Tom Scocca: Oy, the boat. "It seemed strange that a boat like this, a sturdy, viable boat, would be unoccupied. He had been coming to the bay for years and had never seen a boat like this, alone and without an owner. There was no sign of anyone nearby. The boat was his if he wanted it."

Tom Scocca: So "an ocean tumbled by" is just impossible for Eggers to turn into Eggers-logic. There's no way to make that happen in a plodding Young Adult narrative.

Tom Scocca: And then "with a private boat for Max," which is completely efficient and self-contained, becomes this blather about what kind of boat it is and how nobody is in it and how if nobody is in it therefore he should be able to take it.

Tom Scocca: Alan Dean Foster would have handled it a lot better.

Choire Sicha: Harry Dean Stanton would have handled it better.

Tom Scocca: But the New Yorker doesn't print Alan Dean Foster so much.

Tom Scocca: Hey, Eggers: rewriting Where the Wild Things Are doesn't make you Maurice Sendak any more than beating off to a picture of Posh Spice makes you David Beckham.

Choire Sicha: *blinks*

Tom Scocca: Keep your literary gifts away from the children's books. The children don't need you touching their lives. Not in that way.

The boys at AWL knock down WTWTA and Max Eggers, not without merit

“Cut From Home.”

HIT, like many other indie film sites, gets dozens and dozens of filmed efforts for review and promotion. Much like SAT scoring, you get 200 points just for showing up and signing your name which is to say any completed film deserves recognition just for getting it in the can. But again, just like the SAT, some folks score higher than others.

Which brings me to writer/director Jason Shahinfar’s “Cut From Home,” his first feature film. It was shot entirely on location in Savannah, GA with a very small crew and a full cast of non pro actors. Before you start rolling your eyes or Mumbling the M word, I was amazed at how right Jason and his team got it.

These types of projects depend on a crack DP because no matter how compelling the character study or story or lack of both, it’s to no avail if the film is unwatchable at worst or mildly compelling at best. Brian Udoff did an excellent job of framing and ‘lighting’ the often ‘un-framable’ with his mini-DV. I believe the pictures communicated the intention of Jason very well. It may have helped that Mr. Udoff is credited with the story. They both knew what they wanted.

The story is kinda perfunctory. A young couple wanders around dealing or not dealing with a tragedy from the past. The acting surpasses that of many ‘pros’ work I have seen. Sam Mallo and Dani Niedzielski are on the screen the whole time as they interact with a farmer and his wife, some friends, get wasted and so on.

Again, what kept the film fascinating, in addition to the cinematography, was the amazing structure and editing. Jason Yi cut the film to keep it moving and interesting even if the subject matter flags. I might suggest you call him for your next project. Well done.

Jason’s first film is far better than most at this level and budget. Pop over to the film’s website www.cutfromhomethefilm.com to get more info and arrange to view it. Recommended.

  I watched the instant Disney classic “Beverly Hills Chihuahua” last night w/ H who loves these kinds of films. The Producers must have played the “Freaky Friday” card to get Jamie Lee Curtis in all of ten minutes of this low-grade-fever piece of dung. They unearthed  every Latino who may or may not have worked in the last 30 years to do the voice-overs of the dogs, occasional rat, and an iguana or komodo dragon (no, it had to be a iguana because there were no Chinese coolie voice-overs or fast-forwards to Bejing that I could tell)

Jamie Lee Curtis is a billionaire perfume designer who lives in a 180 room Beverly Hills village with a white short –hair chihuahua Princess who appears to suffer from constipation. No time for a husband, Jamie Lee’s closest relationships with two-legged mammals are with a Mexican Gardener whom she treats like a son and a spoiled niece who hangs out with her friends around the pool.

As fate would have it, the Mexican Gardener has a brown chiwauwau who has the hots for Ms. Lee’s Princess who, just like the spoiled niece, hangs around the pool with her weirdo dog friends (the prerequisite gay and materialistic girls) in lounge chairs designed just for them wearing the most ridiculous outfits you have ever seen.

The Two Princesses wound up in Mexico where polite, racial hi-jinks ensue.

Mindless goofiness aside, two strange things these types of films have to at least try to get right: One, choose cute dogs and two, don’t scrimp on the CGI.

As I watched the masterpiece I kept being drawn to the dog’s eyes that stood out like Afghanistan refuggees’ against the Disney-lit stages. You don’t have to look closely to see the degrees of shock, anger, and finally a lifeless resignation they leveled at their handlers and co-stars

It just occurred to me that to enjoy BHC even more you could mute the picture and listen/read passages from Jonathan Littell’s controversial WW II opus “The Kindly Ones.”

A 64-spice curry over walked-on cotton candy.

Indiewire's Anthony Kaufman exorcises Von Trier's new film "Antichrist"

While there’s no doubt that the place he goes is off a precipitous edge, one can’t deny the film’s continuing primal power. The laughter heard during the film’s most disturbing final act is probably more a result of its efficacy than its excessiveness, though I can’t be sure. There’s an instance of body mutilation that will turn off the most tolerant viewer (and surely, the most open-minded distributor). And while one can’t begin to dissect the film’s attitude towards women - long a subject of contention for the accused sadist director - “Antichrist” probably won’t do much to change the mind of those who question his sympathies towards the opposite sex. But this is Von Trier, after all. You got to take the brilliance with the pathologies.

Mock-Docs rise and fall on that most-difficult-to-pull-off of genres: comedy. Albeit slapstick, sight gags, or one-liners, it takes Vaudeville-level experience to consistently hit the audience’s bullseye. The Notorious  Newman Brothers, the 2009 indie moc-doc from and starring the Notorious Butler Brothers ( Brett and Jason) and co-writer and director Ryan Noel, seems to riff on situational gags, Godfather stereotypes, and the sheer chemistry between Brett and Jason: Think Man Bites Dog or Mail Order Bride. Yes, this is a no-budget effort with all that entails, good and bad, but it is undeniable fun watching these Pale Faces from the North channel DiNero & Co.

Ryan Noel does double-duty as Max, a budding documentary filmmaker who is yellow (bring on the ‘stache!) and still lives at home with his Mom (a fact we can’t really hold against him in this economic climate) Any doc maker needs a compelling subject and Max gets more than he bargained for by taking out an ad for one or in this case, two. Enter The Notorious Newman Brothers, one Thunderclap (Brett) and Paulie (Jason) who are eager to spin their side of the real gangster story.

Comic hijinks ensue, as they say.

Before Max knows it, the Newmans have him B & E’en to steal plaster Wizards, cooking pasta (I was hoping for the razor and garlic scene from Goodfellas) and hustling elementary school kids in the park. Although the Newmans wig him out, Max is not completely hopeless, and begins to smell a rat. What are the Newmans really up to? Why is Max dressing like a pervert in the park?

I’ll let the viewers see for themselves. Noel’s talents in terms of direction seems to have been just turning the camera on and letting Brett and Jason go. Lots of fumbling mics, dropped cameras, and so on which, well, is maybe a part of the meta moc-doc aesthetic. At any rate, the Butlers work better. They have charisma, energy, and charm which propels the film along when the writing and set-ups do not. They are consistent in their physicality and mannerism all the way through so no slipping in and out of character mid-scene. These guys need to seriously explore acting, maybe a “Flight of the Conchords-type vehicle for HBO(?)

I recommend you watch this no-budgeter. Maybe have a beer or two, or maybe something stronger, before you pop it into your player. The Butlers have some other films under their belt as well, so check them out at their Myspace page.

Jim Jarmusch and Christopher Doyle, a match made in heaven. Lots of reviews floating around, some good, some political, some confusing. The best things about the film might be the title and the cinematography. Check it out.

One of the first projects to catch my eye at this year's Sundance is Doug Pray's doc Art & Copy. We all know it, maybe now more than ever, but Mr. Pray drives home the point that we are buying desire at the expense of our needs. He hits it and hits it hard

Got creativity? Got manipulation? Got art? Advertising’s profound effect on modern culture is unquestionable. Art & Copy takes us inside a powerful, yet surprisingly unknown, industry to reveal the most influential creative forces tapping the zeitgeist of our time. Think of those commercials we can never seem to get out of our heads. Each one is the brain child of an industry typically associated with pandering and manipulation.

Keep this one on your radar.

"To say that Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche, New York is one of the best films of the year or even one closest to my heart is such a pathetic response to its soaring ambition that I might as well pack it in right now. That at least would be an appropriate response to a film about failure, about the struggle to make your mark in a world filled with people who are more gifted, beautiful, glamorous and desirable than the rest of us -- we who are crippled by narcissistic inadequacy, yes, of course, but also by real horror, by zits, flab and the cancer that we know (we know!) is eating away at us and leaving us no choice but to lie down and die."

That, ladies and germs, is what writing can be, needs to be, should be, and damn well ought to be at times. Perhaps even often."

I will catch it this weekend and to say I am looking forward to this film is a vast understatement. Every once in a while Hollywood coughs up something really, really honest, even profound. Bravo Mrs. Dargis on a great review and bravo Mr. Kaufman for making what appears to be a masterpiece.

No matter how far I roam  in the land of film criticism, I always come back to Dargis. Sigh..Here she is on Soderbergh's movie opus to Che:

"Mr. Soderbergh cagily evades Che's ugly side, notably his increasing commitment to violence and seemingly endless war, but the movie is without question political -- even if it emphasizes romantic adventure over realpolitik -- because, like all films, it is predicated on getting, spending and making money."

                                  (pic via Hollywood elsewhere via David Poland)

Some random thoughts on Der Baader-Meinhof Komplex which I saw last Friday in Santa Monica as part of the LA Chapter of The Goethe Institute..hmm, which reminds me to seek out Fassbinder's take on the movement.

You can tell the director Uli Edel really was inspired to emulate the style and pace of Downfall, the brilliant German film about the last days of Hitler & Co written by  Bernd Eichinger who, as it turns out, is also the writer of DBMK. The film works but only if you take the ride on its own terms; i.e. throw out the three-act structure with a required all-is-good climax. It's a more tantric endurance test than that, but one that pays off if you stick it out.

Any film that even remotely deals with Terrorism from the terrorist’s POV, especially Western Terrorists, is going to raise some eyebrows. I think that is why the filmmakers tried a stylized docu-drama approach, mixing in real news footage of the RAF and staged scenes of the fine, big-boned German casts (Moritz Bleitreu, Martina Gedeck, Bruno Ganz) partying nude, smoking dope, and making bombs. It made me think of the documentaries on American Terrorist movements like The Weathermen and SLA.

 Heady stuff but often draining.

There is one funny scene that stands out as a blaring gulf between West and (Mid) East revolutionaries. The RAF (a movement that is believed to have killed more than 30 public figures in an attempt to crush West German capitalism in the late 1960s and early 1970s) visit a Palistinian Terrorist Camp and immediately piss off the PLO or Hamas (?) by the fore-mentioned  nude sunbathing, drinking, and smoking dope under the Desert sun.

As a film it is often overwhelming as it takes off, almost stops, and then takes off again. That is how history unravels I suppose, but like I said, if you like Downfall’s pace you can get into DBMKs.’ You don’t have to be Chomsky-ites to sympathize with the human toll total faith and immersion in a movement-outlaw or otherwise-can take on a human being. I read that this film will try to be the Best Foreign Film entry for Germany come Oscar time but I'm not holding my breath. A little too..um, challenging for the Academy.

Highly recommended.

When folks ask why HIT became involved in the web serial Masher, we have to kinda wonder ourselves. Some commenters have used the word "pervesploitation" and there is a grain of truth in that. But we can offer up two points to consider about Masher and the nature of socio-sexual interaction:

1.) Any experience that human beings seek out is a part of being human as a whole, no matter how weird or strange it may seem.

2.) Art (I use the term broadly) has a responsiblity to at least try to show or illuminate the sexual mores of human beings outside the filter of accepted sexual behavior in society. Whether or not it entertains is a matter of taste which only reinforces my point in a way.

I said all this because Karina Longworth offers an excellent review of the doc I Think We're Alone Now from the Fantatic Fest.

..the popularity of I Think We’re Alone Now (otherwise known as The Tiffany Stalker Movie) at Fantastic Fest makes a certain perfect sense, and not just because this audience is accustomed to stories of sexual obsession (usually fictional, usually much gorier). In putting a camera in the faces of two lonely, mentally unwell adults, who are both desperate for the attention but incapable of filtering their stories, director Sean Donnelly has made what could be classified as an exploitation film. But even more appropriate for the venue, it’s an exploitation film tailor-made for anyone familiar with unrequited longing, and it wouldn’t work at all if Donnelly’s genuine care for his subjects didn’t shine through.

HIT urges you to seek this one out in the theater if possible or on DVD if you live in a town with only multiplexes. Read Karina's review and then with that in mind, here is the first episode of Masher.

Steve Boone of Media Vandalism and Spout writes the best review of TT I have read so far

The Village Voice’s Robert Willonsky is dead right that Tropic Thunder amounts to little more than Stiller “nibbling gently at the soft, manicured hands that feed him.” Stiller’s old satirical TV show and The Cable Guy may mark him as a pioneer of some sort, but his industry sanction, hookups and increasing budgets insure that the nibbling will only get softer. The real insurgency has been going on for years, on YouTube and other outlets, by filmmakers who understand Ho’wood’s follies just as intimately but have nothing to lose by rendering them in merciless detail. The only insider who would have dared is another shaggy Nolte lookalike, long dead: Hal Ashby.

A library could be written on the rightness or wrongness of biting the hand that feeds you, of burning the bridges you worked so hard to cross. The numbers are against it but dammit, it sure is nice when some ballsy rascal comes along not only biting said hand, but effin near dehands them.

Pineapple Express is not very funny, despite the buried one-liners that are fired into the audience like cheap tees at a regional hockey game. The set-up was nice and simple but it just went nowhere. Seth Rogin, James Franco, and Danny McBride are passable in their roles but the film lacked the energy and the all-important pacing that comedies, especially stoner comedies, require.

I dunno.

If I go back and watch Cheech and Chong movies, maybe I will feel that they too are missing something, or, fall way short of funny. Part of the appeal of these types of films should be a sense of going in an unexpected direction, surprise, like the mind tends to do when high as a barrel full of monkeys. Harold and Kumar do a better job at this. I knew where this film was going right from the get-go (and so did the audience I watched it with in a Long Beach multiplex) and by the third act I was looking at my watch.

DG Green phoned in the direction, maybe at the behest of Apatow Inc., but still: Give the audience a bit of credit, high or not, and surprise them. I can’t give Green and Rogin a pass just because they say they are paying homage to a certain kind of buddy-action-stoner-whatever comedy from the past.

Yes, it is chock-full of set-pieces and the story largely makes little sense but..it was still thrilling. You have to ask yourself what you want out of superhero movies. Surely not a satisfyingly deep story? Come on. The Nolan Brothers are not idiots and there is some good writing and direction (yes, even the action sequences I found very good) but the big stars here are the production design by Nathan Crowley and the cinematography by Wally Pfister.

Superb. Gotham (by way of Chicago) has never looked so clausterphobic and real.

Although I found Bale's growl as Batman embarassingly funny as I did Maggie Gyllenhaal, he was good where it counted. However, Ledger and Eckhart carried the film. Deep performances, effin well-done from start to finish.

Unfortunately it all came crashing down (pretty much as usual in these sorts of efforts) at the end; very contrived, even sloppy. I realize there was not too many avenues left open at this point but geez, it was prettty weak. The strong design and performances carry the film though, and it's worth a look-see at the theater as most of you agree, judging by the $$$$$$ it has made to date.

As the credits rolled at the end of Jeremy Osbern’s feature film Air, I looked at my wife and said “Wow, that was not only a good indie film, it made me feel good.” Rare these days as too many indie filmmakers are content to film their navels while mumbling to someone who may or may not be a stranger in the corner of a room something like “I dunno..maybe?” It is all one can do to sit through these valiant efforts, much less enjoy them. Granted, Jeremy and his team at Through a Glass Productions are not exactly beginners-Jeremy is an award-winning filmmaker in his I believe, late twenties and Producer Christopher Blunk has an accomplished track record in his own right-but together they made this movie in their home town of Lawrence, KS with mostly homegrown talent, moxie, and a love of community that comes through every frame.

“Air” is an original musical, at once a romantic comedy and a drama as it tracks three ordinary folks who feel out of place in the world. Not pandering to stereotypes, Osbern and co-writer Blunk frame a middle-age African-American falling for a lonely soul in a country western bar. Lovely without being saccharine, Granvile O’Neal and Brenda Harvey sing and dance in Osbern’s (another triple or quadruple threat) excellent cinematography, which never misses a beat the entire film. Nothing short of professional.

Ian Stark and Megan Carter meet in a head-on collision. Not the most auspicious start to unlocking one’s heart, but if Air drives home one point, it’s that it doesn’t matter how you get there, just get there. Dylan Hilpman and Jennifer Coville are young lovers who get lost amid the pitfalls of youth (Oh! Ambition!) as he looks for the perfect song, blind to the fact it was at his elbow the whole time.

All the performances are heartfelt and the dramatic moments come with pounds. I was amazed at how good they looked on screen (my LA moment-sue me) But all the tech savvy, beautiful people, and camera tricks in the world don’t amount to a hill of beans if the story does not have honest, universal, emotional chops. Seek this one out. It’s good stuff from Kansas.

Last night saw me and me chum Rita Thompson hitting the Hammer to take in Roy Anderson's latest, You, the Living, as part of the LA Film Festival. The film screened at 10 PM on a Monday night but the line was not a zoo at the Billy Wilder Theater and we got seats. For those readers familiar with Roy Anderson's previous film Songs From the Second Floor or his commercials for TV, you know what you've come for. Tragicomedy in one take in one frame. Genius when it works as it did for most of Songs.

You, the Living  is an exploration on the "grandeur of existence, centered around the lives of an overweight woman, a disgruntled psychiatrist, a heart broken groupie, a carpenter, a business consultant, an elementary school teacher with emotional issues and her rug selling husband, among others. I admit it flags at times, eliciting one or two audience members to laughter, but rarely the way I saw it.

Shot in an unconventional manner, it consists of a fluent succession of exactly 50 short set-ups each filmed in one take. Most of them have an absurd but all-too-human undertone. It utilizes a combination of alienating techniques such as presenting the characters in grim make-up and having them talk to the camera, turning them into highly expressed folks you see everyday but fail to see as well.

Anderson can be heavy-handed in his feelings about the death penalty (the set-up is funny as the devil) and other issues he feels strongly about. But when these moments flag, there is always his amazing production design (all scenes are filmed on sound stages!) and framing. A dream of a groupie at home after her wedding is flat-out amazing.

The audience laughter died out abit after the opening sequence but I chalk that up to mostly not knowing how to take Anderson. Is he being mean? Sarcastic? Serious? Funny? I can't think of a better compliment to pay a filmmaker, who while you decide on those questions, wows you with his moviemaking.

 Most filmmakers-but not all-are driven to pick up a camera and start shooting because they saw a movie that just blew them away and they had to make one, if not just like it, then something damn close. The Yuzzi Brothers (Co Directors Thomas Vosicky and Kenneth Kit Lamug) shot their first full-length film, "Vegasland", for a budget of under $2,000. It was shot mainly during Wednesdays and Thursdays between the times of 9pm and 3am in various locations throughout Las Vegas using "Guerilla filmmaking tactics". Most of the editing was done in home computers with software available to anyone: Truly Indie Filmmaking.

The Yuzzi Brothers do wear their influences (Guy Ritchie, Quentin Tarantino) on their collective sleeves but lack of originality never trumps style and technique in Las Vegas, right?

Professional Gambler, Eddie G, played very well by Ernell Manabat, is taken in for the ride of his life as he unwillingly helps a dirty-psychotic cop, Decker (Greg Opal) Decker takes Eddie on a tour of terror while trying to find a meth addict named Worm (Jeffrey Crawford) who has a video tape of an underground fight where everything went awry.

What blew me away with Vegasland is the sheer number of characters and locations in a no-budget film. True, the pacing is disrupted a few too many times by extended riffs straight out of Pulp Fiction, and the way it was structured and shot in ‘modules’ or set pieces (one of which involves some scorpions!) but then the filmmakers kick the narrative back into gear and zoom, off we go again. The performances are believable despite several misfires and one cares about the players which is what story is all about.

The movie was shot using a Panasonic DVX100 and downloaded and edited using a 500GB USB drive. Go here to check out these very talented filmmakers.

  It’s a cliché now I suppose that really indie films-shorts and features- usually, one, involve people in a room torturing each other and the viewer; or two, are made for other ‘indie’ artists to watch and plug; or three (perhaps the one most prickly) made to get Hollywood’s-or any patron of the arts-attention. Despite there being a grain of truth in these cynical assumptions, I believe that some folks still make films or music or paintings, et al. because they simply enjoy the process, much like a carpenter enjoys building a a fine bench.

 Amir Motlagh, an artist of many hyphenates, sent along two of his short film works, Plain Us and Knock Knock for HIT to take a look at. Mr. Motlagh is one to take events and experiences of his life and plane them into fiction that shoot for a reality that the rest of us can relate to. By and large, he hits more than he misses (Mumble Idiots-ah ehm) in that he stretches out little moments that might otherwise be tossed in the trash.

In Knock Knock ,a really appealing Chris Manz plays a struggling internet comic, more or less dealing with the real demands of age who attains a wistful kind of fame. Of course an old girlfriend comes calling and old ambitions and wounds are brought up.  Shot in 16mm (!) Knock Knock looks good on DVD, a credit to cinematographer Zamir Kokonozi. Moments of  honesty retreat into silence, nice photographs, original music, et al; not enough to engage the viewer in 20 minutes, despite the miles-wide open Manz and the efforts of co-stars Keaton Shyler and Lene Pederson.

Plain Us..Rock..and..Roll. Mr. Motlagh ratchets it up a notch, mixing it up, batting it this way and that, getting to the heart of the matter. He plays a singer/leader of a rock band who has to come home again. Of course it hurts when there is a wife and daughter you rarely see. Shrudder..Yet, filmmaking-wise, the short looks good. Color-Correction, framing, the elements are there. Kindy Barr dials in a good performance as the put-upon young Mom opposite Motlagh who is wildly photogenic in musician mode. He steals the frame in this capacity and is quiet believable on screen. Theme-wise, I'm not sure his goals come across powerfully to the viewer but is that so important? At the end of the day you express yourself and put it out there. Only he-Mr. Motlagh-knows for sure or not if he is enjoying building the bench.

 I want to believe he is.

A.O. Scott seems to be taking on the malaise of reviewing films for a living in his musing on the Cannes selection Delta

To make a festival film, you must first choose a location, ideally a remote region only lightly touched by modernity, where the people say very little and an unseen authority rigorously enforces laws against smiling. You will film the landscape and its inhabitants in long takes with minimal camera movements. Though the characters will generally do very little — walk, smoke, sigh — their more significant actions characteristically will be undertaken in the absence of a discernible motive. Even as nothing much seems to happen, a mood of menace and portent will hang in the air, usually culminating in a burst of violence in the movie’s last minutes.

Next thing you know he will be making them.

For those of us over thirty (ahem), love between the ages of 19 to 26 often makes us wince in recognition, regret, maybe a little of both. In Writer/Director Aaron Coffman’s DIY indie feature, Texas Snow, those two emotions pretty much hold true. It’s a love triangle between early twenties Jesse (John Gregory Willard), an aspiring artist (painter I think) who falls for Caroline (Julia Rust) a very photogenic ballerina. The conflict is that Jesse’s roommate, Lee (Ryan Shields) used to date Caroline as well and fell hard when she turned down his marriage proposal. Stolen love is some of the best kind of love but…I’ll leave that for another time.

Suffice it to say, there is a scene where Jesse and Caroline are partying with her old school chum, Libby Bibb, who comes off like a budding lesbian alcoholic (don’t we all have friends like that?) who just laughs insanely throughout her scenes with Jesse and Caroline. But Jesse is young and in love, blind to the signals that Bibb is wheezing through bowls of beer, namely that she nor Caroline nor anyone really is serious at this stage of life; and blind to the hurt he has caused his friend and roommate Lee. If this all sounds trite it need not. Coffman is minimal in dialogue and directed his actors and cinematographer (Keith Hueffmeier) to follow suit, and the result has a certain poetic vibe that avoids many clichés.

Yet, for a triangle to generate empathy and emotion in the viewer there must be some kind of build-up to the climax. Texas Snow has only one pace: Slow. Composer Keegan DeWitt’s (of Quiet City and Dance Party USA fame) score plodded the film down even more. I longed to see some anger, violence, sex (I can see actress Julia Rust on the CW in a Josh Swartz vehicle any day now) or anything that brought the pulse up a notch. The same goes for most of the Mumblecore films, who in avoiding cliché so stridently have become one. Having said that, Coffman has made a competent, well-crafted film. The structural maturity, pacing, depth will come in time with his future efforts.

(reviewed by Jerry Brewington for HIT)