By Maria Bregman, writer, film and literary critic By the time I reached the Royal Festival Hall, London had already come alive. The Southbank wore…
By Sara Bright So, it’s finally happened. The dam has broken. It’s now apparently okay, in polite society, to say that you don’t like the…
By Sara Bright So Jilly Cooper is gone. And with her, it feels, goes the key to a certain room in the English house that…
By George Bregman So, the first Nobel of the season is out. Medicine. A trio of names most of us have never heard of –…
By Sara Bright So, Aimee Lou Wood has a new show out. Film Club. BBC Three. The premise is one of those things that sounds lovely…
By Sara Bright So, Taylor Swift has a new album out. The usual tidal wave of attention, the broken records, the breathless analysis. But we’re…
By Tessa Nolan So, Salome is in town. At the Theatre Royal Haymarket, no less. One of Oscar Wilde’s old haunts. The press release lands,…
By Sara Bright So, the October film lists are out. The usual glossy round-ups of what we’re supposed to be watching. And you look at…
There is a moment in Olivier Dahan’s La Vie en Rose (2007) when Marion Cotillard, as the aged Edith Piaf, sits hunched in a chair…
By Maria Bregman For decades, the currency of a film festival has been the rectangle. The shape of the screen, the dimensions of the poster,…