Sundance Film Festival 2004 – Lily Hatchett

Sundance Film Festival 2004

Lily Hatchett

Greetings from the top of the Wasatch Mountains! Park City is a small silver mining village that still shows its Wild West underpinnings as a new town built around the old town, now home to impassioned skiers and snowboarders from all four corners of the world. Once a year the filmmakers converge on the sloping Main Street, the town ski lift, the tiny cottages of the original settlers unchanged (except for the paint) since mules hauled the mineral wealth, where one could purchase beer and hookers with the same token. Down in the valley, Salt Lake City has been registering the highest pollution levels recorded in the U.S. due to a thermal inversion. From up here it looks like a thin, flat, otherworldly sort of cloud layer dividing our clear, divine mountain air from the chemical soup below. Houston and LA are being given a run in the pollution competition. The Sundance Film Festival, oblivious to the air in the valley, is being fueled by bright sunlight and filmmaking brilliance.

2004 marks the twentieth birthday of two entities that have contributed enormously to the independent filmmaker: The Mac and Sundance. If they were personified as two individuals at a party I would introduce them to one another as fellow travelers on the same bus. Happy Birthday!

Every year there is pre-festival buzz about certain films, like the Butterfly Effect, star-driven, Hollywood PR-driven, big bucks shouting their wares. The stars come out to ski and party. The star-hungry have no mercy. These are the few, the rest are films by artists and filmmakers who are absolutely amazed that they made it to the big fest in the little village. I must say that it is a thrill to be surrounded by so much talent, drive and enthusiasm.

Here is a short list of films not to miss. Some will be picked up and widely distributed, some will not. This does not indicate value or the quality of the work, it seems to be about the luck of the draw. The buzz is all-powerful in a microcosm such as this.

Supersize Me, Morgan Spurlock’s documentary features Dr. Daryl Isaacs, our local Soho superdoc who monitored the filmmaker’s month-long McDonald’s with nothing but McDonald’s eating spree. This is one of those films that could have just as easily disappeared into the jaws of the bottomless pit of independent filmmaking, but somehow it got fat on the huge, monster buzz. The scramble for tickets was extraordinary for such a little documentary. Eat it up on the big and little screen soon.

The Motorcycle Diaries, director Walter Salles, screenwriter Jose Rivera, is based on the journals kept by Che Guevara (before he was “Che”, before and perhaps how, he was politicized) during a nine-month motorcycle trip through South America. The acting and the countryside paralleled each other in excellence. Our two travelers are charming and irresistible; the world they encounter is surreal in a way that only reality can offer. I love film and literary trips through South America, especially when they stay away from the trafficking clichés. I find that the body language of the Spanish-speaking world exhibits an inner realm that is rich with personal metaphor. What Sebastian Dreamt, by Rodrigo Rey Rosa takes place in the deep Guatemalan jungle. The location is enough enticement, and then there is the music by homeboy, Elliott Sharp! You can count on a small independent feature to bring to us views that may never be seen otherwise. The sky and river meet just ahead, the jungle is the big boss, and we are taken to obscure locations where the locals play themselves, and the local customs and artifacts are real…or are they? A tale told in layers of mystery, betrayal and contempt, odd clumsy kind of lust, raw sophistication, of a world where even the purest of innocence has claws.

In The Realms of the Unreal by Jessica Yu is a documentary about the reclusive Chicago artist, Henry Darger. He was so reclusive that the fact that he was an artist only came to light after his death in 1973. His 15 volume, over 15,000 word fantasy in drawing and watercolor filled his rooming house quarters. The battles between good and evil, horrific natural disasters, the Vivien Girls, penises and all, his Realms of the Unreal hints at the Harry Who art movement from Chicago. Hmm…perhaps it’s the water. Yu’s animation of Darger’s drawings and the anecdotes by people that (barely) knew him creates an homage of love for a man that had none, ever. This humble, imaginative man’s work, contains an inner universe as grand as Mother Nature herself. The animation of his drawings and the tales they told is done to perfection. I would have loved to have been his friend. Keep an eye for this one on PBS, but I suggest the big screen.

In I Like Killing Flies, filmmaker Matt Mahurin follows chef Kenny Shopsin around during the last weeks of Shopsin’s tiny restaurant in its original location the West Village. The drum was rolling at first, Kenny was not renewing his lease after being in the same location for over 35 years. The new lease offer was for one year, infuriatingly disrespectful and Kenny was having none of it. The good news is that he relocated around the corner to a bigger space. The sad news was the loss of his adoring, patient wife, Eve after the making of this documentary. All your old and new fans love you, Kenny, and your family and express out deepest condolences. Self-made chef dude supreme, Kenny is quite deeply engaged in the universe, his views are amazing, his opinions are New York Zen, and he has a thing or two to tell you about yourself. The documentary made me hungry for non-politically correct food. I suggest that you see the film before you go to the restaurant. If he yells at you and kicks you out, you will know why, and you will be enlightened.

I cannot resist a good rock-n-roll documentary. This time there are two great ones. Metallica: Some Kind of Monster by Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, is a daring show of sensitivity by “tough guys” who work on their problems with a psychiatrist and have the whole ordeal documented. I love the moment when the shrink oversteps his bounds and gels the band. The more gonzo Dig! by Ondi Timoner is all about having a camera at the right moment, and not getting a concussion in the process. Following the Dandy Warhols and the Brian Jonestown Massacre bands for seven years and getting bombarded by genius makes for excellent stuff of rock history captured on film.

I would also call to your attention a few more titles of films that you should keep on your radar. Goodbye, Lenin (Wolfgang Becker) has been extremely well received in Europe; this is a funny little lemonade about love, family, denial, and East Germany in transition. Harry and Max by Christopher Munch, not politically correct by any stretch, obscuring sex and family taboos with a touch of naïveté and matter of factness. Down to the Bone (Debra Granick), a great piece of Upstate New York Cinema Verite. The ensemble work was magnificent; the tale is too true, the filmmaking bare and compassionate. Chrystal, written and directed by Ray McKinnon, with Billy Bob Thorton, Lisa Blount, Harry Dean Stanton and Ray McKinnon. The story is thoroughly marinated in Arkansas Cinema Verite, of the people, by the people, inlaid with dark humor and wisdom from the hills. The music will stay with me forever! The Corporation, Mark Achbar and Jennifer Abbott, tracks the history and confirms all our fears about the players and how our lives are controlled by the “company store”. Don’t take your kids to see Jacob Kornbluth’s The Best Thief in the World, a tale of a sneaky little “honest” straight-A thief who changes the furniture around while the residents are out, and few other small and dangerous crimes and intrusions.

Sundance Film Festival Short Films deserve a long write-up. There were so many and they were, on the most part, extremely good, sad, amazing, informative and entertaining.