阿力(何啟南飾) 與他的朋友肉佬(林延康飾) 及神友(鄧展鵬飾)乃十七，那山那海八歲的年輕人，那山那海終日無所事事，只愛踏單車，以偷汽車收音機典賣為業。一次，三人因受警校教官無意挑釁，特要偷其汽車內的東西，卻失手被擒，教官對三人十分失望。感化官鍾楚雄(梁少熊飾)接手感化阿力等三人，希望引導他們對單車運動產生興趣，使他們不再犯事。阿力對少女阿Ling(劉芊蒂飾)一見鍾情，同時，少年警校單車隊之領袖白馬(黃國成飾)也愛上阿Ling，遂與阿力產生衝突。警校教官更落井下石，在眾人面前辱罵阿力三人，三人誓要報復。雄知道後，命三人控制情緒，雄以單車技術贏得三人認同。白馬等人多次向阿力三人挑戰，至比賽前一天，肉佬駕了白馬的車出了意外，無法出賽，阿Ling突然頂替受傷的肉佬，令白馬等人震怒，賽程中白馬更出術，但終阻擋不了阿力以首名姿態到終點。
许晋豪
回复 :第53届金马奖形象短片之二——毕赣篇去年以《路边野餐》一鸣惊人、勇夺金马奖最佳新导演的毕赣，回到故乡贵州凯里拍摄，并找来偶像侯孝贤的子弟兵、亦是金马奖得主姚宏易来掌镜，用16mm摄影机打造出“日常奇迹”的感动。何谓“日常奇迹”？毕赣说他的“日常奇迹”很多，举凡孩子 出生、汽车突然能发动、太阳落山、或著饭煮熟了都是。而他对影展的形容也很奇妙：“影展就像是一个有品味的餐厅，然后这支广告像是这个餐厅的花园，裡面应该有鸟叫与花香，然后我要偷偷地放一把椅子进去，让入场的观众可以坐一坐。”毕赣在《路边野餐》有个超过40分钟、技惊四座的长镜头。这是他第一次拍广告，他很开心终于可以拍一个“特别短”的电影。结果，原定交件长度是不超过60秒，他毫无意外还是不小心“超时”了。但这支魔幻又诗意的广告，却让看过的人无不惊呼意犹未尽，期待能有延伸为一部电影的机会，甚至臆测这会不会是他下一部作品的“线索”。而这次除了毕赣的招牌诗句，歌曲方面则选用了毕晓世创作、杨钰莹演唱的〈轻轻地告诉你〉。与另外两位导演赵德胤、陈哲艺分别完成“金马53”年度广告，毕赣高兴地说：“这就像是三个人在同一个邮局写信，然后悄悄地寄给不同的人。”这回答还真像他的电影。
回复 :出品单位: 北京影迪通文化发展有限公司曾经年轻美丽的女通讯兵耿鸽，现在是干瘪蹒跚的独居老妪。儿女不在身边的耿老太，性格怪癖，脾气暴戾，间或沉默无语，间或滔滔不绝。唯一能够见到她笑容、听到她温和的声音的时候，是她和院子里的弱智小园丁在一起的时候。她不厌其烦地教他对人们正确的称呼，却永远都是徒劳，而耿老太乐此不疲。绰号“粽子”的年轻小混混，曾经是一个好学生，无奈家贫，只好辍学进城谋生。粽子不是无所事事、毫无节制的混，他发小广告、倒卖文物等无固定收入的做一些事情以给母亲和弟弟提供医药费与学费，有时连自己的生活都难以维持。一次偶然，粽子与耿老太相识。耿老太强行给粽子看她那些锁在玻璃柜子里的军功章，讲它们的来历。起初，粽子对她讲的那些遥远的故事并没有多少兴趣。唯一吸引他的，是柜子里被耿老太看得很紧的那把青铜古刀。耿老太像个孤独的孩子似的，对唯一“愿意”和她说话的粽子渐渐产生了依赖，她用她独特的强制专横的方法让粽子常来看她。为了那把刀，粽子开始不时地来耿老太家。耿老太总是喜欢站在窗前，看一群群鸽子飞过，听鸽哨阵阵，她的脸上浮现出少年的颜色。耿老太孤独的境遇渐渐地让粽子内心柔软起来；老人那些曾经年轻美丽的英姿飒爽的照片，让粽子渐渐对她讲的那些战争岁月的故事而感动；老人对粽子渐渐不再设防的种种表现，让粽子开始怀疑自己起初来这里的动机。看着那把古刀静静地躺在没有上锁的柜子里，粽子不知道该不该把它拿走……
回复 :In 1961, Stanislaw Rozewicz created the novella film "Birth Certificate" in cooperation with his brother, Taduesz Rozewicz as screenwriter. Such brother tandems are rare in the history of film but aside from family ties, Stanislaw (born in 1924) and Taduesz (born in 1921) were mutually bound by their love for the cinema. They were born and grew up in Radomsk, a small town which had "its madmen and its saints" and most importanly, the "Kinema" cinema, as Stanislaw recalls: for him cinema is "heaven, the whole world, enchantment". Tadeusz says he considers cinema both a charming market stall and a mysterious temple. "All this savage land has always attracted and fascinated me," he says. "I am devoured by cinema and I devour cinema; I'm a cinema eater." But Taduesz Rozewicz, an eminent writer, admits this unique form of cooperation was a problem to him: "It is the presence of the other person not only in the process of writing, but at its very core, which is inserperable for me from absolute solitude." Some scenes the brothers wrote together; others were created by the writer himself, following discussions with the director. But from the perspective of time, it is "Birth Certificate", rather than "Echo" or "The Wicked Gate", that Taduesz describes as his most intimate film. This is understandable. The tradgey from September 1939 in Poland was for the Rozewicz brothers their personal "birth certificate". When working on the film, the director said "This time it is all about shaking off, getting rid of the psychological burden which the war was for all of us. ... Cooperation with my brother was in this case easier, as we share many war memories. We wanted to show to adult viewers a picture of war as seen by a child. ... In reality, it is the adults who created the real world of massacres. Children beheld the horrors coming back to life, exhumed from underneath the ground, overwhelming the earth."The principle of composition of "Birth Certificate" is not obvious. When watching a novella film, we tend to think in terms of traditional theatre. We expect that a miniature story will finish with a sharp point; the three film novellas in Rozewicz's work lack this feature. We do not know what will be happen to the boy making his alone through the forest towards the end of "On the Road". We do not know whether in "Letter from the Camp", the help offered by the small heroes to a Soviet prisoner will rescue him from the unknown fate of his compatriots. The fate of the Jewish girl from "Drop of Blood" is also unclear. Will she keep her new impersonation as "Marysia Malinowska"? Or will the Nazis make her into a representative of the "Nordic race"? Those questions were asked by the director for a reason. He preceived war as chaos and perdition, and not as linear history that could be reflected in a plot. Although "Birth Certificate" is saturated with moral content, it does not aim to be a morality play. But with the immense pressure of reality, no varient of fate should be excluded. This approached can be compared wth Krzysztof Kieslowski's "Blind Chance" 25 years later, which pictured dramatic choices of a different era.The film novella "On the Road" has a very sparing plot, but it drew special attention of the reviewers. The ominating overtone of the war films created by the Polish Film School at that time should be kept in mind. Mainly owing to Wajda, those films dealt with romantic heritage. They were permeated with pathos, bitterness, and irony. Rozewicz is an extraordinary artist. When narrating a story about a boy lost in a war zone, carrying some documents from the regiment office as if they were a treasure, the narrator in "On the Road" discovers rough prose where one should find poetry. And suddenly, the irrational touches this rather tame world. The boy, who until that moment resembled a Polish version of the Good Soldier Schweik, sets off, like Don Quixote, for his first and last battle. A critic described it as "an absurd gesture and someone else could surely use it to criticise the Polish style of dying. ... But the Rozewicz brothers do no accuse: they only compose an elegy for the picturesque peasant-soldier, probably the most important veteran of the Polish war of 1939-1945." "Birth Certificate" is not a lofty statement about national imponderabilia. The film reveals a plebeian perspective which Aleksander Jackieqicz once contrasted with those "lyrical lamentations" inherent in the Kordian tradition. However, a historical overview of Rozewicz's work shows that the distinctive style does not signify a fundamental difference in illustrating the Polish September. Just as the memorable scene from Wajda's "Lotna" was in fact an expression of desperation and distress, the same emotions permeate the final scene of "Birth Certificate". These are not ideological concepts, though once described as such and fervently debated, but rather psychological creations. In this specific case, observes Witold Zalewski, it is not about manifesting knightly pride, but about a gesture of a simple man who does not agree to be enslaved.The novella "Drop of Blood" is, with Aleksander Ford's "Border Street", one of the first narrations of the fate of the Polish Jews during the Nazi occupation. The story about a girl literally looking for her place on earth has a dramatic dimension. Especially in the age of today's journalistic disputes, often manipulative, lacking in empathy and imbued with bad will, Rozewicz's story from the past shocks with its authenticity. The small herione of the story is the only one who survives a German raid on her family home. Physical survial does not, however, mean a return to normality. Her frightened departure from the rubbish dump that was her hideout lead her to a ruined apartment. Her walk around it is painful because still fresh signs of life are mixed with evidence of annihilation. Help is needed, but Mirka does not know anyone in the outside world. Her subsequent attempts express the state of the fugitive's spirits - from hope and faith, moving to doubt, a sense of oppression, and thickening fear, and finally to despair.At the same time, the Jewish girl's search for refuge resembles the state of Polish society. The appearance of Mirka results in confusion, and later, trouble. This was already signalled by Rozewicz in an exceptional scene from "Letter from the Camp" in which the boy's neighbour, seeing a fugitive Russian soldier, retreats immediately, admitting that "Now, people worry only about themselves." Such embarassing excuses mask fear. During the occupation, no one feels safe. Neither social status not the aegis of a charity organisation protects against repression. We see the potential guardians of Mirka passing her back and forth among themselves. These are friendly hands but they cannot offer strong support. The story takes place on that thin line between solidarity and heroism. Solidarity arises spontaneously, but only some are capable of heroism. Help for the girl does not always result from compassion; sometimes it is based on past relations and personal ties (a neighbour of the doctor takes in the fugitive for a few days because of past friendship). Rozewicz portrays all of this in a subtle way; even the smallest gesture has significance. Take, for example, the conversation with a stranger on the train: short, as if jotted down on the margin, but so full of tension. And earlier, a peculiar examination of Polishness: the "Holy Father" prayer forced on Mirka by the village boys to check that she is not a Jew. Would not rising to the challenge mean a death sentance?Viewed after many years, "Birth Certificate" discloses yet another quality that is not present in the works of the Polish School, but is prominent in later B-class war films. This is the picture of everyday life during the war and occupation outlined in the three novellas. It harmonises with the logic of speaking about "life after life". Small heroes of Rozewicz suddenly enter the reality of war, with no experience or scale with which to compare it. For them, the present is a natural extension of and at the same time a complete negation of the past. Consider the sleey small-town marketplace, through which armoured columns will shortly pass. Or meet the German motorcyclists, who look like aliens from outer space - a picture taken from an autopsy because this is how Stanislaw and Taduesz perceived the first Germans they ever met. Note the blurred silhouettes of people against a white wall who are being shot - at first they are shocking, but soon they will probably become a part of the grim landscape. In the city centre stands a prisoner camp on a sodden bog ("People perish likes flies; the bodies are transported during the night"); in the street the childern are running after a coal wagon to collect some precious pieces of fuel. There's a bustle around some food (a boy reproaches his younger brother's actions by singing: "The warrant officer's son is begging in front of the church? I'm going to tell mother!"); and the kitchen, which one evening becomes the proscenium of a real drama. And there are the symbols: a bar of chocolate forced upon a boy by a Wehrmacht soldier ("On the Road"); a pair of shoes belonging to Zbyszek's father which the boy spontaneously gives to a Russian fugitive; a priceless slice of bread, ground under the heel of a policeman in the guter ("Letters from the Camp"). As the director put it: "In every film, I communicate my own vision of the world and of the people. Only then the style follows, the defined way of experiencing things." In Birth Certificate, he adds, his approach was driven by the subject: "I attempted to create not only the texture of the document but also to add some poetic element. I know it is risky but as for the merger of documentation and poety, often hidden very deep, if only it manages to make its way onto the screen, it results in what can referred to as 'art'."After 1945, there were numerous films created in Europe that dealt with war and children, including "Somewhere in Europe" ("Valahol Europaban", 1947 by Geza Radvanyi), "Shoeshine" ("Sciescia", 1946 by Vittorio de Sica), and "Childhood of Ivan" ("Iwanowo dietstwo" by Andriej Tarkowski). Yet there were fewer than one would expect. Pursuing a subject so imbued with sentimentalism requires stylistic disipline and a special ability to manage child actors. The author of "Birth Certificate" mastered both - and it was not by chance. Stanislaw Rozewicz was always the beneficent spirit of the film milieu; he could unite people around a common goal. He emanated peace and sensitivity, which flowed to his co-workers and pupils. A film, being a group work, necessitates some form of empathy - tuning in with others.In a biographical documentary about Stanislaw Rozewicz entitled "Walking, Meeting" (1999 by Antoni Krauze), there is a beautiful scene when the director, after a few decades, meets Beata Barszczewska, who plays Mireczka in the novella "Drops of Blood". The woman falls into the arms of the elderly man. They are both moved. He wonders how many years have passed. She answers: "A few years. Not too many." And Rozewicz, with his characteristic smile says: "It is true. We spent this entire time together."
