Gore insists it's not possible to judge a festival until it has a full-time staff working year-round to find new films and discover new filmmakers worth inviting to their events. Until then, it's just wishful thinking -- the pet project of a disgruntled dilettante who, more than likely, couldn't get his own movie into a festival and decided to start his own. (Sounds familiar.)
"A lot of these upstart festivals I don't take seriously," Gore says. "If I were a filmmaker, I would take a hard look at them, because they don't have the infrastructure to help you. They're trying to figure out how to run a festival."
Mark Graham
Dwight Greene sees his Fort Worth Film Festival as a "remedy" to the USA Film Festival. But just what does that mean?
Dwight Greene sees his Fort Worth Film Festival as a "remedy" to the USA Film Festival. But just what does that mean?
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Before anyone rushes to praise the Deep Ellum or Fort Worth festivals, before we bestow upon them the status of Next Big Thing, keep in mind that many of the films that will play those two events have long been available on video or DVD and, in so many cases, have played the USAFF. (Or, in the case of Wadd: The John Holmes Story, the Dallas Video Festival and the USAFF.) Then again, maybe the only way to be judged is on how well you recycle yesterday's movies -- while waiting for Sundance, Cannes, or Toronto to hand down their award-winners and, too often, their castoffs.
Perhaps the worst thing about the glut of fests is how filmmakers whose films have no business playing in public keep getting invited to such events, if only to fill that "local filmmaker" quota and a little space on the schedule. Several metroplex-made films scheduled to play Fort Worth have already appeared at the USAFF -- and, for that matter, at the Dallas Video Festival. And while some are sincere ventures -- among them Matt Trotter's short film Dreamcatcher, about a boy who dreams of escaping his abusive father and meek mother -- most are the worst sort of home movies.
Among the films playing Fort Worth this year is a 40-minute film titled New Kansas, made by local filmmakers Clint and Terry Hughes. Billed as "Goodfellas meets The Wizard of Oz," the direct-to-video effort is an absurd exercise in egomania for all concerned -- the filmmakers and star Jimmy Costello, whose acting consists of sweating beneath a tank top and speaking in a Bronx whisper. It has the production values of a porn film, which it so desperately wants to be.
But for every vanity project, there is a filmmaker who just wants to get his or her movie shown, if only to a roomful of film fetishists who live in the dark. Take Fort Worth filmmaker Danny DeLoach, whose quirky, funny eight-minute movie New Clear Farm will play the hometown festival. Without fests, his film would be nothing more than a home movie to show friends and family. He knows it too, and he's grateful for the opportunity to screen New Clear Farm wherever and whenever he can.
Fact is, filmmakers such as DeLoach embody the very best of the so-called "independent spirit" festivals claim to celebrate, even when they're nothing more than excuses to throw parties with famous people.
"I've made three shorts, and I just hope they will convince someone I'm not a complete idiot with a camera so they might give me money to make a feature," says the soft-spoken DeLoach. "It'd be nice. And if it doesn't happen, I see myself working at Sears selling washers and dryers, hoping to make enough money to make a short film every now and then. I don't think I am destined for Hollywood greatness. Maybe that's because I am a happy pessimist."
Danny DeLoach is one reason they keep having film festivals. And he is the reason people keep going.
