I got back to New York City tonight and as soon as I stepped outside, I knew that I was right. It is at least 2.5 times colder than Sundance was. It's the motherfucking wind. I hate the wind. It makes me want to punch things. Aside from that first Thursday night getting to and fro the indieWIRE condo gathering, the weather in Park City was surprisingly comfortable for me. Or maybe that's just because I was warmed by the presence of my impossibly perfect girlfriend. I don't know what I did to deserve her, but I'm going to do whatever I can to keep her. I've been fluffy about corny relationship stuff on this site before and I thought I'd learned my lesson by now, but I also thought that I'd never feel this way again, and now that I'm feeling it stronger than I've ever felt it before (for this one is r-e-a-l), I must express it. Never in my life have the head and heart and body been so perfectly intertwined. I didn't think it was possible. Apparently it is. Now if only we could figure out a way to live less than a thousand miles away from each other everything would be fine. Yes, my friends, I am truly, madly, deeply in love. But I promise that this is the last of it you will hear. I just wanted you to know. Do not hate me. Be happy for me. Holly, Holly, Holly, Holly, Holly is her name. Lucky, Lucky, Lucky, Lucky, Lucky is mine.
Clearly my week in Park City was a dreamy time. But I wasn't just there to hold hands and be ditzy-in-love with my impossibly perfect girlfriend. I had a job to do. And do it I did. I only went out on Main St. two nights early in the week, and even then I kept my debaucherous tendencies in check. I know that watching a butt-ton of movies sounds like a breezy, easy job, but it's not. Even when the movies are exceptional. This week, I saw twenty-eight titles, and I can safely say that at least sixty percent of them were unexceptional (like, shockingly so). It's unfair to filmmakers to have their work screened in this high-pressure environment, because a critic can't help but become more impatient and critical when she is on her sixth movie of the day. But that cramped schedule aside, some of these movies were just really, really awful.
But not all of them were awful! All of a sudden I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open, so I think I'm gonna cut this short. I'll write a more thorough wrap-up later. For now, read my official review of Azazel Jacob's Momma's Man over at Hammer to Nail. If you are anywhere near Rotterdam, make sure to check it out! I haven't heard anything about this, but I'd bet my left pinky nail that Momma's Man will be at this year's New Directors/New Films. If it isn't, I give up once again.
Tomorrow morning I'm back to my real life as an apartment painter. Livin' the dream, y'all, livin' the goddamn dream...