I sneak out at lunchtime in time honoured fashion to the smartly refurbished Curzon Bloomsbury (nee Renoir) to see Norwegian obscurity, BLIND. Inventive and an absorbing journey into a blind woman’s head…. troubled, suspicious even paranoid about her slightly gormless identikit Scandi husband. I liked it. Disarmingly visual inner discourse cinematically rendered. The close up track on her fingers feeling their way to making a cup of tea is memorable. Hands so rarely get such sensitive attention on film.
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