Should a game provide “value for money” and pad out its story with as many tedious hours of fetching things as possible, or is there merit in a short, sharp ending?
What should you do when anxiety takes control of your life? Tim Clare’s new show tells us how to be kind to ourselves.
In 2014, it shouldn’t be cutting edge to see a Hollywood movie that features a fair representation of gay people.
Meanwhile, the suspension of disbelief is getting harder and harder to pull off.
Hunter Davies’s weekly column, The Fan.
The Canadian author and social activist on parenthood, people power and why climate change could be the ultimate opportunity for the left.
The weird realism that runs through Lovecraft’s writings undermines any belief system – religious or humanist – in which the human mind is the centre of the universe.
The cinema of amusing male arrested development has been a familiar subgenre for some time, but recent releases demonstrate that there’s gold to be found in femme floundering.
Green, one-eyed men, a chubby, disfigured dwarf, writhing worms with humanoid faces, aborted foetuses and vast, white eggs with red jigsaw patterns on them.
Nora Webster is the tale of a woman inside a house. It’s a small house in a small town in Ireland, in the late 1960s and Nora, recently widowed, lives here with her two teenage sons and her daughters who, like the house, are semi-detached.
The forest was where a traveller could become lost for ever and lose his rational bearings, as in the Arthurian tale of the Forest of Beguilement, a place, as Spenser puts it, full of “wayes unknowne”.
Nicholas Lezard’s Down and Out column.
Rego’s latest fairy-tale visions give terror a face – but their deepest secrets remain hidden from view.
Tom Humberstone’s weekly comic.
Having listened to the show for three weeks, I am repeatedly struck by its unusually fluctuating tone.
Two publications ostensibly designed to provide reassurance and wisdom to parents of primary-age children and perhaps to tap in to the ever-growing “pushy parenting” market.
Suzanne Moore’s weekly column, Telling Tales.
I suspect that if the Turner Prize clash were rerun now, Mad Tracey might beat Hollywood Steve.
Cruickshank seems unable to speak in anything other than an urgent whisper while Graham-Dixon has the kind of face that looks particularly good rounding the top of a stone spiral staircase on a cold March morning.
An interesting tension exists in the film between that grunginess and passages of intense beauty. It is a compliment commonly paid to well-shot films to say that any one of their frames could be hung in a gallery. This is unmistakably the case here.
No thanks – I really don’t want to take part in the “Identity Parade” on Never Mind the Buzzcocks.
To see how the world has changed, look no further than the dictionary.
Atul Gawande argues that medicine has skewed our attitude to mortality. The neurosurgeon Henry Marsh reviews.
We’re aiming for 150 bottles, with “NW6” on the label and a bouquet of Bakerloo. But this is about more than wine. Could we rediscover lost skills and reconnect with each other?
The Navajo celebrate a baby’s first laugh as a rite of passage, a moment in which the baby laughs himself, as it were, out of inchoate babydom and into conscious humanity.
Horror ensues as the candidates attempt to make and sell scented candles.
The aim of the voyage, and the play inspired by it, is to make “the unseen seen” and enhance understanding of what the chemicals we put into the sea and our own bodies are actually doing.
Central character Laila is hounded by reminders that she’s different, but refreshingly, never accepts this herself.
Watching a person write is one of the most boring things in the world. Please don’t inflict your process on us.