The opening credits of Noel Fielding’s Luxury Comedy are a pretty straight up homage to Kenneth Anger’s Lucifer Rising. All the same, if I were the props dept I’d be nervous about a magical come-uppance from the high priest himself, if those rumours about him cursing David Lynch for Blue Velvet are anything to go by.

CATCALL: The World Is Ours from Ivy League Records on Vimeo.

Major Abracadabra Dept lapse there. Lost the internet magic because there are too many great things going on outside of it lately, including the introduction of Sandra Bernhard (above) to our home. When we call her for dinner, she responds “oy, alright already, I’m comin’, I’m comin’!” which is my response to those asking when I’ll post here again. On that note, see you very soon.

For those who can’t come meet mini lop Sandra in person, try this one instead.

This one goes out to Arthur Plum White Sarlos, born today, hooray!
*first image: Dragonauttt

Julie Delpy . . .

Anne-Charlotte Pascal . . .

Emmanuelle Seignier . . .

Got a horse, got a sheep, gonna get me a good night’s sleep.

And now, the festival is something I juggle with all my millions of jobs and generally end up seeing the films that I am doing an interview for, or a story about. It takes some of the fun away, as nice as it is to get to ask the behind-the-scenes business. Sometimes it is just SUCH a pleasure to see something and know that when I come out of it, I’m free to think about it as much as I’d like without committing any kind of commentary. I saw just a handful of films in that way, the best being those below (which will get a commentary as they are released nationally, but for now, nup) and the worst (?) being Black Venus, which I was so excited for and then so harshed by it that I went home at 7pm after the screening and promptly went to bed, destroyed.

The first Saturday of the festival, having filed a few interviews for radio, I went to see my first non-work film, Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams in 3D, rushing from the studio. As the line snaked to the front, an attendant gave me a bummer blow: the ticket I’d been given had accidentally been assigned to the next week’s session while I was on air. I ran to the press room and rifled through the other films starting soon and settled on Tomboy, which had been on my maybe list for the following week. I ran back to the cinema which was now full and I sat up the front, catching my breath. And you know what?

Tomboy was the best film I saw during the festival. I adored it.
If you can, see it! See it!

That’s her, the tomboy, above, aged 10. Not to be confused with this one:

And then there was Meek’s Cutoff. How I’d waited! How I loved it!
How I can’t wait to see it again!

Lastly, Attenberg which I’m still in two minds about, but it’s stuck with me, that’s for sure. For the record, I saw The Tree of Life in non-festival digs so I’m not counting it. And if you’re feeling for me that I never met anyone to love, lingering between screenings, fear not. I took my babe to the closing night at the State Theatre which was the really wonderful Beginners. Fitting.

Digital remnants of something I made. Leftover stars & black holes.