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Every January, there's this little gathering in a little ski town called Park City. You may have heard of it. You know, the Sundance Film Festival. Robert Redford's little indie films project has morphed into a Who's-Who-of-Hollywood's favorite winter outing.
Crazed fans of either independent films or (more often) Hollywood actors fight their way through narrow streets and suffocating crowds to be the first to catch a glimpse of their favorites. I must admit, as much as I love movies (and certain actors) it doesn't seem to be worth all the hassle. Tickets for locals are almost impossible to snatch, though they've expanded over the past couple of years, bringing the movies to the people in various cities across the northern area of the state. Last year, I was one of those people!
Ok, it was actually my friend who got tickets. But she invited me and I was stoked to go! Being a little wary when it comes to un-rated films, she assured me it would be clean, that it was a documentary on ... something... tame. I don't remember. Why not? Because when we got in our seats and the movie started, it was NOT a documentary. It was a film called "Push" (at the time).
It was later named "Precious" and it won two Oscars. Normally, I would love to have a sneak-preview at an Oscar-winning film. But in the first opening minutes, out comes the f-word. "Ok, I don't like that.", I thought. But I kept my seat. After that same foul word was used too many times to count, I was thinking, "I've got to get out of here!" Unfortunately, I didn't manage to escape the theatre before being subjected to the scene where she is raped by her ... I don't know, stepfather maybe?
Now, I realize that this is a horrible movie review. I don't even know what happened in the movie. But well, what can I say? It was a horrible movie. They showed this poor girl being RAPED. On screen. To a completely unsuspecting, film-going, documentary-expecting public. Let's just say I didn't want to stick around to find out the rest of the story.
I don't know how the others managed to keep their seats, let alone their lunch! It was sickening! The Spirit -- what is also called the Holy Ghost, or Spirit of the Lord -- had definitely bolted LONG before I did. You know that yucky, uncomfortable feeling you get when something just isn't right, or good, or enriching at all? That's how it feels when the Spirit has gone.
So I followed it out the door, and wondered to myself, "Why do people make films like that?", "How can they feel good about portraying that smut on screen?", and "Why is everyone so enamored with Sundance?" I must admit, it definitely turned me off. Now that I've seen the sort of films they screen, and approve, and give awards to... it's not so glamorous, even if James Franco is in town for it.
Some may call it ART... And that's their opinion, as much as mine is mine. After all, they say, "One man's trash is another man's treasure." Hollywood may call "Precious" a treasure, but to me, it was TRASH.
