Arts & Books
After two and a half years, this is my last column. As I bow out, there are signs of a creative renaissance in television. Pity we can't say the same about critics
Jonathan Kent's Tosca was a lifeless affair. And David McVicar's Figaro was overly restrained, unlike his Giulio Cesare, which was tremendous in a bawdy sort of way
Football television coverage, with its tiresome cast of has-beens and also-rans, remains stuck in the past. Why will no one break the mould?
Till Fellner keeps rhetorical excess at bay in his performance of Schubert's last sonatas, while a Janá?cek opera is not quite ruined by a silly production
Charles Saatchi is trying to make a comeback—doing for American artists what he did for the Brits in his 1997 "Sensation" show. Do the yAas have that yBa magic?
In cinema, you can still be called "orientalist" if you depict another culture. And eastern filmmakers are "pandering" if they are applauded in the west
By updating her fictional city, Jan Morris offers a fable of sterile modernisation, a lament for lost culture and a farewell to the purpose of travel
She pricked the pieties of Leavisite critics and feminists alike, but her fairy tales have outlived them all. They contain a black thread tying love to violence
Nic Dunlop's investigation into a prison commandant sheds light on the Cambodian holocaust not by asking why it happened, but how it happened