Last night my friend and I went down to the 48 hour film project screening. I'll admit, we only stayed for the first half. We watched 14 short films. Some were very good, some of the movies we could have gone our entire lives without ever seeing and not felt as if we were gypped.
There were a few with the sound being so bad, entire dialogue is missed. A few were as sharp on the technical as on performance and writing.
My favorite was "Trust Bob." Funny, well written and performed by the Trophy Whore team. Directed by Jason Waggenspack, Trust Bob provided laughter with two bumbling thugs who kidnap a very intelligent woman, and soon she has her captors questioning the very existence of their boss Bob. I missed lines just because of the audience's laughter. Very good performances from the four actors. Deep theological questions presented with the charming visuals of a retro fetish film. I look forward to seeing it again.
The 48 Hour Film Project is an event where local film makers are given a tiny piece of dialogue and in this case a folding chair and they must complete a film using those elements over a two day period. I had an opening to work on one of the productions, however it's a game for the young. Being awake for three days or so would probably be the ingredient to finally cause my heart to blow out like a bald tire on the Turnpike.
After the first half I stepped out for a smoke with a few familiar faces. Young film students milled about, optimistic about the world and their talents. My friend and I decided to call it a night and head home. I remembered that I needed to pick something up at a small shop on Bourbon Street. "Sure, we can stop for a few minutes." Walking from one end to the other in the humidity, we worked up a thirst. He had his diet Coke, I decided since I had never had a "Hurricane" that tonight was the time to do so. Being dehydrated the beverage went down fast and easy. Two blocks down Bourbon St, I started to look for another Hurricane vendor.
Darting into the Tropical Isle for air conditioning and live music, no Hurricanes were available. So the other great Bourbon St tradition of a Handgrenade was my next beverage quickly downed. 20 minutes or so later my friend and I both came to the realization that all of the Cajun music that the band was playing sounded about the same. The guy wearing the washboard and playing it with spoons was starting to wear on my nerves.