Sundance 2017

Another Sundance under my belt, and this time it was a shared affair with a long time gal pal, and fellow film enthusiast. Truncated to a four day weekend, including two days consumed by the 465 mile drive from Helena, we nonetheless squeezed in Wilson on Friday night after collecting our festival passes and film tickets. The 80 mph speed limit and bare roads enabled efficient travel, complemented by good conversation and a batch of newly downloaded podcasts.  Aided by carefully chosen snacks, we reduced our stops to the bare minimum of required rest areas.  We spent Saturday and Sunday focused on our films, three each day, but managed to intersperse a quick shopping excursion for undergarments, and stops at a pair of local microbreweries sampling the smartly named, hop heavy, craft brews and companion grub. A total of seven films in all, we easily could have taken in more of the many buzz-worthy flicks, had time and money allowed a more extensive trip. 

Mostly strong, we viewed some very memorable films among our choreographed weekend selections, which we deemed a success by the time we wrapped and headed home. The standouts included the often funny and entertaining Wilson, with Woody Harrelson and Laura Dern; 78/52 the Hitchcock Psycho shower scene documentary; and Call Me By Your Name, the tale of a moderately heartwrenching Italian summer romance with Armie Hammer.  Shirley MacLaine as a cantakerous "difficult woman" directing the final edit on her own obituary in The Last Word and The New Radicals which begs the question at what point does a personal rights/freedom/privacy advocate cross the line and morph into a terrorist, both stood on their own merit as well.

Sadly, Where Is Kyra fell on its face due to a heavy handed treatment of the homeless epidemic in America.  The film managed to portray an unsympathetic character as the poster girl for a very serious issue in America, and failed to either provoke a deeper understanding of, or provide any viable solution to the problem.  An overwrought sound track, similar to fingernails scratching a blackboard each time our main character waded into questionable moral territory, made it close to unwatchable.  Treating audience members as idiots, who need to be clubbed over the head to see a point, casts a dark shadow onto the director, those watching, and the subject matter in general.  Michelle Pfeiffer and Kiefer Sutherland are wasted in this film.

Of course in the midst of this movielicious weekend occurred the epic Australian Open final between Rafa Nadal and Roger Federer, meeting for the first time in a grand slam final since 2011.  Long time rivals and great friends, it was a match for the ages which no one in the world of tennis, neither talking heads nor hard core fans, ever anticipated.  Another mind-blowing 5-setter, naturally, Roger prevailed in the end, but both played their hearts out with peak performances of exquisite proportions. 

I thank the tennis gods for bestowing the fans with one last (??) monumental match between these two greats.  Alas, even as I continue to root, as always, for Rafa, it was clearly a win-win for both of them, replicating the skills evident at the height of their careers.  No sane person thought such a match possible as Rafa and Roger edge near the sunset of their professional careers.  Bravo...and on to the next tournament!