Many years ago I received a voice mail on a Saturday night from a woman I was dating. In her coldly sensual wit she droned, "Hey it's _____. Saturday night, big Saturday night." So forever since, that message echoes in my brain anytime something is happening on Saturday night and, perhaps equally when absolutely nothing is happening.
Last night was a Big Saturday Night. We were invited to the wrap party for Gus Van Sant's film, Paranoid Park. The type of event that I always am pleased to have the opportunity to attend, yet always feel a great deal of anxiety about. The trepidation is due in part to an egotistical conceit that being part of the crowd rather than one of the kingpins is something shamefully mundane. The fact is that I admire Gus Van Sant tremendously. He is an incredibly prolific visionary that makes wonderful films. Whenever I've been in his presence he treats people very graciously. Who am I to think I merit more than an invite to such a celebration? I didn't last night. It was a nice feeling to be one in the crowd, free from envy and thwarted entitlement. In fact I spoke to a couple people about my recent filmmaking with earnest humility. There was no need to assert my accomplishments, I was simply reporting on some facts of my own life. I really appreciate the ability to feel comfortable with who I am. It's been a long time coming after a lifetime of the anguish of feeling the need to be more than I am. On a less solipsistic note, when we were leaving we noticed some of the teen girls in the cast in a room by themselves. They weren't talking. They were logged onto myspace.
After the party we went to see The Science of Sleep. What a joyful treat that was! At more than one point I found myself attempting to discern what was dream and what was fictive reality. I was able to resist my left brain impulses and enjoy the film's illogic. I love Gael Garcia Bernal. For one, he's a very wonderful actor that skillfully fills every moment without chewing the scenery. Another thing I find familiar and attractive about him is that he's a Chilango. He speaks English with the accent and posseses the mirthful ennui particular to my wonderful friends in Mexico City. I love the ordinary look and feel of Michel Gondry's films. His work is wonderfully cinematic without any slick baggage. In a certain sense they're anti-films. The surrealism of his films is all the more powerful because of it. Charlotte Gainsbourg embodies that sensibility well, she's an anti-movie star. She seems to wear no makeup nor comb her hair, she is at once self-effacing, strong and helpless. How utterly human, yet on a scale grand enough to allow us to get really close to her. Go see this picture in a theater. For sure.
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