Monday, May 02, 2011

the langueage of cinema is universal...

I will hang out with anyone who reads this blog. Bored? Lonely? Living in your mom's basement? We should do something.
This is how I met my friend Christine. Well, this is kinda how I met my friend Christine. She wasn't living in her mom's basement. She moved to San Francisco from Newark after giving up her job working for... Cory Booker.
"Oh, you know Cory Booker? Yes, I would love to get together!"
Not only does Christine know CB, she is also fun and hilarious. So big bonus for me. Anyway, Christine sent me a link to a movie at the (currently happening) San Francisco International Film Festival, asking if I was interested.
Page One: A Year Inside The New York Times is a documentary in which we get to spy on the NYT, mainly the Media section, as they report on WikiLeaks and the SHIFTING LANDSCAPE OF MEDIA and through it all, NYT writer (and former crack addict) David Carr offers his genius thoughts while sticking it to one guy from Vice Magazine. Needless to say, this movie is wonderful.
Christine and her friend already bought tickets well in advance, as Christine is David Carr's biggest fan, so I was relegated to the rush line. This means that IF seats were available once ticket holders had shown up, they'd start letting us in. I had to rush to get into the rush line, zipping across town in my Necessary Conversation face paint to find this random "space" across the street from the Kabuki.
New People is what I'm sure people who work there call a "space." You know when you go on Fandango or whatever and you see "Viz Cinema" and ignore it? That's New People. Aside from all of the art and organic snacks and craft shows, the underground theater is like a huge, gorgeous, comfortable private screening room. All of the seats are Business Class Seats.
So ignore no longer! (Well, I don't think they play regular movies there. I think it's all kooky art crap and the occasional gem. Still, I am now more open to Viz Cinema.)
Very sweetly, Christine met me outside and told me that inside, her friend was saving highly coveted seats for us. She went in, while I reminded in line on Post Street, listening to the conversations around me.
You can guess the kinds of conversations people in the rush line for a documentary about the shifting landscape of media have. They're the kind of conversations that make me want to climb a watchtower.
10 minutes before the movie was due to start, the line started moving very slowly forward. Oh! Some rush line people might actually get in. Glorious. Confirming this theory was Christine, texting me from inside, "There are tons of seats in here."
I was the second to last person let in, grabbing my ticket by throwing dignity to the wind and answering to the staffer who yelled, "Any singles? Anyone alone?"
It was all I could do not to turn to everyone in line and announce, "I actually have friends. They're already inside. I'm not the world's biggest loser or anything."
Christine was saving me an awesome seat, I lounged back in my luxurious movie chair and the movie began. I was thinking of all kinds of people who would really like this fascinating documentary, including the great Phil Bronstein. Oh, yay. A reason to email Phil and beg for worldly advice.
Except suddenly, Phil was in it. He's actually in the movie, sitting next to David Carr at some sort of weird televised debate. So I guess Phil wins that one.
Instead, I told my dad* all about the movie.
The only time my attention was diverted from Page One was when Rupert Murdoch came on the screen and like 6 horrible people in the audience starting hissing, like we were all at a "picture" in 1939.
Save the commentary for your blogs, folks.
I have no idea if or when you'll be able to see Page One, as that is the nature of attending sophisticated cultural events like film festivals. But should you find yourself presented with the opportunity, or someone WikiLeaks it online, kick back in a luxurious leather theatre chair and drink in an hour and a half of journalist-types marveling at iPads...

*Related: I forwarded my father a link to President Obama's hilarious routine at the White House Correspondent's Dinner. He wrote back, "Bethy, very funny! But who are Biggie and Tupac? Love Daddy."

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

Your NJ friend who got lost on her way to LA or Boca seriously needs to learn 2 words: sun and block.

Low and key? Nah, realistically not gonna learn those two words.

Charles Whitman said...

They're the kind of conversations that make me want to climb a watchtower.

Indeed, but consider the in-line conversations had you gone to Fast Five.

Beth Spotswood said...

@Anonymous: Ah yes, the old "call is coming from inside the house" comment. I wish you'd have said hello. (@Everyone else: Christine was showing me her sunburn after the movie. Apparently we were being watched! Nope. Not creepy at all.)

@CW: Excellent point. I'm sure my text beeps were the most annoying of them all, tho.

Anonymous said...

I was seated a good enough distance away from where your party eventually decided to settle. I'm not sure what caught my eye. It's not like they were the only ones waving at each other across the theater. Maybe it's that white floral number carving through a sea of SF black and muted earth tones stood out so much.

Poco piu animato.

Anonymous said...

@anyonymous - creepy.

sfmike said...

I want to see "Fast Five" after discovering "The Fast and The Furious" when it was new, although haven't bothered with the last two sequels (this variation is supposedly essential). Please have Chris' people call my people to set up a date.

Your Anonymous commenter is genuinely creepy, which I sorta love. You aren't a Real Celebrity unless you have a creepy anonymous stalker who calls you From Inside The House. Congratulations.