Filmmaking - Filmmakers Gather
AFM - Friend or Faux?
This is the 27th American Film Market, the world's largest
film baza'ar. Filmmakers and acquisition execs and financiers
and newbies and old hands and wannabees all rub elbows,
buzz their wings and beat out the rhythm of their
particularly cinematic courtship dance.
Ah, love, it's wonderful.
Some do the waggle-dance to show where the financing is,
others pet and flatter some local drone-in-disguise, to
get him to help them with heavy lifting on some project.
Others fawn over a minor celebrity who got a suite on his
Visa card, attempting a leapfrog over his actor pals, an
arrogation of position as producer or buyer or at least
some kind of owner of this phase of the old career.
Good luck to them! Leaping out of the water, hopping
back up the food chain, is almost always a good idea,
no matter how disappointing it may turn out.
I wish them well.
I'm seein' it, I'm hearin' it, and at this place in
my life, it's all funny to me. I can hardly keep a straight
face when the poor lady I saw arrive from hitchhiking here
emerges from the restroom bedecked as a middle-European
queen, glitter replacing her gym sweats.
Transformation's complete, too. She's got a distinctive
facial feature, or I'd never recognize her. It's not just
clothes, but total immersion. She's got the sneer, and the
"don't bother me, I'm somebody" vibe, and everything.
She speaks softly, and drops names so hard they bounce,
and people stop conversing in the bar, and strain to hear
what she says, just like the old stockbroker ad.
She's fine until this evening, when she'll get a room,
or wander around until dawn, or maybe sleep on the beach.
Please help her, God. You go, lady!