SIFF #15 - Closing Night, and missed parties

If you read SIFF #14, you may note that I filled up my dance card with four movies, ending around midnight, on the last day of SIFF. As usual, I did not actually attend the Closing Night film (or party, despite the invite, which was tempting for the booze). So this post is rather after-the-fact, especially considering I saw this film at SIFF's press launch way back in early May (man! this is a long festival). So if you are curious about the Closing Night film (as opposed to the event), here you go:

Have you ever noticed that lighthearted costume-comedies are always described as being a "delightful romp". Maybe it is the puffy shirts and shiny buckled boots, or the corsets and big wigs, but there seems to always be a requirement to go skipping through a sun-lit field in these kind of movies whilst spouting witticisms. Molière (6/8), SIFF's Closing Night film, is no different. It stars Romain Duris (L'Auberge Espagnole, Russian Dolls) in the titular role as the young playwright who is tired of the lighthearted fluff comedies he performs with his travelling troupe. He decides to take a job offer from Monsieur Jourdain (the comically dorky Fabrice Luchini) who would like acting lessons to seduce the beguiling debutante Célimène (Ludivine Sagnier). This is despite the fact that there is already a Madame Jourdain (Laura Morante)! Molière falls for Madame, and a romantic comedy of errors ensues. If you enjoyed movies like Shakespeare in Love and Much Ado About Nothing, you will for sure enjoy Molière. It is fluffy, sexy, and fun, with of course a twinge of French melancholy. The gorgeous Laura Morante is particularly good, once again proving that we should take cues from the Europeans on how to cast women over 40.

Next, my final thoughts on SIFF 2007...

SIFF #14 - Going out with a bang (and a hangover)

Damn those librarian archivists and their home-brews! I took Saturday off from SIFF'n, because frankly, I was exhausted. In fact, I ended up taking no less than THREE naps on Saturday before partying with the friendly library school kids. For me, good conversation with beer at hand can easily equate to simply too much beer. This morning I felt all puffy and blechy, and unfortunately it could not be attributed to FPE or any other fest-related ailment.

So I say "Thank God!" for the elixir that is espresso... the nectar of the gods that is a double-tall iced latte... the glorious drug that is the blessing and bane of my existence. On my way to my first event, I got myself said cuppa, and from the first swig through the straw, I could feel the cotton in my head slowly dissipating and the dull thud in my brain beginning to quiet.

I had rearranged my last day of SIFF once, twice, three times... Finally I settled on a 1:00 and 4:00 film, with room for flexibility afterwards. My first film of the final day of SIFF was Introducing the Dwights (6/8) from Australia. Formerly the film was called Clubland, and though the new title isn't much better, Clubland certainly would be misleading for anyone expecting a hip disco rave-athon type movie (which it is not). This dysfunctional family comedy/drama stars Brenda Blethyn as Jane, a comedy nightclub act who is popular among retirees hanging out in casinos, but is otherwise past her prime. She has two adult sons at home: Tim (Khan Chittenden, in the straight man role) who has just found himself with his first real girlfriend, and Mark (the scene-stealing Richard Wilson), the older brother who is developmentally disabled and is basically quarantined at home. Jane is smotheringly overprotective, lashing out at her son Tim as he takes his first steps towards independence, and making his girlfriend's life miserable. The film has some of the same tone as another Aussie comedy, Muriel's Wedding, with laughter mixed with tears. Blethyn is unsurprisingly fantastic. Her Jane is fierce and funny, but worst of all is incredibly cruel when she is cornered. Though it ends on a high note, the film made me all weepy and melancholy. I had to go for a brisk walk around the neighborhood to clear my head before sitting down for the next flick.

Note to filmmakers: When introducing your feature, don't tell the audience to go home and "spread the blog love" about your movie because "there's been a lot of blog hate". Hm. Are you intentionally forewarning the audience of your film's suckage? In the case of Cthulhu (2/8), the answer is unfortunately yes. The theater was packed, probably because this film had local roots, so everyone involved in the film was probably there, along with their friends, spouses, and maybe even some rollergirls. They also had impressive guerilla marketing, pasting Cthulhu stickers all over town, on stop signs, windows, parking meters, etc. So, yes, we were all curious and excited. Then the movie started. Hm. I hate to cut the film down, but there is a major problem when your lead character (Jason Cottle as Russ) answers a phone in the first scene, and it is immediately evident that he is not the strongest of actors. Eeep. Then you notice, as other characters are introduced, that none of the people are particularly strong. Part of it is the writing. And, oh, the directing. Russ, a professor in Seattle, goes home to Astoria... I mean Rivermouth, Oregon when he hears of his mother's death. We meet his family, and they are all freaky. We meet his old best friend, the hunky Mike (Scott Green) to throw in some gay tension. We follow Russ around town with awkward transitions as he investigates an old fisherman's pier with cult tracings on the floor, and chases a spooky kid through a labyrinth basement, and sees a bunch of weird alien babies in stacks against the wall. When Tori Spelling shows up to rape (!) Russ, it is strangely welcome, because at least she has the skills to bring on the camp. I'm afraid I can only give Cthulhu two slices: One for Tori Spelling (the audience almost seemed relieved when she showed up), and one for the cinematography, which was really quite good. But otherwise, sorry, thumbs down.

I had to admit, I was checking my watch for other reasons. As soon as the closing credits started, I lept from my seat and fled the theater, ran to my car, and darted over to the Harvard Exit to see the audience-award-winning documentary For the Bible Tells Me So (5/8). I had heard good buzz throughout the fest about this film, so wasn't really surprised that it won the Golden Space Needle, plus turned out to be the most-liked doc by the Fool Serious passholders. The doc is about how the religious right in America (of both Christian and Jewish denominations) have used the Bible to condemn homosexuality as immoral ("it's in the book!" they holler). Several families with gay members are portrayed, including, impressively, politician Dick Gephardt and his lesbian daughter, and as expected, you will be shedding some tears at their stories. Part of me felt that the focus strayed to general issues (like an cutesy animation about whether homosexuality was natural, etc.) to get its point across, rather than sticking specifically to the topic of religion. The movie was good, but I've seen many docs about gayness and families that I felt like I'd seen it before.

The doc let out around 8:15 pm, and I made a rash, last-minute decision. Heck, why not one more? Blinking wildly, and with trembling hands, I bought a ticket at the Egyptian for a 9:30 screening of the just-announced Golden Space Needle winner Outsourced (7/8). The theater was almost full (on short notice!), and both the audience and the award-winning director John Jeffcoat were delighted to be there in each other's presence for one last hurrah on the last night of SIFF. As soon as the film got rolling, with its opening shots of Seattle's skyline gloriously on the big screen, I could see why it won over SIFF's audiences. Outsourced is a charming fish-out-of-water film about a Seattle call-center manager whose department is laid off, and he is sent to the new, cheaper call center in India to train the new employees. Josh Hamilton is charming in a winning performance as Todd (called "Mr. Toad" by the locals in the Indian town)... when he first arrives in India and is suffering from the travel, time change, and gastronomical issues, he was noticeably green and sickly looking. He has the usual culture clash issues, with hilarious but never cruel results. The Indian cast is equally fabulous, and Ayesha Dharker is a fine, smart romantic foil as Asha, his star call-center employee. The film is warm and funny, and won over the hearts of Seattleites, despite the fact that so many of us have been laid off due to outsourcing.

SIFF #13 - Sex, Death, and Berlin

Everyone loves the movie Heathers. And I'm sure all the fans of that movie wonder what happened to the sharp screenwriter that made one of the most viciously quotable teen movies ever. Well, in his introduction to his new movie Sex and Death 101, writer/director Daniel Waters pretty much admitted that he had sold his soul to The Man, and it has taken him this long to finally create a follow-up that he wasn't embarassed about. Sex and Death 101 (4/8) is about a good-looking and wildly successful businessman name Roderick Blank (Simon Baker). On the verge of finally settling down to get married, he gets a mysterious email list of 101 women. Strangely, he recognizes the first 29 names as being all the women he's ever has sex with, in chronological order up to his fiancée. Some mysterious and friendly Matrix-y type fellows wearing sharp suits and lounging in a white room tell him that a master computer sent him the list by mistake, and he should destroy it immediately. But would any sane man detroy a list that guarantees he will get laid another 70-some times in his life? The movie definitely has its funny moments, including a crowd-pleasing edge-of-very-wrong scene about necrophilia, but to me it felt a bit like a one-joke movie overstaying its welcome (especially when you find yourself counting the names on the long list, just like the character). Winona Ryder has a side-plot as a mysterious seductress who puts men into comas, but that storyline crosses paths with Roderick too little too late. Plus, considering the tone of the movie, the ending sucked (how do you say: Cop out!). My cohort S and I stayed a bit for the Q&A with Waters and Simon Baker afterwards, enough to hear that Waters himself seems to be as freaky/funny as his scripts, but we had to hop a bus to our next event...

The line stretched down the sidewalk at the Triple Door nightclub, where we arrived to see a sold-out event with the rock band Kinski doing a live score to a silent film. We were actually quite pleased with our Metro efficiency, arriving at the dinner theater a good 20 minutes early. Hooray for public transit! We hopped into line, and then... stood there. The line did not move. A man behind me griped, "If I knew I'd be standing outside this long, I would have brought cigarettes..." (for your non-local readers, we just had our first anniversary of the indoor smoking ban in Washington state). A harried Triple Door employee, that was an adorable taller version of Elijah Wood (swoon!), tried his best to keep order, but the natives were restless. With the help of a short line jump to join our friends J and D, we finally got seated inside the fancy venue.

The Triple Door is impressively Vegas-y, with cosy booths and dim lighting, and a small stage for performers. We all ordered drinks with phancy names and prepared to enjoy Kinski's musical stylings. First, one of early German director Walther Ruttmann's short films was shown (didn't catch the title). It was animated, with squishy blobs and pointy, thrusting, toothy triangles, and was frankly a little bit baffling. Kinski's score was quite and mellow, which only emphasized the scraping of cutlery on dinner plates as people ate. In my mind, the dinner clanking served as the equivalent of someone awkwardly clearing their throat at a performance. Luckily, the feature film, Ruttmann's Berlin: Symphony of a City (Berlin: Die Sinfonie der Großstadt) (7/8) was awesome. Kinski created a quiet to thundering wall-of-sound guitar score to this fascinating 1927 silent film that is a collage of the day in the life of a city. I knew it was going to be good when early on a big, butch locomotive emerged from a station, and Kinski blew our hair back with unexpected blast of electric noise. I leaned over to my friend and yelled, "You hear that music? That means that train is a BADASS!" Kinski got rousing applause at the end, and we all agreed the the event was great fun for a Friday night.

SIFF #12 - Love in a bubble, and Rollergirl mania!

I have found through the years that you usually can't go wrong choosing a film by one of SIFF's featured Emerging Masters. A) Usually the films are good, and B) The director is almost always there for an extended Q&A. I had no problem deciding to see Eytan Fox's The Bubble. A few SIFF's ago I was impressed by his compact and moving Israeli-soldier love story Yossi & Jagger. The Bubble (Habuah) (6/8) is a love story between Noam (Ohad Knoller), a young Israeli man who falls for a Palestinian man named Ashraf (Yousef 'Joe' Sweid). It is almost a Romeo & Juliet story, as the two struggle to be together. In Tel Aviv, Ashraf risks being discovered and sent back to Palestine, and it is even more impossible for Noam, a Jew, to visit Ashraf in his home. In Tel Aviv, Noam and his friends live in a "bubble" of openness, freedom, and acceptance, and try to pull Ashraf into the fold, but the inevitable politics and culture clash intervene. The cast was overall excellent, especially Ohad Knoller as Noam (who played Yossi in Fox's previous film). The relationship between Noam and Ashraf is sweet and almost innocent, and the community of friends is well-developed and warm. But if you've seen Fox's previous films, there is a sense of impending doom.

Director Eytan Fox accepted the Emerging Master prize from more and more sleep-deprived SIFF-director Carl Spence. The Q&A was really interesting, and Fox was a very engaging speaker, telling of the modern youth of Israel, especially in Tel Aviv, plus touching a bit on the political situation. A man right up front in the audience yelled out, "Just say it! Say the word! The word is OCCUPATION!!!" That ruffled Fox a tad, but he managed to steer his comments away from anything too controversial. I would have liked to stay for the whole Q&A to see if there was going to be a fist fight, but I had to dart to my car and rush over to the U-District to the event that turned out to be the hottest and most fun ticket of the festival.

The world premiere of Blood on the Flat Track: The Rise of the Rat City Rollergirls (6/8) had a massive line spilling all the way around the corner and down the street. The box office said Sold Out and there was electric buzz in the air. ALL the cool kids were at this event! I couldn't help but grin while waiting to get into the theater. A red carpet was rolled out under the marquee, and all the gussied-up rollergirls, with their men, their women, their pals, their mothers, and their kids were preening and posing, flashbulbs exploding right and left. Seattle needs to learn: THIS is what a world premiere should look like! (see links to tons of photos here) Once everyone was inside, the vibe was like a rock concert, with energy crackling in the air. Throughout the film, people were applauding the credits, hooting at particular skaters, and roaring in delight at the particularly brutal moves on the track. It was a raucous screening!

The film has wit and sass, plus charm and personality to spare. The interviews with the women are easily the best part of the film, as the girls are, unsurprisingly, sharp, funny, and cool. As a fan of the whole RCRG phenom (which really swept the hipsters in this city out of nowhere the past couple years), I was delighted to find that the girls' personalities are as colorful in real life as they are on the track. A montage of the four teams being described by their foes is particularly hilarious ("They eat children." "They're all lesbians." "They have a high proportion of blonde ponytails.") If one of the rollergirls stands out in the interviews, it is Basket Casey, an intense spitfire from the team Grave Danger. The filmmakers obviously knew they got the goods in her interviews as her eyes would light up with delight when describing the theatrical violence of the sport, like "knocking the snot" out of another skater.

The film itself was very entertaining, though sometimes the timeline is a bit muddy, and it had some occasional ugly technical issues. For instance, no matter how excellent the sound bite, you simply cannot use a clip of an interview where the lighting is basically non-existent, leaving a shadow of a talking head in a dark room. Ooops. Hopefully they'll clean some of the technical issues as Blood on the Flat Track makes the film festival rounds. That said, kudos to whoever did the closing credits of the film... the animated rosters of the rollergirls and their teams were REALLY cool.

Considering how the audience was stacked in the film's favor at this premiere, I have to admit I am VERY curious how it will place in the audience awards at the end of the fest!

SIFF #11 - Ohmygosh! A feature starring all women!

There is some sort of FilmFestivalPalooza going on here at Moviepie Musings! Lest you all get confused, here's a clarification of the chaos:

Linda and Jennifer have been writing about SIFF (The Seattle International Film Festival) and BIFF (The Bellevue International Film Festival)... which are actually the same thing. Bellevue, for those of you not from these parts, is in the suburbs, and SIFF is treatin' those Eastsiders with fest screenings. Vickie, however, is now simultaneously reporting from WWSFF (The Worldwide Short Film Festival), which is in Toronto, and is scheduled to finish this Sunday the 17th with a bang, at the very same time as SIFF! Don't worry, you are not the only one wiping your furrowed brow with confusion...

Back to SIFF... My strange case of FPE may have cleared up, but the screening of Stealth (Comme des voleurs (A l'est)) (4/8) had me wanting to rub my eyes again in fatigue because if its strangely erratic nature. The film itself was a mostly watchable, respectable road-trip movie between a young gay man named Lionel and his sister Lucie. Lionel has just found out that his Swiss family has a Polish ancestor, and this obsesses him to the point of wanting to marry a cute Polish immigrant (a woman... whoops!) and break up with his longtime boyfriend. Sister Lucie is fed-up with his irrational behavior, so abducts him for a road trip where they encounter the usual obstacles until they arrive in Warsaw and perhaps get to the bottom of their family lore. That's all fine and dandy, but this movie had the most weirdly inappropriate soundtrack that I've ever heard in a film. You know how sometimes you are sitting at a multiplex, watching a tear-jerking drama, and you hear the completely unrelated Pirates score booming through the wall from the neighboring screen? Stealth, a modern road movie with humor and family strife, had a score like a fully-orchestrated Douglas Sirk melodrama from the 50s. Wholly distracting and completely baffling. Plus I have no idea what the title of this film meant in relation to the story. Anyone care to explain?

I grabbed a delicious vegan hot dog from Cyber Dogs (I'm tiring of slices of pizza), then ran up the hill to the Egyptian. I don't know what it is about this last week especially, but I have been consistently getting to the theaters just as they are about to slam the door to stragglers. I find myself tripping through the dark to find a seat, or sitting down in a sweat, just as the lights go down. I'm afraid I've become one of Those People.

Luckily my next film turned out to be delightful. Just the other day, Vickie was lamenting about the lack of good roles for women in the movies. Then here comes I Really Hate My Job (6/8), a breezy little comedy that takes place in one evening within the confines of one restaurant. It is an ensemble comedy with great performances all around by Shirley Henderson, Alexandra Maria Lara, Neve Campbell, Anna Maxwell Martin, and Oana Pellea. There is chaos in the kitchen as Alice (Henderson) has to fill in for the chef, and there is chaos out on the floor as Abi (Campbell) is having a 30th birthday meltdown. In the meantime, there is a dinner reservation for a movie star, and the anticipation of this brush-with-greatness is putting them all on edge. The writing is sharp, fast, and funny, and Henderson and Oana Pellea (as the dish washer) are particularly hilarious in their claustrophobic kitchen interplay. Neve's character's drama-queen-ness does get a bit tiring, but overall the film was highly enjoyable. And for those of you curious about such things, I'm letting you know right now that Neve Campbell will be in the running for Moviepie's annual Breast Performance award this year. The rest I'll leave to your imagination.

SIFF #10 - The mysterious case of FPE

One thing that I can say for sure about The Man of My Life (L'homme de sa vie) (5/8) is that it sure it pretty. If this film doesn't make you want to pick up and move to the south of France for a lifelong holiday, I don't know what will. You know, where the wheat ripples in the wind, where there are fields of sunflowers, where you eat dinner outside every night at a table with a dozen people, where a swimming pool's water is dark blue and inviting. Unfortunately, the film itself is both intriguing and baffling. Frédéric (the handsomely bald Bernard Campan) has a beautiful wife, cute son, and rambunctious extended family. Hugo (Charles Berling), a sort of vaguely creepy love-'em and leave-'em gay, lives next door to the brood. Frédéric and Hugo form a friendship based around jogging, sharing occasional group meals, and one long night of conversation (which is returned to again and again in flashback through the film). It seems that as their friendship develops, Frédéric becomes more and more unhappy with his supposed perfect life. His wife starts to freak out, and Hugo seems to... wait. Unfortunately we wait as well, then the movie ends. What? I felt that their should have been another half hour of resolution, but we are just left hanging. Is about male friendship? Is it about homosexual repression? Is it about not realizing your dreams? All or none of the above?

My next film had some buzz... but maybe I should have listened more carefully to what the buzz was buzzing about. I had assumed the early murmurs were good, but to see the audience squirming throughout the film, maybe people were talking simply because The Art of Crying (Kunsten at græde i kor) (4/8) was controversial. Taking place in early 1970s rural South Jutland in Denmark, the film follows a highly dysfunctional family. Dad (Jesper Asholt), the town milkman, cries himself to sleep, constantly threatening to kill himself. Mom is basically unconscious from sleeping pills. And it is the teen daughter's job to "comfort" dad on the couch (ewwwww). But the star of the show is young Allen (Jannik Lorenzen), who looks just like Peter Billingsley from A Christmas Story, but is strangely sinister. For fun, he prays for the death of people he doesn't like (sometimes getting his wish), and is so devoted to his dad, that he orders his sister to do her part to stop him from crying (even though Allen doesn't quite understand the implications of the deed). The first half of the film went well, and I found myself actually enjoying the really really dark humor. But then any lightness in the film just left, and it was a really grim, ick-worthy family drama. I suppose if you get off on squirm-inducing movies like Todd Solondz's Happiness, this would be the film for you. For me, I just wanted to go home and scrub myself clean. [AFTERTHOUGHT: Later, I went online to read early reviews, and found two, count 'em TWO reputable sites refer to this as a "Dutch" film. IDIOTS! Danes live in Denmark, not freakin' DUTCH! This never fails to get the Viking in me all riled up. Arrrgghh!]

At this point I must tell about a strange ailment that hit me towards the end of The Art of Crying. When there was about 15 minutes of the film left, I found myself rubbing my eye. No, I wasn't practicing the art of crying, but I found that it was a little irritated, and just needed a good rub. Mmmmmm. Still kinda itchy... rub again. Rub harder. Ahhhh. Temporary relief. Leave the theater, walk to the car. Eye is kinda weepy. Rub again. Feels good, but starting to get uncomfortable. In the car, I pull down the mirror and see that eyelid has gotten weird and puffy, as well as glands in corner of eye. Blinky all the way home. By the time I got through my front door, I felt like I had a Mask of Zorro of Puffy across the top half of my face. Disappointingly, it didn't look TOO bad, but I was wondering if I had a mild allergic reaction to something at the theater. I've decided to call this mysterious new disease Festival Puffy Eye (FPE). After lying in bed with a cold, wet watchcloth across my eyes, it felt a little better, but a milder case of FPE continued to the next day...

I was looking forward to Delirious (5/8) because it was directed by Tom DiCillo, who has made movies like Living in Oblivion and Box of Moonlight, which I enjoyed very much. But I was also a little apprehensive, because those movies were from 10 years ago, and I haven't seen anything since. Delirious stars Steve Buscemi in the Steve Buscemi role of Les, a weaselly paparazzi in NYC. He has oily dyed-black hair and his only friends are other lowly photographers whom he doesn't really like. One day, he crosses paths with a homeless kid named Toby (Michael Pitt), whom he ends up taking under his wing as an assistant. The early parts of the movie work best, as Les and Toby negotiate their living arrangements as well as stalk famous people, including pop diva K'Harma (Alison Lohman). The film plays on the nature of celebrity from both the inside and the outside, as Toby gets a love connection with K'Harma and ends up in her inner circle, almost by accident. But by this time, I couldn't help but feel that I'd seen it all before, in films ranging from the recent Music and Lyrics, American Dreamz, the indie Surviving Eden, and even DiCillo's own earlier films. Unsurprisingly, the best scene-stealer in the film is the always luscious Gina Gershon, who rips into her scenes hilariously as a talent agent who is after Toby. If only the other actors tore into their scenes as much as Gershon, perhaps the film would have been funnier.

SIFF #9 - Over the halfway hump, with a longing sigh

After taking a day off, I had only one film for Thursday night, Spider Lilies (Ci-Qing) (5/8) from Taiwan. Once again, like Eternal Summer, I selected this film on the basis of having previously seen a lovely gay Taiwanese movie in the past. Spider Lilies is the story of Takeko (Isabella Leong), a lonely tattoo artist who keeps to herself, and only seems to have social contact with her withdrawn adult brother who is stunted in childlike mentality after seeing their father die in an earthquake. After the earthquake, even though she was a teen, Takeko got her arm tattooed just like her dead father, thinking this was the only way to communicate with her little brother. However, that tattoo, of the vine-like spider-lily flower which supposedly lines the path to Hell, seems to bring nothing but heartache. As an adult, Takeko is reunited with Jade (Rainie Yang) a young woman from her past who wants the same tattoo emblazoned on her own arm, to remind her of a past love. The past love, is of course, with Takeko herself... when they were young and lived in the countryside. Jade, at the time only 9 (!), fell for the older Takeko, and later as teens they had a relationship. With arty flashbacks and other imagery, it is implied that everything went to hell when the earthquake happened, and Takeko retreated. Jade is now a web-cam girl on a sex-site, but hopes her rediscovery of Takeko in her urban tattoo parlor may change their lives. Or something. Spider Lilies has a dreamy quality that sometimes worked, and sometimes was just a little odd. Jade's baby-doll sexy-girl online persona was a bit creepy, and it was always a little unclear as to how old her character was compared to Takeko. The character of Takeko is quite passive, but still she managed to be mysteriously intriguing. There is lots of longing, and not much action. However, though Spider Lilies doesn't always work, it is certainly watchable.

Here's my next admission: I took Friday and Saturday off from SIFF. Yes, its true! Normally in the past, I've had a week or weekend vacation during the festival, where I've gone out of town, but this year that wasn't the case. Schedule-wise though, maybe subconciously I looked at the listings for the weekend and didn't find much to be intriguing, deep inside knowing by this point I'd be wiped out. The weather turned out to be super-crappy on Saturday, but it was a nice day to do errands and then spend the rest of the day all cozy at home, resting and recuperating.

Sunday, it was back to SIFF'n! I'm at the point of the festival where I'm just looking at my tickets on the day-of, and figuring out where I have to be. I see a movie title on a ticket, and honestly have no idea what it is, or why I chose it. This was the case for The Paper Will Be Blue (Hîrtia va fi albastrã) (5/8). This Romanian film takes place in one night, during the revolution in December 1989 when the national TV station has been overtaken (by terrorists?), and dictator Ceauşescu is on the run. A solider in the militia, bored by simply being on patrol away from the action, abadons post and runs toward the TV station, hoping to join the fight with the people. Costi (Paul Ipate) gets into more trouble that he bargained for, and as far as his abandoned compatriots, they spend the rest of the night looking for him, to try to keep him out of trouble. The film is well made, and conveys the chaos of a night of revolution (who's in charge? the Army? the people?). There is really nothing wrong with the film, but I felt bad that I thought I could walk out at any time and not really regret it. Maybe my building apathy is simply due to film-festival fatigue.

For my second film, I had to dart over to the University District. Luckily, I must have planned well in advance, because I had plenty of time to grab a couple slices of pizza and get a cuppa before heading to the theater. I did not, however, account for the fact that the process of getting a simple cuppa at the coffeeshop right next to the Neptune turned into a torture of slow ineptitude on part of the barista. This is the second time in as many visits that I've had issues with this place. Are these people not trained? How the hell can it take 10 minutes to make a cup of coffee? Especially when the customers can watch what you are doing?

So the film had just started when I got inside the Neptune (just steps away from the dreadfully slow coffeeshop). I plunked myself in the balcony, ready for three hours of Lady Chatterley. Then I got up and moved. Then I got up and moved again. Then I noticed that I wasn't the only one. I saw at least a dozen people prairie-dogging in the balcony. Getting up. Scooting over a couple seats. Sitting down. Looking around. Getting up again. Moving back a couple rows. Sitting down. Craning their necks, and looking around. It was actually kind of hilarous to watch. It also made me realize that the Neptune's entire balcony is at just the wrong slope, making it extremely difficult to see subtitles. Whether someone is 20 rows ahead on the balcony or right in front of you, their head will be smack in the middle of what you are trying to read. Grrr...

It turned out that Lady Chatterley (7/8) was light on dialogue and heavy on the action... err... I mean heavy on pictures of trees and sunlight and dewey plants. This French (!) production actually turned out to be delightful and rather breezy, considering that it was as long as the latest bloated Pirates movie. Fresh-faced and youthful Lady "Connie" (Marina Hands) has a bitter husband, Sir Clifford, who has been in a wheelchair since World War I. After Connie is diagnosed to be suffering from exhaustion at being his nursemaid, an assistant is hired to help her husband full time, and Connie gets to spend her days wandering the vast, lush grounds of their countryside estate. She stumbles upon the hunky gamekeeper washing himself outside his cabin, and thusly begins her sensual awakening. I'd say "sexual", but what I found interesting about this production is that it is her senses as a whole that are revived... Connie spends a lot of time looking at the trees, feeling the sun, running through the forest, and, yes, getting busy with Parkin (Jean-Louis Coullo'ch, who is like rugged mid-40s Brando). This adaptation is definitely done from Connie's point of view. I've never read the book, so have no comparison, but I'd be curious what fans of the book thought of this version. I thought it was a perfectly pleasant (and yes, sometimes titillating) way to while away a Sunday afternoon.

SIFF #8 - Twin/trans-genderism (and chickening out on cannibalism)

OK. I chickened out. I kept thinking about the comment from an unsuspecting stranger that Grimm Love (Rohtenburg) was a snuff film, and it gave me the heebie-jeebies. I'm one who has told many people recently that as I get older, I just don't like violence in films or TV. Do we HAVE to see serial killers glorified? Do we HAVE to see pretty young people brutalized on film for our entertainment? I reached this revelation after watching a string of previews for slasher films just before last summer's The Descent. Maybe I need beasties and aliens in order to tolerate violence. When it is human-on-human violence, I'm just not feeling the love any more.

So why did I grab a ticket for Grimm Love, a fictionalized film based on the (in)famous German cannibal case from a couple years ago? I don't know... curiosity about one of the few true taboos of society... heck, who hasn't been morbidly fascinated by the Donner Party, or the folks from Alive? Oh, and Felicity (aka Keri Russell) is in it. I (heart) Felicity!

I managed to stay half an hour, full of dread. The film was shot in murky light, lending it a constantly dusky feel, combined with flashbacks done in a 70s "home movie" style (replete with the film bleaching in the corners at time). Interesting idea, but the whole thing was so literally... dark. Keri Russell (with heavily kohl-lined eyes and disheveled hair) plays an American grad student doing research in Germany on the vaguely fictionalized cannibal case. Over dinner (meat?) she says to her friends, "Oh, and by the way, did you know that they filmed the whole thing? Only the police have seen the film... but, boy howdy! I'm gonna get my hands on it by the end of the film!" I knew I was in trouble. I was feeling queasy already. Oliver (Thomas Kretschmann), the eater, lives as an adult with his crazy mom whom I feared would be Course One (I didn't stay around to find out). Simon (Thomas Huber) has a nice boyfriend, but sneaks looks online at severed thumbs. Hm. There was a flashback to lonely young Oliver wearing embarrassing traditional German suspenders, then making surprising friends with a gloomy-looking kid. When the kid shows him the butcher's barn at the local farm, then with scary editing bares his pointy teeth... well... I calmly put my stuff back in my backpack, picked up my sweatshirt and iced latte, and fled the theater. Sorry, I just couldn't do it.

[NOTE TO READERS: If you managed to sit through all of Grimm Love, what did you think? Good? Bad? Exploitive with no redeeming qualities? Please post a comment... I'm very curious!]

Since I had a couple of hours to waste, I thought about gentle woodland creatures and soft, fluffy kittens to clear my mind, plus browsed the local record store and book store. I topped off the nice break with a delicious bowl of pho, which looked NOT like a bowl of intestines with slices of human meat stewing in the broth... See? I didn't have that image in my head because I walked out early! I felt quite pro-active and pleased with myself! Plus I got the famous and delicious Than Brothers cream puff to finish off my fast-n-cheap meal!

My second film of the evening was the intriguing documentary Red Without Blue (7/8) about twins, born as boys--but one of them comes out as transgendered later in life. The intimate doc follows three years in the life of Mark and his twin Alex... but when we meet Alex, the young man now passes as Clair, a young woman. Mark has his own issues to deal with: he is gay, but people wonder if he is just not admitting his own transgenderism because of his biological and emotional closeness with Clair. Their divorced parents wonder how such perfect kids grew up so troubled, first getting into drugs, then sex with a predatory older teen, and finally a suicide attempt that sent them off to separate boarding schools with no contact for two years.

What is impressive about the film is that the storyline does not go in expected places, that the "characters" actually evolve in unexpected ways. And through the whole thing, they all open up with such painful honesty on screen. I was quite impressed at the openness of the family (as was the rest of the audience), and I'm sure I'm not the only one to express appreciation for sharing their story. In fact, at the screening I attended, one member of the audience stood up and announce that he was a twin, and a trans male, and this is (unsurprisingly) the first time ever, EVER he had seen that there were others with a story similar to his. And THAT is one of the things I love about film festivals!

SIFF #7 - Oh, those coming-of-age boy films...

I attended a screening of Black Irish (5/8) on a whim... no, rather on a last minute invite from my pal E who happened to have an extra ticket (and a half of turkey & cranberry sandwich!) to share (thanks, E!). E is the perfect example of someone who sees a healthy chunk of movies at SIFF (in her case, splitting a 20-pack with a pal) and not only chooses completely different movies than me, but often movies that I don't remember reading about (as in the case of this film). Heck, I'm always up for going into a movie cold, so I said, "Sure! I'll skip my earlier movie, and join you for yours!"

Black Irish is a rather typical coming-of-age film about a teenage boy in South Boston. He has a thug of a brother, and his Irish Catholic mum (the dignified Melissa Leo) has just sent his unmarried pregnant sister off to a home to have the baby and give it up for adoption. You'd think this was the 1950s, but it is set in modern times. Brendan Gleeson plays his washout dad who sits around drinking beer, watching baseball, and circles job ads in the paper without acting on them. Pretty much the only thing that prevents this movie from being a snoozer is the fine ensemble of actors, led by young pup Michael Angarano who I enjoyed in the straight-to-video weeper One Last Thing.... Here is a young actor, who is virtually unknown, who has nice range, and can more than hold his own with experienced actors like Gleeson and Michael Rispoli (who plays his boss at a restaurant). Speaking of Gleeson, I thought his character was an Irish immigrant like the boy's mother, but alas late in the film it is implied that he was a local boy... ooops on the accent, Brendan!

I hung out at Pacific Place to catch Eternal Summer (Sheng xia guang nian) (5/8), a Taiwanese gay-boy coming-of-age film that I was quite excited about. I had high hopes for this based on the lovely Taiwanese gay-girl movie Blue Gate Crossing (7/8) that I saw at SIFF a few years back... but a common theme and a common country of orgin don't mean Eternal Summer is a great film by default. Jonathan and Shane are best friends, despite the fact that Jonathan is a brain and Shane is a jock. They both sort of share a friend/girlfriend named Carrie, but Jonathan realizes that it is Shane he is in love with. Carrie knows (female intuition) but does Shane? Is he clueless as he teases his friend, falling asleep shirtless during their study sessions? Is Jonathan ever going to say anything? Joseph Chang as Shane fares best, but Bryant Chang (as Jonathan) emotes by turning his face into a blank slate for the last hour of the film. Many many tears are shed, and sensitive piano music overwhelms the soundtrack, threatening to pound pain into my head. By the time the big revelation happens, it seems rather after-the-fact plot-wise (if you see it, you'll know what I mean). The film is OK, but I expected more.

BUZZ PART ONE: I do have to mention that E saw Anthony Hopkins' directorial debut Slipstream, and inadvertently called it Slipshit, which was I think not entirely by accident. She HATED it, and gave it 1/8 slices. "Pretentious! The only reason I gave it one slice was because Kevin McCarthy was in it!" (For those of you wondering who Kevin McCarthy is, he was in the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) and is now a thriving character actor in his 90s.) Alas, Sir Tony, maybe you should stick to acting.

BUZZ PART TWO: I was evesdropping on a passholder that I'll call Resonance Man for his booming voice as he chatted up other Fool Series folks in the back of the theater. Apparently he had already seen 89 films by the end of the weekend, and the only true stinker of the lot was for the German cannibal movie Grimm Love, which he called a "snuff film". I have a ticket for Grimm on Tuesday. I'm scared.

SIFF #6 - Planet Cinema, aka Everything's Going to Hell

One of SIFF's biggest press announcements this year was the introduction of a theme of films called Planet Cinema, focusing on the environment... or more specifically, how things are going to hell in a handbasket. Despite the fact that In the Shadow of the Moon, the doc about the Apollo space program that showed last weekend was included on this list, the screening of Everything's Cool on Thursday was pronounced to be Opening Night of the series. Whatever.

Everything's Cool (6/8) started filming in 2003, as the filmmakers went cross-country to discuss global warming with the American public. For the upcoming 2004 presidential election, global warming was way at the bottom of the list of causes that people were concerned about. Of course everything changed with Hurricane Katrina and Al Gore's movie. Everything's Cool wraps up at the beginning of 2007, as environmentalists are struggling to keep the message hot, and recruit more interest. The film used a lot of humor, which was welcome considering the topic, plus a lot of simple animation to illustrate ideas. Some of the techniques were a little hokey, making it seem targeted to be shown at high schools, but the information was interesting. Among the many experts interviewed, my favorite featured personality actually turned out to be a fellow named Bish Neuhouser who worked up at Park City as a snowmaker during ski season. He and his pals figure out how to make biodiesel from used vegetable oil from the local pub's fry kitchen. These exerpts are not only hilarious (as he smokes a cigarette while sitting on a tub of methanol), but informative as one regular guy plays mad scientist to help improve the environment.

A night later, I saw the claustrophobic thriller The Last Winter (5/8) which played like The Thing meets The X-Files. A crew of scientists and oil company employees are sharing a small station out in the middle of frozen Alaskan Arctic. The Beast, I mean Ron Perlman, is the oil representative that wants the group to set up roads as quickly as possible so drilling can begin again at an outpost that was abruptly abandoned 20 years earlier. But the permafrost is melting, say James LeGros, and something just ain't right. People going crazy in an isolated place is always a good thing, but The Last Winter makes the mistake of scaring you with an unseen menace, then (oops!) Showing It. Rule number one for horror filmmakers: what is unseen is ALWAYS scarier than settling for bad special effects.

I saw these films at the new SIFF Cinema. I initially felt kind of grumpy about the isolated location, but after a few days of camping out there, I grew to like it. Sure, I was lucky enough to not have to find a parking spot on a night of a basketball game, or the two sold out Police concerts later this week, so that wasn't a bother. But it was great (because the weather was so beautiful this week) to take a break between films and hang out at the Seattle Center fountain (where I saw a one-armed kid skateboarding, and a grown man using the bowl of the fountain as his own personal velodrome... whooosh! whooosh! whooosh! as he sped past me). Also, there are plenty of places walkable enough to get a good cuppa and a bite between screenings. Hooray for the new location!

Oh, I filled in some spaces with another couple screenings at the SIFF Cinema, one of which was Dames in Frames (6/8) an enjoyable collection of women's short films--my favorite being the hilariously bitter Bitch (7/8) (dir. Lilah Vandenburgh), filmed in glorious stark black and white with a very cranky lead character looking for love; and Room 10 (6/8), directed by Jennifer Aniston and starring the awesome Robin Wright Penn as a nurse in the ER. Why Robin Wright Penn isn't used in more films, I have no idea... she is fabulous, plus is getting exponentially hotter as she ages gracefully.

The other screening I caught was the enjoyable documentary The Fever of '57 (7/8), about how the Russian's launch of Sputnik basically launched a worldwide rapture and excitement that morphed into American fear and terror within THREE days. The title is a little misleading, as it belches forth into 1958, culminating with Eisenhower's secret Christmas 1958 message broadcast from a secret US satellite, but it was this October '57 fever that, as presented in the film, launched the arms race that preoccupied the Cold War until the 80s. The film, based on the book Sputnik: The Shock of the Century by Paul Dickson, was not only a fascinating portrayal of the culture of America at the time, but of two leaders, Eisenhower and Kruschev, that younger generations don't really hear about. The amiable and chatty director David Hoffman said this film is searching for a distributor. If the powers that be were smart, they'd realize that The Fever of '57 and In the Shadow of the Moon would be a PERFECT double feature for space and pop history buffs! I say, get on it, studios!

SIFF #5 - Severed heads and Hannibal Lecter

By Tuesday, I was back to work, after having a huge struggle to get out of bed in the morning. I was groggy during the whole day, and I have to admit I had decided early that I just couldn't see a two-hour SIFF movie that started at 9:45pm. I just... couldn't... do it. I felt bad because this Movie Which Shall Not Be Named got a full pie from Vickie at the Toronto Film Festival last year. I apologize, Vickie. On some days, I'm afraid, I'm just not made of The Right Stuff.

However! In the meantime I picked up a free screener ticket for a screening of Severance at 7, which played at SIFF over the weekend. It may not have been an official SIFF screening, but I'll count it. Let's just say that I was expecting a black comedy, but not a freakin' blood-splattering horror film! Luckily Moviepie Tim came with me as my +1, but even he was hiding his eyes a few times. Thankfully, Severance (6/8) DID have the dark humor, so that made the movie bearable. All I can say is that the foley editors much have had a field day figuring out how to make all of the various deliciously wet, ripping, and bone-crunching sounds that fill the movie. Blech. With Severance, 28 Days/Weeks Later, The Descent, and even Shawn of the Dead, it seems the Brits are having a bit of a horror resurgence. This is very welcome, as Hollywood filmmakers, having exhausted the Americanizing of Japanese horror, have now resorted to remakes of classics and repetitive sequels that are guaranteed to rake in big bucks.

Speaking of horror, I had a date with Hannibal Lecter on Wednesday night! A Tribute to Anthony Hopkins: SIFF Lifetime Achievement Award Recipient (6/8) had probably generated the most early excitement at SIFF, and certainly had the longest name of any event. Advanced tickets were sold out well in advance, and several of my friends were left out in the cold for not being on top of it.

Press received a note that there was going to be a "red carpet photo opportunity" between 7 and 7:30, just before the event started. I brought along my digital camera, just for the heck of it, donned my press lanyard for the first time this fest, and joined a dozen or so people milling about the front of the theater, including my friend S, who also has a press pass. S and I were praising the glories of prescription sunglasses (as it was a glorious 85-degree evening in Seattle), when we finally saw some hubbub come down the sidewalk. It was a little confusing what was going on, as a small mob of people jostled our way, and then whisked right into the theater. Uhh... what? S was poised, still holding his camera, and said, "What the F..K just happened?" I snapped a couple pics, aiming generally at the mob, and caught poor "Tony" (as he likes to be called) in the midst of... yes... an entourage. I left S cursing on the sidewalk, looking stunned and pissed, and darted into the theater.

I almost went to my seat, where the audience was milling about, clueless to the mild ruckus that just ensued at the entrance to the theater, and noticed some flashes coming from near one of the side exits. Well, there was Tony again, this time trying to look pleasant while he stood with SIFF Artistic Director Carl Spence in front of a SIFF backdrop that may have been made just for this event. He was there literally seconds, then whisked away again... but not before a fan reached out to shake Sir Tony's hand. The SIFF Secret Service panicked for a moment, then someone said about the perpetrator, "It's OK... he's a real person." Hmm. Needless to say, a couple other fans managed to say "hi" and get an autograph or two before the SS hauled him off to apparently a small closet to the side of the stage. He was apparently hidden there until, right on cue, he emerged onstage at 7:30, right after a rambling introduction by Carl Spence.

Luckily for all of us, despite all the weird chaos beforehand, Anthony Hopkins proved to be quite a charming man (and not scary at all!). He prefers to be called "Tony" especially over "Sir Anthony", and he sat in a La-Z-Boy chair on the stage, with his feet up like an amiable uncle full of stories. Alas, this style of Q&A was much more suited to a smaller, more intimate venue than the 800-seat Egyptian theater. The microphone amplification was inconsistent, probably partly because Tony like to move around and be expressive when he talked... so within a sentence it would be the level of an under-the-breath comment to a big boom of a single word hitting the mic wrong. Luckily, it seemed to get more under control as the evening went on. Tony was a great and warm storyteller, and surprisingly good at hilarious impressions of anyone from Katherine Hepburn (whom he worked with on The Lion in the Winter) to his frequent collaborator director James Ivory.

To the audience's credit, people asked him not about big hits like Silence of the Lambs, but his smaller and more obscure movies like The Edge (with Alec Baldwin), Magic (with a puppet), and his own directorial debut Slipstream, which also played at SIFF this year. I was pleased to see that during an opening montage, the only film where people burst out into applause was for the lovely and underappreciated The World's Fastest Indian, a movie that I thought was adorable. Tony, you, too, are adorable, and the audience appreciated your easygoing persona. He talked and talked, and even preferred to keep answering questions when the SIFF folks tried to wrap it up on time. After two hours, the Q&A finally wrapped up. There would be short break, then Remains of the Day (8/8), the most fabulous and melancholy repressed film by Merchant Ivory, would screen. But, once again, the idea of watching an over-two-hour movie starting at 9:45 on a school nice proved too much for me. Like many others, I opted to leave the evening at that.

COMMENT FOR SIFF: Why oh why was such a huge chunk of seating reserved for phancy pants industry folks and other important "friends"? I should have counted, but there were some 6 or 8 full rows of prime seating real estate cordoned off for the event... and at least a third of those seats remained empty for the evening. I know several people that had planned to shell out the $35 to see Sir Tony, but could not get tickets because the evening was "sold out". It's a crying shame that this event seemed catered more to pleasing the sponsors or industry folks rather than the fans. :(

SIFF #4 - Hissy fits and lustful glances

So as my nice long weekend chock full of fun--including SIFF, Lisa Gerrard-a-palooza, and my freakin' birthday--was coming to an end, I found myself a little spent, after running around and getting things done that I have been avoiding (you know, like vacuumning and washing out the cat bowls). So don't judge me for just seeing one film, Ten Canoes (6/8) on memorial day, and skipping out on another screening Which Will Not Be Named.

However! At Ten Canoes, I ran into may annual SIFF pal Z, whom I got to catch up with, hearing about what her Fool Serious self had caught so far, and I got to hear some juicy gossip. Apparently, both screenings of Paris je t'aime were pretty much sold out, including the 11am screening on Memorial Day (it's unusual for a morning screening to be sold out). So EVERYONE wanted in on this one, including a huge link of Platinum Phancy Pants Holders and regular Full Series Pass Holders. You can see this coming: They have to let in a certain amount of passholders, then everyone who bought a ticket (obviously), then more passholders, if there is room. There wasn't room, and the passholder line got cut off. Not only that, but the last man to NOT get in threw a fit. A screaming fit. A threatening everyone SIFF-related and their mother fit. Hollering and hollering how, goddammit, he had a PASS and should be let in, DAMMIT! Apparently, there was almost a fist fight. My friend Z, also turned away, simply blamed herself for not checking the early notices that said the screening was full, and was just disappointed she didn't have time to get to another theater. The great thing about all this is that the movie is being released... next week. DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!!! ARRRGHHH!!!

So, as for Ten Canoes, I had heard that some people were catching this second screening because they liked it so much the first time around. As for me, this Australian aboriginal fable took a few minutes to get used to. An amiable narrator tells a story within a story, one ancestor learning about another... at tale of one young man lusting after his brother's youngest wife, which leads inadvertently to all hell breaking loose between tribes. The film has a certain easygoing charm, and a very deliberate pace. The narrator even tells one of his own characters to not get restless, waiting for something exciting to happen. The actors are all quite fine, despite the fact that I couldn't repeat any of the characters' names if you paid me. People who enjoyed The Gods Must Be Crazy would enjoy this one.

BUZZ: I have heard good things from several people about Fair Play, which is supposed to be rather shocking, and got a very high recommendation for Sounds of Sand.

SIFF #3 - Astronauts and skeltons

The documentary In the Shadow of the Moon was high on my list of films to see... Specifically, I wanted to take my brother, Moviepie's Tom. Contrary to popular belief, I don't think SIFF mania is necessarily a genetic thing. In fact, I don't think he had EVER been to a movie at SIFF before... but I knew that this film specifically would get his 'tocks into an (uncomfortable) seat at the Neptune.

I think I made a good decision, hauling him along. Here is an excerpt of Tom's to-be-published-later review of the film (8/8, if you haven't guessed):

Being very picky about how many pie slices I allow myself for a review, I'll have to give this one the full pie hot out of the oven. Don't even keep your fork or get a plate, since this documentary won't be sharing slices with anyone!

I think that's pretty positive! Straight from the mouth of Space Boy!

For those (like myself) who are not quite so... er... spacey, In the Shadow of the Moon is still an extremely interesting and vastly entertaining document of the Apollo space program that was the first (and so far only) series of space flights that put men on the moon. I was particularly charmed by the storytelling of Mike Collins and Alan Bean, two guys that just seemed thrilled to tell their tales - You guys are formally invited to my next barbecue! Best story (among many good stories) was Buzz Aldrin's confession about his famous moment where he paused on the last step of the ladder before jumping down to the moon's surface for the first time. Apparently he wasn't meditating on the profundity of the moment, while he stood poised, with one leg lifted off the step... he was actually filling his urine bag. (Yesssss!)

For those who think they have seen everything Apollo-related, the director told about how his crew got access to thousands of reels of film that has been sitting in vaults, collecting dust for over 30 years. My brother's mouth was in a surprised "O" during the length of the film... he said he had seen almost NONE of the footage before, and for awhile, I thought I would need to get him a bib. Space buffs will love Shadow, as will regular audiences.

My bro and his girlfriend took off, and I stayed for Werner Herzog's Rescue Dawn (5/8), starring Christian Bale as Dieter Dengler, a Navy pilot shot down over Laos during the start of the Vietnam War. He ends up in a prison camp with the skeletons of Jeremy Davies and Steve Zahn, both barely recognizable in their husk-like forms. Dieter is a strangely perky POW, constantly smiling and excited, with nice teeth and a positive outlook, even when a transition edit cuts probably 50 pounds off of Bale's frame. Dieter is crafty and has plans of his escape, and his cohorts, who also include a few Vietnamese Air America correspondents, join him... some warily, some with enthusiasm.

I had heard very good buzz about Rescue Dawn going into it, and I have to say I was mildly disappointed. Other than the fact that the main character (yes, based on a real man) wasn't a Rambo-type, this film wasn't a whole lot different than the dramatic arcs of other Vietnam-POW movies. And I have to say the final scene was downright bizarre and unbelievable, considering everything leading up to it. I can only assume that part was true as well, otherwise I would toss it as being ridiculous.

SIFF #2 - Rock Climbers and Rockin' Girls

I thought I already saw quite a few movies (at least for someone who has a full time job and takes no vacation days for SIFF, like many passholders)... but apparently I have a couple of dopplegangers (triple-gangers?) out on the town, adding numbers to my SIFF total.

Within minutes of sitting down for an 11:00am screening at the Egyptian, two women (both total strangers) came up to me and started discussing the movies that "we" saw together the night before. Apparently I was not only at the Egyptian theater, but I was also at Pacific Place, catching Romanian and Hungarian dramas, respectfully. This middle-aged woman almost started arguing with me, claiming that I was sitting right next to her at her screening, and I'd better tell her what I thought of the film, or she would deck me. I had to explain several times that I was, in fact, at the SIFF Cinema, an answer she did not like.

Anywho...

My first film was Team Everest: A Himalayan Journey (6/8), a documentary about a group of handicapped folks ascending Mt. Everest all the way to base camp at 17,500 feet. Crazy, I tell you! Unsurprising, it was an inspiring and heartwarming tale. The most interesting stories probably came from the men in wheelchairs that intermittently had to be carried (sans chairs) on the backs of sherpas, who would trade off their load every 20 minutes or so. At one point, the group is going over slippery mud on a trail that could drop you hundreds, if not thousands of feet down a cliff at one stumble. Soooo not right! There was nothing really wrong with the documentary, as the folks and the mission were admirable and impressive... but when the director later said that he had trimmed 20-minutes from the running time to make it clock in at two hours, I realized that another half-hour cut from the film would have tightened it up. You don't want to pick and choose from the "characters" in the film, but some, like paraplegic Gene, and competing young bucks Matt and Riley, were cinematically more interesting than others. Less characters and more focus would make this already interesting film much more gripping.

For the rest of the afternoon I had made a decision to skip films, and instead catch the rock showcase of the girls who were featured in the documentary Girls Rock! (a film I had to miss because of conflicting scheduling). At 1:30 on a sunny Saturday afternoon (my birthday, no less), a gaggle of girls from Portland's Rock Camp For Girls held a rock show for the entertainment of fans, parents, kids, and festival looky-loos like myself. Personally, I was sold on the poster for the show, which I spotted on a telephone pole near where I work, that showed a kewpie-doll girl with a fierce expression, holding a microphone.

I apologize to the rocker girls and their film pals in advance that I didn't take notes as to band names and particular performers that were playing, but I'll just say this: You all kick ass! Congrats to King, Blubird (two awesome 13-year olds that will give Smoosh a run for the money), Raining Jane, and Diamond Cut Diamond for entertaining me and my friend for an afternoon. I'm sure all of you who have seen the movie Girls Rock! can identify the girls involved, but I'll say I was totally impressed with a teen from Oklahoma who cheerfully announced she was performing her own song, then crunched into some deep, low, thumping sludge that was like the music of the Melvins meets the vocals of Sepultura. My pal and I were grinning from ear to ear. During the whole show, you could heard girls banging on drums and creating a heck of a bunch of noise in the adjoining room. How many ways can you say that's awesome? I kinda regret not buying one of the cool black hoodies to support the cause, but I'll be at least sending them a donation soon!

SIFF #1 - So it begins...

For me, the Seattle International Film Festival is like getting one of those Costco-sized tubs of Red Vines. You see it at the store, put it your cart, and can think of nothing else until you get it home. You pick up the tub, turn it in your hands and look at it from all sides, admiring the hundreds of treats in it. When you finally get it open, you gorge and gorge and tell yourself happily that you will never tire of Red Vines. As the tub of treats start to dwindle, so does your enthusiasm. You find yourself offering some tickets, I mean Vines to friends and co-workers. You find that over-doing it is making you feel frankly a little sick. But when you see that the tub is almost empty, and only a few remain, you force yourself to finish it off. When that tub is gone though, you find that you don't know what to do with yourself for another year. How can you live without Red Vines?

So, on Friday, I got to open my metaphorical Tub-o-Treats... FINALLY, after poring over the SIFF schedule for weeks. My first night did not disappoint...

In order to flee work early for a 4:00 screening, I got myself to work at the ass-crack of dawn (as I told others). Fortunately, as it is almost summer, it was not as bad as getting to work two hours before the sun came up, yet still I suffered. I am NOT a morning person.

A little after 3:00, I fled out the door, and decided to walk from my office on Capitol Hill down to the brand-spankin' new SIFF Cinema at McCaw Hall at the Seattle Center. Two things I didn't figure: Even though it was overcast by then, and a mild 70-ish degrees, I was covered with sweat by the time I got to the Center. And second (duh) I totally forgot that the Northwest Folklife Festival began that day. Weaving in and out of hippies, musicians, and craft hucksters was not in my plan for my shortcut through the Center. I made it with 15 minutes to spare however, and found myself basically dipping my whole face into the drinking fountain to cool off (those darn fancy faucets in the bathroom only had hot water! waahh!).

My first film was the delightful and exuberant Gypsy Caravan (7/8), a sort of Buena Vista Social Club for gypsy music. The documentary follows a US concert tour of five Romany bands from varying countries and cultures: Macedonia, Spain, Romania, and India. The bands don't know each other, have never played together, and in many cases don't share a language. But music breaks down the barrier, and the film develops into a cross-cultural road trip as the group of 30-some musicians, singers, and dancers bond over a 6-week tour. The music is, unsurprisingly, fantastic. I've been a fan of composer Goran Bregovic's music (he is known for scoring Emir Kusturica's films) for many years, and was both surprised (and not) to find myself recognizing several of the tunes played by Macedonian diva Esma and the horns-o-rific Fanfare Ciocarlia of Romania. Heck, turns out that I even knew Romanian band Taraf de Haïdouks, whose CD I picked up on a whim from a used pile a few years back. The Indian band Maharaja is full of charm and humor (wait until you see their dancer's "knee dance"), and the Spanish aunt/nephew flamenco duo is perhaps the ones that grow on you through the film, as their seeming outsider status among the others slowly changes to them joining one big happy family. Highly recommended!

My next event was also at the same cinema. I had gone to goddess Lisa Gerrard's concert the night before at The Moore, but honestly had some hesitation that the Dead Can Dance singer and frequent film composer would be very "talky" in an interview setting. The Evening with Lisa Gerrard (8/8) turned out to be fantastic. For some reason, the theater was only half full, but we were all crammed to be as close to the stage as possible (none of that aloof sitting in the back row nonsense). The audience was full of fans as Lisa floated in (as she tends to do), and sat with a Q&A with moderator Ian Hierons. Turns out that Hierons would just ask a single question (like "Tell us about how you got started in music..." and Lisa would launch into a 10 or 15-minute answer. She was a funny and thoughtful storyteller, and would go on tangents about anything from the environment to "finding your center" to trying to relearn what you were taught as a child (and told to unlearn as an adult). Oh yeah, she also talked about scoring films, elaborating on her work for films like The Insider, Gladiator, and Whale Rider. Two words that came up often: "obedience" (towards the director and his or her vision) and "self-confidence" (to believe in yourself and your craft, even if the director is constantly cutting you down). If you fail at either of these, it will break you.

When they announced that they interview would end so that they would show the documentary film Sanctuary: Lisa Gerrard (5/8), I have to admit, there was a ripple of disappointment in the audience. We were all newly converted disciples of Lisa, and could have skipped the film to let her continue. The film was fine, though its initial artiness (with staticky images of Iraq War news footage, dripping forest leaves, traffic jams, and what have you) didn't always work, and frankly the sound was crap. Dialogue had a halo of fuzz around it, and music only fared a little better. I heard later that it was the film print, and not the new theater itself. Let's hope so for SIFF Cinema's sake.

At the end of the Q&A following the film, a young woman in the front row asked Lisa if she could give her a gift. Lisa accepted, and she was handed a stick of plastic-wrapped cotton candy, and a Northwest Folklife T-shirt. Lisa was obviously delighted, saying, "Oh! We call this 'candy floss' in Australia!” and we all adored her even more.

After she mentioned that she gave singing workshops to universities in Australia and New Zealand, but had never done one in North America because she hadn't been invited, someone in the audience immediately yelled out, "You're invited!" And indeed, Lisa, if you are reading, I'm sure those few hundred folks you shared your evening with in Seattle would love to have you back... and next time they are bringing all of their friends!