“What is it about the British?” a reader asked in one of last week’s comment threads. “They can’t quite make a film of current topical interest or [sic] lacks some historical or classical literary backdrop to give it a sense of importance.”
The comment is one of many “typical British film” jabs I’ve read since “The King’s Speech” asserted itself as the Oscar frontrunner, and it would have annoyed me no end even if I wasn’t part-British myself: to boil down an entire national cinema to awards-baiting prestige period fare is as unfair and ill-informed as suggesting that Hollywood only makes Michael Bay movies.
In the last 24 hours, however, two sets of honors have acted as handy rebuttals to this narrow perception of UK cinema. I’ll devote an individual post to Time Out’s tremendous 100 Best British Films list later today, but last night’s London Evening Standard Film Awards, to which I was lucky enough to be invited, were a welcome celebration of the kind of diverse, adventurous British artistry — ranging from sci-fi to comedy to experimental indies — that idle BAFTA voters can’t be bothered to nominate.
A couple of weeks ago, we 
The London Evening Standard Awards, a particularly bijou set of critics’ honors reserved for British titles and talent, tend to swerve a little left of the expected — chosen as they are by a jury of six disparate, but equally opinionated, critics. So it is this year: obviously 
Unlike, say, the Venice fest – where the jury’s failure to reward any of the (lousy) Italian films in competition is cause for a media strop — the London Film Festival has often seemed somewhat embarrassed by the homegrown portion of its programme, perhaps granting a big red-carpet date to the odd bit of tony Oscar bait while shoving newer and/or independent British filmmakers into shadowy side slots.