Catherine Deneuve and Imogen Poots, having feasted on tomato ravioli with basil and coulis of green zebra tomatoes — and get this, infused with lemon thyme! — were leaving the Women in Cinema dinner at Eden Roc at the fabled Hotel du Cap as I pulled up in an Uber.
Wait! That was only the starter. The main course consisted of fillet of John Dory with black olive barigoule of artichokes.
Anyhow, Deneuve and Poots were outta the building. They were done. I cased the dining room and observed that the trio of deserts — strawberry and elderflower profiterole, bergamot cheesecake and chocolate pecan tart — remained untouched where they’d been seated. (By the way, nobody seems to hang around for pudding nowadays. Is that a weight-watching thing? Such a waste.) I popped a couple of the tiny profiteroles in my mouth. Yum.
I had been invited by the Red Sea Film Foundation for the afterparty. No offense was taken. The dinner was for Women in Cinema, not blokes, though David Taghioff, CEO of Library Pictures International, was invited. He was ensconced at the far end of a long table with filmmaker Gurinder Chadha and Paul Mayeda Berges — yep, another dude.
Gurinder Chadha and David Taghioff at Women in Cinema. (Baz Bamigboye/Deadline)
Across the room Jessica Alba and jury president Juliette Binoche were exiting. The rule at these gatherings is to move with a semblance of elan. In a packed room, one can’t charge like a bull — although when needs must, I have done that. So Alba and Binoche were out of my reach.
In any case, I was enjoying listening to Chadha and Taghioff discuss the delicate balance of trying to mix Western and South Asian cultures on screen. It’s not bloody easy, that much was clear.
Venturing out to the main section of the afterparty, overlooking the Eden Roc’s pool, there were helpful signs to ensure guests knew where they were.
Women in Cinema was spelled out in fuchsia pink floating in the pool. Way, way back in the day, one could well envision well-inebriated revelers jumping in to “rescue” the Women in Cinema floating signage. Come to think of it, stuff like that did happen. We’re all so well-behaved these days. Perhaps cell phones and social media are to blame.
Illuminations at Eden Roc (Baz Bamigboye/Deadline)
Earlier, I popped along to the Mubi and Match Factory soiree at Vega la Plage. Last year’s queue was so frigging long that I gave up.
This year I became that appalling person who skipped the line and went to the front and asked the bouncers to find someone in charge to let me — and Kyle Buchanan, who writes “The Projectionist” column for The New York Times — into the event.
As you can imagine, that kind of “Do you know who I am?!” stuff doesn’t go down well with folk who actually don’t have a f*cking clue who you are and couldn’t give a damn anyway. However, a very nice man let us in, much to the chagrin of a lady who did not want to let us in.
Truth be told, I kinda miss the days when I had to break in uninvited. I once had cards printed up saying I was some African prince (funnily enough, I am one) of a fictitious realm to get me into a party that Madonna was throwing out at the Palm Beach. Not only did I get in, but I danced with Madonna, so there you go.
I walked a couple of times around and through the Vega la Plage. Exchanged pleasantries with some people. Had a brief chat with Akinola Davies Jr, the extraordinarily gifted Nigerian director of My Father’s Shadow, which screens in Un Certain Regard on Sunday. Such a powerful film. Catch it if you can.
Akinola Davies Jr. (Baz Bamigboye/Deadline)
Davies tells me that My Father’s Shadow will feature at the Sydney Film Festival in June.
That news made me very happy. Then I left the party, all done in under half an hour. And the queue to get in had gotten even longer.
