SEX, LIES & VIDEO (1989) & ON_LINE (2002)
In his entertaining film biz tell-all Down and Dirty Pictures, Peter Biskind chronicles the ways in which Robert Redford and Harvey Weinstein defined, respectively, the artistic integrity and the razzle-dazzle gold rush hucksterism of the current independent film era. With sex, lies and videotape, Steven Soderbergh fell somewhere in between: the critical and commercial success of his Audience Award-winning Sundance debut secured the festival’s place on the cultural radar, stoking the rags-to-riches dreams of countless would-be filmmakers, producers, and acquisitions execs in the years to follow. Yet at the same time, looking back, it's hard to see what all the fuss was about: unlike subsequent buzz dynamos like Reservoir Dogs, sex, lies and videotape is merely a quiet, low concept talk-fest about...well, the title says it all. The writing and directing are fine, and James Spader, Andie MacDowell, Peter Gallagher and Laura San Giacomo all turn in top-notch performances, but the quirky dialogue and somewhat (but not too) edgy subject matter (impotence, masturbation, voyeurism, etc.) are by now such familiar staples of the cinematic landscape that it’s hard to remember a time when a film like Soderbergh's could be considered groundbreaking (in the same way Sam Adams was amazing once upon a time to people who’d grown up on Bud and Miller, but hardly stands out in the microbrew-packed liquor stores of 2009).
My own (far-less-heralded) Sundance debut, meanwhile, came thirteen years later, when I attended the festival as co-screenwriter of the Jed Weintrob feature On_Line, a digital age chamber piece consciously patterned on Soderbergh’s film (right down to our original title, Sex, Lies & Internet). Yet, like many indie hopefuls attempting to follow the overnight success template of filmmakers like Soderbergh, our project fell through the cracks (despite somehow making the hyper-competitive Sundance cut): there were no high-stakes bidding wars, and (with the exception of a few astute critiques from the likes of Salon’s Andrew O’Hehir) most of the reviews were downright nasty. But though many are called and few are chosen, it’s nevertheless hard to resist the lure of Park City as a filmmaker or cinephile just hoping to be there when the lightning strikes again.
MEMENTO (2000)
Christopher Nolan had already made a festival splash with his creepy first film, Following, which, like Memento, was a collaboration with his brother Jonathan. It was no secret that his latest was going to be a big deal – by the time it got to Sundance, where it eventually won Nolan a screenwriting award (anticipating the Academy Award nomination it would get the following year), it had already garnered tons of acclaim at the Venice Film Festival for its clever narrative structure and intricate chronological unfolding. There was a lot more to Memento than most critics realized, though; Nolan and his brother, by telling the story of a man with no memory on a desperate quest to avenge the death of his wife, weren’t just presenting Park City audiences with a fairly cerebral noir. They were actually telling one of the most philosophically complex stories that any recent film has presented, a sneaky-deep meditation on identity, memory, and the way truth is created rather than discovered. It’s not in the fairly pedestrian revenge plot that the depths of Nolan’s film are to be discovered, but in Leonard’s memories of Sammy Jankis, and what they reveal about himself and his quest. Nolan went on to helm the Batman movie franchise, which only slightly suggests what seemed obvious when watching Memento: that he was a filmmaker of big ideas dressed up in genre clothes.
TARNATION (2003)
Jonathan Caouette's film stirred up terrific buzz at the 2004 festival, and for good reason: a visually raucous, stirringly expressive depiction of Caouette's relationship with his schizophrenic mother, which Caouette assembled from a mix of photographs, Super-8 footage, videotape and answering machine messages and mixed together on his home computer, it was probably the most exciting foray into filmed memoir to screen there since Ross McElwee started unreeling his diary entries. The movie inspired some trepidation from critics who feared that it would inspire more bad imitations than any Sundance hit since The Blair Witch Project, but it actually didn't take off in theaters as some expected; it may have been too painful for mass consumption. Caouette is currently putting the finishing touches on his second feature, the music documentary All Tomorrow's Parties.
OLD JOY (2006)
Reportedly to the disappointment of even Sundance director Geoffrey Gilmore, Kelly Reichardt’s Old Joy screened at Sundance 2006 not in competition – where it belonged, as evidenced by its prominent inclusion on numerous critics’ year-end top ten lists – but instead in the more obscure “Frontier” section. Despite such a low-profile debut, however, Reichardt’s feature nonetheless garnered the attention it deserved, its tale of two childhood friends’ reunion for a camping trip in Oregon’s Cascade mountains proving the very type of modest, poised indie Sundance was originally conceived to showcase. Infused with the regret, fear, and anxiety that accompanies growing up, as well as a mood of socio-political unease conveyed by Air America radio broadcasts that function as the story’s de facto Greek Chorus, it’s a film with a sorrowful temperament and a shrewd sense of visual space (Reichardt shooting the Oregonian wilderness with awe, trepidation and reverence), as well as one that pulls off the delicate feat of commenting on larger national concerns that its character-driven narrative never overtly addresses.
TROUBLE THE WATER (2008)
Carl Deal and Tia Lessin's documentary about Katrina and its after-effects really fleshes out the lives hinted at in the news headlines. Specifically, it's a sprawling portrait of Katrina survivor, aspiring rapper, and amateur camera bug Kimberly Rivers Roberts and her nearest and dearest, and Deal and Lessin deserve a lot of credit for being able to think on their feet and improvise: they had headed to Louisiana cold in hopes of making a movie about the hurricane relief efforts but ran into a stone wall of government unhelpfulness and were about to head back home when Roberts, who they met in a shelter, got up in their faces and asked if they'd like to see her home movies of the gathering storm and the days she and and others spent stranded in their attic, watching the waters rise. When they saw what they had, they must have felt a little like the guy in Hunter Thompson's story about falling down an elevator shaft and landing in a pool full of mermaids. (Winner of the Grand Jury Prize for Best Documentary at the 2008 festival.)
Click Here For Part One, Two, Three & Five
Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Leonard Pierce, Phil Nugent, Nick Schager