Jens Jørgen Thorsen

Jesus returns to Earth, gets involved in a terrorist group, but keeps his integrity.

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From both a scientific and an artistic point of view, the film seeks to answer the question, 'what is light?'.

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Experimental anthology film consisting of nine segments - Contrasts, The Janitor, The Plumber, Another Wet Dream, The Happy Necrophiliacs, On a Sunday Afternoon, A Face, Politfuck, Flames - all focused on 70s sex, love and politics.

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Joey is a struggling writer with no money. His roommate Carl is a charming stud with a taste for young girls. Together, these two insatiable dreamers will laugh, love and screw their way through a decadent Paris paved with wanton women, wild orgies and outrageous erotic adventures.

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The Danish artist Henry Heerup's garden in Rødovre is also his studio. Here he paints in the summer, carving sculptures in the winter. His garden is filled with rubbish models, pictures for bleaching, and monuments of all sorts.

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This film was shot at a factory. A factory making shirts in the town of Herning i Jutland, decorated by Paul Gadegaard. Formerly art was confined to churches and palaces. Today man is in focus - his working place. Paul Gadegaard has been able to accomplish this pioneer work thanks to art experiments carried on since the beginning of this century.

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Stop for Bud is Jørgen Leth's first film and the first in his long collaboration with Ole John. […] they wanted to "blow up cinematic conventions and invent cinematic language from scratch". The jazz pianist Bud Powell moves around Copenhagen -- through King's Garden, along the quay at Kalkbrænderihavnen, across a waste dump. […] Bud is alone, accompanied only by his music. […] Image and sound are two different things -- that's Leth's and John's principle. Dexter Gordon, the narrator, tells stories about Powell's famous left hand. In an obituary for Powell, dated 3 August 1966, Leth wrote: "He quite willingly, or better still, unresistingly, mechanically, let himself be directed. The film attempts to depict his strange duality about his surroundings. His touch on the keys was like he was burning his fingers -- that's what it looked like, and that's how it sounded. But outside his playing, and often right in the middle of it, too, he was simply gone, not there."

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