blue heron...

It seems like an awful long time since I last went to the Watershed (very nearly 2 months!), but I’m really pleased that I made the effort to go this afternoon.
I went to see Canadian film-maker Sophy Romvari’s excellent, powerful, painful film about a
Hungarian immigrant family grappling with oppositional defiant disorder (ODD - a behavioural condition in children and teens characterised by a persistent pattern of angry or irritable moods, argumentative and defiant behaviour, or vindictiveness).
On a flippant level (I’d never previously heard about such a condition – I was totally ignorant), it seemed to me to sum up the behaviour of a lot of children at the end of the long school summer holidays(!)… but it’s absolutely NOT. It’s an utterly awful disorder.
The film is set on Vancouver Island in the 1990s. A young girl, aged 7-8 years, named Sasha (Eylul Guven), lives with her two brothers and older teen half-brother Jeremy (Edik Beddoes). They’ve just arrived at their new house; their parents (played by Iringó Réti and Ádám Tompa) are Hungarian and, emotionally, they’re all really, really struggling. Jeremy is deeply troubled and his behavioural condition means he refuses to cooperate with his parents’ increasingly desperate requests. He behaves destructively and dangerously, threatening to burn the house down, and is often brought home by the police in handcuffs.
As you will appreciate, the film is NOT a bundle of laughs… but it IS utterly compelling and somewhat underplayed (thankfully) and definitely not ‘in the Hollywood style’.
In fact, the film is partly autobiographical - based on Romvari’s own childhood experiences with her own troubled brother… with the film’s Sasha being upset by Jeremy’s behaviour in a way that her brothers aren’t. The mysterious condition wounds Sasha as a child and even more so as an adult – with the adult Sasha (played by Amy Zimmer) working as a film-maker and played in flash-forward scenes (including videoing a panel of social workers discussing Jeremy’s case).  
I found it a very moving, dignified film which (in the words of CBC Arts review) “beautifully blends documentary and fiction to explore the slippery, often unreliable nature of childhood memory”. The kind of film that will linger in my memory (in a good way).

july 2026 books...

Gwen John (Emma Chambers): I went to the excellent Gwen John exhibition in Cardiff earlier this year and also read Alicia Foster’s book about the artist. But, although I had long been an admirer of her work, I still felt that I knew only rudimentary facts about her life and was keen to learn a little more – hence this book (first published in 2024). Frankly, Chambers’s and Foster’s short books were very similar in content (about John’s time at the Slade; that much of her life was spent in Paris; that she was Rodin’s lover and frequent model; and that, later in life, she embraced Catholicism), but I did enjoy learning more about her changes in painting techniques (from say 1910 onwards) and how, because she’d spent so much of her life in Paris, one article described her as ‘an undiscovered artist’ when she re-engaged with the London art world in 1926. The book also introduced me to a number of unfamiliar (to me) paintings – particular from the late 1910s/1920s. A useful read.
Lazy Thoughts Of A Lazy Girl (Jenny Wren): I first read this short book of comic essays (first published in 1891) 10 years ago and recently came across it while trawling through our bookshelves. Essay subjects include love, politics, afternoon tea, children+dogs and watering places! Jenny Wren is the pseudonym of an unknown, purportedly female, author. It was produced as a reply to Jerome K Jerome’s “Idle Thoughts Of An Idle Fellow” (first published in 1886). The essays provide a revealing, amusing insight into the day-to-day morals, manners and mindset of the Victorian middle class. They are entertaining, silly and snobbish (although, I admit, not quite as entertaining perhaps as I found them on first reading).
Dream Work (Mary Oliver): I never tire of Mary Oliver’s writing! Her words always resonate for me – uplifting, consoling, thought-provoking. This book was published in the USA in 1986, but first published in the UK in 2025. Yet again, reading her poetry out loud to myself in the early mornings, provided a degree of solace in this harsh and challenging world.
Dad Had A Bad Day (Ashton Politanoff): This is our next Storysmith book selection, first published in 2026 (theme: sporting novels). A 39-year-old American man has lost his job and now looks after his 6-year-old son while his wife works. He comes across his old tennis racket buried in the garage and unearths part of his former self. He re-joins his former tennis club without his wife’s knowledge… finds life outside the realm of domesticity and becomes captain of a local men’s team. Trouble is that it becomes something of an obsession… and we end up with a thought-provoking/depressing examination of traditional masculinity and toxic father-son dynamics. I think I’ll leave it there (*no spoilers*), apart from saying that, although it was compelling in its way (I’ve seen one review that called it ‘deranged’!), I really didn’t enjoy it.
The Enchanted World Of Jessie M King (Colin White): Another art book from the library. Shamefully, I have to admit that, although I recognised lots of her illustrations, I knew very little about King herself (1875-1949). The author describes her as the “most important illustrator of the 20^th century”. She was a contemporary of Charles Rennie Mackintosh and, indeed, in conjunction with him, his wife Margaret Macdonald and her sister Frances Macdonald at the Glasgow School of Art (where they all studied), they were frequently referred to as ‘The Four’… and developed what became known as the ‘Glasgow Style’. King’s illustrations are a blend of fantasy and reality (‘stylised formality’); she and her husband lived in Paris for a time, but spent much of her working life on the isle of Arran (Kirkcudbright). During her career, she produced a huge quantity of drawings (including beautiful sketches of buildings) largely based on Scottish ballads, chivalrous knights, northern fairy tales and pageantry. By the time of her death in 1949, her work had become almost totally neglected – but, thankfully, a number of high-profile retrospective exhibitions of her work in the 1970s restored her reputation. Note: I was sad to note that Wikipedia described her as being “known for her illustrated children’s books” – while she certainly did work on children’s books, especially later in her life, this completely overlooks work undertaken 1910-35… which I consider to be her best. A fascinating book. 

june-july 2026 books...

The Hand That First Held Mine (Maggie O’Farrell): I love O’Farrell’s writing and absolutely loved this particular book (published in 2010). It’s about two couples (one in the 1950s and one in the ‘present day’) and how the portraits of two extraordinary women, separated by 50 years, are revealed – in ways neither of them could ever have expected. Beautifully-written and hugely thought-provoking. It left me feeling quite bereft by the end (in a good way!).
The World’s Two Smallest Humans (Julia Copus): Yet more early morning poetry… I picked up this book (first published in 2012) at the library, having never previously come across Copus’s poetry, and was very impressed. The book (first published in 2012) is split into two halves: the first explores memory, the elasticity of time, and shifting perspectives, while the second is a brave, confessional sequence detailing the Copus’s emotional and physical journey through IVF treatment.
Raising Hare (Chloe Dalton): This is our next Blokes’ bookgroup selection. The author lives part of her life in a restored stone barn situated somewhere in the English countryside. She finds a newly-born hare, endangered, alone and no bigger than the palm of her hand. She feels compelled to give it a chance at survival… and so begins their journey together – chronicling their relationship. I have to say that this is definitely NOT ‘my kind of book’. It provided some fascinating insights of nature and of the behaviour of hares in the wild, but it wasn’t quite for me.
Glad Of These Times (Helen Dunmore): For me, there’s a comforting familiarity about Dunmore’s poetry (this book published in 2007) - exploring, reflective, challenging. This collection frequently focusses on the environment. I particularly liked her title poem – reflecting on being stuck on a motorway observing the packed lanes due to road works… but ‘glad of her times, glad not to be ill, not to be poor’ (as one reviewer described it). Perhaps, somewhat strangely, I also detected an occasional allusion to death (‘push towards to death’ in the words of the same reviewer) – which, to me, being familiar with her final book of poetry, ‘Inside The Wave’ (written just before she died in 2017), felt particularly poignant. Count your blessings!
My Yorkshire (David Hockney): I picked up this book from the library a week or so after Hockney’s death. As well as containing lots of his Yorkshire paintings from 2000-2010, it’s book that records two extended, fascinating conversations (in 2008 and 2010) with art historian Marco Livingstone. It was a reminder of the artist’s creative mind and his constant pursuit of new ways of thinking and doing – his art knowledge; his energy; his inventiveness; how he positively embraced technology; how he constantly asked questions of himself (the complete opposite to me!); and about seeing+looking and looking+seeing. I really enjoyed the pair’s fascinating, gentle (and yet sometimes quite probing) and enlightening exchanges. I knew I’d enjoy seeing all the familiar images again, but I was surprised by just how touched I was by their musings. The book was also a lovely reminder of the ‘David Hockney RA: The Bigger Picture’ exhibition at the Royal Academy in 2012.