After a night of maniacs and nearly freezing to death, I opted to miss the first two films (one of which I’d already seen) and have an extra couple of hours in bed. It was an altogether more relaxed morning and, once I was ready, I slowly made my way across to the tube station and caught the usual mix of the Northern Line and the Piccadilly Line over to Holborn Street, where I dived into Krispy Kreme and ordered a tea and three enormous donuts, each filled with different, yet equally as unhealthy fillings.
Paul Greenwood couldn’t resist the temptation I’d implanted in his head earlier that week and met me there. Then, after deciding we’d attempt to walk off what we’d just eaten, we wandered through Leicester Square, Soho and Covent Garden before taking refuge from the cold in Pret A Manger (one of the many, many that are scattered on every street corner), talked and typed up some film reviews. I was later left gutted to have missed Robot & Frank, but was left comforted when reminded it’d be at the Glasgow Film Festival next month.
The trip from there to the Apollo was freezing, yet mercifully short. I left Paul chatting to a film producer I’d never met and dived into the warm, signal-less cellar with Emma that was our comfortable home away from home. I then proceeded to eat my way through the many sandwiches, wraps and sausage rolls that had been laid out for our lunch. Then it was time for Cirque De Soleil. Unfortunately (or not, as the case may be), we were soon informed that the screening needed to be cancelled as the print was broken or un-lockable.
That was fine, as ten minutes later I found myself in a pub around the corner with a deluge of other film bloggers talking about what we’d liked and disliked so far and our high expectations for the next film: Zero Dark Thirty. This would usually be the place where I would insert my reaction to the film, but as the threat of a recently signed embargo forbids me to do so, that won’t be possible. What I will say, however, is that the final forty minutes left me utterly speechless. Powerful, powerful filmmaking.
I had previously arranged to meet friend and fellow blogger that evening, so I left the cinema once I’d gathered my thoughts and drifted up Shaftesbury Avenue towards Fopp. The night that followed was enjoyable and engulfed in cider and film-related discussions. It was another sleepless night once I returned to my hotel room though. The bed I had was the comfiest ever, but it was a massive struggle trying to stay warm with a freezing breeze streaming through every possible inch of the massive window. Sometimes I love socks and the warmth of a MacBook.
Empty Screens 