I have to say that, on balance, it was quite a disappointing experience and I'll explain why. We arrived at the organiser's stall at 1pm (the festival ran from 12pm to 8pm) to find that all of the ticketed events were now full, so we had to make do with visits to the other things that were going on. Now that's not really the fault of the organisers - if anything it's a testament to how popular this annual festival has become.
The first venue that we tried, the Maurice Eindhart Neu Gallery (one of more than 80 places listed as participating on the day) had cancelled their event featuring Baltic film, which we discovered when a dishevelled young man leaning around a half-open door mumbled something about someone pulling out at the last minute. This was a particular disappointment to the Lithuanian friend that I was visiting the festival with, but we soldiered on to the Redchurch Bar hoping to see something interesting. Instead we sat for a few minutes sipping Jamaican Ginger Ale that magically transformed into £3 cocktails when they were poured from their cans into the dirtiest pint glasses I've ever seen in a London bar, while a stuttering DVD of pop videos played on an old TV in the corner. Not a great start!
At this point we seriously considered going for a curry and then heading home but fortunately our next visit was a much more positive experience - an expertly organised event with a Jewish theme in the Brady Arts Centre on Hanbury Street, where we had the opportunity to listen to old East End poet and novelist, Bernard Kops, recite some of his material including 'Whitechapel Library, Aldgate East' which has become a bit of an anthem in recent months for people fighting library closures. There was also a stimulating and rather passionate lecture from Dr Gil Toffell about Jewish cinema and audiences in the East End between the wars which included some wonderful photographs of many of the area's long-lost architectural gems. Our next visit was also pleasant - sitting amongst an enthusiastic crowd of film fans on comfortable chairs in the ground floor area of the Brickhouse bar/restaurant/cabaret lounge to watch the winner and runners up in the 2010 Aesthetica Short Film Competition, including a rather shocking Swedish film about a young girl's position in the family being supplanted by the arrival of a new pet cat, a funny British animation about the guilt of a polluting factory and a rather thoughtful piece about the relationship between a young thief and a centenarian Polish fighter pilot.
We should have quit while we were ahead, but there were further failures in store before we finally gave up and went for a drink at Dirty Dicks down the road near Liverpool St. We headed off to Spitalfields Market to see the photography exhibition featuring music journalist and photographer Roger Sargent, and London documentary photographer Phil Maxwell which was advertised as being from 12 until 6pm, however we arrived at 5pm to find that the photographs had been packed away and the display stands were empty. Surprisingly, although it had been advertised as an all-day affair in the programme, staff at 93 Feet East said that there was nothing going on when we turned up there either.
My advice to the organisers for future festivals would be to drastically cut down the number of venues taking part, and carry out a bit more quality control when selecting participants. Clearly some of the venues that had put their names into the hat weren't really that bothered, while others were obviously in it just to get more customers through the doors and had no real interest in film or art. I'm sure that the ticketed venues did the festival proud, given their ongoing commitment to film and entertainment - Rich Mix and the Aubin Gallery and Cinema being the most notable venues involved this year, but they really do need to lose some of the dross before the festival loses its shine...
Finally, at the risk of repeating myself, £3 for a can of soft drink served in dirty glasses by completely disinterested staff is absolutely unacceptable - I'm looking at you, Redchurch Bar. Disgusting in several different respects!
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