Nestled in a box canyon in the southwest corner of the Rocky Mountains, the Telluride Film Festival has peacefully resided for the last thirty-five years . Know for its secrecy, every year the program list is withheld until the first evening of the festival, avoiding the frenzied hype many other festivals are known for. The entire event is packed into one long weekend, full of films, parties, panel discussions, workshops and tributes . The festival is an opportunity for enjoyment rather than competition. There are no awards or prizes; only salutes and appreciations. Attendees come in good faith in place of with business. This quiet mountainside celebration is a breath of fresh air for many festival-goers in the industry .
The audience of over 2,000 is comprised of interns, volunteers, and anyone else willing to drop $500-$2500 per pass . Out of fairness, there are no free rides for press. The festival is open to all with equal opportunity. This year over seventy celebrities made the pilgrimage to Telluride. Eager film students find themselves moseying to the next screening alongside world-renowned filmmakers also enjoying the laid-back celebrations and clean mountain air Telluride has to offer . This relaxed atmosphere and casual celebrity approachability have been eminent to the gathering since its genesis. In 1974, Michael Webb of The Washington Post, recalling the excitement of dramatic guests, including Gloria Swanson, Francis Ford Coppola and Leni Riefenstahl, wrote “The best thing about Telluride were the moments of easy contact with the famous and knowledgeable in the heady mountain air. ” It is clear that this festival as celebration rather than celebrity has always been an essential part of the mission to set the Telluride Film Festival apart from the hustle and bustle well known to its sister cinematic gatherings.
The program screens anything and everything, premiering new films for discovery, hosting tributes to the greats, and programming shows that revive yesterday’s films sometimes too soon forgotten . Guest directors give the program a new feel every year. Anthony Kaufman in Filmmaker writes of when guest director Peter Sellars “shaped the 1999 program with several older experimental works .” The rediscovery of bygone films not only serves the as an ode to the past, but also sets an historical context by which to view the selections of films of today.
The festival reviews feature lengths and shorts, Hollywood and Independent, combing the world for its best and brightest new stars. Mr. Busy of Sight and Sound praises Telluride’s audience for being “film literate,” talking about films in a way that is different from the critics and cinephiles. They neither talk up an art film because it is an art film, nor dismiss a mainstream film because it is mainstream . No matter who came first, the festival or the audience, Telluride’s selections are well received year after year by viewers hungry for the films caught by a wide net of programming that considers all possibilities born into the cinematic world.
Bibliography
Busy, Mr. “Venice, Berlin and Cannes are dead. Long live…Telluride,” Sight and Sound, ns13 no11 N 2003.
Heller, Sarah A., “In a Box (Canyon) and on a Line: The 32nd Telluride Film Festival, September 2-5, 2005,” Senses of Cinema, November 2005, http://www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/festivals/06/38/telluride2005.html (accessed October 28, 2008).
Kaufman, Anthony, “Telluride Film Festival,” Filmmaker, Fall 1999, http://www.filmmakermagazine.com/fall1999/fests.php#top (accessed October 28, 2008).
Langdon, Matt, “The Telluride Film Festival,” Filmmaker, Oct. 14, 1996, http://www.filmmakermagazine.com/archives/online_features/telluride96.php (accessed October 28, 2008).
Phillips, Rob, “Why Women Rule: 34th Telluride Film Festival, 31 August – 3 September 2007,” Senses of Cinema, http://www.sensesofcinema.com/contents/festivals/08/46/telluride-ff-2007.html (accessed October 28, 2008).
Telluride Film Festival, National Film Preserve, Ltd, http://telluridefilmfestival.org/show (accessed October 28, 2008).
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
A Call to All Filmmakers
Now requesting short film and video entries for "Youthful Perspectives: An exploration of nostalgia and imagination." We are looking for shorts that may convey the "essence of youth" by revisiting a notion of childhood or teenage years, catering to the imagination and memories many adults have left behind. All genres welcome. Films will be part of a group show presented by the class of Programming and Curating Film and Video at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, to be screened early December.
Contact Danielle N. Kramer with any questions at dnkramer1@gmail.com
Please send a screener copy of submissions by November 14th to:
Danielle Kramer
C/O Amy Beste
Department of Film, Video & New Media
The School of the Art Institute of Chicago
112 S. Michigan Ave.
Chicago, IL 60603
p: 312-345-9184
Contact Danielle N. Kramer with any questions at dnkramer1@gmail.com
Please send a screener copy of submissions by November 14th to:
Danielle Kramer
C/O Amy Beste
Department of Film, Video & New Media
The School of the Art Institute of Chicago
112 S. Michigan Ave.
Chicago, IL 60603
p: 312-345-9184
Dani Leventhal at the Gene Siskel Film Center
The program notes drew me in for Dani Leventhal’s Draft 9 (2003), Show and Tell in the Land of Milk and Honey (2007), 9 Minutes of Kaunaus (2007), Picnic (2006), and 3 Parts for Today (2007), presented as part of the series Conversations at the Edge. Reports of various random images under the description “astonishing video diaries” prepared me for the possibilities ahead. I took my seat, waiting to see how “skinned animals” and “romantic liaisons” would play out .
Camera shaking, sound cracking, Leventhal interacting from behind the camera, the video was eerily similar to old family home videos. The content quickly revealed itself to break well beyond traditionally comfortable family boundaries. There is an intimacy felt so deeply by the viewer as Leventhal captures the raw, human emotion gifted by her family and friends, all well aware of the camera, yet treating it as an extension of Dani, their daughter, their grandchild, their lover. Moments of awareness of being filmed drift in occasionally, but remain honest in their own right. Leventhal asks her grandfather for his picture. He senses her concentration through the viewfinder as she captures his tattoo that tells the tale of his survival. We feel her shifting discomfort as he calls her out on her transparent cover of just wanting a picture.
Animals loving, breeding, injured and in death, spliced with intimate portraits of Leventhal’s closest relationships, remind us of our own fragility in body and mind. Leventhal methodically skins the dead, ripping and pulling and tearing with dirty fingers. We sense the resistance of the thick coat of the heavy deer carcass, and know the amount of pressure it takes to pop out an eyeball from its socket. We think of our own. We watch as a broken bird gasps for breath, dying all alone, and we think of our own. We peer through the reeds as swans perform their sacred mating dance, copulate, then separate. We reflect upon these animals, this family, Dani, and ponder on what it is to be human, through happiness and suffering, in pain and in death.
Leventhal stated that in contrary to the description in the program notes, she does not consider her shorts to be video diaries. If they were diaries, they would be private, for her alone . I dare to ask, what more could be hidden when seemingly all had been revealed?
Camera shaking, sound cracking, Leventhal interacting from behind the camera, the video was eerily similar to old family home videos. The content quickly revealed itself to break well beyond traditionally comfortable family boundaries. There is an intimacy felt so deeply by the viewer as Leventhal captures the raw, human emotion gifted by her family and friends, all well aware of the camera, yet treating it as an extension of Dani, their daughter, their grandchild, their lover. Moments of awareness of being filmed drift in occasionally, but remain honest in their own right. Leventhal asks her grandfather for his picture. He senses her concentration through the viewfinder as she captures his tattoo that tells the tale of his survival. We feel her shifting discomfort as he calls her out on her transparent cover of just wanting a picture.
Animals loving, breeding, injured and in death, spliced with intimate portraits of Leventhal’s closest relationships, remind us of our own fragility in body and mind. Leventhal methodically skins the dead, ripping and pulling and tearing with dirty fingers. We sense the resistance of the thick coat of the heavy deer carcass, and know the amount of pressure it takes to pop out an eyeball from its socket. We think of our own. We watch as a broken bird gasps for breath, dying all alone, and we think of our own. We peer through the reeds as swans perform their sacred mating dance, copulate, then separate. We reflect upon these animals, this family, Dani, and ponder on what it is to be human, through happiness and suffering, in pain and in death.
Leventhal stated that in contrary to the description in the program notes, she does not consider her shorts to be video diaries. If they were diaries, they would be private, for her alone . I dare to ask, what more could be hidden when seemingly all had been revealed?
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