Sundance 2008: What Just Happened?
On Line: I’m surrounded by olds. This fact — coupled with one-two punch from the dude who whispered under his breath, “I heard it’s not that good,” and my esteemed colleague Larry Carroll’s minimalist review (”It starts like ‘The Player’ but ends like ‘Simone’”) — does not bode well for the film. Sometimes, though, one’s schedule picks one’s screenings here, not the other way around.
In The Theater: It does not begin well. I’m sandwiched between one guy spooning repulsive smelling soup into his face and another whose parka spills well into my personal space. When the lights go down, though, I’m fascinated by where the guy who brought us “Diner,” “Rain Man” and “Wag The Dog” is taking me, because it doesn’t feel like anywhere he’s been before. Sure, it’s a well-polished Hollywood flick, but it’s punctuated by some sort of reckless, furiously fast-forward abandon.
The Verdict: I like the film. It left me sort of upset (Spoiler Alert: The film repeatedly breaks Hollywood’s cardinal rule by killing the dog — twice!), but in a good way. I have no idea what a Barry Levinson-helmed, inside-baseball black comedy about producers, agents and runaway egos featuring Sean Penn, Robin Wright Penn, and Bruce Willis is doing at Sundance (though I guess Catherine Keener, John Turturro and Stanley Tucci used to be pretty indie). I’m not really sure whether Levinson’s really taking the piss or just goofing around. And I have no idea if it’ll play to anyone under fifty who lives outside of the 90777 area code. But it’s a fine use of 107 minutes, and a heck of an odd ride.
U2 Talk ‘U2 3D’ Movie, New Album At Sundance
PARK CITY, Utah - The hot ticket at the Sundance Film Festival this weekend wasn’t an edgy Hollywood indie. It was a slick, super-saturated 3-D concert flick from Dublin.
Park City’s Eccles Center was pulsing with an arena-sized dose of anticipation Saturday night for the premiere of U2’s “U2 3D.” Fans whooped and hollered at any and all signs of the band. Scalpers drove tickets far above face value. The red carpet was choked with press outlets stacked four deep, while the theater was packed with Sundance founder Robert Redford, former Vice President Al Gore, plus actors Ben Kingsley, Anthony Michael Hall, Woody Harrelson, Randy Quaid and many other ticket holders.
The outsized, all-digital film was shot over the course of several South American shows during the band’s 2005-06 Vertigo Tour. Pint-sized digital 3-D cameras swoop over the stage, sway with the crowd and create a vivid visual experience.
Guitarist the Edge said it was the first time he’d actually seen a U2 show, and admitted that he was surprised to see the just how far apart his bandmates were on stage.
“Are you saying you felt lonely up there?” Bono joked.
“No, I felt lonely for Larry,” Edge said.
But why 3-D, and why now?
“We always ask the same question when we’re thinking of something to do,” the Edge said. “And that is, ‘What’s never been done?’ This was another thing that’s never been done, so we were immediately up for it.”
Bono, always stumping for votes, also offered another motivation.
“U2 tickets can be a bit expensive,” the singer said. “We fight to keep them reasonably priced, but you know how it goes. And people who are going to high school or college don’t always have the cash. So my hope for people who are thinking, ‘Well, I’m kind of into that band,’ is that they’ll give us a shot and see what we’ve got.”
If “U2 3D” (which opens nationally on Wednesday) propels U2 into the future, the band’s decision to tap Joshua Tree co-producers Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno to helm its forthcoming album is rooted in the intersection of past and future.
“Daniel Lanois is about the ancient,” Bono said. “And Brian Eno is about the modern, the future, the things that haven’t happened. And where they join - [a place] where something feels like it’s always existed but you’ve never heard before - that’s what those two seem to bring out in us. Daniel Lanois has this tradition and respect for folk music and respect for black music and gospel and blues. And Brian is still trying to make music for if the band had formed on Venus. Somewhere between that is our next album.”
“If we don’t make a truly great rock ‘n roll record,” he concluded, “Somebody should come after us.”
This article first appeared on MTVNews.com.
Sundance 2008: Slammed
I made any important discovery about myself walking into town just now.
I want to be on the guest list, I just don’t want to have to ask to be on the guest list.
* * *
I’m standing on the patio of Treasure Mountain Inn, home base of the anti-Sundance, Slamdance.
The steps of the Inn, here high atop Main Street but within eyesight of The Egyptian Theater (where Sundance was born in 1978) are crowded with what passes in Brooklyn for hipster: bookworm glasses, buffalo plaid flannel, tight sweater, military cap. The crisp mountain air is rife with cigarette smoke.
I am definitely not on the list here.
A few feet away, any IFC camera crew is shooting a standup, one of the hundreds of media outlets beaming these proceedings to the far corners of the Earth. (Do the Maasai know that the buzz on “American Teen” is up to $3M? Feels like it.)
“My ass is wet” the correspondent complains. “And my feet are frozen. Let’s go already!”
Across Main Street, one of Park City’s few kiosks is choked with posters. Young filmmakers armed with staple guns and glossy fliers pin their hopes to the wall.
I’ve come here to find my brother’s former colleague, “American Hardcore” director and Slamdance co-founder, Paul Rachman.
At the moment, he’s the only person I know — or sort of know — who’s actually premiered a film here. He’s on the list. Hell, he wrote it.
Unfortunately, though, he’s currently scarce. The cold, however, is not.
***
This morning, I set out to conquer Main before the sun broke the ridgeline. It’s a steep, steady climb, one that even U2’s “Elevation” could scarcely ease. I made it as far as the Kimball Arts Center, about halfway up the hill; my calves were burning, my lungs on fire. I jogged around town, then back towards Eccles Center. Passing an old graveyard just off of Kearns Avenue, I spotted a snow-covered gravel road winding around a tailing hill that I’d spied from the condo. I set out through knee-deep snow.
Atop the hill, I knelt a while and imagined the mountains without the city. For a second, I forgot about guest lists altogether.
Kneeling there in the snow, I remembered a weekend I spent in the San Juan Mountains above Ridgeway, Colorado. I’d retreated into the wild to consider a job offer… from MTV News.
“What if it’s like high school?” I worried.
(It is.)
The mountains, it occurred to me then, and again this morning, are for lift lines, at most. At their best, they’re for stillness, and remembering life before cities, high schools, and lists.
