Checked in a couple to the hotel. Gracious people, he had a hat. She was blond and Jerry Hall to a certain degree (height, cheekbones). He donned a raincoat and a goatee. What was the hubbub next door at Crystal Ballroom, they asked.
Heck if I knew. Portlandia only films in the rain. But wait...
It was a Portlandia episode in the rain.
So on my break, I walked up the rain-slicked street and nearly fell on my ass to see if I could get a part...
Carrie and Fred weren't there. A co-worker had seen Fred in an orange vest on the street earlier and a guest told an amusing anecdote about being in the same elevator with Demetri Martin.
Joe Swanberg's Drinking Buddies is swell. Unfiltered indie like the style of brew the brewers brew to give that dark beer high and the greasy food that provides its crusty aftermath. Solid acting from the laconic, mildly-depressed bourgeoisie (Ron Livingston) to the Rabbit Angstrom-ish, highly-metabolic narcissist (Olivia Wilde). A bearded fellow by the name of Jake Johnson brings your heart. Anna Kendrick, loved her in Pitch Perfect, is worth rooting for here. Go Anna!
Truly, American cinema has an uncertain relationship with raw emotion, aside from Cassavetes, but this is subtler, Bergmanesque. I'm so grateful that movies such as this are getting made full stop. My niece would like to add: Anna Kendrick is a bad ass! Go Anna!