Last Stop for Paul is a revelation. It’s the story of Cliff and Charlie, two bathroom supply salesmen from Los Angeles. Charlie is a world traveler, Cliff doesn’t leave LA. When Cliff’s best friend Paul dies suddenly, he takes Charlie up on his constant beckonings for world travel, provided they bring Paul in ash form. This is a film about self-discovery, friendship, loss, and exploration, and all the wonderful things travel affords. Sure, the acting by the folks surrounding our two leads isn't always great, but that’s because they were “found actors” literally cast on the fly in the far off place the two filmmakers were in that day. And that’s what makes the film so amazing. It’s just two guys who took an around-the-world trip and decided to make a movie at the same time. No script, no plan, one camera, two lav mics and some absolutely amazing scenery. (see fig. l)Last Stop is coming to DVD at the end of March and I will be picking up a copy. This is filmmaking via pure audacity. (And I’ll once again jump out of the present tense mode by reminding you that I’m writing from the future and telling you that Last Stop for Paul is the best narrative feature I saw at the festival.)
fig. l
And that’s depressing when you’re hoping to win best in fest for a narrative feature. Oh, bother.
Leaving Last Stop for Paul, we feel energized and excited about the fest. Bad For Business wasn’t terrible by any means, but it didn’t get us revved up and ready to go the way this film did. Forgetting the mention of an after party, Mike and I set out to grab dinner, do a day two postmortem and discuss the game plan for White Out’s two screenings tomorrow.
Mike follows me home, because Grayslake is far and I’ve got a GPS. But first we sup at Chili’s, which is unusually empty for a Friday night at around 10. I pop open my laptop to give Mike his first glimpse of my “Poster B” design for White Out. (see fig. m) He’s happy with the design and I put the laptop away, fold my hands and declare ourselves pretty well f**ked.
“Why?”
“Postcards.”
“How do you mean?”
“We don’t have any.”
“Yes.”
“We should.”
“Yes.”
“By tomorrow.”
“Kinko’s?”
“Kinko’s.”
With that decided, we rearrange “Poster B” into more of a postcard format that lists our screening times and rooms. Though I don’t think the postcard will be too helpful in getting people to join us for the day three opening feature at 10 am tomorrow, it’ll certainly help for the 5 o’clock screening. When I’m happy, I turn the laptop towards Mike for proofing. He gives it an a-okay and I save it onto my thumbdrive to take over to Kinko’s for 9 cent 4x6 photo prints, which really are the next best thing to post cards.
fig. m
The Kinko's parking lot is packed to the gills and I can’t understand why until I hear the rhythmic thumping of a nearby night club. I step out and see a dark Hookah bar with a black light above the door and a man standing out front, presumably to keep away the riff raff. Said riff raff shouts over to me, “Nice f**cking hat you f**king f**!”
I stop, assessing that they are in fact speaking to me and glance upwards at the brim of my dapper brown fedora. “Yes it is,” I say to myself, and remember the words of the good doctor: don’t take any guff from those swine! I ignore them as security pushes them to their car and duck into Kinko’s, replete with harsh fluorescent lighting to print off my handful of the-next-best-thing-to-postcards on the night before that is rapidly becoming the day of my first festival screening.
Turns out they are 29 cents apiece. Looks like only 70 for me. Put it on my business tab, thank you kindly, the same tab I used for dinner. (‘Twas a business dinner after all, discussing the future prospects of our little film) The hole of White Out grows ever larger.
