The film fest has descended on us once more. The gala opening one on Thursday was Howl's Moving Castle. Some wank lawyer outfit in town put on the booze so get to pick the film - and of course pick a safe one that won't offend their wank corporate clients. They made a big deal of defending Michael Winterbottom's 9 Songs against the depredations of David Lane. I reckon they should've showed that instead.
Last night was Hidden, which was okay but I don't think I was in the right mood or frame of mind for it or something. At midday today we went to Cinevardaphoto, which was bloody brilliant and'll be hard to top. It was made up of three films she'd chosen to go together, all based round photos. The first was from 2004, the second 1982, the last 1963. The stylistic consistency and the different kinds of links between the films made it a really satisfying whole.
This evening Rose, my mum, and I went to Delamu, which was also really good - unremittingly grim tales of the hard lives people lead interspersed with this amazing journey. Rose and Chloe are off at something else at the moment, and I'm taking the opportunity to do some painting.
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