On my way home from Park City in 2005 (I was covering it for Filmmaker magazine), I made a promise to myself never to go back again unless one of my films was playing there. Thank god I kept it. For a journalist (which I used to be, full-time), the festival is exhausting -- 4-6 films a day, intercut with parties, lunches, interviews, and late nights at the same places, night after night. If you're responsible for daily print or Web reports, you have to find the time, the energy, and the concentration to write during the chaos. But at least journalists -- serious film journalists, that is -- deserve to be put on the good side of the fence. The other side -- the one Redford and everyone in the film community constantly complains about is made of the following: tabloid reporters, corporate execs and their assistants who descend on the "branding opportunity" that is Park City in January, paparazzi (the sheer number of shlumpy dudes with telephoto lenses prowling up and down Main Street was horrifying), celebrities who have nothing to do with any film that's screening at the Park City Festivals, the rabid fans following around the aforementioned celebrities, and of course, the horndogs. These are the losers who get rejected from cheesy clubs in New York and L.A. because they travel in packs of five guys or more. And now it seems they've decided that if they spend a few nights in Park City, they'll get a chance to recreate the Entourage episode where Drama and Turtle cross swords. My favorite sight so far was seeing five budget models in matching Juicy Couture gear huddled together on Main Street while imploring passersby to shell out some coin for pink velour. Even the horndogs ignored them.