If we peel back all of the layers of Asteroid City we discover the paradox of the director – specifically, how one can truthfully portray the chaos of the world while still working within film, a medium that itself calls for tight control and planning at every step.

Elvis ended up being the best of what it could have been: a glittering frenzy of feverish reverence, replete with pink suits and matching Cadillac cars, hysterical hip-shaking highs and slurred, sweat-dripping lows.

London Fields and Cloud Atlas aren’t horrible films, they’re just poor adaptations. Veronica takes a look at how that could be in part II of Back Row Book Club’s look at unfilmable books.