I suspect that the French director, co-writer and actor Yvan Attal managed to magically steal one of our family’s favorite jokes for his film ‘Ils sont partout‘ (2016). This is exactly how, in French, my wife and I have reacted for decades now when encountering any of the stereotypes about Jews. Same as we do, everyone says ‘They are everywhere: Jews and their friends when they boast about the lists of Nobel prizes and other achievements of talented Jews, but also anti-Semites when it comes to looking for scapegoats for all the evils of world. ‘Ils sont partout‘ is right this – a film about stereotypes related to Jews, some anecdotal, others stupid, which depending on the circumstances can be a source of humor of better or worse quality, but also one of the manifestations of that form of racism that produced so much suffering throughout history: anti-Semitism. ‘Ils sont partout‘ compiles a collection of such stereotypes and exemplifies them in a series of comical mini-episodes. The approach is sarcastic and full of humor directed against prejudices, without avoiding aspects from within the Jewish community and life. But the main target is clear and the film is – unfortunately – even more relevant today than in 2016. The title in the English distribution is much less funny – simply ‘The Jews‘.
The link between the different episodes is pseudo-autobiographical. After a theatre performance, Yvan Attal is accosted in a bar by an excited spectator who asks him about his religion, intrigued by the fact that the actor had refused to order an alcoholic drink as a treat. Confronted with the vulgarity of the man he met by chance, the hero of the film asks himself questions about his own Jewishness: what does it mean to be Jewish for a French man, atheist, completely culturally integrated? Serious question, for which he will resort to the services of a psychoanalyst. The answer is the collection of episodes which, however, avoids any moralizing direction and urges its viewers to think hard. A few examples: the husband of a far-right politician (any resemblance to real politicians…) discovers upon the death of his maternal grandmother that she was Jewish, which makes him technically Jewish too; a French president who bears a striking resemblance to François Hollande decides to put to a referendum the decision that all French citizens convert to Judaism; the Mossad sends an agent into the past to prevent the birth of Jesus in order to destroy the ‘Jews killed the Messiah’ stereotype; etc. Not all episodes are on the same level or tackle the same kind of humor. Some episodes will upset some people, other will upset others, a few will upset everybody. But if the satire doesn’t offend, then it probably isn’t sharp enough.
I liked ‘Ils sont partout‘, and not just because the identity issues it tackles are familiar to me. A formidable gallery of well-known French actors (and not just actors) participated in this project and their performances are delicious, even if some of them only appear only in one scene. First of all Yvan Attal himself, the psychologist Tobie Nathan as … the psychologist, Benoît Poelvoorde, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Denis Podalydès, Gilles Lellouche, the television journalist Claire Chazal. Several well-known Israeli actors also collaborate: Romanian-born theater man Niko Nitai in his last screen appearance, Rivka Michaeli, Ilan Dar. I laughed at this movie which deals with a very serious topic. The film is about Jews, but the issues it raises and even the stereotypes it satirizes are not unique and exist in one form or another in any discrimination against ethnic, racial, or religious minorities. We are everywhere.
The name of Canadian Anthony Shim is to be added to the permanently increasing list of actors who have crossed over from the other side of the camera to become film directors. As an actor, he has quite an impressive filmography, with over 40 roles in short and feature films, for the big screen and for television. ‘Riceboy Sleeps‘ is his second feature film, an auteur film. Shim is the writer, director and plays one of the important supporting roles. It is also a personal film, inspired by his own life experience and that of his family.
Immigration dramas are a genre that has produced some outstanding North American films in recent years. ‘Riceboy Sleeps‘ brings to the screen the story of So-Young, a single mother who immigrated to Canada in 1990 with her boy, Dong-Hyun, who is in the first grades of elementary school. She had left behind a tragedy in South Korea – her husband, who had returned traumatized from the army, had committed suicide. Ahead of her are hopes for a better life in a country considered quite friendly to immigrants. However, problems are not lacking here either, and in order to reach a stable economic situation and social integration, So-Young has to face the typical problems of immigrants: the language barrier, cultural differences, visible and invisible prejudices, to which is added the vulgar misogyny of some of the men towards a lonely and vulnerable woman. The confrontations are described with sensitivity and realism in the first part of the film, with some moments of beautiful cinematography, without idealizing or dramatizing the situations. The second part takes place nine years later. Dong-Hyun has turned from a timorated child into a seemingly assimilated teenager, with the problems and experiences of his age. He speaks perfect English, a language he prefers to speak at home as well, while his mother answers him in Korean and sometimes needs a dictionary in her daily life. Many of those who have lived the experience of emigrating in families with children will recognize the situations. So-Young has not remarried, and when a man comes into her life, she hesitates whether to expand her family. Dong-Hyun starts asking questions about his father and his family in Korea. The events will lead to a journey of the two to Korea, looking for family and roots, but their experience with meeting the family left behind is not smooth either. A chasm may have narrowed on one side, toward the new world the family now lives in, but another opened toward the world from which they had come.
Anthony Shim captured, I think, very well the psychology of the first generation of emigrants, of those who live between two worlds without fully belonging to either of them. The story is well supported by the performances of the three actors who bring the two characters to the screen: Choi Seung-yoon as So-Young, the amazing Dohyun Noel Hwang as the child Dong-Hyun and Ethan Hwang as the adolescent Dong-Hyun. The director uses different screen formats for the parts shot in Canada and South Korea, respectively. The narration is cursive and efficient, the film is sensitive and genuine, but it lacks an element of drama or surprise to make it memorable. Anthony Shim demonstrated his talent and mastery of the director’s tools in this film with an obvious personal involvement. He now needs to confirm these skills in future films.
The diptych consisting of ‘Der Tiger von Eschnapur‘ (in English distribution ‘The Tiger of Eschnapur‘) and ‘Das Indische Grabmal‘ (‘The Indian Tomb‘) opens the last and shortest stage of Fritz Lang‘s career. The credits of the films indicate 1958 as the year of production, although on IMDB both appear with the date 1959, presumably the year of the theatrical releases. Who is responsible for this change in direction in the late 1950s? Why did Fritz Lang return to Germany to make the last three films of his career? A quarter of a century of political and artistic exile had passed. The exile had begun in the spring of 1933 when he had received from Goebbels himself, in his office, the news that his film ‘The Testament of Dr. Mabuse’ had been banned. Lang had refused the offer to become the director of UFA studios and to collaborate with the Nazis. The director had then preferred exile, renounced his German citizenship, acquired the American one and made 24 films for American studios between 1936 and 1956. Now, under very different conditions, was the director who had always abhorred convention and never stopped exploring means of expression looking for a freedom that was lost in the conventions and restrictions imposed and self-imposed in Hollywood in the 50s? Or maybe funding for lavish projects like this was easier to come by in Europe where historical blockbusters with thousands of extras were all the rage?
The two films are actually two series of the same film. If it had been filmed nowadays, the producers would not have hesitated to release a single film with a duration of more than 3 hours. However, the American distributors then decided to cut about half of the scenes and project a truncated version on American screens, which was not very successful. The two complete series that are being watched today can be considered as a kind of mini-series. That’s exactly how they’re designed, with ‘Das Indische Grabmal‘ starting with a few minutes of recaps of the events of ‘Der Tiger von Eschnapur‘, as is now done on television, streaming or sequel films. Fritz Lang opened a gate here too, through which many others followed him.
It can be said that the two films constitute a remake. Fritz Lang started from a story written in the first decades of the 20th century, which had inspired a film script. The author was his ex-wife, Thea von Harbou, from whom he had separated when he emigrated and who had been the co-writer of some of his famous films from his first German period. The film had been made during the silent film era, but not by him but by another director. Lang rewrites it and develops it with the means and through the perpspective of the 50s. The story takes place in India, in an ambiguous historical period – it could be the 19th century or the first half of the 20th century. No automobile is seen, there is no mention of the English administration, but the Europeans in the film are dressed ‘modern’ for mid 50s. The main hero is an architect, Harald Berger (Henri Mercier in the French version), who is invited to build a hospital next to Maharajah Chandra’s lavish palace. On his way he meets the beautiful Seetha, a sacred dancer, whose life he saves when she is attacked by a tiger. The architect and the king both fall in love with the beautiful Seetha. Chandra rules like an enlightened tyrant, with openness to European culture but also with cruel, feudal-style repression of any opposition. The king’s brother and brother-in-law (Chandra was newly widowed) plot to dethrone him, and Harald and Setha will become actors in a complicated palace plot, with chases and battles in the desert or palace dungeons, and sacred dances, exotic and erotic at the same time.
I don’t have enough knowledge to judge how authentic the aspects of Indian culture that the two films are based on are. On the one hand, the exteriors were shot in India and the credits give thanks to the (real) manaradjah of an Indian province for support and help (probably with real sets and figuration). On the other hand, neither the production team nor the cast features any Indian names. The fascination with exotic adventures existed in German literature and then in German cinema since the late 19th century. One could call it Orientalism, but it also looked west (see Karl May’s series of books and the films inspired by it). Fritz Lang manages to avoid some stereotypes, but the casting of exclusively European and American actors doesn’t help. The most fascinating role is that of the dancer Seetha, a role played by Debra Paget, a Hollywood star of the 1950s, partner in films with Elvis and James Stewart, beautiful and bold, who ended her career much like Grace Kelly, through a lavish marriage to an oil tycoon. Fritz Lang films her with voluptuousness in two dance scenes (one in each of the films) that could not have been filmed in Hollywood in that decade. In several other scenes, such as the escape of the lepers, Fritz Lang, the expressionist director, resurfaces. It can be said that the story takes place in three worlds: that of nature dominated by the desert and haunted by wild beasts; that of the maharajah’s palace and that of the underground with tunnels and dungeons. The calm and symmetrical architecture, dominated by white and gold, on the surface contrasts with the darkness of the underground labyrinths. Finally, the film is full of religious references, the accuracy of which, again, is hard for me to confirm or dispute. But I’m sure that Steven Spielberg saw and studied these films before starting the ‘Indiana Jones’ cycle. Fritz Lang seems to have reached towards the end of his career a conclusion that Spielberg adopted from the beginning. Good cinema can also be good entertainment.
‘Last Night of Amore‘ (2023 – original title ‘L’ultima notte di Amore‘) is the title of a very good Italian ‘noir’ thriller, written and directed by Andrea Di Stefano. It’s the actor-turned-director’s first feature film made in Italy, but it comes after two films made in the United States, and this shows in the way it looks and is designed. It could very well be an American film. ‘Last Night of Amore‘ begins with a scene that takes us at night over Milan, splendidly filmed, probably from a drone. From here until the final scene, however, the city plays no role in the film. The story could take place over several hours of the night in any major metropolis of the world. Italian cinema has an excellent tradition of political, social criticism films and Mafia films, but police corruption and the infiltration of the international mob into the life of big cities have long been a world-wide phenomena. In this case we can say that we are dealing with an Italian film about the Chinese Mafia. A good one.
The last night in the title is the night before the retirement of Franco Amore, a policeman with 35 years of service, during which he only managed to reach the post of deputy chief of a city police station. Perhaps his reputation is to blame: his integrity and the fact that in all these years he has never once used the weapon in his possession. Good reputation does not necessarily bring promotion. With a salary of 1,800 euros per month, Amore does not refuse to supplement his income by doing some private guarding or security jobs. He puts some pretty strict conditions though – the guarded shipments must not contain stolen goods and the protected persons must not be wanted gangsters and they should not carry firearms. Such activities are on the edge of legality. When Franco agrees to work with the Chinese mafia for the first time and the first activity for them takes place on his last day as an active policeman, he knows he is taking a risk, but he cannot resist the temptation. Things will get complicated and the last night will be completely different than planned.
‘Last Night of Amore‘ is well written and professionally shot. The action has rhythm, the story has logic and they captivate the viewers’ attention. The main role is played by Pierfrancesco Favino who succeeds a powerful and nuanced creation. His well-acted turmoil and hesitation add psychological thriller value to the story. However, the atmosphere is film noir, perhaps due to the fact that the entire story takes place at night. Linda Caridi, an actress that I didn’t know, fits in very well as the wife, a character with a key role in the story. The only aspect that seemed to me to be superficially addressed is the schematic way in which the Chinese gangsters are presented. The penetration of the Chinese mafia in Italy and other places in the world is a widespread and worrying phenomenon, and this film would have been an opportunity to go deeper into the problem and build more interesting and compelling characters. This opportunity was missed. However, the film has enough other qualities that recommend it to be watched by thrillers fans and not only by them.
‘Stromboli‘ (1950) is a movie shrouded in a legend that sometimes seems to overshadow the film itself. Its story begins with a letter that Ingrid Bergman, one of the great Hollywood stars of the 1940s, sent to the Italian director Roberto Rossellini, the author of some of the most remarkable films of the Italian neo-realist movement in the years after the Second World War . “If you need a Swedish actress who speaks very good English … I’m ready to come and make a film with you.” Rossellini didn’t hesitate too much, he took the script written for his girlfriend at the time, also famous – Ana Magnani -, and rewrote it for Ingrid Bergman (Magnani would get the main role in William Diterle’s ‘Volcano’ instead). Filming began and with it the love story between the famous director and the famous actress began as well, a relationship that would last for about five years and from which five feature films and three children, including Isabella Rossellini, were born. The film would be released in the United States in 1950 in a version shortened at the initiative of the producers and distributors. Because of the cuts but also, or above all, because of the boycott calls of the conservative circles, outraged at the news that the actress had become pregnant from the relationship that was for both lovers outside of marriage, the film did not enjoy public attention and success. We, the contemporary viewers, see the original version (the director’s cut as it is called today). I’ve seen it again and can say that the film stands very well on its own among Rossellini‘s significant creations, close to the peaks of his career.
The story is simple, but the situation is interesting and meaningful. ‘Stromboli‘ is in fact one of the few films that addresses, very close to the events, the situation of the millions of refugees in Europe immediately after the Second World War. Until today, these stories, these human tragedies, are very little mentioned in memoirs, in literature, in films and even in history books. Karen, the heroine of the film, is a Lithuanian refugee whom the storms of war brought to Italy. During the Nazi occupation of her country she had fallen in love and married a German soldier, an architect by profession. He had taken her with him to Czechoslovakia, but had been killed there. She cannot return to her country, now occupied by the Soviet Union. She would have been tried and convicted for ‘collaboration’ and sent to the Gulag. She lands in Italy in a camp populated by refugees and former Italian military prisoners, hoping to be able to go on to Argentina, but is denied a visa. To save her life, she marries Antonio, an Italian prisoner, handsome and nice at first sight, but a simple man, who seduces her with stories about the idyllic island in the Mediterranean where he has his home. Arriving on the island of Stromboli, she discovers a very different reality: an arid island, on the way to de-population because most of the inhabitants emigrate where they can in search of a better life. Those who remain are poor and conservative people, who see in the immigrant brought by Alfonso as a wife a foreigner with provocative clothes and easy morals. Alfonso himself turns out to be just a poor fisherman, unable to make Karen happy in any way, and moreover willing to coerce her into the life of submissive wife and use violence when she tries to resist. Determined to escape at any cost from the trap she has entered, Karen resorts to the only weapon left at her disposal. She tries to work her charms on the men who might help her escape the island – the local priest and the lighthouse keeper. All these events are dominated by the haunting silhouette of the Stromboli, an active volcano that wakes up to life, or rather wakes up to death once every few years.
This romantic and tragic story could have been told in many ways. Rossellini chooses to use the tools of Italian neo-realism combining social melodrama with a careful and deep look at the background against which the action takes place. Some scenes are anthological and they remain in the memory of those who have seen this film at least once: that of the kiss between the lovers separated by the barbed wire or the tuna fishing. The figure present on the screen most of the time is that of Karen, played by Ingrid Bergman. Knowing the story surrounding the film, we can speculate that the camera seems to be in love with the actress who was at the peak of her beauty and artistic maturity. The acting style seems a bit overdramatic today, especially in the final scene, but Ingrid Bergman was the perfect actress for such roles. It’s a much more complex role than it appears on the surface. Until the dramatic ending and after watching I don’t know if it’s a positive role or a negative one. Rossellini refused to judge his character and apply moralizing labels. The emotions of the lonely woman with a destiny crushed by history, however, pass the screen very well, and the inner light of Ingrid Bergman is present here, as always. Most of the other roles are played by non-professional actors, which lends authenticity to the atmosphere. The music created by Renzo Rossellini, the director’s brother, envelops and dominates. Viewing ‘Stromboli‘ is a cinematic experience not to be missed.
Una dintre temele principale de discuții legate de Inteligența Artificială (AI) la acest început de an este ‘AI nationalism’ – naționalismul Inteligenței Artificiale. Revista ‘The Economist’ dedică subiectului un articol detaliat, în primul său număr din 2024, și o cercetare atentă relevă că termenul și problematica sunt deja dezbătute de comunitatea științifică și academică de câțiva ani încoace. Mi se pare un moment potrivit să explicăm și să discutăm această temă și în cadrul rubricii noastre.
Expresia ‘naționalismul Inteligenței Artificiale’ combină două noțiuni – ‘naționalism’ și ‘AI’ – ale căror definiții variază după sursă și ale căror frontiere sunt uneori extinse, alteori limitate și în unele cazuri chiar abuzate, în funcție de context. ‘Naționalismul’ se învecinează cu concepte precum ‘patriotismul’ sau ‘naționalul’ (ca în ‘specific național’), iar faptul că însuși conceptul de ‘națiune’ este definit în mod diferit în sistemele juridice și în culturile diverse (franceză, europeană, americană) complică și mai mult tabloul. Inteligența Artificială, așa cum am discutat deja în articole precedente ale rubricii CHANGE.WORLD, este și el un termen folosit des în mod scandalos de liber, fie din ignoranță, fie în scopuri comerciale. Dicționarele nu au asimilat încă termenul, dar oricum, când o vor face, ne vom confrunta, probabil, cu aceleași probleme ca și în definirea componentelor. La ce mă voi referi eu, deci? Voi începe prin a pune întrebarea dacă are sens să discutăm despre un specific național în AI. Voi enumera câteva dintre programele naționale de dezvoltare a domeniului și voi da exemple de aplicații produse de țări care se află departe de epicentrul tradițional al revoluțiilor digitale din Statele Unite și mai ales Silicon Valley. Voi discuta despre necesitatea unor norme și standarde internaționale și despre concurența dintre națiuni în domeniul AI, concurență care ia din ce în ce mai mult forma unei curse a înarmărilor, sau poate chiar a devenit o parte componentă din noile curse ale înarmărilor.
Încercând să răspundem întrebării legate de specificul național, să pornim de la faptul că orice cultură sau bază de informații naționale depind de limbă. Desigur, în multe cazuri limba este mai complexa și are un număr de dialecte, sau este veche istoric și poate avea variante antice și moderne. În alte cazuri, mai puține, culturile naționale se definesc ca bilingve sau multilingve. Capacitățile și domeniile aplicative ale Inteligenței Artificiale depind de baza de date pe care o au la dispoziție mașinile de învățare. Dacă o astfel de mașină autonomă este antrenată, capătă expertiza și și-o extinde în limba arabă sau limba chineză de exemplu, este foarte probabil ca ea să capete o înțelegere mai adâncă și să-și poate exprima creativitatea în generarea de texte în aceste limbi. Cu alte cuvinte, este mai bine adaptată în culturile naționale arabă sau chineză decât ar face-o aplicații AI ‘universale’ (de obicei dezvoltate în jurul limbii engleze), dotate cu programe de traducere. Nu suntem în fapt departe de situația cu experții născuți și educați într-o anumită limbă sau cultură în raport cu cei care vin din străinătate, învață limba și aprofundează cultura prin studiu. Există aici însă un alt pericol. Cum se vor confrunta aplicațiile AI ‘locale’ cu bibliotecile de date ‘universale’? Barierele de limbă nu riscă să devina bariere culturale sau de cunoaștere? O aplicație chineză care are la dispoziție doar Intranetul chinez, și nu și acele regiuni ale Internetului care nu sunt accesibile din spatele Marelui Firewall Chinez va avea același handicap pe care îl are un cetățean chinez care nu are acces liber la informație. Dacă sistemele AI vor ajunge în situația să ia decizii autonome, unele în domenii cruciale, aceste limitări reprezintă în fapt pericole, similare cu ascensiunea la putere și în poziții de decizie a unor politicieni lipsiți de educație și expunere globală.
Progresele înregistrate în domeniul AI de țări diferite în cadrul programelor naționale finanțate direct sau prin intermediul unor firme susținute sau sponsorizate de guvernele respective sunt spectaculoase. Planurile sunt și mai grandioase. Pe 28 noiembrie 2023, Abu Dhabi a lansat o nouă companie de Inteligență Artificială susținută de stat, AI71, care își va comercializa modelul lingvistic mare (LLM) numit Falcon. Promotorii lui Falcon au ambiția ca acesta să devină un concurent global pentru ChatGPT al lui OpenAI și al altor aplicații de AI conversațional, folosind expertiza nativă în limba arabă. Pe 11 decembrie 2023, Mistral, un startup francez de AI, cu o vechime de șapte luni, a anunțat o rundă de finanțare de succes în valoare de 400 de milioane de dolari, despre care experții considera că ridică valoarea firmei la peste 2 miliarde de dolari. Președintele Emmanuel Macron a lăudat planurile firmei ca pe un exemplu al ‘geniului francez’. Patru zile mai târziu, Krutrim, un start-up indian, a anunțat primul model lingvistic mare (LLM) multilingv din India, la doar o săptămână după ce Sarvam, un competitor cu o vechime de cinci luni, a strâns 41 de milioane de dolari pentru a construi modele similare native în limbile indiene. Fondatorul lui Kutrim afirma că aplicațiile ‘universale’ precum ChatGPT nu pot capta ‘cultura, limba și etosul’ indian.
Daca este… inteligent folosită, Inteligența Artificială poate aduce beneficii reale în lumea a treia. De fapt, unul dintre riscurile principale legate de domeniul AI este mai puțin aplicabil în aceste țări. Spre deosebire de robotizare, care reprezintă o concurență mai ales pentru munca fizică, AI pune în pericol în special activitățile intelectuale. Proporția joburilor tip ‘guler alb’ este mai mică însă în țările mai puțin dezvoltate, și astfel, introducerea aplicațiilor AI s-ar putea să fie mai ușoară și să înregistreze mai puține împotriviri în aceste zone ale globului decât în cele mai avansate. Fondul Monetar Internațional (FMI) apreciază că o cincime până la un sfert dintre lucrătorii de acolo sunt cei mai expuși înlocuirii, în comparație cu o treime, în țările bogate. India combină modele lingvistice mari cu software de recunoaștere a vorbirii, pentru a le permite fermierilor analfabeți să întrebe un robot cum să solicite împrumuturi guvernamentale. Elevii din Kenya vor pune în curând întrebări unui chatbot despre temele lor, iar chatbot-ul își va modifica și îmbunătăți lecțiile ca răspuns. Cercetătorii din Brazilia testează o aplicație AI medicală, care îi ajută pe sanitarii de prim-ajutor cu nivel mai redus de pregătire să trateze pacienții. Datele medicale colectate la nivel mondial și introduse în aplicație ar putea ajuta la îmbunătățirea diagnosticului.
Ce aplicații vor folosi aceste țări? AI se află deja în centrul concurenței tehnologice din ce în ce mai intense dintre America și China, și firmele americane și chineze concurează deja acerb pe terțe piețe. În ultimul an, guvernele lor au promis fiecare 40-50 de miliarde de dolari pentru investiții în acest domeniu. În Statele Unite, proiectarea în domeniul AI are loc în mare parte în domeniul privat, efervescența creativă și rezultatele sunt remarcabile, iar administrația americană nu are nicio intenție sau interes să pună frâne. În schimb, guvernul federal investește în jur de 50 de miliarde de dolari în cinci ani într-un program de creștere a capacității de fabricare a cipurilor la nivel național. Ideea este de a reduce dependența Americii de producătorii taiwanezi de semiconductori, cum ar fi TSMC, cea mai mare și mai sofisticată astfel de companie din lume. Aceste lanțuri de aprovizionare ar putea fi puse în pericol în cazul unei escaladări militare a conflictului dintre China și Taiwan. Administrația președintelui Joe Biden a adoptat de asemenea controale stricte la export, care interzic vânzarea tehnologiei de ultimă generație, inclusiv cipuri și echipamente de fabricație către adversari, precum China și Rusia. De asemenea, le-a interzis americanilor să-și împărtășească expertiza AI cu acele țări. Aceste măsuri au început în timpul administrației Trump, au continuat și chiar s-au accentuat în timpul actualei administrații și se poate prevedea că vor continua indiferent cine va fi ales la Casa Albă în noiembrie. Politica Chinei poate fi privită ca un răspuns la măsurile americane, dar și ca un capitol din programul de supraputere globală adoptat de această țară de când președintele Xi se afla la cârma ei. Autoritățile centrale și locale canalizează capitalul către firme de AI prin „fonduri de orientare” susținute de stat, dintre care aproape 2 000 din întreaga țară investesc în tot felul de tehnologii considerate importante din punct de vedere strategic. Partidul Comunist orientează și banii privați spre prioritățile sale tehnologice. AI este unul dintre sectoarele-cheie vizate. Guvernul promovează, de asemenea, bursele de date, în care întreprinderile pot tranzacționa date comerciale despre orice, de la vânzări la producție, permițând firmelor mici, cu ambiții să concureze acolo unde înainte doar firmele mari, bogate în date puteau. Există deja 50 de astfel de schimburi în China. Alte țări nu vor să fie lăsate în urmă sau să se trezească blocate cu o tehnologie critică care se află sub control străin. În 2023, alte șase guverne ambițioase din întreaga lume – Marea Britanie, Franța, Germania, India, Arabia Saudită și Emiratele Arabe Unite – au promis că vor finanța AI cu o valoare totală de aproximativ 40 de miliarde de dolari. Cea mai mare parte va merge către achiziții de unități de procesare grafică (GPU – cipuri folosite pentru antrenarea modelelor AI) și fabrici pentru a produce astfel de cipuri, precum și, într-o măsură mai mică, sprijin pentru firmele AI.
Naționalismul AI ridică o provocare formidabilă în fața celor care consideră că este nevoie de standarde tehnice și chiar și de o legislație internațională care să guverneze felul în care sistemele AI se comportă și interacționează între ele și capacitățile AI sunt proiectate și introduse în diferite domenii ale activităților umane. Avem de-a face, în aparență, cu două eforturi care merg în direcții diferite, dacă nu contrare. Sistemele AI ar putea beneficia enorm dacă interfețele lor ar permite dialogul direct dintre mașinile pe care rulează aplicațiile, la viteze și poate și în limbaje specifice AI. Pe de altă parte, previziunile multor nume răsunătoare în domeniu, de la Elon Musk la Sam Altman, avertizează specific despre pericolele lipsei de frâne regulatorii în ceea ce privește capacitățile viitoare. Pericolul derivă și din faptul că modelele sociale american și chinez sunt fundamental diferite. Inteligența Artificială va împarți lumea în două ecosisteme distincte – unul aliniat cu sistemele deschise, democrația, confidențialitatea și drepturile individuale, iar celălalt favorizând controlul de stat și restricțiile fluxului de informații. Spre deosebire de era anterioară, în care inovația putea avea loc izolat, AI necesită un nou nivel de colaborare între părțile interesate. Puterea AI nu constă numai în capabilitățile de calcul, ci și în datele agregate. Depășirea provocărilor din politicile de localizare a datelor și încurajarea colaborării transfrontaliere sunt imperative pentru ca AI să își atingă întregul potențial. Abordarea dezbinată și sistemele regulatorii diferite din Vest reprezintă un risc în condițiile concurenței cu sistemele AI chinezești. Coordonarea este esențială pentru a preveni China, cu populația sa vastă digitalizată, să depășească lumea liberă în ceea ce privește capabilitățile AI. Soluția care apare la orizont este cea a unei ‘grădini deschise cu garduri înalte’ – o lume în care standardizarea și sistemele regulatorii comune sau compatibile permit accesul și comunicarea liberă în lumea democrațiilor, în condițiile existenței barierelor care previn scurgerea de informații sau accesul sistemelor de supraveghere aservite sistemelor totalitare. 2024 și anii care urmează vor fi decisivi pentru a stabili dacă această viziune se concretizează.
(Articolul a apărut iniţial în revista culturală ‘Literatura de Azi’ – http://literaturadeazi.ro/)
‘Moving‘ (1993 – original title is ‘Ohikkoshi‘) is one of those films whose viewing is more than a cinematic spectacle – it’s an experience. It’s the first film I’ve seen by the Japanese film director Shinji Sômai, who died prematurely in 2001, leaving behind a filmography of only 13 films, almost the same number as the French film director Jean-Pierre Melville, who also died around the same age. His films are little known outside of Japan. In the 1980s and 1990s when they were made, Japanese films were rarely distributed in the world except for Akiro Kurosawa’s and cartoons. His films, however, influenced the wave of very talented directors who today are sometimes better known and more successful in the world than in Japan. ‘Moving’ is a beautiful, sensible and slightly enigmatic film. I’m not sure that I understood all of its symbols and I would be happy to discuss it sometime with someone from Japan or well versed in Japanese culture and traditions.
The story features a family with only one child that is on the verge of separation. If you want, a kind of ‘Kramer vs. Kramer’ in the Japanese version, only here the child is Renko, an 11-12-year-old girl. The scene that opens the film is the last dinner the family spends together. The tensions between the parents are visible and the little girl is trying to brave it and maybe she has not yet understood all the implications of her parents’ separation. The next day the father packs his things and moves, quite far away, but probably in the same city (Kyoto?). The mother works, in the evenings when she comes home she tries to rebuild the mother-daughter relationship based on a discipline embodied in a set of rules and a life schedule displayed in the house. The little girl misses her father and the family atmosphere. She also has problems at school, where the children notice the situation and make fun of her and another colleague who is in the same situation. Divorce is allowed in Japan, but it is socially frowned upon. As she becomes aware of the situation, sadness turns to rebellion, and the means of expression are typical of adolescence: naive or wonderful attempts to bring parents together, or acts of rebellion that can become destructive. Coming to age occurs in parallel with the desire to recover the lost security and stability.
Although the setting of the story is that of a large city in modern Japan with its houses and schools, there is an element of tradition and even magic that accompanies the story and which at one point becomes dominant. Fire marks several key moments – whether it’s a way to express the outburst of teenage rebellion, or it’s the centerpiece of a traditional celebration that ends with a spectacular burning of dragon-decorated ships on a lake. Towards the end of the film, Renko will go through a horror-tinged initiation and transformation experience that may be real, may be dreamlike, is certainly magical. Not everything is explained – neither the wandering in the bamboo jungle, nor the meeting with an old man who gives her some life advice that guides her to the initiation ceremony. Some of the meanings might be clearer to those connoisseurs of Japanese lore, but even for the uninitiated viewer the ending has exceptional visual and emotional power. Viewers in a hurry to leave the cinema hall and those who press the ‘off’ button at the beginning of the credits will miss a series of sequences that project Renko into the future, sequences accompanied by Gheorghe Zamfir’s flute music. It was a surprise for me, which proves that Shinji Sômai was a director who, in addition to the talents to create an emotional story, to choose perfect actors, to permanently keep the balance between the real and the imaginary, was also open to dialogues with other cultures. I can only regret that he only got to direct a few films, but I have 12 more to discover.
I can’t remember why I missed seeing ‘Bringing Out the Dead‘ (1999). I’ve been a fan of Martin Scorsese since ‘Taxi Driver’ and I thought I hadn’t missed any of his movies since then. And yet, it’s the first time I’ve seen ‘Bringing Out the Dead‘ now. Maybe it was just too busy a time for me, or maybe the film wasn’t released in the country I live in after one of Martin Scorsese‘s few commercial failures. But maybe it’s better that way, as I’ve now had the opportunity to see the film from the perspective of a quarter of a century since its production and release, and see how well it sits in Scorsese’s filmography. This was Scorsese‘s fourth collaboration with Paul Schrader and a return to the streets of New York, Scorsese‘s hometown, the two’s first together since ‘Taxi Driver’. It is a psychological drama with action elements, but a little different than other action films that take place on the streets of New York at night, and a little different from other Scorsese films. I think the producers had trouble positioning and building the marketing for this movie. But time seems to have put him back in the place he deserved.
The main hero of the film is Fred Pierce, an ambulance paramedic in the Manhattan emergency service. The voice-over commentary mentions – in what could be a quote from the book by Joe Connelly, a former worker in such a service, which inspired the script – that only in 10% of cases the interventions save the lives of those in danger. Fred hasn’t saved anyone in months. He is haunted by the ghosts of those he could not save, and in particular by that of a young woman named Rose. He is exhausted physically and especially mentally. Every night he encounters the same kind of cases and sometimes the same people: victims of violent crimes, serial suicides, people under the influence of older or newer drugs. One night, he saves an elderly man who returns from clinical death, resuscitated but with impaired brain functions. Fred meets his daughter and through her a part of the world of drug dealers. It is an opportunity for introspection and perhaps self-rescue. Would our hero find the motivation to continue to work in such a destructive job and a meaning not only for the profession but for life in general?
Scorsese relishes filming in the environment he knows best and loves – the streets of New York. The city is not only a background, it is also a character in the film, it is the container of all the happenings and sufferings. The director also introduces us behind the scenes of the emergency service and in the world of hospitals where suffering from all categories is encountered: sick, drug addicts, victims of street and city violence. The role in this film is considered one of the best of Nicolas Cage‘s career (including by himself), excellent for bringing to the screen the dilemmas and sufferings of the man haunted by the images of the dead and by his own failures to save them. Patricia Arquette is his partner and adds her personal hell to the traumas of the film’s heroes. Will the two find support in each other? The music is composed and chosen by Elmer Bernstein, also known as Bernstein-West to differentiate him from (Leonard) Bernstein-East, to whom he was not related. Same as in many of Scorsese‘s films, even in the non-musical ones, the soundtrack is superb, with a fine combination of classic rock and jazz. Acting, atmosphere, the intensity of the feelings and the merciless perspective of the ‘mean streets’ created by Scorsese fully justifies the interest in watching ‘Bringing Out the Dead‘ even at its age of 25.
Ryûsuke Hamaguchi is a film director who does not make life easy for the viewers of his films. After seeing his previous film, ‘Drive My Car’ (2021), which enjoyed international success, including an Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film and three other Academy nominations, I made it a point not to miss his next films. I confess that ‘Evil Does Not Exist‘ (2023 – the original title is ‘Aku wa sonzai shinai‘) confused me. ‘Drive My Car’ was a complex film about art, mourning, human communication, whose main challenge (in my opinion) was its 3-hour duration. ‘Evil Does Not Exist‘ is apparently a simpler film in terms of theme, dealing with the relationship between man and nature, presenting the simple life of a small rural community faced with aggressive capitalism. The beautiful moments are not lacking here either, but paradoxically, the 106 minutes of this recent film seemed to me less coherent and including more moments lacking emotion than the previous film which was almost twice as long. Add to that a more-than-enigmatic ending, and perhaps you begin to understand the reasons for my confusion.
It is not, however, at least on the surface, a very complicated story. The film has four parts. In the first part we get to know the life of a small community at the feet of the mountains (I think we even see Mount Fuji in the background a few times) which, although it is only 2-3 hours driving from Tokyo, leads a simple life, close to an unpolluted nature. Everything is filmed at a very slow pace, like that of nature and people’s lives. Among the villagers, the camera focuses more on Takumi, the man who cuts wood and supplies his neighbors with clean water from the mountain rivers, and his daughter, Hana, who is about 10 years old. In the second part of the film the rhythm and style change. We watch a meeting between the inhabitants of the village and two representatives (a man and a woman) of a company from Tokyo that intends to build a ‘glamping’ (glamorous camping) tourist attraction in the area as a place of recreation for the company’s employees. However, the construction will affect the quality of life of the residents. There is the danger of water pollution and fire hazards. In the third part the pace accelerates even more. A video conference is held at the firm’s Tokyo headquarters where the General Manager and the project’s consultant discuss ways to meet or skip the residents’ demands without missing the deadline for the start of the project, which is financed by a post-pandemic fund. The man and woman are sent back to try to bribe Takumi by offering him to be a ‘consultant’ on the project. On the way, the two chat – a bit in the style of ‘Drive My Car’ – and seem to have been captivated by the quieter and uncorrupted lifestyle of the village. I prefer not to write too much about the last part. I’ll just say that it veers towards ‘horror’ and is a prelude to an enigmatic ending worth discussing separately after you see the film.
The story seems simple, but it has many layers. Each of the four parts has its own rhythm and the composition is not unlike that of a symphony, with different tempos of each movement. The comparison to musical structure is more than a metaphor. This film started from the music of Eiko Ishibashi, who is also mentioned as the co-author of the script. Ryûsuke Hamaguchi began shooting for a video film to illustrate his music, which in turn was inspired by nature and village life. As the film emerged and developed, the idea of a fictional film was introduced, adding the corporate counterpoint which forms the core of the conflict. Clean water and innocent animals, which are never aggressive unless they are injured, can be seen as metaphors for a way of life threatened by urban and capitalist expansion. The actors are perfect and seem to be playing their roles from life, which is probably what many of them are doing. Ryûsuke Hamaguchi draws his viewers into a narrative that seems simple but hides many symbols and ends unexpectedly and enigmatically. Parts of the film charmed me, nature is filmed with sensitivity and expressiveness, but others left me with many question marks. ‘Evil Does Not Exist‘ is a film that deserves to be seen, but viewers should be warned that they will watch an unconventional film. The ending – unusual as well and contradicting the title – is also an invitation to discussion.
‘Les mariés de l’an deux‘ made in 1971 and directed by Jean-Paul Rappeneau is an example of what in the 60s and 70s was a combination of period films and crowd-pleasers. They say that ‘they don’t make movies like this anymore’, although I’m not sure that statement is very accurate. I think entertaining films with a historical background are still being made , but what is lacking is perhaps respectful care for historical details. Even if the adventures that take place on the screen cross the line between the possible and the impossible, “Les mariés de l’an deux” is absolutely believable in everything regarding the historical background. As the viewing of this film came for me two days after I had seen Ridley Scott’s ‘Napoleon’, the comparison was inevitable – keeping all proportions of course. Rappeneau‘s movie is also known in the English-speaking markets as ‘The Swashbuckler‘.
The entire film is built around its lead star – Jean-Paul Belmondo. The actor plays the role of Nicolas Philibert, an adventurer who is exiled to America because he had killed in a duel an aristocrat who was flirting with his wife. He makes a fortune there, is about to marry the daughter of a very rich man, but first he has to get a French divorce certificate. He returns to France for this purpose and finds himself in the violent mess of the years after the French Revolution. He finds his wife (who had declared herself a widow and was also about to marry a royalist rebel) and the flame of love between the two is lit again. For the nearly 100 minutes of the film’s duration, Belmondo runs, rides, shoots pistols and rifles, duels with swords and fights with fists, falls from heights and swims in the sea, courts and kisses women. He only stops when he’s drugged and put to sleep, and not even then completely. The film begins with a prophecy made to the two future husbands in their childhood by a gypsy woman they met in a forest glade and ends in the Napoleonic period with the fulfillment of the prophecy, but not exactly the way the heroes expected.
In addition to the formidable Belmondo, we have Marie Jobert with her familiar charm in the somewhat thin role of the wife, and a bunch of actors who build the human landscape of France at the time – revolutionaries and royalists, loyal friends and abject traitors, and especially beautiful women. One of the actresses is Laura Antonelli, who would become Belmondo‘s life partner for the next decade. I also noted Sami Frey, an actor I like a lot who had appeared in some of the important films of the new wave, the excellent comedian Julien Guiomar and Pierre Brasseur in one of his last roles. The action scenes are very well directed, the costumes and characters are authentic, and the whole production has rhythm and humor. The cinematography belongs to Claude Renoir, already then a veteran of French cinema, the nephew of the famous director Jean Renoir with whom he had collaborated decades ago. Michel Legrand‘s music accompanies everything and contributes to the gallant carnival atmosphere. ‘Les mariés de l’an deux‘ is good entertainment that stands the test of time.
