Manori Ravindran International EditorTo say that every sweaty, masked moment at the Venice Film Festival was nothing short of miraculous would be an understatement.Even now, having returned home to London after eight days in Venice, it’s incredible to me that it even happened.
That, for instance, Tilda Swinton declared “Wakanda Forever!” on an actual stage in front of our eyes, and not through Zoom.
Or that we survived on paninis and cold pizza alone for a week, and enjoyed it. And that we assembled in the dark every day, at every opportunity, transported by cinema.When Venice revealed this spring that it would be staged as a physical event — “The Venice Film Festival cannot be replaced by an online event,” organizers huffed in early April.
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