Há uma semana, a diretora da Informa D&B, Teresa Menezes, dizia-nos em entrevista que ″dez a 15% das empresas não vão resistir″; que uma onda de falências e encerramentos pode tardar, mas será inevitável e que o nascimento de empresas é ″muito desanimador″. Não demorou muito para que esta realidade se começasse a revelar: na terça-feira rebentou a falência da Dielmar, uma empresa de vestuário de Alcains, Castelo Branco, que empregava cerca de 300 pessoas e era uma das grandes criadoras de emprego na região do interior. Ao mesmo tempo, o ministro da Economia, Siza Vieira, admitia que o Estado já tinha feito o possível pela empresa, com uma ajuda na ordem dos 8 a 10 milhões de euros, e que não valia a pena ″pôr dinheiro fresco em cima de uma empresa que não tem salvação, mas que provavelmente é a ponta do iceberg das falências que podem estar em risco de acontecer.
Hoje é notícia: Investigação de corrupção parada ; Um Algarve diferente
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Best 2020 double feature: Two favorite discoveries in film s toughest year
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Best 2020 double feature: Two favorite discoveries in film’s toughest year [Los Angeles Times :: BC-MOVIE-BESTOFYEAR-FRANCISCA-DAMNATION:LA]
There’s a moment in Bela Tarr’s 1988 film, “Damnation,” one of many excellent retrospective titles to emerge on virtual screens this year, that I’m tempted to describe as “very 2020.”
We are in a mud-soaked Hungarian coal-mining town, awash in gloomy spirits and gloomier weather. Amid a torrential downpour, a broken man clambers up a slope and finds himself face to face with a large, growling dog. Rather than back away, the man drops down on all fours and growls right back, seething and snarling and eventually scaring the poor creature off. The dog is defeated; so is the man, a loser in life and in love. But as is often the case in Tarr’s cinema, although the character’s motives may be specific, his condition is curiously, even banally universal.
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There’s a moment in Béla Tarr’s 1988 film, “Damnation,” one of many excellent retrospective titles to emerge on virtual screens this year, that I’m tempted to describe as “very 2020.”
We are in a mud-soaked Hungarian coal-mining town, awash in gloomy spirits and gloomier weather. Amid a torrential downpour, a broken man clambers up a slope and finds himself face to face with a large, growling dog. Rather than back away, the man drops down on all fours and growls right back, seething and snarling and eventually scaring the poor creature off. The dog is defeated; so is the man, a loser in life and in love. But as is often the case in Tarr’s cinema, although the character’s motives may be specific, his condition is curiously, even banally universal. It’s as though we are all feral animals under the skin, destined to slog our way through a rain-pelted hellscape before tearing one another and ourselves apart.