There’s a moment that happens every year, just as the vaporetto pulls away from San Zaccaria. The chaos of Venice—the selfie sticks, the tour groups, the relentless heat—fades into the distance. Ahead lies the Lido, a sliver of island where cinema’s oldest festival unfolds like a slow, beautiful dream. I’ve been making this journey for years, and it never gets old.
Venice isn’t just a festival; it’s a pilgrimage. Founded in 1932 (by fascists, no less—a troubling origin the event has long since transcended), it’s the granddaddy of them all, the template for Cannes and Berlin. But where Cannes bristles with exclusivity, Venice exhales. The dress code is relaxed, the schedule humane, and the vibe less ‘deal-making’ and more ‘watching great films in a beautiful place.’
Here’s the thing about Venice: it’s two cities in one. The Lido, a barrier island with beach clubs and the majestic Hotel Excelsior, hosts all the screenings. Across the lagoon, San Marco island pulses with the city’s heart—piazzas, palazzos, and a dizzying array of restaurants. Where you stay defines your festival.
Industry insiders swear by the Lido. You can roll out of bed and walk to a 9 a.m. screening. No vaporettos, no crowds. But me? I’m a San Marco loyalist. If I’m in Venice, I want to be in Venice. I want to get lost in alleyways, stumble upon a hidden trattoria, and eat my weight in seafood risotto. The commute—a 20-minute vaporetto ride—is a small price to pay. Sure, timing is everything: miss the boat, and you’re stuck in a sweaty crush of critics all racing to the same premiere. But give yourself buffer time, and the ride becomes a meditation. On the Lido, grab a spritz at Albergo Quattro Fontane’s terrace, and suddenly you’re not in a rush at all.
San Marco also wins on food. The Lido has its charms, but the culinary diversity is on the main island. Yes, pizza and pasta dominate, but you’ll also find Chinese, Indian, and North African spots. I once had a vegan tasting menu at Bistro de Venise that was so inventive, I nearly forgot I was there for the movies. Nearly.
What makes Venice special isn’t just the films—though the lineup is consistently stellar, a mix of art-house gems and Oscar bait. It’s the atmosphere. The heat is punishing, the mosquitoes are relentless, and the vaporettos are perpetually late. But when you’re sitting in a darkened theater as the sun sets over the Adriatic, and a hush falls over the crowd, you remember why you came. This isn’t just a festival; it’s a love affair with cinema. And like any great love, it’s worth the effort.
