Kalden Rangdröl Dhatsenpa’s poem ‘Bandit Enlightenment, or the Real Shangri-la’ juxtaposes religious philosophy and realism without suggesting the negation of either of the two. Kalden Rangdröl Dhatsenpa also enriches the English language by seamlessly bringing to it Tibetan exclamatory words such as ‘e-ma-ho’, ‘Ki’, and ‘kikisoso lha gyalo’ in his poetry.

Akira was made at the tail-end of a dying studio system, and at the apogee of Japan’s asset bubble, which began its slow burst in 1989. The scale of Akira’s story makes it even more remarkable that such a film was able to see the light of day given the floundering of Japan’s economy at the close of the decade.

Ukraine’s military-entertainment complex has found success in Atlantis; it has the artistic subtlety that other Ukranian war films lacked, but it didn’t have to sacrifice any of the military connections, or right-wing political aspirations.

Östlund is playing with all the right and relevant pieces and themes. The film is brimming with great moments, but it also lacks sharpness in its commentary. Triangle of Sadness is a caricature of the wealthy—and a decent one at that—but caricatures seldom offer much more than entertainment.

The steady flow of minerals from Tibet’s sacred mountains to global markets is haunted by the ghost of Canadian mining companies. In the Chinese-occupied nation, Canadian companies were among the first to gain access to the copper, gold, lead and zinc under its peaks—making Canada, for a time, a major foreign investor in Tibet.

Longueuil, Québec. Early 2000s. I am standing outside of a Blockbuster store with my immigrant father. I must be around nine or ten years old. We are waiting for my mother who is inside renting a movie. As we stand patiently, a mother and her child walk past, hand in hand. The child catches a glimpse of my father. His eyes widen. He starts tugging at his mother’s sleeves excitedly, pointing straight at my dad. The boy is starstruck. “Mom, look! It’s Jackie Chan!” Of course, the child was enthralled that Hong Kong director, martial artist, and singer Jackie Chan was in Longueuil, waiting with his son outside of a video rental store. He had no clue that my father was actually born in Tibet and couldn’t speak a lick of Cantonese. The child’s mother wasn’t aware of the precise scale of her son’s errors but she knew enough to be sure that my father was not in fact Jackie Chan, and was embarrassed accordingly.

I drive to a car wash near me in little italy. I think the owners are Iranian. None of the garage doors are motorized. They were pulling them open and closed with bare hands on steel chains in the middle of winter.

Photography for The Breach. Canon 6D at the Amazon facility in Lasalle.

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