Menschen am Sonntag

31 August – 3 September 2007

The 34th annual Telluride Film Festival concluded on Labor Day with a picnic on the lush, green lawn of Telluride’s Town Park amidst the picturesque, snow-topped San Juan Mountains. Hundreds of Telluride faithful lunched on steak and chicken, courtesy of Omaha Steaks, and a variety of vegetarian sides followed by all-you-can-eat ice cream. While sitting with my new friends and staring into the distance at Bridal Veil Falls, beneath a brilliant blue sky populated by lazy puffs of clouds, I heard one of the festival organisers announced a forthcoming panel comprised of some of the brightest stars, writers, directors and producers at the festival. Sitting at a table facing the assembled lunch crowd, from left to right were Diablo Cody, the talented new writer responsible for splitting the sides of all who had the good fortune to see Juno; Tamara Jenkins, the writer and director of Savages; Tannishtha Chatterjee, star of the English drama Brick Lane; Alexandra Sun, producer of Yang Li’s Blind Mountain; Laura Linney, star of Savages and a Telluride local; Jennifer Jason Leigh, star of Noah Baumbach’s Margot at the Wedding; Jyll Johnstone, director of Hats Off!; and Sarah Gavron, director of Brick Lane. The title of the panel discussion (“Is there a woman behind every good movie? The Gender Shift in the Film World”) served as a point of departure for Steve Wasserman, the male moderator (an odd choice given the nature of the discussion), and some rather heated debate boiled to the surface from such a reductive, ill-advised question. Consequently, Laura Linney’s candid response to the question was seasoned with an appropriate level of derision, “I can’t believe we are even having this discussion!” Linney’s good-natured but acidic observation was entirely reasonable given the quality films at this year’s festival. Though the pattern of strong feminine voices at this year’s festival was undeniable, it wasn’t until I had a moment to relax and really listen to the panel discussion that the extent to which women ruled Telluride became readily apparent.

* * *

Anyone who has ever attended the film festival in Telluride can attest to the affability of the locals, the friendliness of the festival staff, the dizzying altitude for those with homes closer to sea-level, the accessibility of life-altering films, and the jaw-dropping moments of passing one of your favourite stars in the street or sharing a cigarette with a world-renowned director. These moments are available to anyone willing to buy a pass and attend the festival; however, the select few who are fortunate enough to apply to the student program at Telluride are in for the ride of their lives. As a graduate student in English and film studies and one of the fortunate few selected to participate in the symposium discussions hosted by the festival coordinators, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for me to fully convey my Telluride experience. This film festival was my first, so I had some preconceived notions of what to expect. I’ve seen footage of the flashy, red carpet affairs that have become the standard at Cannes, and I have heard Robert Redford lament, in a 2001 interview with Ken Paulson, the crushing force of the industry and the press at his popular festival. There is none of that material excess at Telluride. The press is present but is not ubiquitous because the festival program is a tightly-held secret that is not revealed until opening day. It is easy to pick out the industry types (they tend to walk and check their Blackberries at the same time) and there are clearly deals being cemented, but the focus at Telluride is on the films as works of art. Festival volunteers frequently remind everyone, prior to screenings, that personal communication devices must be turned off and tucked away. The best word to characterise Telluride is “intimate”. This tiny mountain town, tucked neatly into a box canyon, happily absorbs the swelling crowd of film fans, and anyone new to town would assume this was business as usual, an amazing feat given the pace of the festival. On many of the houses lining Main Street, one might see Tibetan prayer flags fluttering serenely in the cool summer breeze. The town is populated with quaint homes and with carefully manicured lawns and gardens. As a student in possession of one of the coveted festival passes, I was of course able to access any film by standing in line just like anyone else, but the profound difference between my experience and the experience of the average pass holder was my access to the student symposiums, which were intimate conversations between students and the artists, directors, filmmakers, actors and producers who were generous enough with their time to indulge our questions and passion for film.

I’m Not There

An intense passion for film is what sustained me through the whirlwind of films and discussions that Labor Day weekend. I arrived in Telluride after being delayed five hours in the Denver airport, waiting for a connection to the nearby town of Montrose. The bumpy flight into Montrose was followed by a ride on a connecting shuttle into Telluride. Our driver was wonderful, as all of the locals are, and he pointed out a variety of interesting sights along the way, including Ralph Lauren’s massive ranch, which I could easily see from the road into town as we drove past Lauren’s ponderosa for a solid fifteen minutes. Upon arriving and dropping my bags off at the condo, which I shared with four other film students, I rushed off to my first screening. Despite being physically and emotionally blitzed from travelling all day, I found Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There, to be a captivating deconstructive exploration of Dylan’s artistic identity. I’m Not There, a title borrowed from one of Dylan’s most elusive songs, presents Cate Blanchett, Christian Bale, Richard Gere, Ben Wishaw, Marcus Carl Franklin, and Heath Ledger as six different incarnations of Dylan’s mercurial personality. Haynes does not flinch in the face of complex issues like gender and identity. In that respect, Blanchett’s performance is as Oscar-worthy as any performance I witnessed during the entire festival. She inhabits Dylan in her performance. Every quip and gesture is pure Dylan, which solidifies a significant part of Haynes’s artistic message. The film captures perfectly the essence of the Dylan paradox – he’s just like you or me while at the same time he’s like no one you know.

During an interview at the Telluride Courthouse with Greil Marcus, noted writer and Dylan expert, Haynes commented on his choices in casting: “Great actors want to do challenging things. They want to be stretched and broadened.” This film certainly challenges conventional notions of narrative or gender roles and will likely defy audience expectations when it opens in the theatres. Films like Palindromes (Todd Solondz, 2004) naturally spring to mind, but I couldn’t help but think of Performance (Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg, 1970), where the conception of musical performance is front and centre in its relation to personal identity. When Marcus asked Haynes why so many of his films end with closed doors and unhappy endings, Haynes quickly replied that he sees “identity as a straightjacket,” and that he sees “death as liberation into a new self, a new identity.” With that figurative comparison established, Haynes went on to say, “Freedom is the ability to escape a fixed self.” Greil Marcus also asked Haynes to describe how I’m Not There linked to queerness as a subject in his previous films. Haynes said that Dylan found queerness to be “a marker of cool”. According to Haynes, Dylan tended to find traditional gender roles to be conventional, where the “queerness of [Allen] Ginsberg was a cool thing.” However, Haynes qualified this remark by saying that Dylan tended to be homophobic when he went through the Christian phase of his artistic career, a fact that only solidifies the notion that Dylan just cannot be pinned down. This film, however, could end up being alienating for many members of the average movie-going audience. As a fan of Dylan’s music, I found the film to be intoxicating, but Haynes does not offer the audience the traditional, linear narrative construct of popular biopics like Ray or Walk the Line, and he certainly doesn’t cater to the common denominator in his selection of music to accompany the film, but he does create an unforgettable film, especially with the sequences featuring Blanchett. In mentioning Blanchett’s brilliant performance in the film, I do not mean to marginalise any of the other actors, but Blanchett’s role, in addition to being stellar, appears to fit quite well with Haynes’s overall style and the greater political and social commentary he has made over the years with his body of work.

The coordinators of the festival took great care to plan the screenings for all students participating in the symposium, and we were discouraged from choosing our own adventures, so to speak, and who would want to miss a session when the symposium discussions were moderated by Howie Movshovitz, film critic, professor at UC Denver, and radio personality, and Linda Williams, a professor at UC Berkeley. The afternoon following Thursday night’s screening of I’m Not There in Telluride’s Palm Theater, we were treated to an unforgettable symposium discussion with three impressive artists. First was Ken Burns, who spoke at length about his powerful new multi-part documentary for PBS, The War. Our conversation with Burns was followed by a discussion with the enigmatic Peter Sellars, an artist who has become a mainstay at Telluride, and this year’s festival featured Sellars in Mark Kidel’s documentary, A Journey with Peter Sellars. Sellars was a powerful speaker whose inspiring voice set the tone for the students’ Telluride experience. He encouraged us to approach him on the street and to speak with him about our individual projects, an invitation more than a few students accepted. Our series of discussions on Friday morning culminated with a conversation with Edith Kramer, who served for more than twenty years as the director of the Pacific Film Archive in Berkeley. In our conversation with Kramer, we were introduced to the rationale she employed in her selection of this year’s curatorial choices, two films from Finland’s melodramatic master, Teuvo Tulio, and one from Italy’s surrealistic social satirist, Marco Ferreri. In the works of both of these filmmakers, we would begin to see the limitations of gender identity and feminine objectification as recurring thematic touchstones at this year’s festival.

Following the Opening Night Feed, students attended a screening of Sellaisena kuin sinä minut halusit (The Way You Wanted Me, 1944) in the Le Pierre Theater, Teuvo Tulio’s melodramatic exploration of a woman’s journey from pastoral innocence to the corrupting influence of masculine desire in the urban setting. Maija, the film’s protagonist, falls for the wholesome Aarne, but his betrayal sends her running from her home in the countryside to a job in the city for the wealthy Holmberg family. She quickly finds her way into the arms of Erkki Holmberg, a privileged aristocrat interested enough in Maija to bed her, but when she becomes pregnant, she’s forced from her job as a servant and must support herself by working as a prostitute. The film uses a variety of visual markers to demonstrate Maija’s moral decline, like Maija’s eyes which become darker and shrouded in shadow as the film progresses, but the audience feels only sympathy for the girl who is clearly a victim of circumstances beyond her control. The power of the male gaze in this film is startling, and Tulio’s frequent close-ups present faces filled with simmering intensity. However, the film’s melodramatic tendencies, in particular the predictable plot, relatively flat characters, and sentimental score, were a hard sell for the sophisticated audience of film students at Telluride, yet few could argue with Tulio’s masterful storytelling. His film offers a timeless tale of feminine objectification, reminiscent of nineteenth-century Scandinavian drama like Ibsen’s A Doll’s House or Hedda Gabler, where women struggle to define themselves amidst crushing social limitations.


Upon leaving The Way You Wanted Me, I joined a group of students I’d befriended at the Opening Night Feed to make the trek to the Chuck Jones Cinema. The journey was made much easier by the free gondola rides from Telluride to Mountain Village. The gondola ride above aspen and cottonwood trees, which were hauntingly luminous in the moonlight, was an exhilarating experience, though some of my less intrepid companions found the journey unnerving. We exited the gondola and made our way to the theatre with plenty of time to find great seats for Persepolis, an amazing animated film by Marjane Satrapi. The film, based on Satrapi’s graphic novel of the same name, won the Jury Prize at Cannes, so I knew I was in for a treat. The film’s title is borrowed from the name of the former capital of Iran founded by Darius I, an ancient city that was later sacked by Alexander the Great. Satrapi’s film is a cinematic bildungsroman that explores the past 30 years of Iran’s tumultuous history through the eyes of Marjane, an irrepressible, intelligent voice of honesty and humour in the midst of some terrifying social changes. Marjane’s narrative is artfully rendered with some of the most revealing moments expressed through her conversations with God, her grandmother (a crowd favourite), her parents, and her altruistic uncle, who is jailed for his political views. The filmmaker’s honesty is refreshingly jolting and her unapologetic humour reminded me of David Sedaris. The humour in the film resonates with the painful experiences that forged it. The boot of the Iranian regime is so brutal that our hearts break for Marjane’s sophisticated family as they struggle to find some degree of normalcy in the repressive state. To keep Marjane away from these evils, she is sent abroad and receives a European education, which only exacerbates her growing alienation from her homeland and intensifies her frustration with Iran’s repression of women. This film’s politics were transparent and were emphasised by the filmmaker, who introduced the film prior to the screening, when she commented negatively on the Bush Administration’s political stance towards Iran. Set for a Christmas release, this film could be an important vehicle to facilitate discussion on the growing conflict in the Middle East, though one must wonder the extent to which a black and white, subtitled, French animated film by an Iranian woman will play in red-state theatres in the US. During the symposium discussion we had with Satrapi on Sunday, she was asked how the film might play in America, and she mentioned the film was being modified for an American audience. She also expanded her introductory comments from the night of the screening by saying that her film was not intended to be overtly political, but she has no problem if her film helps to avert future conflicts. To support this view she related a humorous anecdote from her book tour, where she described an encounter with a man in Texas who didn’t particularly care for her views but who bought seven copies of her book nevertheless. “Those are the people I want to talk to!” she exclaimed passionately. A point well taken, for those are the people that most need to see the film. The question is will they be willing to open their minds to what Marjane Satrapi has to say?

After our Saturday morning breakfast discussion and class photo with the irrepressible Tom Shadyac, I experienced my first of only two negative experiences at Telluride when we hustled directly to the tiny Nugget Theater to see the US premiere of Li Yang’s Blind Mountain. After arriving on time and waiting in line for almost an hour, we were turned away from the film when there weren’t enough “Qs” for everyone in line. Qs are slips of paper that represent seats in the theatre and are offered to pass holders and patrons who wait in line to see the films. We were dumbfounded by this rejection because we had been discouraged from attending films outside of the prescribed schedule. However, we quickly regrouped and decided to sit in on the Greil Marcus interview of Todd Haynes, grab an early lunch, and head over to grab a Q for the Werner Herzog world premiere, Encounters at the End of the World, which was followed by a symposium discussion with the world-famous director. The second negative experience followed our symposium with Herzog when we returned to the Nugget for My Enemy’s Enemy, a documentary directed by Kevin MacDonald, the Oscar-winning director of last year’s Last King of Scotland. Once again we were turned away at the door. Despite the utter disappointment of this second rejection, my friends and I departed for an early dinner and secured a certain spot for the screening of The Counterfeiters, presented by Austrian writer-director Stefan Ruzowitsky at the Galaxy Theater.

Following The Counterfeiters we were off again for another gondola ride to Mountain Village and the Chuck Jones Cinema where Sarah Gavron’s Brick Lane was being screened. This moving adaptation of Monica Ali’s novel begins in Bangladesh, where Nazneen, played with warmth by Tannishtha Chatterjee, is promised to an older Bangladeshi man living in England. Nazneen’s new husband, Chanu, played with tragic humour by Satish Kaushik, forces her into a very narrow role as a part of the traditional Bangladeshi community relocated in east London during the 1980s and 1990s. It is not until Nazneen develops an unexpected affair with Karim (Christopher Simpson), who aspires to lead a group of Muslim political activists, that she begins to reject her husband’s control and replace his values with those of her own. Gavron’s film, like Persepolis, presents characters that many Americans will see as decidedly foreign, and US release dates for this film have yet to be announced. At one point in the film an effigy of what appears to be President Bush is burned in a street bonfire. However, those fortunate enough to see the film in the US will recognise a fairly traditional story of feminine awakening, in the tradition of writers like Virginia Woolf or Kate Chopin. Though this story does not end with any fireworks or shocking plot twists, it presents a satisfying drama of human struggle with a well-wrought resolution.

Dillinger is Dead

A fitting start to Sunday’s schedule was a screening of the recently restored Menschen am Sonntag (People on Sunday, 1929), directed by Robert Siodmak and Edgar G. Ulmer and scripted by Billy Wilder, Kurt Siodmak and Robert Siodmak. Few things could’ve made this Sunday morning more perfect, but when Leonard Maltin sat down in the aisle next to mine, I couldn’t help but smile. The audience was presented with a light-hearted romp where two young men and two young women flirt and play in and around a lake one Sunday afternoon. The playful quality of the images made this film a pleasure to watch, but the performance of the score by the Mont Alto Orchestra, live and in person, made this screening at the Galaxy Theater an unforgettable experience. Later that afternoon, storm clouds began to gather and the screening of Marco Ferreri’s Dillinger è morto (Dillinger is Dead, 1969), also at the Galaxy, became an uncertain one, and at one point during the screening the power went out, a problem that was quickly restored. Edith Kramer, the guest director, introduced the film and commented on the film’s visual power. She was not mistaken. Glauco, film’s protagonist, returns home from work to find his wife, who remains unnamed during the film, in bed with a terrible headache. Forced to make his own dinner, he putters around the house until he discovers a loaded pistol wrapped in a newspaper that communicates the death of Dillinger. Glauco continues to occupy his time for the remainder of the film with home movies and sexual exploits with his maid, until the audience is presented with the absurd conclusion to this surrealistic film. Throughout the film, Glauco attempts to control the women in his life. During the sequence where Glauco watches home movies, he stands behind the screen and assumes the role of a puppeteer with his wife as a marionette. He covers her mouth as though he might silence the moving image on the screen in front of him. In these pantomimed acts of masculine aggression, very little dialogue is needed to communicate the film’s message. In the broader context of the Vietnam War and the Women’s Movement, one cannot help but see this film as an overt political commentary on the part of Ferreri. The protagonist is a self-absorbed, prototypical male bent on controlling the women in his sphere with both sex and violence. Given the absurdly tragic trajectory of this film the viewer is left feeling tense and drained in the final frames, and we are left to conclude that the destructive manner of control is perhaps not the best means for communication between the sexes.


Following our late-afternoon symposium with Satrapi and Gavron, we attended the screening of Shyam Benegal’s Ankur (1974) at the beautiful Sheridan Opera House, which was followed by a presentation of the Festival’s Silver Medal during an on-stage interview by Jean-Pierre Gorin. Ankur (The Seedling) was Benegal’s first feature effort, but the hand guiding this powerful film was by no means untutored. Benegal began his film career in business and advertising, and Ankur was the first film of an exceptional career. When the film begins, we are lead to believe that we will be following the wealthy Surya, a male protagonist, when he is betrothed and wed to Saryu, a woman of equal economic standing. The two remain apart until Saryu comes of age, and Surya supervises the operations at one of his father’s plantations. Surya is ill-equipped for life in the countryside and is not at all skilled in managing people or property. When he meets Lakshmi, a beautiful woman married to a deaf man, Kishtaya, Surya becomes like a child in his deference to her expertise. In assuming this role of dominance, Lakshmi makes the film hers. One of the most memorable instances where Lakshmi’s power is demonstrated occurs when she confidently shoos a deadly cobra away from the trembling Surya, who, with a shrieking voice, has called Lakshmi to his aid. Surya and Lakshmi inevitably become lovers resulting in her pregnancy, “the seedling”. Kishtaya, whose drunken behaviour led to his exile from the village, has abandoned Surya during the time of her infidelity, but when he returns and Saryu comes of age and joins her husband, life in this pastoral setting quickly spirals out of control. Kishtaya believes the seedling growing in his wife’s womb is his own, and Surya, in an impotent rage, beats the poor man close to death. Saryu dismisses Lakshmi when she senses the intimacy her husband shares with his servant. Not unlike Joseph Losey’s brilliant masterpiece, The Servant (1963), the clash of class and gender in this film is thrust to the forefront. Benegal’s film, like Losey’s, flips the script on the viewer’s expectations for conflict and resolution. The men in supposed positions of power are shown to be impotent, guileless fools who have no redeeming qualities in a world where their privileged upbringing cripples instead of elevates. Benegal was gracious and self-deprecating in his acceptance of the prestigious Silver Medallion and during his interview with Gorin, which served as a fitting end to another unforgettable day at Telluride.

On the final day of the festival, following our breakfast discussion, we headed down to The Nugget for a screening of 4 luni, 3 saptamani si 2 zile (4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days), winner of the Palme d’Or at Cannes. Thankfully we were not turned away. Romanian director Cristian Mungiu introduced the film and attempted to preface it for an American audience. The film is set in 1987 in communist Romania and depicts the efforts of two college-aged flatmates, Gabita and Otilia, who arrange an illegal abortion and safely dispose of the remains. As one might imagine, things go horribly wrong when the abortionist’s (Mr Bebe) directions are not followed with anything approaching precision. The girls do not have enough money, have failed to secure a proper location, and have not been forthright in describing the extent of Gabita’s term of pregnancy. The complications of this film are more than superficial, and the emotional toll of this film is difficult to quantify. This is a film to be felt as much as seen. It is difficult to categorise or discuss this film without destroying the experience for anyone who has not seen it. Because we had very little preparation for the film, I am reluctant to say much more beyond what one might read elsewhere, for I do not wish to poison anyone’s experience with it. Though it is just under two hours, I found myself recalling the first time I saw Eugene O’Neill’s Long Day’s Journey into Night, not for reasons thematic or visual but for the awkward, tense moments that dominate the play. The unbroken takes in the hotel room where the abortion takes place evoke feelings of intense claustrophobia. The unbearable surreality of Otilia’s brief departure from Gabita is gut-wrenching and becomes bitterly ironic when she attends a dinner party with her boyfriend’s parents. Upon Otilia’s return, following her disposal of Gabita’s baby, Gabita is not in the room. In a panic Otilia searches for her friend and finds her. She’s alone having dinner. The two sit together and chat awkwardly in a moment painfully reminiscent of Kubrick’s final scene in Eyes Wide Shut. Life has evidently resumed a somewhat normal pace, and the events of that evening are rapidly slipping into the void of the unconscious for both of these characters. Upon exiting the theatre into the blinding Colorado sunshine, I was overwhelmed with emotion. The festival was nearing a conclusion, and I just had my heart handed to me on a plate by Cristian Mungiu. I was drained and emotionally exhausted. For the past several days my life had been devoted to film completely, and it was all about to end. As I walked alone to the Telluride Town Park for the Labor Day picnic, I attempted to put my festival experience into perspective, but I was too emotionally overwhelmed by the previous film to do so. It wasn’t until I heard the call for the post-picnic discussion that I discovered the pattern of my festival experience.


Reinvigorated by the picnic, I attended my final film of the festival later that afternoon, a sneak preview of Juno in The Galaxy, a theatre that had become my favourite at Telluride. Director Jason Reitman and screenwriter Diablo Cody were both present for the screening and added to exciting buzz surrounding this film. Superficially this film’s narrative might seem like Saturday afternoon fodder for Lifetime movie addicts and may not strike a discriminating movie-goer as worthy of consideration. A precocious teen discovers she’s pregnant, decides to keep the baby, more suitable parents enter the picture, teen matures and grows as a person from the birthing and adoption process, and all involved live happily ever after. This reductive rendering of Diablo Cody’s script and Reitman’s film is absolutely unfair, though it is essentially true. The screenplay is what makes this film memorable, and Reitman, of Thank You for Smoking, knew what he was doing when he dropped the project he was working on to direct Juno. Cody’s writing is crisp and seemingly effortless, and if art imitates life in any fashion, I would love to have a beer with her. The immediate and obvious comparisons that come to mind are Wes Anderson’s Rushmore, Kevin Smith’s Clerks, Jared Hess’s Napoleon Dynamite, or Michael Arndt’s Little Miss Sunshine (perhaps the most apt comparison). In her interview with David Letterman, where she plugs Hard Candy (a memoir detailing her time as a stripper in Minneapolis) and admits her real name is not Diablo Cody, the pulse of this writer’s ebullient personality and acerbic wit is evident in the shocked laughter of Letterman’s audience. The audience reaction to Juno at Telluride was similar. There was more sustained laughter during this screening than at any other screening at the festival. The eponymous Juno, as a protagonist, has a lot to say about everything, and at times her sardonic quips and the quick rejoinders of the supporting characters hardly sound like real teenagers. She is clearly not an ordinary teen, and when she waxes philosophical one might question how authentic her character really is. I would make the case that the stylised dialogue of Juno is more probable than likely, which works just fine for me. Moreover, Ellen Page makes Juno come to life in a way that is more than probable – she’s believable. Her lead performance will certainly cement her position in many films to come, but her efforts are supported by an ensemble of veteran pros at the top of their game. Jennifer Garner, as Vanessa, and Jason Bateman, as Mark Loring, are polished perfection in their portrayal of the prototypically suburban adoptive parents, along with J. K. Simmons, as Mac MacGuff, and Allison Janney, as Bren, who are hilarious in their roles as Juno’s wise-cracking parental units. Olivia Thirlby is very cute in her role as Juno’s confidant, and Michael Cera of Superbad, whose star is on the rise, is solid as Juno’s boyfriend, Paulie Bleeker. In any event the buzz surrounding this film has become deafening. One can only hope that Cody’s voice isn’t drowned by Hollywood’s obsession with box office bang. Juno is clearly the product of an authentic voice, feminine or otherwise, that is seeking to connect with a real audience, and the emotional truth of this unpretentious film stems from the refreshing humour of Diablo Cody’s untainted style.

As I walked away from the Galaxy Theater and headed back to my condo (I was scheduled to be picked up for my flight at 2:30 Tuesday morning), my cinematic journey felt complete. After this wonderful experience I hope to attend many other festivals in the future, though I doubt any festival will ever be as memorable or as formative as Telluride. Though there were many notable films at Telluride I was unable to see, I do not feel the least bit cheated. I feel that the journey orchestrated by the organisers of the student symposium program demonstrated thoughtful planning, and the cinematic thread, woven by their foresight, gave a meaningful pattern to my festival experience. Women truly ruled Telluride this year, and I am thankful for it.

Telluride Film Festival website: http://www.telluridefilmfestival.com

About The Author

Rob Phillips lives in Raleigh, North Carolina, where he teaches and is completing his graduate degree in English and film studies at North Carolina State University.

Related Posts