23 November 2004


We spent the weekend in our own world again, the world being the two of us and the Amsterdam Documentary Filmfest.

Cinema verite translated into hours watching reels of footage: a flying machine in the Amazon, confronting a child molester, the civil war in Liberia, displaced children in Chechnya, Guantanamo Bay, the Israeli ambassador to Sweden's acts against art, oh, and a piece about craigslist.org. That one made us laugh.

It was gogogo, running and cycling between theaters, coffee breaks in between, calling it quits every night after talking to the producers, the directors, anyone, but before the last film. We never made it to the last on our list.

Last night we called in sick altogether.

No cell phones, no e-mail, no contact with the outside world except through the screen for two and a half days. Japanese food, chocolate cake, pep talks, beer---all of this to keep us absorbing, feeling, processing.

It's all running together now. I find myself needing a break from the break, halfglad to be working tonight, half thinking, "but I could see two more movies tonight if I weren't."

The press pass: 25 euros, but worth its weight in brain mass. Except it doesn't actually weigh much.

So what does that mean?

This must be the exhaustion talking.

betholindo at 13:48

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