Twelve centimeters of perfect, powdery snow fell here Monday, carrying a message to the frantic crowd in temporary residence at the Sundance Film Festival: Slow down. Forget the branded parties on Main Street and the accompanying marketplace of film, and just enjoy the crunch of snow underfoot as you make your way to the next screening.
Sure beats worrying.
After a huge buildup about the commercial prospects of this year's Sundance - where the writers' strike and ambient private money could fuel a frenzy of acquisitions - buyers have their hands jammed deep into their coats, responding to both the cold snap and the fear that they will spend too much on movies that deliver too little.
Beyond the joy of a new snowfall, there were some messages that this indie playground was welcoming more than movie stars and dollar signs. There were plenty of those, but there were also some movies with nobody special attached that rang out against the din.
On Sunday, for instance, there was a huge ovation for Trouble the Water, an intensely personal documentary about Hurricane Katrina that focused on the fight for survival traced by Kimberly Rivers Roberts and Scott Roberts, two New Orleans residents left behind by nature's brutality and government indifference. They were both present for the screening, she remarkably pregnant and remarkably happy.
And at 6:15am on Monday, Martin Luther King Jr Day, she gave birth to a girl named Skyy Kaylen Rivers Roberts, just over 3kg. Hope floats, in a hurricane, in a ruined city and, yes, at a film festival infested by wannabes and commercial interests.
If both buyers and sellers are a little bereft, everyone else seemed more than happy to see little movies that may not end up being seen anywhere else. Documentaries, a huge commercial fiasco coming out of Sundance last year, continued to assert themselves artistically, with Polanski and American Teen kicking up chatter in the bars and coffee shops of Park City; the conversations had nothing to do with the films' commercial prospects. And little movies like Ballast and Momma's Man renewed the festival's implicit promise of discovery but had no traction in the industry.
Main Street, of course, plays host to a few other activities besides movies. Every night there are frantic scrums in front of all manner of privatized nightlife options, with hierarchies of both need and power calculated by the minute. People in headsets examine hopefuls for credentials, wristbands, status or appearance, then decide whether they merit entrance to the warm and magical places within. Which were plenty warm in the main, though rarely magical: rooms full of absently good-looking young people who seemed more interested in an incoming text than the people around them. Those who fought their way in soon found themselves fighting equally hard to get out.
Sundance always comes with a sound track. Sunday night Patti Smith (she is here behind a documentary about her career) played, and music filled the air deep into the night. When Lil John said, "Make some noise if you're not from Park City," the visiting hordes went nuts.
And at the Egyptian Theater, Adventures of Power, a comedic film about air drumming - air guitar's dumb brother - had its premiere at midnight. The film, which features crushed-on Entourage star Adrian Grenier, was directed by and stars Ari Gold, an actor and longtime friend of Grenier's who has the dubious honor of lending his name to the Jeremy Piven character on the TV show.
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