THE L.A. FILM FESTIVAL

Sex Pistols Redux
Sunday, 11:15 a.m.

Last night we braved the fearsome parking cluster at the Ford Amphitheatre to watch former Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones present Julien Temple's "The Filthy and the Fury."

For anyone who hasn't heard it, Jones has a radio show on Indie 103.1 called Jonesy's Jukebox. It's hands-down my favorite thing on the radio. Ever. Jonesy's voice has a melancholy cast, mingled with a nasal twang, so he sounds a little bit like Eeyore or Kermit the Frog following a Miss Piggy assault. He stands alone among the obnoxious corporate rock pushers on mainstream radio and the stately arbiters of pop music taste on public radio. He's wry, genuine and not afraid to be slightly depressive. Besides, he has excellent, extremely Catholic, tastes in music. You never know what you'll hear on his show.

Personally, I was gratified to see that Jonesy is looking not bad these days, especially for a former member of a punk band. He's working a sort of stately and robust look, with slightly longish, slicked-back hair. He looks well fed and prosperous, like an Andalusian horse breeder. Anyway, he did a special broadcast of his show live from the Ford last night, from a little tent on the landing halfway up to the amphitheater. A crowd was gathered watching him play with his musical guests, Vacation. They knocked out "Waiting for My Man," then told the kids it was a song about Vicodin.

Not that there were many kids. There were some, but not many. Nothing reminds you you're really very old like a punk rock show -- which is funny, and not as depressing as you'd think. The opening band was called The Like, and consisted of three girls who could not have been older than 17. The crowd loved them. There is a distinct possibility that the guy a few rows in front of me was their extremely supportive dad.

A string quartet came out and played "God Save the Queen," and then Jonesy introduced the film, all too briefly. He was tired from doing the show and depressed about England's World Cup loss. He threw a signed soccer ball into the audience, Rod Stewart-style. I wish I'd caught it.

I hadn't seen "The Filth and the Fury" (2000) before, and am glad I did. The movie mixes interviews with the band members, news and concert footage and animated sequences to tell the story of the Sex Pistols from the band's point-of-view, countering the Malcom McLaren version of events that Temple presented in the first Pistols film, "The Great Rock 'N' Roll Swindle," which of course I completely bought into as a teenager. Now I feel bad.

We left as soon as the film ended and Vacation started to play a Sex Pistols song -- I can't remember which one at the moment, because, really, who wants to hear a cover after the movie? We high-tailed it to the parking lot thinking we'd beat the rush. Locked in from all sides.

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A Noir Tour of L.A.
Saturday, 11:28 p.m.

The sunshine was eclipsed by the noir at the Los Angeles Film Festival Saturday afternoon. Though the sun shone brightly overhead in Westwood Village at Family Day, up the hill at UCLA's James Bridges Theater, two packed houses turned their attention to film's dark side.

First, film noir specialists Alain Silver and James Ursini presented an illustrated lecture based on their book, "L.A. Noir: The City as Character." Utilizing clips from classics such as "Double Indemnity" and "Sunset Blvd.," less well-known films such as "Quicksand" and "Pitfall," and more recent noirs "The

Long Goodbye" and "Chinatown," this guided cinematic tour of the city took on a spatial rather than temporal structure. Hollywood, downtown and the Westside each got their due as Silver and Ursini explored both lost and extant locations featured in the films. For instance, Jerry's Market, featured in

"Double Indemnity," is now the Los Feliz post office.

Norma Desmond's home might be off "Sunset Blvd." when

Joe Gillis turns into her driveway, but the actual house used in the movie was on Irvine near Wilshire and is no longer there.

Next, "Pitfall," the only one of the films included and not available on DVD, screened in a restored black-and-white 35-millimeter print by the UCLA Film and Television Archive. Dick Powell stars in this 1948 gem as disgruntled insurance man John Forbes who feels like "a wheel inside a wheel inside a wheel."

Despite being married to the sharp-witted Sue (Jane Wyatt) and having a young son, Forbes has more than his head turned by smoky-voiced model Mona Stevens (Lizabeth

Scott). Raymond Burr plays a creepy private detective who saw Mona first and isn't about to let Forbes get away with anything.

The sassy script by Jay Dratler, who (along with Samuel Hoffenstein and Elizabeth Reinhardt) received an Oscar nomination for "Laura," is packed with deadpan one-liners and repartee. Andre De Toth, a master of the genre, directed and incorporated familiar local landmarks, such as the former May Co. building at Wilshire and Fairfax, in creating a realistic portrait of post-war Los Angeles.

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The Ones That Got Away
Friday, 11:04 a.m.

A cinematic poem full of wondrous images, the 2002 Mauritanian film "Waiting for Happiness" focuses on modern life in a small coastal village and all its apparent incongruities. Our entry into this world is through a young man who returns to visit his mother before going abroad. He has forgotten the native Hassanya language, wears western clothes and his foreignness isolates him. He observes the activities through a small window, immobilized between two cultures.

The film, which screened Thursday night at the Los Angeles Film Festival, has many characters and little drama but Moscow-trained director Abderrahmane Sissako creates transfixing micro-narratives that lull the audience into the comforting rhythms of the village. The elliptical structure is challenging but ultimately rewards in a deeply penetrating way. It's a film in which an elderly man's quest to screw in a light bulb carries epic weight and a child's toy provides the kaleidoscope visual metaphor for the stories. Sissako imbues his work with warmth and humor and there's a tragicomic arc to the fates of his characters, especially that of a young boy whose presence is the soul of the movie.

The film screened at UCLA's James Bridges Theater as part of the Los Angeles Film Critics Assn.'s series "Unshown Cinema: Inside the World of the Films That Got Away." "Waiting," "Los Muertos" and "All Tomorrow's Parties" (screening tonight Saturday at 7) are all recent international films that were deprived distribution.

The association's intent is to shine light on overlooked gems as well as bring attention to the fact that many outstanding films never make it to your local art house venue. "Los Muertos" and "All Tomorrow's Parties" are Los Angeles premieres and "Waiting for Happiness" screened locally only at the 2003 Palm Springs and Pan African Film Festivals.

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The Anguish of School--for the Teachers
Wednesday, 12:25 p.m.

I skipped Westwood altogether Tuesday night and attended an extra screening of "Chalk" at the Sunset 5. It was added to the film festival schedule after a crowd was turned away at the first showing. Another one has been added for Saturday at 2 p.m., and it's well-worth checking it out if you can make it.

"Chalk" is a mock-documentary about three newbie teachers and an assistant principal (and former teacher) in her first year. Director Mike Akel taught high school history for three years, and co-writer Chris Mass, who also stars, still teaches history and geography at a rival school in Austin. Akel and Mass, who formed an improv group together in 1998, met in the mornings before class to develop the skeleton of a script, then cast their friends and continued to develop stories and scenes with them. They shot the movie over a summer with real students who volunteered their time (which explains the small classroom size).

An alarming (single) statistic precedes the story. Did you know that 50% of new teachers quit within three years? "Chalk" shows why, sort of. What's fun about it is that it doesn't trump up the student-teacher drama, it just lets everyone quietly despair. There's not a Mr. Holland, a Mr. Hand or a dangerous mind among them. Nobody leans on anybody. And it's not just the people toiling in the country's most under-valued profession, it's the students subjected to their naked insecurities. So much more realistic, no?

Full of deadpan, squirm-inducing and occasionally heart-breaking observations, the movie takes us through a school-year in the lives of Mr. Lowrey (Troy Schremmer), a first-year history teacher, hopelessly uncomfortable in front of the class, who senses his fear. Mr. Stroope (Mass) is in his second year, up for Teacher of the Year and intent on recruiting his class to run his campaign. Mrs. Reddell (Shannon Haragan) has just been promoted to assistant principal, which means she works nonstop and has to put up with her old teacher colleagues who saddle her with their every grievance. Janelle Schremmer plays P.E. teacher Coach Webb, who is cute, lonely and frustrated, partly because everyone assumes female P.E. teachers who have short hair are gay.

The screening was followed by a Q&A, and it turned out there were several teachers in the audience, so that was a refreshing take on the inside-baseball questions.

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Ellroy Was Here
Tuesday, 8:45 a.m.

The tall, lanky figure entered the room to building applause as the crowd recognized him; he mimed an auto-erotic act and grabbed the podium with a vengeance. His shaved head, thick twitchy brows and Joycean eyeglasses screamed maniacal genius and the performance-honed rant that followed did nothing to betray that.

This wasn't how these L.A. Film Festival talks usually start. Normally, a fest representative such as Dawn Hudson, Rachel Rosen or Rich Raddon will thank the sponsors and the volunteers and then give a glowing introduction of the guests. Then a genteel discussion of cinematic art follows. But "normal" and James Ellroy haven't associated with one another for a very long time, if ever. On this Monday evening, the provocative crime author proceeded to good-naturedly tongue-lash the audience for 15 minutes in his trademark staccato bebop of alliterative rhymes and proudly if politically incorrect self-aggrandizement. A little bit of snake oil salesman mixed with a whole lot of revival tent preacher, Ellroy warmed up the crowd and pitched his books to the point where moderator Elvis Mitchell looked like he might not make it into the room, let alone get to open his mouth.

It was very funny and felt a little bit dangerous. An inmate had taken control of the asylum.

Finally, Ellroy did a whiplash segue to bring Mitchell onstage and the two sat down to discuss Los Angeles, the essence of noir, Ellroy's writing and the film adaptations it has begotten for better or worse. Profound and profane, Ellroy praised female nudity and slammed that sacred cow of L.A. movies, "Chinatown." He championed Dashiell Hammett ("a strike breaker") over Raymond Chandler ("a passive alcoholic businessman") and acclaimed the writing of Joseph Wambaugh.

The scheduled hourlong discussion ran 90 minutes and no one complained. Mitchell and Ellroy punctuated their dialogue with clips from "Miller's Crossing" (an example of loosely adapted Hammett by the Coen brothers), an episode of Showtime's "Fallen Angels" based on an Ellroy short story and starring Tim Matheson as Howard Hughes, the multiple Academy Award-nominated "L.A. Confidential" and a trailer for the upcoming adaptation of "The Black Dahlia."

For the record and on the Q.T., Ellroy likes "Confidential" a lot and has high hopes for "Dahlia."

--Kevin Crust

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Filmmaker Linklater draws a crowd
Monday, 7:45 a.m.

So, after all these years, I finally found where the Italian Cultural Institute is. I always knew it was somewhere on Hilgard, but I thought it was up closer to the UCLA campus. It turns out to be further south, near where Hilgard curves west and becomes Lindbrook. It's an important thing to know since so many of the festival screenings and events are there this year. It's also important because when planning your day, the distance between venues can be the deciding factor in which movie or talk you choose to attend. The screenings at James Bridges Theatre at UCLA's Melnitz Hall can be a little challenging as it's a good 25-30 minute walk from the Village. I know there's a shuttle system of some sort but I have yet to determine their frequency or whether they run both clockwise and counterclockwise. It just seems easier to hike.

I was at the Italian Cultural Institute on Sunday for "A Conversation With Richard Linklater." The Sala Rossellini holds about 100 people and a half-hour before it was scheduled to begin there were far more than that lined up. A representative from the fest made an announcement to the effect that most of the people in the Wait List were unlikely to get inside. However, if anyone was interested in going up the street to the W Hotel for the Poolside Chat on Film and Fashion they would be comped. It didn't exactly set off a stampede, but it was nice gesture.

The crowd for the Linklater talk was youngish and appeared to be made up mostly of aspiring filmmakers and directors with films in the festival. Judging from the audience questions that followed a moderated discussion between Linklater and critic Elvis Mitchell, the filmmaker serves as a role model, someone who can move easily back and forth from the small, talkative indie films with which he established himself ("Slacker," "Before Sunrise," "Before Sunset") and the modestly budgeted studio pictures he has directed more recently ("School of Rock," "Bad News Bears").

Integrity seemed to be the unspoken "I" word that defines Linklater's career for many. Someone asked if there might be a third installment of the "Before" films (which star Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke as young travelers who spend a magical night together in Vienna and then in the second film meet up again 10 years later in Paris). Given the open-ended ending of the sequel, Linklater acknowledged that it could happen but only if they came up with a really good reason to justify it.

The director's "A Scanner Darkly" screens Thursday at the Ford and opens in theaters July 7. He also has "Fast Food Nation" opening this fall.

--Kevin Crust

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Logistics vs. serendipity
Sunday, 10:39 p.m.

The thing about the festival experience is that you can only plan so much. At a certain point, you give yourself over to the vicissitudes of scheduling. It's the difference between ordering a particular dish at a restaurant and helping yourself to whatever happens to float by on a tray at a cocktail party. Sometimes, everything comes together and a full day of moviegoing can play like an extended riff on a theme. Other times, it's a hodge-podge.

Today [Sunday] was more of the latter, plus there was disappointment of missing the Coffee Talk: Directors, which featured Terry Zwigoff, Nicole Holofcener and David Gordon Green. The screenings I caught were well-attended, but the streets were much quieter during the day.

First thing in the morning I attended a free screening of "Maquilápolis," a documentary hosted by the Mexican Cultural Institute. Produced and directed by Vicky Funari and Sergio de la Torre, "Maquilápolis" looks at the living and working conditions of Tijuana's maquiladoras, women who work in the factories of multinational companies such Sanyo, Panasonic, Sony and others.

The film focuses mainly on the efforts of the "promotoras," leaders of a grassroots labor movement that have organized to fight unfair labor practices and environmental devastation of companies that have in the past half-decade steadily decamped to Asia.

The directors of "Maquilápolis" gave cameras to their protagonists and asked them to document their lives, and the results of the experiment vary. But "Maquilápolis" adds more voices to the genre of protest films against corporate and government abuse of power.


Directed by James Moll, "Inheritance" tells the story of Monica Hertwig, who at age 11 learned that her dead father was Amon Goeth, infamous commander of the Polish death camp Steven Spielberg immortalized in "Schindler's List." Haunted by guilt over the crimes committed by a father she never knew, Monika eventually contacts Helen Jonas-Rosenszweig, who was forced to work as a servant in Goeth's villa. There's something awkward about the film's facilitating such a reunion-- slick and expensive as "Inheritance" looks, it has some of the manufactured quality of reality TV. But Monika's character is fascinating, as is the character of her mother, whom we don't get to hear enough about.

Later Sunday afternoon, I went to see "Hot Chicks," a film anthology of shorts made by a handful of directors from the religious comic books of Jack T. Chick. You wouldn't necessarily think so, but there was quite a range both in production quality and humor factor. The best ones caution against being gay and being a party girl. I didn't understand the redubbed "Titanic" remake (fading by then), but it sure was funny.

As for what I didn't catch, I'm sorry I missed "Chalk," a feature about public high school teachers, but I sure did like the trailer. "The Lather Effect" looks good, too.

--Carina Chocano

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Even the traffic gods were smiling
Sunday, 9:08 a.m.

I'd like to begin this entry by thanking the couple in the Mercedes parked behind me at the Ford Ampitheatre for allowing me to back-up and escape the stacked parking via the row opening up next to us. I'd also like to acknowledge the two blonds in that row who, while waiting for the Acura driver blocking them, set the generous, patient tone of the moment by repeatedly saying, "Life is Good!" It would also be remiss of me not to give a shout out to the three lanes of traffic that came to a halt allowing me to exit on to Cahuenga. It didn't matter that I was heading north when I wanted to go south, the important thing was, I was moving. A little detour through the Valley and I was home in a snappy 25 minutes.

The fear of the parking maze that is the Ford always threatens to overshadow the event, but somehow, it always seems to work out in the end. The main advice for attending any of this week's Los Angeles Film Festival screenings there is to arrive early by at least an hour. It will get you a preferred spot for when it's time to leave and give you time to appreciate the lush setting before it gets dark. Many people showed up early for Saturday night's "A Leonard Cohen Evening," and some were treated to a brief sighting of the guest of honor who touched his heart to acknowledge the cheers of the mellow, wine-sipping crowd.

The tribute to the Canadian poet-singer-songwriter-Zen monk was built around the local premiere of Lian Lunson's documentary, "Leonard Cohen I'm Your Man." The screening of the film was preceded by a mini-concert featuring several performers from the movie interpreting the fractured romanticism of the Cohen songbook. Perla Batalla opened things with "Bird on a Wire," which was followed by Julie Christensen doing "A Singer Must Die." Martha Wainwright kicked things up a notch, with sweetly haunting renditions of "The Traitor," "Chelsea Hotel #2," "You Know Who I Am" and "Tower of Song." The charming Wainwright deftly apologized for muffing a lyric and set the stage for the formal introduction by Lunson: "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Leonard Cohen."

The self-effacing Cohen, an icon to several generations of hipsters, thanked everyone and then told us he would be retreating to the green room to confront the "inevitable moral pneumonia that follows on a blizzard of praise." Once a poet, always a poet. The lights dimmed and the film, which features footage from a Cohen tribute concert recorded last year in Australia, interspersed with backstage interviews with the participants and longer discussions with Cohen, began. The sold-out crowd responded warmly, cheering certain performers such as Rufus Wainwright as if it were a live show.

The highlight, however, may have been when the 71-year-old Cohen makes a reference in the film to a possible return to touring. Life is good.

--Kevin Crust

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It really does take a village
Saturday, 9:12 a.m.

The change of venue is a good move, and I say that as someone who's added at least 20 minutes to her drive. The old Sunset 5/Dga setup lent an air of containment to the events that you'd be hard-pressed to call festive. It felt a little like shuffling from class to class -- at a mall. Westwood Village, on the other hand — you can almost make believe you've left town! Lines snaked around blocks at every theater I passed, but parking and eating were breezy by comparison to last year. And once you're on the ground, the air feels a little more charged with excitement and bonhomie (or at least as close to those things as you're likely to get around here). Maybe it's the proximity to the ocean. The air really is better! I also noticed that the crowd seemed more game to play the part of festival goers, rather than just your average grumpy movie crowd. An all-media screening in Westwood Village has nothing on a festival screening as far as enthusiasm is concerned. And, ironically, the collegiate venue seemed to draw fewer college-age types, who at this time of year must have decamped further east. (Maybe they're at the Sunset 5.)

At the premiere of Jennifer Westfeldt's "Ira & Abby" (which was directed by Robert Cary, but still feels like her movie) attendees looked older, considerably more decked out (in preparation for the party at the Viceroy) and alert in that hungry, intense Sundance way. There aren't many places in the city where you can stroll aimlessly, run in to friends and even long-losts. I found myself hugging a lot of people I hadn't seen in ages and making lunch plans. I guess it does take a village.

Then again, audiences were so enthusiastic and supportive, at times I felt like I was in Toronto. The premiere of "Ira & Abby" was jam-packed and people were not at all afraid to show their emotions. For a while there I thought the place had been front-loaded with a cabal of favorite uncles, the chuckles and guffaws were appreciative and loving. That's the nice and always slightly disconcerting thing about festivals — audiences are predisposed to be happy. And following the success of "Kissing Jessica Stein," Westfeldt's 2001 hit, which she co-wrote with Heather Juergensen, they seemed eager to get in on the ground floor of a similar experience. A giddy comedy of modern manners about a couple that marries on a whim, divorces, remarries and divorces again, it stars Westfeldt and Chris Messina, with Judith Light, Robert Klein, Fred Willard and Frances Conroy as their parents. Featuring lots of New York-set walking and talking and more therapy (and more therapists) sessions than a decades-worth of Woody Allen movies, the film was nicely showcased by the new venue, where crowds could then experience the ambulatory lifestyle for themselves, if only for a little while.

The screening was followed by a Q & A that featured the usual mix of compliments and how'd-you-do-that questions. The best thing about having a film festival in L.A. is that it sort of doubles as a community service. Klein, who plays the father of the groom and quietly steals the show, was especially charming. Later, I walked down popcorn Alley, where they were having an open-air screening of "West Side Story." I'd forgotten how appalling that "America" song is. But the atmosphere was cozy and inviting, with people sprawled out on sleeping bags and blankets taking in a classic movie on a summer night.

--Carina Chocano

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A lively history lesson
Saturday, 8:30 a.m.

One of the challenges of the Los Angeles Film Festival is charting a balance between the live events such as coffee talks and panel discussions and the actual screenings. Sometimes you get the best of both with the tribute and anniversary screenings. This year, critic Elvis Mitchell chose to commemorate the 30th anniversary of "The Bingo Long Traveling All-Stars & Motor Kings," a rambunctious 1976 baseball comedy about the Negro Leagues that starred Billy Dee Williams and James Earl Jones as characters loosely based on real-life stars Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson.

Mitchell moderated a 45-minute discussion of the film prior to its screening Friday night with Williams, director John Badham and producer Rob Cohen. The lively discussion centered on the difficulty in getting the movie made, the executive racism of Hollywood in the 1970s and the mercurial Richard Pryor, one of the film's co-stars. Williams was already a star from his appearances in the TV movie "Brian's Song," and co-starring opposite Diana Ross in "Lady Sings the Blues" and "Mahogany," and Jones was a respected stage actor, but Pryor was a stand-up star with a reputation for being difficult, an impression the panel did nothing to dispel.

Cohen describes Pryor as a "three-gear shift" personality, a sweet and quiet man who would begin riffing when he launched into comedy mode but would eventually swing into rage. Williams and Badham recalled watching Negro League games as kids in New York and Alabama, respectively (the English-born Badham had moved there at age 6). For Badham, "Bingo Long" marked his feature debut after a career in television. He was not, however, the first director on this movie. A very young Steven Spielberg had been in line to direct, but moved on to do other projects

Only 23 when he produced the film for Motown's Berry Gordy, Cohen was highly critical of the racism that nearly kept the film from being made and prevented it from being promoted properly by Universal when it was released. But he and Badham both reveled in the memory of the film's first preview screening in Detroit, in which the audience roared for two hours straight, a far cry from their very first screening at which studio chief Ned Tanen stormed out after 20 minutes, screaming that he could not understand anything anyone was saying. Only he said it a lot less politely and smashed the squawk box to the projection booth.

The film itself, set in 1939, is a hoot with melancholy underpinnings. Williams' Bingo Long, a flamboyant dandy of a pitcher, recruits the league's best players and forms a barnstorming team to counteract the poor treatment the players were receiving at the hands of the black owners. Jones plays Leon Carter, a power-hitting catcher, a mellower predecessor to Troy Maxson, the character he would later play on Broadway in August Wilson's "Fences." Pryor is right-fielder Charlie Snow who studies a Spanish dictionary and practices an accent in the hope of crashing the Major Leagues as a Cuban.

The team travels from town to town taking on all-comers, earning their money by taking a percentage of the gate. Wearing brightly colored uniforms that would make the 1980s Houston Astros envious, the All-Stars adopt a flashy style of play, a sort of diamond version of the Harlem Globetrotters, and become a success. Threatened, the team owners of the Negro National League, led by Sally Potter (Ted Ross), band together and try to force Long and Co. back into their organization.

Despite its broad humor, the film effectively captures the period and embraces the end-an-era wistfulness that the black community felt when baseball was finally integrated and the Negro Leagues began to fade away.

--Kevin Crust

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'Manifestival Destiny' in Westwood
Friday, 6:20 a.m.

Westwood Village is just six miles from the corner of Sunset Boulevard and Crescent Heights, the previous home of the Los Angeles Film Festival, but judging from Thursday's opening night festivities, it's going to be a world apart. The festival has clearly outgrown the Sunset 5/DGA set-up, which has become the venue of choice to many other local festivals, so the move westward makes sense -- call it Manifestival Destiny.

Though the strip along Sunset hosting the earlier festivals made for a cozy and comfortable locale, parking and eating could be problematic, especially if you spent an entire day. Parking in Westwood for this year's opening was easy by comparison, though the true test will come this weekend when the hard-core filmgoers descend upon the Village. Likewise, grabbing a bite before the movie was a snap with many more choices. Glancing at the schedule for the week and a half ahead, the festival organizers seem to have done a good job of matching venues to films. The variety of theater sizes in the Village means more flexibility and fewer instances of people being shutout of the hotter films.

The festival opener, "The Devil Wears Prada," screened at the Mann Village and the main thing separating the event from the countless premieres that have taken place there was the presence of the numerous, blue T-shirt clad volunteers who assisted ticket holders in finding their seats. It appeared that most of these were reserved for 20th Century Fox (which releases "Prada" June 30), festival sponsors and, of course, LAFF's new presenting partner, the Los Angeles Times (no wonder I had a better seat this year!).

The party following was on cordoned-off Broxton Avenue, re-christened popcorn alley for the festival.

As a big studio movie -- based on Lauren Weisberger's bestseller about an aspiring journalist from the Midwest who goes to New York and lands a job as an assistant to the ruthless editor-in-chief of a powerful fashion magazine -- "Prada" is a departure from smaller films such as "Lovely & Amazing" and "The Cooler" that have previously opened the festival.

What that brings is a little star power in the form of Anne Hathaway, Stanley Tucci and Adrian Grenier -- Meryl Streep did not attend because it was her birthday -- and an upbeat atmosphere that should carry over to the many social events planned around the movies. Although its budget likely challenged the combined total of the other films in the festival, it's back-to-basics message might hit home with many independent-minded filmmakers thinking they need to sellout to succeed.

--Kevin Crust

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