It was, strangely enough, Greta Gerwig's delightful Little Women, that cinematic ne plus ultra of wholesome domesticity, that tempted me to watch Midsommar, a 'horror' film whose breathless reviewers were united in calling 'disturbing' and 'bizarre'. More accurately it was Florence Pugh that drew me to Midsommar. Her performance as Amy in Little Women was... Continue Reading →

I first heard the name Miranda July about 20 years ago, dropped casually yet reverentially from the lips of Sarah Sharkey-Pearce, one of the smartest, coolest young artists I knew. And so, although it would be a few years before I came across any actual artworks by her, Miranda July's name stayed with me. Brimming... Continue Reading →