Dear Friends,
It’s that time of year again and I’m packing my long underwear and cell phone charger for two weeks as a volunteer at the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. For the third year in a row, I will be working in exchange for free shelter and all the movies and parties I can possibly weasel my way into over the course of 12 chaotic days.
I’ve been assigned to the House of Docs, a combination seminar space, coffeehouse and networking paradise geared toward documentary filmmakers and the people who pay meager sums of money to distribute their work. It is also one of the few places at the festival where you are greeted at the door with a welcoming smile, as opposed to a sneering demand to produce your ticket/pass/identity papers or some kind of proof that your last name really is Redford.
This year, being older and wiser, I pledge to focus on filmgoing, not partying. No pleading at the door to get into the Miramax bash, no staying out till all hours dancing with 22-year-olds and drinking Red Bull and vodka cocktails, no impromptu parties in the nearest hot tub. This year I resolve to see as many films as possible, get enough sleep and eat at least one salad a day. I will not obsess over where Jake Gyllenhall might be hanging out or whether the Strokes will be making a surprise appearance at Harry O’s Bar. This is a new, virtuous me.
So to that end, I am assembling my survival kit:
– Protein bars, because given the choice of a sit-down meal or squeezing in an extra screening, it’s no contest.
– Jumbo bottles of both water and aspirin, to counteract the heinous effects of altitude sickness.
– Chinese herbs, which I’m told do something beneficial for my spleen, although I’m not exactly sure what.
– Hundreds of promotional postcards for my own documentary, because you never know who might be interested in offering me a meager sum of money to distribute my work.
And then there are the burning questions:
1. Will I be housed in the same fabulous chalet as last year, complete with a giant hot tub on the balcony with a breathtaking view of the Wasatch Mountains?
2. Will Krispy Kreme Doughnuts once again sponsor the festival, providing me with unlimited access to the foundation of any well-balanced diet?
3. Will I be able to convince my friends that Sundance is actually a lot of hard work and little glamor, and that we volunteers are the bottom link in the festival food chain? After all, we have no real access to anyone worthy of Us Weekly and must rely on the kindness of strangers and journalists in order to party with Jake Gyllenhall–I mean–get into that important documentary about Wood.
I’m off to the airport. Stay tuned to this space for scintillating stories of serious cinema and dark green vegetables. I know you’re at the edge of your seat already.
Yours in good health,
Therese
