Being heavy in the middle of a bachelor party bonanza this spring, all of us at Sidetrack films got into a heated debate about strip clubs and the merging of mainstream culture with porn culture (Yes, filmmakers this sort of stuff goes on at film companies around the world). Generally, I think strip clubs still sit on the outside of our culture’s in your face sexuality. Jenna Jameson might get billboards, Paris Hilton might (sadly) be the roll model for thousands of young girls, and Rolling Stone might have half naked women on it weekly, but strip clubs remain a strange bastion of the dirty, seedy, darkerside of sex.
Last weekend the PBR (hat’s Professional Bull Riding, not Pabst Blue Ribbon) Association kicked off its 2007 season with a massive two day event at Madison Square Garden. It was, in the most cliché terms, an island of red in a larger island of blue or as the “entertainer of the year” pointed out (and I’m paraphrasing here), “You can be walking down the street in NY wearing anything and no one’ll pay you the time of day, but the moment you put on a cowboy hat eight heads turn to stare at you.”
Having never experienced a rodeo before except for a brief visit to Cheyenne during Frontier Days, I was struck by the effort taken to intertwine partiotism and the sport. The natural connection between cowboys and the myth of America is undeniably obvious. However, the parade of soldiers, the flaming letters USA carved into the ground, the flag waving video montages and a seventy five foot long Old Glory dropping from the ceiling of the garden all drove home the point that you, the fans in the stands, were the real only real Americans. It’s good marketing and even somewhat inspiring, but for the widing rifts in this company, it’s only more bad medicine.
And how was the bull riding you ask? Watching a 1700 lb bull try to buck a man from his back is damn cooler than most of what I’ve seen at MSG.
IndieWire’s own glam, paparazzi Mr. Brian Brooks
Diana Williams vamps her way into the underground section of the party.
All around great Greek and New Fest’s own Basil Tsiokos with all around great publicist Christine Richardson
Hunting Lane’s Alex Orlavsky, a producer of big winner
Half Nelson, and his girlfriend are joined by screenwriter Mark Lord.
Harris Dew of the IFC Theater claims it’s important to make hand gestures during photographs.
indieWIRE’s Eugene Hernandez doesn’t agree.
Sandi Dubowski director of
Trembling Before G-D chats at the bar. He’s producing the upcoming doc
Love is Jihad, which is gonna as great as its title suggests.
Always hard at work, Magnolia’s Ben Stambler took a break from the celebration to do answer emails via Blackberry.
The Tribeca Cinema kicked everyone at promptly at 2:00 AM, and the party moved to the street outside where IFC Lizzie Nastro cozied up with Mammoth’s Tom Cunha.
What night at the Gotham’s doesn’t end at the Nancy Whiskey ponder Jeff Reichardt and Sophie Bouchart, both of Magnolia fame.
David Nugent and Fariha Zaman say goodbye before heading home for the night.
One award ceremony. Two parties. Wednesday night after the last award was given, the final speech drawn out, the attendees at the Gotham’s had a choice: head to Home in the heart of West Chelsea for the IFP official after party or venture down to the Tribeca Film Center for indieWIRE’s 10th anniversary celebration.
The official after party kicked off later with the main crowd not showing up until the overlong awards finished up. A large VIP section took up a row of couches where host David Cross,
Channing Tatum, and Breakthrough Actor Winner Rinko Kikuchi (Babel) among other relaxed with bottle service. The recycled get out the vote bracelets definitely erred on the side of lame, but guest DJ and
Ghetto Supastar Pras kept the lively party going…. for those could get in. A number of award winning filmmakers had some trouble at the door.
Downtown at the Tribeca Cinemas the door proved an easily dodged gauntlet to get into the packed event. Although celebrities were scarce, the behind-the-scenes industry players were out in force slipping between the overcrowded upstairs and the nicely chill, Rabbi-DJ’d downstairs. Flashes from complimentary Kodak cameras occasionally blinded (advance warning: my pictures go up Monday) and unfortunately kept the level of stupidity in line. As the night dragged on, their was a growing desire for a dance party to breakout… sadly that never happened.
It was the war that wasn’t with most people going toward the type of venue in which they feel most comfortable (with a smaller number trying to pull both). And for any who don’t believe that, you only had to witness the IFP’s Michele Byrd’s visit to the indieWIRE anniversary; coming as her party was winding down to celebrate with the much beloved online mag
.
The controversy over the Gotham’s idea of independence in film might still be raging on, but the Gotham’s have declared their party independence with an official after party going up against indieWIRE and Kodak’s usual soiree. Adding another layer of intrigue the indieWIRE event honors the stunning success of the online mag’s 10 years. Will the New York indie community eschew the elite, ticket holders-only, event at an undisclosed location in support of a traditional, populist favorite? Or will the allure of the velvet rope win out? Current polling has the official party drawing a strong celebrity and exec contingent with the Kodak/indieWIRE party pulling in a wider community of support. Only the night will tell.
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