"His Girl Friday is funny because it’s… In that way that I think In Bruges and JCVD are just perfect, it is perfect. It is beyond perfect. It is transcendently flawless for like the first 45 minutes, and then it kind of goes off into crazy town. But you still stay with it, and the tone completely changes and it gets really weird and dark, but I guess that’s what happens in some of those movies. But it’s the perfect distillation of that kind of fast-talking, thin-line-between-love-and-hate style relationship. It would definitely be the kind of movie that, if somebody was trying to get into movies from the ’30s and ’40s and wanted that kind of patter and that kind of style, I would definitely point them in that direction. The Women is my favorite film, but it’s kind of a lot to take in, and I would understand if it scared people off a little bit. Whereas if you watch the first 20 minutes of His Girl Friday, you’re in. It’s like a starter course for that kind of film."

"Al Pacino’s performance is connected to something deep in my psyche; he feels like a wild animal trapped in a place and running around manically. I love the mania of Al Pacino’s performance. I feel a connection to that hyper energy and burning ball of rage. It’s so great how he turns the whole movie. He becomes the hero that you wouldn’t expect, and everybody is cheering for him. I love that. I think in my film it does kind of the same thing. He doesn’t seem like your hero, but he becomes that. Not to mention the fact that this movie, it keeps the kinetic thriller energy, but at the same time, there are there these scenes that you can’t believe they’re still going on, these hilarious seemingly improvised bursts of energy. Between Al Pacino and Sidney Lumet and John Cazale, it’s unforgettable and beyond inspiring, to say the least. You’re rooting for both of them even though you don’t want to be. It’s perfect. You fall in love with them, and they fall in love with each other. It’s genius — perfection. I know that’s five but can I have an honorable mention?"

"Mizoguchi is one of the greatest masters who ever worked in the medium of film; he’s right up there with Renoir and Murnau and Ford, and after the war he made three pictures—The Life of Oharu, Ugetsu, and Sansho the Bailiff—that stand at the summit of cinema. All of his artistry is channeled into the most extraordinary simplicity. You’re face-to-face with something mysterious, tragically inevitable, and then, in the end, peacefully removed. I love all three of these pictures and many other Mizoguchi films as well (including Princess Yang Kwei-fei, The Story of the Last Chrysanthemums, and Miss Oyu, to name only a few), but Ugetsu has the most powerful effect on me. There are moments in the picture, famous ones, that I’ve seen again and again and that always take my breath away: the boat slowly materializing from out of the mist and coming toward us . . . Genjuro collapsing on the grass in ecstasy and being smothered by Lady Wakasa . . . the final crane up from the son making an offering at his mother’s grave to the fields beyond. Just to think of these moments now fills me with awe and wonder."

"What a great singer, what a great record. I was living in West London in Notting Hill when I heard this. It felt like the time I was living in. I think it's an extraordinary production, the whole piece, and it doesn't matter whether you believe that it is politics, propaganda or poetry, the voice I think is just incredible. I take it as all three... it depends on de 'erb man. It'd be so addictive to play bass like that, so I've always avoided it. Roundabout '76, '77, it was like hearing Blue Beat in shebeens in Notting Hill. That was understanding something else, detuned basses, that was all about sonics. And then the act of actually playing something so melodic would seem even more perverse. It really informs electronic music. Physically it is really enjoyable to play bass - there's a similar element to playing sport, that sense of coordination and being involved in an activity with other people. There were times when, and particularly on our 'Drill' marathons, you really do get beyond pain and an outer body experience, which is of course indescribable, and that's exciting."

"I was obsessed with this record from the first time I heard it. Everything about Joe Meek's story is fascinating. The way he worked, the way he lived. As a producer, he turned down the Beatles, saying "The Merseybeat sound is going nowhere." This record was made in 1960 and it's berserk. It captures a time when space exploration was an international agenda. 'Telstar' had captured the mood when the first satellites went up; this record went a lot further, imagining an entire planet beyond our solar system. It's an artist you know doing a record that's so far from what you thought they were capable of: "Really, this is the same person?" I just got obsessed with it. I only had a taped version of it which, to me, isn't like actually having the record. I was in Japan a few years later, before it was reissued, and I found a bootleg copy there at great expense. It's almost like an early hauntological recording; it's very crude but incredibly evocative. It's interesting to wonder what would have happened to Joe Meek had his story turned out differently…"

"I got dragged to this by some young relatives in Greece after a frustrating day in an immigration office thanks to Brexit. I hadn’t seen the first three installments and the film was dubbed in Greek, which hindered my grasp to some degree, only it turned out to be one of my most memorable experiences in a cinema and a lot of that was down to the uninhibited audience. I saw the film in the same open-air cinema (on the outskirts of Athens) where I saw “Dirty Dancing” over 30 years ago, which was even wilder with the beyond capacity audience who went crazy when the film’s climactic dance erupted. Though not reaching the euphoric audience chaos of the latter film, “Toy Story 4” was a timely reminder of how valuable and downright memorable a communal cinema experience is. I was completely swept up in the highs and lows of the film and never imagined that the fate of a single-use plastic item could reduce adults to tears. It was funny, scary and heavy on the heart in places. I actually bought it on DVD hoping to repeat the experience."

"I love Roy Wood. Once again, we're talking about songs. He couldn't be constrained; he had to be different. He wouldn't just grow his hair and look like a troll, he'd dye it purple. He'd always take things one step too far. We worked with him, playing at Irving Plaza in New York, and we told him we'd had a hit with 'California Man'. "Well, I want to do my version." Hell, do our version! Roy was obtuse, while Jeff Lynne was more of a rocksteady kind of guy, which I think is why Jeff ended up being more successful, because they're both talented beyond belief. Two guys from Birmingham: "Let's work together!" The next day: "Maybe not such a great idea!" Because Roy would want to have 80 saxophonists, and they'd have to be girls. The difference between Roy and Jeff is that Jeff would want to have a band who could get out there every weekend. Roy's his own worst enemy: he's the most underappreciated of the pop geniuses, but not by me. But if he were any more successful he'd never talk to me."