Rebecca Nicholson

Tale of the unexpected | 27 August 2011

When I know I’m going to see a film, I like to prepare. I’ll watch the trailer. Then maybe the second trailer. Sometimes a featurette.

issue 27 August 2011

When I know I’m going to see a film, I like to prepare. I’ll watch the trailer. Then maybe the second trailer. Sometimes a featurette.

When I know I’m going to see a film, I like to prepare. I’ll watch the trailer. Then maybe the second trailer. Sometimes a featurette. I’ll read reviews, the director’s statement of intent, interviews with the cast. It’s a terrible habit, really, arming myself with this glut of information; it is difficult to avoid spoilers in among the noise and it makes me want to talk about it, often while it’s on. ‘Oh, this is the bit where that actress messed up her lines but they left it in because it was more “real”,’ is the kind of thing I try to stop myself saying. It irritates me. I can only feel sorry for the people I’m seeing the film with.

Happily, I didn’t get chance to do any of this before I saw The Skin I Live In, and if you can make an exception for this piece (I promise I won’t spoil it), I’d recommend you do the same.

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