Blogging the London Film Festival: the highlights

Ten to watch, as recommended by us

The 53rd London Film Festival begins on 14 October. Among the hundred-plus films drawn from around the world are the latest Coen brothers comedy, a biopic of the poet John Keats and not one, but two, films starring George Clooney. Over the coming weeks, the NS culture team will bravely attend as many screenings as possible and blog about it here. In the meantime, here is our pick of ten highlights to whet your appetite:

Fantastic Mr Fox (dir: Wes Anderson)

Anderson, director of quirky comedies such as The Royal Tenenbaums, makes his first foray into animation with this adaptation of Roald Dahl's classic children's story.

The White Ribbon (dir: Michael Haneke)

The Austrian-born Haneke has long been known for his punishing films, but his last, Funny Games, proved a little too much for our own Ryan Gilbey. Will this tale of malice and spite in early-20th-century Germany fare any better?

Bluebeard (dir: Catherine Breillat)

Famously retold by Angela Carter in her story collection The Bloody Chamber, this fairy tale gets a low-budget treatment from the provocative Breillat.

Tales from the Golden Age (dir: Cristian Mungiu)

The 20th anniversary of the fall of communism is being marked by various arts projects. Here, the acclaimed Romanian director Mungiu presents a series of vignettes of life under Ceausescu. You can read the NS review of his previous film, 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days, here.

Oil City Confidental (dir: Julien Temple)

After giving us documentaries on the Sex Pistols and the Glastonbury Festival, Temple turns his attention to Britain's much-maligned pub rock scene.

She, a Chinese (dir: Xiaolu Guo)

Guo is better known for her novels (the most recent of which we reviewed here), but she is also an accomplished film-maker. She, a Chinese tells the story of a young immigrant in Britain and features a score by John Parish, the PJ Harvey collaborator.

Hadewijch (dir: Bruno Dumont)

With a visual style that has more in common with the painters of his native Flanders than any of his contemporaries, Dumont cuts something of an outsider figure in French cinema. Hadewijch is tipped to be his best work yet -- while you wait for it, read this 2007 NS interview with the director.

Journey to the Moon (dir: Kutluğ Ataman)

Ataman, who was nominated for the Turner Prize in 2004, may be better known to NS readers as a video artist -- Fisun Güner wrote about him in April. Journey to the Moon reconstructs an incident from 1950s Turkey.

Perestroika (dir: Sarah Turner)

Structured around a journey on the Trans-Siberian Express, this exploration of amnesia is a promising highlight of the festival's experimental film strand.

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans (dir: Werner Herzog)

Herzog, the visionary German director who has been making films since the 1960s, is enjoying a late surge in popularity. This remake of a 1992 Abel Ferrara crime drama, starring Nicholas Cage, is a departure from his recent run of documentaries. You can read our Q+A with the director here.

Daniel Trilling is the Editor of New Humanist magazine. He was formerly an Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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Bertie Carvel's diary: What would the French think about infidelity to Doctor Foster?

The joy of debuting a new series, Rupert Murdoch's squeamishness and a sting in the tail.

According to the adage, the first thing an actor does when he gets a job is to go on holiday. And so, having finished our sold-out run of James Graham’s Ink at the Almeida and with the show (in which I play a young Rupert Murdoch) about to transfer into the West End, I’m packing my bags.

But before I can skip town, I’ve one more professional engagement: the press launch of series two of the BBC drama Doctor Foster, which we finished filming at Christmas. I’ve now seen the final cut of all five episodes, and I’m excited to share it with an audience. There’s no substitute for seeing other people’s reactions at first hand, especially with a show that got people talking so much first time around, and it’s electric to sit in a cinema full of expectant journalists and commentators and feel the room respond. Nothing beats this: to put so much into making a thing and then experience an audience’s unmediated, reflexive reaction. When it goes well, you feel that you’ve shared something, that you’ve all recognised something together about how things are. It’s a unifying feeling. A sort of bond.

Cheating spouses

Handling the interviews has been tricky, when there’s so little one can say without giving the plot away. (The first series began with Suranne Jones’s character Gemma, a GP, suspecting her husband Simon of having an affair.) What’s more, lots of the questions invite moral judgements that I’ve tried my best to avoid; I always think it’s really important not to judge the characters I play from outside, but simply to work out how they feel about themselves, to zero in on their point of view. There’s a sort of moral bloodlust around this show: it’s extraordinary. People seem to want to hear that I’ve been pilloried in the street, or expect me to put distance between myself and my character, to hang him out to dry as a pariah.

While I’m not in the business of defending Simon Foster any more than I’m in the business of attacking him, I am intrigued by this queer mixture of sensationalism and prurience that seems to surface again and again.

Shock horror

Oddly enough, it’s something that comes up in Ink: many people have been surprised to find that, in a story about the re-launch of the Sun newspaper in 1969 as a buccaneering tabloid, it’s the proprietor who considers dropping anchor when the spirit of free enterprise threatens to set his moral compass spinning.

I’ve never given it much thought before, but I suppose that sensationalism relies on a fairly rigid worldview for its oxygen – the SHOCKERS! that scream at us in tabloid headlines are deviations from a conventional idea of the norm. But what’s behind the appetite for this sort of story? Do we tell tales of transgression to reinforce our collective boundaries or to challenge them?

For me there’s a close kinship between good journalism and good drama. I’m reminded of the words of John Galsworthy, who wrote Strife, the play I directed last summer, and who felt that the writer should aim “to set before the public no cut-and-dried codes, but the phenomena of life and character, selected and combined, but not distorted, by the dramatist’s outlook, set down without fear, favour, or prejudice, leaving the public to draw such poor moral as nature may afford”.

So when it comes to promoting the thing we’ve made, I’m faced with a real conundrum: on the one hand I want it to reach a wide audience, and I’m flattered that there’s an appetite to hear about my contribution to the process of making it; but on the other hand I think the really interesting thing about the work is contained in the work itself. I’m always struck, in art galleries, by how much more time people spend reading the notes next to the paintings than looking at the paintings themselves. I’m sure that’s the wrong way around.

Insouciant remake

En route to the airport the next morning I read that Doctor Foster is to be adapted into a new French version. It’s a cliché verging on racism, but I can’t help wondering whether the French will have a different attitude to a story about marital infidelity, and whether the tone of the press coverage will differ. I wonder, too, whether, in the home of Roland Barthes, there is as much space given to artists to talk about what they’ve made – in his 1967 essay, “The Death of the Author”, Barthes wrote that “a text’s unity lies not in its origin but in its destination”.

No stone unturned

Touring the villages of Gigondas, Sablet and Séguret later that evening, I’m struck by the provision of espaces culturels in seemingly every commune, however small. The French certainly give space to the work itself. But I also notice a sign warning of a chat lunatique, so decide to beat a hasty retreat. Arriving at the house where I’m staying, I’ve been told that the key will be under a flowerpot. Lifting each tub in turn, and finally a large flat stone by the door, I find a small scorpion, but no key. I’m writing this at a table less than a yard away so let’s hope there won’t be a sting in this tale.

Ink opens at the Duke of York Theatre, London, on 9 September. More details: almeida.co.uk

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear