There’s a terrible rift in our household. A Civil War, if you will. You see, I’m Marvel. And my kid is (whisper it)… DC.
It’s tricky. And since neither one of us has a mother called Martha, that line of resolution is closed to us. But if there’s one space where I’m willing to let divided loyalties lie it’s in front of the TV for a family viewing of the hilarious, anarchic show Teen Titans GO! So when we were invited along to a preview of the big screen outing for the Justice League’s biggest fans, it would have taken a feat of superhuman strength to hold us back. Continue reading →
Have you seen it? Have you read it?
For those who haven’t heard of either, Dietland is a 2015 book by Sarai Walker. It’s back in the public eye right now as the screen adaptation by Marti Noxon – producer and writer on Buffy, Grey’s Anatomy and Mad Men, among many others – has just launched. An AMC show, it’s currently on Amazon Prime in the UK, with a new episode released every Tuesday. And even though season one isn’t even done yet, I’m definitely conflicted and need a friend to discuss it with. Continue reading →
In a kids’ entertainment landscape flooded with massive Pixar releases, big animated musicals and a surfeit of superheroes, you might think there’s little room left for an old-fashioned episodic animated comedy. The Big Bad Fox begs to differ. Continue reading →
I miss my old office book club. It quietly ground to a halt when three of the four or five remaining hardcore members (including the designated organiser) all left within weeks of each other, but we still occasionally meet up to discuss books, watch films or go to the theatre. Still, that regular monthly-or-so community event with its collective nerdery and copious red wine is something I miss.
I’m not going to suggest an online book club, because we all know what happens. Continue reading →
When I was eight years old, my cinema experiences involved attending a reasonably clapped out West London screen – still with ashtrays built into the seat backs – and being permanently scarred by Who Framed Roger Rabbit? It led to a lifelong love of films all the same. My daughter just attended her first film premiere, alongside Holly Hunter and Samuel L. Jackson, weeks after being given the opportunity to draw alongside an absolute animation hero of mine.The universe likes its little surprises. But that’s parenthood for you. Continue reading →
I didn’t curl my hair. My hair, you might say, curled me. It was a stealth re-style, ordered by nature and art directed by a hurricane.
We know that the emotions connected to hair are rarely simple. It’s usually the first self-directed physical marker of significant change – the post-divorce chop, the big birthday colour job. And I should address the elephant in the room from the off: any black woman who’s had to face the dreaded, ignorant ‘professional hairstyle’ commentary can tell you about the politics of hair much, much better than I can. Here’s just one of many occasions when black women have done the education for us. As a white woman of reasonably copious privilege, my hair wasn’t something I needed to think about very much for a long time. This was partly because straight fine hair flies under the white beauty radar, and also because I had a fair amount of it (female baldness, both voluntary and involuntary, also being the cause of much comment). But over the years I’ve lost quite a lot, and that’s often been tricky to come to terms with, even if my carefully chosen Instagrams hide it well. And along the way, it also changed look entirely, and that had a strong impact on me. If that seems superficial to you, head back to read something else another day. I usually write about films and books and occasionally food.
For now, it’s a hair story. My hairmoir, if you will. Continue reading →
Towards the end of last year, I cleared my laptop history of feminist film blogs, deleted 418 screenshots of client competitors doing clever things from my phone and handed in the security pass I had almost managed to lose – for the first time since being given it four years earlier, when we moved to that building – at my leaving drinks. I put my mug in kitchen, tucked in my chair and headed out into a cold, November night. And with that, I no longer worked for an agency. Continue reading →