deadCENTER Film

Sundance Dispatch: Cacky Poarch of deadCENTER

Stories of Sundance
Ian, the deadCENTER Technical Guru of all things internety and webish, asked me to make an insightful appraisal of my recent trip to the Sundance Film Festival. Be forewarned, I’ve imbibed a veritable barrel of coffee, have been taking care of a sick child, and my humor has landed in the land of lollipops and shiny things. I did just use the words “internety” and “webish” too, so buckle up for my totally ridiculous blogtopia, Stories of Sundance.

Lollipops are for Suckers
My first evening in the famed small town of big independent film, I met Taika Watiki, the cutie bug New Zealand director of “Eagle Vs. Shark” and the Sundance film, “Boy”. At the time, he had all the right qualities; no entourage, wild wind-ravaged hair, that foreign silver tongue New Zealand dialect, and he honestly seemed pleased that I loved his film, “Eagle vs. Shark”. I then learned he knew some of my Oklahomies and I felt certain that we would became fast and furious festival friends. The next day, he was named the Sundance guest tweeter of the day, and I was impressed that my soon to be bff was so famous. Good for you, Taika. I later saw him with mutual friends, and after he hurried off to another press conference, I off-handedly mentioned that I wanted to lick him like a lollipop. At the time, it seemed a funny and flattering statement, an empty promise that every star on the rise wants to hear, right? Yeah, not so much. On my final night at Sundance, word had gotten to Taika that I found him “adorable”. In an attempt to play hard to get after a very brief conversation at the crowded late-night Sundance filmmaker lounge, he ran away from me like a New Zealand jack rabbit looking for outback vegetation in which to hide himself. For this awkward yet coquettish game play, I symbolically give Taika two air kisses on both cheeks and sincerely wish him the best of luck with “Boy”. Shine on, crazy filmmaker, shine on.

Hat becomes a celebrity
On Friday morning of the festival, I introduced my celebrated faux blue-furred sidekick, “Hat”. At the crack–o–dawn (Maybe it was noon. It was a film festival. Whatever.), I wandered into Starbucks, and practically ran into a ski clad southern belle getting her caffeine fix before hitting the slopes. She had long curly hair and a very distinctive voice, reminiscent of fancy grocery store make-up and the oldie but goodie, “Sex Lies and Videotapes.” As I was ordering my coffee, she and her attractive local-wannabe crew kept glancing at me and whispering in lilting southern timbres. At first, I thought she had ordered a double-shot-skinny-extra-hot sugar-free-macchiato and was waiting for her coffee to be delivered at the check out counter, but that was not the case. As I tried to play it cool, and not be flustered by the newly organized fan club in the coffee shop corner, I caught snippets of murmurings about my hat. Real fur? Blah, blah, whisper, whisper. Was I old enough to drink coffee or did I just have a good plastic surgeon? (I may have misunderstood that last one) Before pouring sugar and spice and everything nice into my hot cup of joe, Andie McDowel and I caught eyes and I recognized her look of pain and envy. She wanted hat, maybe more than anything she had ever wanted in her life. I laughed an internal early morning pre-coffee laugh, semi-maniacal but with a lot less verve. Hat was mine. All mine. And as I glamorously slinked out the door, I made the bold choice to not look back, in the imagined cataclysmic chance that everyone would be turned into salt. Cup of coffee, birth of a fan club, and potentially saved the world from biblical portion annihilation. It was going to be a good day at Sundance.