I'll Be Loving You Always

My intention was to write this entry 4 months ago, just after the Telluride Film Festival. Time is a funny thing. I'm torn between disbelief that 4 months have already gone by and this strange sense of nostalgia the festival carries with it, making it seem like it's been years since my weekend in the Sheridan Opera House and confirming my notion that the festival exists in its own little time-space continuum where sleep is overrated and Film is King.

Every year the film fest comes & goes like a lightning bolt. The town transforms overnight, with banners, celebrities, huge tents, staff and passholders seeming to appear out of this thin air. Five days later everything's packed for next year, the tourists have gone to hibernate until the winter season, and the staff has returned to their former lives in faraway cities. Nary a hint that what seemed all-consuming only a week before has even occurred, let alone been executed with the utmost success.

This past Labor Day weekend, for the 15th year in a row, I found myself ensconced in the Sheridan Opera House from just after dawn 'til well past dusk every day of the long weekend. This is by no means a lament, but rather a declaration of love. She's an old girl--nearly as old as film itself. In 7 years she'll be 100. And like Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard you can still see traces of undeniable glamour under her stage make-up. Some of the greatest performers from all areas of entertainment have graced her stage, and they have complimented each other well.

I first entered the Opera House just a week after I turned 21, and we've been together ever since. It's my longest-running love affair. There's nothing to match the thrill of the "official" opening of each film festival. The tiny theatre nearly bursts with the excitement it holds--people literally buzzing with happiness, nervousness, and anticipation of what the entire weekend holds in store.

And I've seen some things there. Chuck Jones would tell me dirty jokes before the films started. Clint Eastwood shook my hand in the middle of the Opera House. Peter O'Toole arrived for his tribute dressed to the nines--tailored suit complete with vest & long-handled cigarette holder--and charmed everybody. Roger Ebert gleefully asked a bystander to take his picture with Louis Malle, Wallace Shaun, & Andre Gregory--less than a year before Malle's death. I watched Tim Roth try to form a coherent sentence before an early morning screening, and had Greg Kinnear enthusiastically introduce himself to me. I'll never forget seeing the expression on John Ritter's face as he walked in for the premiere of Sling Blade and said, "Oh my gosh! It's so beautiful!" I've heard Peter Bogdanovich relate personal stories of Orson Welles, Cary Grant, & John Ford with the humor of a professional impressionist. And I've always been greeted with a hug by Ken Burns & Peter Sellars, and a Hershey's kiss from Annette Insdorf.

I've seen many, many films in the Opera House but one of the most memorable has always been Lonesome. It's a simple story of two people finding each other, and when it was shown at the film fest in 1994 the Alloy Orchestra helped bring the silent film to life. I was amazed to see it on the schedule again this year--it was something I feared I'd never see again--and it helped give me a sense of personal history of my time with the festival.

I've seen the festival grow exponentially in size and scope. I've seen numerous theatre spaces created and deconstructed. I've met & worked with so many wonderful people that I love seeing every year, but am sad I only get to see them once a year.

After 15 years, I've been thinking about taking a year off to dance in the wilderness of New Hampshire. It's a hard decision for me to make. On the one hand, it's supposed to be a really amazing dance camp & of course it only happens once year--on Labor Day weekend. On the other hand, I can't really wrap my brain around being any place other than Telluride for Labor Day. Besides the fact that I would greatly miss seeing my friends, I can't help but wonder, if I spend the weekend elsewhere, will I still be consumed by thoughts of the festival? At 6pm on Friday night will I be thinking, "Is the Green Room ready? Has the masking been set? Are we clear on all the cues? Is the oleo going to crash on the guest's head? Is the sound ok? Is everyone in place?" instead of "Who's this cute guy I'm dancing with?" Will I be wondering if anyone's gotten Annette her hot chocolate and popcorn with butter instead of concentrating on keeping the beat? Will next year be the year Matt Dillon's finally given a tribute & I'll miss my one chance to meet him?

Hard to say. Even harder to decide. Usually what ends up happening is that in October I'll start thinking, "Maybe I'll try something new next Labor Day," and by May I'm thinking, "Why would I possibly want to spend Labor Day someplace else?" It's only December(!), so I have a little time to make up my mind. Whatever the outcome, my feelings about the Opera House will never change. No matter where my feet are that weekend, my heart will always be stage left.

I'm still reeling that so many months have passed so quickly. My pup is growing into a young dog, and he's getting better every day. My skis are being tuned up in anticipation of plowing through the thick snow. And I had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner at my friend Sandy's house. We didn't say our individual "thanks" at the table, which is probably a good thing because by the time I got done with mine the turkey would have been cold.

So as I'm typing away on this stunningly beautiful Christmas day, nerdishly listening to my larger-than-any-sane-person-would-have Christmas CD colletion, I would like to take this moment to share some of my gratefulness. First & foremost, to my wonderful friends & family--thanks for all the emails, cards, phone calls, gifts, & encouragement. I'm grateful for my home, my pets, and the beautiful mountains I see everyday. I'm so thankful to have good jobs working for good people. I'm grateful to be part of a community that cares, and that generously supports the arts. And I'm especially thankful that every day I'm able to say, "I love my life." I hope you can all say the same.

Love to all, and to all a good night!



I'll be loving you, Always,
With a love that's true, Always.
Not for just an hour,
Not for just a day,
Not for just a year,
But Always.

--Irving Berlin, from Lonesome