“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.
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
When I was filling out
“We chose our winner last night,” London Film Festival jury president Patricia Clarkson told me yesterday, an evasive smile on our face, as we eased into our lunchtime interview. (More on that in a few days.) “I’m very pleased with it — it’s a wonderful film.”