Glamoure and l'amour hung thick in the air at the SIFF Mid-Festival Gala. I practically tripped over a couple of frisky middle-aged teenagers in a lusty lip-lock on the steps of Vivanda, the sumptuous new Pike Place eatery where the gig went down. Free liquor was flowing, flashbulbs were flashing, and everyone who thought they were anyone was handing out business cards like RU 486 at a sorority breakfast.
The event followed the screening of Michael Winterbottom's 24 Hour Party People. Charming Bill Kapfer, SIFF's director of marketing and official "hostess wid da mostess," greeted my entourage and made it his mission to introduce me to the resident locals, including a meticulously tailored maybe-fortysomething guy with white hair. "That's Alec Carlin, the writer and director of Outpatient," Bill confided in a conspiratorial whisper. "It was his idea to have all the little prescription pill bottles filled with Altoids at all the SIFF events." Curious!
Director Winterbottom was in attendance, but I avoided him like a bill-collecting meter maid with festering cankers: I just COULDN'T admit to his face that I'd shined on his opus in favor of The Cockettes at the Harvard Exit. The Cockettes is a delicious (if long-winded) documentary detailing the decadent, drag-filled oeuvre of a group of acid-dropping hippie drag queens in '70s San Francisco. Co-director and bona fide sexpot David Weissman spoke (and spoke, and spoke) after the film, expounding on The Cockettes' ideals of anti-capitalism and free theater. He did not, however, offer anyone their eight bucks back.
Earlier in the week, the darlings at the SIFF press suite at the W Hotel tipped me off to a gathering of notables and pseudo-notables celebrating the glorious opening of writer-slash-director Miles Swain's new queer road flick, The Trip (again, skipped the screening). It was held at the Rosebud amid a delightful spread of Italian meats and cheeses. My party and I were continually "reminded" by SIFF volunteers that we were "welcome" to relocate to the smoking porch out back, even though none of us smokes. I suspect they were nervous about fire codes--stuffing that many fags in a single room has to be a violation of something. X-Men director Bryan Singer and his "partner" (smooch!) also made a cameo at the party. Afterwards the whole merry crew meandered over to the recently re-re-revamped Neighbours to dance off all of the glitter and glam.
Stay tuned for more fabulous SIFF dish!
