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I love big films, but I love little films such as these even more – works made by a single author, as writers write and painters paint. These are films that I can watch happily in the cinema with a crowd, or in someone’s living room with a group of friends, or on my laptop. I also carry them around in my head. Some are the product of intense planning, calculation and manual dexterity (Lye, Brakhage, Markopoulos, Gidal, Svankmajer), while the Warhol couldn’t be more hands off. The others lie somewhere in between – more a case of ‘an image seized’ (Tait and Sherwin) or a single concept elegantly expressed (Wearing). They’re all great and universal in appeal, but another day I might give a completely different list.