European cinema of the 21st century isn’t complete without Michael Haneke’s name stamped on the list. The Austrian filmmaker may have gathered a reputation for being dispassionate and nihilistic, with…
Let me clarify the above headline – I’m not miffed about Amour the Film. I haven’t seen it. I’m miffed because I cannot go and watch it. Which exacerbates my trivial resentment against the large majority of the over-privileged BFI members, who all bought tickets en masse, sending us all destitute mortals into cinematic oblivion. Film festivals are so bourgeois!
Unless you live in an underground bunker and clearly couldn’t give a fuck about the myriad delights this world have to offer – chances are, you’ll gather that the 56th BFI London Film Festival has officially began.
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.
It’s the breeding season of cinema, folks. What d’you expect. This is the much awaited time when auteurs pull out their wangs (that’s artistic egos for you, uninitiated ones) for public stroking and adoration. It’s the battle of men this year. Not that we’ll witness somebody like Haneke beating the life out of somebody like Kiarostami, but at least we’ll expect their films will make some particular impact. Let’s not kid ourselves, Cannes is the most prestigious film festival in the entire circuit. The French know and love their cinema. 9 out of my Top 10 Films last year all premiered in Cannes.