It's very late at night (early morning) on my first day in Park City and I'm in the hot tub with two of my condo-mates. Inside the condo are five guys, strangers all, two of whom were invited by other condo-mates for purposes of commingling, three of whom have tagged along for purposes only they can truly know (other hot chicks? free booze? all-night party?) - imagine their surprise that it's just the six of us and a single bottle of scotch. Finally, one of the three non-invited guests can take it no more and begins to put the full-on move on one of the girls - his shirt is off, his hands deep inside her jeans - and she shimmies and grooves her way away from him.
Finally, something draws this guy out onto the deck and he talks to those of us in the condo for the first time.
"It's Brokeback, bitch."
We inaudibly voice a collective, "huh?"
He points at the snow-covered mountain ridge behind us. "This!"
He waves his hand across the night sky. "All this!"
We sit still and watch him in wonder, waiting for the next thing to come out of his mouth, and when he speaks, it's golden.
"I know you think I'm a douchebag, but actually, I'm a really great guy."
For all intents and purposes, this was the start of my Sundance experience this year. It was clearly off to a strong beginning.
Superfriends Britta Erickson and Brit Withey from the Denver Film Festival at the Seattle Party
David Levine and Silverdocs' Amy King making friends at the Indiewire Party
David Wilson of True/False and Matt Dentler of SXSW at the Indiewire Party (not talking about Dora the Explorer)
Indiewire's Brian Clark at his own damn party
It seemed that, in general, folks were more lukewarm about the movies this year than in years past. Only a handful seemed to get near universal praise - and most of those came out of the festival with distribution deals (Little Miss Sunshine, Wordplay) or prizes (Quinceanera, God Grew Tired of Us, Iraq in Fragments and Guide to Recognizing Your Saints). One festival programmer told me on Monday that "if they had a festival section called 'Audience Favorite', Quinceanera would play there". Similarly, I had been told that the Sudanese Lost Boys doc God Grew Tired of Us was "the front-runner for the 2007 documentary Oscar".
One of my favorite films of the fest, The Trials of Darryl Hunt, didn't win any prizes (I'd heard so much praise for it during the week, I thought it probably would take something), but did make a deal with HBO. The film is an inspiring and infuriating tale, highlighting not just the troubles with the criminal justice system, but the reckless abandon with which some prosecutors will operate, knowing full well that there is no personal price to pay when they withhold exculpatory evidence.
Another favorite was Kelly Reichardt's latest film Old Joy with Daniel London and musician Will Oldham. A beautiful and deliberate examination of two old friends, now on strikingly divergent paths, Old Joy is a wonderfully acted moment in time. I also liked the Nick Cave-penned The Propostition, an Australian western with shocking bursts of graphic violence (and the most tense Christmas dinner you'll ever witness) and The Hawk is Dying with Paul Giamatti, Michael Pitt and the great Rusty Schwimmer. I was in the deep deep deep minority on that last one. Most people did not like it all. Maybe it was seeing it first thing in the morning, maybe I was just in the mood. It wasn't perfect by any stretch but I did like it.
My Cobain film compatriots Ravi Anne, Rich Lim (both from Sidetrack Films) and Wyatt Troll at a random cantina before the Beastie Boys played.
The aforementioned David Wilson (far left) and Wyatt Troll (far right) bookend Indiewire's Jonny Leahan and James Isreal at the Sundance Channel Party.
Katie Speight of Channel 4 and Britdoc's Maxyne Franklin flank yours truly at the IDA reception.
Even though everyone was practicing their usual "it gets worse every year" rant, the parties this year seemed to have calmed down a bit, for the better. Opening weekend still featured the usual jammed streets and restaurants, but the fever pitch seemed to cool sooner than usual, which was welcome. And despite the snow the first few days, it was downright balmy as I headed for home.
Now back in Los Angeles, I begin the edit in earnest, figuring that sometime this festival year the film that has long been in my head will finally be on the screen.
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