Though Christie wrote a great many standalone crime novels, Endless Night feels like a true departure, different to everything else she wrote before or since. It’s not a classic detective story with classic detective tropes, there is barely any criminal investigation and the crime itself happens almost three-quarters into the story. Back when I first read it as a teenager my reaction was ambivalent, but even then this eerie novel imprinted on my brain as much as the haunting passage from William Blake’s poem it takes its name from. Revisiting it now has cemented Endless Night as one of my Christie favourites.
1. There’s a word for ‘people who are in their heads too much’: thinkers.
Another year, another fantastic December gig at the Forum Theatre. As a bonus, Melbourne was graced by a stunning sunset that cast the city in an otherworldly light and made everyone on the street reach for their cameras.
I didn’t see this eccentric, pitch-black, savagely funny satire about the death of the Soviet dictator when it was out in the cinemas, but I’m glad I had a chance to watch it at home. Or rather my Mum’s home, since I don’t do streaming.
A raw, grimy but lyrical British drama about the pains of adolescence and life at the margins, with a fantastic supporting turn by Michael Fassbender earlier in his career.
I mean to check out this festival every year and usually end up missing it for whatever reasons, mostly procrastination. This year, I finally made it, catching two films over two weekends, something old and something new.
It’s nice to be wrong about a movie sometimes. Though I was incredibly sceptical about this biopic of Queen and their extraordinary frontman Freddie Mercury, it turned out to be one of the most purely enjoyable and entertaining cinema experiences I’ve had in a while.
