the (temporary) extinction of the tiger

The ten days of IFFR go so fast, just a few more blinks of the eye of the tiger and another brilliant week will be over. The tigers are walking on their last (rear) legs. Exhaustion, booze, stolen kisses, awkward customers and lunch-bags (what happened to the treats, people?) are taking their toll, pushing the brave tigers over the edge.
As always, now is a time for reflection, but since I have no intention of turning this blog into an evaluation, I'll share some older memories with you first.

I mentioned it before, I used to work in the Pathe cinema during my studies. This means that I've spent 5 years making and selling popcorn, pouring liters of coke, cleaning chairs, disposing garbage, cleaning white doors, washing puke out of a guy's hair, sweeping floors and selling tickets.
Once a year the building, my building, was taken over by IFFR-people. And I hated it. They were arrogant snobs, looking down on us 'commercial guys', prohibiting people to take their coffee into the cinema, sticking posters on the walls (leaving tape-marks that I would have to clean up afterwards) and they did not have to wear a uniform, like us, in a time the girls still had to wear a skirt, yellow shirts and a scarf tied around the neck. Throwing down the IFFR banners was a ritual that I looked forward to most, especially at the end of the Volkskrant-dag.
So what happened?
The parties, getting to know the people (I made sure the location-manager knew my name and where to find me), a sense of unfullfillment in regular day-job causing a longing for a trip down Pathe-lane; just selling tickets.
(picture was taken 2 years ago, btw)
During my Pathe-years I bonded with Tanja over an IFFR-incident. As some of you might know, IFFR people take their refreshments very serious. That is, coffee and espresso, not so much the popcorn or sweets, which, contrary to what happens in the box-office, practically remains untouched for ten days. And those who do not bring their own flask of herbal tea, are condemned to queue. I also had a woman who refused to pay 1,80 for her hot water, because 'she had brought her own tea bags'... A few years ago Pathe only had one (1) coffee-machine. For over one-thousand (1000) customers. Can you imagine that? Now picture the same machine breaking down due to heavy usage. So I had to climb on top of the counter and shout to an angry mob that there was no more coffee, and that yes, this also meant no more capuccino (or tea or espresso). Well, that culturally responsible, environmentally and otherwise appropriate left wing crowd turned terribly sour and was ready to lynch me. I survived but sharing this with Tanja left us with similar scars and a fear of Volkskrant-readers.

The films aren't really the highlight for me. I was watching a documentary about the very serious problem of soil-polution and illegal garbage dumps in Italy. I guess I wanted to see something responsible, but kept dozing off untill a text-message from Tanja saved me. Of course having chips with her at Schippers-chips is much more important than watching this, well, garbage.
Or yesterday, queueing for one hour and then falling asleep in a film about loud, drinking French college-students. Or watching ecoline-stains change colour, for an hour and a half. Falling asleep is casual damage or a welcome powernap, depending on how tired you are. Over the years I also learned to get up and walk out, a skill proving to be very helpfull in the rest of my life.

Of course IFFR is also the perfect place to rebound and creating new memories that you might like to forget as soon as the festival is over. Now these war-stories about single and not-so-single men are not suitable for a public blog, and should only be shared in a one-2-one dialogue. Even then they contain a kiss-and-don't-tell-clause. You can always ask, but I don't guarantee a satisfying answer.
For now, this tiger is going to bed and gain some sleep before the grand finale of the End-party, the Volkskrantdag and the volunteers-party.

I ffr, U ffr, We all ffr

There's something magical about that first day of the International Film Festival of Rotterdam (iffr). It's full of promise, you are not yet intimidated by long queues of people while you are parking your bike (that comes when you turn round the corner and find out that the first guy has been there since 4 in the morning). You don't know yet that the film you want to see most will be sold out (both online and at the box-office). Armed with your 'Volkskrant-bijlage', you walk towards a volunteer who smiles at you welcomly, helping you to get your seats, you hope.

But if you're that volunteer it's different kind off tension. My mother is trained not to call me unless it's to have lunch at the Doelen. Even my colleagues know not to expect to much from me this week. I'm otherwise engaged. My friends invitation to go see 'have you heard about the Morgans?' is replied with a somewhat annoyed 'I can't, its Iffr (duh), so neither can you, not unless you go to the Kuip' (as if). Iffr to me means holiday in my own city, a city I'm still proud off, even when I'm angry with my country (it happens). A holiday filled with old & new friends (and ex-lovers), parties, crap movies where you can catch up on your sleep and great films that you will talk about in years to come.
So as I walk into the main building (Doelen), and greet the people I see once a year, the knot in my stomach finally unties. I collect my bag, my t-shirt and my drinking-ticket, and we're back.

That is, untill my supervisors place me at the end of the line (few customers, so really boring), near the exit (cold!). There's no coffee and the first customer doesn't even ask what he want's, he just starts screaming his complaints and after the second customer my computer deletes half of the tickets. I forgot, Iffr sucks, sometimes.

But, with some excitement I open up my first 'lunch package' for dinner and thank God for rolls with normal cheese and chicken (instead of that creamy fruit salad they gave us two years ago). The supposed apple square is greeted with less enthousiasm, but proves to be bonding material with other volunteers ("what do you think it is?", "I'm not sure" "Hi, I'm Therese etc.". And, it's Iffr, so when I make some people happy with tickets that were sold out online and nobody complains about the 1€ transaction fee implemented this year, I'm happy and I remember why I'm here (the free movie-vouchers help).

Technically it's not really the first day since I've already had box-office training, e-mail conversations about the rubbish reservation system with my best friend, planned my work-life around my Iffr-life, walked out on my first film (Kamui, sorry, I draw a line at Japanese Ninja's with a visible blue screen), drank away my first tokens and got re-aquainted with the 'bouwploeg' at last saturday's livingroom party.

Twelve more days, and I'm looking forward to every single one of them, (accept for that last sunday of course).

the IFFR bubble

I wrote about this before, a couple of times actually, the IFFR bubble. It's very hard to explain to non-IFFR people. And Volkskrantdag visitors don't count, simply because they don't have to suffer for their tickets. There, I said it.
I made an attempt to explain the feeling to a friend: "I have no sense of time anymore," I showed him my hand which had various notes and the present weekday and date written on it. "Cycling back and forth to town, rain or snow, has no impact. My Christmascards are still on top of my cupboard, unopened mail piles up. I'm walking on my last legs and my mind is in real-life-oblivion." My friend responded that it must be like being high. Honestly, I wouldn't know, but I'll take his word for it.
I stopped doing laundy, washing up, writing application letters or returning my mothers phonecalls. My choice of clothes is reduced tot a standard uniform that involves the yellow keycord, a skirt, sneakers and legwarmers. My phone tells me I still have 4 'new' voicemail-messages, which have to wait another week. Instead I go from my subco-shift (coordinating the box-office which involves a lot of problemsolving and super-last minute ticket selling for sold out screenings) to an obscure film in one of Rotterdam's cinemas and back. Some films are worth watching, others worth getting some eye-shut in and a few worth remembering. And in this process, that I share with another 800 volunteers and 274.000 visitors, it's every man for him or herself. In order to survive you have to maintain a certain amount of selfishness. Until it's well past midnight and everybody gets together in the cozy, smoky livingroom of Hotel Central. Even though it's been a few hours since I got my coat and told everyone I was really going home... This has nothing to do with a lack of spine, but more the combination of red port with ice and enjoying time spent with lovely people whom I won't be seeing for a while. These type of festivals are like children's camps, but for grown-ups. Responsibility doesn't matter as much: that's how you end up behind a button on IFFR's own version of 'Take me out'. And get chosen.
That's IFFR: all consuming, simultaneously energetic and tiring, exciting and exhausting; a life reduced to a flowchart. Maybe it's more a black hole than a bubble.
The black bubble ended a couple of days ago and I'm still showing signs from post-IFFR exhaustion. You know this when you try to stick your keys into an ATM-machine, still live of leftover lunch-package sandwiches you put in your freezer (I'm unemployed people!) and the mere thought of watching another film (Cinerama or not) gives you the shivers.
Can't wait till next year!

Film festival widow

It's been a year since I wrote my Iffr tribute blog (I ffr, U ffr, we all ffr). Mainly because it's been a year since the last International Film Festival Rotterdam and let's face it, the rest is merely details.
So it's that time of year again. Even my regular colleagues are excited for me: "wow, two whole weeks of doing nothing but watching films". They think work ends as soon as a film is sold out, and how many films can you play? Sigh. The average of 70 screenings per day across 29 venues is just to abstract for them. So I had to correct this image; it also involves a lot of parties, dancing, fun people, drinks in the theatre (Schouwburg) and cruising from one cinema to the next depending if you're looking for the best film or the most comfortable chair (naptime advise: Pathe 7, back-corners). Oh, and work, lot's of hard work, obviously. You don't just take two weeks off of work just to watch films. That would be silly.
I started well this year, the crew-pre party was fun and I sat through the whole film without falling asleep! Fortunately it was a good one; a Chinese romantic comedy (Love in a Puff). So that's one down, 14 to go, if I don't want to look like a complete wimp in the eyes of my Iffr-friends.
I also attended a Q&A already. So what if it was by accident and had nothing to do with directors and actors but with Spanish Flamenco dancers who happened to perform in the Schouwburg for the Flamenco Biennale, when I was there for a birthday-party. Questions were asked. Answers were given. So I can cross Q&A of my list.
This year I also had to prepare my boyfriend Hook for his role of Film Festival widow, for he will suffer from movie-related neglect. I'll supply him with a stack of dvd's and a spare Therese-doll... My other preparation for the whole ordeal don't go much further than making the mother of all lasagna's so that I can eat something other than Daily Wok during these weeks, practising my poker-face; you never know when some-one wants his money back for a crappy film. For yes, this actually happens and I can't wait to blog about it.

Pathe-tic

Once a year I'm back where I belong, where I'm truly happy. Who cares about a masters degree in Criminology if you can sell tickets at a festival without being paid for it?
Because that's exactly what I'm doing right now at Iffr. Where other volunteers ask me if I don't find the box office in Pathe claustrofobic or boring, I have to say 'no'. And I really don't, its my favourite location, for the simple reason that it's a place where I've worked for 5,5 years during my studies and I've always been very happy there. So nothing brings me more joy than telling people that a film is sold out, or in very rare (and usually Korean) occasion available, than from my chair behind bulletproof glass in a cubicle also known as 'the aquarium'. And who wouldn't love a dialogue like this:
- You could also go see 'Vapor Trail'?
- What? that film is over 260 minutes!
- really? Wow, I've had relationships that didn't even last 260 minutes...

At the Pathe Cinema's there's also the extra perk of 'common crowd', youngsters seemingly unablivious to the fact that the Tiger (symbol of iffr) has taken over the city. They point to the bulletinboard above the ticket-box and ask if we don't have any movies this evening. This is the moment when I smile apologetically and say that we have over 300 films and if they are interested in a black and white Japanese film on gangs in Tokyo or a familydrama from the Philipenes that they are more than welcome to buy a ticket. But if they want to see Avatar or A serious man, they have to go to the south-end of Rotterdam. Usually they turn at their feet when they hear 'black and white'. Honestly, I can't blame them on that part. Most sought after film after 'a single man' and 'Dial M for murder', at Pathe yesterday was Avatar...
The funny thing is, besides spotting the confused youth from a mile away, that the Tiger is absolutely everywhere. It's virtually impossible to miss it; it's on posters on the streets throughout the city, it's in newspapers, I found a notification on my bike and even on some money. The postman-bag in various colours is the must-have accesoiry this filmseason.
Sadly, unless you're a seventeen year old yob on a first date, monday the 8th of February, everything is back to normal and fashion and life in Rotterdam no longer includes tigers.

First IFFR short

An important IFFR lesson is: never give away your one's and five's too soon with the voting opportunity the UPC audience appreciation leaflets give you. Because you never know whats going to happen at the next screening. You can sit in, let's say, a black and white Asian film, that is extremely slow, makes you fall asleep and pray for a sudden death of the main characters in a hope that it will end the movie. Which by the way, it didn't.
But! I'm very glad I gave this one a two (2=bad), so I could donate my one to the drama (not the genre) I witnessed today. One aka 1 aka very, very very bad; the kind of bad that makes you wish the sponsors pulled the plug a long time ago and possibly even change your political view in order to prevent such catastrophes from ever happening again. All I thought was: "I still have an episode of the Mentalist on video" and "I could be at home knitting right now". When I felt a pang of jealousy when someone did leave, and that person wasn't me, I decided it was time to ... give it another ten minutes. You know me, I'm an optimist and want to give things a chance. But even the subtitles were lacking. No realy; from every whole sentence that was spoken only 3 words came back at the bottom of the screen. So I saw crappy pictures of a cruiseship, with people speaking obscure languages and words like: 'aids money Bulgar', which left me clueless and wanting to go to H&M. Or at least go home and blog 'n bitch about it. The best bit about the film was a cute youtube-film about two kittens meowing a boring passenger watched on her laptop (I could tell even she was bored with the whole ordeal) and, eventually, tearing up the paper at the double thumbs down section. It was deliberating and should be a privilige extended to the rest of society. Nice checkout-lady at supermarket, kgggg, a 4. Dumb bastard cutting of with his car, kgggg, 1!
I'm still waiting for my 5, better luck next time.

The roast of 2009

I have to be honest, 2009 really wasn't that bad for me. It was pretty average, I've loved some, and I've lost some. I saw a reasonable amount of good films (Bronson, 500 days of summer) and some crappy ones (attempted David Lynch's Lost Highway again). Discovered new musicians, some of which aren't that old (Jason Mraz, Elbow, Kyteman, the Smiths). Saw old friends (Anastasia) and met new friends (buurman Sander).
But, this wouldn't be a proper blog if I didn't have something to bitch about.

So here are the things I decided to leave behind in 2009. I burned them.
Literally.
Number one is bad behaviour from guys towards me. That means: lying to me (about age, other girlfriends...) or not wanting to get to know me better (that didn't get him very far). Although, I could miss their nonsense, they do make good stories, but none of them are appropriate to share on a public blog.
Next on that list is overmeddling ex-girlfriends. Well, one in particular. If you're not sleeping with him, you have no business telling him what to do and who with... Of course the spineless dude attached to this fine example of a she-devil also stays behind in 2009 (see the first point on this list).
Number 3 is catalogue store Wehkamp. It's been four months and I'm still waiting for my special edition Fight Club dvd. They have sent me the alternative I suggested, unfortunately they also billed me for it. Apparently the concept of customer-service is too much to take in. So, forget them, they lost me for a client.
Then, four, on a more personal notice; I from now on refuse to feel guilty for not calling my grandmother as often as she would like. She ruined that when she gave me a box of chocolates way past it's expiration date and already opened saltine crackers for Christmas.
5. The compulsory finishing of books. You know the feeling, you're reading it, but are slightly dissapointed. You know it's a 'must read', but you feel like the 400 pages in front of you are not only wasting your time, but also keeping you from reading a book that is worth the effort. If it sucks, it sucks. So put the book down, it will not get any better, so who cares how it ends?
Another thing that gets left behind in 2009 is crappy volunteerjobs. I really don't mind volunteering. As a matter of fact I think it's a good (cheap) way to attend festivals, what's more, be a part of it. But, being stuck in a mouldy tent on a rainy campsite, or breaking down 80 army-beds from a dormitory and stuffing disgusting duvets in a binbag is not my idea of having fun. Neither is welcoming other volunteers with a large wooden sign on an island with wind power 8 nor scanning paper tickets in the pouring rain. In those cases, it's just not worth it.
(looking forward to volunteering at IFFR though!)

Now the last one (bare with me, I'm almost done) isn't really for me, but for my friend. I dedicate a bloody bonfire to the roast of B. He needs to get his beardy behind out of my superhero-best-friends head. There is no need for him to join us in 2010, he's not worthy of her awesomeness. That's all I'm saying.