'The cameras suddenly zoom in on what they are filming. They zoom so much that he can distinguish the clothing a man is wearing, the design and the colour of the fabric. But this proximity alarms him.'

A beautiful and terrible documentary, in the romantic not derisive sense. I say that partially because I spent its runtime mentally excavating said beauty from the sheer and formidable weight of its subject matter - that being real footage from attacks on Syria,…

With introduction by Brogan Morris of BFI/The Guardian/BBC culture, an old friend and inspiringly observant critic whose career I'm immensely proud to have witnessed thusfar.

Pleasure to attend this screening from Distorted Frame, a local film club showing uniquely digital titles. We were at The Castle cinema this time - my first trip, and a delightful little indie venue with a gorgeous bar space for post-film chats! Londonites and digi-pilgrims, keep up with future digi movie nights via fb or…

Baby QT to help a girl sleep in uncertain times rather than waiting for tonight to reveal more (again).

I love the California sunlight in these washed out colours; his cluttered house stacked with totemic trash he both reveres and treats as kipple; the unashamed optimism of the time period; the genuine questions of screen violence in a decade when world cinema burst into homes in a different way; the sense of enthusiastic stories without an end point at tables…

I went into this expecting the standard siren horror structure: Boy meets girl* in crisply overgraded bro-tonal visuals; girl* is secret *deth fish (camera likes and condemns); all dramatic irony hinges on a reveal where boy finds out and inevitably contextualises her body as a deeply personal egoic betrayal/finds his loved ones eaten by the reframed jezebel/is eaten; a trace of any-orientation misogyny and physical ableism with your gore but cool mer moments; FIN. I saw that The Lure was…

Edit: If you’re reading this, I CHALLENGE THEE

I suspect it will quickly become a clichéd thing to say about this film, but The Brutalist made me tearful a lot, and physically shook me at points. It moves and is immovable.

I cried about inspiration; about the client relationship vs the muse; about collaboration and dedication(s); about the holocaust and the people surviving and trying to comprehend its aftermath; about bringing together and shattering apart; about the cyclical dream of…