I honestly think I may have a new favourite film this evening, or at least I urgently want to watch again. John suggested going to watch Digger this afternoon. To be honest I hadn’t heard of it, so I was torn between that and going on my usual trundle, but frankly it came as a reminder of just how intriguing an artform film can be. I know I shouldn’t spoil anything or give anything away, but Digger is the kind of film which knows what it is: it knows it is a work of fiction and admits it. I would call it very rhyzomic in the way it reflected in upon it’s own status as a film, somehow simultaneously breaking the fourth wall, admitting it’s own status, yet also maintaining it’s fiction. I couldn’t help detecting distinct whiffs of Monty Python or Terry Gilliam, quite. frankly.

Having said that, it’s also the kind of film which it is hard to say what it is about, or whether it should be viewed as a comedy or taken deadly seriously. It can be seen as overt political satire and theatrical drama in equal measure. There were also more film references than I could shake a stick at, including a very Bondian white cat. I left the cinema absolutely dying to do some background reading. Just when I was beginning to worry about the quality of cinema these days, I’m treated to a doozy like this.