I wish I hadn’t eaten that hat.
The Festival du Cinema a la Rio, or whatever the hell they’re called, blew us off. Not the movie–they’re showing that. But it appears that my presence and (Steven Strait’s) wasn’t quite ringing the same bell for them that Andy Garcia’s was. His inability to attend ended their interest in sending us plane tickets and putting us up on the beaches at Copacabana.
Chica Chica Boom Chic.
Bitter? Not at all. A bit annoyed at what I think it’s totally fair to call a lack of professionalism. After all, they didn’t have to invite us in the first place. But I’m glad they’re showing the film and I fully intend to visit Rio some other time. Like maybe in the next life.
Click here to read the New York Times article announcing the good news: Rio has won the bid for the 2016 Olympics. Congrats, muchachos. I hope you plan on picking up the athlete’s accommodations. Maybe that’s why they blew us off–they were saving their pesos for the javelin thrower.
Chica Chica Boom.
Meanwhile, Andy Garcia–accompanied by the movie of course–will be appearing at the Ghent Film Festival in the middle of this month. I will not be attending even though they invited me. The reason? Well, at the time they invited me I had this other invitation from this festival in Rio and it seemed like too much flying. Furthermore, I reasoned that since Andy was unable to make Rio, it would be awfully big of me to turn down Ghent so the movie would be represented by somebody in Rio. I didn’t exactly expect a South American Good Will Medal for this act, but it seemed rude to me to leave poor Brazil in the lurch, while the two of us galivanted across Belgium. Result? NOTHING. No thanks, no medal, no trips.
Chica Chica Boom Boom.
Angry? Again, no! I need the time to write my new screenplay and frankly I’m always happiest getting off a plane when it’s at JFK. And anyway, there’s always GoogleEarth to show me as much of Rio as one truly needs to see–aside, of course, from the Twentieth Century Fox Rio on view in all those Carmen Miranda musicals (see below). Pardon me, am I sounding especially acrid? Must have been that plate of Brazilian food that was placed in front of me and then snatched away while I, fork in mid-air, sat goofily and trustingly by.
All right, out of my system. I’ll appeal to my higher power for direction–my higher power being a quart size bottle of Absolut, mixed with Perrier and a squeeze of lemon. Enjoy the movie, all you nutty Brazilians. Hope the projector doesn’t break down halfway through. Don’t blame me if it does. What’s the Brazilian word for Karma? Chica Chica Boom, for Chrissakes…