Joe Wright was nervous. He was about to screen his new film Cyrano for the first time. Normally he’d have shown it to test audiences at least to get a read on how people were going to react to it. But here, there just wasn’t the time or the opportuity for that. People like me go to Telluride to discover films that might land in the Oscar race. We often believe that it’s our own reactions that we should value the most. We look on Twitter to see what critics might say, or pundits might say. But all too often, I think, we overlook what the people think, those who attend this festival out of pure love of movies.
People like me watch films here with critical eyes. Sometimes we are carried away by a film but much of the time we’re watching to see what “they” will think, whether “they” will go for it or not. Sometimes we’re right. Sometimes we’re wrong. Joe Wright somehow made a movie in the middle of lockdown. He did it because he had to do it. He had a burning need to get a bunch of actors together, find a remote location that could be its own bubble and make a film. While watching Cyrano that is what I saw. I saw the pure art of the thing. The impossible logistics of bringing so much passion and talent together at once – and to make it serve a familiar story that continues to tug at our heart strings while it holds its place in time. The story of a man who believes himself to be not enough for the woman he loves because what he is outside doesn’t match what he is inside.
That Joe Wright somehow got this colorful, sumptuous, epic musical made about what drives the passion of the soul is nothing short of a miracle. And so there I was, sobbing into my mask for the second time that day, because I remembered just how much we need storytelling like that back in our lives. Not the storytelling as filtered through what masquerades as news these days, but STORIES. Conflict. Love, above all, love.
I can’t even say this is why I come to Telluride, but it is at least partly why. Festivals like these, along with a few remaining companies, are keeping this thing alive, this thing we need. This ritual of movie going. It might sound pompous, maybe, a little melodramatic, maybe. Movies that play here are handmade. They aren’t formula made. And look, there isn’t anything wrong with spectacle. We probably need that more than we need “art films.” But no one attached to a formula movie is going to stir with creative passion like Joe Wright did and say I WANT TO MAKE THIS MOVIE RIGHT NOW. Yes, during lockdown. Yes, during a terrifying global pandemic that has nearly brought the entire world to its knees. It wasn’t a decision that required thinking about profit or international sales or even CinemaScore. We are more than mere consumers of content.
I Drive
The first night started off as my Telluride drives always do. The familiar trek east and an overnight in Flagstaff, Arizona, with my two dogs and my friend Michael Grei. I’ve known Michael for 30 years. He used to be my boss at Main Street Video in Santa Monica, California. Flagstaff was drenched in rain – the kind of heavy rain that soaks the sidewalks but can’t be condemned because it’s what makes Colorado so green. California has been dry for so long we’ve almost forgotten what rain looked like.
Each time the terrain morphed into something new Michael would say, “that looks like Mars minus the red sky.” Massive trucks barreling down the highway, miles and miles of reservation land, gas stations with bathrooms and mask requirements. Buttes, puffy clouds and that wide blue sky that tells us we don’t live on a red planet. We live on a pretty blue one that makes life here possible. Sometimes you look around while driving under that aqua dome and you wonder, are we squandering this rare precious atmosphere we’ve been gifted with? The dry deserts of California eventually give way to pine trees and rocky mountains as we slowly crawl up the hill and then back down into the tiny pocket of paradise otherwise known as Telluride.
We met up with Clarence Moye and Mark Johnson at the rented condo. It is situated just across from the nicest restaurant in town, La Marmotte. The first order of business was going to be pizza at the Brown Dog but they were take-out only so we opted for the brewery next door. They make their own beer downstairs. How could we pass it up? Erik Anderson of AwardsWatch joined us and before long we were getting sloppy drunk on one glass of wine, three beers, three Moscow Mules and whatever Erik was drinking. That first night, that first dinner felt like there hadn’t even been a 2020. It was as though we were all just picking up where we left off. High altitude, booze and no sleep would soon catch up with us.
But we were here. We made it. We somehow survived our virtual madness and were back in real life, baby. The many Twitter spats seemed to evaporate as people remembered that we are all still just people. There’s a lingering grief for 2020, however. No one walking around Telluride doesn’t realize that. But there is also a reluctance, I noticed, to talk about it. Rather, people seemed more interested in getting on with it. Yes to all of that.
After dinner we stumbled back to the condo and hit the hay, separating into our various rooms for the night. I set the automatic coffee maker for 5am knowing that if I even got one hour of sleep I would be grateful. I never sleep deeply when I come to these mountains, however. It is too quiet for a city girl. I have too much on my mind. When I smell coffee that is when I know it’s time to wake up.
We were going to eat at the Patrons Brunch so we skipped breakfast. We then lined up at the bus stop to take the long trek up the winding mountain road to the picnic. Variety’s newest hire and our friend Clayton had a spot early. There wasn’t yet a line forming down the block but there would be soon. We did what we always do – we Oscar bloggers when we gather – we talked shop. What movie was going to be the “secret screening,” and what did we think was going to be the biggest hit with Oscar voters. What was the word out of Venice? Who liked The Power of the Dog? We hunt for small clues that will help us predict how the next few months are going to go. Hey, it’s a living.
We masked up and boarded the shuttles and before long, we were once again treated to a glorious feast by the kind folks at the festival. It’s a kick to be invited to tag along at the a glorious feast that is meant for the patrons who spend good money to be there. We go because sometimes “talent” also attends. Kenneth Branagh was there with his film Belfast, along with its star, Jamie Dornan. Peter Dinklage was there.
It was a lovely day so there wasn’t much to complain about, not when they’re serving up such good food and Bloody Marys. If I’d looked down at my text I would have seen a text from my good friend David who reminded me of the first time we ever met. His text said “Is that Redford or Coppola?” That was a reference to my first ever Patrons brunch where I had my big camera right in the faces of Redford and Coppola as they walked down the staircase – I was just so shocked to see the two of them together in one place. David said to me, “this isn’t THAT movie” shocking me out of my super fan stupor. We’ve been buddies ever since. But I very stupidly did not look down at my text. David had to walk over to me to say hello. I tend to stay in one spot now, and am fairly allergic to “mingling.” Clarence and Mark, however, were definiely in their element – chatting with the patrons and the “talent.”
The ever dogged Clayton had figured out what the secret screening was – a film called “Encounter,” which was billed as a kind of sci-fi film but with no other information. It didn’t SEEM like an “Oscar movie” so most of the chatter quieted down. Encounter was one of those genuine surprise screenings that you really have no clue what you’re about to sit down and see. This movie, like Cyrano, is a one-of-a-kind. Brilliantly directed, unpredictable from frame to frame with a strong performance by Riz Ahmed at its center, Encounter is about the trauma of war. The idea that we don’t have to go to outer space to find our science fiction. We’re living it. We’re afraid of each other. Those who have fought in wars have to come back and somehow try to live normal lives even having seen limbs blown to bits, split second decisions of who should live and who should die. Encounter, I thought, was about that. The horrors of war, the horrors of humanity, the horrors of dystopian life in the 2020s, with no end in sight.
Encounter left many of us sobbing into our masks, including my good friend Tomris Laffly and her husband Eric. I admire Tomris so much more after having lived through this past year. I saw a lot of things happen on Twitter. I saw people who stood up to those things and people who silently endured them. I saw witch hunts and dehuanization. There were some people, though, who managed to hold onto themselves through all of that – who, by the end, were not afraid to “like” a tweet by me at a time when it was “probematic” at best, career-ending at worse to do so. To understand this is to understand Film Twitter and it isn’t easy understanding Film Twitter. So I knew that when I saw Tomris she would give me a big hug and she did that. She even sat with us for Encounter. She is what my grandmother would call a good egg.
As were the two people sitting on either side of me. Mark, who had been to Telluride for many years already. I call him “the navigator” because he’s the man with a plan. To my right was Clarence, at Telluride for the first time ever. Both of them, and the entire Awards Daily staff, are good eggs who were never taken in by the hysteria of Twitter. Someday that will mean something.
And of course, later, for Cyrano I was able to reconnect with my two good buddies from Telluride Michael and Kris Patterson. They are always so good-hearted and funny – people. It’s all about people. Actual people. That is what this festival feels like to attend. Not words tapped out on a screen. Not someone’s “id” spilling out onto a tweet. I saw many of them. Some who are beloved. Some who are hated. Some who are successful. Some who hover on the fringes. Some who were there with a hefty patrons pass. Some who there with a minimal pass, waiting in line for over two hours as Marshall Flores did for the film Fauci. Jeff Wells was there with his beautiful wife Tatiana. The “who’s who” of Oscar bloggers (those who were not in Venice, anyway) – Anne Thompson, Scott Feinberg, Pete Hammond, Dave Karger. Even some of the festival regulars like Kimberly Pierce and Michael Arndt. Julie Huntsinger held it all together with a clever stitch. Somehow it all has come together and our awards circuit begins anew.
The first day was quite a day. Now, it’s on to a double feature at the Palm – Belfast and King Richard. But I know I will leave this place being reminded of who I am. Movies carve out a place in your heart. Movies that don’t fit a specific mold or might not be easily categorized, like Encounter and Cyrano, eventually create their own language. They become their own category. The best of them do, anyway. What matters is your relationship to them. I think it’s often essential to watch movies not from a critical eye but rather from the eyes of someone who desperately needs stories to help shape their world.
Was it the movies? Was it the rain? Was it the pitch-black sky with visible Milky Way and the kind of stars they write songs about? Was it people — actual human beings, many of whom came in for a long, warm hug as a reminder that yes, we are all still connected to each other? Or maybe it was the idea that, no matter what, somehow, some way, people actually keep making movies at a time when there is every reason not to. And that is the best thing about right now.
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