At Sundance Film Festival, in Park City, Utah the word, though hardly the spirit is “Rebel.” It seems founder Robert Redford wanted the festival to get back to its slightly hippie, seat of your pants, mountain-ski week roots for those in the business. No longer called SHOW business, the film industry is heavily populated with the fashionable, the rich, the talented, and the blessed among us. And it’s kind of buggin' Bob.
Reflecting the recession, the lay-offs and two wars, this season is a dark one. After three movies of insistent gloom and misery, I longed to find a cheery comedy. Alas, the entire festival’s theme negates that. Rebellion. Say what? This is Park City not Uzbekistan. There’s nothing much to rebel against since no one listens anyhow. Dissent is considered un-American these days. Nevertheless, the flicks at this festival seemed joined at the hip of intensity.
My first day was a day of very disturbed men, on screen. Reckless, unhappy, misguided, sexy, lonely, bewildered, beloved, real men and boys. If that turns you on proceed. Melbourne, Australia is one of those places in which it just sounds good to visit or live. I’ve never heard of a Melbourne such as the one depicted in director David Michod’s “Animal Kingdom.” Frightening, industrial and corrupt are among the descriptions that come to mind.
Sunny but dirty, dry and hot, the characters live in a sweaty hierarchy of their own making. The family at the center of the saga display the the worst mix of bumbling and dangerous. The role of the king of the tribe is in constant flux as one and then another family member comes head to head with the police, or each other. Michod said in his introduction that the morning is an odd time to see a movie--this one in particular. He was right. But in the long run, it's not the men who rule. It is one very odd lioness of a mother. Never overlook la femme.
Mogul Harvey Wienstein stood at the exit checking everyone’s faces for …that je ne sais quoi that can turn into a potential distribution deal. I tried to smile but found I was too disturbed. I’d venture to say Michod will be much heard of in the future.
A bit later I hoofed my way through the slush to a film at the Raquet Club accompanied by the Canadian producer of “The Last Train Home,” a documentary about the practice of only allowing Chinese factory workers to go home for Chinese New Years once a year, by train, with about 200 million others.
My next appointment was with “The Dry Land,” a flick that brings the tragedy of war right to our doorstep. Produced by Boise-based film producer Heather Rae, who in 2009 won Sundance with “Frozen River,” it concerns James—Ryan O’Nan—who returns from a tour of duty in Iraq to his small town in Texas.
At first he’s right on, quiet but loving to his wife, his best friend, his dog. The façade doesn’t take long to crack. O’Nan gives James an abyss-tottering sensitivity that is so sad, and so frightening it’s hard to take your eyes off him. And yet the other performances are equally strong in particular America Ferrara as James’ young wife, and as a troop buddy Wilmer Valderramma (yes, that guy from "That '70s Show"). But truly it's O'Nan's taut performance that holds the movie together.
So who is the rebel? It may be the few women directors like Floria Sigismondi, ("The Runaways") and Nicole Holofcener ("Please Give") who show up with work that highlights their unique visions every year despite the surfeit of young male loopers.
More news comes about deals actually made.
The first blockbuster sale made was for claustrophobic thriller "Buried." Lionsgate spent about $3.2 million for the distribution rights, beating out several other interested studios.
The $3 million movie by Spanish director Rodrigo Cortes takes place entirely inside a coffin, in which where a civilian truck driver played by Ryan Reynolds, is buried, somewhere in Iraq with only a cell phone and a lighter.
Check back for more on the festival in later post
