me and you and everyone we know

It was everything I dreamed of and more. Last night I went to see the premiere of Miranda July’s new film, “Me and You and Everyone We Know.” Here’s how it went down:
Nicole, her boyfriend Beau, and I showed up at the Guild theater an hour before showtime. There was a line of people around the corner waiting to buy tickets, though there was a limited amount available. The folks with passes had priority, so the odds didn’t seem good that we would get in. Beau and Nicole wanted to bail, but I cajoled them in to sticking around, just in case. We were standing in line, talking about America’s Next Top Model, when Adam Forkner walked by, looking for Calvin. We chatted for a moment. A while later, Calvin himself came by. You might ask yourself, “Did Calvin save the day?” The answer, of course, is “yes.” Turns out he had two extra tickets that he was going to sell to Khaela’s friend. (Some background, Khaela is a local musician/performance artist who NEVER. FUCKING. REMEMBERS. MY NAME. We’ve met about twenty times.) At this point Calvin and I are walking together to find Adam, holding hands, when Khaela comes rushing up to us with her friend in tow. She vaguely acknowledges me, then says to Calvin, “This is James, they guy who’s gonna buy your tickets.” Calvin coolly replies, “Actually, I just sold them to Willow.” She gave me the first of many filthy looks she would direct at me as the evening wore on, but I didn’t care! I was in! Nicole and I left Beau in line, and sat right in the third row with Calvin and his friend Jason. Miranda July herself was only a few seats away. Oh, and don’t worry about Beau. He eventually got in too, and as we had saved hime a seat just in case, everything was a-ok.
Looking around the theater I felt like I had been transplanted into the final scene in Rushmore (please excuse this second Wes Anderson reference in a week). It was in slow motion, everyone I’d ever met, sitting in unlikely combinations, conversing animatedly, waving at me as I looked their way. The room was glowing with good will, and I was happier that I’ve been forever. Miranda stood up to introduce her film, and it was clear that she felt it too. She said that this was the moment that would make it all real for her. Not Sundance, not Robert Ebert singing her praises (as he did last week), but here, at the Guild theater, in Portland, Oregon, her old home, with us. She said that after this screening she would finally be able to sleep.
And then the film began, and it was perfect. I don’t want to give anything away, because it needs to be discovered. I will say that the feeling I got watching it was the same as when I saw “Lost in Translation,” or “Bottle Rocket” (ref. #3) for the first times. New. Beautiful. Human. Funny. It will open in NY and LA in the next few weeks, and I’m sure it will get good distribution eventually. If you have the chance, by God, you must see it.
There was an after party. ALERT! ALERT! WILLOW MAKES A GIANT ASS OF HERSELF IN FRONT OF HER NEW HERO, MIRANDA JULY! READ NO FURTHER IF YOU ARE FAINT OF HEART!! THIS IS REALLY BAD, FOLKS!!
The party was at this new sushi restaurant downtown. I walked over with Calvin and Jason. I had my digital camera in my purse. One of the assignments on “Learning to Love you More” is to take pictures of strangers holding hands. I had this brilliant idea that I would ask Miranda if I could take her photo holding hands with someone. She would instantly know what I was referencing, and we would share a secret smile as the flash went off. Then she would invite me to be in her next film, telling me she was always on the lookout for clever, pretty girls to play her misanthropic kid sister, or something. Of course, I could have asked Calving to introduce me. Or I could’ve just tapped her on the shoulder and told her I liked her movie. But I was smart. I was bold. I was a fool. After a few false starts, I worked up my nerve. She was sitting with my friend Jona and “dirty look” Khaela when I approached her. Here is a transcript of my mortification:
WW: (interrupting her conversation with some girl) Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering? If maybe? I could take your picture holding hands with this girl?
MJ: (Secret smile! YES!) But I know her. She’s not a stranger.
WW: Oh. But you’re strangers to me.
MJ: I’m afraid I didn’t make myself clear on the website. The subjects of the photos are meant to be strangers to each other.
WW: Oh. (I tap the shoulder of the girl at the next table) Excuse me? Would you hold hands with Miranda July while I take your picture?
MJ: Actually, I know her too.
WW: Oh. Well, is there anyone in radius that you don’t know?
MJ: I don’t really want my picture on the website.
WW: Oh. (mumble mumble) Um, I really liked your movie. (WW flees.)
Sigh. I am an asshole. But Jill, who I met recently, and is a big Miranda fan made me feel better. She pointed out that since Miranda is a performance artist, she’s probably embarassed herself millions of times. And since she’s ultimately a humanist, she probably didn’t hold it against me. So despite the humiliation, it was a great night. Jill, Ryan, Ethan and I finished out the evening at the Virginia Cafe, trying to define “Expirimental,” as it pertains to film, and swapping other embarassing stories.
I finally felt like myself again, like I live in my skin again. It’s great to be back.