An 18-year-old Alan Rickman in secondary school, London, UK, 1964.
Norman Rockwell conceived Murder in Mississippi as a horizontal composition to run across two pages. The young men would be pictured on the left page and Philadelphia Deputy Price and the posse of Klansmen wielding sticks (we later learned all were armed with rifles and shotguns) on the right.
When an aunt sent Oye Diran an old family photo, he was mesmerised by the high sense of fashion and style exhibited by the Yoruba women of West Africa in the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s.
The photo was of his mother and her sister adorned in iro and buba, the colourful two-piece outfit of wrapped skirt and top popular with Yoruba women in Nigeria.
The defining shot in Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is not any of the images in the famed shower sequence, or the overhead of the private detective getting knifed at the top of stairs or the reveal of “mother” as she’s turned slowly in the swivel chair. It happens at the very beginning, as Hitchcock pans and dissolves across downtown Phoenix, Arizona, before finally settling on the room where Marion Crane (Janet Leigh), a bored real-estate secretary, is having an afternoon tryst with her boyfriend Sam. The camera enters the scene through a crack in the window, under the shades, furtively catching a peep. Hitchcock is the voyeur, and so are we.
The writer-director’s humane and often surprisingly dark romantic comedy shows him at his finest with two charming leads in Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine