Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
My brief moment with Mr. Sanz uncomfortably prolonged by some man.
The Kodak Filmmakers’ Party at the Sky Bar at the Clarke Cooke House has a very long name for a mediocre time. The music was just fine – classic rock songs, disco, etc. – but was basically the play list from my local classic rock station. (Even though the DJ seemed like a “really nice guy,” “concerned with the crowd,” my sister pointed out).
I suppose I should hold the party in some esteem higher than that last paragraph does, since I am obviously grumpy and hung over from the free-flowing white wine – the sign of a pretty good party (even if everyone’s favorite waiter would ask if we needed anything and then walk away before we could say “yes”). Oh, and there were free t-shirts too but I didn’t get my mitts on one. I didn’t really try.
Until the young woman in the red top and beads started shaking what God gave her (for the SNL table, my sister pointed out) and everybody got good and liquored up, the liveliest thing at the party were the blinking red light thingers placed on the tables amongst red leis. And then the young lady began to wiggle HER blinking red light thingers, if you catch my drift.
“What makes one put the flashing light thing on one’s person?” we wondered. Only a handful was wearing these lights. The cleavage and the love handle were noteworthy places to wear said lights.
Once again, this year, I have to say, it makes me angry that the music plays so loud that humans coming to experience art cannot carry on a decent conversation. We sit in the dark theaters all day, quiet, and then must yell above the din of our Rice Crispies, as it were, when we come in contact with other viewers/participants.
I chatted with both my pal (may I call you “pal”?) Jim Gillis (of The Newport Daily News) and assistant programming director Cullen Gallagher (and swell guy, as far as I can tell) last night and pretty much gave up after. How can one yell “ART CHANGED MY LIFE AND I SAT IN DARKENED THEATERS AFTER MY MOTHER DIED IT CHANGED MAY LIFE I LOVE COMING TO THE FILM FESTIVAL IT REALLY REMINDS ME HOW IMPORTANT ART IS AND IS SO INSPIRING” set to a much too loud soundtrack of “Copacabana”? I guess at least the young booty dancer was happy – and that’s whom we’re really trying to please, isn’t it?
Of course, I am a dewy-eyed daft film lover thinking everyone who makes a film or writes about film or just gets jazzed by art wants to talk to likeminded individuals, but my sister pointed out that often it comes down to the fact that at the end of the day, most people are asking themselves, “How much can I drink and will I get laid?”
The white wine served me relatively well and I talked to Horatio Sanz. Briefly. I had plenty of things to say to him but I felt he had already been bombarded with scads of “here’s why you should be annoyed by everyone else in the room but me” speak. So I went for a picture instead, which was prolonged uncomfortably by a well-meaning, if technologically inept partygoer.
I wanted to slip in and slip out – taking the picture myself, as we whippersnappers are wont to do. But the guy at the adjacent table wouldn’t have that.
Picture I took where my teeth jam below my whitened lower lip:
GUY: “Let me take one of you!”
ME: You don’t have to do that – I don’t want to hold him up.
GUY: No, let me.
ME (to Horatio): Is that ok?
HORATIO: Sure.
We stood there while the guy tried to take the picture. I coached him through several, which didn’t happen, but he thought they did, grinning from ear to ear each time.
ME: You have to hold down the button until the flash goes off.
He “took” one more, not holding down the button long enough.
ME (politely, but louder): You have to HOLD DOWN the button until the FLASH GOES OFF.
He held down the button until, and only until the flash went off.
Picture where I look like Buddha and Renee Zellweger’s lovechild:
ME (looking at picture): Aye aye aye.
HORATIO: Let me take one.
ME: Ok, thanks.
Horatio takes the picture:
ME: That looks good. Thanks a lot. Have a good night. Big fan.
The whole time near Horatio I wanted to start singing “Christmas Time Is Here” and simultaneously jump on him and yell, with a spitty lisp, “RICK!!!!” like Amy Poehler in the sketch where he has a mullet. But I kept my composure and left the verbal farts to the others.
My brief moment with Mr. Sanz uncomfortably prolonged by some man.
The Kodak Filmmakers’ Party at the Sky Bar at the Clarke Cooke House has a very long name for a mediocre time. The music was just fine – classic rock songs, disco, etc. – but was basically the play list from my local classic rock station. (Even though the DJ seemed like a “really nice guy,” “concerned with the crowd,” my sister pointed out).
I suppose I should hold the party in some esteem higher than that last paragraph does, since I am obviously grumpy and hung over from the free-flowing white wine – the sign of a pretty good party (even if everyone’s favorite waiter would ask if we needed anything and then walk away before we could say “yes”). Oh, and there were free t-shirts too but I didn’t get my mitts on one. I didn’t really try.
Until the young woman in the red top and beads started shaking what God gave her (for the SNL table, my sister pointed out) and everybody got good and liquored up, the liveliest thing at the party were the blinking red light thingers placed on the tables amongst red leis. And then the young lady began to wiggle HER blinking red light thingers, if you catch my drift.
“What makes one put the flashing light thing on one’s person?” we wondered. Only a handful was wearing these lights. The cleavage and the love handle were noteworthy places to wear said lights.
Once again, this year, I have to say, it makes me angry that the music plays so loud that humans coming to experience art cannot carry on a decent conversation. We sit in the dark theaters all day, quiet, and then must yell above the din of our Rice Crispies, as it were, when we come in contact with other viewers/participants.
I chatted with both my pal (may I call you “pal”?) Jim Gillis (of The Newport Daily News) and assistant programming director Cullen Gallagher (and swell guy, as far as I can tell) last night and pretty much gave up after. How can one yell “ART CHANGED MY LIFE AND I SAT IN DARKENED THEATERS AFTER MY MOTHER DIED IT CHANGED MAY LIFE I LOVE COMING TO THE FILM FESTIVAL IT REALLY REMINDS ME HOW IMPORTANT ART IS AND IS SO INSPIRING” set to a much too loud soundtrack of “Copacabana”? I guess at least the young booty dancer was happy – and that’s whom we’re really trying to please, isn’t it?
Of course, I am a dewy-eyed daft film lover thinking everyone who makes a film or writes about film or just gets jazzed by art wants to talk to likeminded individuals, but my sister pointed out that often it comes down to the fact that at the end of the day, most people are asking themselves, “How much can I drink and will I get laid?”
The white wine served me relatively well and I talked to Horatio Sanz. Briefly. I had plenty of things to say to him but I felt he had already been bombarded with scads of “here’s why you should be annoyed by everyone else in the room but me” speak. So I went for a picture instead, which was prolonged uncomfortably by a well-meaning, if technologically inept partygoer.
I wanted to slip in and slip out – taking the picture myself, as we whippersnappers are wont to do. But the guy at the adjacent table wouldn’t have that.
Picture I took where my teeth jam below my whitened lower lip:
GUY: “Let me take one of you!”
ME: You don’t have to do that – I don’t want to hold him up.
GUY: No, let me.
ME (to Horatio): Is that ok?
HORATIO: Sure.
We stood there while the guy tried to take the picture. I coached him through several, which didn’t happen, but he thought they did, grinning from ear to ear each time.
ME: You have to hold down the button until the flash goes off.
He “took” one more, not holding down the button long enough.
ME (politely, but louder): You have to HOLD DOWN the button until the FLASH GOES OFF.
He held down the button until, and only until the flash went off.
Picture where I look like Buddha and Renee Zellweger’s lovechild:
ME (looking at picture): Aye aye aye.
HORATIO: Let me take one.
ME: Ok, thanks.
Horatio takes the picture:
ME: That looks good. Thanks a lot. Have a good night. Big fan.
The whole time near Horatio I wanted to start singing “Christmas Time Is Here” and simultaneously jump on him and yell, with a spitty lisp, “RICK!!!!” like Amy Poehler in the sketch where he has a mullet. But I kept my composure and left the verbal farts to the others.
posted by Jenn Sutkowski at 3:31 PM
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