But even a bad festival is better than a good day at the office. Everyone wins at a festival: the punters get to see famous professionals in person; the famous professionals get to bask in the adulation of the punters; and the organizers get to buy drinks for the famous professionals, and enjoy the illusion that they're friends with them. Even the most notorious curmudgeons among the performers will rarely refuse a free drink, and they have to behave themselves reasonably well to be invited back (although the ones with a certain reputation are expected to fling a few insults around, but only at each other). They know that festivals, like media coverage, are good for business.
The only downside for the organizers is that they're now competing for audiences with all the other festivals, and they're all keen to lure the vital younger demographic (except the Harrogate Festival of Grumbling, which is closed to anyone under 60). The result is that the boundaries are becoming blurred. A TV comedian promotes his book at Hay, then rushes off to perform in the comedy tent at Glastonbury, often to the same audience. And it's encouraging to see so many young people attending different types of festival. For many of these kids it's their first time away from home, apart from rehab.
It's not surprising that festivals are becoming increasingly popular, especially in times like these. Festivals have their origins in age-old rituals of bacchanalia, fertility, and celebration; modern festivals continue these traditions, fulfilling a vital socio-cultural function in the provision of opportunities to get trollied, fornicate, and howl at the moon. Over the years, festivals also evolved into the kind of country fairs where you might find horse-trading, freak shows, and bare-knuckle fights. So, no change there, either.
Of course, many people claim to attend film and literary festivals in order to do business. There are plenty of stories about ideas being pitched over lunch, and contracts written on the back of a napkin. Not many people know that the term 'spaghetti western' was coined not because the productions were Italian, but because pasta was on the menu at the joint where Sergio Leone pitched the projects, and everyone's napkin got covered in Bolognese sauce. These days, naturally, agents and producers attending events like Cannes bring their own napkins with them, already printed with basic contracts.
But how much business really gets done at festivals? I suspect that if you're powerful enough to green-light a project, you're powerful enough to stay at home. How many top executives, agents and publishers really want to risk being cornered by an actual writer, and forced to listen to their pitch? That's what caller identification is for. And you'd be surprised how many script-toting Ancient Mariners are roaming the festivals, a demented gleam in their eyes, searching for a hapless wedding guest to listen to their tale. Even the punters who don't behave like that are only restraining themselves because they're relatively new to the game, and the life of an aspiring writer hasn't yet sucked the last vestige of decency out of them, and trampled it beneath the shabby boot of thwarted ambition.
Don't believe me? Go to any film or literary festival. Wait, I'll come with you. Okay, choose any member of any audience for a panel discussion, book-signing, or celebrity love-in. While you distract the punter, I'll swipe their door keys. (Don't ask; over the years an impoverished writer sometimes turns his hand to dubious employment.) Give me an hour in their house and I guarantee I'll find it: the novel-in-progress, the screenplay, the stack of poems, the confessional memoir. It's there, believe me.
Of course, you'd think that some of the people who attend festivals are simply honest enthusiasts. They know a lot about the craft but they'd never dream of trying it themselves. "No, I leave it to the professionals, I'm just a humble fan. By the way, what did you think of the new Amis/Loach?" Don't be fooled. Look closely at that ancient shoulder bag they're always lugging around with them. See that dead weight making the thing sag? That's an unpublished thousand page novel/unproduced screenplay, that is.
The only exceptions to these rules are the aspiring writers who haven't actually written anything. They haven't got around to it yet. But they've got LOADS OF FANTASTIC IDEAS. If you spend five minutes in their company, you'll hear most of them. When they've got time, they're going to write a blockbuster. How hard can it be?
I'm beginning to sound a bit cynical. Okay, I admit it: I am that Ancient Mariner. I own that sagging bag of dog-eared manuscripts. I'm doomed to haunt every festival in the land, and... wait, I've just had an idea for a film/book. It's about a writer who goes to all the festivals, hoping to sell his idea, which is about someone going to all the festivals hoping to sell his idea, which finally gets bought, but only after the writer has been driven crazy. If someone buys this idea, and my film/book gets made/published, then I'll get invited to all the festivals to talk about how I sold my idea about someone who goes to all the festivals trying to sell their idea, and goes crazy. What do you think? Let me tell you the story. Wait, where are you going?
