MARY CONWAY revels in a powerful reminder that human lives are not defined by physical perfection
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You can't argue with the Home truths of trash-cinema dialectics
No nonsense: Angela Mao Ying in The Tournament
PAUL DONOVAN recommends the fine performances in this account of the pre-war meeting between the US president and the British king
TECLYN AROD relishes an intimate celebration of jazz improvisation that mixes local and national musicians
The missing sister, the vengeful WAG, cruise ship claustrophobia, and reanimated Avengers
Three great releases of lost concerts by Duke Ellington Orchestra, John Taylor & Stan Sulzman, and Joe Henderson
To rescue Kahlo from the clutches of the corporate art market, we need to acknowledge the overt and covert political dimensions of the work, demands GAVIN O’TOOLE
BACK when I was a yoof, me and my mates’ favourite things were reggae music and kung fu films. Girls and football surely had their pleasures but they were fleeting and frequently all too elusive.
A weekend often led from the game to a dance and then to a late-night cinema. The vampire charms of Ingrid Pitt saw me through puberty but, equally, so did the intensity and fierceness of Angela Mao Ying.
Both brought more than pulchritude to my view of femininity. They were independent, direct women who took no nonsense.
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