It was a Dickens-heavy Christmas and all the better for it. By that, I don't mean the rosy confected one of bantering ho-hos and seething subterranean hypocrisies which Charles essentially invented. It was a dark, bleak, clever one, with ghostly waving branches and awkward truths – possibly rather suitable to end the year we've just had. There was, of course, Great Expectations, over three grimly fabulous nights. You knew it was going to be good from the off, when a muddied Ray Winstone as Magwitch grabbed Pip's foot from under the bridge, those skies above the marshes a cloying gr ... [Continua a leggere]