Minneapolis. I don't know about you, but when I think of Minneapolis (and granted, it's not often) I imagine somewhere quite westerly within the whole US of A scheme of things. Today I am finding out quite how wrong I am. It's not in the west. It's not even in the middle. Look at a map. It's in the east.
It's big. It's got tall buildings. It speaks French. It has strange red flashing traffic lights that confuse the hell out of us. It's like a cross between a North American city (which it is), a Scottish city like Aberdeen or Edinburgh (which it isn't), and in some strange way (and I'm really gonna get lambasted for this one) - Sydney. Where am I?
The film industry has had a torrid time over the last few years: Illegal downloads, the advent of home cinema, YouTube; they've all contributed to the waning affluence of the silver screen. Add to this mix the fact that documentaries are known financial quagmires, and you have depressive mix for any aspiring film maker.
How did a bunch of peasant farmers and volunteers, operating on a shoestring budget with no access to the national media, manage to block one of the biggest investments in Romania? I went to the remote mountain village of Rosia Montana, located in the Apuseni mountains in western Romania, to find out.
The bitter public battle now being fought over the future of the NHS looks set to continue. Its future shape uncertain, and the mounting resistance that is so visceral is based upon fear, uncertainty and crucially a genuine lack of trust in those that claim to be guiding us to the best possible future the NHS.