The Royal Court Theatre has long been a leader in new British drama writing. Thanks to Elyse Dodgson, who has died aged 73, it has built up an international programme like few others in the arts, anywhere. At the theatre, Elyse headed up readings, workshops (in London and abroad), exchanges and writers’ residencies that might have suggested a team of 15 or so but her department was modest in size.

Ian Rickson’s route into theatre was not conventional. Growing up in south London, he discovered plays largely through reading them as a student at Essex University. During those years he stood on a picketline in the miners’ strike, and proudly hurled the contents of an eggbox at Cecil Parkinson. He is a lifelong supporter of Charlton Athletic.

Gob Squad is a “seven-headed” Anglo-German arts collective who specialise in multimedia performance. Beginning in Nottingham in 1994 and now based in Berlin, their work ranges from site-specific to installation and film but, more recently, mainly theatre. They major in using technology to “make connections with places outside the theatre or to create different spaces inside the theatre where we can talk to the audience in quite intimate ways”. Recent works include War and Peace and My Square Lady. For the Brighton Festival they're presenting Gob Squad’s Creation (Pictures for Dorian), based on Oscar Wilde’s famous novel, at the Attenborough Centre for Creative Arts from 23-27 May. It will then tour to London’s Southbank Centre as part of LIFT Festival from 4-7 June 2018. Theartsdesk spoke to Gob Squad’s Sharon Smith (b.1970).

THOMAS H GREEN: Are there comic elements in what Gob Squad does?

SHARON SMITH: We think we’re hilarious! We like to employ a light touch. Often our themes and aims are epic, and a way we deal with that is by employing what we call naive blind faith. So we like to set ourselves very big challenges then deal with the inevitable failure, and there’s a certain pathos and, hopefully, comedy about that.

What do you, personally, do in Gob Squad?

Well, we’re quite committed to the collective idea. We argue everything. There’s no director in the group. Everybody is fully involved in all aspects of making and performing. The seven members of Gob Squad are, if you like, the shareholders. We’re the core. Then there’s quite a large family that hovers around that core; video designer, lighting designer, music and sound designer, people designing costumes, set realisation. So we outsource departmental jobs but we all have our fingers in the pie. We exchange roles constantly then we keep this collective thing and we're quite opposed to authorship within the work. Everything’s very fluid.

What have you done to Oscar Wilde?

We hope that we’ve done him proud because we love him. We’ve taken that as our springboard for talking about beauty in this age and also about who is the artist, who is the spectator of the artwork, and who is the subject. This triangle we borrowed; Basil, Henry and Dorian [in A Picture of Dorian Gray] create this triangle, so we borrowed that and the Faustian pact with the Devil and a few beautiful verses from the book. We’ve built something incredibly lush visually because of the lushness of Oscar Wilde’s writing, his descriptions of what is beauty and nature and art really inspired us to make something drenched in beauty.

For this piece, you interact with local performers. How does that work?

We’ve never done this before, actually. We made a call-out to local performers in the area. We wanted people under 22 and people over 75, three young people and three older people to join us in this multi-generational cast, because Gob Squad are middle-aged. The requirement was you’re either aspiring to be onstage in some way or you’ve spent a life onstage, so basically your body has been looked at and been your currency, your work. You’ve enjoyed the gaze of spectators. That’s the thematic common ground.

Have you been to Brighton before?

Yes, we’ve been working for a little bit at the University of Sussex at Falmer, built up relationships over the last couple of years. We’ve been doing workshops and we performed our last show, War and Peace, there. Four of us in the group are from England and quite a few of my very favourite people live in Brighton. I have an old relationship with it because of the Polytechnic. One of my favourite people of all time is Mine Kaylan, she was head of arts and culture there. And Matt Rudkin who was a freelance artist, an incredible artist based in Brighton. It’s a very special place, culturally, for me and it’s by the sea and the beautiful hills. It’s just a total win-win, isn’t it - a brilliant city.

How did you end up in Berlin?

Because of Gob Squad. Gob Squad’s been together for 25 years. It started in Nottingham and we still have a little office there. We’re very committed to keeping an active profile in the UK but we came to Berlin in the late-Nineties mainly because of opportunity. We were offered a great residency here at a place called Podewil and one thing led to another. Even now, although it’s changing, it’s possible to live here solely as an artist without trying to run around doing other jobs. There’s very good funding in Germany for the arts. It’s a very important part of cultural life, the free theatre scene and so on.

What are your own thoughts on ageing?

Well, of course I want to be incredibly graceful and ideological about it. I want to age gracefully. I do love spending time with old people. My granny’s 94 and she’s one of my favourite people in the whole world. But at the same time, as a middle-aged woman of 48 in the process of the menopause, I’m losing what I had. It’s happening daily and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I feel quite vain. So I’m caught between two places and I think what this project has taught me is that the middle place is, in some ways, the hardest part of the ageing process. For women, when you finish the menopause, things change, you’re free, potentially, if you’ve still got health and fitness. You can have this whole other emancipated chapter, free of ties that bind you. In a way, I’m quite looking forward to it.

Has physical beauty become our obsession in this age of endless visual documentation?

Yes, yes, I utterly do believe that. I don’t know anybody that doesn’t hate it and feel a little bit imprisoned by it. It’s the ultimate end-of-capitalism prison; the body is our last site of exploitation for both men and women, trapped by the capitalist fiction that if we work harder, try harder and spend more money and time on it, we’ll be better, more attractive, successful and happier. It’s the ultimate product. It’s not just beauty, it’s a commodity.

You are a feminist. How do you feel when artists such as Nicki Minaj claim their porno chic videos are empowering for women?

I’m a massive Nicki Minaj fan. I was having a conversation about Beyoncé the other day, about girl power and how that space is also occupied by the capitalist machine, a product probably surrounded by men, even though the figurehead is a woman, steeped in the male gaze. Strong women are speaking up for themselves and owning their bodies… at least the illusion of that has got to be better than its opposite. I don’t think it’s entirely an illusion either. Nicki Minaj is emancipated and exciting for women - and still for men - so I’m conflicted about it but my daughter, I hope, grows up feeling very empowered by visual culture, gender fluid, even post-gender, not so concerned by the history and politics that Nicki Minaj has grown from.

• Find out more about Brighton Festival 2018

Overleaf: Watch a trailer for Creation (Pictures for Dorian)

Seth Kriebel, 45, is a performer, much of whose work involves audience participation. He is bringing the show A House Repeated to the Brighton Festival 2018 between 6^th and 11^th May. Of American origin, born and raised near Philadelphia, Kriebel moved to the UK in 2001 and, over the last few years, has achieved increasing profile and success with shows such as Beowulf, The Unbuilt Room and We This Way.

THOMAS H GREEN: Was your background in the States arts-orientated?

SETH KRIEBEL: This is always difficult to try and contextualise for a British audience. Where I’m from is roughly equivalent to Lancashire, in that it’s full of straight-talking working people, so mine wasn’t a particularly arts and culture household, but it wasn’t anti that either. The arts just didn’t figure that much.

What pushed you in the direction your career went?

I should clarify that I don’t in any way consider myself to be an actor. Actors tend to pretend to be other people. They play a character whereas the first thing my co-performer, Zoe Bouras, and I do when we walk on stage is announce, “Hello, I’m Seth, hello, I’m Zoe” so we’re performing but we’re not acting. This particular show came out of the fact I liked games when I was a teenager in the early Eighties. I liked computer games before the era of graphics so it was all text. All of the action and environments happened in your imagination. It was very much like reading a book, but it was interactive and the consequences of your decisions would unfold. The show I’m bringing to the Brighton Festival is very directly an attempt to capture that experience live.

When you were in the States, were you also involved in performative arts?

Not so much. My training was actually in film, so I was in film and television. Then I met my wife, moved over to Brighton with her job, phased out the film and TV and moved into the arts. For nine years I ran a company, Rules and Regs, which produced residencies for artists, so they could develop and try new things. It tended to be towards the performance side, whether visual art or a painter doing whacky experimental stuff. That kind of crossed me into doing my own stuff.

What are your thoughts on Brighton?

I love it, a great place to live. I wouldn’t live anywhere else in the UK. There’s always lots of energy and lots of stuff going on. It doesn’t feel huge and overwhelming like London can, but it’s close enough to London so you can access all the world-class things London has. Locally we have loads of amazing things too, but it’s still a place you can walk across in about an hour, and you’re always bumping into people you know so it has a neighbourly feel, with the energy of a city.

How many nights a week do you hit the town, then?

Zero, because I have a child.

A baby?

Not any more, she’s actually shockingly old now. When I look at her I go “[SHRIEKS]” and say, “When did you grow up?” But I’m, just sort of emerging from that younger child cocoon.

What was your favourite vintage video game?

I knew you were going to ask that but I don’t have one because I always played these games at my friend’s house. I didn’t have a computer, so I don’t remember the names of these different games. I just remember that feeling of looking at live glowing green text on a black background and how that could evoke such an amazing world to explore.

There were also books where you could choose your own story, weren’t there?

Yes, I had loads of Choose Your Own Adventure books which I loved dearly. They gave you a slightly different sense of interaction. They gave you a choice of A, B and C, whereas in the games you could type in anything and only some would get a response in terms of advancing the narrative. It was really up to you to figure out what you were going to do. I must warn you against using the term Choose Your Own Adventure too freely. A few years ago a theatre used that phrase to promote a different show I was doing and got rapped over the knuckles by the American company who own the copyright. It’s a trademarked phrase.

If you could work with anyone on the planet and money was no object, who would it be?

One of the central ideas behind the company Rules and Regs was imposing restrictions on all artists and then finding creativity in working your way around those restrictions. Restrictions breed creativity. Necessity is the mother of invention. So in my own practice I’m very much a cut-my-coat-according-to-my-cloth kind of guy. Having said that, Brian Eno, a previous Guest Director of the Brighton Festival, is very interesting in that he was one of the architects of Oblique Strategies which is a restriction system where you pick a card and then let that influence your artistic process, so he’d be quite fun to try something with.

You say you’re not an actor but your performance bears relation to stand-up, right?

Yeah, it’s not dissimilar to that. There isn’t a culture of storytelling outside of that for children. So I try to avoid using the word “storyteller” which, in a way, is what a stand-up comedian is, except all their stories are skewed for laughs. When we view something live that’s not comedy it tends to go into this narrative tradition – “I’m going to pretend to be a soldier” or whatever – so somewhere in that cultural gap I tend to sit, storytelling not for children. Like any story it depends very much on the audience. I’ve formalised that. Instead of just tailoring my delivery I actually ask the audience, “Ok what do you want to do now?”

The word storytelling also has connotations of hippies at festivals…

This is why I avoid that word, because it either conjurs a nice guy who’s going to really entertain a six-year-old, or kind of “Hey, man, let’s all sit cross-legged in a circle and just work things out”. Cool if that’s what you’re into but this is something completely different.

So what is it?

A House Repeated is one of those things that makes perfect sense when you’re there. It’s super-easy to understand, but whenever I do any press or write publicity copy it’s difficult to communicate quickly. Without trying to be pithy, here’s how it works. Zoe and I are standing on a bare stage between two banks of audience, so the audience is seated traverse, one half of the audience is facing the other half, and we’re in the middle. After the intro and all that, I turn to my half and I describe a place: “Imagine you’re standing outside. In front of you is a building.” That kind of thing. Then I give some options about where they might go and ask them what they’d like to do: “You can go through the door; you can go upstairs?” Go upstairs. Turn to another another member of the audience: “In that room you’ll find this.” Maybe there’s a bottle on the table, what do they want to do? They can interact. Zoe’s audience are also giving her instructions as to how to explore this imaginary environment. Now, as they navigate their way through, maybe a narrative or an implied narrative starts to unfold. Two different audiences are each controlling a different explorer, an avatar, and might see what the relationship is between them. That kind of thing. It’s hard to get that down in less than 50 words for a brochure.

What was the last thing you saw at the theatre?

Last night when I was in a show! Actually, it’s been a very busy beginning of the year where I’ve been performing a lot myself so the last thing I saw was A Christmas Carol at The Spire in Brighton, a church converted into an arts centre. My family were over from the States so we all went and it was a really enjoyable seasonal thing to do.

•  Find out more about Brighton Festival 2018

Fingers on buzzers… Question: What’s the connection between Days of Wine and Roses, Small Change, Making Noise Quietly and Versailles? Answer: They’re all past Donmar productions directed by Peter Gill.

In 2016 the Bristol Old Vic turned 250. To blow out the candles, England’s oldest continually running theatre summoned home one of its most splendid alumni.

“I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!” In 1976 American anger about the state of the nation was channelled into Network, in which cinema satirised its kid sibling television as vapid and opportunistic. Paddy Chayefsky’s script, directed by Sidney Lumet, starred Peter Finch as Howard Beale, a news anchor who has a nervous breakdown on screen in which he starts preaching and becomes the news. The failing network’s ratings soar, and an ambitious young executive Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway) latches onto his potential to boost the network’s stock value.

“He has something of Dillane about him.” Thus Patrick Marber on David Oakes. “I rate him very highly indeed. One of the very best of his generation.” Audiences at the Theatre Royal Haymarket will be able to judge for themselves this autumn. Oakes, 34, stars opposite Natalie Dormer in Marber’s production of Venus in Fur, a sizzling two-hander by David Ives.

Nikki Amuka-Bird spent the summer in Antigua, swimming and scuba diving and could have claimed to be working. She is playing Ellida in Ibsen’s The Lady from the Sea at the Donmar, in a version directed by Kwame Kwei-Armah transposed to the Caribbean.

Olivia Williams’s first film was, (in)famously, seen by almost no one. The Postman, Kevin Costner’s expensive futuristic misfire, may have summoned her from the depths of chronic unemployment, but the first time anyone actually clapped eyes on her was in Wes Anderson’s Rushmore, in which Bill Murray most understandably falls in love with her peachy reserved English rose. Then came The Sixth Sense, in which with great subtlety she in effect gave two performances as the wife/widow of Bruce Willis, depending on whether you were watching for the first or second time.

The summons to Hollywood was quite an introduction for someone whose entire twenties had been missed by all but fans of poetic dramas dutifully exhumed by the RSC. Her career since then has been a shining example of the old adage that a well-planned acting career is a marathon not a sprint. When Williams, armed with a degree in English from Cambridge, started attending auditions various famous contemporaries were always ahead of her in the queue. Some now work a great deal less than she does. Her CV includes her readings of great icons – Jane Austen in Miss Austen Regrets, Eleanor Roosevelt in Hyde Park on the Hudson. She was the tragically betrayed sister in The Heart of Me (source: Rosamond Lehman) and, by complete contrast, the finally triumphant wife of a PM in The Ghost (source: Robert Harris). There was a tragic echo of her nursery teacher from Rushmore in the secondary school teacher she played in An Education who is eager for her pupil not to throw off her future for love. She has also joined the trail of British actors starring in major US TV series in Joss Whedon’s Dollhouse and Manhattan, which told the story of the Manhattan Project. She was back on the BBC in The Halcyon, as the chatelaine of a smart hotel in wartime.

In all this screen work, Williams has been an occasional visitor to the stage. Whenever she does go back, as often as not it’s to the National: the Princess of France in Love’s Labour’s Lost, Amy O’Connell, who dies after an abortion in Harley Granville Barker’s Waste, and now in Lucy Kirkwood’s Mosquitoes. In Kirkwood’s first play since the award-winning Chimerica, Williams plays a high-achieving physicist domiciled in Switzerland, lured thither by the Large Hadron Collider at Cern. Her sister Emily, played by Olivia Colman, a low-achiever stuck in Luton. Hark what discord follows (pictured below: the two Olivias in rehearsal). Olivia Williams talks to theartsdesk.JASPER REES: Mosquitoes is not entirely a science play, but is there a part of you that reads a script with a lot of arcane language in it and thinks, how am I going to make this fly?

OLIVIA WILLIAMS: No because as an actor you’re constantly pretending you can do things that you can’t, be it speak a foreign language, dance, ride a horse, juggle. You find ways of looking like or sounding like or dressing as if you do know what you’re talking about, and you try and learn the lines well enough that it falls out of your body as it would out of somebody who does know what they’re talking about. Problems arise if anything goes in any way off piste. At the moment I’m struggling with logarithm and algorithm which I am sure are two very different things, and I swear I heard a physicist snort with derision when I stumbled over the line last night – and then you fall into a black hole, which is a relevant analogy in this play, and you can’t get out again. But it’s no more frightening than if you’re trying to pretend you can juggle and you drop a ball or when the horse turns left when you thought you were telling it to turn right – neck reining in the US works on the opposite principle to UK reins, which makes for disaster when acting on a horse on a precipice.

On  Manhattan they found us physicists to talk to and they sort of rolled their eyes in an “I thought as much” way. Because actors don’t ask them about particle physics; we ask them what model of Birkenstock they wear to work or what they had for breakfast or whether they have time to brush their hair in the morning. You ask all the wrong questions for a physicist but the right questions when you’re trying to impersonate a physicist.

When reading the play it was fairly clear to me that you would be playing Alice not Jenny.

I’m very very offended by that. Nonetheless you are correct.

Is there a part of you that would love to be cast as the calamitous dimwit?When I did The Heart of Me I clearly stated in the audition that I wanted to be up for the Helena Bonham Carter ditzy arty sister with loose morals and a free spirit, not the uptight needed-a-good-shag-against-a-firm-surface sister. And recently when I was in Waste there were two roles I could have played – the earnest, possibly lesbian, bluestocking sister and the tragic party girl. I asked if I might be considered for tragic party girl. I owe it to the broadmindedness of Roger Michell that he agreed to cast me as Amy O’Connell. So on one occasion that has come to pass. Not one disapproving or over-educated phrase escaped her lips (pictured above: Williams with Charles Edwards in Waste, photo by Johan Persson).

In Mosquitoes you’re playing a scientist from a family of scientists and Jenny is the odd one out. That is somewhat analogous to your own position as the only non-barrister in a family of barristers. Do you ever wonder what would have happened if you’d gone into law or has the decision to veer away from the family trade felt right all the way through?

No, I’m constantly yearning for the barrister’s life. I consider it a stupid mistake on a regular basis. But the thing that convinces me that it wouldn’t have gone so well is I do have a zero capacity to read things I don’t want to read and lawyers do have to do a lot of homework. The only reason I learn lines is because I love acting. And if I don’t love something I really can’t do it. I’m just incredibly lucky that I manage to earn money doing something I love. It’s a terrible example to my children. I am constantly telling them to do things they don’t want to do when I know I never did and I never could. I think my greatest regret is I’m never cast as a lawyer. Never been a lawyer. I’ve actually been in an audition and given them my best lawyer and they go, “No, no, lawyers don’t do that.” And I’m like, “No they do, that’s exactly what they do!”. But I look forward to impersonating my parents one day. Maybe I’ll make it onto the Bench instead. Time for a TV series about judges.

Why do you love acting?

I’m just about as happy as I can be between action and cut and between curtain up and curtain down. I remember coming back from my first day of acting in The Sixth Sense. I’d been hanging around in Philadelphia for weeks and then I got to do a scene. I came off the set and the driver said, “Are you on drugs or something? You’ve got a dumb smile on your face.” And I said, “No, I’ve just spent the day acting. I couldn’t be happier.”

Although you didn’t go into law, you do have a very good degree from a very good place. Has it been useful to you, that immersion in English literature?

For the record it was a pretty average degree from a very good place. but that’s a good question. On immediately leaving that university and going to drama school I think I was given a hard time about it and I was resentful of that. “You come here with your Oxbridge ways” was the underlying tone. But the truth is that I did go there with my Oxbridge ways, and when I started acting professionally and watching other actors act I finally realised that a critical approach to the text is a massive handicap - you shouldn’t be finding fault with the text, or tracing its roots in the Indo-European tradition, you’re trying to be it. I learned so much from [the actress] Anastasia Hille – more about acting than anybody else. Her approach to the words was entirely emotional, and that needs to be your response. You need to stop judging it and incorporate it in the literal sense of the word – turn the text into a part of your body. Embody it.

But I have found as I got older that a facility with language, an understanding of how it’s constructed and connecting what I learned with what I’ve observed, feeds my pleasure in what I do. Lucy Kirkwood breaks down language and punctuation in a completely courageous way – it’s almost like doing a verbatim play where actors have to learn exact pauses and intakes of breath. But what you find with Mosquitoes is that it looks like it’s verbatim and all very naturalistic, then you realise it’s incredibly musical. It’s like jazz. I say that cautiously because there was a programme on Radio 4, which is the fount of most things interesting and truthful, about how the phrase “it’s like jazz” is overused and misused. But there is incredible syncopation and layering of different rhythms in Lucy's language. When you see it on the page it’s terrifying. I have a wonderful accent and voice coach called Jill McCullough and she has a learning technique where you click your fingers for a comma and clap your hands for a full stop. And that has made learning Mosquitoes – and I say this advisedly – like jazz.When were you last asked about The Postman?

There was a nasty rash of conversations that came up over coffee in the rehearsal room. I was being asked by the young ones about my professional snog list which I still maintain is pretty impressive even though it only is appreciated by someone of our generation. To younger actors it’s just this list of old men that their grannies fancied. That was the last time I was asked about The Postman.

That phase when you were in three big films with Kevin Costner, Bill Murray and Bruce Willis was quite an introduction to the film industry. How do you now think of that phase of your career?

I had a great time and I can’t really believe it happened in some ways. It was like being kidnapped by aliens. I guess if you look at some of my contemporaries, I’m not there any more, I’m not in Hollywood, not living there and not fighting the fight. And yet rehearsing this play here and now I really can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be. I do genuinely believe that if that hadn’t happened to me I wouldn’t be doing this work now. I got incredible access and insight to amazing things (Carrie Fisher's Oscar party) and amazing places (dropped from a helicopter onto a snowy peak at Jackson Hole). I went from complete ignorance to working with some of the foremost people in their field and I would have been an idiot not to learn from that - to appreciate that.

The Sixth Sense was shot by Tak Fujimoto who shot Rosemary’s Baby. I made a film with Roman Polanski, seeing what lens he uses, where he puts the camera, how he constructs a scene. I’ve made a film with Wes Anderson. And just to be in the orbit of Bill Murray – he is an extraordinary man and an extraordinary actor and an extraordinary mind. I’ve worked with him twice in two inconceivably different films. I took Bill Murray to see Richard Briers in Ionesco’s absurdist play The Chairs on Broadway. Bill knelt at Richard’s feet in awe. It’s making me smile now, to remember it. And I learned about acting on film. Kevin was directing and acting in The Postman so he would haul me over to the monitor and show me my work and show me how to make it better. Absolute masterclass. Whatever you say about Kevin – you might not say anything about Kevin, never mind have an opinion on his oeuvre – but he knows how to work it on film. He knows what he’s doing.

You have done two big television shows in the States, Dollhouse and Manhattan, both of which were cancelled. Was two seasons enough for you in both cases?

Whenever I do a job I do it to be best of my ability. I might fight like a dog during negotiations not to go away from my family for four months of the year, and certainly I fight being trapped in feudal contracts that were made illegal in England around the time of Magna Carta. But once again I have been very lucky. I adored Dollhouse (pictured above) and was directed by Joss Whedon who wrote all my dialogue and I joined his crazy Whedonesque world – I had absolutely no idea of its existence, but a working knowledge of Comic Con and sci-fi is probably more relevant to an actor now than reading The Empty Space.

I loved Manhattan. I fought going to live in Santa Fe, but ended up galloping around the high desert with some fearless cowboys and I learned things about the atomic weapon that are very useful to an Eighties member of CND. I would not have missed it for the world and it was heartbreaking when it was cancelled. We needed another season of Manhattan. We shot the Trinity test but never made it to the dropping of the bomb, and I think it is a matter of some urgency that we remind ourselves of the consequences of atomic warfare. The fallout from the Trinity test is still killing people in New Mexico.Countess Vronsky in Anna Karenina, Lady Priscilla Hamilton in The Halcyon (pictured above), Mrs Adam Lang in The Ghost, Eleanor Roosevelt in Hyde Park on the Hudson: there’s a common denominator there in that all your husbands go off with another woman. Is there a certain type of person you get asked to play on screen?

When you first start acting, a young woman’s drama is traditionally centred around finding a husband, and ends with her marriage. I suppose it is progress that in the middle period of my career, the drama followed me into marriage but seemed to centre on the fact that every single one of my husbands died – The Postman, Rushmore, [spoiler alert] Sixth Sense. I had to warn any man cast as my husband, “You’re not going to make it to the final credits.” I am grateful that great parts are being written for middle-aged women, but as you rightly point out, the drama now seems to centre on the fact that aged around 49, my character’s husband – if she has managed to find one and he’s not dead – is going to fuck somebody else.

• Mosquitoes is at the National Theatre until 28 September

Overleaf: Olivia Williams's filmography in pictures