30 or 40 years. Until we see some challenge to the establishment [in Japan] I don’t think you will see the same dynamism as in Korean cinema.”

The situation today is much less dynamic. Filmmaking in Japan has largely polarised, with very high budgets (by Japanese standards, i.e. US$ 10 million or a multiple of it) on the one extreme and no-budget indie (or amateur) filmmaking on the other. Films in the former category seek to emulate the Hollywood blockbuster formula and are produced by "film committees": consortia of production partners, the majority being television stations, advertising agencies and talent agencies rather than traditional film production companies. Each partner has a stake and a say in the filmmaking and the result more often than not literally comes across as something made by committee rather than artistic vision. It is a type of filmmaking that takes no chances: all the stories are based on hit properties (TV series, manga, novels) and the lead actors are pop musicians or TV talento, while the important share of media companies in the production committees is resulting in self-censorship and/or conservative political stances in line with the policies of Shinzo Abe’s government.

Asura flops, but shines a light on China’s increasingly sophisticated film audience

When you’re doing a biopic, it’s very hard to shake the cradle-to-grave structure that audiences are so familiar with. People are going to come into the theater knowing that first we’re going to see a little boy with his father, and he’s looking into the window of the electronics store, and then we’re going to hit these famous signposts along the way in Steve Jobs’ life. Also, I’m not really a screenwriter; I’m a playwright who pretends to be a screenwriter. I’m most comfortable writing in claustrophobic pieces of geography and periods of time.

the doctors, unthinkingly embracing the latest medical breakthrough, do not even demand a psychological test to determine the wisdom of bringing the gift of hearing to people who have managed for 65 years without it

despite being deaf, she was the gossip editor of her high-school newspaper

hearing has become the most burdensome of the senses. One only has to consider the number of ear plugs, sound-canceling devices, tranquilizers, and sleeping pills being purchased to attest to that.