Day Three of the festival started with a promise – a double-whammy of arthouse darlings Laurence Anyways and Beasts of the Southern Wild – a promise that somehow, irrevocably, metamorphose into a recurring nightmare.
You’ll hardly see a more life-affirming film this year than this barnstorming magical-realist coming-of-age fable. Beasts of the Southern Wild deserves to be seen and treasured – a soulful, soaring, poignant childhood parable, with equal parts joy and melancholy. This is cinema at its most dazzlingly, beautifully alive anchored by one of the greatest child performances of all-time.
It’s that groovy time of the year again (no, I’m not talking about Christmas just yet). For all of us in London who couldn’t afford to sail to Cannes or go back-packing en-route to Venice, October is a super special time for self-confessed cineastes with a shoestring budget like me so I could go film-whoring along both sides of the Southbank in the 56th London Film Festival.