No plans except seeing Lovers of Hate at 12:15 pm (i.e., 75 minutes from now) and then going to an afternoon party that Richard Linklater will presumably attend and trying to write about Winter’s Bone and The Kids Are All Right, both of which I saw last night. And maybe catching one more Sundance film in one of those little black-drape DVD booths at the Park City Marriott headquarters. And then packing. Outta here tomorrow.
Winter’s Bone director Debra Granik and some of the film’s costars following last night’s screening at the Prospector. The film is straight, sturdy, “real.” But my primary thought as I left is that I’m glad I wasn’t born to poor folk in the Ozarks, and that I’d be accepting if not grateful if the Emperor of the Universe told me I’ll never visit this region ever again for the rest of my life.
I missed Chris Gore’s book-signing ceremony at Dolly’s Books on Main Street. I arrived two or three hours later, flipped through the book, wasted a little time, etc.
Wednesday, 1.27, 2:55 pm.
Thursday, 1.28, 8:10 am.
At Prospector Square cafe last night, just before screening of Winter’s Bone.
Hats off to Oregonian critic and author Shawn Levy for having dropped 50 pounds within the last year. He did the usual diet-and-exercise thing plus cut out drinking beer.
Wednesday, 1.27, 10:55 pm.
Serious cold and heavy snow outside, and this Sundance volunteer — a young Australian guy — was wearing shorts and sneakers. I half-admire the absurdity of dressing like this; I also felt a brief urge to grab this guy and smack him around.
