The film The King’s Speech, which is due to appear in the UK in January, tells the story of George VI’s struggle to overcome his stammer.
There are quite a few reasons to like The American. It is an action film with almost no action, making it a non-action action film which, I now know, is my favourite kind of action film. It stars George Clooney, and while I have tried to imagine Mr Clooney doing something uncharismatically — rinsing out his pants in the sink, say, or hosing down the car on a Sunday morning — I cannot. I’d buy a ticket for both. And it’s directed by Anton Corbijn, the Dutch photographer turned film-maker who made Control, the excellent film about Joy Division, and who knows how to compose a shot gorgeously.
Flesh. Lots of flesh. That was the simple promise of a Hammer horror film. In this collection of classic Hammer…
Without warning, Tomas Alfredson jumps up and starts wading about the room like a water bird treading over lily pads.
Just as there are people who are their own worst enemies, so there are books that are their own worst reviews.
Many years ago I invited a young student of mine to see Psycho, a film of which she had never heard, made by a director (Hitchcock) with whose name she was unfamiliar and shot in a format (black-and-white) whose apparent old-fashionedness so mystifed her she wondered aloud why no one thought to complain to the projectionist.
Late in the 19th century, archaeologists digging in the Roman Forum discovered a lime kiln.
What was it about post-war British cinema? Our films were lit up by a collection of wonderfully idiosyncratic performers.
Chaplin’s Girl, by Miranda Seymour
Love Child, by Allegra Huston
Ticks and Crosses: Personal Terms 4, by Frederic Raphael
Arthur Miller, 1915-1962, by Christopher Bigsby
My Judy Garland Life, by Susie Boyt
James Robertson Justice: What’s the Bleeding Time? by James Hogg, with Robert Sellers and Howard Watson