Okay, so that was a long silence. I apologize. But in addition to the usual trials of settling in, my first day at the Berlinale threw up some added obstacles that made for a day that was curiously both hectic and thin on matters worth reporting.
Frankly, one needs an entire day just to process the festival’s labyrinthine programme, with its convoluted bylaws of which films in which strands can be viewed by which press at what time. In what is surely the only time Nancy Meyers will prompt my conversation at the Berlinale, it’s complicated.
By the time I had managed to get my proverbial shit together, a night on the tiles in the company of the Telegraph’s Tim Robey was a far more inviting option than finding a free spot on the carpet of the festival’s wi-fi lounge. (A tourist’s hat tip to the rather awesome Stagger Lee cocktail lounge near Nollendorfplatz.) So here we are — a little better organized this morning, if a lot worse for wear.
I have just come out of the press screening of “Shutter Island” — to which I shall dedicate a full review later today — and have a little under an hour the squeeze in a precis of yesterday’s activity before heading into Thomas Vinterberg’s “Submarino” this afternoon.