On second thoughts, I just realised my LFF2011 experience actually began at 6pm on the first Thursday of the festival with a reception for Drake Doremus and Felicity Jones, who arrived, sadly minus co-star Anton Yelchin, to promote their semi-improvised drama Like Crazy. I saw the film – a beautifully low-key two-hander about two students navigating a transatlantic relationship after college – in Sundance and liked it very much; it won the Grand Jury prize there but reviewers here weren't quite so kind, which is a shame. I'd spoken to Doremus earlier in the day (in fact, first thing) and I was really taken with his intelligence. It would be a shame if his work didn't take root here since, in some ways, the UK is his spiritual home – Doremus's working methods owe more to the likes of Mike Leigh and, more relevantly, Michael Winterbottom – and I'm looking forward to his new (untitled) film, which stars Guy Pearce and will hopefully be ready for Cannes. That film will also star Jones, who set me on the back foot by assuring me that we'd met before. I didn't think we had but, by Jove she was right: we met fleetingly on the set of of Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's Cemetery Junction (which I've still never seen). I might check it out if only to see her no doubt small part; this 27-year-old should definitely be on everyone's actors-to-watch-out-for list.
There are also plenty of new faces to watch out for in Alexandra McGuinness's Lotus Eaters (above), which had the misfortune to premiere down at the BFI Southbank at the same time as George Clooney's Ides Of March. Lotus Eaters is a strange film, and its definitely Marmite reputation preceded it (the film made its world premiere at Tribeca in the spring and the vapour trail of good and bad reviews make interesting reading). I must admit that it isn't wholly successful, not least because the episodic nature of the story – and the collage-like approach to scenes and character – often conspire to pull the viewer out of what, after all, is just an 80-minute movie. But there are plenty of scenes and moments in Lotus Eaters that will stay with me; the music choices are especially good (notably the use of Je Suis Bien by Los Super Elegantes) and the young cast is very, very promising.
The film tells the story of rich-girl Alice (Antonia Campbell-Hughes) and her social set. Alice is dating a junkie, and her life is a mad swirl of hipster parties. That's pretty much it for narrative, since this is the story of a girl in a bubble, and the harshest reviews have come from those who feel the film is overly sympathetic to such self-absorbed and selfish creatures. It is, however, to McGuinness's credit that there's little or no moralising about these people; some audience members at the second Q&A noted parallels with Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies, and McGuinness responded well to that (perhaps having expected people to be asking, ‘Is this you?’ ‘Are these awful people your friends?’). An obvious point of reference would be Sofia Coppola, and the film's crisp monochrome does reflect a similar aesthetic, but, weirdly, I think the film has a quaint, olde-worlde quality, which impressed me. I liked the idea that, at times, it looked like an undiscovered Warhol film from the late 60s, and I think there's a certain (deliberate) suggestion that this floundering generation of the young, directionless and privileged has been with us throughout time.
The next day was incredible; I missed the Harry Belafonte documentary Sing Your Song in Sundance and was looking forward to seeing it. I thought the film would be great on archive footage and end with the 84-year-old padding around the house and reminiscing. How wrong I was; Belafonte's story just doesn't stop. It begins with the roots of the Civil Rights movement as far back as the 40s, and it is truly mind-blowing not only to see what Belonte achieved then and was prepared to stand up for in those dark times but to realise just how much respect and power he had at the height of his fame. In the 60s he was actively courted by JFK, and the footage shown in Susanne Rostock's film suggests that not only was Belafonte no pushover, he definitely had the President's ear. Belafonte's career in activism just spirals from that point, and he remains tireless; not only did he campaign for the release of Nelson Mandela, he was also a kingpin in the We Are The World charity single. Today, he remains focused on the plight of Africans, is an ambassador for UNICEF and spends a lot of his spare time visiting prisons, where he gives talks to the inmates.
There are also plenty of new faces to watch out for in Alexandra McGuinness's Lotus Eaters (above), which had the misfortune to premiere down at the BFI Southbank at the same time as George Clooney's Ides Of March. Lotus Eaters is a strange film, and its definitely Marmite reputation preceded it (the film made its world premiere at Tribeca in the spring and the vapour trail of good and bad reviews make interesting reading). I must admit that it isn't wholly successful, not least because the episodic nature of the story – and the collage-like approach to scenes and character – often conspire to pull the viewer out of what, after all, is just an 80-minute movie. But there are plenty of scenes and moments in Lotus Eaters that will stay with me; the music choices are especially good (notably the use of Je Suis Bien by Los Super Elegantes) and the young cast is very, very promising.
The film tells the story of rich-girl Alice (Antonia Campbell-Hughes) and her social set. Alice is dating a junkie, and her life is a mad swirl of hipster parties. That's pretty much it for narrative, since this is the story of a girl in a bubble, and the harshest reviews have come from those who feel the film is overly sympathetic to such self-absorbed and selfish creatures. It is, however, to McGuinness's credit that there's little or no moralising about these people; some audience members at the second Q&A noted parallels with Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies, and McGuinness responded well to that (perhaps having expected people to be asking, ‘Is this you?’ ‘Are these awful people your friends?’). An obvious point of reference would be Sofia Coppola, and the film's crisp monochrome does reflect a similar aesthetic, but, weirdly, I think the film has a quaint, olde-worlde quality, which impressed me. I liked the idea that, at times, it looked like an undiscovered Warhol film from the late 60s, and I think there's a certain (deliberate) suggestion that this floundering generation of the young, directionless and privileged has been with us throughout time.
The next day was incredible; I missed the Harry Belafonte documentary Sing Your Song in Sundance and was looking forward to seeing it. I thought the film would be great on archive footage and end with the 84-year-old padding around the house and reminiscing. How wrong I was; Belafonte's story just doesn't stop. It begins with the roots of the Civil Rights movement as far back as the 40s, and it is truly mind-blowing not only to see what Belonte achieved then and was prepared to stand up for in those dark times but to realise just how much respect and power he had at the height of his fame. In the 60s he was actively courted by JFK, and the footage shown in Susanne Rostock's film suggests that not only was Belafonte no pushover, he definitely had the President's ear. Belafonte's career in activism just spirals from that point, and he remains tireless; not only did he campaign for the release of Nelson Mandela, he was also a kingpin in the We Are The World charity single. Today, he remains focused on the plight of Africans, is an ambassador for UNICEF and spends a lot of his spare time visiting prisons, where he gives talks to the inmates.
I was expecting to be a little intimidated by this amazing man but I wasn't at all. Belafonte has a great sense of humour and a wonderful, approachable manner, best represented when he slyly asked, “Are there any cameras around?” before closing his eyes for a second. (Mrs Belafonte has the best take on Harrygate: when we discussed the obviously exaggerated reports that her husband had managed to “fall asleep” on live TV in the US, she sighed, “He doesn't sleep like that...”) The Q&A was to be cut short, but Belafonte had heard that there was a group of international students in the audience and asked if we could carry on. So an empty cinema in the Vue was found, and for the next hour I moderated a fascinating conversation between Belafonte and these incredibly attentive youngsters. Belafonte's passion knocked me for six, especially when he told the audience that the starting point for any would-be activist is not to be a victim: whether it be a victim of society or, more importantly, a victim of a lack of information. In the bar afterwards I asked Belafonte why he hadn't made more movies and he replied, candidly, that he didn't care for an industry that wanted to neuter and censor him. If you haven't seen it, check out his 1959 Harbel production Odds Against Tomorrow and see what Hollywood could have had but missed out on. 
The Friday screening of Dexter Fletcher's Wild Bill was fantastically well received, with stars Charlie Creed-Miles, Jaime Winstone, Olivia Williams, Will Poulter, Charlotte Spencer, Sammy Williams and a cravat-wearing Jason Flemyng (left, red carpet only) on hand to support the director. I bailed on the premiere party afterwards, following a great catch-up with Kill List's Neil Maskell, and missed the evening morphing into the afterparty for the Eddie Marsan vehicle Junkhearts, which I wasn't too wild about. The following night I chaired an interesting debate with Frightfest's Alan Jones, the BFI's Jane Giles and Cine-Excess's Xavier Mendik, who was promoting his book 100 Cult Movies. We all showed clips of our favourite cult films in a bit to determine what the term “cult” really means: Jones chose Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls, Giles had Haxan and Cafe Flesh, while Mendik went for The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. My choice was a clip from Mario Bava's Bay Of Blood, which, in retrospect suggested a slight horror bias, a fact the audience was quick to pick up on.If you were there, I can only apologise for the sudden ending of the debate, which was due to the space only being booked for an hour and my having to be at Bafta for 9pm for a post-Take Shelter Q&A with its star, Michael Shannon. I'd met Shannon in Sundance last year at a junket for The Runaways, so I thought I knew what to expect. But, spending a little more time with him, I was surprised to find him a much more thoughtful and humorous man than I'd imagined; very humble, very modest and especially good on the curious details of low-budget filmmaking (on his first film with Take Shelter director Jeff Nichols he found himself staying in the bedroom of a charity worker, who had given pride of place to a giant plastic sculpture of the human colon). We ended by talking about his role as General Zod in Man Of Steel, for which he was recommended by Watchmen's Billy Crudup. I have to say, it's the main thing about the new Superman movie that excites me.
The following Tuesday was the press conference for Anonymous, which was held at Claridge's. I was coming from an interview with David Cronenberg for A Dangerous Method and jumped in a cab, hoping for some quiet time before being thrown to the wolves (Vanessa Redgrave had just been added to the line-up). In a cab ride lasting less than ten minutes I was assailed by a cab driver who thought Redgrave was “at least 80” (she's 74), told me she'd been in the paper that day (it was Vanessa Feltz), showed me a picture of Robin Gibb looking very ill and then went on to discuss a TV programme about mummification. I arrived in a state of nervous distress, especially thinking that Roland Emmerich's film had been targeted for an RSC fatwa, but the director and cast – Rafe Spall, Rhys Ifans, Joely Richardson, Vanessa Redgrave, David Thewlis and Jamie Campbell Bower – could not have handled it better. Ifans and Richardson were especially good when it came to defending Emmerich's film, but Thewlis and Spall were funny too, as you'll see from this taster.
Tuesday night was spent avoiding the filmmakers at a reception for The Awakening, which I wasn't too fond of, and Wednesday saw a surprise invitation to join producer Jeremy Thomas and David Cronenberg for a (fully clothed) lunch to promote A Dangerous Method. Thomas was whisked away before I could grill him about his upcoming projects – he's just finished a film about Thor Heyerdahl, is planning a Kim Jong-Il movie and an as-yet-untitled film with Jim Jarmusch, has hopes for more films with Takashi Miike and Takeshi Kitano, and also has a production of JG Ballard's long-gestating High Rise in the works – but his replacement, Cronenberg, was a great conversationalist too, mostly when talking about the practicalities of finance. He also revealed that he has never been approached about the remake rights for his 1983 film Videodrome (“They'd have to deal with the internet,” he noted dryly), which enabled me to sleep safely that night.
The festival ended on Thursday night; I missed Terence Davies's hypnotic and moving film The Deep Blue Sea, having seen (and liked) it in London several weeks ago, so instead I chaired a Bafta Q&A at the Empire with Source Code director Duncan Jones and his producer Stuart Fenegan. Excitingly, Jones revealed that he had just sent out a new script; he wouldn't be drawn on details but said that a) it was another sci-fi, b) wasn't his long-planned project Mute and c) was a futuristic “city movie” in the vein of Blade Runner. After the Q&A we hopped in a cab and went over to the closing-night party, where things began to get a little sketchy. Festivities came to an end at a very early 1am-ish, at which point I made my excuses and left, having had a very enjoyable couple of weeks. This year, it was especially sad to say goodbye to outgoing festival director Sandra Hebron, who leaves on a high after 15 years with the LFF, a period that has seen the festival somewhat transformed from a small, Southbank-based affair to a world-class event. But I'm happy to report that Hebron's successor, Australian import Clare Stewart, has a reputation to match, coming from the similarly revitalised Sydney Film Festival. The LFF is in safe hands, and all I can say is that I'm already looking forward to next year, whether I'm involved with it or not.
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