Celebrity deaths have no decorum. From Elvis on his toilet to Whitney face down in her bathtub, their last moments…
Is Hollywood finally waking up to the talents of women directors? Peter Hoskin doubts it
At the recent Austin Film Festival, at every ruminative panel or round-table discussion I attended, I slapped my copy of…
The correspondence between Christopher Isherwood and Don Bachardy is good for celebrity-spotting but too cloyingly self-absorbed to be of wider interest, says D. J. Taylor
From a wedding to an awards ceremony, no self-respecting Los Angeles beano can take place without endless fixtures around the…
The actress Emily Blunt on coping with fame and not speaking American
I only ever heard my mother admit twice to fancying other men.
The three knights of British cinema have taken disparate routes in their twilight years. Roger Moore jettisoned a hokum career for more worthwhile pursuits as a Unicef ambassador, while Sean Connery settled into his Bahamian golf-resort to champion Scotland’s independence. Michael Caine, however, has added a further veneer to a great body of work.
Hollywood’s gloss on reality makes Olivia Glazebrook want to weep. Why can’t the Americans learn from the French?
Will Self loves to go a-wandering; this much we know.
If you wanted to write about Marilyn Monroe, how would you go about it? The pile of biographies, memoirs and novels about poor, sad Marilyn is already teetering.
Just as there are people who are their own worst enemies, so there are books that are their own worst reviews.
In his memoir Somebody Down Here Likes Me, Too, the boxer Rocky Graziano, on whom Paul Newman based his performance in Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956), describes the actor in perfect Runyonese:
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.
Michael Palin is the meekest, mildest and nicest of the Pythons.