
London photo: tower of champagne
At the Moët British Independent Film Awards after party, which I had the pleasure of attending last night.

At the Moët British Independent Film Awards after party, which I had the pleasure of attending last night.

While some of the nastily gendered humor here is initially positioned as worthy of punishment, eventually it is cast as just another lovable family quirk.

There’s no mythological weight behind this flick’s anti-Santa. This is more like a standard slasher horror, its baddie on a rampage of arbitrary carnage.

“Nothing’s sad till it’s over.” So Steven Moffat has just told us that nothing can ever be sad on his Doctor Who. Because nothing is ever goddamn over.

The Christmas windows at fancy grocery store Fortnum & Mason are always little fantasylands of yummy comestibles. And this year is no exception.

There is only one female character, and she is here to be adored, rescued, and to tell the male protagonist how absolutely brilliant and perfect he is.

A riff on the Hollywood conventions of a story we know very well already, with little new to say. James McAvoy’s mad scientist is fun to watch, though.

On ritzy Bond Street.

A compassionate, intimate unpacking of the legend of Janis Joplin that reveals the troubled influences on the force-of-nature singer she willed into being.

The Disney Christmas tree at St. Pancras train station. I’m afraid it may be a terrible lure intended to draw unsuspecting children into an unholy maw.