I arrived at the Mediterranean Conference Centre early, which meant I had time to kill before the show began. Nominees and guests filtered in. Some quietly shared their predictions for the various awards. Others waited in line to have their photo taken. 

Everyone was excited, and so was I, though the event’s unspoken political elephant loomed large: would they mention the €400,000 budget? Would the awards salute film, or our government?

I found my seat and was pleasantly surprised to see a small box of snacks and water waiting for me. A thoughtful touch. 

Warm-up act Edward Mercieca offered a 15-minute set that had its funny one-liners but was often drowned out by the shuffling of feet and chairs, as many found their seats. But we were all here for the awards, and so they began. 

David Walliams took to the stage, bright and cheerful as ever. “I know what you’re thinking, why did they pick David Walliams to host tonight’s awards?” he asked. 

I thought to myself, is this it? Are they going tear the plaster off immediately? 

No. Instead Walliams took a jab at Simon Cowell and made a self-aimed camp joke that set a more light-hearted tone for the evening. It is better this way, I thought. Maybe the evening will be about the filmmakers, rather than the politics. No, again.

The awards began to tick by as presenters came on stage, waited for the nominees, and then announced the winner. It was beautiful to see how much these moments meant to the winners, whose speeches ranged from anxiously polite to emotionally overloaded. I have had the pleasure of winning awards before, but I can’t imagine what it must have felt like standing on that stage, blinded by the lights trying not to forget to thank your parents and partner. 

To all those who won, congratulations! The Malta Film Awards are about our community, our little island taking big steps into a cinematic future; a celebration of our local industry. Or at least, they should have been.

There was an awkwardness that lingered in the air. As categories were presented, pairs of presenters were introduced thematically: think fashion designers Charles & Ron awarding the Best Costume Design prize. 

But there were a handful of odd choices. Politicians and political representatives introduced awards with succinct speeches about how great the show was and how this truly is a celebration of our industry. It felt like they were fishing for compliments, telling me how thankful I should be feeling rather than making me feel it.

One would think that an award titled The Malta Film Ambassador Award would honour a member of our Maltese community, someone who has represented our country as the face of film: an envoy for Maltese cinema. No. Instead, Ridley Scott received the award. Apparently, making Gladiator over two decades ago is enough of a résumé to be able to speak for an entire nation. 

Scott (obviously) couldn’t make it to the awards, and in his video speech he mentioned how the award is ours. As kind as his intentions may be, it was patronising all the same.

Gladiator was also honoured with the Malta Film Industry Honorary Award, given to an also absent Russell Crowe. His speech was similarly sweet, describing the special place Malta holds in his heart although he hadn’t visited in many years until recently. 

I couldn’t help but think to myself, how ironic. An award ceremony meant to commemorate, or at least acknowledge, our growing local film industry is trying to convince me that it is doing that, while shamelessly casting its eyes overseas.

It was all too much. I tried to ignore that David Walliams couldn’t pronounce the presenters’ names, that ministers were being thanked, that the films with the most screen time were foreign productions, that Fort Ricasoli received Best Film Location with an extra €25,000 pocket money. I tried to focus on the nominees, on Blood on the Crown and its domination in most of its nominated categories, on Walliams’ brief quips that kept the show moving. 

I tried to focus on the awards, so I waited for the big one: Best Film.

After its litany of awards, I expected Blood on the Crown to scoop this one up as well. But I was pleasantly surprised to see The Boat claim the prestigious prize (although I was secretly hoping for Hemm Dar il-Qala). 

Director and writer Winston Azzopardi thanked the commission for the award, and then handed the mic to his son, co-writer, and star of the film, Joe. 

Joe Azzopardi was polite, respectful, and clearly nervous, but he chose to speak up. He didn’t say the awards weren’t a celebration, nor that the ceremony felt like a two-and-a-half-hour advert to foreign film producers (which is what I am saying). 

He simply noted that the money spent on such an extravagant show could have been used for “investing in our indigenous films.” The room was divided, but those of us who did clap did so vigorously. 

As if to prove the frustrating sentiment, the final award was handed to Colin Trevorrow in honour of the upcoming Jurassic World instalment. 

He graciously accepted the award, ending the evening on an orchestral performance of the Jurassic Park theme song. As magical as it was to hear such a nostalgic piece played live, it was impossible to not view the awards for its true self; the final cherry on the self-congratulatory cake.