It’s over and I’m back home.
Last night was fun, the award ceremony and end of festival dinner/dance thing. It was all a bit surreal really; there we were, four guys who made a feature film for £1000. A film whose main criteria were it had to be funny and stupid. A film which stars a talking foetus, for god’s sake, and we’re standing suited and booted, clapping politely as serious films get awarded serious prizes by serious people.
I keep expecting someone to catch on and chuck us out.
‘Wait a minute! Those are the guys who made that film with the Nazi Pope and the ventriloquist dummy sex scene. Security!’
The awards over and it’s time for dinner. Free food! Again! And drink! Grab as much as you can! Personally, I came away with enough food stuffed in my pockets to keep me going for a month; but then, I’m classy like that.
After dinner there was, what I suppose must be described as a band. A band who sounded like they’d heard instrumental versions of the songs they were playing, decided to leave out half the notes because it was easier, and then try to guess how the words fit into the song as they read them off a sheet on the night.
Didn’t speak much English, but he laughed a lot. I’m not sure if the two things are connected.
Then it was back to the sky bar at the hotel, jumping the queue again by flashing a room card and barrelling into the lifts. When the bar closed we ended up in a room having a party until security came to break it up. We managed to convince him we’d gone home and then carried on until six this morning.
For anyone who hasn’t been to a film festival before, it’s basically just an endurance test; how long can you go without sleep, on minimal food and eighty times your own body-volume in alcohol. Last one to drop dead wins.
I don’t drink, so I have an unfair advantage. I still wake up in the afternoon (an hour or so after going to bed) shaking slightly from the lack of sleep, nursing a sore throat from shouting to make myself heard for twelve hours a night. I can’t even begin to imagine how rough it is having to endure the same thing with a hangover.
Mind you, the Yankee Disco guys don’t seem to sober up long enough for it to be a problem.
So there you go, another festival over and done with. I only managed three days and, yet again, I saw nothing but Troma films; but I’ve had a great time. Yankee Disco (plus entourage) are a great bunch of guys, who know how to have fun and tend to get themselves noticed wherever they go. Any awkwardness which comes from trying to fit in with a close knit bunch of friends comes purely from my own crippling shyness and not from any lack of inclusion on their part.
I’ve got to thank the festival organisers for including us, it’s a great festival and if anyone finds themselves at a loose end next year, I highly recommend it.