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The room.) * Carol walked in to hear Rick talking about the apocalypse. (Because to is part of the infinitive to hear, we keep it separate from in.) * Glenn was feeling very tired, and he couldn't really take in (understand) what Maggie was saying. * Negan told Carl to come and see him the next time he and his dad are in the area (visiting briefly). Maybe now you can see the ins and outs a little better. © \"Words to the Wise: Writing Tips for Bankers\" is an occasional RMA Journal feature to help practitioners craft stellar reports while avoiding common pitfalls in prose. Dev Strischek recently retired as senior vice president and senior credit policy officer, SunTrust Banks, Atlanta, Georgia. DEV STRISCHEK recently retired as senior vice president and senior credit policy officer, SunTrust Banks, Atlanta, Georgia.

Bind Us Apart: How Enlightened Americans Invented Racial Segregation is reviewed.

First up in this issue is Jeffrey Zacks's wide-ranging discussion of how our brains process the sights and sounds of motion pictures. Because it derives from a book that he has aimed at a broad audience, the tone of the writing is a bit more informal than is the norm in scholarly venues. Badt grounds her article in a series of communications with Panksepp, and she emphasizes the ways that goal-driven attention works at primary and tertiary levels, as viewers respond to filmic cues while simultaneously attending to individually meaningful information sources in the film.

Away from the main exhibition's crowds, in bunkers in the quiet reaches of the Arsenale garden, I finally found a fleeting tranquility from which to appreciate Coco Fusco's film essay The Confession, which approaches the Cuban Revolution through the figure of the poet Heberto Padilla, and Maria Eichhorn's gentle yet resonant Militant, where a young woman lounging on a bed reads Marx (of course) in a state of relaxed-and enviable-concentration. [...]a strategy of stepping off the map did enable me to escape the rhetoric of All the World's Futures and to critically engage with a Biennale that admirably brought new names to its halls from continents outside the western archipelago, testifying to the vigor of diverse arts cultures existing outside of kunsthalles, modern art museums, art fairs, and indeed, biennales.

[...]James Franco produced film versions of As I Lay Dying (2014) and more recently The Sound and the Fury (2015), it could be said that William Faulkner, a writer who worked off and on in Hollywood and showed a skillful and even prescient understanding of the grammar of film, never really had a novel that survived (intact or often even close) an adaptation to film.1 Hemingway fared a lot better. [...]Paramount's Temple redeems Faulkner's: she shoots the gangster-pimp, summons up the courage to testify in open court about a homicide she had seen him commit, and secures the acquittal of the falsely accused defendant at the cost of her own disgrace.

Director Steve McQueen's 2008 film Hunger employs strategies of narrative fracture in its account of the 1981 Northern Irish hunger strikes. Through the formal devices of ellipsis and descriptive pause, the film creates space for viewer reflection on, and immersion in, the emotions associated with trauma and loss. Looking at these formal devices as emotion cues, and considering the film as a case study in the cognitive study of film, this article offers an 'emotional reading' of Hunger. Keywords: achronological, British cinema, cognitive, emotion, fracture, history, Irish, trauma

[...]McQueen has said he decided to make a film focusing on the actual portrayal of slavery because he saw a \"massive hole in the canon of the film\" and did not want to make a \"fairy tale\" providing hope (qtd. in Goodsell). In the film, it is hard to see Northrup's heroism because McQueen wishes to feature the unbreakable shackles of slavery. [...]he depicts Northrup as powerless and impotent to obtain his freedom.

Beyond the exhibition's rich content, the installation was a satisfying jaunt through a variety of cinematic experiences, occupying a large central room with freestanding projections that foregrounded the relationship between the body and the celluloid screen, while conversely breaking up into smaller black boxes that called for more intimate engagement with the work. The smaller screen follows the sluggish daily movements of people, animals, and boats on the water's edge, culminating in a scene at a funeral parlor, while the larger uses hypnotic imagery of ghostly figures falling from the sky, recalling the mass suicide of indigenous Indians who took their own lives rather than surrender to French colonialists in the seventeenth century.