Cinequest 11: I came, I saw, I ate popcorn
By Cynthia W. Gentry, © 2001 by Cynthia W. Gentry, published on Dailygossip.com, April 2001.
Ever get the feeling that there are too many people out there making movies? And not in a happy-making “Gosh, could J.Crew possibly have more festive cashmere sweater sets” kind of way? Well, if you haven’t, you’d better transport your perky little tush to your local film festival, where you’ll see everything from Oscar nominated flicks to documentary shorts about excrement. The Cinequest San Jose Film Festival this year screened both Amores Perros, the Academy Award nominee for best foreign film, and a short called Shit—The Movie. The mind reels, no pun intended.
Feeling left out? Don’t think you have a film festival nearby? Trust me. You do. These days, film festivals are as plentiful as a longhaired cat’s hairballs on a warm summer day.
As my devoted readers know, my favorite local festival is the Cinequest San Jose Film Festival, and not simply because it was there that I had the opportunity to have a deep and meaningful conversation with Gabriel Byrne’s blue eyes or the occasion to have Alec Baldwin’s hand around my waist. (Sadly, there were others present on both occasions, but I digress.) Cinequest really does have a cool vibe, a lot of cool films, and the chance to mingle with filmmakers at every rung of the cinematic ladder. Not to mention the free coffee and booze, two of the cornerstones of my nutritional pyramid.
Stretched out to 11 days, this year’s Cinequest just gave us oodles of fun, and I felt it was my duty to cut a wide swath through as many events as possible for the sake of my dear readers. You can read my full report at (gratuitous plug ahead) on indiewire.com, but here are some tidbits that didn’t make the article.
Opening night, February 22. The crowds! The excitement! And free t-shirts on every chair in the theater, courtesy of the opening film, “Your Guardian”! What more could you ask, except for a decent film?
Now, I admire and respect anyone who undertakes to make a feature movie. My hats off to Kari Nevil for the love and energy she put into this effort, filmed locally in Princeton. Nevil was helped immensely by her stars Irene Bedard (“Smoke Signals”) and Chad Lowe (Mr. Hilary Swank), who provided the few moments of authenticity to grace a script that…trying to be nice…trying to be nice…otherwise might not have passed muster as a high school drama production. I’d say more, but my faithful-yet-strict assistant, Troy Everhard, Ph.D., CPA, CMT, has advised me that if I’m catty, he won’t let me claim paraffin treatments as a business-related deduction (even though everyone knows that soft, supple hands are critical to the writer’s trade). At any rate, let’s move on, shall we?
After the movie, the zesty VivianS and I hightailed it for the opening night party at Scott’s Seafood restaurant. Apparently, many of the opening-night crowd had forgotten to pack their Power Bars, because within an hour the place was packed by San Jose denizens who accosted the food-bearing staff in hungry, marauding packs. I myself was elbowed away from a catering tray by a young man dead set on securing the last bit of sushi. Yes, chivalry is dead, at least where ahi tuna is concerned.
Troy dragged me home for a hot rock aromatherapy massage and a good night’s beauty sleep, because the following evening saw Cinequest’s piece de resistance: an exclusive performance by Macy Gray, who’d won a Grammy just days before. But alas! I found myself suddenly dateless. Ever resourceful, I rung up the winsome DawnI, and soon we were powering down the carpool lane of Highway 101.
After taking in a showing of the documentary “Gibtown”—a look at Gibsonton, Florida, the retirement and off-season home to carnival and circus performers—and skipping the shorts that followed (remember how I said there are too many people making movies?) we repaired to The Usual nightclub in San Jose to see our girl Macy. We soon secured for ourselves the perfect spot: next to the bar and overlooking the stage. Could life be any better?
Yes, it could, because midway through Macy’s hot hot hot performance (yes, I joined in a chorus praising the male member), Dawn and I made the acquaintance of an adorable young man who was producing one of the films in the festival. Delighting us with a spiffy sense of humor and a gentlemanly willingness to accompany us on our many trips to the ladies’ room (one does need protection on these occasions), this young man then joined us at a light repast at Eulipia restaurant. We felt we owed it to him to see his film, “Elvis Took A Bullet” by writer-director Jerry Eeten.
I must admit that we skulked into “Elvis” nearly half an hour after the film had started, but even so, I don’t think it was due to the vodka tonics with which I’d wetted my whistle that I got such a kick out of this little movie. The story of a phobic doctor who finds himself rooming with a guy who thinks he’s the reincarnation of the King, “Elvis” (despite its apparently unfinished state) is a witty homage to B-movies. Look for it on video, kids. (OK, Mr. Producer, now do I get my deep tissue massage?)
After an affectionate goodbye to the director and his friendly crew, Dawn and I dragged our blonde heads home to prepare for the next day’s events. Well, both of us dragged our heads home; one of headed back for more film mania the next day. Somehow I shook off the effects of those vodka tonics and headed back down to Saratoga for a screening of “Maze,” the directorial debut of Rob Morrow (of TV’s “Northern Exposure,” a show I must admit I never watched).
The story of an artist with Tourette Syndrome who falls in love with his best friend’s girlfriend – played by the ever-luminous and bafflingly un-Oscared Laura Linney – “Maze” turned out to be unexpectedly moving. Yes, even I, who have been chastised for my lack of romantic feeling (I remain unfazed: “Autumn in New York” sucked), found myself getting all dewy-eyed for this film—not because of any false pathos created by the main character’s disability, but for the real situation faced by the all three characters. Sadly, I think this film probably won’t make it to the theaters, but if you see it in your local Blockbuster, rent it.
I dabbed away the tears that threatened my artfully applied Lancôme mascara (digressive question: why is it that when you want to take it off, waterproof mascara can only be removed by a blowtorch, but let me get a little misty over my latest MasterCard bill and I look like Tammy Faye Bakker?) and set out toward downtown San Jose to see Billy Bob Thornton receive Cinequest’s Maverick Spirit Award.
Again, alas: Mr. Thornton had been detained in Los Angeles by a personal emergency, the subject of which caused rife speculation among the assembled crowd. To assuage our grief, Cinequest staffers handed out free movie passes like perfume samples on Macy’s White Flower Day. Some of us repaired to the bar at the Fairmont Hotel, where we were able to recover our senses in time for our next showing.
Which was, as it turns out, one of the best movies of the festival: a fabulous documentary called “Amargosa.” Sadly, it was preceded by Lori Petty’s short and directorial debut “Horrible Accident”; the title says it all.
“Amargosa” is, frankly, a stunner. “Society laughs at dreams–until they come true.” Those are the words of 74-year-old Marta Becket, a professional dancer, who left the rat race of New York City to follow her dream in the town of Death Valley Junction, population 10. Let me put it this way: even the J.Crew catalog can’t make it to this burg. But did that stop Marta? Nooooo.
I whine daily about my inability to put pen to paper, yet Marta renovated an abandoned theater, converted it into the Amargosa Opera House (painting her own audience onto an amazing mural that lines the walls), and started performing a routine that’s a mix of ballet, mime and vaudeville. You can find out more at www.amargosafilm.com; the film next screens at the Istanbul International Film Festival (what did I tell you?) and closer to home, the Circa Now International Documentary Film Festival in Berkeley, April 19-21.
Another film festival—but wait, that was only the first weekend of Cinequest. There was more food to be eaten, more panels to attend, more screenings to view. But that tale will just have to wait until next time. My steadfast steward Troy is calling. The poor boy wants to practice his reflexology skills on my aching feet, and far be it from me to deny him an educational opportunity.