The life of the professional newspaper film critic can, in the UK at least, be an odd and demanding one. It is a dream job for anyone who loves and lives movies and can write well about them on cue and like clockwork. But the routine of it can turn sane women batty, tall and hopeful boys into gnarled and resentful homunculi, bright-eyed youths into blinking moles fearful of the afternoon light. If you’re not up to the task, it can really take the spring out of your step.
The daily routine is set up like so: you see three or four films on a Monday, the same again on a Tuesday, you write all day on Wednesday, file late that day or the next morning (depending on your deadline and on the tenderness of your editor) and then, if the following week is to be a particularly heavy one, there will be more screenings on the Thursday and Friday as well, for films opening the next Friday. Somewhere in between, there may be time to eat or to see your loved ones, or merely to contemplate your complexion and wonder casually who it was that put Max Schreck’s face in the mirror in place of your own.
Content from our partners
