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Rachel Cooke trained as a reporter on The Sunday Times. She is now a writer at The Observer. In the 2006 British Press Awards, she was named Interviewer of the Year.
It’s long, cool look at low inflation and how to achieve it felt like visiting a spa.
This is a failed attempt at remaking Downton Abbey in Delhi.
I can’t get fully involved with it. What’s the problem, exactly?
The show is driven by the deep interest women tend to have in other women, while its male characters spend their time looking, and acting, baffled.
It made me feel like I wanted to suck the sugar from my teeth.
Was I feeling sorry for Maggie?
Sally Wainwright’s story of a Victorian lesbian making Fleabag-style asides to camera is vividly alive.
What audacity is here. What heart, what freedom, and what brilliance.
This finale is the ropiest bit of work Jed Mercurio has ever made.
This documentary following forensic scientists is dreadfully real, squeezing at the heart even when events turn out to be anticlimatic.