In early 2011 I was with two friends filming a documentary in Albany, a small town in southwest Australia. One morning we were collecting scenery shots a kilometre or so out of the town centre, near the port. It was just us, a camera and a tripod. We were filming a shot of a food van parked on the roadside when a car pulled up and a man stepped out. He introduced himself as an AFP (Australian Federal Police) counter-terrorism officer and asked what we were doing. 

Toward the start of our trip through Russia in 2009, my girlfriend and I watched more TV than we would've liked. We'd just arrived in St Petersburg by train from Finland. As we settled into our apartment I turned the TV on and flicked through the channels. I couldn't understand a single word but it was trashiest shit I'd ever seen, that much I could understand. It was the pits. A couple of days later I was woken in the early morning by a call from Australia, and was told there'd been a "terrorist attack" on a train heading from Moscow to St Petersburg. 

The following is a transcription, with added images, of a beautiful spoken-word scene appreciation by João Bènard da Costa. It's an excerpt from a longer piece that appears as an extra feature on Second Run's DVD release of Pedro Costa's O Sangue. I've never read or heard anyone talk about a film in this way. 

The last film I saw in 2012, on New Year's Eve, was Sidney Lumet's 12 Angry Men. Eleven of those men are pictured below. Who are they staring at? That'd be the twelfth and angriest man in the jury room, the last to switch his vote to 'not guilty' and save a kid from the chair. An hour or so before this scenario, there were eleven men looking at Henry Fonda, though not with quite the same eyes.