I've been straying some distance from my usual taste in films, what with Notting Hill and My Best Friend's Wedding, not to mention Die Hard 4 at Christmas (D and R: "you won't like this film, it's not romantic and girly"; me: "bugger off I'm not like that". 2 hours later I'm bored out of my mind but I've made my point). But I've been putting that right in the last 24 hours.
First up I saw The Kite Runner last night, a completely amazing film, and unexpectedly so. I'd never been that taken by the book cover (always judge by them, a personal failing in more ways than one) and so haven't read it, but I just loved the film. It was beautifully shot and so understated, thanks to some genius direction by Marc Forster - he of another favourite film of mine, Finding Neverland (no, not just because it's got Johnny Depp in it). There's something he does that allows the characters to leap out of the screen; something that enables you to think about what's going on rather than being overwhelmed by the action. Wonderful stuff.
And then today, I made a small diversion to one of my favourite solo cinemas, the Curzon Mayfair, to watch 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days, which I blogged about months ago when it won the Palme d'Or. God, it's an unrelenting film - it's got a similar feel to the brilliant Lilya 4 Ever - set in a cold, dark Romania, and exploring the horrendous experience of women forced to resort to backstreet abortions. It's made me want to watch Vera Drake again. As well as feeling very grateful to live in a country which values and endorses women's rights over their own bodies.
Only problem is, that I came out to a grey, wet and miserable London and feel a bit damp in body and in spirit now. Contemplating going straight back in to watch St Trinians (despite it being panned) or PS I Love You. I perhaps won't be mentioning those here though...
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