I wanted to go to SXSW (I don’t get a lot of pleasure out of that acronym – I think because it’s purely visual. No one says “Ess Ex Ess Double U”) last year, but because of Bob Dylan, not because of the burgeoning film festival*. And now I learn that Knocked Up premiered there last year and this year Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay did.

So I don’t get it. What are film festivals for anymore? Neither of those movies need to form some kind of fan base before their wide release. Does a SXSW (ugh) premiere make them cooler because it takes place in “Texas’ quintessential college town and its alternative hipster mecca”? (Also, wtf is an ‘alternative hipster’? Is that a nice way of saying ‘nerd’?) I always thought that film festivals were for small independent movies that didn’t have distribution to be seen by industry people and possibly hopefully maybe picked up. But now all these festivals are just bastions of namedropping, networking and ephemeral ‘cred.’ Quintesentially ‘hip’ without being at all independent of anything. Nike contracts. Hands-on studio involvement. Red carpets. A sponsorship from Yaris? WTF? It’s icky.

Take this quote from John Cooper, director of programming for the Sundance festival who attended SXSW to do “reconnaissance”:

Here, it’s where Internet meets film. I’m here to try to learn how to try to reach that audience. It’s amazing. It’s like they imported all the interactive people from Williamsburg, Silver Lake and San Francisco’s SoMa district.

He may as well have said:

Here, it’s where Internet meets film. I’m here to try to learn how to pander to a new generation of hipsters. It’s amazing being me. It’s like they imported all these cool people that I know from all these cool places that I know about and I get to hang out with them. Do you like my glasses?

At a glance, other movies screening at SXSW this year:

• Stop-Loss (MTV Films is super-excited to be producing this, judging from the font size on the posters)
• Forgetting Sarah Marshall (Another Apatow comedy that might as well be called Forgetting What The Hell Your Movie is Called)
• Joy Division (Yes, it’s about exactly what you think it’s about.)
• A four minute short called I Slammed My Dick in a Drawer (I actually want to see this one. I’m kind of sick.)

*I just realized that it was Austin City Limits I wanted to go to, not SXSW.  Whatever, the rest of my commentary is still relevant.

(1) Documentary about some guy who built some crazy instrument. Documentary consists of black and white digital interview that occasionally zooms in just on his eyes because that’s ‘artistic.’ Second half of documentary is silent footage of said guy while he plays his crazy instrument LIVE. Crazy instrument sounds like something Phillip Glass’ retarded child would make. Only worse.

(2) Silent Super 8 movie in which a woman hires a hitman to kill her husband’s mistress. It’s a good thing the (brilliant) director (of all 3 films) explained the plot before the screening! Thanks, guy!

(3) Silent 16mm movie in which a woman may or may not be the last person on earth. A skeleton follows her around. Then some people make out and drink martinis. Martinis are so cinematic. Also in black and white. And there is a band with a cello in it that plays LIVE.

I never thought that I would long for film school screenings. Mercifully all three films were under 10 minutes in length. After the last one, they tried to trick me into staying to watch the band jam (practice) by not having a pause. Fuck that.

On a whim, I found myself at the Sundance Film Festival last weekend. It’s a weird scene, like everyone that you bump into on Beverly Drive between 1 & 2 PM just decided to buy a puffy jacket and a scarf and head off to Utah. Like everyone’s all makeup’d with straightened hair and sunglasses in case they find themselves in the background of some WireImage photo or something. It’s kind of awesome and was really entertaining to me. Anyway, on to the movie.

The one screening that I got to go to was the world premiere of a documentary about rock legend Patti Smith called Patti Smith: Dream of Life. It’s been well documented that I am a fan of music documentaries (yes, Rockumentaries) and I think that’s what made me like this one, more than the quality of it. It’s a meandering dream of the last 12 years of Smith’s life since her husband died. It seems that the filmmaker (colossally douchey photographer) Steven Sebring (careful, that site takes control of your browser size…classy…) basically just followed her around for about 12 years and they became BFF and he filmed her and put together this movie. It’s definitely a valentine to Smith, who is a totally cool and talented and rocking chick. But as a film, there’s not much of a story which made it wear on me pretty quickly. As a result of budgetary and equipment restraints, there are a lot of different looks to the film – black and white, grainy, saturated, etc. which was kind of interesting but didn’t have any real rhyme or reason to it. Smith herself is captivating, but as someone who wasn’t a fan before this movie, I couldn’t help but think: “Ok, great, but, so…?” I don’t think this will win the Audience Award, but it’s kind of interesting to have what amounts to a backstage pass to such an influential figure’s life.

Smith obviously loves her children and did love her husband, but I wish I had known more about who he was and what their relationship was like. Smith provides a haunting voiceover throughout and frames the film with some candid interviews in her bedroom. This minimal structure definitely helped, but I wanted more – more story, structure, more past. I still liked it, though.

The Q&A afterwards was great, too. Patti Smith was inches away from me and really funny. One exchange with an audience member (seriously, don’t let people ask questions because people are idiots) went like this:

IDIOT: As someone who has basically shaped their life and choices around your music…

PATTI: You know, there are doctors for that

IDIOT: Huh?

Haha – zing!