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  • My mother and I returned to the same cinema where we would spend every Saturday evening with my late father when I was a boy. Now corporately multiplexed, popcorned, and air-conned, almost the last trace of its previous smoke-filled palace splendour is the Odeon's marble and brass staircase, up which my elderly mother struggled to climb to her seat beside me, witnesses both to the resurrection of Bond beyond the camp Sixties of my early childhood, the jaded cynicism of the Seventies and Eighties, the virtuality of the Nineties, to the guilty global violence and sense of compromised personal morality of the new millennium.
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