One morning about four o'clock I was driving my car just about as fast as I could. I thought Why am I out this time of night? I was miserable and it came to me: I'm falling in love with somebody I have no right to fall in love with.

My nominee for Best Picture of the year - maybe the best picture ever because it's essentially made up of and is an ecstatic love letter to all other movies - is Christian Marclay's endlessly enticing must-see masterpiece 'The Clock.'

And at five o'clock in the morning we left to drive to Old Tucson and I sat with my mouth open in the van. I was stunned by the beauty of that country.

A metaphysical tour de force of untethered meaning and involuting interlocking contrapuntal rhythms 'The Clock' is more than a movie or even a work of art. It is so strange and other-ish that it becomes a stream-of-consciousness algorithm unto itself - something almost inhuman.

Switzerland is a small steep country much more up and down than sideways and is all stuck over with large brown hotels built on the cuckoo clock style of architecture.

I had an amazing childhood lots of love. But my dad worked his tail off getting up at 4 in the morning and going off at 5 6 o'clock yet he always had time to spend with his kids and his wife.