Herold formed on March 13 as Tropical Cyclone 22S and once it intensified into a, it was renamed Herold. Herold continued to strengthen and is now at hurricane-force.On March 16, the Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer or MODIS instrument that flies aboard NASA's Aqua satellite provided forecasters with a visible image of Tropical Cyclone Herold and showed a well-developed hurricane with a visible eye, although slightly obscured by high clouds. Powerful bands of thunderstorms circled the eye.At 5 a.m. EDT (0900 UTC) on March 16, the center of Tropical Cyclone Herold was located near latitude 15.7 degrees south and longitude 54.2 degrees east, about 295 nautical miles north-northwest of St. Denis, La Reunion Island. Maximum sustained winds were near 80 knots (92 mph/148 kph).The Joint Typhoon Warning Center or JTWC noted that Herold is forecast to turn to the southeast, passing just west of Rodrigues.

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The storm will strengthen to 90 knots (104 mph/167 kph) later today before becoming subtropical.Tropical cyclones/hurricanes are the most powerful weather events on Earth. Gotta protectors ciaa. NASA's expertise in space and contributes to essential services provided to the American people by other federal agencies, such as hurricane weather forecasting.

Two feature films about Nazis are opening this Friday—“Scarred Hearts,” directed by Radu Jude, and “The Captain,” directed by Robert Schwentke—and the difference between them, aesthetically and ethically, is the difference between an engagement with history and an exploitation of it. The importance of that difference, in the present time of resurgent Nazi sympathies and hatreds, is more than theoretical.Both films are based on true stories. “The Captain” tells the story of Willi Herold (played by Max Hubacher), a corporal in the German Army who, at the age of nineteen, in April, 1945, two weeks before Germany surrendered, deserted from his unit, found a captain’s uniform in an abandoned car, put it on, pretended to be a captain, found one deserter to order around, found some other wandering troops to command, and, with them, took over a German prison camp for deserters.

While the camp’s actual administration was awaiting the arrival of a court-martial to try its prisoners, Herold—claiming to have direct orders from Hitler—ordered and organized the summary execution of the prisoners. (After the war, he was arrested by the occupying British forces, tried, and executed.).

Schwentke depicts Herold narrowly eluding the hot pursuit of a carload of soldiers seeking to shoot or capture him for desertion, but, from the start, he marks the film with the two polar extremes on which the film is organized: fabricated authenticity and simplistic irony. A lone runner comes over the horizon of an open field, followed by what looks like a clown car, from which a circus bleat of a bugle call sounds, mixed with gunshots.

Soon it’s clear—the urgent runner is seen to be a bloodied soldier whom the pursuers, roaring ahead in a jeep, are trying to kill. Filming in a stone-earnest black-and-white palette, Schwentke blends the pseudo-documentary style of handheld visual agitation with the stately aestheticism of widescreen compositions. Wandering through an empty road in an open field, Herold sees an abandoned car and finds some apples (he’s starving) and also the uniform that transforms his fate. Donning it, Herold then practices speaking like a captain, giving orders to the empty field, being cruelly sarcastic and unctuously imperious—and then singing a little theatre song and juggling three of the apples that he’s found. Such theatrical frivolity—the second in the film’s opening minutes—recurs throughout the film, always in proximity to and contrast with scenes of bloody murder. Emmanuel, like Blecher, is Jewish, and his perspective on those pathologies is utterly personal and keenly probing, as in a scene with a fellow-patient named Solange (Ivana Mladenovic), in which he describes his own experience of anti-Semitism: “I saw some newspaper boys shouting, ‘Die, dirty Jews!’ I found it more strange than scary. People were talking about death, my death. Why is it so easy to shout ‘Die!’ on a street in Romania and people don’t even turn to look?

Death is a serious thing. If someone shouted in the streets for the death of, say, badgers, even that might surprise some passersby. It’s not that three boys can shout, ‘Die, Jews!’ It’s that their shout can pass unnoticed, unopposed. Like a tram bell.”In “Scarred Hearts,” Jude doesn’t make any facile correlations between illness and Fascism. His subject is death and also survival: the devoted and thoughtful exertions of the doctors and nurses in the sanitarium help some and don’t help others, cure some and don’t cure others, but their efforts make a small and progressive mark in the long road of history. So do the exertions of intellectuals, such as Blecher himself, which didn’t prevent Fascism or Nazism and didn’t overturn them but which were also markers of humanity and clarity in a sordid time, a light that—as brought forth in Jude’s own film—shines now no less than the advances of science.

Jude’s film is a work of resistance; Schwentke’s, for all its obvious judgments and repudiations, is a part of the murk.