Frankly my dears it has taken me until today, (three days after the event) to put finger to keyboard to comment on the most prestigious day in the British Film Industry’s calendar, the BAFTA awards. I blame the sponsor #Tattinger.
It was truly a glittering, moving and sophisticated affair. The side of the industry that most of us in it, rarely experience. The end user end: The perfect make up, the polished manners, the expensive dresses, the whump of limousine doors and the dazzle of diamonds. We saw the autograph hunters, the fans quoting lines from films that had premiered only days before; the selfie-takers hoping for a little stardust to rub off on them, including a small band of protesters grabbing a fist full of limelight for their cause. Even my new undercut got a shout out from the crowd that lined the very bouncy very red carpet. For a moment I was at the epicenter of the most glamorous industry in the world on its biggest night out.
The event was also a remarkably friendly affair. Unusual for London, strangers just turned to each other and chatted. The powder room queue was no exception. There we mortals rubbed elbows and gossiped with the stars, who like us got sprayed by an uncontrollable tap, experiencing a shape of water down our fronts!
It was during the speeches, -where the men in suits who pay for the crews in jeans have their moment of glory- (and it was all men this year) that the hundreds of technicians that make each moment of screen magic possible sprang to mind. The solid foundation of sparks and stylists, the paint crews, the dirty down teams, the girls who wash the wigs when everyone has gone home and the costume teams who come to work when everyone else is still in bed; stand-bys and stand-ins, trainees and clapper loaders, and writers, I salute you.