FOUR YEARS AFTER the release of the film adaptation of Romulus, My Father, it still feels strange to refer to the characters in the film as characters rather than as real people – to Romulus but not to my father, to Christina but not to my mother, and to Rai but not to me.

Readers of the book are often intrigued to know what I think of the film. I am glad to be able to say that I think that director, Richard Roxburgh, made a film of heartrending power and delicate beauty, with fine, sometimes superb, performances from the cast. It is beautifully photographed and directed with eloquent restraint. I admire Richard’s integrity in refusing to flatter his audience, or to look over his shoulder at what critics might say.