Hmm. Surely The King's Speech should be making me think great things about the joys of a quiet film, or the revival of British cinema, or the incredible craft of Colin Firth.
Instead, I remember it mainly for the patina.
If I knew where it was (and had better skills as a squatter) I would already have packed a small bag and headed straight to the room that is used as the set for Geoffrey Rush's practice. There, I would lie on the failing sofa, wiling away the hours, looking up at the blissfully flaking painted wall above me.
Hey ho, no seagreen heaven for me. Instead, maybe I'll just use the afternoon to flick through these books and bask in their love of patina and surface.
Plus, a bonus! While we're here, why not take a look at OMA's plans for rebuilding the Hermitage. Building by not redeveloping. It's pretty great, particularly the photo of the Malevich.
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