'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…

Edit: I didn't know the history of the shoot when I wrote this, and have subtracted a further star since, due to men being repugnant

Trauma dump for collective amusement: Back in my tweens I used to frequent a local indie cinema's then-iconic poster sale (wtf happened to quads as standard resell size minimum? I miss proper quads and giant foldables, as opposed to one-sheets and retail sizes.) I nabbed some real beauts over the years - Some excellent noirs,…

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…