Tomorrow, I'm off to the Edinburgh Film Festival. I've got loads of fond memories of previous years -- many of them, I have to admit, caught up in Scotland's marvellous, forward-thinking policy towards pub opening times -- but this year's festival promises a bundle of fine films.

This week's new festival is, in the words of promoter Tom Baker (no, not that one), a "psychedelic Summer fete". So, we're promised welly golf, hog roasts, a jumble sale along side some Acid Folk in the shape of Vetiver and Bat For Lashes, plus a strong mix of cutting-edge names including Battles, the Aliens and Four Tet.

"Is Michael Bay the Devil?" Screams the headline on a 1998 Entertainment Weekly article that's currently posted on Michael Bay's website. Certainly, there's a large number of film critics out there who seem to hold the director personally responsible for pretty much everything that's Wrong in movies.

Apologies, first, that this isn't my usual film blog, but I was pretty shocked to read in a tabloid newspaper this morning that self-confessed "technophobe" Elton John would like to see the Internet shut down for five years -- "to see what sort of art is produced over that span."

Flying cocks, dead beagles and Michael Jackson’s private Burns Unit. Here’s our 5 Must See movies showing at next month’s Edinburgh International Film Festival...

I've blogged previously about Grindhouse's abysmal showing at the American box office, and last night I finally got to see the version of Tarantino's extended Death Proof segment that's getting a UK release in September.

They call this time the gloaming -- night coming down, all colours leached from the sky. It seems a remarkably appropriate moment for the Arcade Fire to take the stage and close Latitude Year two with an enormous bang. And some fireworks.

The last few hours of Latitude 2007 and it’s starting to feel like the fall of Saigon, but only in a genteel and latte-sipping way. As night engulfs the woods and almost the entire remaining crowd is sucked towards Arcade Fire’s headline set, there are precious few refuges left for cultural dissidents who may be immune to epic Canadian folk-rock.

The festival's most entertaining front man is, by a country mile, Jarvis Cocker. His colourful, between song digressions are frequently priceless and, on the odd occasion, better than the songs themselves.

Here come The Rapture. They are loud, they are rowdy, they are woo-yeah funkay for tha laydeez - but frankly, they are also a bit dull. Come in, let’s be honest, the flavour has drained a little from all this knowingly retro punk-funk now that the formula has been hammered to death by every disco-rock chancer from London to New York and back.