WRAP SESSION:
Sundancing as Fast as I Can

Sundance is always an experience. It's big, prominent, a byword of American cinema. And because it's a major source for the WFF season, it's become an annual January expedition.

My first visit in 2003 was memorable. Thanks to support with travel and lodging from Board members Geo Estes and Merry Ann Simon, I was able to get the expensive but invaluable Express Pass, which guarantees admission to everything (movies, panels, et al.) during either the first or second half of the festival. No mess of tickets to juggle; just an I.D. pass around your neck. That's one less thing to think about, which is lucky because I spent a hefty chunk of my stay mastering the shuttle bus system and recovering from too many last-minute sprints to theaters in the 7,000-foot-plus altitude of Park City, Utah.

But it was a happy baptism of fire, because that turned out to be an artistically strong season: American Splendor, The Cooler, Laurel Canyon, Pieces of April, The Secret Lives of Dentists - all of which were picked up and released before Williamstown's fall season, alas - and several which I did manage to nab for WFF: The Station Agent, The Event, Off the Map. Despite the scope of Sundance's programming, it's amazing how many familiar faces pop up on Main Street or in Prospector Square, and it was a delight to run into theater friends Patty Clarkson, Campbell Scott, Phil Hoffman, and Hope Davis. This was an especially bright week for Patty, who won an award for her body of work (no less than three films) at the festival.

David Schwimmer and Janeane Garofolo in Duane Hopwood

Trip two in 2004 built on the first: by now I knew the lay of the land and could whiz between headquarters, theaters, and favorite restaurants with aplomb. The advantage of an Express Pass is that you receive the complete schedule in advance and can map out an itinerary - which inevitably gets revised once you get there. You may know something about certain titles, or they may feature writers, actors, or directors you're eager to see, but many choices are a matter of faith and luck. For every Garden State or Duane Hopwood or Speak or The Woodsman, there are misfires and self-consciously "indie" efforts whose presence on the schedule is a mystery. I remember one in which the director accomplished the incredible feat of making Paul Giamatti fade into the woodwork, and another at which friends Rob and Adam and I couldn't summon up the strength to leave the theater because the sheer onscreen torpor was so mesmerizing.

Is one end of Sundance different from the other? Frankly, yes. By now, its reputation is so big that programmers regularly bewail the marketing aspect which threatens to overshadow the art. In 2005 I had the chance to reserve the first half, which always sells out far more quickly - I thought it might be fun to attend the opening night party and see how things kicked off. Trouble is, that's when the papparazzi and fans show up in droves, hellbent on snapping Brad Pitt emerging from his limo or lunging at J-Lo for an autograph. In this feeding frenzy it's difficult to cross the street, much less get a dinner reservation. By contrast, audiences later in the span are there to see films. The other plus of the second half is that jury and audience honors are presented Saturday night, and the next day is devoted to the award-winners. There are always titles you've missed during the previous four days, and if I hadn't been around that last Sunday WFF wouldn't have ultimately screened such powerful works as Primer or Down to the Bone.

Once you know your way around Sundance, it's fun to compare filmgoing experiences. The array of theaters is eclectic: a classic Art Deco house, library and high school auditoriums, a converted gym. Did Napoleon Dynamite play better in the multiplex? Was Murderball more intense in a press screening? Why did The Dying Gaul seem impressive in a big space? You get to know your seatmates at screenings, since many of them are seeing the same movies in different sequence. By now I have a dizzying collection not just of "swag" (free caps, posters, key chains, posters, water bottles, you name it) but of business cards from directors, agents, producers, p.r. types, and film nuts of all stripes.

That's a distinct pleasure of repeated treks to Park City - the networking and building of relationships. During that first trip, I caught an intriguing short called this is JOHN and introduced myself to filmmaker brothers Jay and Mark Duplass in the lobby afterward. The short was on WFF's schedule that fall, and the following January the brothers had another short at Sundance, Scrabble. We had a nice, rather Kabuki reunion (same theater, same lobby), and that short made it to WFF too. In 2005 Jay and Mark returned for a rare third year in a row to Sundance with their fine first feature The Puffy Chair, and it was a delight to invite them and the film to close WFF's season last fall.

Face it - there's something wackily irresistible about a place where the population of 6,000 balloons to 40,000 for a week and a half, and most of the out-of-towners have come there for the same reason as you. Because they love film.