Red Sea International Film Festival, 2023: A royal pilgrimage for film-buffs
On the registration form, there was question, ‘Will you be going to the Medina pilgrimage?’ I wasn’t, so I typed, “No”. On the Saudi Airlines direct flight from Mumbai to Jeddah, the man seated behind me asked me the same question. “I could take you to Medina. It is only 480 kms from Jeddah, but at 180 kms per hour, we will take you there in no time.” Turned out that he was a tour operator from Ahmedabad, Gujarat, India, escorting a bunch of 30 devout Muslims, clad in prescribed Haj attire, seated all over the aircraft. I told him I am not on a pilgrimage to Medina, but to attend the Red Sea International Film Festival (RSIFF) in Jeddah, which is an artistic pilgrimage for film critics and journalists like me, as all film festivals are. More so because it was an international film festival, far away from home. “A film festival in Jeddah?” He sounded incredulous. “In fact, the third RSIFF. Though it is my first time in this part of the Middle East (ME),” I informed him.
To be honest, even I had been surprised when Bruno, my editor, told me about it, and asked me if I was interested in attending. Boy, was I? Some days later, the formalities were completed. The flight, scheduled at the considerate time of 10.30 am, took off about 90 minutes later, due to traffic at Sahar Airport, Terminal 1, but apparently made up good time, and covered the 3518 km distance smoothly. As assured, there was a staff member waiting at the airport and a RSIFF car took me to the Crowne Plaza hotel, besides the beach. I checked into Room 816, the top floor. And, as expected, found many South Asians in various positions at the hotel, ready to serve me.
Registration was completed an hour later, at the Ritz Carlton hotel, a three-minute drive/12-minute walk, away, smooth as silk. It was the 29th of November, and the festival was to be inaugurated on the next day, the 30th, and go on till the 9th of December. Soon, I found myself looking for a KFC or a McDonalds, to silence the gurgling in my belly. Bishnu, the Nepali porter at Crowne Plaza, gave me the directions, and my lunch was done, at 4 pm. Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (KSA), like all Middle East, is 2 ½ hours ahead of India, and it was 6.30 pm back there when it was 4 pm in Jeddah. At the hotel, on arrival, I was given the festival’s official bag, my pass for the next day’s inaugural, some literature, and a goody that can keep you hot or cool, as you like, at the RSIFF dedicated check-in counter, in the lobby
From what little I saw of Jeddah and its rocky beach of the Red Sea, in the rest of the evening and the next morning, near the two hotels, Jeddah’s rivetting skyline and architecture was as expected, or even better. I could read almost all the Arabic signs, having learnt Urdu and bit of Arabic, those most were in English too. From what I saw of that evening and the next morning, of what the guests arriving at the hotel were wearing, their skin tones and their varied tongues, two things were clear: firstly, Saudi Arabia was going to have a truly international film festival, and secondly, it has become more liberal than ever before. The whole area was brightly light-up with colourful lights and you could see the festival theme everywhere, welcoming you with the words, Your Story, Your Festival. Was it going to be my festival too? The coming 9-10 days would reveal.
The city was clean, like in most parts of the ME, perhaps cleaner. Restaurants and convenience stores galore lined up the sea-front, and it was not as hot as I had feared. The Crowne Plaza is a modest edifice, but only in comparison to the Ritz-Carlton (RC), or, perhaps many of RC’s kindred, in other parts of the city, that I had yet to see. But it was hospitable and comfortable. RC was unimaginably long, never-ending and state of the art, like many of its sister concerns in other countries. It too had a retinue of staff from all of South Asia, and many African and European counties, as well as from the Americas. Among most of them, Hindi-Urdu was the default language of communication. Of course, they all could speak Arabic. English could be a problem, but not too often. But if you could say or understand words like Ah’lan Wa Sah’lan, Marhabaa, Masha’Allah, Subhan Allah, Shukran, Maa as Salaama, Mushkel, Qhalaas, Tamaam, Kulle, Habib, Shaiqh, Shams, Qamar, Taeyaaraa, Maaf, Vahid, Ism, etc., you could manage your way. Please do not ask me the meanings of these words. Check your Googlator.
There were four venues for the screenings; the Dubai-based Al Futtaim Group-owned Vox multiplex cinema, with some IMAX screens too, the RC Gala, and the Hayy Jameel Cinema. There was considerable distance between some pairs of the venues but with an unending fleet of air-conditioned, well-maintained cars and mini-buses, available 24/7, who could complain? Add to that the legendary hospitality of the Arabs, the flowing Arabian coffee, the jugs of fruit juices and, no prizes for guessing… dates, dates and dates, though, sadly, not with the stunningly beautiful Arabian women. But if you wanted to meet a certain Ms. Shivani Pandya Malhotra, obviously an Indian name, you could have to wait for a whole week or more. And pray, who is Shivani? She is none other than the Director of the RSIFF. I have already sought a meeting with her. Let us see, if and when it materialises.
-Siraj Syed
