Heedless of the potential for damage to her optic nerve and future ability to form relationships, Daisy’s headed back to Christmas 24 for another made-for-TV holiday special. Did you read Daisy’s Christmas Stocking #1 and quietly decide that A Christmas Wedding Date sounded like the worst Christmas/wedding crossover film ever? Well, you were wrong.
December’s here, and it’s cold and miserable and nobody at Best For Film Towers can breathe without choking on phlegm. We’re not loving winter so far. Fortunately, Ella’s managed to smuggle a bit of good cheer into this ghastly gloomy afternoon – here’s how to get some of your own.
Advent is here, and we’re embarking upon our most ambitious pre-Christmas blog extravaganza yet. Proper broadsheet journalist and Made in Chelsea expert Daisy Buchanan will be joining us (nearly) every day between now and Christmas Eve to give her unfiltered thoughts on one of the many, many holiday films currently infesting the airwaves courtesy of Christmas 24. We’re kicking things off with something called A Christmas Wedding Date; you may want to brace yourselves, or at least bite down hard on some mistletoe. Spoilers will abound.
Twitter has lit up this morning with the news that Tom Daley, that lovely diver boy who now seems to do more TV than swimming, has outed himself as bisexual in a pleasant and unassuming little YouTube video. So, obviously, we’re getting a blog out of it. YOU KNOW HOW WE DO.
Two things, specifically, make the Romans attractive to filmmakers: Christians, and depraved emperors. As a result, they’re now are cemented in cinema as dastardly villains, mad emperors, sex crazed ladies, and gays. Probably incestuous gays. Or bestial gays. Or whatever the worst thing you can think of is. And quite rightly so, the Romans were bastards; that’s why I like them. So here, in no particular order (except number one, which is definitely number one) are my favourite Romans in film.
I am not afraid to say it, dear readers: I’m bored of Dickens. Not his stories, per se- she who is tired of A Christmas Carol is tired of life- but I’m bored of talking about Dickens, and Dickens’ troubled childhood in the bottle factory, and Dickens’ hilarious unsettling names for his children, and Dickens’ affairs. Frankly, dear readers, he’s just the least exciting affair-haver in Christendom. Old rich man boffs secretary. Readers appalled.
Britain’s famously drug-addled press has gone mental at the recent suggestion that Nigella Lawson may have developed a bit of a taste for Charlie over the last few years; apparently the fact that this charge is being levelled at her by her insane ex-husband / some ex-employees who she’s suing isn’t at all relevant. Go Daily Mail! We really like Nigella and we couldn’t care less what she puts in her face, so here’s some perspective.
As part of their enduring commitment to fostering the next generation of great filmmakers, the wise and beautiful folk at BAFTA have pulled some strings to get YOU, young aspiring screenwriter, an audience with some of the most successful Hollywood pen-pushers of the last twenty years. Sort of.