Musings and movie reviews Tales from the Sundance Film Festival
We arrived in Park City late Friday morning, driving the only compact car in a lemming herd of sport utility vehicles and frumpy imports. From the beginning it was clear – we were the vulgar invading the city of the self-appointed elite. Notwithstanding our conspicuous lack of affluence, we clung to optimism and sought out the press office to obtain our credentials.
Our nondescript passes further reinforced our status as meager commoners. Different members of the press were assigned different privileges. Privileges ranged from V.I.P. access to little more than the pathetic notoriety of having a plastic tag hanging from your neck. We were given the latter. At least we had access to public toilets, use of the sidewalks and certain pre-designated drinking fountains.
We did make a fashion statement. We were the only two journalists at Sundance who didn’t look like we were attending some rock star’s funeral. Clad in our best blue jeans and sassy winter sweaters, we thought for certain we’d blend right in. We didn’t. Everyone else seemed to have stopped someplace unbeknownst to us to obtain their all-black, I-just-stepped-off-“The Matrix”-set uniforms. Black leather jackets, tight micro-fiber ski pants and shiny, black, square-toed shoes were the attire of choice.
Vowing not to let this brave new world of elitist conformity get us down, we retreated to the most inconspicuous corner of the press member’s courtesy suite and planned our attack. After all, we were there to see movies, not make friends.
We scheduled some screenings, tried to schedule some interviews (everyone was at the Golden Globes) and made our way to what journalists have dubbed “the shoeboxes.”
The concept of the shoebox is simple. If you are short on theaters, just make some. These consisted of hotel convention rooms draped in black curtains. A screen was set up in the front, a projector in the back and voila, a miniature theater.
Fortunately for us, our press credentials did allow us into the shoeboxes. After stealing some cheese and spring water from the hospitality suite, we made our way to the movies.
“Series 7”
The first was a clever parody of reality television shows affectionately entitled “Series 7.” This film takes the concept of reality television to a predictable extreme. Instead of putting the contestants in a New York loft or on some island teaming with new potential sex partners, “Series 7” takes six small town residents, gives them handguns and a license to kill each other. The rules are elegantly simple: The last person alive wins.
The current reigning champion is a pregnant woman, only one month away from delivering. Although resourceful and ruthless on the outside, she harbors a secret that serves as the driving force behind the story.
Other contestants include a reclusive 72-year-old man, a cancer victim, a nurse, a meth-addicted father and an 18-year-old high school student whose parents are fanatically supportive of her newfound fame.
“Series 7” is obvious with its intentions from the beginning, but honest in its tongue-in-cheek portrayal of reality television. The movie laughs at itself from start to finish. Its only downfall lies in that it relies heavily on concepts taken directly from the genre that it mocks. Therefore it is likely to be funny only to those who follow reality television series.
“Memento”
“Memento” was one of the most interesting and engaging movies we saw during our weekend at the festival. The movie stars Guy Pearce as Leonard Shelby, a man driven by a relentless desire to avenge his wife’s murder while a rare, untreatable form of memory loss hinders his path.
Leonard sustains a serious head injury trying to protect his wife from her attacker. After the murder, he discovers his last memory is that of his wife dying. New memories fade quickly for Leonard, forcing him to use a unique system of note and picture taking to help remind him of the clues he has picked up along the way.
The film is both sad and punctuated with moments of brilliant dark comedy. In one scene, Leonard is trying to explain that his memory loss makes it impossible for him to obtain closure over his wife’s death. He comments that he “can’t remember to forget her.” In another, he finds himself chasing a man on foot. Unfortunately, he can’t recall why. When he catches up to the man (who turns and shoots at him), he realizes to his dismay that he’s the one being pursued.
The entire film is shot in reverse, beginning with Leonard gunning down a man in an abandoned building outside of town and pausing to take a Polaroid of the body. The movie then skips backward in time to what happens prior to his driving to the abandoned building – and so forth, right up to the beginning of the story. This, of course, is the end of the movie and a revelation to the audience that not everything was as it seemed with Leonard.
“Memento” is a unique film that demands the viewer’s full attention and rewards them with a fascinating ride backward through the life of a character who could have been taken straight from a Hitchcock movie. I came to envy the character of Leonard for his gift of forgetting when we viewed our next movie “Raw Deal.”
“Raw Deal”
On Friday, Feb. 26, 1999, Delta Chi frat brothers at the University of Florida held a party at their fraternity house and hired exotic dancer Lisa Gier King to perform. The following morning, a half-naked and distraught King ran from the house, claiming that frat brother Michael Yarhaus had raped her.
Two days later, King herself was arrested for filing a false police report after authorities obtained two videotapes from the fraternity documenting the night’s activities – including the alleged rape.
“Raw Deal” was classified at the festival as a documentary, but the film had some of the best acting I’ve ever seen. Lisa King, of course, blamed everyone from the lowliest fraternity wannabe to the state attorney general. One particular frat brother denounced King as the kind of low-life trailer trash that was clearly beneath his social class – even though he is shown on tape exchanging affections with her.
The director interviewed virtually everyone involved in the case. He even tried to interview representatives from the National Organization for Women – the special interest lobby that protested for nine months over King’s arrest. The audience chuckled when producers noted that NOW refused to be interviewed for the documentary unless it was compensated with $5,000 dollars and 40 percent of the movie’s profits. During a conversation with other critics after the film, a debate ensued over who was more disgusting, a house full of depraved frat brothers or opportunistic feminist groups like Florida’s chapter of NOW.
Despite its tasteless content, “Raw Deal” was a fair and conscientious attempt by the director to determine the truth in a case where even the videotape is inconclusive. How can that be? Watch it for yourself; but beware – it’s X-rated and it will offend you.