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| | | | | | | | | | | | | Pete Jones - Sundance
I'll never forget driving through Salt Lake City in mid September of 1997. My little sister had just been married on September 13th in Chicago and on September 15th, Jenny and I packed up our Nissan Altima and drove west. The over/under on how long before Hollywood spit us back to Chicago ranged from a few weeks to two years. Jenny and I could not have been more oblivious and naïve to the realities of our quest. It's not that failure didn't cross our minds, but failing to attempt failure just seemed illogical and cowardly. And as we passed through Salt Lake City, I mentioned to Jenny that maybe some day we would be back to Utah. To Park City, the home of the Sundance Film Festival, to screen the movie I wrote and directed. We laughed. It can't hurt to dream.
When I got the news "Stolen Summer" had been accepted into the Sundance Film Festival, my mind traveled back to that two week vacation alone with my wife traveling the country without a worry in the world. And as much fun as Sundance would be, I knew it could not match the fun we had on that trip. And I laughed. Why is the journey so much more fun than the destination? Why is the grass greener no matter where you stand? Why do I ask questions in a column?
The second best moment for me at Sundance was my first morning there. I jumped on a bus heading for the Sundance Resort where Robert Redford was throwing a breakfast for all of the filmmakers. On this bus sat some of the best short, documentary, and feature filmmakers in the world. I just wanted to fit in like a kid getting on the bus for his first day of first grade. And as soon as I stepped on the bus, a guy screamed, "Hey, it's the Project Greenlight guy" and all heads turned. My Irish skin turned five hundred shades of blotchy red and I found the first open seat I could. Soon, the bus was filled with conversation about the struggles of filmmaking and everyone on that bus had a story. And a common bond. We all would do anything to be able to struggle again to make another movie.
The best moment for me at Sundance is a filmmaker's cliché, but a cliché I would love to experience time after time. That moment when the lights go down and the movie is projected. I didn't want to sit and watch the movie with the audience, so I walked outside and answered some questions from the press. After they got sick of my "just glad to be here" routine, I was alone. And I decided, what the hell! If I sit in the back of the theater, at least I can eyeball the people who leave in disgust. I sat down and the movie was nearly twenty minutes in. And there was energy. People were laughing at places I forgot were funny. And as the film turned more dramatic, the sounds of movement were scarce. The sounds of tissue paper pressing against flesh intermittently filled the air and when the movie finally faded to black and credits rolled, the audience applauded. And I vowed to myself at that moment when Sundance ended, I would go home, sit down at the computer, and write my ass off so that I could experience that feeling again. It can't hurt to dream. | | | |
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