day 1

woman sitting next to me at the gates seamlessly transitioned from openly picking at her scab-covered toes to struggling to figure out how to eat a croissant.

on plane—federal marshal in the aisle seat and i schemed to keep the middle seat between us empty. she fist bumped me when they sealed the cabin doors.

watched the tom & jerry movie on my phone. turned it so she could watch the movie as well.

arrive at festival in time to wait in line.

after waiting in line for two hours in 30-degree high-wind weather for a sandra bullock movie, we were guided en masse two blocks to the theater. we were informed by a very angry carny-type woman that we weren’t allowed to bring bags in the theater. i had a bag. i usurped the line and casually walked past the carny woman, who had her attention on the now angry mob. i don’t listen to carnies, as a rule.

OVERHEARD—“ive had four divorces. and i’ve outlived all of them.”
                            “they aren’t cold cases, are they?”

there is a very specific subset of film freak who are festival groupies. their primary interest is being able to brag to anyone and everyone that they “saw it first.”

the only film i ever “saw first” was napoleon dynamite.

 

day 2

been stuck in my hotel room since noon waiting for a maintenance man to come fix the toilet.

“you don’t mess with the zohan” on the weather channel

waited in line for the nic cage movie with a group of germans. there was a language barrier, but we hurdled over it to talk about german expressionism, werner herzog, kevin costner, and nic cage. we joked and they said “everyone thinks germans are very serious people. but we like humor.” but goddamn: being with them for twenty minutes, i found myself standing up straighter. their posture was perfect. i mostly sit/stand like a boiled shrimp.

saw nic cage. cool.

 

day 3

woke up late. went to a screening for a documentary on paul newman made by ethan hawke. the line was full of elderly people.

sunday is quiet—the crowds are hungover from Saturday’s chaos, forced back into the frontlines of film freak mania, feral thralls frothing for the next premier—A24’s ti west porn horror film “X” tonight’s midnight mayhem. 

line wasn’t nearly as long as the nic cage or even the sandra bullock movie. we’re all eventually given red passes that say “you probably won’t make it into the movie. don’t get your hopes up.” we still wait—knowing the theater will be overflowing and moist with hothouse gasses from funky film freaks secreting pineal gland sweat from every pore. i’m eleven people back from the front. i leave the line because my hopes aren’t strong enough to be held up. an hour later i walk past the theater and the line is still there.

i still would’ve been eleven back from the front.