I had a veritable film fest yesterday which, after nigh on a month's cinematographic starvation, was a very welcome cultural injection.

I saw Benjy Button in the afternoon and marvelled again at Cate's astounding beautifulness. And she can do ballet too, it seems. I prayed it was a body double although I bet she can just dance marvellously as well as being beautiful as you like. Not fair, as mother would say.

Anyway, the film itself, it struck me, was the film that the rubbishy Notebook should have been. Exceptionally sentimental but a respectable and imaginative enough story to get away with it.

Then I saw at very long last Red Road. This I have wanted to see since Ross raved about it however many years ago it came out. I'm perhaps not best placed to judge as I missed the start and slept through a little sliver of the middle but this I felt was Hidden set in Glasgow and executed far less elegantly. Just call me a terrible reductionist.

These both were interspersed with the middle Bourne film. Which is just a cracking wannabe thriller that's really an action movie. But none the poorer for it.

A fine day of celluloid thrills and spills. Today in contrast, I have finished one antigone, read a second and am about to recommence rehearsals. Such devotion to duty.