Lovely setting, good actors, but where's the festival? Hugh Linehan, a panellist at Dubrovnik's annual movie shindig, waits for the audience to turn up
In my experience as an arts journalist, it's usually a sign of the best cultural shindigs that they force you to confront life's most profound questions. Who am I? Why am I here? What's the purpose of all this? And who's picking up the tab?
On that basis, if no other, last week's Third Dubrovnik International Film Festival can be adjudged a resounding success. After all, what better setting for a film festival than this jewel of the Adriatic.
"If you want to see heaven on earth, come to Dubrovnik," advised George Bernard Shaw.
So when an invitation landed on my desk a couple of months ago to participate in a panel debate on Books Into Film at this year's event, my response was both prompt and enthusiastic. Arrangements were made, flights were booked, and last week I was happily winging my way to the Dalmatian coast.
So why, three days later, am I standing stony-faced in a lift, with the festival director, on the verge of tears (her, not me), telling me she's not a bad person? How did it come to this?
Slightly worryingly, on the opening day of the festival there is no programme. When the programme does arrive, it contains no information on venues or times. The opening night presentation, of Charles Dance's Ladies in Lavender, is marred for me by eccentric projection which cuts the actors' faces in half, and for other viewers by the fact that less than half the film has been subtitled in Croatian. It's becoming apparent that the Third Dubrovnik Film Festival is going to be a little, well, disorganised.
There's also the small question of the audience. Very small. Where is it? Does anybody in the city know or care that Christopher Walken, John Hurt, Charles Dance and Emily Watson are here to talk about their films? Does anybody actually know there's a festival happening? And why are there no evening screenings? Could somebody have forgotten to book the venues?
A public interview and award-giving ceremony with Walken is saved from toe-curling embarrassment by the simple expedient of rooting out the occupants of a nearby youth hostel to at least partly fill the auditorium, an exquisite little 19th-century theatre. But at other screenings, tumbleweed blows down the aisles.
Director John Irvin arrives to introduce his Ireland-set film, The Boys and Girl from County Clare. The cinema is not available, and the movie (on DVD) is relocated to the local library, where the audience consists of a projectionist, a festival programmer and Irvin himself. Wisely, the post-screening Q&A session is abandoned. At a panel discussion on the art of screenwriting, the panel is only barely outnumbered by the audience, most of whom are other festival guests. Virtually all the proceedings are conducted in English, with no Croatian translation. To be fair, there are hardly any Croats present.
I'M A PROFESSIONAL. I've been in much worse situations than this. The weather is beautiful, as is the city. The company is good, the seafood excellent, and everyone seems slightly anaesthetised by the situation. It's like being in one of those Europudding movies: an eccentric house party somewhere in Mitteleuropa where all the parts are played by English-speaking actors. Christopher Walken, Charles Dance, Emily Watson and John Hurt - the perfect cast. All we need is a murder. We may not need to wait long.
There is a ripple of disquiet among the guests. Rumours are circulating that the festival has run out of money. A hoped-for cheque from the Croatian Ministry of Culture has not materialised. Most of the staff have disappeared. There are further problems with the venues. Who will pay the bills? Who will pay our bills? Those guests who had been asked for credit cards when checking into their hotels are facing the prospect of - eek! - being charged for their stay. Those of us who have paid for our own flights and were assured of reimbursement on arrival are starting to feel a little agitated.
One eminent American journalist suggests we might throw ourselves on the mercy of the cruise-ship tourists who flood Dubrovnik every morning. We could make cardboard placards: "Will discuss cinema for food."
The next day, we finally manage to collar the elusive festival director. There is what is described in diplomatic circles as a free and frank exchange of views. It is suggested that we might care to wait for our reimbursement pending a post-festival fundraising drive. This is not well-received. It would be shocking to imply that threats are made, but . . . threats are made. Tears are shed. It's not pretty.
At last, half an hour before I leave for the airport, I get my reimbursement. Over the next two days, other guests and festival workers do the same. Apparently, the Ministry of Culture has finally come through. Whether it's enough to cover all the bills is a moot point - several people are still severely out of pocket.
The pity of all this is that Dubrovnik is potentially a great place for a film festival. As even this year's event showed, the city is alluring enough to attract the sort of stars and film-makers that other festivals would kill for. And it hosts many other highly successful cultural events throughout the summer. But some serious re-thinking is needed before the city begins planning for the Fourth Dubrovnik International Film Festival.