JONESING IN SANTA FE

SANTA FE FILM FESTIVAL - November, 2007

The film festival is a desperate thing.

Producers, directors, actors, distributors, service providers… All, acutely searching for the thing that might take them to the next step. It’s the strangest thing really and it takes many such events to truly get an understanding of how deep it actually runs.

Don’t get me wrong, this is an exceptional festival and I’m having a blast. Individuals getting together to celebrate the thing they love is a dear thing indeed, only unfortunate thing is that the people who ‘love’ films, love it more than the air they breathe.

The Santa Fe festival is an exceptional festival. Great people. Great films. Warm and generous staff. It’s definitely one of the warmest festivals I’ve ever been to, but all the more reason to ponder this idea. How, in such a warm and generous atmosphere, can there be this shadow? A most beautiful example of cinematic tribute, and yet… there’s a little elephant in the house. In fact, the better and more beautiful the fest, the more I become aware of it.

It’s a kind of melancholy. A longing. And it’s one powerful itch.

Why? What is it about movies that a person can love so much, that they’d willingly sacrifice everything they own for? To compromise ones financial security, one’s mental health, just to be near it. I’ve seen people gamble away fortunes. Sacrifice their retirement. Tempt financial ruin. Make themselves sick. Bankruptcy. Divorce. Just to make a movie. Granted, the blade swings long and wide and not everyone finds themselves in such circumstances, but the seeds are there.

I can see it their eyes. I see it mine.

We’re junkies.

Film is a drug. Make no mistake. No different than any other pernicious mistress. She’s more than happy to dance with you, but it’ll cost you a finger. The only difference perhaps being what you leave behind when the music ends. For the addict, it’s an empty syringe. For me, a seventeen minute epitaph called Centigrade.

That said, there are a few addicts here. I’ve seen them a thousand times over. In Cannes, Toronto, Sundance. And my heart goes out to them all.

It’s hard to describe what it’s like to want something so bad. To love something so much you’d pop open an eye just to be near it. And the more I see it celebrated, the more people want it. As a kid, I’d spend days, weeks, years… dreaming of it. It’s all you had. But now, to be closer to it than ever before. To be a part of it. To taste it. That’s when things can become a little strange. You are now in the most beautiful of settings. Celebrating the thing you love more than anything. And yet, you want more.

For the newbies, it’s that first break. And so, they go hard. Fearless and filled with boundless energy, going for broke. For the veteran, it’s ‘one more’ break. The one thing that will either stave off the end of their career or the thing that could just bring them back. They all want it. All need it.

And I’m no different.

And so, in the middle the white linen and warm smiles, the selling begins. Paper begins to move. Brochures, business cards, one sheets, flyers. Then there’s the kitchi stuff. Anything and everything you can stick the name of your film or company logo on. Bottle openers, sunscreen, pins. Or in my case, keychains. Little Centigrade thermometers to open the Lamborghini with.

But of course, that’s the promo end of it all. A by-product of the pursuit. Gotta let people know your there. It’s just that there’s so many of them. And they’re all brilliant. Great films and great filmmakers. And all of them, looking for a break. It’s a little sad, but also incredible to see so many people go for the gold in their own lives. These are the people who couldn’t sit quietly and pretend that life meant a cubicle peppered with Far Side cartoons and horoscopes. They’ve got guts. And therefore, no matter how strange things can get, they have my respect. There’s no better company in the world.

Because these are the artists. The story tellers. The self sacrificed. To capture a thought, an idea and marry it to celluloid is unlike anything you’ve ever done before. To go into the ether of ones mind and pull out a rabbit. To have the ability to trap your very imagination and then, to actually show it. Rewind it. Replay it. Stick it in the mail. There’s nothing like it in the world.

When performing live one of the greatest rewards is to experience what is often referred to as a ‘moment’. A twinkling, between performer and audience where both become so connected, that for a second, for a blink, there is no longer a show, no longer a stage. It’s that moment when the world and everything in it, disappears. As a performer, it is unlike anything you can imagine. But it is not for the uninitiated. It cannot be bought, sniffed or injected. It has be earned in ways that few have the stomach for. It is simply very, very hard.

But, to film such a moment and to have it forever more? Gold.

Therefore, toss my hollowed carcass atop the pile of those who’ve come before me. You won’t hear me complain. It’s been an honor to walk the road. And to think that I’ve actually attained success along this path is more than I could have ever dreamed of. And I dreamed big. And sure, things get tough. You think of giving up. But that’s cool. So, you head back to your corner, take a breath, count to ten… then get ready for that bell baby. You’re not done yet.

Because at the end of the day, I pity the man who’s never dreamed that big. Ever wanted something so bad they’d subtract 10 years from their life just to say, “I did that.” To want something that bad. To be that desperate.

And so, the junkies open their kits one more time. One fires up a spoon… the other, a Mac. A questionable analogy perhaps, except for the fact that neither one has the inclination, nor the ability to quit.