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Critics have always been rather fond of saying that art enriches the soul and enlivens the mind. We are especially fond of saying so when the art we love comes under attack: when the commentariat starts baying for the blood

Was I being a contrarian for the sake of contrariness? One of my companions, the short one, said I was. The other, the handsome devil with the ponytail, was not so sure. The three of us had just endured The

Based as it is on Agamemnon, the first part of Aeschylus’s Oresteia, Tom Holloway’s Don’t Say the Words has a certain timeless quality to it. The motivations of its characters spring eternal: the soldier, his wife and her The victim also

Tom Holloway’s Don’t Say the Words and Debbie Tucker Green’s Stoning Mary belong to that increasingly popular genre of dystopic, post-Western civilization ‘what-if?’s. What if Africa’s AIDS epidemic reached Britain and our children were drafted as rebel soldiers? What if

“People think country towns are full of rednecks and gossip. Or they think they’re about homespun wisdom and preserved fruit. There’s some of that here. But mostly, it’s full of people just trying to get on with each other. Most

Occasionally, when I am in a self-flagellating mood, I try to come up with a list of ten things that differentiate experimental cinema from so-called video art. When I feel like flagellating others, I ask my friends to come up