Linha de Passe

Last night I met the former director of the Venice and Berlin film festivals who just so happened to have two unnecessary tickets to the competition screening of Walter Salles' "Linha de Passe."  Our walk up the red carpet was a wet but fun one (I swear there'll be pictures soon)  and had we been only a minute later, we would have shared it with Alfonso Cuaron, darn.  The film was one we've seen many times before, a combination of all Hispanic indie films of the last 15 years: Shaky camera, struggling adolescents, poverty, God, drug combos, soccer, wild sex, motorcycles, thievery, sounds more exciting than it was.  With no directorial innovations or profound insights to speak of, one has to wonder if the invite to competition was more about the director's presence than the film itself.  It appears to stand no chance of receiving the Palme D'Or, though it did receive a standing ovation(?), a gesture which seems to have lost its meaning, as it has become the only alternative to a harsh French booing.

Still working on "Synecdoche, New York" tickets.

-aa