I derive deep and unashamed pleasure from watching Sally Potter’s Yes at least once a year. One of the few films in recent years to surprise me, mostly based on the fact that I had no clue going in that the entire script was in blank verse and that I didn’t actually notice until about fifteen minutes in. However, I am more than well-aware that viewed from a certain angle the film can be seen as incredibly pretentious and hugely flawed, most of the problems are to do with said script, its politics and rhyme schemes. Since I first saw it there have been many attempts to watch the film with a critical eye and yet it somehow manages to bypass all of my bullshit- and political-filters (often one and the same filter). Every time it goes straight for the emotional jugular, even to the point that I am a proud owner of a copy of the aforementioned text.

This does not mean that I do not have a certain sense of humour about the films that I cherish, on the contrary. (Although I get incensed when musicals are deemed an inferior genre, but that is another story.) When I first read Anthony Lane’s critique of Yes I was in floods of tears I laughed so hard. Absolutely spot on, well-argued, hideously funny and a small victory for film criticism everywhere when its authors are allowed to put their views into verse. Feast your eyes on this, and what a feast it is: