PopSmart

(A firsthand account of the films, celebrities, snow and occasional Mormons that compose the greatest film festival in the world, or that we’ve been to so far.)
INT. — TROLLEY BOX OFFICE — MORNING

There are great perks to being locals during the Sundance Film Festival. For one, Utes can purchase tickets in advance for any screening they want before the horde descends upon their quiet, mountain town. Box offices are set up in Park City — the actual site of the festivities — and Salt Lake City, which hosts screenings in two theaters: the Rose Wagner Performing Arts Center and the Tower Theatre. So the collective buzz of the events seeps down the mountain into the state capital.

We’ve decided to spend the day in Salt Lake screening two films, the festival opener In Bruges with Colin Farrell and a small, independent production by a first-time director called Ballast. I know nothing about either film. In Bruges will be showing at Rose Wagner, a gigantic, ultramodern theater packed with balconies and the type of stage you’d expect for one of the world’s best film festivals.

Then there’s Tower, which will remind you (anyone over the age of 25) of the days when floors were sticky, seats uncomfortable and movies were still about what was on the screen and not the 27 ads beforehand. Tower’s lobby even doubles as an old-school movie rental with several hundred films you’ve never heard of but probably should.

The Trolley Box Office is one of the many satellite locations for patrons to pick up tickets. I scan the daily films, but there’s really only one I care about, Where In The World Is Osama bin Laden? By Morgan Spurlock. It’s probably the film with the most buzz at this year’s festival. Spurlock is best-known for his Oscar-nominated documentary, Super Size Me. I’d eat a month’s worth of McDonald’s to meet the man, but for now I’ll settle on seeing his current film.

Word on the street was that Spurlock had actually found the man the U.S. government seems to have forgotten about. That has since been proven wrong, but it should be a great film nonetheless.

The ticket counter worker informs me there is one ticket left for the Friday screening in Salt Lake City. All other venues for the week have been sold out. By the time she runs my card, the ticket is already gone. That’s how life is at Sundance. If you’re not quick, opportunity will pass you by. Or if, say, your friend who happens to be working the event forgets to buy you tickets to the films you specifically asked him to since he lives in Utah and you don’t … then opportunity will pass you by.

We purchase tickets to Ballast decide to wait-list for In Bruges. Regular tickets are $15 and wait-list are $10, only if you get accepted into the theater. It’s chance, but when your worthless friend forgets to get tickets, it’s the price you pay.

INT. — ROSE WAGNER PERFORMING ARTS CENTER – MIDDAY

Wait-listing proves to be dramatic. You head to a venue about two and half hours in advance and stand in line for a number. These numbers are handed out exactly two hours before the film, and wait-listers are expended to be back half an hour prior to the screening to line up for a chance at admission. If there’s room with 15 minutes to go, the Sundance volunteers will start ushering in the wait-listers.

This should all be a simple process, free of drama or name-calling. But it’s not. I was in line for less than eight minutes before a lone woman in front of me let three of her friends slip in. I was hovering about No. 17 in the line, so I really didn’t care. For any given showing 20-30 extra people get in. But in my particular line No. 18 – a small boy in his early 20s carrying a book and a purple scarf — was pissed. We’ll call him “Ned.”

Ned jumped line to talk to an official. When he came back, to quote Martin Lawrence, shit got real. The group of cutters was composed of two older gentlemen and their wives, one with a notable bad knee. Ned, ignoring this, inquired whether or not he thought it was fair that three should skip one and that one person is only allowed to hold a spot in line for one additional person. The younger of the two gentlemen, we’ll call him “Steve,” didn’t let Ned finish before blurting out, “I bet you’ve been a little piss ant your entire life, haven’t you?”

I decided to find something interesting to stare at on the wall. Steve’s wife tried to calm him and before Ned could suffer a beating, the numbering process had began. I took my number and headed to the restaurant across the street to kill the two hours needed to wait before the start of In Bruges.

Nothing relieves awkwardness — and I guess creates it — like beer. My friends and I found the place only because we stalked a middle-aged man named Rick up and down the street looking for a place to watch football. It’s Sunday, and as far as I know Mormons still like the pigskin.

We settled in at the bar next to Rick and ordered some pints of Polygamy Porter. Take that, Saltwater. The Patriots were playing the Chargers for a trip to the Super Bowl and I was suddenly reminded of The Gameplan. That Rock sure can act.

Rick proved to be interesting. He told me he’s a local English professor who has been trying to take in some films to get away from the wife, who apparently had friends in town. Stories like this strengthen my belief in marriage. We talked about the newspaper industry and how the daily paper seems to be on its last leg, while weeklies seem to be surviving the Internet boom fairly well. I agreed. Creative Loafing 1, AJC 0.

We took in some more beers that lampooned the Mormon religion, watched the Pats stay unbeaten and headed back to Rose Wagner. I was ready for Round 1: Ned vs. Steve, death match.

* * *

No blood was spilled this day. Most of the waiting-list crowd got in, which was about 50-55 extra movie-goers. In Bruges proves to be a pleasant surprise (see review). The audience was sold from the opening voiceover. Once finished, we ran to the car. If you’re not to the next screening within 15 minutes of the showing, it doesn’t matter if you have a ticket. Wait-listers will get in ahead of you.

Tower and our screening of Ballast were about four blocks away with half an hour to spare. We beat the line and grabbed a seat in the back. It wasn’t until the opening introduction that I realized I was sitting directly in front of the director. His name was Lance Hammer, a first-time man in the director’s seat. He seemed nice and artsy enough, but I was worried when I noticed his bio included work on Batman Forever and Batman & Robin. I feared something very, very wrong about to happen on that screen. As it turned out, I was right.

My friend Houser sitting next to me turned with a desperate expression for freedom midday though the second act. I suppose the 17th shot of a small child running away on a motorbike got to him. I refused to leave because I wanted to a) give the film a chance and b) I was sitting in front of the director — whose name consequently sounds more like a porn star than visionary for a low-budget indie.

The crowd was receptive of the work, but two gentlemen in front of me got out of the theater before the final minutes. They could have been leaving for a variety of reasons, but I like to assume it was because of how bad the movie was (see review). Maybe I just missed something in Ballast. But then again, maybe I missed something in Batman & Robin as well.

It was a solid first day. Salt Lake seems unaffected by its wealth of visitors, but there is a definite blanket over the town of the comings and goings just up the mountain in Park City. I was pleased with the first day of screenings. It’s important to see a variety and I did just that. One good, one bad. I could sleep on that.

I was disturbed, however, when I was channel surfing before bed. The Giants had upset Green Bay on the road in the NFC Championship later that night. I’m not a Packers fan, but what was haunting was that the Super Bowl would be played between New York and Boston, which were actually the two cities in the title game of The Gameplan. I’m worried this means that the Rock is actually some sort of prophet, handed to mankind from Vince McMahon and the WWE. I guess that’s not too far fetched. When you’re in Utah, anything seems possible.

UP NEXT: Into the fray, climbing the mountain into Park City

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