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This is an emo­tion­ally moving pe­riod piece about the week fol­low­ing Sept. 11, 2001. El­liott (Joe Purdy) and Joni (Am­ber Rubarth) are seat­mates on an early morn­ing flight from Los An­ge­les to New York. When the air­plane is or­dered back where it came from, she takes him un­der her wing and finds them a van in which to cross the coun­try. The friend­ship that de­vel­ops is slow and care­ful. Both are mu­si­cians with a shared love of Amer­i­can folk mu­sic, but the ti­tle also refers to the peo­ple Joni and El­liott en­counter on their road trip. Rated PG. 99 min­utes. The Screen. (Jen­nifer Levin)


The “bomb­shell” in this doc­u­men­tary’s ti­tle is twofold. One is Hedy Lamarr, the Aus­trian-born screen siren from Al­giers and Sam­son and Delilah. The other is Hedy Kiesler Markey, the mar­ried name Lamarr used on the 1942 patent for her fre­quency-hop­ping tech­nol­ogy, which was de­signed to keep Al­lied tor­pe­does on course in World War II and later led to the de­vel­op­ment of Blue­tooth, GPS, and Wi-Fi. Writer-di­rec­tor Alexan­dra Dean’s aim is to rec­on­cile the two Hedys, telling the sig­nif­i­cant story of Lamarr’s great­est in­ven­tion as well as the mul­ti­ple it­er­a­tions of the ac­tress’s per­sona. Through in­ter­views with sub­jects like au­thor Richard Rhodes and di­rec­tors Peter Bog­danovich and Mel Brooks, the doc­u­men­tary casts Lamarr as a prodigy whose in­no­va­tion changed the course of tech­nol­ogy over the 20th cen­tury and be­yond. If the film’s pace seems too fre­netic at times — hop­ping as it does from the ac­tress’s movies to in­ven­tions to hus­bands (Lamarr had six), with per­haps too lit­tle time al­lowed in be­tween for re­flec­tion — we might bear in mind the un­re­lent­ing drive of the won­der woman her­self. Not rated. 90 min­utes. Cen­ter for Con­tem­po­rary Arts. (Molly Boyle)


Noth­ing hap­pens very fast in this sun-drenched, lan­guorous love story adapted by di­rec­tor Luca Guadagnino and screen­writer James Ivory from An­dré Aci­man’s much-ac­claimed novel of sex­ual awak­en­ing.

Seven­teen-year-old Elio (Ti­mothée Cha­la­met) whiles away his sum­mers in the early 1980s at the va­ca­tion villa of his par­ents in northern Italy. He reads vo­ra­ciously, plays pi­ano, swims, dal­lies with girls, and waits for some­thing im­por­tant to hap­pen in his life. Then Oliver (Ar­mie Ham­mer), a tall, blond Ado­nis of an Amer­i­can grad­u­ate stu­dent, ar­rives to fill a sum­mer in­tern­ship with Elio’s fa­ther, an Amer­i­can clas­sics pro­fes­sor (Michael Stuhlbarg). The young men cir­cle each other war­ily. When they fi­nally come to­gether, it is the teenager who makes the de­ci­sive move. The film­ing is dis­creet, but the com­bus­tion is in­tense. And there is a scene with a peach that may change for­ever the way you look at that fruit. Call Me By Your Name has gar­nered three Os­car nom­i­na­tions: Best Pic­ture, Best Ac­tor (Cha­la­met), and Best Adapted Screen­play. Rated R. 130 min­utes. In English, and French and Ital­ian with sub­ti­tles. Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


Pixar An­i­ma­tion heads south of the bor­der to tell a story about a boy in ru­ral Mex­ico named Miguel (voiced by An­thony Gon­za­lez) who dreams of be­com­ing a fa­mous mu­si­cian like his hero, the de­ceased Ernesto de la Cruz. Miguel’s fam­ily for­bids any mem­ber from pur­su­ing a ca­reer in mu­sic, how­ever, be­cause of an an­ces­tor who left the clan for those very rea­sons. Dur­ing a Día de los Muer­tos (Day of the Dead) cel­e­bra­tion, Miguel crosses over to the Land of the Dead to seek out de la Cruz and re­verse this rule. Pixar pop­u­lates this af­ter­life with a faith­ful imag­in­ing of Mex­i­can folk art that in­cludes bright col­ors, lively skele­tons, and spirit an­i­mals that seem to glow. As with Pixar’s best work, it’s the script that shines bright­est — and this air­tight ex­am­ple in­cludes a num­ber of sat­is­fy­ing plot twists and a help­ing of heart. The film is Os­carnom­i­nated for Best An­i­mated Fea­ture. Rated R. 109 min­utes. Screens in 2-D only at Re­gal Sta­dium 14. (Robert Ker)


Gary Old­man, up for an Acad­emy Award for this role, is ex­tra­or­di­nary as Win­ston Churchill. Wreathed in fat, lum­ber­ing through the halls of Par­lia­ment or the rooms of his own sump­tu­ous res­i­dence with a cigar lodged firmly in his mouth, the ac­tor dis­ap­pears and the le­gendary Bri­tish wartime prime min­is­ter is all there is to see. Di­rec­tor Joe Wright gives us Bri­tain at her dark­est hour, with Adolf Hitler run­ning roughshod over Eu­rope and poised to cross the chan­nel. King Ge­orge VI (Ben Men­del­sohn), with con­sid­er­able re­luc­tance, in­vites Churchill to form a cabi­net. The movie shows us a man iso­lated and with the bur­den of his coun­try’s sur­vival squarely on his shoul­ders. But de­spite the stakes, Dark­est Hour strug­gles to get us in­volved. At the end of it all, de­spite Old­man’s bravura per­for­mance, we are not as en­light­ened as we would like to be about the many con­tra­dic­tions of the man whose bull­dog de­ter­mi­na­tion saved Bri­tain. The movie is also nom­i­nated this year for Best Pic­ture. Rated PG-13. 125 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


Di­rec­tor Trudie Styler’s de­but pic­ture fol­lows a pre­dictable path — es­pe­cially for fans of John Hughes’ come­dies — but it has an ap­peal­ing draw in Alex Lawther’s as­ton­ish­ingly smart per­for­mance as the self-pro­claimed “trans-vi­sion­ary gender oblivi­a­tor.” Funny and friv­o­lous, the film stars Lawther as Billy Bloom, an outspoken, cross-dress­ing gay teen who chafes af­ter be­ing forced to move in with his fa­ther in a con­ser­va­tive, red state. Billy up­sets the more up­tight stu­dents, es­pe­cially when he mounts an out­ra­geous cam­paign for home­com­ing queen while ro­manc­ing the hero of the foot­ball team. Top-flight sup­port­ing cast in­cludes Bette Mi­dler as Bloom’s hard-drink­ing mother. Not rated. 95 min­utes. Jean Cocteau Cin­ema. (Jon Bow­man)


Writer and di­rec­tor Scott Cooper’s Western plays fast and loose with the facts, but its trio of pro­tag­o­nists are vi­brantly brought to life in a story of hope, re­demp­tion, and sur­vival. Chris­tian Bale is ter­rific as a soon-to-re­tire Army of­fi­cer given the job of es­cort­ing a dy­ing Cheyenne chief (Wes Studi, also giv­ing a pow­er­ful turn) from New Mex­ico to Wy­oming. Also on this jour­ney is a widow (the ex­cel­lent Rosamund Pike) who wit­nessed the mas­sacre of her hus­band and chil­dren. The film paints the West as it once was: wild and un­com­pro­mis­ing, beau­ti­ful, and yet for­giv­ing — just like we all want to be, maybe. Rated R. 133 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Robert Nott)


The odds were stacked high against for­mer Olympic fig­ure skater Tonya Hard­ing (Mar­got Rob­bie, up for a Best Ac­tress Os­car) from the start, as di­rec­tor Craig Gille­spie demon­strates in this quick-wit­ted, if un­even, take on Hard­ing’s stranger-than-fic­tion tabloid saga. Her hell of a mother, LaVona (Al­li­son Jan­ney, nom­i­nated for her sup­port­ing role), was the driv­ing force be­hind the blue-col­lar skater’s un­likely rise to the top of a sport de­signed for rich girls. The wacky plot to hand­i­cap Hard­ing’s ri­val Nancy Ker­ri­gan, dreamed up by Hard­ing’s (now ex) hus­band Jeff Gil­looly (Se­bas­tian Stan), is the movie’s bread and but­ter, and there’s a lot of fun in the retelling. But the flip­pancy of the film’s Good­fel­las-style pack­ag­ing over­shad­ows its de­pic­tion of the darker side of Hard­ing’s life: the do­mes­tic vi­o­lence she suf­fered at the hands of first her mother, then Gil­looly. I, Tonya re­lies heav­ily on Hard­ing’s sass to give a toooften bizarrely light­hearted ac­count of the tragic cir­cum­stances that led to her no­to­ri­ety. As with the blar­ing head­lines that her­alded Hard­ing’s de­scent into scan­dal, one can’t help but feel that the real story seems to have got­ten lost some­where along the way. Rated R. 120 min­utes. Vi­o­let Crown. (Molly Boyle)


Katja Sek­erci (Diane Kruger) drops her six-year-old son Rocco (Rafael Santana) off at the of­fice of her Turk­ish im­mi­grant hus­band Nuri (Nu­man Acar) in mod­ern-day Ham­burg while she takes the af­ter­noon off. When she re­turns, they’ve both been blown to bits by a ter­ror­ist bomb. Who did it? Why? And will jus­tice be served? The an­swers to th­ese questions are not long in com­ing. “It was Nazis,” Katja says adamantly. Turk­ish-Ger­man writer-di­rec­tor Fatih Akin con­structs this drama in three acts. The first (“Fam­ily”) deals with the dev­as­ta­tion of the bomb­ing and its aftermath, the sec­ond (“Jus­tice”) with the court pro­ceed­ings, and the third (“The Sea”) with Katja’s re­sponse to the work­ings of jus­tice. The movie has its ups and downs, but one thing that never wa­vers is the sear­ing in­ten­sity of Kruger’s per­for­mance. She won Best Ac­tress at Cannes this year with her por­trait of a free-spir­ited woman devastated by tragedy, hounded by bu­reau­cracy, and driven by re­venge. The film is Ger­many’s sub­mis­sion for the For­eign Lan­guage Os­car. Not rated. 106 min­utes. In Ger­man with sub­ti­tles. Cen­ter for Con­tem­po­rary Arts. (Jonathan Richards)


This se­quel to the 1995 Robin Wil­liams-led ad­ven­ture film Ju­manji finds the board game of the orig­i­nal trans­formed to a video game for mod­ern au­di­ences. Four teenagers stumble into this game while serv­ing de­ten­tion, and when they press “start,” they’re sucked into its world. Now find­ing them­selves em­bod­ied by the avatars they se­lected (played by Dwayne John­son, Kevin Hart, Jack Black, and Karen Gil­lan), they must find a way to sur­vive the dan­gers of the jun­gle and re­turn to their nor­mal lives. Whereas the 1995 film stacked dis­parate per­ils and goofy jokes atop each other to whip up a frenzy of car­toon­ish chaos, this update es­corts view­ers from one ac­tion se­quence to the next at a slug­gish pace, stop­ping for char­ac­ter de­vel­op­ment when the he­roes aren’t run­ning from rhi­nos or star­ing down snakes. The cast is lively, charis­matic, and ideal for the scenes of bond­ing and blos­som­ing ro­mances, but th­ese mo­ments are not staged with enough zip to keep up with the ac­tors’ wit. Rated PG-13. 119 min­utes. Screens in 2-D only at Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Robert Ker)


Greta Ger­wig’s ex­tra­or­di­nary com­ing-of-age solo direc­to­rial de­but — Os­car-nom­i­nated for both Best Pic­ture and Best Di­rec­tor — feels in­ti­mately au­to­bi­o­graph­i­cal. Not so, says Ger­wig. Like her ti­tle char­ac­ter (Saoirse Ro­nan, up for Best Ac­tress), she grew up in Sacra­mento and went to a Catholic school, but she was not the slacker rebel with dyed hair and an in­vented name she has cre­ated for Ro­nan to play. The film takes Lady Bird through the tribu­la­tions of se­nior year and par­ty­ing and friend­ship and first love and the dream of head­ing East to col­lege de­spite grades that make her col­lege coun­selor burst out laugh­ing. The heart of the movie is Lady Bird’s con­tentious re­la­tion­ship with her mother, played to in­tense, loving, pas­sive-ag­gres­sive perfection by the great Lau­rie Met­calf, who is a con­tender for Best Sup­port­ing Ac­tress. Ger­wig has en­listed superb ac­tors from the­ater back­grounds, in­clud­ing ac­tor/play­wright Tracy Letts as the dad, and the won­der­ful Lois Smith as an un­der­stand­ing nun. Rated R. 93 min­utes. Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


Di­rec­tor Hiro­masa Yonebayashi (The Se­cret World

of Ar­ri­etty) left Ja­pan’s renowned an­i­ma­tion stu­dio Ghi­bli to cre­ate this, the de­but film for the new Stu­dio Ponoc. The stu­dio fea­tures many Ghi­bli alumni, and this film bears all of Ghi­bli’s trade­marks, from the ex­pres­sive, col­or­ful an­i­ma­tion to the stu­dio’s sin­gu­lar way of ren­der­ing fa­mil­iar fan­tasy tropes in fresh ways that some­how feel both grounded and fan­ci­ful. The story cen­ters on a young witch named Mary (voiced by Ruby Barn­hill) who is in­vited to an acad­emy for witch­craft. That may sound fa­mil­iar, but the plot takes turns that fans of the Harry Pot­ter se­ries won’t ex­pect. It might un­fold too slowly for some view­ers, but Yonebayashi takes the Ghi­bli ap­proach of show­ing the world the way chil­dren ex­pe­ri­ence it: full of won­der, un­cer­tainty, and un­ex­pected trans­for­ma­tions, where al­lies can seem evil and vil­lains can be al­lur­ing. Rated PG. 102 min­utes. Dubbed in English. Cen­ter for Con­tem­po­rary Arts. (Robert Ker)


The third and fi­nal film in the Maze Run­ner saga finds Thomas (Dy­lan O’Brien) hav­ing to solve the most dif­fi­cult labyrinth yet in or­der to break into the fa­bled Last City. If he and his friends can get to the city, they’ll find the head­quar­ters to the evil or­ga­ni­za­tion WCKD and ac­quire a cure for the Flare virus that has in­fected the Earth’s pop­u­la­tion. Rated PG-13. 142 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Not re­viewed)


No mat­ter how strong you think your de­fenses are against cute, cud­dly, and whim­si­cal fare, di­rec­tor Paul King’s Padding­ton films aim to force you to sur­ren­der. This time, the over­coat-wear­ing, mar­malade-munch­ing bear Padding­ton is back for more Lon­don ad­ven­tures, as he is framed in the theft of a rare book and must break free from jail and prove his in­no­cence. Hugh Bon­neville and Sally Hawkins re­turn as the par­ents of Padding­ton’s adopted fam­ily, who work on the out­side to clear his name, while Hugh Grant ap­pears as the vil­lain and seems to sa­vor ev­ery sec­ond of his per­for­mance. As with the first film, King adds vis­ual touches far more in­ven­tive than the min­i­mum of what the story re­quires, and the spe­cial ef­fects, par­tic­u­larly of Padding­ton’s fur, are de­light­ful. Even the cli­mac­tic ac­tion se­quence — which is so of­ten a noisy, over­long bore in fam­ily films — is bril­liant and thrilling, in­volv­ing two trains run­ning par­al­lel to each other. This se­quel shows how to treat a beloved, decades-old char­ac­ter prop­erly. Rated PG. 103 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14. (Robert Ker)


In Paul Thomas An­der­son’s new movie, many things hang from a slen­der thread — cre­ativ­ity, sta­bil­ity, rep­u­ta­tion, love, even life it­self. The slight­est jolt could send things crash­ing down. Reynolds Woodcock (Daniel Day-Lewis) is a fa­mous cou­turier in ‘50s Lon­don. At a coun­try inn he meets a wait­ress, a lis­some wench named Alma (Vicky Krieps), and be­fore you can say Ba­len­ci­aga, she’s be­come his mis­tress, model, and muse. Alma rec­og­nizes that she is only the lat­est in Woodcock’s string of com­pan­ions, but she is de­ter­mined to also be the last. He’s an ob­ses­sive-com­pul­sive tyrant; but, she dis­cov­ers, he can be a sweet, cud­dly lad when he’s un­der the weather. The love po­tion that she dreams up to keep him close adds the spice of in­trigue and sus­pense to the film’s sec­ond half. The three stars are riv­et­ing. Day-Lewis in par­tic­u­lar com­mands our at­ten­tion ev­ery mo­ment he’s on screen. Woodcock’s phan­tom sig­na­ture de­vice is to sew hid­den mes­sages into the hems and lin­ings of his cre­ations. The mes­sage we have from Day-Lewis is all too stark: This, he says, is his farewell to film. Say it ain’t so. The movie has re­ceived Os­car nom­i­na­tions that in­clude Best Pic­ture, Ac­tor, and Di­rec­tor. Rated R. 130 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


This is the story of Katharine “Kay” Graham and her re­luc­tant stew­ard­ship of her fam­ily news­pa­per,

The Wash­ing­ton Post, fol­low­ing the sui­cide of her hus­band, Post pub­lisher Philip Graham. Di­rected by Steven Spiel­berg and star­ring Meryl Streep as Graham and Tom Hanks as

Post ed­i­tor Ben Bradlee, the movie has two fish to fry. One is fem­i­nism. The other is the role of a free press in a democ­racy.

The Post ar­rives at a time when both of th­ese is­sues res­onate with a par­tic­u­lar force. But it’s the press is­sue that must have gal­va­nized Spiel­berg. The script landed on his desk last fall at a time of na­tional shock and trauma, and the prospect of a movie cel­e­brat­ing hon­est, fact-based, fear­less re­port­ing must have seemed a moral man­date. Un­for­tu­nately, de­spite its pow­er­house act­ing, the movie too of­ten moves for­ward by the num­bers. It’s not bad, but it lacks the power to grab you. Jour­nal­ism movies in which we know the out­come of the story, like Spot­light and All the Pres­i­dent’s Men, still man­age to gin up in­spired sus­pense. The Post as­pires to this level, but can’t quite pull it off. Acad­emy Award-nom­i­nated for Best Pic­ture and Best Ac­tress (Streep). Rated PG-13. 105 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


Elisa (a mag­i­cal Sally Hawkins) is a mute jan­i­tor who works the night shift at a mys­te­ri­ous govern­ment fa­cil­ity. A heav­ily guarded pack­age ar­rives, de­liv­ered by Strick­land (a malev­o­lent Michael Shan­non), the fa­cil­ity’s bru­tal head of se­cu­rity. It’s a tank con­tain­ing a hu­manoid am­phib­ian (Doug Jones) that Strick­land has cap­tured. Elisa finds her­self drawn to the crea­ture, and grad­u­ally her feel­ings ripen into a full-fledged Beauty and the Beast at­trac­tion. Strick­land de­cides to cut it up for study. This is re­sisted by one of the fa­cil­ity’s top scientists, Dr. Hoff­stetler (a soul­ful Michael Stuhlbarg), who turns out to have se­crets of his own. Del Toro has cre­ated a story that moves ef­fort­lessly for­ward through mul­ti­ple gen­res, en­com­pass­ing gothic ro­mance, fairy tale, Cold War spy thriller, and fan­tasy, with other bits and pieces strewn in. The sump­tu­ous vi­su­als are dom­i­nated by wa­ter themes. By it­self, wa­ter has no shape. It adapts it­self to the con­tours of any ves­sel that it fills. The same is true of love. The film is up for 13 Os­cars, in­clud­ing Best Pic­ture, Ac­tress (Hawkins), Sup­port­ing Ac­tor (Richard Jenk­ins), Sup­port­ing Ac­tress (Oc­tavia Spencer), and Di­rec­tor. Rated R. 123 min­utes. Cen­ter for Con­tem­po­rary Arts; Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


The re­sis­tance starts off in a strong po­si­tion in this Rian John­son-helmed en­try in the Star Wars saga, but their num­bers are swiftly de­pleted in an early bat­tle with the First Or­der. Then it’s an in­ter­ga­lac­tic game of cat-and­mouse as the sur­vivors seek to out­ma­neu­ver Supreme Leader Snoke (Andy Serkis) and find refuge be­fore they’re oblit­er­ated com­pletely. Mean­while, hav­ing lo­cated Luke Sky­walker (Mark Hamill), Rey (Daisy Ri­d­ley) tries to lure him back to the fight while grap­pling with her psy­chic bond to Darth Vader-wannabe Kylo Ren (Adam Driver) and the Dark Side, learn­ing from Sky­walker the ways of the Jedi. Filled with the hu­mor of past episodes and outer-space ac­tion ga­lore, The Last Jedi de­liv­ers rous­ing en­ter­tain­ment with ex­trav­a­gant spe­cial ef­fects. It picks up right where The Force Awak­ens left off, with that film’s cast mem­bers repris­ing their roles (in­clud­ing John Boyega as Finn, Os­car Isaac as Poe Dameron, and the late Car­rie Fisher as Leia Or­gana). There’s plenty of hero­ism to in­spire fans in this chap­ter, which pro­vides pure es­capist fun at a time when we all sorely need it. Nom­i­nated for four Acad­emy Awards, in­clud­ing Best Orig­i­nal Score. Rated PG-13. 152 min­utes. Screens in 2-D only at Vi­o­let Crown. (Michael Abatemarco)

Film­maker Martin McDon­agh (In Bruges) is like a mad chemist, throw­ing to­gether el­e­ments that have no busi­ness be­ing in the same pot ex­cept to fizz and ex­plode. In this tale of re­venge, vi­o­lence and hu­mor rub shoul­ders with tragedy and pathos like angry com­muters at rush hour, knit to­gether with the rawest of lan­guage and a script that scat­ters loose ends like bird­seed. But it’s a tour de force, riv­et­ing from start to fin­ish. Frances McDor­mand is ex­tra­or­di­nary as the em­bit­tered Mil­dred, who hires three derelict bill­boards along a lonely road in a Burma Shave-like se­quence to protest po­lice in­abil­ity to solve her daugh­ter’s rape and mur­der. Woody Har­rel­son brings a gen­tle no­bil­ity to Chief Wil­loughby, and Sam Rock­well is a racist deputy with the sub­tlety and in­tel­lect of a blunt in­stru­ment. Like Tarantino at his best, McDon­agh cre­ates movie scenes that land with the force of a wild cin­e­matic hay­maker. The film has been nom­i­nated for seven Acad­emy Awards, in­clud­ing Best Pic­ture, Best Ac­tress (McDor­mand), and Sup­port­ing Ac­tor (Har­rel­son and Rock­well). Rated R. 115 min­utes. Vi­o­let Crown. (Jonathan Richards)


Af­ter the Sept. 11, 2001, ter­ror­ist at­tack, the United States de­ployed a spe­cial unit of 12 men into Afghanistan to work with a lo­cal war­lord (Navid Ne­gah­ban) to elim­i­nate the Tal­iban. This movie tells the story of that mis­sion, with Chris Hemsworth play­ing Capt. Mitch Nel­son and Michael Shan­non and Michael Peña play­ing mem­bers of Nel­son’s unit. The desert of New Mex­ico stands in for sim­i­lar ter­rain in Afghanistan in many of the scenes. Rated R. 130 min­utes. Re­gal Sta­dium 14; Vi­o­let Crown. (Not re­viewed)


This doc­u­men­tary of­fers a closer look at Viet­namese Zen Bud­dhist monk Thích Nhat Hanh and his mind­ful­ness prac­tice. Filmed over the course of three years, the movie shows him in his monastery in ru­ral France and also fol­lows him around the world, spend­ing sig­nif­i­cant time not only with him, but with his many fol­low­ers and devo­tees as well. Bene­dict Cum­ber­batch nar­rates. Not rated. 94 min­utes. In English, French, and Viet­namese with sub­ti­tles. Jean Cocteau Cin­ema. (Not re­viewed)

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