Sometimes I don't know where to begin.Yeah, I know. Start from the beginning. But when you've been on the road for a while, life becomes an endless stream of images, events, and sensations. I like this impressionistic mode. It's less structured and the flow is more random. Like giving up the computer for a week, I think giving up the normal routine, and letting the cards fall were they may, has been very good as well.
Impressions of Sitges (Sitges Festival Internacional de Cinema Fantastic de Catalunya):
Late nights in Nirvana fueled by alcohol & karaoke, amidst the backdrop of the surf. Late mornings eating in silence with knowing smiles. People waving from a white cabana restaurant. Floating in the endless sea while it drowns the waking world away, and life measures down to one drifting cloud. Washing the sand off of tiny, sparkling seashells. Narrow, winding streets, that no matter which way you turn, always open towards the shore. Long lines of film afficianados, shifting from foot to foot, as they casually wait along the pavement for the next movie to start. Endless streams of champagne fueled gossip. Heavy graveyard marker stones of the long dead laden with surprisingly ornate art nouveau script.
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| Self and director Can Evrenol talk Turkey, literally. (photo by LG White Lola Gunn) |
There's a continuous maelstrom of people you know from other times and places, blended with new faces, and yet everyone knows everyone in some sort of context, while they lick their wounds and celebrate their triumphs. I guess this makes it more like a past, present, and future reunion of sorts - survivors from the film fest trenches. Little dogs on leashes and sauntering feral cats lazily taunting them. Naked men walking down the shoreline casually cruising for other men. Yay, yay, for Jagermeister, and new friends to share it with. Standing outside the Prado theatre and sobbing after the documentary MILIUS had finished, feeling that life is often too cruel. Then a low grade panic sets in, and I know I have to get my ass into gear- life is also short, and there's too many things I haven't done or completed yet. More late nights talking with opinionated and smart women, who are experts in their creative fields, without the usual bullshit cattiness which goes a long way towards the last time I was there and a certain 'slee-z' level actress went out of her way to successfully obliterate the future I'd been dreaming of. Being given the sage advice I should say 'bless you' to those who do harm, and then walk away.
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| Composer Simon Boswell, director Richard Stanley, self, and interpreter at the fascinating and lengthy Q&A session after the L'AUTRE MONDE screening. (photo by Ivan de Castres) |
Expectant faces in the q & a after the screening, and telling myself to slow down and choose my words carefully, and silently wishing I didn't feel so tongue tied when put on the spot. Autumn's chill on bare legs late into the night. Shaking sand from snowy white hotel towels. Creative sparks so bright you could literally see them in the night air. Trying desperately to figure out what the time was and never succeeding. Smoking au naturelle on the balcony and no one cares. The old chapel at the tip of the inlet being the first, and last, oddly comforting image I see when I sleep and wake up. Scrambling to see as many cool movies as possible, only there's never enough time to see them all.
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| RAWR!!! Director Richard Stanley, director Aram Garriga, maestro Simon Boswell, and self in front of the infamous Sitges icon. (photo by LG White Lola Gunn) |
Impressions of Lausanne (Lausanne Underground Film & Music Festival):
What is old is new again. The low level buzz of youth searching for art and what their own personal meaning and interpretations are.
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| Apocalyptic my pretty pony! (fantasmes et tramautismes de l'enfance) photo by alexisrochatphotogtaphies |
Ravens staring boldly at you in filtered sunshine and croaking rudely from ornate perches. Timeliness. Cosmic sunsets across the lake in hues of majestic golds and pinks. The magnetism of the jagged Alps rising in the distance - it's easy to see how Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein in such surroundings. Being told about the magic mushrooms which are infamous in the spot where Mary Shelley wrote her Gothic masterpiece. Wondering what strange beasts howl on their snowy slopes during such a powerful full moon. Odd mixtures of smooth modern surfaces against ornately crumbling facades. Watching A FIELD IN ENGLAND and wanting to stand up at the end and shout 'thank you for letting my make up my own mind as a viewer'.
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| How dead is dead? You be the judge... A FIELD IN ENGLAND |
Affluence and influence, and yet always tastefully so. Spiral mists rising off the still waters of the lake in the gentle rain. The smell of Gruyere cows and the taste of real fondue. Feeling ignorant for not being bi-lingual, let alone tri-lingual. Being regaled with stories and songs from my teenage hero's. Clambering up the intense grade of the cobble-stones of Le Rue du Petite Chene every morning and realizing why everyone who lives there is so fit. Intense conversations about the supernatural and the intimate sharing of personal experiences. People who felt like family even though I'd only met them for the first time. The purr of a finely tuned engine. Civilized tea houses and pastry shops for as far as the eye can see. Did I mention chocolate? And more chocolate? Being lost and tired, and more lost after getting conflicting directions. Then, a taxi magically showing up out of nowhere to save us. Falling asleep during an underground movie from the 70's only to happily lucidly dream a whole new plot. Action versus reaction, and being surrounded by the hopeful faces of people who are good to their word. This place is full of secrets.
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| See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. Director Richard Stanley, self, and the mighty Jello Biafra in front of the H.R. Giger museum in Gruyere. I still haven't fully processed the genius of this place, but promise to write as much as possible about it in the very near future. Talk about inspiration! |
The hour grows late and my grammar is getting worse by the minute. Needless to say a very good time was had by all. It was just great to be there and be a part of the surroundings. I felt really lucky and grateful in turns. And I owe a big 'thank you' to all the festival organizers, and hospitality people, who made sure we were taken care of so spectacularly. Like I've said before, travel and new places quicken the blood, it's like a transfusion for creativity. With the turning of the seasons and winter coming on, I know it's time to roll up the sleeves and focus on getting the next Saurimonde book finished. It'll be a turbulent journey, but like always, I hope you'll be along for the ride...
Much love from where the world's touch,
S-xx
