Last Night
SIFF Scorecard
In a mini-essay I wrote for Dan Bertolet's blog earlier this Spring, I argued that the cultural fitness of a city—its music, theater, and arts—are the ultimate test of its success.
There’s a connection between arts and politics (and I don’t mean in that block-headed protest music way—oy vey). I mean that when the line stretches around the corner at SIFF or when a hip-hop show at the Punctuation gallery on Pike St. is jam-packed or when a friend tells me they saw a great play at the Annex last night, those are political wins for Seattle.[pullquote]But no mind. I'm ebullient. SIFF is a mad success.[/pullquote]
I've gone to four SIFF movies so far: An Egyptian drama set in Alexandria's music underground circa 2010 called Microphone; a comedy made by a batch of local filmmakers about drug rehab called Treatment; a sad quiet movie about an isolated desert town in California called Littlerock ; and a documentary about the New York Times called Page One.
Actually, I didn't get to see Page One. It was sold out. But I can still tell you what all these movies, Page One included, had in common: They were all packed—Monday night, Thursday night, Friday night, and Sunday morning, lines around the block.
Of the three SIFF flicks I saw—and dropped over $30 on—I haven't been blown away by any of them, though I liked Treatment and Littlerock enough to recommend them to friends. And I was downright disappointed in the Egyptian movie. (How can a movie made by a bunch of young folks surfing through the Egyptian underground in the runup to Tahir Square not be good?)
But no mind. I'm ebullient. SIFF is a mad success. The crowds, the guests (of the three movies I've seen, two had Q&As afterward with the directors or stars), the volunteers, and the upgraded organization this year are all great signs about our city.
While I stood in the rush line for the New York Times documentary, two late-50s-something couples, an Indian couple from Kent and a Capitol Hill couple with a box of morning doughnuts, emerged from their iPhones and ipods and spent the hour comparing notes on their kids and jobs and seemed to become genuine friends. None of us got into the movie. But I got a doughnut.
There’s a connection between arts and politics (and I don’t mean in that block-headed protest music way—oy vey). I mean that when the line stretches around the corner at SIFF or when a hip-hop show at the Punctuation gallery on Pike St. is jam-packed or when a friend tells me they saw a great play at the Annex last night, those are political wins for Seattle.[pullquote]But no mind. I'm ebullient. SIFF is a mad success.[/pullquote]
I've gone to four SIFF movies so far: An Egyptian drama set in Alexandria's music underground circa 2010 called Microphone; a comedy made by a batch of local filmmakers about drug rehab called Treatment; a sad quiet movie about an isolated desert town in California called Littlerock ; and a documentary about the New York Times called Page One.
Actually, I didn't get to see Page One. It was sold out. But I can still tell you what all these movies, Page One included, had in common: They were all packed—Monday night, Thursday night, Friday night, and Sunday morning, lines around the block.
Of the three SIFF flicks I saw—and dropped over $30 on—I haven't been blown away by any of them, though I liked Treatment and Littlerock enough to recommend them to friends. And I was downright disappointed in the Egyptian movie. (How can a movie made by a bunch of young folks surfing through the Egyptian underground in the runup to Tahir Square not be good?)
But no mind. I'm ebullient. SIFF is a mad success. The crowds, the guests (of the three movies I've seen, two had Q&As afterward with the directors or stars), the volunteers, and the upgraded organization this year are all great signs about our city.
While I stood in the rush line for the New York Times documentary, two late-50s-something couples, an Indian couple from Kent and a Capitol Hill couple with a box of morning doughnuts, emerged from their iPhones and ipods and spent the hour comparing notes on their kids and jobs and seemed to become genuine friends. None of us got into the movie. But I got a doughnut.
