Day 1 - Antipodes

The flight was as flights are. Long, delayed, hurried, bad food, strange pressurized air. I could com pain but there's really no need. Everyone knows what it is like. On the way, at a layover in Dallas, I ate a pastrami sandwich from the weirdos at Au Bon Pain. Oh, why are there no franchise restaurants in airports?

Arriving in Buenos Aires, I had to take a 4.5 hour car ride to the city of Mar del Plata. On the way I saw many wonderful signs. My favorites (not pictured here) were Kentucky Pizza and Universidad de Morón. The reason for these should be obvious.


Halfway there, we stopped for a nosh. I was talking with the driver and he asked me, in Spanish, where I was from. I said "Texas." He said, "Ah, Texas California?" "No," I said, "there are different." "Yo se" he muttered (I know!), "Texas Ranger, Walker." Egads! Is that what I am stepping into?

Mar del Plata. I arrived and was quickly rushed into my hotel. The accommodations are completely amenable, with comfortable bed and marvelous bathroom. Also, there is a bidet, which I don't know how to use but which I have spent many hours enjoying already. There is also a sauna in the hotel, which I will gladly discuss tomorrow.

The view from my room is a charming display of buildings. These tall blocky hotels are typical of this beach town.


Once I was settled, I met with the programmer, the incredibly friendly Pablo. He informed me that I was assigned what the festival calls an "angel." These are translators/handlers for filmmakers. My angel is a tiny young woman named Lola, who goes to bed at 9pm and who is training to be an opera singer. Obviously, this dynamic of temporary assistant is one that will be tested as the week goes on, which I will surely have to write about. No doubt I will do something wrong.

We went and met with the legendary filmmaker Alex Cox, who, as my only fellow American, has become my de facto friend. He's an awesome old Brit, animated yet sensitive and really keen on film history. He's here for a retrospective of his work and to promote the release of a Spanish translation of his book on Spaghetti Westerns.

We had a quick coffee (cafe con leche) and a dessert cookie (Alfajores), at which point I met Lola. "You're much younger than I thought," she said. "It that bad?" I retorted, per usual. "No, it is great. It must be so great to be young and famous." I became a puddle of self-disgust at that point. It is both so easy and so difficult to ride on the fumes of misunderstanding.

Following our snack, we went to the opening events. Pablo escorted Alex and me into a black car. The car drove about 300 yards where there were dozens of paparazzi and a red carpet. Embarrassed, we walked the carpet as the photogs decided it was time to change lenses or replace their film cartridges. We did (sort of) accidentally get in a photo, which was on the cover of the local newspaper the next day. As you can see, Alex and his angel are in the background of this photo. If you look very, very carefully, you can see a black line under her hand. I believe that is my necktie.


After hearing politicians go on and on about the festival (briefly translated by the angel), we saw the opening night film, VIVE ANTIPODES!, by Russian director Viktor Kosakovsky. Basically, the film is brilliant. He explained that the film is like this: If you dig a hole where you are standing, and keep digging and digging, aside from getting tired, you'd end up on the other end of the world. Most people would say China. But actually that isn't correct - in Argentina, if you dig you'd get to China, but in most other places you go to water. It is very rare that you can get to land, and his film studies 4 of these pairs: Russia to Chile, Argentina to Shanghai, Hawaii to Botswana, and New Zealand to Spain.

The resulting film is a non-narrative exploration of space, utilizing some amazing (digital) camera work. Deep focus is, mostly, the name of the game here. He also turns the camera upside down at points, making the world dance on the ceiling. It is surprisingly gorgeous, particularly a scene of driving through the streets of Shanghai. It reminded me of a short film I saw recently, C'était un rendez-vous, by Claude Lelouch. But it is also unique.


After a brief gala party, which was in general a bore, I walked back to the Hotel Hermitage where I plugged in my recently purchased power convertor (thanks angel) and saw that the Internet barely existed, although it could be used to write emails to my loved ones. I turned on the TV and, amid a strew of bizarre programs (including an episode of Taxicab Confessions, which seems to only exist in foreign markets) and dubbed movies (WEDDING CRASHERS), was a classic TV show that reminded me of home. Walker, Texas Ranger was on. Good grief. Until tomorrow...