nakedjen

Festival People

I am a festival person.  If you are a festival person, too, you already know what I'm talking about, but if you're not, well, then I'm a little bit sad for you.  It's no secret how I feel about film festivals.  Or that I will absolutely gladly attend the Fringe Festival without hesitation.  And that the Fair, well, the Fair is the festival that is perhaps the most sacred and dear to my heart of all. 

I believe, perhaps, that in previous incarnations I was a traveler, a gypsy, a girl bound to the festival life.  I may have been a performer, but am thinking that more likely I was the one organizing everything and making the event truly festive.  I'm good at that.  The festive part.  I one of the people that puts the festive in festival.

There's a festival that I've yet to attend (but just may attend this year!) called the Glastonbury Festival.  Perhaps you've heard of it?  I'm sure most of you have.  It's legendary.  And it surprises me, actually, that I've never gone.  Especially since I've spent all that time actually living in England and trying to convince those good people of the United Kingdom that I was one of their own.

I obviously did not do a very good job in the convincing department since I'm living in exile in Utah.  However, there are plans underway for me to pack up the dogs and head home.  There are other plans underway that will have me dancing front and center at Glastonbury, as well. 

Tonight I went to see a very rudimentary documentary about Glastonbury that was screening here in Salt Lake.  When the credits started to roll at the start of the film, I was disappointed to see that it had not been funded by good friends at the UK Film Council, but by the end of the more than two hours of what wasn't much more than home movies, I was quite glad to know that it was not funded by the UK Film Council.  It was funded by the BBC and I'm wondering just what funding was provided?  

The film is a historical look at Glastonbury.  The festival spans a 30 year period at this point so that's a lot of ground to cover.  However, the documentarian forgot that a good documentary still has a story arc and doesn't just show us a conglomeration of home video shot by all the folks who've attended the festival over the years.  A good documentary gives us a reason to care.  I kept wanting to care, but soon realized that I was going to have far more fun searching for the people that I actually knew in the film.

The surprise?

I knew way more people than one might surmise given that I'm the American festival girl and this is a festival in England that I've never attended.  It is, however, a music festival.  Of the largest and most awe-inspiring proportions.  130,000 people attended last year!   And we must also remember that I am that girl among us who followed the Grateful Dead around until they told me I had to pack up my bags, grow up and actually get a real job.  Or in other words, until our dear sweet Jerry departed.

I couldn't believe how many folks in those home movies I actually really did know.  Oh what joy it gave me to see them in all their naked hippie glory there on the screen.  I had not seen a lot of these folks since I hung up my own tie dyes.  Nearly 15 years.  But there they were.  It was like a reunion, only not.  But sort of.  My heart definitely did a little flip and pitter patter of happiness. 

These are my people.  Festival people.  I can't wait to embrace them, to dance with them, and to tell them exactly how very much they make me who I am.

Hi Brow/Low Brow Film Festival

Citizens of the Blogosphere (and really of Salt Lake and its environs)....

I'm thinking about doing a Hi Brow/Low Brow film festival.  Tomorrow.  Yes, tomorrow.  As in a few hours from now.  Like in perhaps less than 12 hours from now.  How's that for flying by the seat of my naked ass?

We'll be going to three, perhaps even four, films tomorrow.  All first run.  All fabulous.  All screening here in Salt Lake (which is a huge miracle, honestly...maybe God isn't angry at Utah after all?).  Fun and lively and clothed discussion to follow each screening.  Yummy treats and at least one communal meal will be shared, as well.  My film festivals really are special events!

If you're interested in joining us (yes, there's more than me attending this little film festival that could) just contact me in the ways that you might usually contact me.  I do promise to provide the actual schedule via Twitter once it is truly decided. 

Come on.  Join us.  What else are you going to do on a Saturday anyway?  Certainly not wash your car.  There's cold rain and snow coming! 

Feed your head, instead.

SKIN

Perhaps the normal person after spending two entire weeks at Sundance completely immersed in film would not willingly choose to spend her first free day after the festival watching yet another film.  However, I am not a normal person.  I believe that this has been very well established by now.

This is why I spent yesterday happily watching a new film from British director, Anthony Fabian.  Actually, I didn't just watch the film.  I absorbed it.  While initially I thought I was just going to perhaps learn something more or new about the issues of apartheid in South Africa, what actually happened was that I learned a lot more about myself.  A film that provides that type of experience is always a film worth watching.  Always.

SKIN is a film that follows the true story of Sandra Laing, a black child born to white Afrikaner parents during apartheid in South Africa.  Her parents are small shopkeepers in a rural area who provide goods to their mostly black neighbors.  The matter of Sandra's skin color is fairly well ignored by simply not talking about it until she is sent off to a boarding school for white Afrikaner children.  When she is expelled from the school for being "coloured" it is then that her parents and Sandra must come to terms with the fact that she is certainly being judged by the color of her skin and not by her heritage.

The film follows Sandra's story from her father's dramatic fight with his very country to have his only daughter be classified as white though her skin is black to Sandra then finding herself trapped inside her very own skin, wanting so very much to just belong and not truly belonging anywhere.  This film pushes all our own buttons about racial identity, the pure insanity that is racism, and reminds us clearly how easily we each make assumptions about a person simply because of the color of their skin. 

SKIN is not just a film about one victim of apartheid in South Africa.  It should not be classified as yet another South African film.  This film is a film that speaks for each and every one of us.  It deftly grapples with the universal truths of religion and genetics, of our family bonds and what will ultimately break them, with identity and with the sacrifices we all make for self-preservation. 

Seeing this film will touch you in at least a small way, but more probably it will truly touch your heart.

SKIN was first shown at the Toronto Film Festival to extraordinary reviews.  This week it bowed at the Santa Barbara Film Festival.  If you're lucky enough to live in the Los Angeles area, you can go see the film as part of the Pan African Film Festival.  It will be screening as the Centerpiece Gala on February 11, 2009 at 7:00 p.m.  Additional information about future SKIN screenings can be found here.

We Live In Public

I saw a fascinating and thought-provoking documentary on one of the final days of the Sundance Film Festival.  I had been getting Twitter feeds from Jason Calacanis through out the festival about his various exploits and had not been able to quite put two and two together about why he was at Sundance and was hanging out at parties at the Filmmaker's Lodge.  The film, We Live In Public provided me with an explanation. 

Jason is featured in the film.  As a person who surrounded the visionary Josh Harris (of Jupiter Communications and Pseudo.com) he was one of several people interviewed to fill in the back story of Josh's rise and fall during the heyday of the dot com bubble.  Josh parlayed the fortune he made with Jupiter (reportedly $80 million) into his next big thing, Psuedo.com which was basically internet TV before any of the rest of us had ever even thought of broadband.

Josh also considered himself an artist.  He funded a project called "Quiet" which was a bunker hotel that housed 100 people in pods underneath the streets of New York just before the Millennium.  Outfitted with hundreds of video surveillance cameras, the project was truly a Big Brother experiment.  He invited 100 artists to participate and they wanted for nothing, but they were not allowed to leave.  The resulting descent into madness, Josh claims, was all part of the plan as was the eventual shut down by FEMA. 

What was most interesting for me about this film, truly, was how it made me think about the ways in which I currently live in public (and how we all do) with this blog and with Twitter and with Facebook.  What that means to each of us.  Individually and as a collective consciousness.  What it says about us?  If we choose to be so blatantly public (and we do) where there really are no rules for behavior and decorum (I am naked in your living room!!) then are we not also choosing to allow others to behave in whatever manner that they wish to behave in reaction to our behavior?  Also, is our need to be noticed so great, so necessary, that we will literally get naked just to be noticed by strangers?

I get hundreds (sometimes thousands) of emails from people who are not happy with my naked body on the Internet.  Yet, I continue to get naked.  I continue to post my photos.  Because it is who I am.  It is what I do.  It makes me happy.  I believe that I am not forcing anyone to "visit" nakedjen.com.  You can just as easily not look as you can look.  Just as someone can just as easily choose not to read Scripting News or Pick Me or Daily Kos or any of the thousands of other blogs that are popping up every single day because someone somewhere has something they feel is important to say.

I do believe, strongly, that blogs (and the creation of them) has given all of us an equal platform on which to express our personal views, our personal voice.  To allow all of us to speak out if we wish to do so.  Blogs have connected us in ways that we previously were never able to truly connect on a global scale.  I am forever grateful for that.  Now, instead of just standing naked on the street corner in my small corner of the world shouting about body issues and fighting for dog parks, I can reach people all over the globe.  I am changed forever for that platform!  Truly and forever changed.

We Live In Public won the Grand Jury prize for Best US Documentary at Sundance this week.  If you're reading this post, you're a very important part of its audience.  Go see it if it comes to a theatre near you.  And think about how your own life lives on the Internet.

Nakedjen.com? Is She A Porn Star?

i am working the festival this year as a publicist.  and have been attending lots of parties.  also hosting some.  the following happened on tuesday evening.  and is, quite frankly, one of my favorite moments of the festival.

i'm standing at the entrance to the riverhorse restaurant where there is obviously a private party going on inside. this smarmy guy and about ten people roll up to the door. he tells me he's there for the party and shoves his business card in my face. he's from NBC universal. i inform him that he's not on the list. he informs me that there must be a mistake because his assistant told him to come. i ask who his assistant is? he gives me her name. i tell him i have never heard of him or his assistant and he's not getting in. he's getting clearly agitated (because he's losing face in front of his ten cohorts!). so i ask, "do you know what event this is?" and he says, "ah, no. my assistant just told me to be here." so i say, "oh, well, it's a party for nakedjen.com. are you interested in putting her on NBC?"

he says, "nakedjen.com? is she a porn star?"

i say, "well, obviously you know nothing about her. so you should NOT be coming to this party."

he says, "i'm telling you my assistant told me..."

i say, "and i'm telling you you're not invited..."

so he and his ten folks trudge away. and i say, "nakedjen wouldn't want you in her party. she doesn't like people who think they can shove their way in where they're not invited!"

and then he tells me he's going to have me fired. that he's going to contact nakedjen.com and let them know how he was treated!

it was, quite frankly, one of my favorite sundance moments.

Brief Interviews With Hideous Men

i am a girl who has read, quite literally, every single published word that david foster wallace has ever written. every.single.one. sometimes i have read these words more than once because i'm rather obsessive that way. and when i discover an author whom i deem a genius, i absorb, i reabsorb, i devour really. i get so sad, honestly, when i run out of words to feed my soul. and so that is why i will read them all over again. to remind myself just why i love the author so.

today i saw a film based upon one of my favorite novellas by david foster wallace. both the film and novella are called brief interviews with hideous men. of course it is a risk for me, always, to go see a film where the subject matter is one of my favorite pieces of literature. always is. the filmmaker is challenged, right from the get go, with getting it just right, of presenting to me the characters and story that i've created in my own crazy head.

my sister, nevernakedbeth, went with me to this screening. she's encouraged me to not disparage the film and to say some positive things.

there's some incredible moments in this film. truly incredible moments. i'm also really happy that john krasinski allowed david foster wallace's words to speak for themselves. it's a testament to john as both a first-time screenwriter and director that he admired david foster wallace as much to know that as an author we really do not have many who are better.

the actors who worked in this film are all top notch. and john, again, gets high praise from me as a first-time director for getting such lovely and heart-felt and REAL performances out of all of them.  this is especially true of his own performance in the film.  his closing soliloquy (or interview) is so very powerful and real it made me want to throw up.  not because of his performance, mind you, but because the subject matter hit so close to where my own emotions are currently dwelling.

i suppose my biggest problem with the film, perhaps, was that the editor and john worked TOO hard at making it an art house piece instead of a more accessible film. john admitted that it was far more linear in its original approach but that it didn't work for him and that he got the editor to chop it up and put it back together.

i think that perhaps the needle and thread that is used to sew the pieces together is a bit clunky and awkward in some parts and way too big for the fabric of the film in others. it's jarring and obvious and for me, the literary obsessive, it was upsetting.

it is not, as one may surmise, the movie i would have made. it is not, perhaps, the movie anyone else would have made. in that, perhaps, lies the beauty of this film and of david foster wallace's prose. it truly touches us personally and deeply and individually in places we might not otherwise have tread.

The Thriller in My Villa

The rumours flying around Sundance that I have been swept off my feet by a quite handsome British Film Director and that we have locked ourselves in his hotel room and thrown away the key may or may not be true.  I'll leave it to all of you to do some deeper snooping for the real truth. 

I will share that I have seen three movies thus far and one was truly superb, one was rather okay and one was utter crap.  What most intrigues me is that the one I thought was utter crap seems to have met with quite a lot of favorable reviews from the general viewing public.  I'm wondering if they saw the same film that I saw or if perhaps they all need brain replacements?

The truly superb movie that I saw was Thriller in Manila.  People, I am not a boxing fan.  At all.  This film is about so much more than boxing.  It is truly a fabulous film and I adore the director/filmmaker Mr. Dower and I just love the story that he told about Joe Frazier and Mohammad Ali.  Just loved it.

I believe it will be screening on HBO eventually so please look for it and watch it.  You're not going to regret it one little bit. 

I must now return to my BFD.  But I'll be back with more news.  Promise. 

A Series of Rather Unfortunate Events

First there was the date. 

I had already decided that perhaps men and I are not a very good mix right now.  That perhaps I am still just a tad too broken and haven’t been glued back together correctly with the pieces in the right places yet.  You know, my heart, my big beautiful bleeding heart?  It’s still stuck on my sleeve where everyone can see it and needs to be put back in my chest, for one thing.  Plus there’s the fact that I haven’t had sex in so long with anyone other than myself and those toys under my bed that I’m thinking I may not even know how anymore.  I might need to hire someone just to give me some refresher lessons or something? 

Still, he seemed nice enough.  At least on the telephone, he did.  It has been a long time since anyone of either sex has asked me out for any reason at all, so since he was rather insistent that I go out with him and I wasn’t doing anything else other than sorting my own socks and picking dog hair off the cushions on the couch I thought I might as well give it a go.

Which is how I found myself last Saturday night in a bar I’ve never been in before somewhere not in Salt Lake.  I knew things were not going to go well when I arrived and was greeted with “I thought you were going to be younger!  You sound like you’re 23 on the telephone!”  Not knowing quite how to respond to these words coming from a nearly 50 year old man, I stammered, “I’m 17 in my head.  Does that count for anything?”

The next words from him didn’t help matters at all.

“No, seriously.  How old are you.  You’ve got to be at least 30!”

Well, maybe the man also needed glasses as well as breath mints!  Clearly, though, I was not the woman he was expecting.  I was far too old for him.  I tried not to let this bother me.  The fact that he was older than me and I was too old for him.  I really did.  I tried to remain friendly and cordial and just to have a good time despite his awkward groping at my body (a body that he already told me was too old for him!). 

Finally, I made my excuses and told him it was time for me to go.  “But when will we get together again?,” he asked. 

“When you’re 17!”, I said. 

On the drive home I got angrier and angrier.   Not at the 50 year old man in search of his 20-something trophy wife, actually.  Just angry at the entire situation.  This is not the life I signed up for.  I’m angry at David.  For walking out.  I’m angry at myself for marrying David in the first place.  For trusting him to love me till “death do us part.”  For letting myself believe in happily ever after.  For spending 10 years with him to end up right here.  Alone.  In Utah.  Picking dog hair off the sofa on a Saturday night.

Working 60 hour weeks for Sundance and getting very little sleep did nothing to improve upon the situation.  If anything it made it worse.  I spiraled.  Quickly.  I became a color of blue I haven’t been in quite some time and I wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

My days were consumed with being the Sundance Angel (I was so dubbed) and bestowing goodness upon all who came in contact with me.  But inside, deep inside, I was really crumbling and hurting.   Sadness was creeping in the strangest of places and I would find myself crying because the coffee wasn’t hot enough or the dogs were barking when I felt they should.just.be.quiet.

My very soul was blue.  Deep, dark, scary blue.  It frightened me and I was unsure what to do.

I’ve been eating cashews my whole life without nary an issue.  It is David who is allergic to cashews.  An allergy he had as a child and refused to even test when we were married.  It made me nuts.

I adore cashews.  Especially raw ones turned into other things like delicious “cheese” spreads.  When you’re a vegetarian, nuts are a real staple of your diet.  Cashews are among my favorites.

I was eating a few raw cashews.  I was Angry.  I was Deep, dark, scary, blue. 

My throat started to swell and my chest started to constrict.  Was this a panic attack or was I having an allergic reaction to the cashews?  I am allergic to avocados and the sensation I was having felt exactly like what happens when I accidentally eat avocados. 

Exactly.

Of course, because I am me, I had to wait it out and see for a while before I actually did anything about it.  With my avocado reaction, waiting can be deadly.  Why I thought I should wait and see with this EXACT SAME REACTION is a testament to the depths of my angry deep dark scary blueness.  I was not thinking clearly.

I was thinking, also, about the dogs.  Who would take care of them if I ended up in the hospital?  Better of course to just DIE, you know.  Because if I just keeled right over right there on the couch while sorting socks and picking off dog hair and wondering about my reaction to the raw cashews, well, at least that would take care of the angry deep dark scary blue place and the dogs would quite possibly bark and someone would come to take care of them. 

Amazing how our minds work in these situations, isn’t it?

I can promise you that this is not the Internet’s first missive being written from the great beyond (where ever that may be) and that I did, in fact, take myself to Urgent Care.   I can now add Cashews to the list of things to which I am allergic.  Very, very, very allergic.  Fall over and die allergic.  If you want to kill me (and I know you’re out there, you people who do want to kill me), give me an avocado and cashew sandwich.  And serve it to me while I’m standing in a patch of poison ivy.  That should just about do the trick.

The upshot of all of this is that my little trip to Urgent Care along with my imagined near-death experience seems to have dissipated the anger and deep dark scary blue feelings.  Of course, it also helps that I had a double session with my therapist. 

Let’s just say there were a series of very unfortunate events.  A series of very unfortunate events that, in retrospect, have proved quite fortunate.

FIVE STARS!

If you happen to be reading right this minute, go here.  And please give the film, NO TIME FOR EVACUATION five stars! 

I made it today using my cellphone and was not allowed to edit.  At all.  So it is what it is.  But it is in a contest and whichever film gets the most votes wins.

And well, you all know how much I just love to win!

So go vote!  Plus, you'll get to see me sort of naked....

Tripping with The Tripper

David Arquette tripped into Santa Cruz last night and properly dosed a sold-out crowd at the Santa Cruz Film Festival's opening night premiere of his film, The Tripper.  He brought along cast members Thomas Jane, Brad Hunt and the ever lovable Paul Reubens. 

Arriving at the theatre donned in a custom jeweled adorned suit reminiscent of Elvis and sporting a fade in his hair that even said "The Tripper", David and his crowd were greeted in proper Santa Cruz style by rocking street performers and a sidewalk full of gyrating dancing revelers. 

While his directorial debut has its challenges, it is a campy send-up that pits a Ronald Reagan serial killer against a bunch of peace-loving drug happy hippies who are hoping to attend a music festival in the redwoods. 

Yes, you read that correctly.  A Ronald Reagan serial killer. 

The movie is quite campy.  If you happen to have lived in Santa Cruz for the last twenty years and also spent much of your life on tour with the Grateful Dead, well, you can't help but laugh at many moments in this film.  Plus, you'll recognize at least two-thirds of all the extras.  At least I did.  In fact, I kept thinking to myself, where was I when they were filming this and why didn't I go participate?

The Tripper has not gotten distribution from a major studio, so David Arquette is going guerilla and has launched his own My Space page and is even doing his own small tour of movie theatres around the country.  It is opening today, 4.20. dude, at 50 theatres nationwide.  Not a large opening, but if enough people see it...well, you know how it goes.

If you're at all curious about a campy send up of life as a Santa Cruz peace love and drugs 20-something, you might just want to check out this film. 

And here's David in 60 seconds explaining just why his movie is a slasher movie.

So, there you have it.  If it's playing near you, go see it.  You can think about Nakedjen and Santa Cruz while you do.

BUT ON SECOND THOUGHT...