Sundance has always been all about cushy furniture. It’s about flyin’ by the seat of your pants about where you plop. Once again, at least festival-wise, my comfort zone appears to be directly proportional to the coefficient of resilience within nearby furniture.
Opening day found me embedded with the usual suspects at festival HQ, semi-splayed out in what began as a sitting position but morphed more to the horizontal as the morning wore on. I find it nearly impossible to map out a proper Sundance itinerary without assuming the semi-supine.
The next two days were up at Sundance Resort negotiating the trail between the Screening Room and the Owl Bar. It’s become a quite comfortable mode of operation over the years with its slower vibe, familiar faces, crackling fireplace, and cushy couches making for a much less harried insinuation into the festival proper.
It was there, up the North Fork, nestled against the base of stately Timpanogos, that I came upon two films that I have no doubt will stick to my ribs for quite some time. With both being of the dramatic persuasion and me being a staunch doc-head, there is a bit of irony at play here, I suppose. The fact that they were both foreign language films, however, no doubt made the transition somewhat easier.
The first, “Monsieur Lazhar,” totally captivated your humble scribe. Shot in the mother tongue in French Quebec, the narrative touches upon immigration, loss of loved ones, suicide, loneliness, abandonment, and other joys that are part and parcel to an elementary school setting.
Actually, you come away infused with love and light. The Algerian title character and co-protagonist, during the process of seeking political asylum in Canada and with absolutely no background in the field whatsoever, takes over a classroom that has very recently lost the regular teacher to depression and suicide.
Bachir Lazhar, portrayed with just the right amount of quirkiness by Mohamed Fellag, is dazzling, as is young Sophie Nélisse as his most insightful student. I really can’t say enough about the beauty and depth of “Monsieur Lazhar.” Filmmaker Philippe Falardeau should be getting word this week from the Motion Picture Academy on whether his picture made the cut and is a finalist in the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar category.
And then, with a shape shift from French to Spanish and from a classroom to a bathroom, there is “Madrid 1987.” With a seemingly most outlandish plot premise and some of the smartest dialogue to hit the big screen since Louis Malle gave us “My Dinner with Andre” back in 1981, Filmmaker David Trueba has concocted one beautiful and imaginative film.
The fact that most of the footage takes place in a mistakenly-locked bathroom with an aging male newspaper columnist and a beautiful young student, both without clothes, I might add, does nothing to detract from the film’s brilliance.
Meanwhile, back in Park City, the seats in the Temple Theater itself are quite adequate. For hanging out between films, however, the accommodations, or lack thereof, work better as penance for some Old Testament indiscretion. If that indeed is the case, then Stacy Peralta’s excellent skateboard documentary, “Bones Brigade,” must have been a reward for a lifetime of good works.
Fun film! Big air and some insane freestyle skateboarding. It’s probably the psychological component of the various “Bones Brigade” teammates that most infuses the film with its passion, however. It flat-out blew me away!
Another documentary that I caught at the Yarrow also proved downright delectable. Now if a hotel lobby isn’t “couchy” enough for the average plopper, what’s the distinction? Being a total music-doc junkie, I knew “Under African Skies” would be in my wheelhouse before I even saw it.
Intermixing archival footage of Paul Simon’s original trip to South Africa to record his signature “Graceland” album with contemporary shots of his recent visit there to celebrate the 25th anniversary of the event made for an interesting film. Especially when coupled with the political turmoil that accompanied the album’s release back in the day. And dare I mention some of the finest music mixes ever associated with film.
Still out there keepin’ the festival faith and looking forward to Sundance 2012’s second act. More great docs, more Owl Bar, more music cafés, and more couches to plop upon.
Jay Meehan is a culture junkie and an observer, participant, and chronicler of the Park City and Wasatch County social scenes for the past 40 years.