There’s a big difference between attending a film festival and covering one. In the scavenger hunt hunt for the newsworthy people and the race for quotes and interviews, we hardly get to watch any of the films playing, which is pretty dashed tragic.

Friday night, a bunch of us were sitting in the media centre, and discussing this woeful state of affairs. Mine more woeful than most, because I’d decided to randomly walk into a Polish film at 6′0′clock. Tulipany (Tulips), directed by Jacek Borcuch, has a nice name. It also has an interesting premise, but that’s about it. Despite a handful of quirky characters, the film is so devoid of interest that while a lot of people hissed at the gentleman snoring in the row behind me, I chuckled and empathised.

So anyway, we scribes decide to hit the beach post-work, and enjoy Goa’s fabled shacks. Thus decided, we embark on a journey to Zanzibar, a wonderful little place on Baga beach. The trip was eventful enough with ripped kurtas and tons of filmi gossip (yes, well, one must talk shop if at least to break the ice), but it finally felt like we’d touched base at Goa after we kicked off our shoes and rolled up jeans. Sand belongs between toes, does it not?

We talked of disillusionment, the media, Mumbai and how we can’t quite bring ourselves to leave. Then, we mistook a handbag for a dog.

God bless Goa: where the cola costs more than the drink. Oh, and I actually quite dig the cashew concotion

Come on down, kids — the first round’s on me.

Things at IFFI hotted up this weekend, as the parties began. Dirt from there soon, but for now, lets talk about the films I’ve seen so far:

Olga: (Brazilian)The Brazilian film that kicked off the festival. Currently the toast of IFFI, the film relentlessly details the suffering undergone by revolutionary Olga Benarios. The title role is performed to startling perfection by the pretty Camila Morgado (who I danced with on Saturday night, FYI), but the film itself left me wanting more. Those who know me would know I’m alright with extreme nihilism, but the bleakness in this film often seemed forced. A powerful story, with great characters and acting — almost enough to make up for the badly paced and relatively weak direction. Director Montjardim hasn’t quite outgrown his soap opera roots.

Kaalpurush: (Bengali) That Mithun can act is one of the film industry’s secrets, but Buddhadeb Dasgupta brings out the veteran actor with a very well-etched part. As if that isn’t enough of a directorial feat, he turns Sameera Reddy momentarily into a believable actress. Whoa. Rahul Bose is adequate, and mercifully restrained. The film is an interesting one, exploring man-woman relationships through a father-son dynamic. It’s just a tad too long, and after the 2-hour mark, you really want it to end. Calcutta’s been pictured very sincerely, though, and this is the kind of cinematography Rituparno needs to learn from. Terrific palette.

Blue Umbrella: (Hindi) Speaking of great palettes, this one’s spectacular. Vishal Bhardwaj hasn’t lost it, post-Maqbool, something many of us feared after realising that Kareena will play Desdemona in his Othello. One of the dreamiest films in a while, this one is based on a Ruskin Bond novella. The story has been nicely fleshed out, and Pankaj Kapur delivers another inevitably magical performance. This is a children’s film with ludicrously simple metaphor, and shot in the Himachal Valleys, it’s postcard-picturesque. A sweet, beautiful film.

Enough typing for now. Have seen a few more; wait for the update.

“Nahin ho sakta, the man across the table said, stifling a yawn, you know, the inevitable sort that crawls into your mouth after you repeat the same words a million times.

But, I protest, I’m here well in time. Ah, he replies, too bad.

[To clue you in: Remember standing in line at a concert and watching the privileged people with passes dangling around their neck walking about queuelessly? Well, that's a myth. I have a bright green plastic thing around my neck, but the press is anything but privileged. We haven't been given passes for the opening ceremony of a Film Festival we have come to cover, simply because there are only 100 passes for journalists coming from 300-odd publications. Brilliant.]

Anyway, a Delhi-upbringing has prepared me for such officials, and I sit across from him and turn on the smarm. I explain that I understand his situation, but that he understand mine. After explaining just how bloodily my editor would behead me for not covering said inauguration, I resigned and told him that he must get me in, and I don’t know how.

He scratches his chin, and writes something next to my name on the list. (Oh, that reminds me. One of the quotes of the day: “Yes, your name is on the list. You should get a pass. But there aren’t any.”) Then I’m asked to wait, which I do with refreshing conversation and samosa in the canteen downstairs.

When back, I discover a huge mass of people huddled outside the man’s cabin, demanding to be let in. I tap on the glass door, flash him the pass around my neck, and smile a ‘remember me?’ smile. He nods. Five minutes later, I’m ushered in, pass is handed to me, and the event is set to begin in a few hours.

All’s well for now, but can one do this drill every single day of the Festival?

Well, after much sleeplessness at office, I flew into Goa this afternoon.

In short: bright, sunny, and wonderful water all over the place. Best of all: it’s not Mumbai.

After checking into my hotel, I made my way to the Media Centre at Kala Academy, one of the major venues for the festival. For a change, my papers had been filed on time, and I was given my press accreditation with absolutely no fuss.

The IFFI opens tomorrow, and there’s a lot of chaos all over the place. Major last minute overhauls are being made all over the place, and journalists are currently running helter-skelter all around me. It’s surreal and very amusing to see how violently well-known reporters and correspondents jostle for the most banal things.

“No fighting in the Media Room” should be said more often.

I just missed the last pre-Festival screening, Swedish director Mikael Hafstrom’s Evil (Ondskan), a 2004 film I remember reading a great article about. Well, lots more films to come, and Evil too will play a few more times. Leafing through the schedule, there’s tons of great stuff to look forward to, and I can’t wait.

Goa seems an interesting venue. Most people who were here last year claim that things look a lot more ‘in-place’ this time around. I’m personally just optimistic about it all, at least until being proven wrong.

By the way, the opening ceremony tomorrow features the bizarre combination of Dev Anand and Chiranjeevi, with Bipasha Basu and Tara as ‘thali girls’. Oo-er.