The reason for my week-long silence is twofold. For one, I've been too busy writing and posting daily reviews over at Hammer to Nail to devote any time to this site. If you've forgotten to bookmark that link and make it a weekdaily destination, you should do so now, as the content is going to keep coming. This week's lineup of titles was particularly strong: Glory at Sea, The Guatemalan Handshake, At Sea, Up the Yangtze, and Battle for Haditha. But don't worry, there's more to come next week and beyond. All of this talk of critics getting fired and sites shutting down has me even more convinced that we need a site like Hammer to Nail to remind us why we're dorkily obsessive about movies in the first place. Especially low-budget ones. Unlike a lot of sites out there, we're committed to employing film lovers who aren't merely film writers but who are filmmakers. This is a unique distinction, and I think it will make our site an inherently more lively and engaging place to visit. I love to read theoretical essays by critics who have never picked up a camera in their life, but we all believe that H2N has a more solid, unique foundation in that all of our contributors put our muscles where our words are.

The second reason for my lack of posting is that I've been holed up in a ridiculous mansion in Kiawah, and it would be silly to describe my life to you at this moment. For example, I'm writing this from the sitting room in the master bedroom, which is a house unto itself, staring out at the ocean, as my dream-come-true of a girlfriend types behind me, waiting for me to post this fuggin' thing so we can continue to watch season two of The Wire. After which point, it's back downstairs to join my two lovely sisters and drink margaritas and watch the sunset from the deck out back. After which point we'll eat and perhaps play Yahtzee! and take elevator rides to the basement for no reason whatsoever. Tomorrow, the beach and tennis and sushi and maybe a late-night dip in the pool. I mean, do you really want to read a daily post like that? I thought not. And so the next week or so might be sparse and silent on this site. To get your Tully fix, I recommend you continue to check up on H2N to see what films we're continuing to champion and celebrate.

Have a happy weekend...

It's rather perfect timing that Harmony Korine's Mister Lonely opens at the IFC Center tomorrow. While I'm pretty sure his film cost more than two million dollars, Mister Lonely is the type of work that inspired our new site in the first place. And so allow me to point you in the direction of my review of Mister Lonely, which is by far one of my favorite films of 2008.

More to come next week, so be sure to bookmark Hammer to Nail!

The Maryland Film Festival isn't just noteworthy for its laid back, well run vibe. Jed and Skizz's commitment to celebrating short films is what makes the Maryland Film Festival so important and vital. Once again, tomorrow night's opening night program is not a star-laden Maryland-centric feature; it is a collection of wide-ranging, inspired shorts. I think that's really cool and deserves to be written about more often.

I've seen too many films in this year's program to list them here, so what I've decided to do is finally post my review of Mary Bronstein's Yeast, which is screening at the following times:

Saturday May 3 1:30 PM Charles Theater 1
Sunday May 4 4:30 PM Charles Theater 2

Being that I operated a second camera for a majority of the film, I feel it's inappropriate for me to post this review over at Hammer to Nail. But I also stand firm in my appreciation of Mary's electrifying debut, especially after having had discussions with some people who responded to it negatively. I think a lot of people are missing the point. That said, here's my eight or nine cents on the situation...

YEAST -- Hate Rising

Trying to uncover a cinematic precedent for Mary Bronstein’s Yeast is quite the assignment. Has there ever been a film written and directed by a female--and perhaps most importantly, starring--that is so unflinching, unflattering, and uncomfortable? Barbara Loden’s Wanda? Marina de Van’s In My Skin? Jodie Foster's Little Man Tate? (Just kidding about that last one.) Yet those comparisons don’t apply completely, because while Bronstein’s debut more than deserves those blunt, abrasive adjectives, it also happens to be laugh-out-loud funny and somehow, against all of those seemingly insurmountable odds, surprisingly light. In Rachel, Bronstein has brought to life a character that makes Nicole Kidman’s Margot look like a sprightly, good-natured charmer. Her hilarious and confrontational depiction of this bottled-up young woman’s painful fall from a grace that never was is a refreshing elbow to the face of the screen’s typical portrayal of female friendships.

Bronstein’s Rachel is the type of person who makes you wonder how she ever had a friend in the first place. Apparently she did, in the form of current roommate Alice (Amy Judd) and reunited buddy Gen (Greta Gerwig), but it’s also clear that whatever it was that brought these three females together in the beginning–most likely random dorm room selection–it wasn’t the most godly source. Yeast captures, albeit in excruciatingly heightened detail, that moment when a relationship has run its course and there is nothing anyone can do but accept that fact and move on. Underneath the disgusting glaze, Bronstein’s ultimate point seems to be a pure one: If it ain’t working, why force it?

While Rachel is clearly stunted on a level the likes of which the screen has rarely seen, everyone in Yeast is suffering from some form of emotional constipation. Judd’s Alice knows that she is through with her tormentor, but she is finding it impossible to break free. Gen is a spoiled pothead who doesn’t appear to have many goals in life. But this immaturity isn’t relegated to the females. There is a confrontation during a camping trip between Rachel and Gen and two random guys who are building a dam (filmmakers Josh and Benny Safdie) that feels like it could have taken place on an elementary school playground. This staggeringly juvenile exchange might have actually made more sense if it had been acted out by a cast of eight-year-olds. Just as stunted, albeit in a much different way, is Tony (cinematographer Sean Williams, delivering a wallop of a performance), who recognizes his power over Rachel and does his damnedest to get under her skin. Which he does.

A common gripe I've heard is that each scene in Yeast is a repeat of itself. In a superficial sense this is true, but in a deeper sense, it's the fucking point. While the situations happening here are reflecting a heightened representation of life--or at least any life I've ever encountered--the reality is that we as human beings are stupid and stubborn and overstay our welcomes in relationships of every shape and variety (romantic, platonic, familial, etc.). For me, one of Bronstein's most groundbreaking narrative choices is in the way she delays and manipulates our preconceived notions of drama and conflict. In a typical film, the first act or two would be a quiet, respectful, gradual build to the eventual melodramatic confrontation when the relationship has reached its shattering point. Here, we begin at that shattering point with every single character and every single exchange. When Gen uses a big rock to hammer a tent stake into the ground, or when Alice washes a knife as Rachel verbally abuses her from just a few feet away, we expect the inevitable. But Bronstein won't give it to us. It is this running tension that makes Yeast so riveting and playfully twisted. My hunch is that the viewer who embraces Bronstein's conscious tugging of our strings of expectation will get a kick out of the film. For those viewers wearing different goggles, maybe not so much.

While all of this might sound awful and unbearable and abrasive, it most certainly is. But what keeps Bronstein’s experiment from suffocating under the weight of its own thick, sweaty skin is its unyielding sense of humor. Yeast is funnier than most supposed comedies. Rachel’s inability to be anything other than horrifically offensive and abusive is so preposterous that one can’t help but laugh at her. One must give credit here to Bronstein the actress, whose expressive performance feels humane even at its most off-putting and cruel. This humanity is evident in Bronstein’s role behind the camera as well. She establishes, without music, without camera trickery, without any artifice, a tone that is nearly impossible to describe. Like the most worthwhile art, Yeast is certain to cause a reaction.

Check out what's collected on this phenomenal two-disc release:

Brand New High-Definition Digital Transfer

5.1 Surround & Stereo Mixes

Commentary Track
with Production Designers Jim McNamee & Sage Rockermann, Producers Jason Orfanon & Craig Moorhead, Director of Photography Richie Sherman, Actor Ivan Dimitrov and Writer/Director Todd Rohal

"Outrage the Rooster!"
A new essay about the film by filmmaker David Gordon Green

THE DVD BONUS CONTENTS:

DELETED SCENES:

1 - Stool's Bus
2 - Barnard Is A Creep
3 - Ethel's Nightmare
4 - Ivan Cries
5 - The Quarry Visit
6 - Leonard at the Roller Rink
7 - The Scouts Hitchhike
8 - Separate Itineraries
9 - Spank Williams Warm Up
10 - Spank Williams TV Spot
11 - Turtle
12 – Wallet

SHORT FILMS:

"50 States"
Directed by Jared Larson (grip)

"Demolition 7"
Directed by Richie Sherman (Director of Photography)

"Monsters In Autumn"
Directed by Charlie Cline (2nd Unit Director), Starring Ken Byrnes (Mr. Turnupseed), and photographed by Director of Photography Richie Sherman

"Mother & Son"
Directed by Matthew Silver (Production Assistant), Starring Andy Nadler (Barnard)

"A Double Feature From Turkeylegs & Lucas"
Directed by & Starring Katy Haywood (Turkeylegs) & Lucas Haywood (Boy Scout)

"Little Richie Schreiber"
Directed by and Starring Rich Schreiber (Stool)

10 MOMENTS FROM THE SET:

"The Perm"
A short documentary about the details of Craig Moorhead’s background performance.

"I Hate: A Live Performance By Ken Byrnes"
Ken Byrnes (Mr. Turnupseed) performs live music at a local bar.

"Trouble On The Yellow Breeches"
A Fitzcarraldo-like journey bringing a big boat down a small river.

"Nads In Queens"
A Visit to Andy Nadler’s (Barnard) home in New York City.

"Amphicar: The Rescue"
A short documentary about the sinking of an amphibious car in the shadow of Three-Mile Island.

"Open Call"
Moments from the improvised casting sessions.

“Going Back Home To Dillsburg/Super8”
Super8 Footage from the set by grip and filmmaker Jared Larson and a tribute song performed by producer Nick Panagopulos.

"The Signal: A Baltimore Public Radio Interview"
Director Todd Rohal on Baltimore's WYPR with stills from the production.

"Making It In PA"
Behind The Scenes of The Guatemalan Handshake.

“30 Seconds For Room Tone”
The final moment of production.

4 MOMENTS FROM THE ROAD:

"The Guatemalan Weenie Roast" - BIRMINGHAM, AL

"Everywhere In Between" - Photos from the road

MUSIC VIDEO:

"Lost & Found"
A music video for Ola Podrida (featuring David Wingo, who created the score for The Guatemalan Handshake), directed by Todd Rohal and starring Ivan Dimitrov

Phew! That's a shit-ton of bonus goodies!

To purchase this incredible expression of many human butts and minds, please go to the film's official website, Amazon, or it can almost certainly be found at stores all over this lovely land of ours.

Lastly, no matter how many copies you purchase, put the film in your Netflix queue right now.

Congratulations to Todd and the entire GH team, as well as Andrew and Aaron. This is some A+ DVD business!

If you live in Los Angeles, do yourself a favor and go see Jeff Nichols' masterful Shotgun Stories, which opens today at the Sunset 5. It is as ambitious and perfectly executed and hauntingly beautiful as a film can be, no matter the budget. See this movie!

Lastly, no matter where you live, do yourself an even bigger favor and watch the new R. Kelly video for "Hair Braider." To quote the honorable Craig Zobel in an email yesterday:

The more I know about him, the more I don't understand. Is he like Andy Kaufman? Are we gonna find out in ten years, that R. Kelly was just an elaborate character. That he's actually a guy named Thomas who went to the experimental theater program at Yale?

Seriously, there is no need to parody this man. He transcends parody. One day scientists and geologists and historians and psychotherapists will be able to explain exactly what he meant to the planet, but for now, just watch this thing and be glad that you are a 21st Century human being who has the power to appreciate it...

The tragic story has by now been well documented. At SXSW, on the way to the world premiere screening for Court 13's indescribably epic and astonishing Glory at Sea (read David Lowery's thoughtful review at Spout), director Benh Zeitlin and several crew members were in a terrible car accident. Zeitlin was the most damaged, and his medical bills are exorbitant. If Glory at Sea were merely a top-notch independent film rooted in a generic genre, this would be unfortunate news. The fact that it is one of the most spiritually uplifting and transcendently hopeful works of cinema to have made it to the screen since... actually, I have no idea when and if I've ever seen anything like it... makes it unbearably frustrating and disappointing. Shame on you, world. Shame on you. Anyway, friends of Benh and supporters of Court 13's work have banded together to organize two fundraisers in the upcoming week.

If you are in New York City at 10:30pm this Saturday night, April 26th, and you aren't in a coma or aren't giving birth, you have no excuse not to be in attendance at the NYC premier of the film at the Walter Reade Theater. I seriously considered flying up for it. If I were a richer man, I would be there. Go here to buy tickets. I'm not kidding. This isn't just about celebrating independent cinema or supporting an injured young filmmaker. It's about something even deeper and more inexpressible than that. Glory at Sea is about the need for community and hope on a nearly religious scale. I have watched it several times in the past few weeks, and it only gets more stunning and perfect every time.

If you are in Austin Tuesday night, April 29th, you're in for a real treat, for that program collects several of Court 13's most exciting works, capped off by Glory at Sea. Go here for more details and to buy tickets.

Lastly, if you're in Boston this weekend, Glory at Sea will be showing twice, in the "Shorts 1: Narratives" package (Fri, Apr 25, 6:30 PM and Sat, Apr 26, 5:00 PM). Go here for details.

I have already written my Hammer to Nail review for the film, though I won't be posting it until after these fundraisers and screenings take place (more on that later). I know I can get carried away when I see something that blows me away, but I truly feel that the spectacle of Glory at Sea is something the world desperately needs right now. Do yourselves a favor and see it on the big screen, with as many close friends as you can. You won't regret it.

I really wish I could be there to bask in the IFFBoston glory for the third year in a row, but such is life. Could somebody--check that, everybody--do me a favor? When you're at Redbones (and if you aren't there at least twice a day then you are a wack sissy), please eat a bite of mac-and-cheese and fried okra and some form of delicious meat in my honor. I'll love you forever. (Seriously, that place makes me moan just thinking about it.)

One thing we discussed was Harmony's new side-life as a commercial director. Which leads us to today's link of the day. This new UK Budweiser campaign was directed by the man himself. Featuring Silver Jews members Brian Kotzur (on drums) and William Tyler (on crunchy acoustic guitar), the spots capture the funky spirit of Nashville with sloppy glee. Watch them here:

http://www.budweiser.co.uk/

SATURDAY

It was perhaps fitting that the only film I managed to catch on Saturday was Josh Safdie’s The Pleasure of Being Robbed, especially considering what would happen later that afternoon. Josh didn't just bring The Pleasure of Being Robbed to Sarasota. Two of his splendid short films also made it into the program (The Back of Her Head and I Think I'm Missing Parts). Even if he hadn't run away with two of the festival's biggest prizes, this was already Josh Safdie's year. As for The Pleasure of Being Robbed, I found it to be even more magical on the big screen, and everyone I know was positively smitten with it (Medicine For Melancholy's Barry Jenkins and Nat Sanders were so smitten that they saw it twice in three days!). After that ended, I reunited with a few folks in the lounge before heading over to the main office to watch Holly, Tom, and Gary Springer frantically put together the press releases and scripts for the awards presentation, which was just about an hour away. I tried my hardest to not hear who the winners were, but it was hard not to hear most of the results.

Around 5:30 in the drinks tent at the Longboat Key Club, Tom, Holly, and Outreach and Education Director Hans Wohlgefahrt begin to hand out the trophies. As if I didn’t have enough duties already--blogger/writer for this site and Hammer to Nail; crew/cast member for Frontrunners, Yeast, and Natural Causes; programmer’s wife; etc.--I was selected to be a member for the Youth Jury. While many of the films were impressive, our jury all chose the same films for Best Directing (Kasey Hettig-Rolfe, Virulent) and Best Writing (Vincent Dale, Mouse Trap). When I put on Virulent, I thought somebody had messed up and given me a DVD of 28 Weeks Later instead. This thing was insanely well executed. Congratulations to all of the high school filmmakers selected for the festival. You guys are crazy talented.

Jody Lambert accepts the Bombay Sapphire Audience Award For Best Documentary Feature for his strangely surrealistic (at least to me) and wildly entertaining Of All The Things. Other Bombay Sapphire Audience Awards included:

Best Narrative Feature: Jeremy Podeswa’s Fugitive Pieces
Best in World Cinema: Juha Wuolijoki’s Christmas Story
Best Short Film: Amanda Micheli and Isabel Vega’s La Corona

Next up was the Independent Visions jury, featuring Hamptons International Film Festival’s David Nugent, First Run Features’ Marc Mauceri, and writer Nick Dawson.

They handed out a much-deserved Special Jury Prize For Cinematography to James Laxton for Medicine For Melancholy. Just about everyone but James was there to accept the award (writer/director Barry Jenkins, producer Justin Barber, co-producer Cherie Saulter, editor Nat Sanders). He was running late.

Next up came the Independent Visions Competition Award, which was given to Josh Safdie's The Pleasure of Being Robbed.

Josh was hilariously baffled by the attention. This picture sums up his amazement quite well.

The best part was that I knew they were about to receive another award, but as they stepped out of the spotlight and David proceeded to announce The Pleasure of Being Robbed as the winner of the Heineken Red Star Award, they were chatting in disbelief and had no idea what was happening. For this award, the winner receives a special insider industry screening in Los Angeles and gets to meet with and pitch subsequent projects to interested parties. Look out, Hollywood, here comes Josh Safdie!

The documentary jury (Red Envelope Entertainment’s Leisl Copland, Cinetic’s Matt Dentler, and filmmaker/blogger AJ Schnack) handed out two awards as well. The first, a Special Documentary Jury Prize, went to Tamar Yarom’s To See If I’m Smiling. For their Best Documentary Feature Competition Award, the winner was Gonzalo Arijon’s powerful Stranded: I Have Come From a Plane That Crashed on the Mountains.

The narrative jury (Unifrance’s John Kochman, writer Ligiah Villalobos, and IFC’s Alison Willmore) gave their award to Lee Isaac Chung’s remarkable debut, Munyurangabo. This film better get distribution. I know it isn’t an easily marketable crowd-pleaser, but come on, man. Somebody get their shit together and release this movie!

For those of us who were at last year’s epic dinner, the prospect of another interminable four-hour presentation was not very dreamy. All week long, Holly and Tom kept saying that they had supposedly figured it out and things would run much more smoothly. No offense to them, but I didn’t buy it. Yet they were right. What took four hours last year took two this year. I’m sure first-timers thought it was long and boring, but all of us in the know kept looking at each other the whole time saying, “This is flying by!” Here, Matt Dentler hopes that no one outbids him for a chance to spend a day on the set of Law & Order: Criminal Intent (compliments of Jessica Smith-Hall).

The portable bathrooms at this party wow me every single year. Holly and AJ are trying to act like there's nothing special about them, but I know that underneath those smooth glares, they’re blown away too.

Springer Associates co-workers Jen Blum and D’arcy Drollinger are still looking dashing, even after a full week of hustle-and-bustling.

THINKFilm’s Erin Owens basks in the glory of Dennis Lambert along with Lambert’s proud son, Jody, and Josh Braun.

Brett Jutkewiecz took this picture of Holly and me on the dance floor, grooving to Lambert’s version of his super-groovy hit, “Night Shift” (note: we're not as drunk as we look).

I don’t know what is going on in this picture between Jody and Tom, but I like it!

Matt Dentler and Greg Takoudes (director of the astonishingly well-acted Up With Me).

Rohal and Shelton and Phillips.

Tom thanks the super-sweet Emily Hubley for bringing The Toe Tactic to the festival. I caught The Toe Tactic at SXSW and it swept me all the way away.

Of course, Tom was the one who pointed out the poignancy in taking a picture of Azazel Jacobs (Momma's Man) and Emily, who are the offspring of legendary filmmakers in their own right (Ken Jacobs and Faith Hubley, respectively). Talented parents make talenteder children. This picture is proof of that age-old theory.

"Still Birth Byron." When I first met Byron Karabatsos, he looked at me with a funny glare. Turns out he's been reading this site for a while and he had that unmistakably weird feeling one gets when actually coming into contact with someone whose inner life they know quite well through reading their thoughts on a screen. Considering my complete inability to censor my innermost thoughts and feelings, this must have made it doubly weird. Anyway, Byron is a great new friend who made an unsettlingly hilarious film with Still Birth Chicken. Hi, Byron!

Eventually, a DJ took over and the dance floor became a hot spot. I have some funny video of the action, which I hope to post at some point sooner than later (note: this probably won’t ever happen, so don't hold your breath).

The music is so funky that Brett’s head hurts.

Having started drinking and socializing at 5:30, everyone called off the night when the late night wrap party shut down. As much as I enjoyed the late night rendezvous action on the beach, I don’t think I could have lasted for very long on Saturday. Thankfully, everyone else seemed to agree. So we went to bed.

SUNDAY

Sunday morning, I met up with producer Marc Raybin and writer/director/star Mary Bronstein to handle a bit of Yeast paperwork. Later that night, I would catch the second screening of Yeast. It played as I hoped it would. Aside from a few elderly walkouts, the crowd stayed glued to the screen, alternately gasping, groaning, and laughing at the obnoxious and brutal interactions unfolding on screen. Yeast is fucking awesome. I think it will get better with age, and especially when one charts the evolution of Mary Bronstein as a filmmaker. I'm lucky enough to be involved in her next project, which will be stylistically different from Yeast, but which will be another unflinching dissection of human dynamics at their most frayed and awful.

For me, one of the highlights of the entire festival was watching Harmony Korine’s inexpressibly lovely Mister Lonely in a packed, receptive theater on Sunday afternoon with so many like-minded friends. Afterwards, I wandered around with Aza, Ronnie, and Mary, basking in the glow of Harmony’s extraordinarily artistic, sincere, and heartwarming vision. I knew it would work just as well the second time around, but I can now safely say that it’s even better on the big screen. Mister Lonely is one of my favorite films of 2008 by a long shot.

Later that night, after the closing night film, Battle in Seattle, I thought the festival had ended. But not quite. Of course, we needed to have one more gathering at Cabana for more karaoke action.

Brian, Max, and Gi Gi capture the gamut of emotions that go into putting on such a huge festival.

To close out my participation in the 2008 Sarasota Karaoke Festival, I performed Neil Diamond’s “Love on the Rocks” in tribute to Greg Kohs’ awesome Song Sung Blue.

Thank you to everyone involved in this year’s Sarasota Film Festival. To those of you who I met, hung out with, laughed with, and talked to, I had the best time ever. To those of you who I forgot to snap a photo of or write about, I apologize. And to the die-hards that stuck it out for the entire festival (Luci Westphal, Mark Brecke, Jason Mitchell, and perhaps a few others), you guys deserve a Medal of Stamina. This past week was inspiring in so many different ways, and I hope to be back next year to experience the eleventh year of magic at the Sarasota Film Festival. And with that...

ROLL CREDITS.

***Click here for earlier recaps***

Opening Night-Sunday
Monday-Wednesday
Thursday
Friday

Here’s a blurry post-Q&A snapshot of the filmmakers from “Shorts 6: 21st Century Dilemmas,” which was one of my favorite programs of the fest. From left to right: Adam Pinney (cinematographer, The Adventure), Byron Karabatsos (director, Still Birth Chicken), Mike Brune (director, The Adventure), Ben Kasulke (director, Crustvaska, as well as the cinematographer for My Effortless Brilliance), Josh Safdie (director, The Back of Her Head), and Brett Jutkiewicz (cinematographer, The Back of Her Head).

Matt Wolf’s Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell is, without question, one of 2008’s true documentary achievements. I have to confess, I knew nothing about Arthur Russell or his music before watching the film, but I am now ready to start downloading away. Russell had that very special gift of creating work that seemed experimental on the surface, yet whatever format he was employing, his songs always had a melodic hook that made them feel immediate and personal. The story of Russell’s arrival and life in New York City during such a historic era makes Wild Combination a vital historical document in addition to being a moving, informative portrait of a daring, original artist. Wolf combines actual archival clips with fabricated super-8 archival footage, mixing that with present day interviews with Russell’s loving parents and even more loving boyfriend. The result is a breathtaking revelation. How this film didn’t get programmed in the Tribeca Film Festival is too preposterous to believe. Even if this film wasn’t such a genuinely New York City tale, its artistry should have warranted its inclusion. But the fact that it’s a brilliant artifact of the New York City music and art scene makes its exclusion an outright crime. Shame on you, Tribeca, though your idiocy once again hasn’t surprised me. More importantly, thank you, Matt Wolf, for making such a beautiful, beautiful film.

Later that night, I finally caught up with Lee Isaac Chung’s startling Munyurangabo, which deservedly won the Best Narrative Feature prize. Munyurangabo is a grounded, yet deeply poetic, portrait of life in post-genocide Rwanda. The film follows two boys who are embarking on a journey to get revenge on the man who killed one of their fathers. Along the way, they realize how different their Hutu and Tutsi cultures are, threatening to shatter their previously strong bond and derail their mission. As the film unfolds, Chung becomes more abstract, building to a profound and electrifying moment in which a young man spews fiery poetry directly into the camera (easily one of my favorite moments in cinema this year). The entire film is a stellar achievement, marking the arrival of a major directorial talent in Lee Isaac Chung.

When talking about films I saw for the first time in Sarasota, Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell and Munyurangabo were the winners of my Grand Jury Prize in documentary and narrative, respectively. (When talking about films I'd seen before but wanted to see again on the big screen, Intimidad and Mister Lonely won those Grand Jury Prizes.)

Awesome cinema having been accomplished for the day, it was time to head over to the “Night of 1,000 Stars” party to experience that indescribably ludicrous and absurd event.

Here is Jon Hyrns getting interviewed on the red carpet. What Greta Gerwig was to this year's South by Southwest Film Festival, Jon Hyrns was to this year’s Sarasota Film Festival (starring in not just one but two films: Alex Karpovsky's Woodpecker and Dominic DeJoseph's Johnny Berlin 2: Notes From The Dumpster).

If one picture could sum up the absurdity that was the “Night of 1,000 Stars” party, this might just be it. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the candy table, which was overflowing with sugary goodness (this table being just steps away from the alcoholic Sno-Cone stand, of course, and just a stroll away from the crab cake/shrimp/mussels spread). Speaking of absurdity, at one point, while the music was thumping and dance floor was rocking, all of a sudden the music cut out and a sloppy, drunken voice filled the speakers, saying, "Somebody bring me a gin-and-tonic!" Everyone looked around at each other in amazement. In all my years of being at weddings and parties and clubs, I've never heard the DJ take such initiative in placing a drink order. You might have had to be there to grasp the magic, but if I ever find myself behind the wheels of steel, I have learned a valuable lesson from that clown.

David Nugent and Violet Gaynor, just days away from their one-year anniversary, smiling amidst the insanity that surrounds them. For the record, I am responsible for David and Violet's union. Right, David?

Mark Rabinowitz and the other programmer's wife at the festival, Jessica Smith-Hall.

Jason Guerrasio is struck silly by the lavishness of it all.

Adam Pinney and Chris Brune wonder what planet they just landed on.

Outside, Holly and Lynn Shelton (My Effortless Brilliance) are happy to get a chance to sit down and chit-chat.

Tom Hall and Josh Braun looking sharp-sharp-sharp.

This might be the weirdest photo I’ve ever taken. I had no idea my camera had a “bald filter” on it, for when I snapped this picture and looked at it, all of a sudden Jody Lambert’s hair was gone. I made him bald! When I looked up, his hair was all there. Weird. Here’s the bald, aged Jody with his sister Misha.

The Of All The Things crew poses for a photo, not knowing that in one more day they’ll be winners of the Documentary Audience Award (in the center stands the man of the hour, Florida real estate agent/Philippino rock god Dennis Lambert).

Barry Jenkins tells Kim a hee-larr-ee-uss joke.

Outside, Eleanore Hendricks, Josh Safdie, and Brett Jutkiewicz have no idea they’re about to win two of the festival’s most prominent awards for their outstanding The Pleasure of Being Robbed. Instead, they’re getting ready to…

…Play some late-night volleyball!

Springer Associates publicist D’Arcy Drollinger looks like he just spiked somebody to death.

Jessica Bardsley, Brett, and D’Arcy try to battle their fierce opponents on the other side of the net. (Not long after, the game was shut down by a tired tenant at The Colony who didn't appreciate our fantastic volleyball acrobatics.)

Da Schnock and Da Nooooge.

Mister Nugent and Mister Tully.

I love this picture. Adam and Mike look like camp counselors who snuck some liquor out to the beach after putting their kids to bed.

Speaking of bed, that’s where everyone headed around 3:30 or so. I don't know why exactly, but this year there weren't any 5am blowouts like there were the past two years. Actually, I know why that is for myself, at least. I am o-l-d and I was yawning by 8pm every night, so I didn't have that same "let's party to the break of dawn!" urge that I had in years past. And who knows, maybe that did happen with select pockets of people. I just wasn't a part of it.

(That does it for Friday. Stay tuned for tomorrow's final post, recapping the awesomeness that was Saturday and Sunday.)

It was a real thrill to sit beside Linas Phillips for the world premiere of his powerful, sobering documentary Great Speeches From a Dying World. Much like his excellent debut feature, Walking to Werner, Great Speeches finds the inquisitive, warmhearted Phillips encountering individuals less fortunate than himself, yet there is a humanity to his filmmaking that retains a strange sense of optimism even at the most brutal and unflinching moments. In Great Speeches From a Dying World, he follows around several homeless people in Seattle who are struggling against seemingly insurmountable odds to better themselves. If the audience responses in Sarasota were any indication, Phillips has a powerful hit on his hands. Great Speeches isn’t just a film about homeless people. It’s about struggle and loss and depression and addiction, and how difficult it is to rise above the oppressive forces that surround us every single day.

Speaking of positive reactions, here is SFF staffer Noah, who provided me with the thrill of a lifetime when he told me how profoundly affected he was by Silver Jew when he saw it last year. I don’t want to call him out or embarrass him, but I will say, for the record, that his admission to me was one of the most humbling and greatest feelings I’ve known as a filmmaker, especially since I tend to forget that I even made that movie.

Poor Holly and Tom. On their feet all day introing and Q&Aing movies in the cavernous back hallway of the Hollywood 20, barely getting a chance to sit down, let alone eat. By the time Holly finally got to leave for the day, the Thursday night party was already winding down. At that point, we had no other option but to head over to Applebee’s for some Killer Apps! As you can see from this picture, the apps weren't that killer. They were straight-up gross.

Which leads us back to Cabana. Seriously, towards the end of the week I started wondering if we were there for the Sarasota Film Festival or if the indie film world had instead flown into town for the inaugural Sarasota Karaoke Festival. Here, Matt Dentler rocks the house. I guess now is a good time to address yesterday’s earthquake of a press release. I learned of the news last Wednesday, and had to fight to keep my mouth shut. But this sounds like a great turn of events for all. Matt Dentler is moving to the Big Apple. Bring it on!

I like to call this picture “Barryoke.” The awesomer-than-awesome Barry Jenkins (writer/director, Medicine for Melancholy) delivered a ferocious version of “I Saw Her Standing There” that knocked off everyone’s mop-tops.

Mike Brune (The Adventure) delivered some uptempo musical magic.

Outside in the VIP lounge, Todd Rohal (get ready for the amazing Benten Films DVD release of The Guatemalan Handshake, it's so yummy!), Holly, and a blurry Alex Karpovsky (Woodpecker) prepare for the exciting weekend that awaits them.

Festival juror/blogger/filmmaker/etceteraer AJ Schnack shows everyone how Los Angeles gets the job done.

Fighting off the lost voice that threatened to silence her, Holly wows the crowd once again.

Film Festival Bob delivers a better Bill Joel than Bill Joel himself.

Who knew Josh Braun was a crooner?

Congratulations to Ray and Pete, who are officially engaged. If this dance floor synergy is a sign of things to come, I’d say it's gonna be a long, happy life.

Kim, Brian, and Mae Mae turn the dance floor from warm to sizzling hot.

Dentler and Tom Hall get stupid fresh.

I love watching people discover just how dope an MC Tom actually is. His Nelly is a guaranteed party jam, but it’s when he unleashes Eminem’s “Lose Yourself” that his true Detroit blood shines. Homeboy has serious skills.

Jen Blum dances to Mae Mae’s soulful grooving.

Karaoke Steve, Ethnee Lea, and Jen Blum show the room that publicists are funky singers too.

Ethnee wasn’t too pleased with her red carpet photo I posted on opening night, so I thought I’d snap one in order to let the world know just how sultry she can be.

Here, fellow jurors Alison Willmore and Mr. Dentler discuss tomorrow’s screenings and just how much beach time they’ll be able to get.

Then we all went to bed…

(Stay tuned for posts recapping Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.)

Yesterday, a new wave of filmmakers arrived, and it seems like just about everybody will be here by tonight. Suffice to say, an old person such as myself needs to suck it up and try to act like I’m in my twenties again. Two gin-and-Monsters helped to awaken me last night when I finally got to the World Cinema Celebration, but I still felt completely exhausted. Anyway, enough about me being old and boring, let’s get to some photographic memories from the past few days.

It’s fitting that my last post ended with a non-festival related image from the restaurant where I watched the Final Four, for this post begins with a shot of that very same bar.

Being the nerd that I am, I arrived at Five One Six Burns and proceeded to ignore everyone in order to watch the game. Midway through, good buddy Gabriel Goodenough (yes, it’s pronounced Good-uh-NUFF--aka, The Best Name Ever) joined me to watch the battle unfold. Gabe directed the great short Zebra Kids, which follows a group of inner city Baltimore boys who take an African Drum class in order to broaden their horizons. It’s exceptional.

Speaking of exceptional, the game was everything that I hoped it would be. For some reason, when Memphis was ahead, it felt wrong to me, and not just because I’d picked Kansas to win it all in my bracket (even with that pick, I still lost the pool). So when they made their miraculous comeback, I felt an even greater thrill.

Midway through overtime, tragedy ***almost*** struck. Tom asked me if I knew where Holly was. I said she was probably doing the last Q&A. He said that the filmmakers from that Q&A had arrived a few minutes ago. We both thought this was strange. At this point, I should note that Holly left me a voicemail about thirty minutes prior, but my reception is spotty in the bar so it was pretty much a case of hearing what I wanted to hear. It went like this… “Hi, I’m sticking around to do the last Q&A… (her voice dropped out for several seconds)… I’ll head that way when I’m done.” Which I took to mean that she was heading directly over after the Q&A, not realizing that she could have said something else during that dropout. Okay, so back to the moment. Tom and I both called her, and her phone rang and rang and rang. It didn’t go directly to voice mail, and the fact that the movies were done made it seem strange that she wouldn’t pick up. Here’s where it gets interesting:

Not to be a selfish male prick--okay, selfish male prick acknowledged--I told him not to worry and turned my attention back to the game (still calling Holly all the while, of course, but never getting an answer). A moment or two later, Tom came back to me and said that someone said she’d seen Holly’s “dark silhouette in the back of a van,” at which point my heart started pounding.

FADE IN:

EXT. BACK ALLEY – NIGHT

HOLLY (25) is coerced into a shady Scooby-Doo style van by TWO MENACING THUGS.

Cue DANGEROUS SYNTHESIZER SCORE.

HARD CUT Back to Restaurant.

Obviously, there was no logic in this set-up, but at the time, that’s all I saw. Looking into Tom’s eyes, I knew that our interpretations of the scene were pretty damn similar. Tom pulled out his keys and said he was going to look for her. I looked at the TV, figured the game was handled, and chose rescuing Holly over one of the most exciting National Championships in many, many years. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is (I’m just kidding… I think).

Back to the drama. Tom skidded into the parking lot and I dove into the car like we were auditioning for CSI: Sarasota. Frantically, we sped towards the theatre, as ridiculously dramatic scenarios unfolded in our terrified minds. And then, about halfway there, it hit me. I forget what it was exactly, but I think Tom went into more specific detail about the van Holly was in, and then I knew and breathed easily. Holly was with her friend Erika and her boyfriend Andy, who had arrived in town in a super-cool van that they were living out of. The initial description of the van situation spun me into some old TV movie like The Atlanta Child Murders, and I completely forgot about the innocent reality of the situation. If I had heard the entire voicemail--for that dropout was Holly saying “I’m going to meet up with Erika for a bit then head over”--I would have known and everything would’ve been fine. And if I didn’t watch so many stupid movies, my brain wouldn’t have created such a preposterously horrific scenario. That situation handled, we headed back to the bar.

Here, Holly chats with filmmaker Amy Seimetz and journalist Noralil Ryan Fores, telling him that her worried friends are paranoid weirdos.

I picked up Holly’s mom from the airport Tuesday morning and did some more movie watching (more on that later--movies schmovies) before the day’s main event.

At seven o’clock, many of us got to experience something very, very special (that’s cinematographer Adam Pinney on the left and actor/filmmaker Mike Brune on the right--they’re here with the remarkably assured short The Adventure). Sony Pictures Classics’ Michael Barker did a tremendous job as a first-time moderator in his conversation with Liv Ullmann, who was gracious, humble, humorous, and refreshingly sincere. I felt like a proud parent. Tom had conceived of this tribute to Ms. Ullmann for years and to be experiencing it was a real thrill. Congratulations, Tom!

After that, it was back to the theatre to meet up with more people.

Here are Laura Terruso (The Last Butcher in Little Italy), Madaleine Olneik (Make Room For Phyllis), and programming intern Jessica Bardsley. Laura and Madaleine left yesterday. That sucks. We miss you guys, already!

After an impromptu trip to a rooftop bar, which closed at midnight--in keeping with just about every establishment in this sleepy town--we ended up at one of the downtown’s only open-until-2 spots, the Sports Page. When people started going their separate ways, a small crew of us went back to Karina’s room to continue my new favorite game of coming up with the most outlandish Applebee’s style “killer apps!” (aka, Chicken Bombers!, Cheese Blasters!, Clam Slammmerzzz!, Lobsterdillas!). This is probably funnier if I explain it to you in person. Or maybe not. But it’s certainly given me a reason to live over the past month.

Chris Brune (left), Adam, and James Johnston (Merrily, Merrily) continue to ponder new “killer apps.”

Holly and writer Keith Uhlich (The House Next Door).

Mike is pondering the hard, sad fact that his debut short film The Adventure is more impressive than anything I’ll ever make in my life. That’s when I decided I should go to bed.

Let’s get back to Holly. She told me that if I kept taking pictures of her and posting them on my site she is going to dump me faster than I can scream, “Nooooooo!” Though she didn’t seem to be kidding around (her words went something like, “While you are certainly the most publicly appreciative boyfriend ever, if you don’t stop embarrassing me like this I’m kicking you out of my house”), I simply can’t help it.

She’s even lovely from way back over here! Okay, I’ll stop now. Sorry.

I only managed to catch one movie yesterday, Nick Broomfield’s Battle For Haditha, which I thought was pretty stellar. I’m hoping to write a compare/contrast between Broomfield’s powerful work and Brian De Palma’s putrid, shameful, and sinful Redacted. The lead performance by non-actor and actual soldier Elliot Ruiz is one of the most incredible I’ve seen this year. I hope he continues to pursue acting, because he has an extraordinary gift.

When I got out of Battle For Haditha, I thought I had landed in Europe when I saw these two characters hanging out at the concession stand…

Turns out it was just Gi Gi and publicist Gary Springer getting ready for the World Cinema Celebration.

I got to the party late and didn’t eat nearly as much food as last year. Instead, I grabbed a few gin-and-Monsters to wake up and celebrated the glorious concept that is underage drinking in a public place with Jessica.

Why is Gary happy and yet Tobey, Claire Michaelson, Holly, and Brian are so terribly sad?

That’s because Gary was about to start haunting the party like a spooky, dead Scotsman.

Which leads us to Brian Reiss. I received thousands of emails suggesting that the picture I posted of Brian’s red carpet wave to me on opening night seemed a little fey, and these readers were outright questioning the man’s masculinity. Well, folks, all I can say is that was a fluke moment, because most of the time he looks like this when he gets around a pretty lady. Here's another one, just in case...

After the street party shut down, we all headed across the street for an upstairs rendezvous at The Gator Lounge (or whatever it's called).

Karina and Holly welcome Mr. Matt Dentler, who arrived at the party with his luggage in check. Hot damn!

Here Keith, Tom, and Jason Guerrasio (Variety, Filmmaker) discuss… well, I don’t know what they were discussing, but if my left thumb were on the line, I’d have to say they were talking about… hmm, let’s see… um… maybe movies???

This year, Mark Rabinowitz is here on a new mission, in addition to the Rabbi Report. He is fielding 3-minute documentary pitches for the newly formed company Cinelan.

That about does it for Monday through Wednesday. More people are arriving today, at which point things will get crazier. I totally forgot to take a picture of David Redmon and Ashley Sabin, damn it. Their Intimidad is one of my favorite films of 2008. If it doesn’t make the top ten, it will certainly be in the top twenty. See this movie if you get the chance. It is a beautiful, tender love story, and it features, without a doubt. The Cutest Baby In The History of Cinema. Watch it and tell me I'm wrong.

Stay tuned for more madness as the festival unfolds!

That said, there actually is a film festival taking place here. A damn fine one, as a matter of fact. Here are some pics from the first two days of action...

You know how at nice events you always hear beautiful women say, “This old thing? Oh, I just threw it on.” I always thought people who said that were lying. But in the case of SFF programmer Holly Herrick, it’s true. After a long day of running around handling last minute business, she stopped off at her house long enough to literally throw on a new outfit. When we emerged outside only fifteen minutes later, she was ready for the red carpet. Life isn’t fair sometimes. Here she is reuniting verrry briefly with her friend Andrea, who was visiting for the weekend from Venezuela. They got funny faces.

Speaking of the red carpet, here it is before the madness began. In this pic, Ethnee Lea (Springer Associates), Gi Gi Kuster (SFF Talent Liaison), Brian Reiss (Guest Services Director), and Jennifer Blum (Springer Associates) get ready to make sure William H. Macy and Jason Ritter aren’t trampled by the locals when they arrive.

Holly is confused and amused by my strange left upper forehead combover (it was really windy outside).

If we weren’t talking about Sarasota, I might not believe this story, but somebody informed me that this reporter in pink patented the Cubic Zirconia. Obviously, she’s richer than any human should be, so she decided to use her freedom to realize her lifelong dream of being a news reporter (to each her own, I say). Here are Holly and Tom explaining to people what a film festival programmer does (seriously, it seems like nobody grasps this concept in any way, shape, or form). At one point during the interview, she asked Holly to perform a twirl. Joan Rivers, watch yo’ back, Pink Zirconia is about to snatch yo’ spot!

There was an article in a local paper about Holly in which the reporter described her as having an Audrey Hepburn-like quality. All kidding aside, this picture supports that comparison quite nicely, I think.

Just after seven o’clock executive director Jody Kielbasa says hello to a packed house.

See, I told you it was a packed house (that’s festival Director of Development Jennifer Berges next to Holly).

Next up was the supremely awesome Tom Hall, who, as usual, made a point to thank all of the behind-the-scenes staffers for helping to pull off such a mammoth task. After that, Tom brought out the men of the hour…

Actor William H. Macy and director Steven Schachter, makers of The Deal, which was financed with Sarasota money and made the opening night selection an even more special one for the community.

While the film played, festival staffers sat outside and smoked crack rocks in preparation for the insane, sleepless nine days that had just begun. Here, Jennifer Berges tells Alex DiSclafani (left, Director of Marketing Assistant) and Megan Jourdan (center, Volunteer Coordinator) that more crack had just been delivered to the office, so they had nothing to fear.

I thought I stumbled into retirement when I found a million dollar bill in the parking lot, but…

…It turns out it was some random bozo’s business card.

Speaking of random bozos, I don’t think pictures or words or anything could describe the spectacle that was the opening night party. It was endlessly entertaining to meet first-time festival attendees who were walking around with genuinely stunned expressions on their disbelieving faces. But as I said, the energy was nothing but positive.

Were there hot babes at the party, you ask? I think this picture answers that silly question. Holly, Ray Conner (Call Center Manager), Christine Murphy, and Andrea pose for a picture before hitting the dance floor.

Scrolling through the program of this year’s SFF, one can only wonder: who is in charge of selecting this incredible lineup and putting together the schedule? Here’s who: Holly Herrick and Tom Hall (with help and support from Jessica Bardsley in the middle).

At that point, the dance party began, and as you can see from this picture, muthafuckas was fun-kay.

Here I am with one of the smoothest dudes in Sarasota, Tobey Albright (who helped Holly put together the music video program).

It wasn’t long before the powers-that-be shut the place down and we all went our separate ways to get some rest before the first full day of the festival…

Saturday kicked off with a very special event. Holly moderated her first panel, and while I’m sure she would have done fine with monosyllabic, drab panelists, she couldn’t have had a more intelligent, humble, and thoughtful group.

Panelists included Scott Solary and Luci Westphal (All God’s Children), Jenny Phillips (The Dhamma Brothers), Kurt Kuenne (Dear Zachary), and Mark Brecke and Jason Mitchell (They Turned Our Desert Into Fire).

Another one of Holly, just because. After the panel, I gave her a big hug and kiss and told her how much she meant to me, at which point she proceeded to…

…Dump me for Patrick Dempsey.

Later, I attended the Q&A for Scott Solary and Luci Westphal’s powerful All God’s Children, which received a standing ovation.

Here are the many subjects of All God’s Children, victims of the systemic sexual, physical and emotional abuse inherent in the missionary boarding school system overseas. Midway through the Q&A, an audience member pointed out that this was just one school and how were they all so sure that this happened elsewhere, at which point another audience member raised her hand and said that she had been brought up in a similar system in an entirely different country and felt like she had been watching the story of her own childhood. At which point another audience member said the same thing about being a missionary child in a different country. At which point I had a sinking feeling that the entire audience was filled with individuals who had been abused as children. Disgusting and infuriating.

I abandoned my filmic sensibilities at six o’clock to watch another form of stupid fresh drama, the Final Four. Fortunately, I found a sports buddy in bartender Mark at 5ONE6 BURNS, a lovely establishment operated by Max Burke-Phillips (aka, SFF Transportation Coordinator). It turned out Mark was a fellow graduate of UMBC, which is hilarious to me for some reason. Anyway, sitting alone at the bar I found myself becoming mesmerized by the repetitious pizza making of Brandon. By the end of the first game, I caved and ordered one of my very own, which was oh-so-very yummy. I’m heading back there tonight for the final. (Speaking of that, my wish and hope is that both teams are playing at their very best, but my fear is that one team is going to show up, one isn’t, and that will be that. But let’s hope for the best. These are easily the best two teams in the country and it has the makings of a true classic.)

I forgot my camera battery yesterday, so I missed out on the indescribably ludicrous karaoke festivities last night (Nora Dunn on the dance floor, former NFL wide receiver Freddy Mitchell singing "Don't Stop Believin'," Benny Safdie slipping into character as Ralph Handel and performing the worst stand-up act ever over "Welcome to the Jungle," all of the filmmakers in attendance getting up on stage to perform "Love Shack," etc.). But cameras were certainly out and about, so we’ll just have to wait and see who posts what. For the record, this year, my first selection, DMX’s “Party Up (Up in Here),” actually did start a dance party, as opposed to last year’s “Ghostbusters” debacle.

I might take a break from the photo-blogging until mid-week, when the next wave of filmmakers and parties arrive (this shit takes forrr-evvvvv-errrrr). But suffice to say, Sarasota is off and running and it is as fun as I hoped it would be. Hurry up and get down here, everyone!

For me, what makes Mister Lonely so incredible is it's magical existence on a plane that is both fantastical and realistic. It sounds like just another punch line of a premise, but in execution, it is as personal as Azazel Jacobs' Momma's Man, albeit in a far more dazzling manner. This isn't a film about a kooky Michael Jackson impersonator and a statement on the buffoonery of celebrity worship in general. It is Korine's deeply personal meditation on his own troubled past and his quest to find peace within himself.

It should also be noted that what I find so exhilarating about Mister Lonely, as opposed to his earlier work, is Korine's ability to incorporate his multitudinous influences (Herzog, Denis, Fellini, Von Trier, Malick, etc.) yet deliver a work that feels wholly unique. Whereas in There Will Be Blood, I could feel Paul Thomas Anderson thinking, "This last scene is going to be just like Kubrick!", at no point did I feel Korine's influences overwhelming his own vision. And what a tender, sincere, lovely vision it is.

Mister Lonely is the work of a Major American Artist. I can't wait to see it on the big screen next weekend at the Sarasota Film Festival. I will be at the 2:30pm screening on Sunday. For those of you anywhere near Sarasota, or even if you're not near Sarasota, get here, because tomorrow night, the fun begins!

It's funny. Up until six months ago, I retained my staunch, stubborn belief that the only way to fall in love was for it to be at first sight. I didn't believe people who said they had been friends with their mate for quite some time before deeper feelings blossomed. I thought that was flat-out impossible, and in a sadder sense, believed it was somehow correlated to an admission of defeat in the quest to find true, burning, magical love. But now, thinking back to how we looked at each other one year ago versus how we look at each other now, I have to confess: I was wrong. For the truth is that this love is infinitely healthier, stronger, and truer than anything I could have ever imagined.

As recently as a year ago, I wouldn't have been able to embrace and appreciate a situation such as this. I would have fucked it up somehow. But for once in my life, the timing feels absolutely right. I will always continue to be an insecure, afraid, and nervous little boy, but I am also of an age where I am able to dismiss those worried thoughts and feelings and not let them interfere with the glorious reality that has shown up at my front door like the most amazing UPS shipment ever.

I know how gay (in a playground sense) all of this sounds, and it is. So I'll leave it at that. But I did want to give one last shout-out to the evil emperor they call Long Distance Love. Hey, L.D.L., guess what? We beat you, you sorry son of a bitch. Suck it 'til the sun don't shine!

***And now Boredom at Its Boredest will return to its regular cinematic roots. This year's Sarasota line-up is particularly strong, and I have already begun some pre-festival screening, so I hope to provide daily content between here and Hammer to Nail that will give you some cinema-centric edutainment as opposed to more corny and embarrassing personal disclosures that should be saved for my bedside journal. Sorry about this, but if you were feeling like I'm feeling you'd be proud of me for not writing posts like this every single day.***