Both are shot in and around Vancouver, with low ceilings, low, damp skies, and a lingering fog that mildews and wilts the corners of every image.
It was November on Park Avenue, two in the afternoon, a little brisk, a little damp, the sky the color of gray stone.
The atmosphere changed abruptly: the familiar clamor of an American summer morning cars whooshing, kids chirping fell away; the air became cool, dark, faintly damp; the sky overhead was embroidered with bright threads of birdsong.
Outside the heated marquee where Mr Stoltenberg and his fellow dignitaries effused, twin towers rose into the damp Norwegian sky, each housing one of the technologies that will be tested first.
As the darkness turned into damp, gray skies, there was exercise, eating and grooming in a Midtown Manhattan hotel.
As I get older, however, I find my taste for the rich and creamy is diminishing, even during the damp grey skies of the pheasant season.
It's a landscape indistinguishable from countless other places and, framed with damp, autumn skies and a Northern breeze, the only emotions it musters in me are depression and a slight anger that I'm not still in bed.
The ground was damp, and the sky was grayish blue and getting darker.
One day, when the air is damp and the sky is mottled and gray, there's a protest.
They flooded on to the turf while some released red flares into the gloomy and damp south-coast sky.
