The point about movie-making, and film criticism, is that it is living history. You aren’t writing about Olivier’s first night at the National or Callas’s last night at Covent Garden. You see great nights on film fresh and perfect every time. Age doesn’t wither them. The past is always present.
Which is one reason why Philip French was such a remarkable critic. He knew so much and felt so much. He was the whole package. When, years ago, I was asked for a while to sit in his seat, I was amazed how, almost alone, he saw every film released that week. Three, five, ten … for good or bad, small or epic, he was always there. Because he loved what he did and the living art he wrote about.
