THE SPANISH PAGES (Part 2)

PART 2 - FRIDAY: “A Day of Firsts”

We decided to head out early. After all, the new hotel promises a free breakfast buffet and we had to get there before the festivities began. Can’t watch movies on an empty stomach (you can MAKE movies on an empty stomach and many often do), but there’s no sense in paying for breakfast when you can sneak a free one. A brief goodbye to our hosts, we promise to give them a good review online, and are soon pulling our rolling suitcases down the cobblestone walkway with a deafening clatter. However, despite the fact that we both have luggage, three people ask us directions in Spanish. Donan, who has retained more of his high school Español than I, does most the talking. Oddly enough, we were able to point a couple people in the right direction. Probably.

We check into the hotel, but the rooms aren’t ready. We had expected this. Checking our bags with the concierge, we approach the festival table. The throngs of people rushing the table haven’t shown up yet, but it’s barely 10 a.m., and our Guide did anticipate an 11 o’clock stampede. Instead of checking in, we charm our way into the free breakfast buffet. We don’t have room keys yet, but we have out luggage receipts. This seems to be ample proof that we are hotel guests (even if we obviously checked in 5 minutes ago), the hostess sees our game and simply rolls her eyes as she waves us past.

With a square meal in us, we settle in for our first film, MANGRO, an Iranian action flick by director Mehdi Sabaghzadeh.

SYNOPSIS: Under cover police officer penetrates into a drug smuggling gang. When his superior officer who is the only person aware of his mission named “Mangro” dies in a helicopter crash and the gang is arrested he is convicted to death, but the arresting officer is not fully convinced of his guilt.

I enjoyed the film, but don’t intend to get into long reviews. As those who know me know all to well, I can be hyper-critical and likewise often latch onto one random detail that I absolutely love. For example, I walked out of one film (a few years back) and said, “Well, the movie was pretty lame, but their sound design was AMAZING!” But I grew up on action flicks, and this was a decent one. I spoke with the producer for a bit about Iranian cinema. He either didn’t know the filmmakers I had seen or didn’t care for them. Tough to say.

What struck me most about this screening was the small audience of 7 people (Donan and myself included). The fear of premiering “Chronicles” to an empty room finally sets in. Most of this fear is relieved by the second screening (although a knot remained in my stomach about it the entire weekend).

The second film was DO ELEPHANTS PRAY? by director Paul Hills.

SYNOPSIS: Frustrated by the soulless routine world he is shackled to and dogged by a need to find meaning in everything, the life of advertising executive Callum Cutter is thrown into poetic chaos when he meets the free-spirited French seductress Malika who promises to change his life forever...providing he keeps her identity a secret. TRAILER: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ie8qxooDWzs

Another enjoyable film, this time with a much larger audience. I disagreed with some of the choices the filmmakers made, especially on the choice to shoot 35mm over digital. It’s a conversation I enter with a lot of filmmakers that I speak too. Not out of any aversion to 35mm film, or a swelling love for digital, but it just seems to me that if you’re shooting a feature-length film on a shoe-string budget you need to utilize as many tools as possible, for as little as possible. The extreme costs of shooting film then take away from your lighting, props, cast. To put it simply, there’s no point in spending thousands on an Armani suit if you’re going to wear it with a $5 necktie.

After two feature films, a lot of introductions and handshaking, Donan and I had a small window of time before the Opening Night Gala. I introduced myself to the Festival Director, who upon seeing I was a director of one of the feature films grabbed me by the shoulder and quickly whisked me to a nearby couch where a small radio show was set-up. He introduced to me the coordinator and host of “Movies and You” for Talk Radio Europe and I was plunked down for my first interview. Ever... Not just for this festival, or any festival. First time someone sat me down, stuck a microphone in my face and said “tell me about your film”.

Oddly enough, I hadn’t really thought about this. I’d focused on DVDs, postcards, websites, relying on the concept and images to do most the selling for me. I start to sweat a bit, but not long. I’ve been talking about and working on this film for 5 years, I’ve practiced the shpeals while stuck in morning rush hour (Oh, like you’ve never recited a pretend Oscar acceptance speech while stuck in traffic?!) and I had two other bits of good luck working for me.

There was one interview before me, I had time to collect my thoughts.

Also, the host, Allan Tee, had seen my film and ENJOYED it. Phew! Not only does that mean that at least one person likes the film, but that person is conducting the flow of the interview. It also means he does most of the talking, allowing me to agree with him a lot. I did get to put out a couple solid sounbytes, however. Here it is (NOTE: The audio sucks, so I put in subtitles. I’m trying to find the interview online and will repost this once successful).

Immediately after that, Donan pulled me aside. Someone had approached him about doing a VIDEO interview. Having slugged my way past Foreman, I was tossed into the ring with Ali. So these two guys set us down, hand over a mic, turn on the camera and basically say, “Go”. They don’t know anything about the film, they don’t have any specific agenda or questions at all. Just... go for it! Let's just say it was awkward.

I decided to clean up before the Opening Night Gala. Class it up a bit, y’know? And so, in my haste, I shaved off any and all facial hair, plus a nice little piece of my face. So, in my four-star hotel room, wearing a freshly dry-cleaned suit (no necktie--can’t afford it), I sat on the bed holding tiny, ripped up tissues to my face.

Donan’s timing was perfect, KNOCK KNOCK, “You ready?”

I open the door, “Almost... just waiting for the bleeding to stop”.

Five or ten minutes later the geyser had slowed to a small trickle and we were running late. So we headed out, I used the back of my hand to blot the blood every five minutes or so. But, I’m sure to always do it in a really, really cool way.

The opening night Gala consisted of tapas, drinks, Spanish music, drinks, and lots of camera crews. There was a 24-hour film challenge happening for local filmmakers at the festival and one of the requirements was to shoot a scene at the party.

The after-after-party was free of film crews, but still had plenty of drinks. We had migrated to a bar in Puerto Banus. First of all, I didn’t see any transvestites, so I don’t know what that lady was going on about. But the most memorable part of the evening consisted of Donan and I, once again, clomping through Antonio Banderas plaza trying to figure out how the hell we got back to the hotel. We’d arrived at the bar via different routes, and neither of us had a feel for this fancy part of town yet. What could’ve been 15 minutes turned into an hour or so trek round-about the wrong way, but with minimal backtracking.

But we always continue confidently forward, talking over the events of the day, The first film, the first friends, the first interviews, the first free breakfast. It was a good walk, even though we were taking the longest route possible.

THE SPANISH PAGES (Part 1)

PART 1 - THURSDAY: “WHAT YOU SEE ISN’T ALWAYS WHAT YOU GET”

I went to bed prepared. Already dressed in my travel clothes, bag packed, eyes locked on the ceiling. It’s safe to say that I had no real idea of what to expect when landing in Spain, the festival hadn’t relayed much information. That is, the Marbella International Film Festival, where my first feature film was about to have its world premiere. Donan Whelan, who plays the film’s central role, was my only traveling companion and it was on his inflatable mattress that I now lay. Staring at the ceiling.

Los Angeles turns into New York, the small amount of airplane shut-eye I get is splintered by much-too-visceral dreams of every possible thing I could have overlooked, forgot or fucked-up back home. I was caught off guard at an airport bar in JFK and spent nearly 1/3 of my travel budget on two gin & tonics. Sleep on the flight to Spain is equally shattered. Impossible to get any useful rest.

After 20 hours of airports, planes, and more airports we arrive in Malaga, Spain. It is approximately nine in the morning. We follow the crowds, breezing through customs and out into the fresh Spanish air. Now, Donan and I are both smart men. Good travelers. Able to navigate on our feet. However, by the time it took us to figure out which bus we needed, how much it was, where the cash machines were and how to work everything our bus had left. No bother. We can catch another in about an hour. At the time, I thought it wise to capture the moment:

Informative, right? Shortly after my long-winded video, another bus arrives, but it doesn’t say Marbella. We sit, watching the bus... waiting for another. The bus also sits, as if staring back at us. 10 minutes, 20, 30... It’s now past the time when our bus is supposed to arrive, but this other damn bus is still parked in its spot! I decide to approach the driver and somehow manage to sputter out, “¿Va a Marbella?”

The driver nods, “Sí, sí.” Spinning on a dime, I dash back towards Donan, flailing my arms and thrusting my thumbs back towards the bus we should’ve boarded 20 minutes ago. We toss our luggage in the under compartment, clamber on board and manage to find two seats.

The horizon is one hundred and eighty degrees of mountain, the remaining landscape is filled by the pristine beaches of the Mediterranean Sea.

A quick shower and change of clothes was the only refresher needed to push on for a few more hours. As we left the hostel, Mike, its Scottish owner, stopped us, “Thought you blokes were going to take a nap?” We explained our intentions to walk the 8 kilometers along the beach to the hotel where the film festival was being held. We could’ve used the bus, but the truth was neither of us wanted to sleep or cram into some new form of transportation. We needed to stretch our legs, feel the sun on our backs and whet our tongues with Spanish beer.

These things were accomplished with flying colors. Settling into a small café for the first beer of the weekend, we asked the Englishman beside us about tipping customs (no tip will go unappreciated, but it isn’t necessary and never more than 10%--fyi). We walk along the beach boardwalk for about an hour, growing more captivated and charmed by the narrow streets, salty air and blazing sun. By our 6th kilometer the sun wasn’t quite as charming. My feet clomped down heavier with every step, any rest was met with the feeling of lactic acid releasing slowly throughout my legs. After a bit of confusion and a few wrong turns we arrive at the hotel, sweaty and sunburned. Most of the redness isolated to the left (beach-facing) side of our faces, but we both develop solid farmer tans just while walking to the hotel.

A couple banners decorate the lobby and, around the corner, the walls are plastered with movie posters. We see the festival’s check in table situated in the corner. Halfway through introducing ourselves, a flustered woman (who appears to be in charge) cuts us off, explaining that the festival passes are still at the printers, but we can get them in the morning. Check in opens at 11 a.m., but we’d be wise to come a bit after. She will, after all, be swamped with the throngs of people checking in and picking up passes. This is all fine. We only wanted to get a lay of land, we hadn’t received much information up to this point and had hoped--

“Well,” she interjects once again, “if you go down to Puerto Banus, that’s where all the boats are, and the first street there is where all the bars and shops and clubs are.” Now, I should tell you that our new Guide is a stout American woman with ruddy cheeks and she speaks with huge arm gestures. She is joined by a smaller English woman whose face is so sunburned the skin is peeling off her nose and cheekbones. The Guide and her Companion nod in unison as she describes the nightlife in Puerto Banus. “Now be sure to keep an eye on your wallets!”

“Oh yes,” her leathery-skinned Companion chimes in. “Keep an eye on your wallets.”

“Always keep an eye on your wallets. And I’ll warn you, down at Puerto Banus, what you see isn’t always what you get... if you know what I mean...” I want to assure her that I know exactly what she means. We did live in Hollywood after all, and I often need to ride the 720 bus down Trannymonica Boulevard. But, the blank expressions on our faces must have relayed that we did NOT understand her subtle hints. “Lots of...” (she looks over her shoulder to be sure no one is too close) “transvestites down there.”

“Hm-hm... A whole lot,” her Companion chimes in once again, the Greek Chorus to our Guide’s well rehearsed speech.

“Also most of the woman down there are working girls,” our Guide picks right back up. “Now, prostitution is legal in Spain, so you needn’t worry about that, but still... if some cute girl just comes up and starts chatting, she might be a prostitute. Maybe not, but probably. So, keep an eye on your wallet.”

“Oh yes. Watch your wallet.” it’s beginning to feel like the Theatre at Delphi.

“Now, there’s also a hen party at the hotel right now. Lots of young, sexy women running around drunk every night. So, if you want some free... Ahem, I mean, if you want to have a good time, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

It appeared to be our turn to talk, “Okay...” My voice was now two octaves higher than usual. “So, about the festival, um, when should we pick up our passes?”

This simply re-set the speech about the throngs of people who are sure to be bombarding the table at 11, and that we should wait for a bit after that. Specific questions about what was expected of the filmmakers seemed to fluster her. “Sure, I guess, if you’d like to do a Q & A you can. No harm in that. Once the film is done, you can just stand up and say, ‘Hey everyone, I made this. You got any questions?’ I mean, I don’t see any harm in that.”

I wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer, but she didn’t seem to know much about the actual festival and I didn’t want to frighten the woman. So, we grabbed a program book and a map of all the best locales to find tranny whores before continuing on our way. I kid, I kid! ...they didn’t have program books.

Donan and I took the bus back to the hostel, which was situated in historic Marbella (versus the prostitute-laden streets of Puerto Banus, which felt more like the miniature Las Vegas of Marbella. Huge buildings, modern architecture, designer shops and little culture. However, they did have Antonio Banderas Plaza, which was nice).

We stopped at another bar for some tapas and wine. The encounter had shaken us a bit. It was clear that this festival was going to be very different from what I had experienced working for the Los Angeles Film Festival or the Abu Dhabi Film Commission.

As our Guide warned at the onset, what you see is not always what you get. But, for the moment, all we saw was the sun setting over a sparkling sea while young couples came in from the beach due to the slowly dipping temperature.

The waves crashed steadily; our bellies were plump with wine, pork and calamari; the night was still young. We decided to head back to the hostel and finally take that nap.

We slept for 14 hours.

LAFF Update

I didn't write anything about the Festival... Sorry about that... Stay tuned for a blog that I might write someday called "16 1/2 Reasons Why I'm a Terrible Blogger"

Cheers,
MP