دسته: فیلم‌های آینده و شایعات

  • Cannes Film Festival Debrief 2025

    Cannes Film Festival Debrief 2025



    Joining host Leila Latif are Hannah Strong and David Jenkins.

    Truth & Movies is the podcast from the film experts at Little White Lies, where along with selected colleagues and friends, they discuss the latest movie releases. Truth & Movies has all your film needs covered, reviewing the latest releases big and small, talking to some of the most exciting filmmakers, keeping you across important industry news, and reassessing great films from days gone by with the Truth & Movies Film Club.

    Email: truthandmovies@​tcolondon.​com

    BlueSky and Insta­gram: @LWLies

    Get more Little White Lies

    Pro­duced by TCO





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  • Bring Her Back + Directors Danny and Michael Phillipou | The Naked Gun | Naked Gun (1988)

    Bring Her Back + Directors Danny and Michael Phillipou | The Naked Gun | Naked Gun (1988)


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    On the show this week we discuss Bring Her Back and speak to its delightful directors Danny and Michael Phillipou. The spoof returns in The Naked Gun, and for Film club we revisit the original Naked Gun.

    Joining host Leila Latif are Charles Bramesco and Katherine McLaughlin.

     

    Truth & Movies is the podcast from the film experts at Little White Lies, where along with selected colleagues and friends, they discuss the latest movie releases. Truth & Movies has all your film needs covered, reviewing the latest releases big and small, talking to some of the most exciting filmmakers, keeping you across important industry news, and reassessing great films from days gone by with the Truth & Movies Film Club.

     

    Email: truthandmovies@tcolondon.com

    BlueSky and Instagram: @LWLies

     

    Produced by TCO



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  • Bring Her Back review – Sally Hawkins is…

    Bring Her Back review – Sally Hawkins is…



    Grief manifests in many ways, which is something Australian twin brothers Danny and Michael Philippou have explored in their horror films by conjuring up exceptionally disturbing images of terror and violence. In their first film and A24 box office smash, Talk to Me, they explored loss from an adolescent perspective through the supernatural. In their atmospheric follow-up they ramp up the brutality with a dysfunctional domestic set-up where a mother still grieving the loss of her daughter fosters two siblings reeling from the sudden death of their father. 

    From the very opening scene, which shows grainy VHS footage of a gross occult ceremony to the suspicious behaviour of foster mum Laura (Sally Hawkins) towards the visually impaired Piper (Sora Wong) and her older step-brother Andy (Billy Barratt), the Philippous let the audience in on where Bring Her Back is headed early on. It’s clear something nasty is bubbling under the surface and Laura is intentionally gaslighting Andy in order to get closer to Piper, but the filmmakers do deliver mystery surrounding another child, Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), who is also under Laura’s supervision and is selectively mute. 

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    The Philippou brothers have name checked What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? as a touchstone for Laura’s narrative and Hawkins brings a nervous, desperate energy to her performance. The casting of Hawkins against type is a canny move – many may be fond of her bubbly turn in Mike Leigh’s Happy-Go-Lucky or as the caring and creative Mrs. Brown in the first two Paddington films, and it’s her ability to channel that warmth and kindness into something malicious that makes this change of pace so nastily effective. 

    In fact, the entire ensemble cast does great work. Impressive newcomer Sora Wong, who in real life also has limited vision, fully inhabits the role of a determined yet naïve character who looks up to her older brother, while Billy Barratt’s is a performance of pure vulnerability shot through with a palpable sense of unspoken regret. He is super attentive to his sister, and the sibling dynamic is nicely shaded, so when things take a tragic turn, you feel their pain and heartbreak. The Philippous have a real knack of writing credible relationships and there is a piercing melancholy quality to the picture that permeates every inch of the frame. The saucer-eyed Jonah Wren Phillips gets some of the bloodiest scenes to act out, and his dedicated turn provides indelible and horrific images. It’s at once wince-inducing and mesmerising to watch. 

    The creeping dread, water symbolism and visuals of circles throughout brings to mind classic J‑horror. Andy is haunted by trauma, which is shown in fragmented jump-scare apparitions and flashbacks – Hideo Nakata’s Dark Water and Ring used similar methods to express the worsening of a fragile state of mind. The finale is a comparable feat of precise composition and rasping sound design where characters are drenched in heavy rain and deep confusion. Nearly every character in Bring Her Back is drowning in the depths of despair and desperately clinging on for dear life. Some flail and give into their worst instincts, some sink into oblivion, and others break the waves of grief and cruelty, albeit emerging with terrible scars. 





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  • Savages review – direct action education, for…

    Savages review – direct action education, for…



    As chainsaws annihilate trees and animal chatter in the opening of Savages, Claude Barras makes clear the target of his new feature film’s title: the drivers of deforestation in the name of civilisation”, as the title treatment drops over a plantation. While plantation worker Mutang’s additional muttering of savages” in response to the plantation’s armed guards shooting an orangutan in cold blood feels heavy-handed, it doesn’t take away from the power of the film’s stop-motion craft. Mutang and his young daughter Keria adopt the surviving baby ape, a casualty and representative of the casual barbarity of deforestation. 

    The film is set in Borneo, told from the perspective of Keria, who lives with Mutang on the edge of the city, in a village between the urban spires and the dense rainforest in which Keria’s extended family live. Her family is part of the Penan people – nomadic hunter-gatherers who are one of the hundreds of indigenous groups on the island – and Barras follows Keria as she embraces that part of her family and heritage. It’s a hard-won journey – Keria is skeptical of that tradition and downright horrible to her younger cousin Selaï when he comes to stay with them, even joining in with her friend’s racist taunts. The eventual healing of their familial relationship as it blossoms is the film’s strongest hook, and Barras and screenwriter Catherine Paillé tie this together with Keria learning the connection between her family’s freedom and environmental destruction, as the government attempt to drive them off their land, annihilate their hunting spots and tie them up in bureaucracy. As Keria unlearns her selfishness and materialism, we see it manifest in the companies laying claim to land that doesn’t belong to them. The world does not belong to us… we borrow it from our children,” as an opening epigraph says, but capitalism isn’t built for the future. 

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    The writers may be obvious in their allegory in places, but that doesn’t mean they don’t trust their young audience with harsher material, and not just in the bursts of violence. Savages talks frankly about hope dying slowly” in the forest as the Penan fight the encroaching government off their land but expect the worst anyway. Between the cute gags, there’s also an interest in observation: not in an anthropological sense towards the Penan, but in a contentedness with noticing the patterns of the natural world. 

    The handmade qualities of this world amplify the sense of devastation. The characters, whose designs resemble Barras’s work on My Life as a Courgette, each have distinct personality in their design as well as a visible human touch on their surface which creates a level of immersion. Adding to this is the dense foliage of Savages’ tactile forest sets, as well as its interest in animated natural life, the sounds of which are often prioritised over a musical score. It makes the barrenness of quarries and logging sites feel downright apocalyptic: the notes for the film highlight the Penan concept of Tana Pengurip – the living forest – not just as the home and livelihood of the Penan, but as the carrier of their stories.

    Barras builds the film not just so that annihilation feels tangible, but also so that sense of history and spirituality can be felt as well as told: the natural lighting of the daylight hours gives way to an ethereal glow in the forest at night as Keria encounters a panther that might also carry her mother’s spirit. The fantastical, meticulous nature of Barras’ animation illustrates by contrast the scourge of AI: lifeless, eerily smooth digital simulacrum which is actually hastening environmental destruction rather than encouraging its protection.

    Perhaps the most fantastical moment is saved for last, as Savages sees capitalist and governmental power acquiescing to the will of the people, particularly to the passion and ingenuity of youth. But it’s also fitting: why preach cynicism and the belief that stepping outside doesn’t work to younger audiences? It’s hard to fault Barras for making a film which is open-eyed about the destruction of the natural world, but also quietly insistent that it – and we – can be saved. 





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  • The Naked Gun review – not just more rebooted IP…

    The Naked Gun review – not just more rebooted IP…



    A good comedy must be funny; this shouldn’t be a debatable statement, and yet it would seem that as of late, too many studio efforts in the genre are making an effortful case for the contrary. Consider the earners of recent vintage: even in determinedly labeled comedies, humor is the pleasant diversion that greases the proceedings while we behold the CGI-laden stunts of Dwayne Johnson and Kevin Hart, gape at the immaculate visages of Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney, or ponder the confining roles of womanhood with our pal Barbie. The platonic ideal of a comedy as a machine that extracts laughter — and that the best comedy would necessarily be the one that operates at maximum capacity along these lines on a minute-to-minute basis — is not pursued nearly as doggedly as it should be. 

    Luckily, for Earth and its people and everyone who will live in the future, Detective Frank Drebin Jr. stops for nothing when he’s in hot pursuit. Not pedestrians. Not unfortunately placed beehives or clutches of helium balloons. Nothing.

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    In keeping with the tradition of the Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker brain trust’s original cop-on-the-edge spoofs, the rebooted Naked Gun condenses a staggering volume of jokes into a svelte sub-hour-and-a-half length, to the point that the question of whether any one gag works on you becomes immaterial. In about five seconds, there will be more daffy wordplay, more pratfalls, more left-field pop-culture references proudly long past their expiry date. The by-any-means-necessary bit barrage crams sight gags into the corners of frames, the credits, the infinitesimal space within edits. In a film that nobly aspires to everything being funny at all times, anything can be, the chief benefit of director Akiva Schaffer’s attention to and appreciation for the elements of cinematic form. You’ve got to be smart to be this stupid.

    The virtuosic schtick construction meets a worthy match in the leads, two exemplary instances of unexpected yet inspired casting that play on the actors’ preexisting screen personae just as the original tapped hard-nosed Leslie Nielsen for deadpan self-parody. As Drebin the Younger, Liam Neeson is god’s perfect boob, fully locked into the sweet spot between unearned confidence and bone-deep idiocy where comedy flourishes. (As is essential for any performer trafficking in levity, he jumps at the chance to make himself look like a fool, not least in the profoundly satisfying line of dialogue that lays out the gerontocratic subtext of the rampaging-oldster pictures on which he built his career’s second act.) And as his femme fatale/right-hand gal Beth – known also by her undercover moniker, Ms. Spaghetti – a resurgent Pamela Anderson reveals unforeseen reserves of brilliant comic acumen, the depth of her commitment undeniable in an exquisitely silly musical interlude or a minute-long tangent involving dark magic, a snowman, and a samurai sword that gives this film its successor to Popstars immortal offscreen bees” flight of absurd fancy.

    When the opening minutes introduce a doohickey labeled P.L.O.T. Device,” it’s an announcement that the actual case at hand is little more than occasion for bountiful setups and punch lines, though the timely edge is hard to miss in a tech-visionary villain (Danny Huston) pushing shoddy electric vehicles. But like many of the Elon Musk stand-ins peopling Hollywood productions in the years since Iron Man, any overtures to satirical critique fall flat due to the difficulty of replicating Musk’s weird combination of awkwardness, spitefulness, and neediness. Ultimately, Huston’s nefarious Richard Cane is just another megalomaniacal billionaire; in spite of this, it’s still pretty refreshing to see him punched in the gut.

    Perhaps this one aspect sticks out because the rest of the film is so markedly not yoked to its moment, at once unfashionable and eternal in its evocation of a century of madcap Jewish yuks, from the Borscht Belt to MAD Magazine to Mel Brooks. The imperative is simple, unchanging, and absolute: make em laugh, make em laugh, make em laugh. The Naked Gun is a volume business, and it succeeds by seriously heeding the sentiment presented sarcastically when applied to Drebin and his greying-badass ilk. Sometimes, the old ways really are best; a good pun is forever.





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  • Dangerous Animals | Ballerina | Zombie Flesh Eaters (1979)

    Dangerous Animals | Ballerina | Zombie Flesh Eaters (1979)


    Fiery orange background with bold text "Truth & Movies"; two images, one of a woman with long dark hair and another of a man with a fierce expression.

    On Truth & Movies this week, we discuss Dangerous Animals and Ballerina, we speak to activist, photographer and filmmaker Misan Harriman about Shoot The People, a documentary about his work. David speaks to Steven Leckart – the director of Stans, about the fervent fandom of Eminem, and finally, for film club we revisit a video nasty with one hell of a shark scene in Zombie Flesh Eaters.

    Joining host Leila Latif are Billie Walker and David Jenkins.

    Truth & Movies is the podcast from the film experts at Little White Lies, where along with selected colleagues and friends, they discuss the latest movie releases. Truth & Movies has all your film needs covered, reviewing the latest releases big and small, talking to some of the most exciting filmmakers, keeping you across important industry news, and reassessing great films from days gone by with the Truth & Movies Film Club.

    Email: truthandmovies@​tcolondon.​com

    BlueSky and Insta­gram: @LWLies

    Pro­duced by TCO



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  • Introducing… La Dolce Vita: A Celebration of…



    To celebrate Disaronno’s 500-year anniversary*, we’ve teamed up with the iconic Italian liqueur makers to bring you an extra special cinematic treat: a two-month celebration of Italian screen style, inspired by the timeless spirit of la dolce vita.

    Honouring half a millennium(!) of tradition and innovation, our La Dolce Vitaseason – curated in partnership with Disaronno – kicks off in style this June with a deep dive into four of our favourite Italian films, spanning from the 1960s to today. Each one captures the essence of this age-old Italian philosophy, which is all about living well, appreciating beauty, and savouring every moment.

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    On the weekend of 4 – 5 July, we’re taking over London’s historic Regent Street Cinema for two nights of movies, cocktails, and a true taste of Italy. First up on Friday 4 July, we’re bringing Paolo Sorrentino’s dazzling 2013 film, The Great Beauty, back to the big screen, starring the one and only Toni Servillo in one of his best-loved roles.

    Then, join us on Saturday 5 July for Michelangelo Antonioni’s atmospheric 1960 film, La Notte, featuring the impossibly glamorous ménage à trois of Marcello Mastroianni, Jeanne Moreau and Monica Vitti. Each screening will be accompanied by an introduction from a member of the LWLies team, and an on-stage Q&A with an Italian film expert. We’ll also be serving up a delicious selection of Disaronno cocktails and Italian-themed goodies.

    The legend of Disaronno can be traced back to the most famous creative period in Italian history: the Renaissance. In 1525, the artist Bernardino Luini, a student of Leonardo da Vinci, was commissioned to decorate the Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Miracles in Saronno. For the Madonna in one of his paintings, The Adoration of the Magi’, he chose a local innkeeper as his model. In appreciation, she presented him with a special gift: a flask filled with a fragrant, delicate, amber-coloured liqueur.

    Since those humble origins, Disaronno has grown into the world’s favourite amaretto liqueur, famed for its unique aroma and sweet character – not to mention its iconic square cap” bottle, created in the 1970s by a master Venetian glassmaker. Today, it embodies the elegance, refined taste, and unmistakable Italian style that has been immortalized on screen time and again by Italy’s most revered filmmakers.

    If you attend one of our La Dolce Vita’ screenings, you’ll not only have the chance to enjoy a signature Disaronno cocktail – aptly named Dolcevita and created by mixologist Patrick Pistolesi and his team at Drink Kong Bar in Rome – but you’ll also get your hands on a limited-edition zine filled with original content and gorgeous illustrations.

    Stay tuned for more information about our La Dolce Vita’ screening events, and head to dis​aron​no​.com to find out more about Disaronno’s 500-year anniversary celebrations.

    *1525: The legend of Disaronno begins.





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  • How To Train Your Dragon | Lollipop | Ladybird…

    How To Train Your Dragon | Lollipop | Ladybird…



    Joining host Leila Latif are Laura Venning and Yasmine Kandil.

    Get more Little White Lies

    Truth & Movies is the podcast from the film experts at Little White Lies, where along with selected colleagues and friends, they discuss the latest movie releases. Truth & Movies has all your film needs covered, reviewing the latest releases big and small, talking to some of the most exciting filmmakers, keeping you across important industry news, and reassessing great films from days gone by with the Truth & Movies Film Club.

    Email: truthandmovies@​tcolondon.​com

    BlueSky and Instagram: @LWLies

    Produced by TCO





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  • Elio review – a touching treaty on the search for…

    Elio review – a touching treaty on the search for…



    We first meet Elio Solis (Yonas Kibreab) curled up beneath a booth table of a diner inside a museum. He’s a bit younger than he will be for most of the film, painfully shy and still reeling from the recent loss of his parents. His Aunt Olga (Zoe Saldaña), recently and unexpectedly appointed as his guardian, is struggling to adjust to her new role. While she’s momentarily distracted by a colleague, Elio slips away and stumbles into an immersive exhibition on the vastness of space – an otherworldly encounter that will alter the course of his life forever.

    What follows is a deep obsession with the existence of alien life. Though Elio is no longer shy per se, he remains socially awkward and has difficulty forming friendships, not necessarily because his peers dislike him, but because he unintentionally distances himself from them. He harbors the belief that one day aliens will abduct him, but he’s reluctant to share. Several reasons underlie Elio’s intense longing to leave Earth: a desire to escape the painful memories of being orphaned; a hope to encounter beings who defy conventional norms, and a yearning to discover a life beyond the ordinary limitations of Earth.

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    After getting into a fight, Elio is picked up by his Aunt Olga and reluctantly brought along to the military base where she works. Curious and defiant, he follows her into a restricted meeting, only to discover that aliens have sent a message to Earth. Hiding in a nearby rubbish bin until the room clears out, Elio seizes the moment. In a burst of desperation and hope, he records a message of his own, pleading to the life forms on the other end and sharing his dream of one day joining their world.

    Not only do the extraterrestrials receive Elio’s message, but they also respond. Fulfilling his wildest dreams, they abduct him and bring him to the Communiverse, a vast interplanetary alliance home to countless intelligent species. But here’s the catch: because Elio was the one to answer their signal, they mistakenly believe he is the ruler of Earth. Eager to impress the council of ambassadors who govern the Communiverse, Elio assumes the role and does his best to live up to the title. When Lord Grigon (Brad Garrett), a warlord of the planet Hylurg, threatens the very existence of the Communiverse and no one else dares to negotiate, Elio rises to the challenge, determined to protect the one place he finally hopes to call home.

    It’s no surprise that as a literal child, Elio would fumble the negotiations, only managing to further enrage Lord Grigon. While secretly plotting his escape, he encounters Glordon (Remy Edgerly), the silk-worm-like prince of Hylurg and Grigon’s son. Adorable, naïve, and impossibly sweet, Glordon is the polar opposite of his father. He agrees to return to the Communiverse, initially as a pawn in the larger diplomatic game that Elio refuses to back down from, but what unfolds instead is a heartwarming friendship between two young outsiders who, for the first time, begin to feel at home, by each other’s side.

    There are moments when the film feels slightly clunky, as if certain story elements either needed more time to develop or should have been simplified. This is most evident in the middle act, where the concept of the Communiverse, while imaginative, begins to feel overcomplicated. The same applies to its visual design – sometimes less truly is more. The abundance of colors and shapes, though ambitious, ends up blending into a stylistic blur. That said, the animation remains as technically impressive as audiences have come to expect from Pixar.

    The first act of the film is exceptional and joyous to watch. Just as compelling is anything involving the friendship between Elio and Glordon, which ultimately becomes the emotional core of the story. What truly makes the film special is the remarkable voice work from young actors Yonas Kibreab and Remy Edgerly, who bring their characters to life with striking authenticity. Their performances are rich with passion, vulnerability, and emotional nuance, conveying everything from childlike curiosity to profound longing. It’s through their voices that the film’s heart beats strongest, grounding its fantastical world in something deeply human and moving.

    There’s an undeniable charm to this film that makes it easy to be dazzled by. From its deeply lovable lead characters, who you can’t help but root for, to delightful surprises like a perfectly timed Talking Heads needle drop and effortless moments of humor. But what makes it truly special is its heartfelt exploration of universal themes like grief, loneliness, and the deep human desire to belong. It’s the kind of story that stays with you, gently reminding us that no matter where we come from, we’re all just searching for connection.

    To keep cel­e­brat­ing the craft of film, we have to rely on the sup­port of our mem­bers. Join Club LWLies today and receive access to a host of benefits.





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  • The Decadent Splendour of The Great Beauty

    The Decadent Splendour of The Great Beauty



    This feature is the second in our summer series, La Dolce Vita: A Celebration of Italian Screen Style, in partnership with Disaronno.

    Not once during Paolo Sorrentino’s sprawling urban symphony, The Great Beauty, does Jep Gambardella (Toni Servillo) ever hop in a car. Walking is the man’s only means of travel – an occupation and a spiritual imperative. Bedecked with an endless collection of blazers, pocket squares and two-toned brogues, the 65-year-old one-time novelist-turned-occasional reporter saunters into the film as a flâneur, strolling aimlessly around Rome in a state of heightened receptivity to all the stimuli of its streets. 

    The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot,” Werner Herzog once mused, and so it is for Servillo’s professional wanderer, who doesn’t seem to live in so much as commune with the city. No walk is ever wasted, every corner hides something strange: a nun picking oranges from a tree; a child whispering from inside the crypt of a Renaissance temple; a giraffe in the Baths of Caracalla. 

    Sorrentino trades a tourist-friendly travelogue for a more disquieting, entrancing journey, and that’s his primary achievement. The Great Beauty makes a familiar place seem new and surreal; it’s that rare film that’s susceptible to the magic of things that often go unnoticed. 

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    Like Federico Fellini, whose 1960 film La Dolce Vita stands as The Great Beauty’s undisputed touchstone, Sorrentino was not born in the Italian capital but moved there in his youth, and he immortalises it with the look of an outsider stunned by all its riches and mysteries. This is his fifth feature lensed by Luca Bigazzi, who here traffics in the same elegant crane and dolly shots that marked their earlier collaborations. 

    But where the sinuous camera movement in 2008’s Il Divo and 2011’s This Must Be the Place might sometimes register as ostentatious, in The Great Beauty form is entirely in service of the story. As the camera glides in and out of churches, palazzos and rooftops, Sorrentino conjures a magpie curiosity for the world that dovetails with Jep’s own journey: a man who gradually awakes to the splendour that surrounds him, and turns it into a source of creation.

    Still, Sorrentino’s love for Rome is not reverential. Throughout the film there are moments – a man washing his face on the monumental fountain on the Janiculum hill, a woman reading a newspaper huddled next to a statue – that seemed designed to demystify its centuries-old architecture. Enthralled by the city as he unmistakably is, Sorrentino captures it not as an inert backdrop, but a place that exists in symbiosis with its residents. 

    For a work haunted by death – one that opens with a fatal case of Stendhal Syndrome – The Great Beauty accrues a life-affirming power. If there’s anything truly decadent in Sorrentino’s universe that’s not Rome and its weathered monuments, but the fatuous, navel-gazing aristocrats Jep fritters time with. It stands to reason that his wardrobe – replete with the fedoras and brightly coloured jackets of a mid-century dandy – should set him apart from the more sombre outfits of those around him. 

    Like everything else in this spell-binding film, Daniela Ciancio’s costumes aren’t beautiful for beauty’s sake, but suggests a vitality that befits the story of a rebirth. Their old-fashioned charm is in keeping with Sorrentino’s grand design. The Great Beauty isn’t a mere elegy for lost time; it’s a tribute to an ancient, more open way of travelling through and looking at the world.

    To find out more about Disaronno’s 500-year anniversary* celebrations, visit dis​aron​no​.com, and join us at Regent Street Cinema on July 4 and 5 for special free screenings of The Great Beauty and La Notte, with complimentary cocktails from Disaronno.

    *1525: The legend of Disaronno begins.





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