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On Christmas, a slew of Oscar hopefuls will hit theaters, taking on the kind of important topics you might expect from such prestige pictures: corruption in contemporary Russia, the psychological aftereffects of war, the struggles of the civil rights movement. In their company, the eccentricities of Alexandre Rockwell's Little Feet, which is getting a digital release on Vimeo and Fandor as well as a theatrical run in New York, stand out even more than normal. Shot in 16mm black-and-white and clocking in at a snappy 60 minutes, the movie could almost function as an opening short, certainly as a refreshing appetizer, for the more ambitious films receiving award chatter.

That's not to suggest the film is slight or shallow. Cutesiness and whimsy do feature prominently, but that's impossible to avoid given that the movie is about two siblings, Lana and Nico (played by Rockwell's children of the same names), who, upon discovering that one of their two goldfish has died, embark on a journey across Los Angeles to set the second one free in the Pacific Ocean. In fact, in its own understated way and without undermining the film's otherwise lighthearted mood, Little Feet broaches some serious topics of its own.

Nico and Lana, we surmise in the film's opening scenes, have recently lost their mother. The death of one of their goldfish affects them deeply, then, although it's evident that the two kids regularly process their lives through the lens of fantasy even before that — at one point, Lana tells Nico a story about a panda that becomes depressed after the death of his best friend. The moment comes only shortly after the brief appearance of their father (played by Rockwell), who we see passed out on the couch with a bottle of vodka.

Nico and Lana's journey, then, carries metaphorical weight, but it's not overwhelmed or defined by it. Little Feet doesn't merely explore escapism; it channels it. Not in the style of Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, which may come to mind watching these children, but in a way much more ramshackle in its construction, more immediately and obviously a product of a child's imagination, with all the digressions and disorganization that entails.

Little Feet's end titles, in fact, give a story credit to "Lana and Dad," which is appropriate for a film that feels very much like a home movie, with father, son, and daughter playing dress-up around the city. Lana at one point walks around in a skeleton jumpsuit. Nene (Rene Cuante), a neighbor who joins Nico and Lana on their journey, dons a captain's hat and 3D glasses. Together, they look like they've just finished cleaning out the local thrift store.

A similarly disordered style permeates much of Little Feet, but of course, when dad is a renowned indie filmmaker, the results are a touch above what the rest of us might hope to produce in similar circumstances. Rockwell's presence is also felt in the occasional spurt of more provocative adult humor, such as when the three kids, in an attempt to get enough money for the bus to the ocean, collect empty liquor bottles off the street to cash in the deposit.

But what's most striking, in the end, are the kids themselves: Nico's rambunctious energy, his devotion to Lana, her tender protection of him. ("I love you Lana. In my brains and my heart," Nico says in one of the movie's more aww-inspiring moments.) They, along with a propulsive soundtrack, hold the film together, if only by a string. Shagginess is the movie's definitive trait, after all, which ultimately only further signals why Little Feet offers a compelling antidote to most other movies on the release calendar this month: Far from being precisely molded to elicit an emotional response, Little Feet is content to let the pieces fall more haphazardly and to seek resonance in small moments rather than grand, dramatic gestures.

Samuel Gbarzeki is fed up.

"How can we cope?" he asks.

The university professor, who teaches English to freshmen and sophomores, has been out of work since July when Liberia's government suspended schools because of the Ebola outbreak.

"Ebola is very, very dangerous because it kills and has no boundaries," he says. "But people don't know what to do. They go to bed hungry because jobs have stopped."

The trim man is wearing a tan baseball cap, pressed khaki shorts and a spotless white T-shirt. He will admit to being "something over 60 years old."

Gbarzeki says Ebola has hit at a particularly bad time for Liberians. It's one of the world's 10 poorest countries. But things had started to look up. A little more than a decade after a brutal civil war had brought the impoverished nation to its knees, authorities say Liberia was beginning to stabilize. The gross national income, for example, has been on a slow but steady upward trend.

Then came the outbreak. Unemployment has soared. Today, Liberia has become a nation of peddlers.

Gbarzeki is standing among a small crowd in front of the Daily Talk news board. The board, which stands 10 feet high and 15 feet wide on busy Tubman Boulevard in Monrovia, is an innovative and low-tech approach to sharing news in a nation where many don't own a television or a radio and can't afford a newspaper.

The board is the brainchild of Alfred Sirleaf, a journalist who created it in 2000, three years before the war ended. He updates the blackboard by hand several times a week, writing headlines in white chalk. A river of people flows past including pedestrians, laborers and multiple vendors of food, clothes, clocks, eyeglasses, kola nuts, shoes. Many stop to look at the day's news.

The headlines on Dec. 2 include: "AFTER KILLING NEARLY 6,000 PEOPLE IN AFRICA, DEATH RATE DROP WITH EBOLA ON THE RUN; DUE TO KILLER EBOLA FEAR SUPREME COURT HALTS ELECTIONS, ORDERS CANDIDATES TO STOP ACTIVITIES; CRIMINALS ENTER PRES SIRLEAF'S COMPOUND FROM BEACH SIDE STEAL WINDOW GLASSES.

Gbarzeki is stunned by this last bulletin.

"This is very astonishing," he says. "Because a president is supposed to have maximum security. If criminals can do this, it's very astonishing"

Gbarzeki says he is not a daily visitor but has been stopping by the board recently for updates on elections due to be held Dec. 16. Liberia's Supreme Court is reviewing a petition that the elections be postponed due to Ebola. But President Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf's government wants them to go ahead, even though it has banned mass gatherings.

Gbarzeki reflects the opinion of many standing around him when he says he doesn't understand the logic.

"According to our president, because of Ebola we should not assemble," he says. "Now they are saying elections should be held."

Gbarzeki says life was hard before Ebola.

Now?

"If Ebola closes everything, where do people get money to feed their family?," he asks. "People can hardly put food on the on table for their family. We are hurt."

ebola

Liberia

On Christmas, a slew of Oscar hopefuls will hit theaters, taking on the kind of important topics you might expect from such prestige pictures: corruption in contemporary Russia, the psychological aftereffects of war, the struggles of the civil rights movement. In their company, the eccentricities of Alexandre Rockwell's Little Feet, which is getting a digital release on Vimeo and Fandor as well as a theatrical run in New York, stand out even more than normal. Shot in 16mm black-and-white and clocking in at a snappy 60 minutes, the movie could almost function as an opening short, certainly as a refreshing appetizer, for the more ambitious films receiving award chatter.

That's not to suggest the film is slight or shallow. Cutesiness and whimsy do feature prominently, but that's impossible to avoid given that the movie is about two siblings, Lana and Nico (played by Rockwell's children of the same names), who, upon discovering that one of their two goldfish has died, embark on a journey across Los Angeles to set the second one free in the Pacific Ocean. In fact, in its own understated way and without undermining the film's otherwise lighthearted mood, Little Feet broaches some serious topics of its own.

Nico and Lana, we surmise in the film's opening scenes, have recently lost their mother. The death of one of their goldfish affects them deeply, then, although it's evident that the two kids regularly process their lives through the lens of fantasy even before that — at one point, Lana tells Nico a story about a panda that becomes depressed after the death of his best friend. The moment comes only shortly after the brief appearance of their father (played by Rockwell), who we see passed out on the couch with a bottle of vodka.

Nico and Lana's journey, then, carries metaphorical weight, but it's not overwhelmed or defined by it. Little Feet doesn't merely explore escapism; it channels it. Not in the style of Wes Anderson's Moonrise Kingdom, which may come to mind watching these children, but in a way much more ramshackle in its construction, more immediately and obviously a product of a child's imagination, with all the digressions and disorganization that entails.

Little Feet's end titles, in fact, give a story credit to "Lana and Dad," which is appropriate for a film that feels very much like a home movie, with father, son, and daughter playing dress-up around the city. Lana at one point walks around in a skeleton jumpsuit. Nene (Rene Cuante), a neighbor who joins Nico and Lana on their journey, dons a captain's hat and 3D glasses. Together, they look like they've just finished cleaning out the local thrift store.

A similarly disordered style permeates much of Little Feet, but of course, when dad is a renowned indie filmmaker, the results are a touch above what the rest of us might hope to produce in similar circumstances. Rockwell's presence is also felt in the occasional spurt of more provocative adult humor, such as when the three kids, in an attempt to get enough money for the bus to the ocean, collect empty liquor bottles off the street to cash in the deposit.

But what's most striking, in the end, are the kids themselves: Nico's rambunctious energy, his devotion to Lana, her tender protection of him. ("I love you Lana. In my brains and my heart," Nico says in one of the movie's more aww-inspiring moments.) They, along with a propulsive soundtrack, hold the film together, if only by a string. Shagginess is the movie's definitive trait, after all, which ultimately only further signals why Little Feet offers a compelling antidote to most other movies on the release calendar this month: Far from being precisely molded to elicit an emotional response, Little Feet is content to let the pieces fall more haphazardly and to seek resonance in small moments rather than grand, dramatic gestures.

It's lunchtime at a company called LifeSize in Austin, Texas. A dozen employees are playing beach volleyball on a sand court next to the parking garage behind their offices. Corrine Heery, a 28-year-old financial analyst, says she loves the "midday endorphin rush." And, that it enhances her bragging rights when discussing her work with friends, stating, "it's not just the business side, it's this side too — people getting along and playing fun sports."

Lunchtime volleyball is part of the new image that the company – which sells video conferencing technology — is trying to cultivate to attract millennials like Heery. Her generation is highly sought after in today's technology sector for their dexterity with devices and their ability to adapt to constant change.

Join The Conversation

Use the hashtag #newboom to join the conversation on social media.

LifeSize CEO and baby boomer Craig Malloy says that two years ago his company's culture and its products were outdated. The clunky big-screen televisions and swiveling cameras it manufactured were being replaced by computer and phone applications. Malloy says he needed millennials to help create smaller and simpler technology.

"People in my generation will never be as comfortable, and as up to speed with what's happening on social media and web applications," he says.

So Malloy instituted a company facelift modeled after Silicon Valley start-up companies. He introduced employee perks that appeal to young people, like group exercise and free food. And Malloy says the changes are paying off.

"We're seeing more interest from a younger generation of software and hardware developer maybe that would consider a company like Nest or Google," he says. "And now we're able to compete for that talent."

Changes Spark Generational Protests

The company now focuses on mobile apps, and software that requires minimal technology to use — like a remote control with one button. But not all of the changes at LifeSize have been embraced. One in particular has been divisive across generations of employees.

i i

CEO Craig Malloy sits at his work station. One of the transitions he's made at LifeSize includes giving up offices — including his own — in favor of a more open design. Nicole Beemsterboer/NPR hide caption

itoggle caption Nicole Beemsterboer/NPR

CEO Craig Malloy sits at his work station. One of the transitions he's made at LifeSize includes giving up offices — including his own — in favor of a more open design.

Nicole Beemsterboer/NPR

By next year, nearly all LifeSize employees will be moved out of their offices, sitting at work stations that have just a few feet of sheer glass separating colleagues, leaving minimal privacy.

Malloy says that kind of office set up fosters collaboration, and he hopes, innovative ideas. But baby boomer employees protested so much, he decided to be the first to make the transition. "I knew that if I moved out of my office into the open area, no one would have a leg to stand on complaining that they can't get their job done," he says.

Larry Danko's dissatisfaction with the new floor plan isn't just about getting work done. "I earned a window. That was important to me," he says.

The 66-year-old manager has accepted that he will lose his office in the transition, but he is not looking forward to it. Like many Baby Boomers, he views a private office as symbolic of a person's level of achievement, and value.

Danko says he has accepted he will lose his office in the transition, but that he is not looking forward to it. Like many baby boomers, he views a private office as symbolic of a person's level of achievement, and value.

Tony Vida, a 31-year-old IT manager, feels differently. "I think change is inevitable," he says.

Vida doesn't see the changes at his office as being about one generation or another. Instead, he says it's part of the natural evolution of how work gets done over time.

“ I knew that if I moved out of my office into the open area, no one would have a leg to stand on complaining that they can't get their job done.

- Craig Malloy, LifeSize CEO

"I'm sure everyone that used to have an in and out folder on their desk waiting for paper notes didn't want to do the whole e-mail thing," he says.

But some experts say evolution that happens too quickly can cause problems.

"What happens is a lot of over correcting. [Employees] try too hard to focus on that young demo. Often I think they not only alienate the older [employees], but sometimes it backfires," says Sharalyn Orr, a management consultant with Frank N. Magid Associates, a firm that advises companies on public relations, marketing and management.

Malloy acknowledges that the changes at his company have been too much for some older staff members.

"We have lost baby boomer employees. No one has said to me 'there's no way I'm going to move into an open floor plan environment, I'm out of here.' But we have had some push back. On the other hand most businesses are not a democracy. I like to say they're a benevolent dictatorship."

And Malloy — the benevolent dictator — says his company needs to change with the industry. Even if that means leaving some people behind.