Beverly Hills Film Festival

Part 1

April 1, 2009 (afternoon)

I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

Although the Beverly Hill Film Festival lasted 5 days, I only made it through the first day.

I drove 6 1/2 hours to LA to save on the airfare, crashed at my oldest daughter’s new home for 1 hour, got dressed and headed over to the opening night event.

I drove over to the Clarity Theater, which should only take 20 minutes according to Garmin. It took 45 minutes, which is typical of LA traffic, even on a Wednesday night.

I went into the lobby of the theater and was immediately surrounded by hundreds of wannabes, dressed to attract, drinking free drinks at 5 in the afternoon. I felt old and out of place.

When they weren't drinking they were taking 'real' cigarette breaks outside. In order to give up 'regular' cigarettes many had migrated to smokeless cigarettes, which I understand come in many different flavors.

Photographers stood 3 levels deep on podiums waiting for 'top' people to arrive. When they were bored they took pictures of themselves.

Those, who were lucky to be photographed, were first told to stand in line and check in with security to see if their name was on the “list”. If they were not on the “list” they were politely told to leave the line. Those with more important credentials were escorted to the front of the line.

For example, I watched Corbin Bernsen as he stood by a pillar and photographed by more then 50 photographers (who had lots of equipment and assistants) while he kept moving his face, arms and body to get the “right pose”. He then went on to the interviewers with microphones, who each got 1 minute with the famous actor. All in all, I guess he spent 5 minutes in front of the cameras and then left the party (I mean, why stay?)

Since this was my first festival (as an invited writer for the screenplay "A Gentleman Drunk"), I pretty much stood in the middle of the room, drinking my diet coke, thinking about what to do next. When I got bored I went into the screening theatre and saw lots of fold-out chairs in a large banquet room. Needless to say, I had no desire to see someone else’s work on the screen.

If I stood still anywhere for more than 30 seconds, I got run over by wannabes shooting across the room to catch a glimpse or make a connection with “someone important.”

After 2 hours of watching the irreality (irreality - the state of being insubstantial or imaginary; not existing objectively or in fact) whirling around me, I headed over to the “exclusive after party at the Roosevelt Hotel.”

Part 2

April 1, 2009 (evening)

O.K. So now I am on my way to the Roosevelt Hotel, a 30 minute drive from the Clarity Theater. The weather is great and the streets are crowded bumper to bumper with people heading their way over to Hollywood.

While driving, I see tons of people eating in outdoor cafes and everyone seems to be smiling and cheerful. You would never know that there is a recession/depression going on or that anyone is gainfully unemployed, looking for work.

Since it was not my first time at the Roosevelt (tres expensive) I parked in a public lot near the Grauman Chinese Theatre, saving teh $30 valet parking at the Roosevelt.

I entered the front lobby and was still amazed at the old elegant charm of the restored hotel, famous for hosting the Academy Awards and where starlets can always be seen by the press and the public.

A gentleman walked up to me, seeing my Beverly Hills Film Festival badge, and asked me if he could escort me to the "party".

Feeling important, he walked me down several corridors pointing out the security men along the way. He told me that no one gets into the "party" without approved passes.

Arriving at the final door, he thanked me for coming to the Roosevelt and told me to have a "good" time.

I walked through the final door, unescorted, and immediately realized that I was in a remote dark corner of the Roosevelt pool. The area was festooned with gas-fired lanterns, colorful torches and women ready to take my drink order.

I asked "Are the drinks comped for Festival guests?" No. "How about soda?" No. I began to wonder what they meant when they said "Party?"

I walked over to the bar and curiously asked "How much for a drink?" The sexy bartender said, "White wine starts at $17/glass. Liquor is more."

How much for a diet coke?" $5 dollars was her reply."

I finally relented and ordered a diet coke and casually walked around the pool area looking for anyone remotely famous.

After two hours all I saw were the same wannabes I had seen at the Clarity Theatre earlier in the day.

Disappointed at the event, I headed back to my daughter's house where I crashed for the evening.

Curiously, I asked her how young people can afford to drink in this town. Without a beat she said, "We take flasks with us, head into the bathrooms and pour liquor into the soda glass, provided "complimentary" by the bartenders.

Her comment reminded me of my youth, lost many years ago.

 Part 3

April 2, 2009 (morning)

I wake up early. Cannot sleep. Awoken by Jordana's two cats, who I love dearly. They come when you call them. I'm sure they were dogs in a former life.

Feel anxiety weaving in and out of my body. Know that I need to get out of LA before I lose my serenity and, possibly, my sobriety. Cannot explain the feelings. Just doesn't seem right.

Tell Jordana that I need to leave LA but I would like to take her and her sister, Moira, to brunch before I head out.

We go over to Porto's, my favorite pastry place in town. There is not one single space in the parking lot. A space opens and a security guard motions us forward.

We wait 20 minutes for pastries, Cuban sandwiches and coffees. I cannot believe how crowded the place is at 10:00am. Aren't these people supposed to be at work or looking for jobs?

Jordana tells me that her photography business is doing extremely well and that she has clients lined up for the next several months.

Moira plans to attend makeup school. I tell her that she should take advanced classes where she can learn how to age people, create gun shot wounds and make people look like they live in a cemetery.

I kiss the girls goodbye.

I program my Garmin and tell it to "take me home."

It takes me 80 minutes to get out of LA and the neighboring suburbs. I finally see a cactus and pull alongside the highway.

I briefly look at the sun and the desert and smile.

POSTSCRIPT

After a couple of days, I finally get the nerve to log on and see who won the screenwriting competition.

The Golden Palm Screenplay Competition Award went to Paul De Leonardo for Europia 2050. The first runner up award went to Alek S. Carrera and Daniel Fanaberia for "Why We Live." The second runner up award went to Choices I-The Reunion, by writer James Kirtland.

Jeffrey Taylor is the author of "Selling Leasing In A Tough Economy", "A Gentleman Drunk", "The Future of Equipment Leasing" and the recently released "Going from W2 to 1099."

To learn more about his books, click on the following logo.