I took a walk...

I took a walk last night. It was a warm night in our nation's capital, perfect for a stroll after dinner. Walking through the courtyard of the Reagan Trade building, a fairly new structure, I couldn't help but appreciate the architecture and stonework. In a time when current design means glass and steel, exotic composites and soaring heights, it is somewhat heartening to see a building that embraces the structures around it, the history, and the materials. Exiting the arches next to the Environmental Protection Agency, I was treated to a show I would have never imagined on a busy city street. There, beneath the shade trees, cavorting across the carefully landcapded greenery between the sidewalk and sculpted walls were dozens of fireflies. These phosphorescent beetles streaked through the air like the stray embers of fireworks gone by, and it made me smile at how appropriate they should appear at the foot of the EPA.

I joined the throngs of tourists and the few remaining stragglers released from their offices into the night. Negotiating the dwindling evening traffic, I headed in the direction of the reflecting pool. At the eastern edge, sits the National World War Two memorial. These 56 columns identifying our 50 states, the District of Columbia and outlying territories are each adorned with a bronze wreath to honor the fallen soldiers from that great and terrible war. At either side, a soaring arch sits, inscribed with the words Atlantic and Pacific. Gatherered in the shelter of each arch, in a majestic aerie are a group of bronze eagles, suspended from their mighty talons, they hold aloft another memorial wreath.

In the spacious sky over the lighted fountain, the full moon has made her way to sit now over the National Mall. I turn to the footpath by the pool, and head toward the marble temple to the west. The trees lining the way are fully clothed and I can only catch glimpses of the Lincoln Memorial as I walk. I am soon there, though, and climb the steps past groups of schoolchildren excited to be out in the city, after dark. I imagine the echoes of Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speech mingling with the opera of Marian Anderson, African Americans both denied so much, who showed the world passion, strength and determination on these same steps. As I enter the memorial, the youthful squeals of the school groups diminish, and I find myself in the gaze of our 16 th president, sculpted by the Massachusetts artist Daniel Chester French. To the left, inscribed on the wall is the text of his famous address, given at the battlefield in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The closing lines in this short, but perhaps most famous oration in history, "It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion-that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain-that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom-and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth", speak across the ages and remind us, that whatever our petty political differences of the day, our great nation cannot, must not be ripped asunder.

It is a fitting dedication engraved above his head, "In this temple as in the hearts of the people for whom he saved the union, the memory of Abraham Lincoln is enshrined forever". As I follow his gaze back out across the reflecting pool, friend, the moon is peeking around the Washington Monument. This great obelisk stands as an exclamation point of our liberty, and further on, the Capitol Building sits on its hill. This is a true symbol of freedom; for what America's sons and daughters have died for. It is here that we take up the responsibility of governing the nation our ancestors fought to create. Gracing the top of its elegant dome is "Lady Freedom". She stands, draped in her robes, her right hand resting on a sheathed sword, her left holding a wreath of victory. She gazes not on the sights behind her, the great statues and memorials, but eastward, to greet each day as it dawns on our Nation.

Breaking from my reverie, I descend the steps and head to the east along the northern edge of the pool. There are still lively groups of people about, but as we all move back into the shaded pathways, conversations fade and eventually cease. We have arrived at the black wall. Inscribed on this wall, which starts unassumingly at ground level and, as the path dips, rises above our heads, are the names of fallen soldiers from another, bitter war. A war that threatened to divide our nation once again. One such soldier, Major Michael Davis O'Donnell, from a foreign land so far away leaves us with a prayer, "If you are able, save for them a place inside of you and save one backward glance when you are leaving for the places they can no longer go. Be not ashamed to say you loved them, though you may or may not have always. Take what they have taught you with their dying and keep it with your own. And in that time when men decide and feel safe to call the war insane, take one moment to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind." Major O'Donnell was listed KIA in 1978.

Rising to the footpath once again, I find myself almost alone, now. The more than 58,000 names behind me cannot go where I now go, but they are a part of all of us, and we must remember them. Waiting for the traffic lights, I decide to walk up Pennsylvania Avenue. I pass the Organazation of American States, The Constiution Hall at the Daughters of the American Revloution, where once Marian Anderson was denied a performance, the American Red Cross, and eventually I am gently, but firmly guided by the guards to the fence outside "America's House". Across the expanse of lawn, past the stately fountain sits the White House. I stop and wonder what it is like to live and work in such a building. You may agree or disagree with the men and someday women that inhabit this home, but regardless of politics each has been inspired by some vision and dream for America, and the wish to help shape it. It is a fitting end to my evening stroll, as I am nearing my room. I cannot help but reflect on this weekend before Memorial Day, that America is a great nation, shaped by our victories and yes, our mistakes and shames. Like Lady Freedom, gazing into the face of each new day, we must look ahead and vigilantly protect our freedom, but must never forget what lies at our backs.

Au Revoir

Today dawned cloudy, cool and a bit rainy. Such a difference from the past week. Dodging raindrops and the frequent tiny doggie land mine, I headed to the train for my last trip to the Palais. Just as I finally figured out the advanced calculus book that is the train schedule, I have to leave! I was heading to the American Pavillion to meet Yasmine Hannani, a friend of my brother Andy's. She was in Cannes with her company "Without a Box" which manages festival submission for film producers. She was a sweetheart and provided me with some yummy chocolate croissants via her company's pull with the Pavillion. The American Pavillion is an interesting place. You can pay to hang out during the day, or after 6:00 pm for free. English speakers from America and beyond congregate to have hotdogs and snicker bars (sacrebleu!). I was informed by a British filmaker that this beats the pants off of the UK tent. He didn't go into details, but four words...toad in the hole...draw your own conclusions. There is also free wifi which was key, because I got a very friendly text from AT&T alerting me that by checking my email a few times a day I have a current bill for data only of $460.00. Thankfully, because it was only several days usage, they put me on an international data plan and erased the charges. I guess one too many stories in the news about some poor guy's $3000 phone bill causes a bit of a PR nightmare.



After my breakfast meeting, I wandered back to the Palais and watched as many more short films as I could. There was a catergory for critic's favorites, so I watched an animated film called Love Patate about a love triangle between a young man, a concession cart girl and a potato. It did not have a happy ending. There was another about a Scottish farm laborer that involved necrophilia and oddly enough potatoes (in a very minor role). It also did not end well. I attended a private screening for a DC production called "Hushed" about a band of evangelists, no potatoes, which also did not end well. The producers were a nice bunch of folks and we found out we are staying in the same hotel. I had a nice chat with one of the owners who is shortly moving to Norwood. His girlfriend is a neuro specialist at Boston's Childrens Hospital...small world!



The sun returned full force, and I decided I'd had enough of the Palais. So, I headed into the old city for a late lunch. Yasmin had recommended a restaraunt on Rue Sequet, which is a narrow, windy, cobblestone'd street that makes its way up, up, up. It is dotted with cafe's and brasseries with the occasional boutique, and it looks an awful lot like Diagon Alley from Harry Potter, minus the owls and wizards of course. I had my best meal of the trip at a small place...Beignets de courgette (fried eggplant and squash blossoms) and Salade de Cherve, chaud (warm goat cheese salad on grilled, buttered baguette slices). The server was a lusty old dame (no other way to describe her) who flirted and cajoled customers and potential customers alike.
















It was time to pack it all in. I made one last swing through the Palais, bought some trinkets at the Boutique Officiale, bumped into Terrence Howard having difficulty getting through security, and headed to the train. I had one last stop to make before I left, however. I had stumbled down Rue Notre Dame one day while looking for a photo shoppe. There is a toy store that even the most jaded old Scrooge would love. It looks like Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium (if the emporium was the size of a modest bathroom). In addition to wonderful wooden toys and knick knacks, they had the most amazing collection of antique style tin toys. I got nostalgic looking at a wind up rocket ship very similar to the one I had as a wee lad (then I had a panic attack thinking that I once owned a brand new toy that is now considered an antique). I picked up a few presents for the kids and headed out of town...
















Back at the hotel, I took a much needed nap before heading back to the beach for dinner. Restaraunt Estrelle was empty, so the waitstaff was glad to see me. My usual seat at the sand's edge was available and I enjoyed a carefree meal of grilled ribeye and frites. It was a sad stroll back to the hotel, the ever present scent of honeysuckle accompanying me up from the water, but I am looking forward to seeing my beautiful family, and wonderful wife, who insisted that I go in spite of the fact that she couldn't come along.

So, my stay here is coming to a close. It has been a fantastic opportunity, and quite a thrill to have had this experience. I would be remiss if I didn't thank the Glasseye Films team directly for creating fun, and excellent films year in and year out. Our director, Scott Palmer swears each year is his last. Leah Romig produces the heck out of the projects, sometimes aided by the likes of Beth Flis and Condee Russo, while her husband Tony is often busy on the writing team with Scott, John Fremer and myself. We've had tremendous support over the years from DP's such as Stu Vose, John Coyne and Jim Flis. Brian Corbett has put his skills as a grip to the test on occasion. The Wearing of the Cans has been shared with skilled sound engineers Chris Engles and Brian Iacobucci. Brian is also a talented sound designer and musician. Jennifer Dunlea came on this project as a very capable stylist. Pulling it all together and making sense of the footage has fallen to the effervescent Barry Clegg (as well as the equally effervescent Theo Mitropolous) and outstanding graphics provided by the always cheerful Michael Powers. We were awarded, in addition to Best of Boston, Director, Screenplay and Cinematography, the award for best Ensemble Acting. This year our team of thespians included perennial fave Kevin Banks, John Fremer, Matt Wiffin, Steve Broadly, the lovely and zany Ms. Erika Rettman Welch, myself and introducing Sara Faith Alterman of the San Francisco Altermans, and sweet but feisty Ms. Jodi Sharpe Powers. All of the above mentioned people (my sincerest apologies to anyone I've missed) are a joy to work with, and I look forward to each new project. I feel inspired to create a new film outside of the 48 hour constraints, and perhaps make it back here. I hear Sundance is nice, too...

If you Cannes make it here...

Today I learned what happens when you give cats Prozac. This gentleman, who so emphatically demanded a tip for posing, was doing some crazy ju ju with those cats. Picture Cirque Du Soleil meets the dog whisperer. I'm not sure it was appropriate for multitudes of children in the audience, either.

Ah, just another crazy scene from the wacky Croisette.

I'm starting to get a little crazy myself. To recap, Cannes is a giant tradeshow with celebrities. Celebrities, I might add, that seem to make themselves conspicuously scarce outside of red carpet events and press conferences. I focused on drumming up some interest in our film library, which contains a wider selection than just our piece playing at the festival, http://www.glasseyefilms.net/ . I met with a company that buys short films to only play in Russia (which gives a scary insight to state of broadcast TV in eastern Europe), a company that will submit your film to a whole host of festivals for you, and a sketchy gentleman who said he would help us write and produce our next film if I told him what it was about.

Unfortunately, I was hoping to meet with another potential avenue, but that didn't pan out. No problem, meeting rescheduled, but it meant another late afternoon without the ability to run back to the hotel and change into the tux for the evening. So, another night of missing the red carpet experience. I am proud of myself for last night, though. At the end of yesterday's post I left you as we watched our mysterious benefactor ascend the Marches Rouge without us. Well, after a sweaty train ride back the hotel, I freshened up, put on the tux and headed to the bus stop to go back to Cannes and party French Riviera style. Let me tell you, you don't want to wait 45 minutes at a French bus stop in full evening attire for a bus that doesn't show...

So, as promised, I found a camera shop and bought a new card reader. Here are some pics from the last two days cavorting in the sun...

Some 48 Hour folks. Scott from Vegan Cannibal productions, who wrote and starred in the terrific "Ration" is on the left, and Grayson Ford directed and starred in "Sea of Trees", a moody and surreal story set in Japan...

Javier Bardem and director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarittu. The cast and director of "Biutiful" on the red carpet...

Well, it's getting late, and I have a potential early meeting. I'll leave you with an actual quote I overheard while having my dinner (on the beach, under a thatched umbrella!) "No, No, No, Monsieur fancy pants!" Sounds like something I've heard at home...

Cannes Cannes

A beautiful morning in Juan Les Pins, which means "city of small, yappy dogs" in French. Actually, it refers to the pine trees that stud the hills leading up from the coast, but that doesn't change the fact that there are quite a few noisy little chien. A short, windy bus ride into Cannes and the madness begins. Apparently black is still the new black, so my khakis and blue oxford were decidedly gauche. Some broken French and frantic gesticulations and I found the accreditation office where I received my badge...priceless to have here. You don't get anywhere without a badge, because aside from the paparazzi fueled red carpet glitz, Cannes is a giant tradeshow.

I spent a good hour wandering around, tenatively poking my head into this hall and that. I kept waiting for someone to yell, "Hey, you don't belong here! Beat it to the other side of the fences with the rest of the tourists!" I finally settled down at the Short Film Corner; the section that is hosting our film, "Conversion".

The Short Film Corner is an interesting microcosm of people. Apparently, if you make a short film, it gives you license to wear riduculous hats. When did tiny brimmed fedoras come into fashion? Is Ska making a big comeback? Flip Video, the portable video camera people were giving away HD Flip cams to anyone that pitched a movie they could make while in Cannes. I talked to one such recipient...he got the camera and has no intention of actually making a film. Hmmm. Probably the last year Flip will be doing that! The walls in the SFC look like a campus center during rush week. Hundreds of flyers and postcards of films tacked to the walls. Filmakers hoping to find a buyer for their movies.

Which leads back to the whole tradeshow thing. It is amazing the giant machine that film and entertainment is. Film bureaus from all over the world either want to sell you a film, or want you to come make a film in their countries. The booths from Southeast Asia are the most interesting. Who knew how pasionate that end of the world is about schlocky horror movies! I was neither in position to purchase the rights to an Indonesian story about goblins, nor was I looking to travel there to film my tropical version of Last Hut on the Left. Anyway, it was time to go upstairs in the Palais to meet other 48 Hour Filmakers.

I waited at the entrance of the theater for Lucas Krost, Richmond, VA based director, whose film, "Outliers" was screening alongside our entry. Lucas came in tow with a handful of other 48 Hour folks and we all got to know each other. Some starry eyed film students asked us if they could take their pictures with us, and even though we were tired of being hassled by the paparazzi, we wanted to encourage the kids, so we allowed it. Then into the theater, which was small, but had the plushest seats I've ever been in!

As the films rolled, it was apparent that this was the best of the 48 Hour Film Project. There were some amazing short films, shot with the precision and style befitting a full scale Hollywood production. Keep in mind, that these were all conceived and produced over the course of one weekend! It was a thrill to be included in the same program as these mini works of art.

After the program, we pushed past the the line waiting to see the world premiere of "Mad Cow-Boy Meats Girl" and into the sun drenched Croisette. Outside it was a larger version of the tradeshow, with film companies and more countries hosting screenings inside portable, air conditioned "offices". Tourists and school groups crowded the barriers, looking to see if anyone was anyone. Funny, we were doing the same thing...

As the afternoon wore on, the area near the red carpet and red stairs to the Grand Lumiere theater started to get busy. Photographers and video crews claimed their spots. Hopeful starseekers vied for a position along the barriers. The best spot for star sighting was the road along the Croisette. Police cleared space on the street for guests, actors and filmakers to make their way on foot from the Carlton Hotel. It was a strange, yet grand parade of sorts. Alejandro Gonzalez Innaritu, the director of "Amores Perros", was premiering his film, "Biutiful", a heartbreaking story starring Javier Bardem (No Country for Old Men) and Bianca Portillo (Volver). If I hadn't forgotten my USB card reader, I'd have some great photos of the cast to post. I'll look for one tomorrow!

Finally, our little group was approached by a frantic woman who had no credentials, but plenty of tickets, who spoke only English, no French. Seeing as this was our specialty, too, we gamely pitched in to help. In exchange for helping her navigate security, she gave us all of her extra tickets! Alas, none of us had returned to our respective hotels to don our required tuxedos, so we watched her head up the red carpet without us. We'll know next time...

Nice is nice

Well, twelve hours and 4,000 miles later, I am down on the Cote D'Azur. Pretty uneventful save for a near international riot at the Bureau Du Change (please pardon my spelling, my French is limited to phrases I picked up from the "Flight of the Conchords" song, "Foux de Fa Fa', which may explain why I only know where the library is and have consumed far too many baguettes).

Our flight path took us over Monaco and then down the coast to Nice Airport. The private jets were stacked 10 deep on the outer airfield. OMG, I think I saw Tom and Giselle stepping out of her Gulfstream! Or maybe it was the cleaning crew...we were pretty high up at that point.

As an aside, please let this post serve as some sort of proof that I am actually in France, because at no time did I ever need to clear customs or hand anyone my passport when I landed. Perhaps it's an EU thing, because I did check in with Swiss authorities when I transfrerred in Zurich. Aside, aside, leave yourself plenty of time in Zurich if you have a connection to make!

The airport in Nice is pretty laid back. That is until you need to exchange money. The American Express Change desk also provides foreign travellers the opportunity to recover all of the VAT (taxes) they paid for goods. I think it is some Euro conspiracy to make this process as long an painful as possible, so weary and time pressed travellers throw up their hands and leave the 17.5% tax behind. Well, they weren't prepared for the angriest Russian family I've ever seen (and I worked in retail!). A family from the UAE was recovering their taxes for what looked like an Imelda Marcos shopping spree. Fifty-two minutes after the gentleman stepped up to the desk, he was no closer to being cashed out than when he started. Multiple phone calls and visits from the manager later, Vlad et Fils accosted both the Arab family and the teller in a frothy exchange of scary pantomime and hysterical Franglish..."You! You!!! You finis! Make bye bye! (flapping arms like sweaty albatross). It was at that point that I learned from my fellow queue-mates that the Change window was closed and my hour and a half wait was for nothing. Oh well, off to find an ATM...

Euros in hand, finally, I made my way back to the information area. I thought I was in luck. There was a welcome desk for attendees of the Festival de Cannes. After a few questions posed to the two women on duty (who appeared to have been transported from some trade show booth), I learned that there are several ways to get to my hotel in Juan Les Pins and eventually Cannes. There are taxis, a train, and the bus. "You take bus. Is cheapest. I think that's best for you, No?" So much for borrowing the wife's sassy, expensive Tumi luggage. I'm still pegged for the bus.

So, after a pleasant bus ride to Antibes, here I sit in my hotel; a nice, old property located a couple of blocks from the strand and overlooking a palm lined park. An early evening stroll to the beach featured the last of the sun as it dipped behind the chateau lined hills leading to the Mediterranean. Lights popped up on several luxury yachts moored off shore, laughter and bits of conversation carrying in on the breeze. Restaraunts arranged tables on the beach, and couples both young and old took their time along the walkway. C'est la Vie...

Off to Cannes

Well, this will be the very first post on the Shoefly Studios blog. I guess I needed something to kick me in the pants and sit down and write. That kick came a couple of weeks ago when a film I worked on for the 48 Hour Film Project was selected to be screened at the Cannes Film Festival. My team, Glasseye Films has participated in the 48 HFP for several years now, and I have been fortunate enough to have been a part of it.

For those of you who don't know what the 48 Hour Film Project is, it is an international film competition that happens in 70+ cities during the year. Teams compete in the host city for the title of "Best of (insert your city here). 2009's competiton in Boston pitted close to 100 teams, frantically scrambling to make a film in 48 hours. On a Friday night, each team draws a genre (sci-fi, comedy, buddy flick, etc.) from a hat. Your team may have a different genre than the next guy's, but each of the films must contain the same pre-determined line of dialogue, character, and specific prop. Your team then has 48 hours, or until 7:00 pm on Sunday to write, shoot, score and edit a film.

It makes for a tiring, crazy weekend, but it is amazing to see the results of creative people working together under a tight, tight deadline. The films are screened at a local theater, and they run the gamut from painfully awful to amazingly good. Team Glasseye's film "Conversion" was honored as Best Film, Best Director, Best Cinematography, Best Writing, and Best Ensemble Cast in Boston. This was the second Glasseye Films production to win the Best Film category in Boston! From there, the film was screened at "Filmapalooza!" in conjunction with NAB. NAB, or National Association of Broadcasters, is held in Las Vegas every spring. Competition was stiff, as films from all around the world were shown. "Conversion" finished off the podium, but a week later we got the news that our little film was headed to the South of France for the Festival De Cannes!

I will try to post pictures and stories from the festival...I have no idea what to expect, so I hope we all have fun finding out together!