Last Sunday, film enthusiasts everywhere gathered eagerly in anticipation of one of the biggest film events of the year, the 2012 Bafta Ceremony. This year it was hosted by an impeccably dressed Stephen Fry, complete with Queen’s College bow tie, churning out the puns like there was no tomorrow.

Needless to say, everyone looked uber glam: frequent close ups of George Clooney were greatly appreciated, thanks Bafta cameraman: and Penelope Cruz, despite the dress (which, as a friend of mine pointed out, looked like she was “wrapped in a napkin”) you’re still my #1 girl crush. Located at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, the evening went pretty smoothly. Even the awkwardness of Meryl Streep’s shoe falling off was transformed into a magical moment when the delightful Colin Firth swooped in, the gentleman that (I assume) he is, and replaced it á la fairytale prince.

The nominations, as ever, have been a source of great discussion. Nominees for Best Film are always contentious, given the myriad of possibilities each year. Last year The King’s Speech snatched the top prize (alongside other awards) over, I would argue, much more sophisticated films, cashing in on its star-studded cast and overall appeal as a good, clean family fun piece of schmaltz.  And, yes, it is good film. It’s just a shame that other perhaps lesser known or less widely distributed films will never have a chance of winning, despite the fact that, in the category Best Film, box office takings should not be the only criterion.

In the past, Bafta have remained pretty good at providing an admirably wide-ranging overview of the film industry’s output: now it seems that they may be trading in their integrity for the glitz and glamour we would expect from more showbiz affairs like The Oscars, thus losing their focus on the films which rely upon them for recognition.

This year’s teacher’s pet was The Artist. Again, a very good film: and impressive that the winner of not only Best Film but pretty much every other award (slight exaggeration) went to a black and white silent movie. But it seems that a number of much better films – “better” obviously being a very subjective term – were not even nominated in the category. There is a staggering number of films from the past year which have impressed me a great deal more than The Artist did: I was sad to see no mention of Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Tyrannosaur, Submarine, The Skin I Live In or We Need to Talk about Kevin in the Best Film category. Granted most of these appeared elsewhere: Tyrannosaur took Outstanding Debut, and The Skin I live in won Best Film Not in the English Language.

But it still seems that Bafta were essentially playing it a bit safe, nominating only big budget and big name films for the most coveted award. Saying this, it was nice to see wild card Drive nominated despite its risqué content: of course it didn’t win, but the sentiment was there.