A Six Minute Trip, But It Feels Like Eternity: Sundance Film Festival, a review.
11 degrees and snowing. The weather and its children–snow, slush, wet shoes, stung faces–frames Sundance. As much as I’d like to say I acclimated, I didn’t. But the weather does amplify a sense of frenzy & camaraderie already present for the sake of the namesake: movies. People go to see movies, buy movies, sell movies–share movies and share themselves. And, yes: if you don’t have passes, know that you should wake up at 6am or earlier every morning to stand in line for hours at the box office, just to find out that you can only get tickets to 2 (max) of the 5-8 movies you wanted to see. There was a guy, first in line, who camped out at the box office for the night only to be beaten to the punch for tickets by someone who paid faster (cash). Devotion.
So there is a madness to the festival. It is worth it. I met filmmakers–actors, writers, directors, producers–I highly respect, and had leisurely conversations with them. All were warm, all were happy to be sharing. I saw six films in four days and a night, three of them great. It was thrilling.
The title above comes from a line in Enter The Void–one of the characters is describing a DMT trip. I stayed away from the DMT, but the festival, all gathered & gleaned, is a very specific and inspiring drug and gauntlet.
Okay. Here’s what I thought of the films:
“In Search of Lost Time,” or, My Netflix Queue is Longer Than Yours
I’ve always considered Revolutionary Road the sequel to Titanic — where the young couple, escaping death, go on to get married and move to suburbia, only to find their own little patch of freezing water within. Every time Titanic is playing on TBS or AMC, I watch the entire thing (try heckling the frantic people at the end, feels aweome). I’ll watch any movie I don’t care. The greatest modern currency is time, and I’m a rich bastard. Back to Leo and Kate: Repetitive casting creates subliminal narratives, as the actors (as we know them) have as much to do with their characters as the characters themselves. Hollywood abridges the complexity of love into two categories: 1) The romantically ill-fated, and 2) the d-d-dumb. I’m not being a snob here, I actually enjoy these movies:
