To each my own cinema, get your own
(top four are most recent likes)
Turns out the secret to my enjoying this was to drink a glass of wine and smoke a joint I found in the men's changing room at my gym beforehand. Why didn't eighties kids simply do this
When I was a nervous young man with a burgeoning interest in the fortean I'd go to the library in my hometown (all narrow stairwells and dark rooms crammed into some crumbling Edwardian council building) and read old kid's books on the weird and supernatural.
Ghosts I had a sort of accord with, thanks to the relevant Busters. Nessie, spontaneous combustion, the Jersey Devil — all these mooks were so clearly non-existant to my eight-year-old mind that said non-existence did…
Laughed hysterically at the first sight of Andy Serkis's wig and never stopped
Bloody wonderful. Impossible not to note the intertexts — narrated by Whishaw, who covered similar ground in the disappointing London Spy and whose Q was allowed to come out in his final appearance without fear of reprisal; whose plummy tones here self-consciouly echo those of Paul Scofield in Patrick Keiller's first two "Robinson" films, of which this is (at least partially) formally inspired by; and, of course, the territory of spy fiction staked out by the likes of le Carre,…