They woke in Las Vegas with no memory of the previous night, one missing shoe, a cat in the bathroom, and several receipts that suggested the evening had acquired momentum.
Someone insisted there had been a plan.
Nobody remembered the plan.
The cat did.
There was a man, and the man had a dream. He dreamt of an edge that was out of reach. Continue reading...
This essay starts in a museum and ends in an operating room. It's about what art conservators and transplant teams have in common: the work of caring for something irreplaceable while it's between lives, done by people whose names are never on the wall. Read more
Ridley Scott builds worlds of empires, war, rain, smoke and impossible scale. Das Bubo simply asks what happens when you place a dachshund in the middle of them. The result is cinema viewed from eighteen centimeters above the ground, where ambition is still monumental but the snack policy is finally