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MillimeterOff-Off Sundance
Jan 1, 2001 12:00 PM, Marsha Scarbrough
Confessions of a Film Festival Juror When I was invited to be a juror for the Second Annual Ajijic Festival Internacional de Cine, I thought it sounded like fun. Ajijic, a tiny Mexican village with a large expatriate community, didn't even have a movie theater until 1999, when two of those expatriates, Jim Lloyd and Robin Lawrason, decided the town needed a film festival. Miraculously, they pulled one together, and Ajijic now has a three-screen multiplex. I thought that as a juror at such an event, I'd get to watch a bunch of cutting-edge, independent features and discover new filmmaking talent. I'd be an insider, hip to the latest and greatest in the world of cinema ... right?
Wrong! It was hell. Now I understand why film critics are so cranky and why films that have won awards from film festivals so often disappoint me.
Week One My fellow jurors are sophisticated intelligentsias from Guadalajara. Ramon Lara Arvizu, Flor Acosta, and Victor Guzman Velazquez all teach film analysis at the university level, and Velazquez also works as a production designer. Katia Aldana is a young mother with an advanced degree in theater arts, David C. Sierra is a twentysomething film student, and Renee Christy is an American who teaches English at business schools. Together, we agree to spend five Sundays in a row viewing the entries and deciding which film deserves the "Los Charales" Award.
That first Sunday, we watch Vendado Y Frio from Argentina. It's supposed to be a black comedy about two inept thieves who steal an Egyptian mummy. The script doesn't make any sense, and, at times, the photography is so dark we can't see the action. The funniest thing about it is the fractured syntax of the subtitles.
When it's over, we agree that it was not a good film and resent having had to watch it all the way through. Ramon suggests that we stop each film after half an hour and vote on whether or not we want to continue. I suggest we stop at 20 minutes.
Next, we watch Radiation, a film made by Americans but set in Spain. It's about a jaded rock-band promoter/drug dealer from Madrid who goes on the road with an American performance artist. It wanders around aimlessly while a voice-over tells us that the main character is on an inner journey.
After half an hour, I insist on stopping the tape, and we discuss the film. I argue that there is no story, and Katia sneers at me for not appreciating the character's "inner journey." I point out that we haven't been shown anything about an inner journey - we've only been told about it in voice-over. But, I'm outvoted. The film goes on, and it's antagonizingly slow. The main character is supposed to be addicted to speed, but the actor playing him is totally lacking energy. At the conclusion, he walks into the surf and drowns himself, and the voice-over states, "In the end, when you have a problem with yourself, there's no one else to blame." When it's over, Katia admits I was right.
We're all tired, hungry, and grouchy. Next Sunday we're supposed to meet even earlier, so we'll be able to watch three films. It sounds like torture.
During the intervening week, I struggle with the question of whether or not it's fair to evaluate a film without watching the entire feature.
Week Two When we meet again, we sit all the way through an unbelievably bad American film called The Initiate. It's a mess: embarrassing acting, terrible script, horrible casting, amateurish lighting, and a stupid score. When it's over, Renee asks why we didn't stop it. I announce that I've decided it isn't fair to halt a film. After an intense discussion, however, I'm overruled.
We then watch Underdogs, a film about, and obviously made by, college students in Washington D.C. About half way through, there's an argument between two lovers that is so badly written it makes my skin crawl. Renee suggests we turn it off. Democratically, I point out that as bad as it is, in other ways it's the best one so far. Renee walks out. We never see her again.
We hit play, and the film resumes its glacial pace. After another half hour, Katia shuts it off and asks if anyone else wants to leave, but we all end up staying. Ultimately, it's terribly sophomoric, but at least one actor makes us laugh.
Week Three The next week, we watch the unbearable Babyshakes and 15 minutes of Jinx'd (the sound was out of sync and timecode ran across the frame).
We're feeling desperate and depressed. None of us imagined there would be so many bad films among the mere 15 entries. We worry that we won't find any film that deserves an award or is worthy of public screening. We are not getting compensation - not even lunch, coffee, or bottled water. The other jurors are wasting even more time than I am because they're driving an hour each way from Guadalajara. I volunteer to watch the remaining films on my own and send the tapes into Guadalajara to save the others travel time. They accept my offer gratefully.
We then watch Rendezvous in Samarkand, a story about an American guy and his French girlfriend driving across the Sahara desert. Relief rushes into the room. Written and directed by American Tim Bridwell, it's gorgeously photographed, professionally acted, and has great African music. At last, we've found a film that we all agree is festival-worthy.
Week Four I watch the rest of the films alone. There's another good one, Breathing Hard, written by John Rafter Lee and directed by Erik Neal Young. It's about a playwright trying to make it in Hollywood who ends up working as a chauffeur for an elderly English actress. The story of their love/hate relationship is well acted and professionally directed. It's certainly worth showing.
Next is an overheated melodrama from India, Puniradhivasam. Only the exotic locations and information about Hindu culture keep me watching all the way through. La Sindrome Essenziale, a confused Italian film about a man who is allergic to electronic devices, is only 60 minutes long, but it feels like three hours. The theme is anti-technology and exalts the virtues of filmed cinema, but it looks as if it were shot on video. Then there's Due Diligence, a painfully amateurish attempt written, produced, and directed by adolescent boys.
Finally, I slip a cassette into the VCR, and an exquisite visual poem unfurls. It's Largas Noches de Insomnio, by Mexican filmmaker Juilian Hernandez. Relating a dark story of gay desire and obsession, the black-and-white film has a dreamlike, nonlinear structure and just a few snatches of dialog in Spanish. It is evocative, original, poetic, and cinematic, and the acting is subtle and superb. For my taste, it is the best so far.
I also watch two late entries. Which Way Por Favor?, written and directed by Mick Diner, is a story about gringos in Yelapa, a small town near Puerto Vallarta. The movie is low on energy except for one over-the-top performance, but the awesome beauty and local color of the Mexican location make it worth seeing. The second late entry, Das Zimmer is a German production shot on video. It's awful. The acting is awkward, and the contrived story misses every dramatic opportunity, even cheating the audience of a resolution. It's also riddled with cheesy video-toaster effects.
Week Five At a final meeting of the jury at Victor's urbane, gallery-like home in Guadalajara, all the jurors, except Katia, agree that Largas Noches de Insomnio is in a class by itself and deserves the Los Charales award. She prefers Breathing Hard. The other jurors agree that Breathing Hard is also an excellent film and vote to honor it with a Jury Award. We decide that the only films that are good enough to be screened at the festival are Largas Noches de Insomnio, Breathing Hard, Return to Samarkand, and Which Way Por Favor? I'm nominated to convey the jury's decisions to Lloyd and Lawrason.
I tell my fellow jurors that getting to know them was what I enjoyed most about the experience. Flor brushes off the compliment. "If you say that now, I can't wait to hear what you'll be saying after a few tequilas at the closing party," he jokes. The truth is, I'm sincere. Interacting with these sophisticated artists and intellectuals has taken me deeper into the complex culture of Mexico.
I announce the jury's overwhelming preference for Largas Noches de Insomnio to the festival's organizers. Lloyd, amazingly, refuses to accept the jury's recommendation until I verify that they've all seen Das Zimmer, which he believes to be a superior film. I contact all of them, and they each confirm that they've seen it and hated it.
Lloyd then insists on screening all the entries for the public on the grounds that the filmmakers might be attending the festival. We decide on a system that designates the chosen films as "finalists" in the program, so the viewing audience will have a clue. Lloyd agrees to revise the screening policy next year.
At the awards ceremony, Largas Noches de Insomnio wins the Las Charales Award, Breathing Hard is honored with the Jury Award, and Das Zimmer gets The President's Award. Which Way Por Favor? and Breathing Hard are the audience favorites.
As for myself, I did not attend. I was too terrified that the director of Babyshakes or The Initiate would corner me at a party and ask, "So what did you think of my film?" I knew I'd tell the truth.
Continue the discussion on “Crosstalk” the Millimeter Forum.
