Oh, how I love film festivals. Or, more precisely, how I love when they invade the town that I call home.
My first festival was Toronto: I worked as a volunteer behind the scenes, showing people to their seats. Toronto could never compare to Cannes, the first festival I saw as a journalist, the first time I worked with fest21.
Cannes was all glamor and sparkle: we waited for weeks as we learnd which films would be premiering there, who would be coming. We watched as the red carpet was rolled out, as the tickets went on sale. The whole town was bustling with news of the festival.
How different, then, to be in San Sebastian-Donostia for the 57th film festival this year. Sure, people rushed to get the tickets, lining up at five o'clock to get the best choices. And sure, when Brad Pitt pulled up to the Hotel Maria Christina, little girls waited anxiously with pens and paper to greet him. But somehow, it lacks the same sort of excitement that Cannes brought.
I like it.
People continue with their lives: the surfers are still surfing, the students are still rushing to school and, unfortunately, the infamous Basque rain is still falling on the heads of anyone who dares to step outside without an umbrella.
But the festival is here, and with it comes the requisite excitement: everyone knows when Brad Pitt will be walking from the Maria Christina to the Kursal tonight for the premiere of Inglourious Basterds (between 9:30 and 10:30, in case you're wondering). Everyone still wanders past the red carpet, trying not to slip as they keep an eye out for Quentin Tarantino. And everyone--or at least, everyone who waited in line last Sunday--is seeing at least one movie. I know I'll be seeing tons: keep an eye out for reviews, commentary and photos all week!