On Sunday I had the privilege of being one of the ‘celebrities’ who were invited to select and introduce a favourite film at the Cromarty Film Festival.  This is a very cunning ploy, as it enables the festival to be billed as ‘My Favourite Film Festival’.  Nice double meaning there.  The event packed an enormous number of talks and screenings into just three days—perhaps almost too much, as one of the organisers admitted, as the scheduling was very tight, necessitating some frantic dashes between venues.

Actually, the process is quite clever, as each guest was asked to nominate a shortlist of five films, from which just one would be chosen depending on availability of films, and the overall balance of the programme.  I cheated, and didn’t actually choose my real favourite (which would be either the Micheal Mann Last of the Mohicans, which pops up on TV all the time, or the Russian War and Peace, which lasts over seven hours!).  Instead I chose a number of movies that I’d like to see again, and was delighted that the final choice fell on Jacques Tati’s masterpiece, Playtime, which I don’t think I’ve seen for at least twenty years.

The format works very well, with a host discussing the choice of films with the guest for 10-15 minutes before the screening, and, if time permits, some discussion at the end as well. I was a bit nervous about being programmed at 4.30 on Sunday afternoon, the third and last day of the festival, but in the event some 35 people turned out, making a good showing in the intimate setting of the Old Brewery.  Playtime  worked its slow magic all over again, and it was good to hear so much hearty laughter from people seeing the film for the first time.

Judith and I then went on to the Stables, up the hill, to catch another French masterpiece, Tous les Matins du Monde, introduced by Donald Shaw and Karen Matheson.  This is a film that really needs to be seen like this, in a darkened room, not on TV.  Telling the partly true story of the great 17^th century viol player Marin Marais, and his reclusive teacher, the film is hugely intense, and in its last half hour just gets quieter, darker, more enclosed and more focused.  I was surprised at how well DVD projection presented this film, especially the soundtrack, which is so crucially important.  With an audience of over 80, inevitably some people had sightline problems, notably with the subtitles, and that’s always likely to be an issue when adapting venues for a special event like this.  But it’s fascinating that, as with the Ballerina Ballroom event in Nairn a couple of months ago, these festivals can attract audiences who would be very unlikely to come out for such films as part of a regular, ongoing programme.

Over a late dinner in the excellent Sutor Creek, co-founder Dave Newman, though tired and hungry, was radiant about the success of the festival—the numbers attending, the numbers volunteering (over 50 in a community of just 700) and the general feelings of enthusiasm and good will.  Yet more evidence that small can be not just beautiful, but very effective.