Three days ago I was given a red-carpet, black-tie ticket to J.C. Chandor‘s All Is Lost. Just after I walked through the gauntlet I texted the following to a friend: “Just climbed the red-carpet stairs in a tux and a 40 euro bow tie, and now mingling with the swells. There was something bracing about walking past 150 photographers on either side down below, and then reaching the top of the stairs and looking down. Men of power and some consequence, pretty women in beautiful silky gowns. All the concentrated glamour of the world…right here, this place, right now. Pleasing.”
