I returned from the bar to see Myself squinting at my hastily written notes and I hoped he hadn’t turned the paper over to see what I owed the electricity board.

 

cannes-open-nightMe was still drinking from his second pint in deliberate little sips that I knew would eventually illicit some abuse from the currently preoccupied Myself.

 

They simply could not find it in themselves to get along.

 

So, next question. I said as I sat.

 

Why a Worcestershire Film Festival? Myself read and then, to my dismay, he tapped a finger to the red letters printed to the papers reverse side and tutted.

 

Me, who hadn’t noticed, quietly mumbled; I guess it has to be somewhere.

 

Myself snapped Me a look and Me hung his head as in reply as he sheepishly concluded by saying, well, you know, it puts us on the map doesn’t it?

 

Its a celebration of film, it speaks of its heritage and the history of the cinema, I offered and Myself turned his glare in my direction.

 

Have you seen my place? Now that’s a celebration of film. Myself snapped

 

It doesn’t make a film festival less of one, I argued back.

 

No it doesn’t, but you miss my point, Myself continued. Remember what we said about film being a universe to itself? Remember what we also said about what it takes to be a film maker? Do you remember all that?silver_cinema

 

I opened my mouth to answer but overcome by the sound of his own voice Myself plunged onward.

 

Well I do! And a festival of film is a lot more than a celebration, its an embassy where the ambassadors of film, the film makers themselves, can hob knob with the common folk and bask in the glory if their well deserved appreciation.

 

Myself stopped and sat back, plucking the drink from the table in one practiced swoop of his hand.

 

He obviously felt quite pleased with himself.

 

Me and I were quite dumbfounded by his monologue, we looked at each other and Me shook his head in stunned silence.

 

Well you’re… partly correct, I offered diplomatically, I suppose you could see the festival as a embassy of sorts. Film makers are certainly ambassadors, I couldn’t disagree with that!

 

Its more than that though, Me interrupted, it inspires people to tell their own stories, make their own films and it legitimatises the film making process at an amateur level.

 

I don’t like the term amateur, Myself grumbled.

 

Well then you’re the one missing the point! Me almost shouted. Its the amateurs you have to watch, it the amateurs who create the art and try the unexpected. Professionals can’t do these things, their job is to make money and you don’t make money with art or creative statements. To be an amateur is to be an artist!

 

And where’s the only place you can get to see an amateurs work on the big screen? I asked, fanning the flames (and admittedly enjoying Myself’s discomfort in the process).

 

emily-puppetA festival! Me and I stated together.

 

Sheepishly Myself smiled a small smile.

 

Admittedly that’s true, he said with an air of reluctance.

 

So what is the answer to our question? I asked finally.

 

Myself collected his thoughts for a moment.

 

A festival is where ambassadors of film can meet with each other and their public, and where experiments and honest attempts at art can be shown and given time in the light of a projector. Myself said with careful consideration.

 

But why here? I asked.

 

Because it should be where people need a voice. Me added.

 

Ahh, Myself smiled and glanced over Me and I, bring on the freak show beauty and let the carnival brilliance begin! And with that he drained his glass.

 

Oh, Myself? I asked and he looked up with the same manic grin on his face.

 

I think its your round. I said and offered my empty glass.

 

Then Me and I began to grin as the smile slipped from Myself’s face.