Horizon: Eat, Fast and Live Longer
Michael Mosley has set himself a truly ambitious goal: he wants to live longer, stay younger and lose weight in the bargain. And he wants to make as few changes to his life as possible along the way. He discovers the powerful new science behind the ancient idea of fasting, and he thinks he’s found a way of doing it that still allows him to enjoy his food. Michael tests out the science of fasting on himself – with life-changing results.
In 1940, the actor Louis Jouvet held seven masterclasses at the Conservatoire National de Paris, in which he coached a student, Claudia, in the role of Elvire from Molière’s Dom Juan.
The notes from these lessons later formed the basis of a stage play by Brigitte Jaques at the Théâtre national de Strasbourg, with Philippe Clévenot in the role of Louis Jouvet and Maria de Medeiros as Claudia.
This is Benoît Jacquot’s telefilm adaptation of the play, with the same cast. It is in monochrome (as broadcast). Continue reading
This made-for-television film constituted Bergman’s first production of Strindberg’s A Dreamplay – a play he would revisit three times more. Gunnar Ollén’s Malmö crew was behind this, for its time, prestigious and costly theatre production, involving more than 40 actors and no less than 75 extras.
In this production, critics thought they discerned a change in Bergman’s style of directing. Ebbe Linde in Dagens Nyheter:
‘I think one can differentiate between an old and a new Ingmar Bergman: an old sensational one from the beginning of his career and a subdued, demanding one, now at his peak. That his approach implies a deepening of his art seems clear to me, at the same time as it might limit his geographical appeal.’ Continue reading
Some of IMDb reviews:
Splendily entertaining and disturbingly prescient.
This was not the first outing for Alan Plater’s schoolteacher detectives, who in 1981′s Get Lost had been played admirably by Alun Armstrong and Frances Tomelty. However no-one could quibble with the re-casting. James Bolam effortlessly nails each line of the arch dialogue, while the talented Barbara Flynn has that rare quality of looking both believably ordinary and incredibly fanciable. Some wonderful British character actors also get plenty of screen time in what is effectively an ensemble piece. Colin Blakely, Keith Marsh, Danny Schiller, Robert Longden and Keith Clarke all do sterling work, but special mention must be made of Dudley Sutton’s tweedy schoolmaster and Terence Rigby’s saturnine Big Al, while Dominic Jephcott was a real find as the callow university educated detective. A beautifully constructed series, that remains as pertinent as ever in a society increasingly disrespectful of privacy and intolerant of eccentricity. Continue reading
When a pay discrepancy continues without any resolution, glass factory workers turn to their union for support. But when it is not forthcoming, they take things into their own hands. Continue reading
A publisher leaves a Post-It note on his computer screen bearing the words “Gone to lunch” before heading off to meet an old flame at what was once their favourite London restaurant. But it becomes painfully clear to the publisher (Alan Rickman) that everything has changed. The restaurant isn’t the casual, noisy Italian with Chianti in raffia bottles it once was, and his old flame (Emma Thompson) isn’t the girl he once knew. Both restaurant and ex-lover are sleeker, more sophisticated and emotionally at a remove.
The Song of Lunch is a prose poem by award-winning writer Christopher Reid. It’s an unusual structure for a drama (the poem is Rickman’s interior monologue, though both characters chip in with dialogue), but it works fluidly and beautifully. Reid’s writing is gorgeous, and funny whether he’s articulating the courtesies of a restaurant visit (he describes catching the waiter’s attention as “the demure flutter of restaurant semaphore”) or matters of the heart. Throughout The Song of Lunch wears its cleverness lightly, and Reid’s use of language is a joy. Continue reading
‘Quad’, the first in a series of minimalist experimental television plays made by Beckett in the 1980s for the broadcaster Süddeutscher Rundfunk, operates with a serial game involving the motional pattern of four actors, but equally accommodating four soloists, six duos, and four trios. Four actors, whose coloured hoods make them identifiable yet anonymous, accomplish a relentless closed-circuit drama. Once inside the square, they are condemned to monotonously and synchronously pace the respectively six steps of the lengthwise and diagonal lines it contains, in part accompanied by varying drumbeat rhythms. The mathematical precision and choreography is made possible by the exactness of the timing. Choreographic variation is confined to the number of performers, and the resultant changes in colour constellations. The middle of the square, which is marked by a dot, must always be bypassed on the left-hand side. In the course of the production, the feet leave behind faint traces on the diagonals of the white square. ‘Quad’ (…) is, for all its reducedness, the most dramatic of Beckett’s last teleplays. The playwright also shot a black-and-white version with four figures dressed identically in white and acting to the beat of a metronome.
Rudolf Frieling Continue reading