DAY ONE
PARK CITY -- Opening Night sounds sexy. The title boasts of grandeur. Of champagne corks being popped. Of the start of something large and important. I mean, it was the name of a Cassavetes movie, for God's sake. It's supposed to be big.
As far as I'm concerned (and, apparently, Robert Redford, Geoffrey Gilmore and Co. agree), there's no better way than to ring in something BIG than with a couple of adorable little Irish blokes. I find this to be true of most occasions.
So, imagine our collective joy (In fact, why should you have to imagine it? You were there, too, weren't you?! It was Opening Night!), when the 2008 Sundance Film Festival kicked off with none other than the likes of O'Colin McFarrell and McBrendan O'Gleeson, the pride of Ireland.
Not to disappoint the rest of us pseudo-Irish or Irish-loving folk, our two heroes did exactly what we wanted them to: they drank, they screwed, they hung out with midgets, they shot each other up, they said "f***" a lot and kicked two hours of ass in the Opening Night film, "In Bruges."
It was a pleasant surprise to say the least. Because here's the thing about the first night of the Sundance Film Festival. For all the glamour and hype that surrounds it, the first movie of the fest somehow always ends up being disappointing, ranging from mere star-studded mediocrity ("Friends With Money" in 2006) to star-studded s***tyocrity ("Levity" in 2003).
Even when they don't plain suck, the Opening Night films are underwhelming. Last year's "Chicago 10" -- an inventive take on the historical docudrama that somehow never completely worked -- springs to mind.
"In Bruges" is the rare exception. It's a deliciously dark comedy about a pair of hitmen vacationing in Bruges, Belgium, after a hit-gone-wrong. Ray (Farrell) is not the least bit excited about having to stay in the quaint, touristy little town, but Ken (Gleeson) couldn't be more pleased. Regardless of how they feel about it, they have to be there, and they have to stay -- boss' orders.
The boss in question is the hilariously profane Harry, played by Ralph Fiennes, employing a biting Cockney lilt in a surprisingly great performance from the typically regal, buttoned-down actor.
Naturally, because these are professional contract killers and all, problems arise between the three. Blood is spilled. Even as the film shifts from the dialogue-heavy setup to the action-heavy climax, it doesn't lose its comic edge.
However, the term "comic edge" is one that cannot be used for the films that followed in the coming hours Friday. It started with "The Visitor" -- a character study that subtly deals with U.S. immigration laws -- and ended with "Alone in Four Walls," a doc about Russian juvenile prisons.
As if the temperatures didn't make things gloomy enough already.
"The Visitor" is Tom McCarthy's follow-up to "The Station Agent," which premiered at Sundance to great praise in 2003. His second feature, although extremely admirable in parts, doesn't hold up as well as his first one did. The grace and patience with which he sees his characters are still there, but this time their plight seems to impose on their lives in ways that come across as overly theatrical and political. Not that "political" is a bad thing, but the message and emotional point of the film are forced and amount to very little.
Richard Jenkins plays a widowed professor who comes home to his New York apartment (which he rarely uses) only to find that an immigrant couple is living there. As they have no other place to go, the lonely professor insists that they stay. They become friends -- particularly the professor and Tarek (Haaz Sleiman) -- and inevitably, Tarek gets locked up by immigration officials, bringing modern issues clearly into focus. "The Visitor" is carefully observant in parts but can't escape the fact that its events seem predestined and all too dramatically convenient.
"Alone in Four Walls" is one of the better entries in an otherwise disappointing Documentary Competition (usually a strength of the festival). Director Alexandra Westmeier focuses primarily on the human element, concentrating on the boys who are imprisoned -- who they are, how they got where they are, and whether or not they can ever actually have a normal childhood.
The tone is created through the daily tasks and testimonials of the boys themselves -- sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes shocking in their brutal honesty. Though it feels incomplete, "Alone in Four Walls" has enough moments of raw truth to overcome whatever flaws couldn't be covered up in the editing room.
1. Bono would like it to be known that he is filing an official complaint against Redux magazine for its insinuation that Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson are, in fact, the pride of Ireland. Bono adds: "Bono is just doing what's best for Bono."
DAY TWO
PARK CITY -- This was the part where they started to gouge us. We knew it was coming, yes...and yet we had convinced ourselves we had avoided the reaping. I'm talking about parking, of course.
Thursday night and all through glorious Friday, parking was a-plenty. Not the "pay me $20 for the right to park your automobile on my specialized concrete" kind, but the kind that involved no financial transaction whatsoever. G lot. F lot. Lots all over the place not only had open spaces abounding, but the shivering gentlemen in the oversized coats and snazzy orange reflector vests were nowhere in sight. FREE PARKING!
We rejoiced. We were free. We were running through the streets singing James Brown's "Living in America" at the top of our lungs.
Then Saturday happened and our dreams were shattered. Once again, we were met with signs: "PARKING -- $15." "PARKING -- $20." "PARKING -- BARGAIN! -- $10."
Ten bucks. How kind.
As if the $5 bagels weren't enough already. It hurts when I sit down.
The day started out with an actual funeral -- the opening of the Mexican crime thriller "Perro Come Perro (Dog Eat Dog)" -- and ended with a figurative one. That is, the funeral for Michael Keaton's career. I think we might need a public wake to commemorate it. (Does anyone have a eulogy ready? Maybe it could just say: "Remember when I was Batman? Yeah...")
When it opens, "Perro Come Perro" seems as though it's going to be derivative of "Amores Perros," but it ends up being a derivative of the recent spate of ridiculous, darkly comic crime thrillers from Guy Ritchie and such. The hyperkinetic, MTV, Tarantino wannabes. Not that that's always a bad thing. I'll go to my grave defending the merits of "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels" and "Snatch."
Moving on. "Perro" director Carlos Moreno could take some cues from Guy Ritchie by toning down the ultra-seriousness of the film's tone. The over-the-top absurdity of the film's events become clearly (and increasingly) comic as the film moves along, seemingly without Moreno acknowledging it. A movie such as, say, "In Bruges" found a delicate balance between the heavy thematic weight and the comic possibilities of the story. "Perro Come Perro" doesn't quite find that balance, but it's certainly never dull. Not for one second.
One of the best films so far (in a fairly lackluster festival, to be perfectly honest) is quite reminiscent of one of the best from last year's festival -- and for good reason. Stanley Tucci's "Blind Date" is the second in a string of remakes of late Dutch director Theo Van Gogh's work, the first being Steve Buscemi's "Interview." Like that film, "Blind Date" is a chamber piece that takes place almost exclusively between two characters. In this case, it's a married couple -- having grown apart after their daughter's untimely death -- trying to revitalize their relationship with a series of blind dates. They meet as if strangers -- always in the same bar -- and examine their emotions and consequences through a veneer of transparent anonymity. It's another fascinating experiment, and one that requires the talents of actors such as Stanley Tucci and Patricia Clarkson.
Then it all started to go downhill from there. It started with "The Wackness," a combination of two Sundance faves -- the teen angst drama and the mid-life crisis drama. Melded together with pop-culture references and humor that thinks it's edgy but is anything but, "The Wackness" inexplicably emerged as an Audience Award favorite. Despite my admiration for lead actors Josh Peck (a very good young actor who is stuck in a horribly written role) and Ben Kingsley, "The Wackness," for all its supposed edginess, is stuck firmly in the Sundance Safe Zone.
The documentary "Secrecy," about the U.S. government's censorship of information, sounds interesting and tries to be comprehensive enough, but is crafted with sleep-inducing monotony and interview subjects who are more unintentionally funny than they are insightful.
The highlight of the day was Brad Anderson's "Transsiberian," about a couple taking a train ride through Russia that gets derailed with the ominous appearance of an all-too-charming younger couple. The Sundance vet who wowed some of us a few years back with the underrated "The Machinist" is back in psychological suspense mode, but less gothic and allegorical this time.
The last two hours of my Saturday night could have been put to better use sleeping. Or, for that matter, shoving a spork up my nose. Instead, I spent them in front of "The Merry Gentleman," the first directorial effort of Michael Keaton, and probably the last. Perhaps, even his last as an actor. Yes, it's that bad.
Oh, but I kid the Batman. Anyway, Keaton plays a depressed hitman who gets involved with a local receptionist/domestic abuse victim, through fairly stupid coincidences that scream, "I definitely didn't think this screenplay through." Add to that the complete lack of any sense of place, mood, timing, visual atmosphere or logic, and you get one really, really bad movie. I'm all for contract killers and charming women with Scottish accents. But if this is Keaton trying to reinvent himself…well, he'd probably be better off just changing his last name again.
c.bellamy@chronicle.utah.edu
