Finnish regulars in their local pub

For the interview about EAT / SLEEP / CHEER / REPEAT (Ireland), director Tanya Doyle does the honours, while husband & producer Daniel runs after their 2-year-old toddler, occasionally, shouting from afar, contributing a phrase to the conversation. I am always frustrated when engaging in dialogue with English toddlers. It amazes me how they speak... English so well! I feel like a klutz, unable to even have a decent conversation with a child. Especially not because - as his parents clarify - our chat is apparently about the consistency of his snub bubbles. To that end, the boy uses some kind of baby slang that is not part of my vocabulary. Since they have been drawing straws, Tanya has to do the interview and Daniel gets to go to the garden party at the villa tonight.

The festival is proud to welcome such a big name and true gentleman as Rasmus Sivertsen to the jury. His company Qvisten Animation is celebrating its 30th anniversary and together we dive into their impressive catalogue. I am curious about the new film he announces: a feature animation about a bunch of sperm cells, fighting for victory in their final race. Rasmus expects an X-rating in the US, but I wonder if next year's Zlin Festival will proudly present SPERMAGEDDON.

The story of how director Chaofeng Pan of THE SONG OF SPRING (China) got here is one for the great book of festival legends. The invitation sent months ago never got a clear answer. Now the festival suddenly gets a call one evening from the train station in a nearby town. Whether they will come to pick him up and provide accommodation, please? He offers me a Tibetan scarf that feels like it is made from the softest silk.

At the informal ECFA Beat debate, skilfully led by Pantelis (just yesterday he was fixing my computer software and in between animating his daughter - versatility is a wonderful trait for a president), testimonies on financial cutbacks are shared. On stage, Mika – a man of few words – extensively tells about their cancelled subsidies. Rarely has anyone heard him talk so much in one day. Later, we see him at work in a superb farewell clip for Dimitris and Jerzy, in which he disguises himself as a kind of decrepit Finnish superhero. And he saved up a few more quotes for tonight. About the Finns who were so happy about the arrival of COVID-19 ("at least then we wouldn't have to visit other Finns and could stay home alone") or about people getting their own nameplate on a chair in the church or theatre 

we do that in Finland with the bar stool of regulars in their local pub.

Two true titans were awarded for their careers by the Zlin festival. Jaroslava created a brilliant montage in which people shared their memories of Dimitris Spyrou ("Dimitris the Greek") and Jerzy Moszkowicz. Dimitris gives an exposé on his love for the grand masters of Czech cinema and Jerzy tells a gripping story about shoes. But what we are mostly waiting for is the collection of photographs in which we see them both as handsome young men. They have both aged beautifully in their own way.

In the next 24 hours, I get just about all the festival juries in front of my microphone - only the main jury fails. Too many films watched! In the Jury for Youth Content, the unflappable German, the nonchalant Czech and the timid Swedish together emerge as a funny team. The Ecumenical Jury comes out quite witty when they unison name Jesus as their favourite film character. The ECFA Jury is mainly impressed by Calliope's wisdom. One jury member calls her

one of the most intelligent people I have ever met.

I am more impressed by her name sounding like a spell from Harry Potter. Try shouting it out loud, waving a magic wand,

Calliope Charalambous!

Who knows, your partner might turn into a matchbox or a streetlamp. The next evening I spot her on the dance floor – always nice to see familiar faces in new circumstances. Whether she still looked like the most intelligent woman in the world at that point, I leave to your imagination.

The juries were very complimentary of the city of Zlin as an architectural experiment, a green zone, a festival city par excellence and a family-friendly place. Though hugely pedestrian-unfriendly. The lights at the intersections stay green for pedestrians for only a few seconds; you have to plan your crossing thoroughly and react proactively or it might cost you several extra minutes on your way to the cinema. Only the digital transcriber I use to process interviews refuses to recognise the name of the city and translates it as 'Pling', 'Shling', 'Slim',... but never as Zlin. When I picked up two Czech hitchhikers in Belgium last year and proudly told them that Zlin was my second home, they stared dazedly into the distance.

Zlin... isn't that somewhere in euh... Moravia?