DIRECTOR Sally Potter’s latest film The Party starts and finishes with a loaded gun, almost begging Chekov to take notice. It’s a searing, cringing satire on elitism in the political left. Despite being black and white, it attacks the topic with the energy of a punk rocker, as if Potter is demanding that the audience make assumptions of the film’s tone only to subvert them. This approach to genre can be seen as her modus operandi. If one was to go through her back catalogue (as I’d highly recommend you do), you would stumble upon Orlando, her Tilda-Swinton-starring adaption of the Virginia Woolf novel of the same name. I came to the book first and, immediately, judged it as unadaptable. Then, when watching the film, spent 90 slack-jawed minutes astounded at the achievement. It is witty and seductive in equal measure, with tongue firmly in cheek. Should you have found yourself amazed at the ingenuity of this year’s Oscar darling The Favourite, then you’re in for one hell of a treat with Orlando. Yes, Sally Potter has been there and done it first. She is a figure who wholly deserves to be cocky, and yet, miraculously, isn’t.