doe-eyed critic

Am walking down Sarandi, the peatonal . A cyclone is blowing. The palm trees double back on themselves. It’s quarter past eight. Birdland ha...

The transition of Berlin from a city divided to a city unified is one of the more epic geopolitical tales of my lifetime. My generation grew...

Waugh’s first novel may be a minor piece of literature, but it still has the feel of a writer who knew how to capture the zeitgeist. Which i...

Sorrentino’s latest is a solid, affectionate meditation on ageing. It’s beautifully lit. Everything is high-Roman. Exquisite buildings, furn...

A strange post-civilisation world. A world where the dead and living live side-by-side. Mysterious squad of female assassins, who may or may...

There are figures who float on the edge of our knowing. Think of all the books you will never read, all the films you will never watch. Many...

An earlier Wiseman. Same fly on wall diligence. Same immersive and demanding viewer experience. Here the precinct, as they call it, is more ...

In Jackson Heights is over three hours long. It’s fly on the wall. The directorial choices are all in the edit and the decision of what to f...

Reading Lernet-Holenia’s curious text which is something of a shaggy dog story, I was myself haunted by the shadow of a Viennese count. Coun...

High jinks, dastardly europeans, cricket lovers and a folk dance historian. So much of Hitchcock’s film seems quintessentially English. As a...