The D-Word's life is one of glamour and riches, as only a documentary filmmaker can live it

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The New York Times has an article this morning about the IFFM which singles out The Accident as one of the market success stories. Joe hosted a garden party on Sunday night (which I passed on) after his first screening. Guess he shmoozed the right journalists.

There was no mention of Home Page, of course.

I'm nervous. Not about the film, but about the print. Something always goes wrong at my IFFM screenings: the sound's too loud, it's slightly out of focus, they project the wrong film...

I've heard reports that films have been burned this week in Theater 3. Literally, holes burned through them.

I'm also nervous about the size of the audience. It looks good to buyers to have a huge crowd at your showing and I certainly could have worked harder to let other filmmakers know about the screening. People are dressed up in bunny suits and I haven't even taped up a single flyer until this morning.

This is the fourth film I've been to the IFFM with and I like to think I'm psychologically steeled for walkouts. With hundreds of films to catch, and meetings galore, buyers continually come and go in the middle of screenings. If they like what little they see (or if the audience seems to be reacting favorably), they'll try to catch it on tape at the video library, or ask the filmmaker for a cassette after the market.

Other filmmakers come out of curiosity, or as a favor, or maybe just to catch a break from all the selling, but they can be as brutal as the buyers if the film doesn't hold their interest.

I have a short speech prepared but it turns out I'm not allowed to say anything. The theater is about two-thirds full when the film begins.

Things start out real well. All the work we put into the opening has paid off-- there are lots of laughs in all the right places, and the room goes quiet in all the right places, too.

When I ask Carew whether I should just go to Justin's web site to find out whether the two of them are having sex and she laughs and says, "I guess," a woman to Marjorie's right lets out a cry of shocked disapproval.

Naked Justin gets a good laugh. And, as always, his line about fellating himself brings down the house.

Shortly after, the first person gets up to leave. I watch him climb over a row of people and clunk noisily up the aisle right smack in the middle of a scene.

If I had a gun I'd have shot him right there.

In fact, much of the audience winds up staying for the whole film, which is quite a tribute. But I can't help myself, it's sheer agony every time someone walks out before the end. It's hard not to feel there must be something wrong with the film.

I get through the two hours clutching Marjorie's hand, my guts constantly clenched. It barely registers that there's long, sustained applause at the end.

Out in the lobby, I'm approached by the president of a quite reputable distribution company. He proceeds to tell me how his wife recently dipped her toe in online and how he finds Home Page a surprisingly mature film.

He's not thrilled to learn that some key television territories are tied up. "But there's still a whole lot of territories left," I add quickly, shedding directorial insecurities for producer's bravado.

Naturally, he'll need all remaining rights if he's to take it on theatrically, he says. I nod, a bit surprised that sex is getting this far on our first date.

It's not an unreasonable (or surprising) thing to ask for, but as a producer you always want to separate and hold on to as many rights (be it foreign television, home video, educational or even future media not yet invented) as possible. It all gets negotiated against what they'll commit to spending on U.S. theatrical in terms of an advance or print and advertising guarantees.

All bridges to be crossed when the time comes.

Meanwhile, any number of people approach to say they love the film and, especially, Marjorie's role in it. I can see in their eyes that they're genuinely moved and it's gratifying.

Still, it's hard to get past the walkouts. A market is absolutely the worst place to first screen your film. You always want to premiere at a festival where paying audiences stay put and appreciate the work.

It's just so hard to lower my expectation levels.

On our way out, Marjorie comments that the film's themes now resonate for her much more clearly; particularly the theme of longing for community.

We've mentioned in passing a number of times in recent years about how we miss having a community of close friends. And of not taking enough time to sustain our friendships.

"We should talk about that," she says, softly. "In fact, we should talk more in general."

Back at the office, the head of another small but highly-regarded distribution company has left a message on my machine. She apologizes for having had to leave five minutes before the end of the film. She was late for an important meeting and had already stayed much later than she intended.

She feels the film is a bit long but likes it a great deal. She wants a cassette to show to her partner.

Okay, I'm starting to feel better. It's clear from just one industry screening that my biggest concern has been answered: yes, boys and girls, we have a commercial property on our hands here.

That afternoon, I try to unwind by catching screenings of three works-in progress: Susan Kaplan's, which is every bit as good as I figured it would be, another friend's, which isn't, and my Stuyvesant Town neighbor, Suzanne Wasserman's "Thunder in Guyana," which, thankfully, is very accomplished, especially for a novice filmmaker. I'll try to introduce her to the folks at Cinemax if I can.

I share a cab with filmmaker Aviva Kempner (The Life and Times of Hank Greenburg) to the Gothams. It cost $175 to get in (the "bargain" rate for a filmmaker), more than I've spent for any event, charity or otherwise, in my life. I was given a ticket a few years ago, when Michel was up for an Open Palm Award for Jupiter's Wife, and discovered almost all of the important buyers you try and get to at the IFFM all week are there. I have a second screening Friday that I want them to know about.

On the other hand, it's déclassé to do hardcore pitching there. You don't want to seem like a desperate filmmaker.

It's mostly a chance to see and be seen with the big machers of the indie film world. You nod and exchange quips with the John Piersons and John Slosses, and they silently note that you're still a player of sorts, even though you're essentially a worthless, documentary-making plankton in the vast scheme of things.

After a glass of champagne and a martini, I'm in no condition to pitch anything anyway.

I hang with Anthony Kaufman of indieWIRE and chat amiably with Richard Hershkowitz of the Virginia Film Festival and David Schwartz, head programmer at the American Museum of the Moving Image (and the Hamptons Film Festival).

I apologize to David for bypassing the Hamptons to hold out for Sundance, which requires a U.S. festival premiere to be eligible for the documentary competition. He understands. It's clear both he and Richard are as frustrated as I am by Sundance's monopoly on the late fall/early winter festival season. They because they lose the better films, and me because I'll be forced to basically sit on my film for five months just in the hope of being selected by the country's most selective and competitive festival.

I run into Ray Price, but naturally I've checked my bag with the videocassette of Home Page in it. You can send it to me at Trimark, he assures me. Can't wait to see it, he assures me.

Amy Taubin is at my table but the seats next to her are taken. Too bad. I'd love the chance to talk film with her. I urge her to take a look at Susan Kaplan's tape if she can. She thanks me for the recommendation and tells me she'll view my tape over the weekend.

I enjoy the meal and the awards (presented by the likes of Willem Dafoe, Rosie Perez, Steve Buscemi and, hey, Al Pacino), especially the well-deserved Lifetime Achievement Award to Sidney Lumet. The brief clips from Q & A, Network, Serpico and Dog Day Afternoon put today's filmmakers to shame.

But it's hard not to think of the woman sitting across from me whose past IFFM columns in the Voice have helped films like Clerks and Brothers McMullen break out from the pack and into the consciousness of The Industry.

I worry that she's seeing it on video. Home Page is not a simple narrative-- it demands time and attention on the part of the viewer. The power comes from the gradual interweaving and development of a number of storylines. The humor is sneaky and unexpected and feeds off of an audience.

She's got dozens of other tapes to view, who knows how long she'll give it? Or maybe she'll get distracted by phone calls.

It's infuriating that I don't have the power to get certain important gatekeepers to see my movie as it was meant to be seen... as a movie.

You will like Home Page, I inform Amy telepathically. No, you will love Home Page. It's the most important film you will have seen in a long time…

Afterwards, I drag my new freebie Independent Film Channel backpack filled with sponsor chachkas over to the Filmmaker Magazine party, feeling like a punch-drunk boxer in the 10th round.

The room is packed. The heartpoundingly loud music makes conversation near impossible. I take a spin or two around the room and perform a hopeless, quasi sign-language mating ritual with a few fellow sardines.

Manage to shout a few words to Eric Watson, a producer who was the very first person I interviewed for Home Page, back when he was doing freelance web design and struggling to get a friend's no-budget film off the ground. The film turned out to be Pi and the friend, Darren Aronofsky, was honored tonight at The Gothams.

My body can't take any more so I get on the coat check line for my shoulder bag. While waiting, who should enter but Ray Price. A lucky break.

I hand him the videocassette with the three glowing quotes on the back cover- including the infamous R.U. Sirius quote in Wired -- facing up. What the hell. If he's gonna watch it on tape I may as well take what little advantage I can.

I hail a cab, drag my sorry ass home and collapse.

THURSDAY the 24th

Where does the day go?

I drop in briefly on a panel called "Writing Docs" that some people I know and like are on-- namely Wendy Ettinger, Alan Berliner and Ellen Schneider. But it's pretty loosely moderated -- D.A. Pennebaker and William Greaves tend to drone on and on -- and I've heard most of it before.

Until someone asks a question about digital video, that is, and the panelists-- all of whom still work mainly with film-- get their dander up.

It seems to be the recurring theme of the week: Young Turks, faced with increasingly few funding opportunities, are looking to make films cheaper and see digital video as the Great Panacea. Meanwhile, the threatened Old Guard clings to their precious silver nitrate for dear life.

Afterwards, I shuffle off to a special-invitation-only luncheon honoring the 20th anniversary of the IFFM. High-quality industry types are gathered but they don't let us converse for long before we're directed to our tables.

I love the folks I'm sitting with -- Michel, Sande Zeig (head of Artistic License Films and the distributor of Jupiter's Wife) and Ruby Lerner (head of AIVF), among them -- but I'm frustrated. I'm there to talk up the film, not to eat or even be with dear friends.

The food takes forever to come and most people leave before the main course is served. I need to go, too, but I'm starving. So, what the heck, I grab Michel's salmon and wolf it down with my rigatoni.

Back at the Angelika, the "screening report" is in my mailbox with the official tally of how many buyers attended my screening yesterday. There are 53 listed, including many from top companies and festivals. Not too shabby, indeedy.

Of course, the bigger distributors don't send their decision-makers, and there's no way to tell how long any of these folks actually stayed, but it's a very good start.

Jane tells me that Doris Hepp at ZDF is thrilled that we've been invited to Rotterdam. It's her favorite film festival and she attends every year. Suddenly Jane isn't so gung-ho on Berlin anymore.

Coincidentally, I bump into Linda Hansen, who's working with the Berlin Forum folks. Three of them were listed on the screening report and I ask what the verdict is.

She replies that while they like the film very much (or, the few minutes they saw of it, I think to myself), they have concerns about how all the fast talking and English language text on the computer screens will work for German audiences. They just can't commit to a quick decision.

Well, I can commit to a quick decision: we'll accept the Rotterdam invite and apply for the market at Berlin. Yeehaaaaa!!!

Publicist Sharon Kahn smoothly introduces me to a journalist doing a short piece on the IFFM for Time Magazine, then quietly disappears. If she's auditioning for a job down the road, I'm impressed.

Imploring myself to stick to pithy sound bites, I try to distill the essence of Home Page in a few brief sentences, but my brain is like mush and pith is not exactly the result.

The annual Sundance party is always the biggest, most crowded and most exciting one of the market. Tonight, though, it just gives me a big migraine. I don't have the energy to work the room, so I stay rooted in one spot near the Absolut Vodka table. I'm beyond exhaustion. My main goal, basically, is to not keel over and drop.

I'm sure I'll feel excited about my second screening tomorrow, but right now...

At one point, I tell Esther and Suzanne Fedak, a distribution consultant I respect highly, that I'm considering sending buyers a humorous check-list for them to indicate their interest in Home Page. Suzanne chews me out for being self-deprecating and gives me a pep talk. "You're too important a filmmaker to give buyers that kind of power over your work. You're beyond that kind of stuff. Just put it out there, sit back and wait."

FRIDAY the 25th

Go to a "Spotlight on Docs" breakfast sponsored by HBO/Cinemax, which gives me a chance to say hi to Sheila Nevins and John Hoffman for the first time in a long while.

I've been giving them a lot of credit this week. Sure, it's a royal pain to be seeking theatrical distribution for a film that Cinemax requires be broadcast first (even if it's only a few broadcasts in a six-week window). But their funding helped me make the film, so I can hardly complain. Furthermore, Sheila promised she'd leave me alone to make my film and she certainly did that.

Nope, Cinemax been berry berry good to me.

Happily, the opportunity arises to introduce Suzanne Wasserman to V.P. of Documentary Programming, Nancy Abraham. Maybe it'll help her cassette leapfrog from the bottom of the heap pile to somewhere near the top. That's about all my connections can do, but it can at least save Suzanne some time to get an answer.

John Hoffman asks what I'm doing next, and I bring up the wedding idea again.

I'm still not quite sure what the story structure is yet, I tell him, but I know it's based around this extraordinary collection of footage I've accumulated. Something about the institution and rituals of marriage.

Suddenly, as I'm speaking, I think about my parents and their 50th wedding anniversary, which I taped the summer before last. They're such characters. Maybe I'll shoot more with them and incorporate it, I improvise.

Maybe I'll go back and shoot updated footage with some of the more interesting wedding couples, see how things are going.

And maybe I'll shoot some more stuff with Marjorie, and somehow bring my own marriage into the fray.

Hmmmm. And then again...

But even as I madly wing it, I begin to feel very excited. And John makes it a point to say that he very much wants Cinemax to be about continuing long-term relationships.

Which is why I try to keep the long view in mind, even as I work myself silly chasing the theatrical dream.

It's all well and good to get Miramax to distribute your doc, but know that if it happens it's a total fluke. Harvey Weinstein isn't going to call you into to his office, put his arm around your shoulder and go, "Say kid, whatta ya got in mind for your next documentary project?"

The second screening attracts about 40 people or so. I'm disappointed that so many of the buyers and industry folk who promised they'd be there don't show, but again it's par for the course. The Tribeca Film Center is a good 15 or 20 blocks from Angelika, and I later learn that the shuttle bus driver has apparently decided not to show that day.

So it's largely friends and editors. Lots of editors. Michel brings his editor along. Mona is there with two editor pals.

At least Bob Hawk, a wonderful, behind-the-scenes force in the indie world, is there. As is the acquisitions and marketing person from the company that approached me after the Wednesday screening.

As the film unfolds, though, a wonderful thing happens: whatever frustration and disappointment that has built up during the week dissipates and I begin to feel at peace with my own film again.

A number of people have mentioned that the film is a little long, and after the first screening Esther and I talked about possible places to make cuts should we get an offer to go to 35mm. But as I watch now I can't see any of them making a big difference. Yes, it's a tad long but it never drags. It's never less than fascinating, at least to me, and this is the hundredth time I'm watching it, easily.

And, hey, it's more than an hour shorter than Hoop Dreams.

It occurs to me that it may be my fourth film as a producer, but only my second as director, and it's been seven years between them. Home Page is also a far more ambitious and personal film than The Heck With Hollywood!. As the producer, I know it's a really good film. As the director, though, I'm still prone to sudden flashes of insecurity.

Getting respect from my peers this week, getting lectured to by Suzanne Fedak, getting selected by Rotterdam... I needed it all. But sitting quietly with the film and accepting, at last, that for better or worse it's exactly the film I set out to make, I think that's really what I needed the most.

Afterwards, everyone is bursting with praise. As Bob rushes out to catch another screening back at Angelika he tells me he thinks it's a very important film (Esther later informs me he told her it's a landmark film). The acquisitions guy is very impressed. Michel and Mona are generous with compliments, telling me the changes we slaved over for so long all work wonderfully (thanks largely to them, of course, though they're not fishing for compliments).

After it's determined I'll need to come back tomorrow to pick up my print, Esther and I go to the Time Café for a celebration drink. Over the best martini I've had in a long time, I tell her how much I love working with her and how I'd like to keep it going.

Cinemax isn't the only one interested in building long-term relationships.

I know on Monday the good ol' post IFFM blues will come my way again. I'll follow up on leads and keep the flames of interest fanned, but mostly I'll have to simply sit and wait for fate to take its' course.

Will Amy Taubin give the film a favorable mention in the Voice? Will people like Bob Hawk spread the gospel of Home Page? Will it get picked for Sundance? Will a distributor make an offer the D-Word can't refuse?

Stay tuned, folks.

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