FFC interview with John Cooper
Walking through Park City this year, two things immediately stood out: The abundance of young babies - embryonic fluids all but glistening on their cheeks - being carted around like the hippest accessory (with very few of them wearing anywhere near the proper amount of bundling) and the slew of skater boiz and teen girls milling aimlessly through the streets. Needless to say, the babies were better behaved than some of the industry folk crowding the mountaintop burg.
The cool consequence of Sundance having grown into its monstrous proportions is that it's so far-flung in its offerings that filmgoers can shape their own festival based on the movies they choose to see or avoid. You can either hurl yourself into the madness of glitz and exclusive parties, or hunker down and take in films that - outside of the festival circuit - might never be heard of again. To that end, I bypassed the Butterfly Effect (whose trailers were already playing in theaters even before the festival began) and other contrived-hype efforts that already had the safety net of distribution, and tried instead to catch fare that might prove harder to find in the next year or so. (Though I have to admit that I did try to get into a screening of Walter Salles' forthcoming Motorcycle Diaries (USA/Argentina/Chile/Peru), adapted from the journals of Che Guevara and his traveling companion, Alberto Granado, to no avail. Tickets were impossible to come by.)
Guy Maddin's the Saddest Music in the World (Canada), a surreal musical melodrama, evoked both walkouts and rapturous applause at the sold-out screening I attended. It's a depression- era tale of a competition hosted by Winnipeg's wealthy, legless beer baroness, Lady Port-Huntly (Isabella Rosellini) to determine the saddest song in the world, with musicians from all over the world vying for the big money prize. The film's shimmering black and white world was a nimble fusion of classic Hollywood musical aesthetics and vernacular, and wry modern sensibilities, with no element being shortchanged, though the pacing and arid humor proved too much for some viewers. The sight of Rosellini, who's very good in the part, standing on beer-filled glass legs while clad in a flapper's fringe-lined short dress is worth the price of admission by itself.
Carroll Parrot Blue's interactive techno memoir, The Dawn at My Back: Memoir of a Black Texas Upbringing (based on the author/professor's traditional memoir) screened as part of the festival's online festival. Blue, using an interface inspired by her great grandmother's quilt, has created a digital landscape where viewers can click from story to story - acting as both editor and screenwriter as they construct the narrative and pace of the various stories contained in several animated "panscapes." The director employs original photographs, video and archival materials, and the voices of Debbie Allen, Ruby Dee and Ossie Davis to tell the tale of how racism in its myriad forms and permutations shaped her relationship with her mother, her family and herself.
Irony abounded this year with two films that generated a lot of organic buzz but whose political ambitions and artistic scope were predicted to possibly work against them; they ended up being darlings of the festival. Both Jonathan Caouette's wildly acclaimed experimental, autobiographical, documentary/fiction film, Tarnation (USA) and Kevin Willmott's mockumentary, CSA: The Confederate States of America (USA) experiment with form and genre to grapple with notions of truth, authenticity and the construction of identity. Fittingly, they center on the two resilient bugaboos of American culture - and queer sexuality (Tarnation) and the history and thriving legacies of racism (CSA). The deeply researched, painstakingly crafted CSA imagines what the world would be like if the South had won the US Civil War. It's an inspired fever dream that critiques white supremacy and US imperialism as they play out in everything from advertising to US global policies. Told with both tongue-in-cheek and a withering eye on the realities of race matters, the film is both hilarious and, as it unfolds, discomfiting.
What makes both films so thrilling is that in their irreverence toward form/genre, they sidestep the formulaic black and queer films that have so often been programmed at the self-consciously uber liberal Sundance (and which were in painful abundance this year, as well.) CSA and Tarnation go beyond mere liberalism to true progressiveness - they're not about maintaining the comfort zones of patronizing cultural gatekeepers, or meeting quotas, but about stretching art to the limits of possibility. They share that trait with Rodney Evans' fine timeline jumping film, Brother 2 Brother, which focuses on a contemporary black gay college student battling both racism and homophobia in his life, and finding solace in figures from the Harlem Renaissance. All three films underscore the fluidity and multi-tiered nature of identity while broadening both the dialogue and the boundaries of the identities which they examine.
Documentaries (real, not faux) were, as usual, the most consistently strong offerings at Sundance. Barak Goodman's workmanlike, the Fight (USA), transcended its staid PBS blueprint to tell the fascinating tale of Joe Louis' legendary 1938 boxing match with Hitler's Great White Hope, Max Schmeling. Filling in the background of each man, and carefully detailing how and why each became the symbol of their country's hopes and ideologies (and garnering a wry chuckle with the observation that American racists were put in the bind of having to choose between racial allegiance and patriotism for their country), the film soars on the strength of its subject matter. The documentary short, Foo Foo Dust (USA), by Gina Levy and Eric Johnson, is a harrowing look at the lives of a mother and son duo of drug addicts barely scraping by in San Francisco's Tenderloin district. A 52-year-old Berkeley graduate/ ex-flower child/schoolteacher/artist turned prostitute and crack addict, and her 22-yearold heroin addict slacker son, bicker, snarl and snipe at each other as they try to avoid eviction from their sleazy motel, plot to score drugs and run down the list of old friends they might be able to crash with and sponge off. It's a relentlessly dire but almost hypnotic portrait that wiggles beneath preconceived notions of addiction only to confirm the bleakness of the life.
The most haunting and life affirming film at the festival was Ross Kaufman's and Zana Briski's documentary, Born into Brothels (USA), set in Calcutta's red light district and focused on the children of prostitutes, who may be even more socially stigmatized than their mothers. (The film will be broadcast by HBO later this year, with the stipulation that it cannot be shown in India in order to protect the children who are in it.) When the British Briski went to India on a magazine assignment to photograph monks a few years ago, her natural interest in women's issues lead her to the brothels of Calcutta to get a glimpse at the lives of the women who live and work in them. But it was the children of the prostitutes who captured her heart. Not allowed to attend schools, denied the most basic of public services and human rights, they still possess a vibrant spark. Briski soon set up a photography class for the children, instructing them in the craft and encouraging them to document their world as they see it.
That's the entry point for the audience to step into a world of poverty and codified criminality. The young girls in the film are coerced by their own families into becoming prostitutes - going "on the line" — in order to help support their families. There are almost no other options available to them. The boys, likewise, are born into lives circumscribed by circumstances and social biases beyond their control. At one point, a ten-year-old boy remarks, "One has to accept life as sad and painful. That's all." And later, another tells her, "There is nothing called hope in my future." Brothels is a film that forces tears to well at the oddest moments - not necessarily or only at moments of defeat or heartbreak. As the children turn out to be remarkably astute social commentators (and one boy has an astonishing gift for photography that is almost derailed by the harsh realities in his life), emotion builds due to the struggle the kids engage in as they try to take charge of their own lives and defeat the map that's been drawn for them. You weep as strongly for those who make it as for those who don't.
The preponderance of documentaries - real and mock - that have been made in the last few years, and the enthusiastic reception they've received, makes it clear that there is an audience that is starved for truthful, unvarnished looks at the world. Or, at least, films that purport to speak with some realism about the world we live in and the people we share it with. They also raise questions about the very nature of truth in both life and "art."
No documentary is "pure." Choices are made in the editing room, while the film is being shot, and as it's being conceived, as to who and what will be focused on, what will be emphasized or ownplayed, what will be followed up on and what will be relegated to secondary status in terms of narrative import. But the wealth of mockumentaries (and "documentaries" such as Tarnation, which employs recreations of real life events and is also dosed with fictional elements) also gives rise to new questions, concerning the malleability of truth and how much leeway is given in employing tools of fiction in order to arrive at greater truths - if that is even the goal. This is a time when our own government and corporate media willfully, flagrantly play fast and loose with truth and "reality" television is the most molded, micro-managed, fake pop culture product going. It's interesting to note both the cultural ache for truth and the collective willingness to overlook the fact of great and powerful men behind the curtain manipulating, even obfuscating, that very truth in plain sight.
Hotels/Places to Stay
Featured Hotel
The Innvited Inn
Just a 15 minute ride away from Park City and in between there and the actual town of Sundance, lies a lovely and charming bed and breakfast modelled after the best in Europe. Innkeeper Susie knows her stuff and rooms range from Victorian to Arabian exotic-most with saunas and whirlpool baths big enough for four. A local honeymooners delight--and breakfasts included are out out of this world! Rooms range from $120 to $250 a night.
High End
The Yarrow
Truly the headquarters of all things Sundance, the press rooms, lounge areas, mailboxes and info areas are all situated in this hotel. Book early - and we mean early - usually sold out far in asvance. Rooms start at $269/night.
Silver King Hotel
Condos with everything in 'em. 100 yards from Park City Resort rooms start at $365/night. 800.331.8652
Moderate
Check out the local Best Western, Comfort Inn or Ramada Inn - they may not be in Park City but they'll be moderately priced with all the available ammeneties.
Budget
In Town Suites
Located on the outskirts of Salt Lake City - this bargin hotel is only a 25 minute drive from Main St. in Park City. Two beds with a kitchenette, fridge and wifi access is only $175 a WEEK! The rooms are clean and they have HBO. Drawbacks: Not what you would call a sophisticated clientele but not dangerous either. Also, even though our rooms were not smoking we could still smell the lingering of a former huffer puffer. Asthmatics be forewarned. It sure beats a Park city floor!! 800.553.9338 - 801.467.3688
Local Flavor
There's an abun"dance" of great food in the Park City area--gone are the days of pizza and beer--though there is plenty of that if you want as well. Explore Main Street--the main drag of the festival town--it's a virtual cornucopia of foods and tastes, drinks and spirits. This is Mormon country--where the drug of choice is sugar. Candy and fudge shops abound here and and if you need a jolt, there's plenty more than coffee the keep you party hopping through the wee hours.
Fine Dining
Grappas
Good Italian in snow country. Where else can you find pasta al dente? At the top of Main street near the roundabout.
Easy Street
Great soups, homey but elegant surroundings. Nice to come in from the cold to a well prepared meal. Near the Main Street junction.
Moderate
Main Street Deli
A casual eaterie with all the NY fixins--nosh at your leisure and still be on Main Street. 525 Main Street in Park City
Budget
Morning Ray Cafe
A sweet breakfast/lunch/early dinner place that is vege-friendly and has funny things on the wall and on their t-shirts that make fun of you out-of-towners. Good American food, reasonable prices. 255 Main Street at the end of the Treasure Mountain Inn.
For the truly broke, visit the Queer Lounge or the New York Film Dept.'s little Main Street hovel--free coffee, muffins, bagels and internet (at the Queer Lounge).