Just because I failed to post a review of Iain Forsyth and Jane Pollard‘s Broken English doesn’t mean I wasn’t won over and in fact melted down. I caught a late-night screening at the Venice Film Festival, and have been thinking about it — warmly — ever since. It’s not a typical shake-and-bake summary of a pop star…a quirky individualist who seemed to live by the light of camera flashbulbs and was, for a certain period, a radiant, raspy-voiced pop poet and vocal stylist. I can’t wait to see it again.
