Day 3: Gentlemen Who Queer Brunch
The first time at Sundance is invariably a learning experience. Over the past few days, for example, I've learned that I am a dithering idiot when it comes to finding theaters, getting into non-press screenings and scoring free liquor, alcohol and swag.
Thankfully I found a mentor who hipped me to the enigmatic ways of Sundancing last night at a press screening of Come Early Morning, a wizened, wise old Pat Morita to my brash young Ralph Macchio. The first time my fearless mentor attended Sundance she made the tragic mistake of seeing as many film as possible. The next year she learned her lesson and saw half as many films, went to twice as many parties, and made four times as many connections. And oh the swag! Decadent gift bags fell into her arms like manna from heaven. Of course she had to curry the favor of the Sundance staff by bringing them cookies and stroking their egos but her maneuvering paid rich dividends and soon she was getting into all the best parties, seeing all the best celebrities, eating all the best appetizers, drinking all the best cocktails and getting all the best swag.
What kind o' swag? Oh, how 'bout Dolce & Gabanna, a snowboard and a cashmere scarf that was absolutely to die for!???? She uttered the phrase "cashmere scarf" with such sensual delight that I feared for a second that she'd take out the scarf and rub the fabric against my cheek to show me just how soft it was. Of course I was in no place to judge her as I was wearing my Just Like Heaven promotional cashmere scarf at that very moment (what can I say? It's a warm scarf and in an arctic environment like Park City in January you need all the warmth you can get). There was something hypnotic about the way my Sundance sensei talked, a shamelessness about her superficiality that was somehow strangely honorable. She was even writing a piece about Sundance swag and gift bags and, oh lordym, was she living her work. You've got to admire the moxie of someone who manages to make getting as much free stuff as possible an essential component of the job.
Nevertheless, like a sucker I saw a whole mess o' movies yesterday. They were:
Awesome! I Fucking Shot That!
This Beastie Boys concert movie had me from its hilarious opening crawl, which begins as an exact duplicate of the opening from Scarface–right down to the Georgio Moroder synthesizers– before explaining how The Beastie Boys gave 50 fans and friends cameras to shoot a homecoming concert at Madison Square Garden. The resulting footage is raw as fuck and sometimes so fuzzily digitized that it makes the Beastie Boys look like characters from an Atari 2600 game. In my row alone an equal number of people rocked out like they were at an actual concert (myself included) and walked out after 10 minutes rather than get pounding migraines from the barrage of stylistic tricks, blurry imagery, and funky neo-psychedelia. This seems destined to find a cult audience of stoners and midnight movie afficianados as it's fundamentally a head film, trippy, funky and mind-altering in its own right.
Word Play
Or Awesome! I Fucking Filled In That Grid! This fun, very likable documentary about the brainiac, deeply geeky subculture of die-hard crossword puzzle-designers, championship puzzle-solvers, and celebrity crossword puzzle fans is quirky, funny, warm, affectionate and very much in the mold of Spellbound. It's essentially pornography for Poindexters and there's something really winning about the unabashed geekiness of many of the film's subjects. The filmmakers stack the movie with ringers in the opening half, from Bill Clinton to Jon Stewart–who adopts a very funny mock-confrontational attitude towards New York Times puzzle guru Will Shortz, a ubiquitous and very engaging presence in the film–to The Indigo Girls and Mike Mussina, all of whom seem happy to let their geek flag fly. The second half of the film centers around the surprisingly suspenseful Crossword Puzzle Championships, where a 20-year-old frat boy crossword prodigy squares off against a quirky gay chinless wonder who looks like a cross between Ray Romano and Paul Giamatti and a dumpy fiftysomething perpetual also-ran. Besides, it's not every film that can win startled audience gasps from an incompletely filled out crossword puzzle.
Somebodies
Imagine a cross between Chis Cherot's funky black bohemian romantic comedy Hav Plenty and a WB sitcom pilot full of broad caricatures, lowbrow sex jokes, and shouting and you have a pretty fair approximation of Homebodies, an ultra low-budget ramshackle comedy about a hard-drinking black college student in Athens, Georgia and his crazy pals, family and girlfriend. There are some really funny moments, a nice sense of place, and some inspired bits but writer-director-actor Hadji needs to refine his comic voice. The film as a whole doesn't hold together and fatally lacks pacing, plot, momentum and character development. Nevertheless there's a lot of promise on display here and it'll be interesting to see what Hadjii does next.
Come Early Morning
Though they couldn't be more dissimilar in tone, the screamingly quiet Come Early Morning strangely echoes Somebodies, another defiantly regional Southern film about protagonists torn between Saturday night sinning and Sunday morning salvation. I feared the worst about this directorial effort from helium-voiced, leprechaun-sized former Kevin Smith fixture Joey Lauren Adams but was pleasantly surprised. After years in the wilderness of witless thrillers and romantic comedies Ashley Judd returns to Ruby In Paradise form in this leisurely character study about a hard-drinking, promiscuous small-town barfly desperate for a new beginning. A romance with an inexpressive car buff causes Judd to reexamine her self-destructive ways and at its best Come Early Morning boasts an easy intimacy that belies the prickliness of a lead who holds the world at arm's length, pushing men away before they can hurt her. Adams starts to lose control over her material only towards the end but otherwise this is a very promising debut.
Yesterday my celebrity sightings included Paris Hilton and famed cinemtographer and director Haskell Wexler, who I should note do not appear to romantically involved, though I certainly wouldn't be averse to spreading the rumor that Wexler's giving Hilton the old Hong Kong Handshake (or Kansas City Shuffle as it were). Ta-ta for now bloggers! Up next: A Beastie Boys press conference and a John Waters-hosted Queer brunch (hopefully).
Your Man On The Ground,
Nathan Rabin