TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALL

Ever been to a ‘GALA’?

Niiiiiice.

You approach the venue with attitude. Your baggage waiting at the door. Cool. That invitation in your hand, instant credibility. Still, no matter how indifferent, hip, nor jaded you think you are, your heart still jumps… just a touch. People converge, oblivious to the work done by others to the enhance the thresh hold and you show your ticket to the man who lets his friends in for free.

The door opens and you step into another world. Ice carved herons. Something in lobster sauce. Pedestrians swimming in Donna Karan and Kenneth Cole. Not a tator, nor tot to be found and it’s a trip. A visceral metaphor of everything you’ve ever wanted, everything you’ve ever despised and you’re scrambling to find your own worth in it all.

Take a breath. Take it all in. It’s your night.

You walk through a sea of PIB’s (People In Black). Celebs. Photographers. The chick with the massive boobs that nobody knows. The knuckle head with the ball cap. The ‘artist’ in sandals. The loud guy.

It’s quite the salad. And I love it.

Only the strange thing is, few are really celebrating.

Now, I don’t personally believe that it should be that way. I know many of these people and they have a reason to celebrate. And yet, they just can’t seem to let go. Instead, they’re rubbernecking to see who else is around. Their self esteem rising or falling depending upon who comes into their field of view.

Never understood that. (Well, sure. When I was fifteen I could.) But then you grow up, bury a few friends, take a few hits. You earn your shoes. And at the end of the day, if not hardened, harder to fool. Right?

But like I said, film festivals are strange things. Intoxicating. Exaggerated. Like an albino at a duck fight, a tad surreal. And it’s easy to get caught up in the complement. People are honored. People are quietly slandered. But both praise and scorn come in paper boxes. The confetti in your hair is not a crown. You know that. But, instead of holding that little gem close, something is forgotten and wammo… you become one of them.

It’s then, one of two things happen. You either get a little too caught up in the glitz. Or, miss the point entirely. And that I hate. Next thing you know you’re seeking validation from those who know little more than their prescription for Percocet and Lamictal.

But people are strange things. See a car smashed at the side of the road, and it’s a tragedy. Put the driver in a car you can’t afford, and they deserved it.

Ah, people.

But ‘I’ couldn’t be happier. Santa Barbara has not only invited CENTIGRADE to screen at their festival, but have also honored us by pairing the film with a feature. Serbia’s Academy submission, THE TRAP.

It’s not only a great thriller but an incredible opportunity for us. 99% of the time, ‘shorts’ go into a shorts program and it’s a roll of the dice. And not to knock such programs, but we are truly overjoyed to have been honored with such a pairing.

That said, thank you Candace Schermerhorn and everyone over at the Santa Barbara International Film Festival. We truly appreciate it.

As for the Gala?

I can’t wait.

I have more reasons to celebrate than Santa Barbara has films to show. Therefore, I will be showing up tall. Grateful. Honored to be a part of it all, but also to represent those back home who couldn’t make it. My crew, my cast, my producers. My friends. There are no better people in the world and I’m privileged to be a part of their company and this celebration of film.

So bring on the Glitz! Bring on the Glamour! Bring on the GALA!

I for one ‘will’ be celebrating.

And if you’re lucky enough to be there, please say hello. I’ll be easy to spot. Just to the right of the heron. Somewhere between super boobs and the ball cap.

There. With the grin.

The one in pink.