I was going to tap out a glowing review of Terence DaviesOf Time and the City, a spiritual lament about the director’s hometown of Liverpool. It’s a sublime marriage of poetry, archival footage, snippy social criticism, and nostalgia for a lost and irretrievable past. It hits you gently and yet powerfully. Especially if you have a feeling for the fraying of social cohesion and family structure that has happened everywhere since the ’50s.

Davies — short, bespectacled, pinkish complexion, gleaming white hair, traditional black tuxedo — took a bow before last night’s 10 pm showing at the Salle du Soixantieme. One of his producer pals said on the mike, “He’s back…and he’s beautiful.”
And like I said, I was going to write about it…but the line for the 11:30 showing of Clint Eastwood‘s Changeling/The Exchange — 85 minutes from now! — is already getting pretty long so I’d better get down there. Why don’t people just hang back and wait until 10:45 or so to line up? Who wants to wait in line this long?