Loved this sumptuous film last night - full of Provençal sunshine and colour - about the lifelong, but rocky friendship between Cézanne and Zola. But you do have to be up to speed on 19th century French history and who's who in artistic circles because if you can't keep up, it'll leave you behind. And now I really must get myself to the portraits exhibition before it closes.

I was much less impressed by Darkest Hour. I'd have given it the benefit of the doubt, for maybe I've reached saturation point with films about Churchill. (It doesn't seem two minutes since we had Brian Cox's interpretation last year.) But then came that much derided scene in the Tube carriage ... as Churchill uncharacteristically hops out of his official car to avoid a traffic jam and takes to the District Line for a one-stop journey from St James's Park to Westminster. In a carriage full of gor-blimey, salt-of-the-earth Londoners. What tosh. What complete drivel. And how many cinema-goers are now convinced that this really happened?