Monday Premiere

A gorgeous day dawns over Park City – the air is incredibly clear, the sun is a blazing fire in the cloudless blue. A beautiful day for a premiere. We lure Jon away for breakfast before his blizzard of meetings continues – someone found a great restaurant with lots of vegan options. But before long he and Colin head out to make a meeting they’re squeezing in before a series of press interviews. I ride downtown with them to hit a couple of ‘Filmmaker Summits’ at Slamdance, the indie-minded fest that runs concurrently with Sundance. I come in on the tail end of a panel on social networking and indie marketing, a topic which seems to have infinite interest for our community in the last couple of years, and the usefulness of which is still up to debate, at least for me. The panel is articulate and makes good sense. ‘You may not know you’re doing a project next year but when you do, you’ll need those 3000 friends. Create relationships now.’ ‘With your spam, send a large proportion about other people and other subjects.’ ‘Get a Producer of Marketing and Distribution to do all this work, a person to speak authentically about the project, just like you’d hire a DP.’ ‘You need to be constantly on, not just posting once a month, and/or for a finite defined time period.’ ‘Decide what is the film’s voice and POV. Decide early on what you’ll be an expert in.’ ‘Identify your audience, give them value, give them ways to engage with you.’ Next up after that is the screenwriting panel from WGA West (the screenwriter’s union) and the Slamdance screenplay competition, featuring Fred Stoller and Tom Musca.

It feels to a few of us like we’ve been here a week, even though it’s just a few days. It would be nice to take a break right now, in the middle of everything, to clear your head, but actually things are just getting started. But I’ve enjoyed the whole time, and maybe one of my absolute favorite things about the experience was getting to know the other Toynbee investigators, who are all such smart and nice people.

Back at the condo, the hour of the premiere approaches. We mill around, debating a shot of whiskey or not, putting on coats. Soon we’re walking to the theater, a big crowd down the middle of the pavement wet with snow-melt. We’re shuffled back and forth between a heated tent and an atrium off the theater, as staff and volunteers speake into headsets, presumably consulting Bob Redford. We’re all talking and snapping pictures in front of one of those big backdrops that they use for red-carpet snaps. Then suddenly we’re heading in to the theater, except for Jon and the director of the opening short, ‘The High Level Bridge.’ Although we have credentials for this film, we still have to present tickets that we’ve received for this screening. There’s a flurry of activity as we try to settle the question of the reserved seating. There’s a section higher up for the jurors. People are brought in in small groups and fill up the small theater quickly. Doug has told us that it’s pretty good to have a premiere on Monday, so hopefully some of the opening-weekend bigshots are still in town, but the film isn’t going head-to-head with any of the giant hyped juggernauts. It’s one of the smaller screens but tomorrow it’s playing again in the huge Prospector Square space.

After a few more minutes of chaos, a spotlight came up in the front of the theater and Jon headed down with the director of the short. The other director said Hi, and then David Courier from Sundance film festival introduced Jon with an incredibly proud and glowing endorsement of Jon and the film. I think the phrase “soon to be acclaimed filmmaker” was used. He mentioned the fact that Jon had submitted the film cold at the last minute – a sort of ‘it can happen to you’ moment. Then Jon went to the mic.

You couldn’t miss how completely overwhelmed Jon was. He sort of stood there with the mic for a long second, then pulled out his phone and took a picture of the audience. “I just want to capture this moment.” Then he thanked everyone and thanked Sundance for taking the movie. It’s clear when talking to Jon that he feels so fortunate that things have happened the way they have. He knows what his chances were, and how many other filmmakers are out there shooting for the same thing. But no one could have worked harder than he has and sacrificed more. He deserves all of this.

The short film went by quickly, a tonally interesting piece about a bridge in Canada sometimes used by suicidal jumpers. It had a wry, cynical narration and a video grain that enhanced the chilliness of the snow and floating ice, and ended with a camera dropped from the bridge into the river. Then… Resurrect Dead started. Immediately with its soft focus, rich dark colors and questioning music, it draws you into another side of reality, where mysteries reveal themselves to the ready, and strange minds reach out with desperate acts of creativity and communication. My sense, having been in enough festival screenings including my own, was that the audience was gradually wrapped around this movie until it held us all rapt. It was a big relief that there were no technical problems, and the audio and visual were in fact all very high quality. This in itself should be kept in mind by filmmakers considering whether to get that $10K audio mix or professional color correction that people will say is necessary before a fest like Sundance. Jon did it all himself on his computer.

When the film finished, there was a moment when it seemed like a lot of people were streaming out of the theater during the credits. I wasn’t so bothered by it because I had seen that at every other screening, and I think a lot of those people were overprogrammed exactly as Jon has been. But I could imagine it was disturbing to some others in our ‘entourage’. When the lights came up, there were still a LOT of people in the theater craning their necks to see Jon come down to the mic. He thanked everyone again, and then announced to the audience that they had some special guests in the room: Justin, Colin and Steve. There were gasps and a real sense of excitement in the audience, and I could feel it as well, in a kind of cognitive dissonance: parallel to my knowing these people, I had just seen them enact their amazing journey and I felt the audience’s shock that the real people had stepped off the big screen and were now going down to the microphone. The film makes you root for these guys, and revel in their accomplishments, and respect their ethical decisions. You feel in a strange way like you are their friend although they don’t know you, and seeing them suddenly appear in the crowd is like realizing that a good friend was there in the room all along.

Jon Foy and David Courier, Sundance premiere of Resurrect Dead

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Q&A had such positive vibes – the people in the audience were so engaged with the film, and had really understood the messages it had. An older guy asked a kind of crotchety provocative question about one decision that the investigators made, but someone else had already told the filmmakers that they felt it showed real depth of character. I think most questions were about the subject and content of the doc, as opposed to the making of it, as I expected. Maybe I’m used to audiences made up mostly of filmmakers, or maybe the movie is just that intriguing.

When the Q&A ended, people came down and swarmed around the Toynbee team, and people were instantly next to Justin asking where they could buy his art. He said that he had some with him – he had a tube with a checked-luggage tag still attached, with huge prints rolled up inside. Within a minute he’d sold four. People were hanging on him and the whole team until we were ushered out of the theater by the staff. Outside the sun is setting behind the snowy ski slopes and the air is still and fresh. We walk to a brewpub called ‘Squatters’ (ironically, the movie deals with the fact that Justin was a real-life squatter).

It occurs to me at dinner that this is a film which would appeal to journalists. There are so many scenes of delving into old articles and source materials; parsing different accounts of true events; and even one character’s fixation on the media itself. It’s the kind of epic-feeling investigation that kids dream of before they grow up to be reporters. Could this film save print journalism? Over dinner, someone says that the film critic Kenneth Turan was in the audience. It’s a strange world up here in the mountains.

Sunday -A Perfect Day

My Sunday began with the Polish production The Mill and the Cross. The lead, Rutger Hauer, had not seen the film before today, and was stretching to articulate his impression of it, settling on “several minds having sex.” It’s a cinematic exploration of a single painting, an attempt to connect with it in the symbolic language of its time. The director himself, a Polish filmmaker, artist and poet, acknowledged during the fascinating Q&A that it was a feature film based on an essay, the implications of which concerned even the essayist. It’s basically an intellectual exercise, and as such it was a bit hard to connect to emotionally, just a little too mannered to get lost in. A wonderful exception is the moment in which God, the divine Miller, sits shaken in the shadows of his own cosmic mechanisms, crying over the death of his son on Earth. I really shouldn’t pass over the visual accomplishment. And I liked the fact that the film seemed to pass through the plane of a painting into a kind of explanatory space behind it, an imaginary clockwork made up of a true historical time and place intertwined with allusive and allegorical narrative elements. I had noticed what I considered to be a typically Polish, or maybe just European, inclusion of the earthy along with the transcendent, and the director addressed this afterwards – mentioning that in the art of Bruegel’s day, the viewers expected an all-encompassing work, one that attempted to include the world with its contradictions, “the sacrum and the profanum” as the he put it.

This screening also led to my first close encounter; walking out of the building, a man turned around in front of me, and he was Rutger Hauer. About a foot away. We had a brief encounter. I go straight from Rutger to the freezer section of the grocery store, grab some more Lean Cuisines, and head home. Jon walks through quickly. “I’m supposed to be at a party in twelve minutes.” He and Colin have come from a producer’s breakfast, where they had trouble finding vegan food but indulged in free vodka. Jon pops back in. “I have a plus one for the Universal party, does anyone want to come?” I feel far too gross to rub elbows with VIPs – I need a shower and a change of clothes, but Jon’s leaving now. I toss down my computer and grab my coat. Jon’s a little concerned because he didn’t RSVP to this party, although he was invited. This is how busy he’s been – when he totally finished the Sundance cut of the film (just a few days before the fest itself), it was about 2 a.m.. He immediately went to work winnowing the pile of unread emails in his inbox down to 300 by 6 a.m. The rest remained unread, including some party invitations for Sundance.

I see now that these invite-only parties are where you actually meet the people you want to meet. I wonder if networking can even happen elsewhere while these are going on. This swanky loungy little space is crammed wall-to-wall with people in bulky coats, with a thunderous roar of shouted conversations. Within seconds of getting inside, we are talking to some people from The Woods, which I’ll definitely be seeing this week. The lead actor is based in Philly. If I understood him, he’s a tour guide at at Eastern State Penitentiary. I am excited to see this film in part because the soundtrack includes Dirty Projectors, one of my favorite bands, and I ask these folks how they got DP for their soundtrack. (The answer: the director did a music video for them). Jon gives himself twenty minutes at this party before leaving for the IndieGoGo party, in fact he sets the alarm on his phone so he’ll remember to leave. He’s speaking about Kickstarter a panel there, and he invites someone from The Woods to come along since they raised money there too. I try to follow him out but a sudden crush of people separates us, and I settle for another free local beer. I spot an actor and producer of ‘The Nine Muses’ which I saw on Friday, and I say hello and ask a few questions about the UK Film Council, of which I’m quite jealous. The producer gives me the bad news that it’s a victim of budget cuts. I also spy an actress from ‘Codependent Lesbian Space Alien’ and we talk about our lives as working artists and she gives me a cool pin before being pulled out of the party by her team. It has payed off to watch the ‘Meet the Artist’ interviews before coming here, as I’m constantly recognizing directors that way. The party continues with a raffle with prizes including an iPad and $5000 vouchers for various services. The rich keep getting richer! Face fushed and buzzed from altitude and beer I realize that it’s time to get to my next film, which is up on the other end of town, even further out than the festival HQ. But the bus service during Sundance is so incredible (and free) I’m whisked away in seconds.

The film I see next, another world premiere, is ‘Jess + Moss’. A film of gorgeous auditory and visual textures, and once again admirably ambitious. It strikes me as the work of a young filmmaker who’s attempting to push formal boundaries but can still develop in the basics. There are some textural details I will clearly remember for a long time.

I rushed out and caught the bus to get in line to see Lou Reed at a venue called Sundance House – an event for credential-holders only. It was supposed to start at 8; I got in line at 7:30 and two hours later I was standing just outside the main doors, shaking, stamping my feet to keep warm. It was totally worth it. In line I meet one of the composers of Kinyarwanda, a film I’d like to see this week. We talk about how he got his work, and my working relationship with Jon, who was my composer. I also stood near the Mountain Time Zone’s answer to Absolutely Fabulous. They were letting us in a few people at a time, and finally I squeezed in with just enough time to grab a free drink for each hand and get a spot for the show, about 25 feet from Lou. It was highlight of my life. It felt so special to be here in the mountains of Utah surrounded by 300 people in a small room watching one of my all-time favorite musicians run through some of his best songs for an appreciative crowd. I’ll spare you the gushing details. But what a Perfect Day.

Where is Lil Jon?

We were woken up at 7:45 a.m. by massive gusts of wind screaming past the condo. I had tentative plans to ski today, and by the time I decide to stay off the mountain, I’ve missed my chance to see the one movie on my list for Saturday – an intriguing Slamdance doc called ‘Shunka’. I have to come clean over the guilt I feel about this: how can I be here on Sundance opening weekend and not have anything on my list for Saturday?

Thank god I’ve stumbled on this perfect segue to talk about my mission at Sundance. I am trying to see the films that are the most adventurous, the most hard to categorize, the most easily-overlooked, the least likely to be pre-sold or to show up in theaters later. (I’m not going out of pity; in fact I hope that these are the best films here). Admirably, these films do exist at Sundance alongside several other categories: A-list Hollywood faux-indies; docs whose fates are ensured by their pre-existing access (the NY Times doc ‘Page One’); ‘serious’ films that have a niche or a hot topic that will feed them attention and viewers. I don’t have unlimited funds, in fact the fewer movies I see the less I will be in debt after this trip, so I will focus my attention on the films that may need it the most. That leaves me with a curious gap on Saturday, but on Sunday I’ll be back in the theaters.

With nothing to do right away, I resolved to finally learn how to buy tickets to movies. The festival headquarters is at a Marriott even further out from town, a low lodge-like building in a dense labyrinth of strip malls. The circular drive is a traffic jam of minivan shuttles, the lobby a constant flow of prosperous-looking people in parkas, some settling for a moment by the fireplace. The volunteer at the info desk didn’t think that tickets were sold there, but I pressed on upstairs. Down a long hotel hallway, past the Press Office and the Industry Office, I found the Film Office. Tickets! I could buy tickets! The deal: every day you can get tix for that day and the following day. A chart on the wall has stickers for the showings that are sold out, and there are a surprising number open, even for today’s films. I immediately feel a lot better about my Sundance chances; I’ll be able to get into pretty much whatever screenings I want, if I show up regularly to get morning tickets. In a euphoric haze I buy my Sunday tickets and screw it up royally. My plan was to leave a hole in my schedule to get in line for a music event with Lou Reed, but I manage to buy a ticket for exactly that time. Thirteen hours later I realize what’s happened.

I snag a ‘Variety’ (everyone says you have to read this if you want to make movies) and sit down with a complimentary Shasta to people-watch. I hear an announcement for directors in the building: the busses to the directors’ brunch are leaving. Jon is on his way there, where Robert Redford will speak.

Later our whole ‘Resurrect Dead’ entourage is walking down Main Street, taking in the circus that Park City has become. It’s almost unrecognizable from two days ago, except for the thick layer of ice and slush on the streets and sidewalks. They’re too much like the ski slopes hanging above us; this sidewalk could easily be a double-black-diamond. There are very few ‘Film’ credentials like ours to be seen; there are hordes of tourists and people of uncertain function. We see a twelve-foot-wide mob being herded off the street, with cameras held in the air pointing inward – murmurs indicate that James Franco is in the middle.

Sundance Channel HQ, right on Main Street, offers one of the few alternate-life experiences for those of us who aren’t (yet) famous and rich. Inside we get some free food, free espresso, then go upstairs for free cocktails and swanky merch and lounging, courtesy of a Vegas hotel. Fun stuff – a photo booth with funny hats; cookies and milk; boot cleaning and waterproofing, and some freakishly attractive people. We stood around in the warm lounge sipping ‘hot mules’ and watching giant snowflakes plummet past the windows, hiding and revealing the mountain peaks. Across the street is the ‘Sundance Co-Op’, a collection of free stuff from vendors; the only explanation we can think of for the name of it is that it’s where indie film is being ‘co-opted’ by various corporations.

It strikes me that the presentation of Sundance to the rest of the world is a lot like the creation of a film’s narrative world. To manifest a fictional time and place, you put a frame around certain things and block out others. It doesn’t lessen what Sundance is, but it’s not a sort of movieland Biodome filled with movie stars – it’s laid out in a suburban town filled with the same kind of things you find where my parents live in Michigan. The streets are gross and there are lots of regular folks around. But you put a frame around the Hollywood sparkles when you send your live feed. The notable thing about this is that I stopped being intimidated by Sundance after being here an hour, which is maybe valuable in itself.

Jon and Doug return from a long day of networking; Jon tells stories of meeting a whirlwind of people he can barely remember. He did a series of interviews, including Popular Mechanics for some reason. Doug has been leading him around introducing him to everyone. Tonight they went to the Oprah party, where Jon met Rosie O’Donnell and gave her a screener of the movie.

Colin and Steve, the other members of the Toynbee Tile investigation team, arrive in Park City. Everyone gathers in the condo, reminiscing about the tiles and speculating on the future of the film.

1/21/2011 Friday Part Two

First Friday

One of the first things I noticed at my first Sundance screening was the respect shown for the film. The sound was absolutely superb, the picture quality was bright and crisp, but not harshly digital. The packed house became silent immediately when the lights went down, and the film played sans whispering, texting, phone calls, or fidgeting.

Starting with that film, a pattern’s emerged. An observer would conclude that the film industry is built upon a large bureaucratic class of 40-year-old women, like the mandarins of historic China. Yet the tenor of Park City continues changing as the weekend approaches. In the hour before sunset, main street is bustling with crowds that grow thicker as dusk settles. There are street performers – a hipster guy in black North Face plays an upright piano with the inner mechanisms exposed, a propane heater six inches from his lap. I grab a bag of ‘Perky Jerky’ (enriched with guarana) off a guy covered in hundreds of them like a ragged spacesuit. A bus pulls up and disgorges six snowboards and their human consorts.

Jon calls to see what I’m doing. I say he should come down to Main Street and bring lots of ‘Resurrect Dead’ stickers. I’ve found a series of designated postering sites: plywood plinths where Sundance and Slamdance filmmakers put up their pleas to be noticed. The eight-foot planks are a beautiful, democratic jumble of ads for dozens of works, the product of so many artists’ masochistic efforts and lunatic aspirations. I put up my three stickers, careful not to obscure other ads.

The Filmmaker’s Lodge is one of the Sundance buildings on Main Street, and one that’s only open to people with credentials. You can pick the Sundance sites out by the turquoise banners, they’re scattered up and down the street around the Egyptian Theater. Going in I have my creds checked, then find a warm and cozy room where a couple dozen people lounge around. I’m given a comped beer at a small bar and talk to the director of a piece playing in one of the shorts programs. Jon walks in with stickers, and within seconds Doug arrives and grabs Jon and they are off to another exclusive party. It becomes common in the next few days to hear the phrase “Jon Plus One” or “Jon Plus Two” for events taking place in some mystery location.

After that I may have gotten too emotionally entangled in the dynamics and etiquette of the postering sites, and I can’t blame it on the beer, which in Utah is only 3.2%. The vibrant ecosystem of ads had been totally bulldozed, in every spot on Main Street, by huge posters from three films: ‘Reagan’ (some HBO-produced thing), ‘The Lie’ (don’t know), and a Bobby Fischer doc. It seemed ironic that a high-profile film would need to displace all the little notices that these indie filmmakers had to scrimp and save just to buy (posters and press materials aren’t really cheap) – and they had a total scorched-earth policy, putting up several iterations of their big poster on the same board. Some ‘Resurrect Dead’ stickers may have ended up on Ronald Reagan’s giant wrinkly face.

Darkness falls and the temperature drops. It feels like cars are streaming in from the mountains and the town is filling with more slick-looking industry types. The artsy folks have disappeared down a hole somewhere. I walk down a side street that feels like a row of frat houses on a Friday night; I overhear a group of guys standing out in front of one. “Yeah bro, my boy Dante who plays tight end for the Panthers is coming in tonight. We’re going to a party but it doesn’t start until one.” “Well text me, I’m not going to answer my phone.” (Woah he was talking about Dante Rosario!) On Main Street, every little chocolate shop seems to be putting out cordons in anticipation of lines, with bouncers growing like welts. I grow depressed and slip onto a passing north-bound bus.

 

1/21/2011-Sundance Day 1

Day One

7 a.m. Four-point-five hours in bed. Jon and Doug are up and heading out for an 8:30am film. That means I’m up too – I’m in a sleeping bag in the living room. Works out okay because the first movie on my Sundance schedule is at 9am. The theater is four minutes away across a parking lot. The sun is working itself up somewhere behind a huge mountain.

I’m forcing myself to this screening because I have a ridiculous conception that the film needs my support – it’s billed as an abstract, lyrical doc about immigration to England, and I imagine that at 9 am these sad but bright-eyed filmmakers will be overjoyed and grateful to find a film lover like myself showing up.

It’s a good time to mention that in spite of Sundance’s efforts, and hours of contemplation, the ticket process remains almost too complex to grasp. This goes for all of us. Some people were able to register for advance ticket sales, and received windows of time last week to buy. Then there was open ticketing online for the few screenings that weren’t sold out. Here at the fest, you can go to the HQ after 8 am for day-of tickets that were held in reserve. Failing that, you can get to the screening for the lovely waitlist process. Starting two hours in advance, you can get a waitlist number (not a ticket itself). Later you will return and line up in the order of your number, to try to squeeze into the last few vacant seats.

Traipsing through the snow in the morning light, I feel certain that I won’t have to bother with those complexities for this little overlooked gem. I should be able to get tickets in the lobby, or have I misunderstood everything? I ask a volunteer, and she excitedly connects me to someone trying to sell an extra ticket. I got a cheap ticket, but I still haven’t learned how to buy one. I find the theater, and a huge line of chatty, coffee-clutching people. I guess nobody will be thanking me for showing up. I ask a volunteer if my credential does anything for me and she kind of laughs at me. “When it’s time for your movie, you’ll be blowing up! Until then… you’re just like everyone else.” Good to know.

I approve of the ambition of The Nine Muses, but the ‘lyrical’ pace is tough to sync to with little sleep and the experience of Sundance swirling around. Long and often-repeated shots of anonymous men in parkas gazing out over snowy landscapes, accompanied by readings from great works of world literature. It’s a very deliberate construction but not one hundred percent successful. One learns that the trick isn’t to pay close attention to the layers of spoken words, screen text and images – the narrative and structure are distilled from the audiovisual churn, assembling in your mind instead of on the screen. Words or phrases separate themselves from the flow and lend surprising meaning to elements that have come before. Maybe the pacing forces one to back away from close attention, to receive the film in this other way. Anyway, they didn’t need my support, they were funded by the UK Film Council.

Back at the condo, everyone’s rushing out, Jon and Justin to the premiere of a shorts program featuring an artist they know. The internet’s broken here – time to fix it.

 

1/20/2011 – Arrival

Arrival

I’m sitting on the plane with Jon Foy and Justin Duerr, the star of the film. Finally a chance to catch up. Things are moving almost too fast to believe. They are getting interest from the New Yorker and The Carson Daly Show. Jon says, that’s what happens when you have a publicist. The one thing they splurged on, apparently. What he seems most excited about is that Matt Groening is on the documentary jury this year at Sundance, which means he’ll watch the film. Jon’s also excited to be around celebrity film composers like Thomas Newman and George Clinton who will be in Park City this year.

Things haven’t been all fun and celebrities. Jon’s barely slept this week. He opens a little canvas bag and hands me a big, big videocassette. It’s the backup HD-CAM master, adorned with little stickers saying things like “1080p”. Jon picked it up one day ago, a clone of the one that he overnighted to Sundance two days ago. Things aren’t a hundred percent settled because Jon still hasn’t heard confirmation from Sundance that they received it, although the package seems to have arrived. In the last few weeks he’s been wrestling with immense technical difficulties to get the film presentable, and at times it seemed possible that the film might not screen. The ghosts of this battle still hang around him.

I ask Jon about what specific goals he might have with the film and he says that they can’t have any, really, because everything is so up in the air. That’s how fluid the situation is. Jon has a ten-page agenda that his girlfriend made up for him. Almost every hour, especially in opening weekend, is programmed. He’s being guided through this process by Doug Block, the film’s new Executive Producer, representative, industry heavy-hitter and all-around good guy. Jon is so happy to have Doug’s help with everything in the film’s new phase.

On the last leg of my flight I’m sitting next to the daughter of Buck, the eponymous subject of a doc premiering this weekend… the flight attendants give a shout-out to us during the safety instructions… the airport shuttle is full of film people; one who just sold his film to IFC. It’s premiering tomorrow at Sundance and simultaneous video-on-demand. Another passenger is the personal assistant of a producer.

The north end of Park City is a warren of identical condos, shopping centers and snaking continents of snow. I have to leave my bags in a dark frigid lot while I wander among them looking for our unit. The Resurrect Dead crew are over at the fest HQ picking up our credentials and a goody bag, heavy with music CDs. The HQ and a few of the major theaters are all right around the corner from our condo, although Park City’s downtown itself is a bit further to the south.

Most of our group is vegetarian and poor, so we hit the grocery store and come back to the condo to make microwave meals and plan strategies. Meanwhile Jon is out with Doug at a party hosted by IndieWire. We have to decide who among us will be able to go to tonight’s Opening Night Party, for which there are only three spare tickets. Jon calls with news of another coveted ticket. He’ll meet us at the party.

I finally get my official credentials, which it seems that everyone else in town has too. It’s a massive plastic ID hanging from your neck with your name, the film you came with, and a magic hologram. The niftiest one I ever had. We make plans to host a festival of credentials in Philly called Cred Fest, featuring four-foot-tall credentials and awards including Best Credentials.

A bit after 11 we reach the Lodge, a multi-story structure with lounges and fireplaces, and find a line straggling out the front into the biting cold air of an echoing plaza. I decide to wear long johns to all future parties. Some people are waiting stoically wearing only suits. At the end of the long line, we are processed by an army of models wearing headsets and black outfits. A theme starts to appear: things are actually free – drinks, coat check, amazing food. I’ve been to other fests as a director, and had to shell out for everything at every event that was supposedly being held for us.

The vibe in the party is egalitarian and casual, if a little reserved. The music is barely too loud for networking, perhaps by design. People are clumping together in the groups they came with. The average age could be 28. They are cutting the head off the Stella Artois with little knives. I meet two people, both of whom are from Salt Lake City! The celebs must be at some cool private party somewhere, which feels perfect actually. It’s clubby to be here with the ‘community’ way up in the mountains, the young hard-working makers, the soldiers on the front line.

Jon arrives and spends a lot of time picking the brains of a fellow director with Sundance experience, Peter Richardson, whose film ‘How To Die In Oregon’ which is premiering here too. Peter is exceedingly nice. Jon reports that all of the doc filmmakers he’s met have been truly nice. In fact, Peter gives us a ride home, though I have to lie in the trunk space so we’ll all fit, and with my head on the floor I gaze up at the snowy peaks sliding past, glowing blue as the projector on the moon begins to roll.

 

1/19/2011 – Sundance Eve

Sundance Eve

I’ve finished packing for Sundance and I have to get up early to catch my flight. Just a couple of months ago I thought I’d be having another slow, cold January in Philly writing some scripts. Suddenly I’m on my way to Robert Redford’s legendary independent film festival in Park City, Utah. And I’m lucky enough to be going along with the feature documentary Resurrect Dead: The Mystery of the Toynbee Tiles, directed by my friend Jon Foy.

Jon and I have been talking and working together for a couple of years. For my 2009 narrative feature, when my original composer (he who will not be named) missed his deadlines and literally went into hiding, Jon stepped in to score the entire film before its festival premiere. Since then we spend a lot of time commiserating about being unknown, impoverished filmmakers, and we talk a lot of Mystery Science Theater.

But Jon will no longer be unknown now that his film is an official selection at Sundance 2011. It’s been a matter of weeks since he found out; the news came as he was wondering whether he’d be able to go on as a filmmaker. It’s a feeling I know too well, when you’ve put everything on the line but there may be nothing out there for you; your efforts may just vanish into the history of unregarded creations. Yet with one phone call, the whole complexion of Jon’s life changed. I’ve only seen him for a few seconds since then, as he’s been working around the clock, sleeping only a few hours a night, preparing the movie and putting together the team and finances that it will need. The only way I’ll see him before Utah might be at the airport.

Resurrect Dead is a real DIY film, partly by choice, because it can be, and partly because it was hard to get any support along the way (with PIFVA’s post-production grant a laudable exception). The Sundance acceptance changed everything; suddenly people want to be involved, when before it was just a small group of people who were supportive. But because of the small scope and the sudden change in fortunes, Jon has been scrambling in a literal race to raise enough money to get the film to Sundance, let alone with enough in place to capitalize on its appearance there. He’s had to make hard decisions about what kind of support to accept, with what strings attached, and how to allocate any money he could get. Al the problems of being nobody were quickly replaced by all the problems of being somebody. But he’s incredibly fortunate to have gotten some of the best people in the business on his team. Starting with this festival, they will work together in the belief that this project could realize every filmmaker’s dream.