I'm lagging behind in my consumption of the Oscar contenders this year. It's almost like I've been busy with more gainful pursuits. Although in truth, I've been in no small measure deterred by B S Neill's unenthusiastic reviews of many of them.

But Russell liked Django and Russell is a man of taste. And I do tend to like a Tarantino film so I hauled myself along to the cinema last night, did not allow myself to be deterred by a pre-show whisper that the film lasted three hours and settled down with my sack of popcorn.

Well I'm glad that I did. What a fun film. Fabulous historical context. I felt Mr T was trying to do the same thing with mid-nineteenth century history that Mr M tried to do with French. But in this instance, I actually cared.

Great performances. Some brilliant actors. Beautiful costumes. Fabulous settings. Delightfully not too much gore by his gory standards. And what a great story. All twisty turny, full of rank injustice, romance and triumphant righting of wrongs. Great fun.

So Mr T, I loved your film. One thing distressed me only. A director's vanity is a terrible thing - my oh my how I know - and of course you'd want to be part of something so pretty. But did you really have to succumb to the seductive siren call and cast yourself..?