Sunday

The Loser At Sundance

Sundance attracts Losers like road kill attracts crows: A lower echelon studio executive, for example, who only got permission to attend by paying his own way.

Maybe, he fantasizes, maybe I’ll run into Harvey and pitch him my idea (unwritten, of course) about this chick who hits rock bottom until she meets this wise African-American counselor in the shelter who helps her rediscover her talent for singing blues, which in turn lets her find the strength to beat her addiction to both horse and abuse fantasies.

It doesn’t take long, however, before reality sets in. All the reflected glory he felt when he first arrived, spotting Mark Ruffalo at the airport, for instance, has rapidly lost its punch. Harvey and all the other players have been whisked off to private parties our Loser can only dream about. And so he wanders from venue to venue, hope fading, resentment building, ears freezing.

Yet, miraculously, by the time Sundance 2006 rolls around, our poor Loser is ready to roll again. This year, he thinks, this year I’ll get into the Hugo Boss party!!

Pal, the only difference between you and me is: I KNOW I’M A LOSER. No longer for me the fawning admiration of stars. No, sirree, I openly hate anyone who’s doing better, taking extraordinary pleasure in the failures of moguls, honchos, and movie stars.

Do I sound like your kind of guy?

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