By Ray Pride Pride@moviecitynews.com

Picturing Sundance 2014 x 13 (Plus 140-Character Grasps For Instantaneous Truth)

If you go to parties, you miss movies. If you go to movie after movie after movie, you don’t have time to write, let alone think. But! Thank the Movie Godz for Twitter and for photographs. The quick quip and apt snap are more quickly up on my Twitter and Instagram (with RTs from others at the MCNtweets account). A raft of full-on reviews may have to wait a couple days: Wednesday and Thursday are sizing up as quadruple features, at the least. I’m dying to describe the titanic charm and simple, subversive comic loveliness of Obvious Child at length, as well as delve into the painterly effects of Love Is Strange, the look of which seems patterned after many of the artists who would have been contemporaries of John Lithgow’s character. Alas! Twitter reactions and more photos below. (The actual Twitter handle is @ebertmovie.)

LIFE-ITSELF-0

Life-Itself
Boyhood
BOYHOODZellner Kikuchi Zellner

Zellner-Kikuchi-Zellner at their opening night pour.

KUMIKO-LoversSundance 2014
Truism
LOVE IS STRANGE
Ancient indiefilm burial ground

The ancient indiefilm burial ground. Jamie Stuart says he can see Happy, Texas from here.

Staff Only

Press office. STAFF ONLY.

Obvious Child

Augment

Stealthfest

Stealthfest. Best rumors hold that FILM X tonight will be Nymphomaniac or Foxcatcher.

P-Brod

Consultant Peter Broderick in motion.

Laggied Lynn

Lynn Shelton, also in motion.

Shuttling

Shuttle

Get off the shuttle, the cool air hits your face, the dusk is blue and luminous, the chatter of the bus falls away, and on the sidewalk, you run into people you’re meant to run into.

Just confessed

Intimacies exchanged at the Slamdance opening night party in an underground parking garage.

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“I was 15 when I first watched Sally Hardesty escape into the back of a pickup truck, covered in blood and cackling like a goddamn witch. All of her friends were dead. She had been kidnapped, tortured and even forced to feed her own blood to her cannibalistic captors’ impossibly shriveled patriarch. Being new to the horror genre, I was sure she was going to die. It had been a few months since I survived a violent sexual assault, where I subsequently ran from my assailant, tripped, fell and fought like hell. I crawled home with bloody knees, makeup-stained cheeks and a new void in both my mind and heart. My sense of safety, my ability to trust others, my willingness to form new relationships and my love of spending time with people I cared about were all taken from me. It wasn’t until I found the original The Texas Chain Saw Massacre that something clicked. It was Sally’s strength, and her resilience. It was watching her survive blows to the head from a hammer. It was watching her break free from her bonds and burst through a glass window. It was watching her get back up after she’d been stabbed. It was watching her crawl into the back of a truck, laughing as it drove away from Leatherface. She was the last one to confront the killer, and live. I remember sitting in front of the TV and thinking, There I am. That’s me.”
~ Lauren Milici On “The Final Girl”

“‘Thriller’ enforced its own reality principle; it was there, part of the every commute, a serenade to every errand, a referent to every purchase, a fact of every life. You didn’t have to like it, you only had to acknowledge it. By July 6, 1984, when the Jacksons played the first show of their ‘Victory’ tour, in Kansas City, Missouri, Jacksonism had produced a system of commodification so complete that whatever and whoever was admitted to it instantly became a new commodity. People were no longer comsuming commodities as such things are conventionally understood (records, videos, posters, books, magazines, key rings, earrings necklaces pins buttons wigs voice-altering devices Pepsis t-shirts underwear hats scarves gloves jackets – and why were there no jeans called Bille Jeans?); they were consuming their own gestures of consumption. That is, they were consuming not a Tayloristic Michael Jackson, or any licensed facsimile, but themselves. Riding a Mobius strip of pure capitalism, that was the transubstantiation.”
~ Greil Marcus On Michael Jackson