Free Stella Artois, pretty girls slinging Airborne on every corner, and, of course, lots of frozen precip. At least, that’s what Sundance has meant to me, until now.
Now, I see that I was a parochial rube, foolishly thinking that the well-oiled Sundance machinery shut down in the fallow months between the behemoth festival’s annual invasion of tiny Park City. How little I knew.
But how could I have known? Paul and Darrien usually hog all the high profile events (have fun at Waterfront, DMG… I didn’t want to go anyway), forcing me to hold down the fort in Hollywood, where I bide my time hoping that they’ll at least bring me a souvenir of their high-livin’, jet-setting good times. To my great good fortune, though, this year Paul decided he needed a little down time after his exhausting trip to Cannes, followed by his physically draining vacation in Venice.
Well, I do have one minor, niggling complaint that I hesitate to bring up: my flight to Utah was delayed so long that I missed the event that was the primary reason for my trip. Yep, the SAGIndie Reception had to go on without me. I lost out on the chance to be the guy who bestowed free booze and SAGIndie hats upon a bunch of thirsty, swag coveting filmmakers. Just thinking about all the drinks at the Owl Bar our generosity would have garnered me had I been here to take all the credit for our largesse is disheartening in the extreme.
Ah well, to hell with it. I’ve got to soldier on. There are complimentary meals to be had, hands to shake, and script readings to attend. And today was not a total wash: I saw Q’Orianka Kilcher and I got my two week membership card to the Owl Bar (pictured above).
Tomorrow will give me time enough to earn my pay.