Independence? Not this year
Flashback: one year ago. I am about a month into my last year of college and read that the Chicago Film Festival will begin at the end of the week. Being a poor college student, I longed for the day when I could afford the tickets to these screenings, parking in Chicago and maybe even a meal before or a drink afterwards. Seeing the light at the end of the academic tunnel, I dreamt that by the time the festival began next year, I might actually not only be able to afford to go, but could even be living in Chicago and gainfully employed. This particular fantasy was only a sliver of the fantastic post-graduation house that I had built in my mind.
Flashforward: earlier this week. I read on Metromix that the festival is beginning again. I again long to bask in the glow of wonderful new independent film and to enjoy originality for a change, after a year of mediocre rentals and big-budget letdowns. The festival features: two screenings of Michael Moore's latest documentary, Bowling for Columbine; Paul Thomas Anderson's latest, Punch-Drunk Love, in a Tuesday, Oct 8 screening that Anderson will be at; a seemingly endless supply of other interesting films that can be seen nowhere else. Once again, I'm forced to put my desire aside for the sake of money and hope for that elusive "next year" in which the money will be there and so will the festival. Ultimately, it's the least of my concerns right now, but it has reminded of how planning can seem so futile when you cannot control every variable in the equation.
To console myself with a poor substitute, I instead caught the local screening of Red Dragon. It was quite similar to Silence of the Lambs but somehow without the same eeriness and ability to get under your skin. I blame this on the character of Hannibal Lecter losing its novelty after three movies and a villian that's not as intriguing as Buffalo Bill. It was well-acted though and it was nice to see Philip Seymour Hoffman in a film again, even in a small part.
So, where's the Red Dragon's lair? Glasgow, of course.