Day 6: My Festival Experience
The thrill of victory, and the agony of Main Street. Plus: Sundance trivia, hot buttered toast, and a glimpse of G-string.
After finally lowering my barbeque-laden body into the sweet loving arms of bed, the alarm goes off a scant 5 hours later. I stagger around, throwing raisin bran at my mouth, sticking on some deodorant, and layering together an outfit – extra-preggo-gut-covering-long shirt under wool sweater under puffy Sundance staff vest under gigantic puffy tomato coat, plus puffy scarf – and Daily Insider Senior Editor Clay and I are out the door before 9.
For a Change
We cab down to Lower Main Street, where 100s of Obama enthusiasts are gathering to watch their breaths as they watch the inauguration unfurl on a handful of outdoor TV screens. The heat of the moment warms the crowd, who cheer and clap wildly over Aretha’s hat, and Bush’s scowl, and anything Obama says or does: blooper-reeling through his swearing-in, and cajoling the nation to dust itself off and get to work, and name-checking the Non Believers. And, and, and! The morning has the sweetness of a long-overdue victory, with lots of hugging and high-fiving, and by the end of things, I’ve got me a sore smiler.
As things start to die down, a handful of Insider staff and I drift up to a café, in search of some thawing agents. We settle into a table in back, where we sit for a few quiet minutes, contemplatively sipping on hot sippables and crunching on buttered toast.
Mean Streets
Back at the condo, I settle in to do some work, a good intention that somehow morphs into a disco catnap. My phone rings and I haul my head off my drool-soaked pillow to get a look at the clock. It’s time to head back downtown for today’s man-on-the-street interviews.
Right away, Insider Photo Editor Brandon and I realize we’re in for a long day. The streets are dead – maybe because people are off recuperating from the morning’s historics, or maybe it’s that this is a transition day for the Festival (the end of one ticket package and the beginning of the next). Whatever the reason, finding bodies to interview is slow going. Also today’s question, “Do you remember where you where when Obama was inaugurated?” sounds funny (to me) on paper, but as the answers start to slowly creep in, we discover that everyone’s answer is more or less the same. And somehow “lying in bed, watching my television” doesn’t quite capture the new administration’s (yes we) can-do attitude.
There are a few exceptions, however nothing we can actually publish. One man uses my microphone as a launching platform for an elaborate conspiracy theory about “the silent hand that moves bananas.” Another blushingly admits that he, during the moments that Obama was putting hand to Lincoln bible, was in the throes of his very first three-way sexathon. And though he’s clearly thrilled by the titillating turn of events, he’d rather not advertise the fact alongside his name and photo.
We almost get our hands on the Office’s Ed Helms, who’s the first person we find who didn’t spend the morning in bed or worrying about banana-moving hands. Unfortunately he’s late for another interview, and he scampers off before we can get a photo.
After a great deal of footwork, we finally manage to track down enough interesting people who are both sane and willing/able to talk, including: Keith Major, a handsome photographer from New York; Mary Beth Minthorn, producer of Asshole; Credentialing Director Lever Rukhin; and The Vicious Kind’s writer/director Lee Toland Krieger and producer Tim Harms.
We scamper back to the office, and quick like cheetahs, and I transcribe the interviews. Only to discover that the whole painful piece has to be scrapped due to space problems in today’s issue. Sad trombone sound!
Trivial Matters
At 8 p.m., I head down to the Filmmakers Lodge for some Late Night Trivia, where six seasoned Sundancers gamely take the stage for some competitive Festival-related Q&A – extra points are awarded for wit and libel. In this corner: reviewer Sean Means, indie king Bingham Ray, and producer Mary Jane Skalski. And in this corner: Filmmaker Boaz Yakin (writer for Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights!), juror Ruby Rich, and writer/filmmaker/performer/programmer/twitterer (I’m the one just southwest of the moose head) Shaz Bennett.
The teams take turns attempting feats of memory, from trying to name the most Festival films with the word “Love” in it to naming films based on nothing but the very last lines of dialogue. There’s even a selection of clips to identify, scenes from films such as Mi Vida Loca and Donnie Darko, disturbingly reenacted by Sundance Institute staff.
The evening is further enhanced by the unavoidable glare of a satin g-string, which rides high and proud and well above the pantline of a photographer bending and crouching at the front of the stage.
After the show is over, I wander out into the cold and hail a cab. The driver turns out to be part of the seasonal workforce of men and women who come to work in Park City only for the duration of the Festival. My driver lives in Salt Lake City, and has been working almost around the clock for the past four days, but he’s still upbeat, chatty, and very, very nice, with none of the jadedness of a seasoned year-round cabby.
When I get home, I do some laundry and then wash my hair, a turn of events that I know sounds like a 50s-era excuse for turning down a date, but after my recent spate of late-late nights out, feels like a luxury vacation.
Tomorrow’s to-dos: Go out for some more man-on-the-street fun, see Paper Heart, floss.
MY FESTIVAL EXPERIENCE
Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9 | Day 10
