or The Odysseus we deserve - not the Odysseus we want or All the emotional range of a Hollow Horse Christoper Nolan has a problem. Stick to a faithful retelling of the epic poem, warts and all – a hero who commits deceit, murder, adultery and gross negligence, or fabricate a fantasy world, a weird, wonderful (and trippy) world of Gods and Monsters, a world where neither time nor space fly like an arrow, but bend and meld to the will of the Gods’? As it turns out, Nolan’s Odys

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Reflections on the anxiety of our Age in The Substance (2024, Coralie Fargeat) There is a scene in The Substance where the younger version of the self (the implausibly named ‘Sue’) repeatedly smashes the face of the older version of the self (Elisabeth) into a bathroom mirror – until her face is reduced to a bloody, pulpy mess, and her body drops to the hard, white tiled floor – seemingly dead. What is known is that Elisabeth and Sue are the same person – they are both, in

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The perfect idea lives in my head. Not lives, that isn't right. A living thing must exist, be made real, be born. This is more like - potential. The hot, undefined gases of a nebula swirling around in my head, with the ability, the possibility to make stars, planets, comets - to create life. A perfect embryo of an idea then. All the parts in all the right places, everything accounted for. The perfect story, with the perfect wording, a sublime story that makes the heart ache,