PARK CITY, UTAH -- Even its title sounded dirty.
The film sex, lies and videotape unfurled with unexpected gusto its dysfunctional drama about one man's inability to maintain a monogamous relationship. It caught 1989 Sundance audiences by storm, turning into a watershed moment for its first-time director, Steven Soderbergh. Fueled by later success at Cannes, sex, lies and videotape went on to become one of the most profitable films of all time. It also became the breakthrough film for a then-little company called Miramax Films.
The ghost of sex, lies and videotape still haunts the slopes of Park City, Utah, the small ski town that watches its population more than double for its annual avalanche of filmmakers, press, publicists and assorted black-clad, cell-phone-wielding industry types. A lot has happened at Sundance.
The typical deluge of snow might look the same, but Robert Redford's once-quaint festival continues to grow to mind-boggling proportions, much like that once-small distributor, Miramax. Starting Jan. 21 and continuing for 10 days, 120 films unspool in front of 600 press, thousands of attendees and endless members of industry. But here at Sundance, where "buzz" about the latest acquisition deal takes priority, sex, lies and videotape remains the Holy Grail of American indie cinema, that golden opportunity of crossover success and a big-money payoff.
Such commercial aspirations have always made for strange Sundance bedfellows. Here in Park City, the indie Shangri-La, the one place where film is still supposed to be celebrated as an art, the force of Sundance's wheelin' and dealin' and prominent status as a film marketplace emerges as the festival's greatest irony. If the state of American indie cinema is strong, then certainly Sundance deserves a good deal of the credit. After all, it is the one event that can make or break a small-budget film's profile.
Still, there is a flip side. If art house audiences have grown dissatisfied with the current crop of indie cinema, Sundance, logically must shoulder some of the blame. In a festival still looking for its breakout hit, the deconstruction of Sundance itself has emerged as the most popular between-screenings pastime.
It is a strange movieland bubble, this Sundance Film Festival. Here, offbeat actresses such as Parker Posey and Lili Taylor are film goddesses. Miramax's co-chairman, Harvey Weinstein, is a bullying mogul with a cell phone. And the festival legends keep building. Weinstein terrorizes a local restaurant with a public shouting match over rights to the David Helfgott drama, Shine. Castle Rock drops over $10 million for the low-budget melodrama, The Spitfire Grill.
But the greatest Sundance legend still belongs to a self-declared auteur, Robert Rodriguez, who came to Sundance in 1993 with his $7,000 film El Mariachi and tales of shooting with an old 16mm Arriflex camera and recording location dialogue with a cassette player. Rodriguez proved to countless would-be filmmakers that any nobody can come to Sundance and have a chance at the cinematic brass ring. So it's the lure of the deal, more than even meeting the film godfather, Robert Redford himself, that drives Sundance. Hopeful filmmakers practice their own festival math: Add adrenaline, lack of sleep, high altitude and snowfall and crazed bidding wars are bound to happen.
That proved to be the case for the young Florida filmmakers behind the horror, mock documentary, The Blair Witch Project. A low-budget thriller about three supposed student filmmakers chasing witches in the Maryland woods, The Blair Witch Project attracted executives from every major distribution company to a midnight Jan. 23 screening at the Egyptian Theatre.
There was plenty of hype before the show. Contacts were made prior to the start of Sundance. Blair Witch drink coasters were dropped off in every Park City bar. The efforts paid off. Blair Witch became the first buy of the Festival when, at midnight Jan. 25, Artisan Entertainment beat rivals Fine Line Features and Miramax to the punch by buying the film. Now there are plans for a Blair Witch franchise, a documentary about the making of the film and a behind-the-scenes book.
Artisan quickly made comparisons to their successful buy at last year's festival, ¼, although it's difficult to imagine that they weren't thinking along the lines of Scream when they made the deal.
It happens every year: Talk about the death knell of Sundance. Even positive response to the opening night film, Robert Altman's ensemble drama, Cookie's Fortune, couldn't overturn the general malaise that describes this year's selection of films as extremely weak. Audience response was enthusiastic to veteran documentary filmmaker Errol Morris' work-in-progress Mr. Death: The Rise and Fall of Fred A. Leuchter, Jr. The impact can only be positive, as Morris is hoping that a deal will provide post-production funds to complete the film.
"Without the support of coming to Sundance, this film would not have been made," says Morris. "My films don't fit into any specific category. At least, any category I know. So I have a hard time finding financing."
There is excitement surrounding Cannes favorite Emir Kustrica's new film, Black Cat, White Cat and audience anticipation for Swingers director Doug Liman's Go. But moving into the festival's second half, there are no films that match the acclaim of last year's entries such as Buffalo '66, High Art, Slam, Next Stop Wonderland, ¼ and Smoke Signals. Here at the 1999 edition of Sundance, the festival itself has become the biggest star in its own right.
"I never realized there were so many films here," said Australian actor Guy Pearce, in town to promote the western/drama Ravenous. "I've seen the word Sundance on lots of movie posters, and I know that more and more people take notice of films that come to Sundance, but it's all so incredible to me."
Of course, to call Sundance simply a festival would be missing a great deal. So the Sundance Institute continues to offer support for emerging screenwriters, producers and directors. There is a catalogue of western-inspired clothing and interior furnishings. The Sundance Channel continues to increase its viewership and construction begins later this year on the first locations of the Sundance Theater chain. Few things in the movie business are as well marketed as Sundance.
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Andie MacDowell in 1989’s sex, lies and videotape
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It seemed like a whole different world back when Redford was watching Eagle Pennell's The Whole Shooting Match at the U.S. Film Festival in Salt Lake City. That screening would prove to be the epiphany to launch the Sundance experience. So Redford formed the institute in 1981, took over management of the U.S. Film Festival in 1985 and formally changed its name to Sundance in 1991. The appeal of the "Sundance Experience" quickly grew. And as the festival itself grew, it became apparent that there was more than one experience to be had.
So you flip on the TV, watching the goofball antics that make the Golden Globes ceremonies such guilty fun. Staring at Gwyneth Paltrow's golden locks, you have to wonder: Is Shakespeare in Love really an independent film? It has celebrity casting with Paltrow and Ben Affleck and the type of exposure equivalent to a standard studio picture. When a film like Sundance's 1997 hit, The Full Monty, crosses into mainstream success, the lines between indie and commercial cinema continue to blur.
Maybe it's just the way things are supposed to be. The snow falls daily in Park City, creating avalanche warnings. Traffic clogs local streets. Crowds are turned away from packed auditoriums. Film lovers are evident at Sundance, but they have taken a back seat to the festival's unofficial marketplace. There is still no official sales pavilion. So deals are made in local restaurants and bars, jabbering over cell phones, a gang of greedy agents tossed into the mix. Positive audience reaction will jack up prices. It makes for tantalizing deal making.
But what about the sense of discovery that gives Sundance its heart and soul? Now more than ever, it seems, a rejuvenated Sundance spirit is needed. There are parodies of indie film like Plump Fiction, an Airplane-styled send-up of 1994's Pulp Fiction. While Hollywood's idea of independent-minded cinema is to cast TV starlet Sarah Michelle Gellar in Cruel Intentions, a prep-school remake of Dangerous Liaisons. And editor Tina Brown left The New Yorker to launch Miramax's Talk Media, which will produce a magazine called Talk, likely to feature stories that can later be made into Miramax movies. It all seems so inartistic.
The death of word-of-mouth promotion prevents some of the best independent films like Vincent Gallo's Buffalo '66; director Shohei Imamura's The Eel and Zero Effect by Jake Kasdan from holding onto screens and reaching an audience. There is too much competition for those art-house screens. And if your film doesn't open well, much like the studio pictures, you will be pushed aside for the next art-house movie.
The death of many repertory cinemas prevent these films from having a second chance at finding audiences. These box-office pressures have made for a fairly conservative filmmaking environment. The state of minority cinema remains weak. Discarded trends lead to more and more trends. There is the New Gay Queer Cinema and the New Black Cinema and the New Native American Cinema, all blurring together into one quickly forgettable mess. French cinephiles are already speaking about the demise of cinema, predicting that audiences will watch movies on handheld video monitors instead of cinemas. American forecasting isn't as bizarre, although the advent of original movies on cable channels HBO, Showtime and TNT offer viable alternatives for experimental film other than the big screen. If cinema no longer has room for an independently spirited filmmaker, then that filmmaker can take his work to a related medium.
So the debate continues: What is the state of American independent cinema at Sundance? To answer, one must separate the hype from what's real. You must surmount unreliable cell phone service. You jolt yourself with nicotine and caffeine to overcome lack of sleep, shuffling from one screening to another in a self-induced sugar high. There is inspiration to be found in the ever-increasing array of Sundance alternatives. NoDance, Souldance and Lapdance have joined Slamdance and Slamdunk as alternative festivals that run concurrently to Sundance.
Everyone jockeys for attention. Slamdance passes out free ice cream at its screenings. One NoDance filmmaker walks up and down Main Street carrying a sign around his neck that reads "will work for distribution." Even indie guru John Pierson, promoting his cable TV show and clutching a dog-eared copy of his indie tome Spike, Mike, Slackers & Dikes holds court at a Main Street bar, offering free beer and advice to the passers-by.
There was no traditional Saturday press conference from Redford this year. His reasons were fairly simple. He told the gathering at the annual Filmmakers Brunch that he found the press conference too tiring, that it took energy away from what he enjoys best, meeting the filmmakers.
Sundance has grown to be such a familiar commodity that there is nothing new to say or any new controversy for comment. Logistics are better. There are more shuttle buses and better screening facilities. Even Main Street is free of the Cannes-like mob scenes that signified past festivals. But there always are films that break out of the festival bubble and make a mainstream impact. Last year's films such as Gods and Monsters, The Opposite of Sex and Affliction figured in the current Oscar race. And through it all, Sundance emerges as one of the most recognized commodities in American cinema. Sundance, more than any of its films or filmmakers, is the real star.
The hope for indie cinema springs eternal with its youthful talent. Sundance has always been the place where emerging actors receive early opportunities to show their craft. It often leads to bigger things. So Giovanni Ribisi starred in First Love, Last Rites before Saving Private Ryan and The Mod Squad; Ribisi's Ryan cohorts Jeremy Davies, Ed Burns, Vin Diesel and Adam Goldberg all got their starts with independent cinema, too. Actors such as Nicolas Cage, Laura Dern, Billy Bob Thornton and Frances McDormand continue to make time for independent projects.
It is Sundance where TV starlets such as Tori Spelling and Katie Holmes come for quick credibility. Kate Winslet arrives with the drama Hideous Kinky as a way of getting away from the Titanic madness. Ex-Brat Packer Ally Sheedy revitalized her career with 1998's High Art and George of the Jungle himself, Brendan Fraser, proved that he could act with the drama Gods and Monsters. If it wasn't for Sundance favorites such as The Opposite of Sex and Buffalo '66, audiences would still have no idea just how truly great are the talents of former child star Christina Ricci.
But independent cinema has always been more about the filmmakers, a direct slap to Hollywood's survival on the appeal of its celebrity actors. Far away from the blockbuster realm of Armageddon director Michael Bay, at Sundance directors like Stanley Tucci (Big Night), Darren Aronofsky (¼), Todd Solondz (Welcome to the Dollhouse) and Paul Thomas Anderson (Hard Eight) emerge as the real celebrities. Of course, it has nothing to do with the way they look, although Solondz is a strangely attractive poster boy for "geek cinema." It has everything to do with what they made.
Hollywood has always watched Sundance with an intense interest. It's hard not to become enamored by successful low-budget films such as The Opposite of Sex, while sure-fire blockbusters like Sphere (earning just $37 million) fire nothing but blanks. Discovering low-cost, high-return projects at Sundance has always been a Hollywood priority. In the industry's eyes, Sundance is a movie mecca for one reason: It's where the profits are.
Rumors of seven-figure deals surround American Pimp, an exploration of prostitution from filmmaking brothers Allen and Albert Hughes of Menace II Society and Dead Presidents. Even though the commercial prospects for documentaries remain bleak with The Cruise, Wild Man Blues and The Big One all doing lackluster business.
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Antonia Bird
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Now, years after the first wave of American independent movies from filmmakers such as John Cassavetes, John Sayles and Jim Jarmusch have become works of history, the drive for Sundance success continues. Lessons about how to pitch and production dos and don'ts are found in veteran indie producer Christine Vachon's advice book How an Independent Producer Blasts Through the Barriers to Make Movies that Matter. It's an appropriate guidebook for the current crop of young film rebels. That is, if they stop thinking about the deal long enough to make a unique and interesting movie. Still, things could be worse. More filmmakers could follow in Quentin Tarantino's footsteps and make their Broadway debut, much like Tarantino's poorly reviewed appearance as a drug-hunting thug who terrorizes a blind woman (Marisa Tomei) in an onstage revival of Frederick Knott's play Wait Until Dark.
The American Film Institute does a roll call of the 100 greatest American movies and the Modern Library tallies the century's 100 greatest English language novels. Independent cinema has even reached a stage in its own young existence where magazines feel comfortable labeling its own "best" list of significant films. It's a strange honor, bringing an antiquated sense of credibility to a segment of film that's supposed to stay young and new. It's certainly worlds apart from Slamdance prize winners who are promised urine-soaked dog statuettes for awards. As described by Slamdance directors, the trophies are placed in rest rooms and "Everyone is welcome to pee on them."
In this snowy swirl of commerce and cinematic discovery, it's difficult to describe just what is a Sundance film. 20th Century Fox brought its cannibal drama, Ravenous, to Sundance, marking the return of Priest director Antonia Bird. Doug Liman, whose debut film, Swingers, was rejected by Sundance, returns with his Columbia-TriStar film, Go. The Hollywood presence is evident, although the clout of the mini-majors such as Miramax, Fine Line Features and October Films is clear. The changes at Sundance are evident to Bird. She's also changed herself.
"I'd like to think that I'm still one of the young film rebels," says Bird. "But I've probably moved on to the next level. Still, any time you can do something that is original, unusual and unlike (what) you've done before, it's fantastic."
It only takes a couple of breakout films to make matters right once again with Sundance. Already there is anticipation for the Allison Anders Rock drama, Sugar Town, and Sundance veteran Gregg Araki's Splendor. Even Soderbergh has returned to Park City, although this time, he's accepted a board position with the competing Slamdance Festival.
Still, there are those pure movie moments. Standing onstage in front of a 1,300-strong audience, actor Tim Roth introduces his directing debut, The War Zone, a brutal and stark family drama. His enthusiasm is infectious.
"I'm shitting myself," Roth tells the audience. After the screening, Roth returned to the stage to take questions from a stunned audience. It was evident that he made an impact. For an actor who has come to Sundance in support of many of his films, Roth's return as a director represents the festival at its best: the discovery of new talent.
"I've been involved in a lot of pull-out-your-gun and go-fuck-yourself movies, and I'm sick of them," Roth says. "I wanted to make an adult film, and I wasn't offered any. So I made one."
Listening to Roth's words, already the prospects for the festival's second half appear noticeably brighter. ©
