SBIFF Peeps

After 25 years, S.B. has this film festival thing down to a fine science. We each do it our own way, but in my world, the plot’s always the same: Girl sees movies, movie stars. Girl has too many cocktails, too little sleep. Girl narrowly avoids major injury first at the hands of her five-inch heels, then by an overzealous, body-blocking publicist. (No, I won’t tell you whose.) Girl places bet on what Roger Durling will do with his hair ($20 on blue). And, in suspenseful climactic sequence, girl narrowly makes her deadline, turning in a delightful write-up of the whole affair.

Ahem.

Opening night, the searchlights summoned festivalgoers to the Arlington, where Flying Lessons premiered to a packed house, with much of the cast in attendance. A highlighted Durling (girl loses bet!) got the night started, in what’s becoming an SBIFF trademark, kicking up the lights and encouraging us to introduce ourselves to our neighbors. (Mingle early and often, I always say.) The flick was a little heavy — which may serve to explain how it came to be that, for a brief and terrifying time at the afterparty, the bars ran out of vodka. SBIFFers are a resourceful crew, however, and stuck around a decked-out Paseo Nuevo until the wee hours, dancing, schmoozing, boozing, and snacking. Well, some of us did. I forgot to eat, until, finally, making my way out somewhere between When Did It Get So Late and Holy Crap Tomorrow’s Gonna Suck, I saw the girls working the Chino’s booth shutting down shop. And this is how it came to pass that I wound up in a taxi with a full tray of cheese enchiladas on my lap.