I took advantage of mother having a prior commitment last night to see a lovely ramshackle French film, A Christmas Tale or Un Conte De Noel at the Filmhouse.

It was very typically French. Lots of tortured characters, a sliver of dark dark humour, the odd speech delivered straight to camera now and again for no particular reason, some unrequited love, many meaningful pauses, some random arty shots of empty streets, a hopelessly ambiguous ending and lots lots lots of relentless melancholy.

Needless to say, I loved it. After the neatly disciplined Benjamin Button, it was a fine example of European vs. American film making. And it featured my favourite Mathieu Amalric. I must see if he's on twitter.