An apology...

With my usual pristine sense of timing - the London Film Festival stepping up a gear, and new Emma Stone and Mary-Louise Parker movies all set to open - I've managed to contract an eye infection: nothing life- or sight-threatening, thankfully, but painful all the same, and requiring me to stay put and take care of it in the coming days. (My eyes are the tools of my trade, after all. I knew something was wrong when I went to see Vampires Suck, and found it the laugh-riot of the season.) This will, naturally, mean running somewhat fewer LFF picks and reviews than first anticipated, for which I apologise - but I hope to resume normal service by next weekend, and catch any gems remaining from the Festival's final stretch. In the meantime, I shall be mainlining Lucozade into my eyeball, and subjecting myself to as much bland, optician-prescribed spectacle as the rest of my body can take: the collected works of Amanda Seyfried, for starters. Because if there's one filmic phenomenon from recent years that begs for reassessment during a period of optic incapacitation, it's Mamma Mia!. My eyes, my eyes!, etc.