When the room goes dark all will be made clear

If you had told me a month ago that I would be attending the Sundance Film Festival 2010, I would have thought you were crazy. But when my dad, a movie critic and inveterate Sundance attendee, told me that he would once again make the trip south, I walked away thinking, "Damn, I'd love to go." And then I realized - what's stopping me? When I mentioned it, he gave me a look and said "possibly," and I didn't really think too much of it. At that point, I had no plane ticket, no accommodation, and most importantly, no passport. I went home from work and forgot about it. I woke up the next morning to the sound of a new text message. It was from my dad. It read: "Jake, you can come ONLY if you complete these two very difficult tasks - 1: get your passport, and 2: obtain press accreditation for Sundance." I raced out of bed to call him. It was for real. I actually had a chance to go. There was hope.

In my email inbox there was also a note from my dad explaining how to obtain press credentials. The basic plan was to tell the Festival execs that I would be reporting for The Strand and that I'm a 20-year-old film student at UofT. I fired off a very polite email explaining this to the woman my dad had told me to contact, and began researching how I could get my passport.

Early on a Tuesday morning, I trekked down to the passport office and got in line. When it was my turn, I went up to the lady, and so began the most frustrating three hours of my life. When my number was called, I approached a disgruntled woman and showed her my documents. Everything checked out, but then she asked for a second piece of identification and I handed her my health card. "Sir, why does your health card have your father's signature on it?" she said, coldly. "What do you mean? I got that health card when I was born," I replied. "Sir, I don't understand - why does your ID have someone else's signature on it?" "Because he signed it!" "WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU ALLOW THAT?" "MA'AM, I COULDN'T SIGN MY FUCKING HEALTH CARD WHEN I WAS HALF A YEAR OLD." "Fine, you want to argue with me? Go call my manager if you want to argue." "Fine. Give me your manager." "She's not going to help you. If I accepted that health card as valid ID, I would feel morally reprehensible. You'll have to go down to the health card office down the street and obtain it in three to four business days. See you later." "No you won't," I muttered.

I walked to the manager's office and explained the situation. "I understand, sir. That's very frustrating. However, I can't help you," she said. My heart sank. "I can only tell you what you shouldn't do," she continued. "You should not take a bottle of Purell and paper towel and try to wipe your dad's signature off. You should not try that." She handed me the contraband, and I went to work.

I walked out with an evil grin on my face, lined up, took another number, and finally got to a new clerk. "Everything checks out, sir. That'll be $130." I was so happy.

I had secured my passport, but not my press credentials. A few days later I got a reply from the press woman. "Hi Jake, we'd love to have you as press, but you aren't 21. We'd be happy to see you next year, though. We're really strict about drinking here. Sorry!" I was livid with frustration. Why on earth would drinking be related to press screenings of indie movies? Were they really that bad? What was I getting myself into? Fuck you, America, and your backwards drinking laws. Whatever, I said to myself. I wasn't going to let that stop me, so I told my dad the only option I had was to buy an "Adrenaline Pass" at a whopping $400 USD, which got me into any movie screened before or at 11am, and any movie screened at or after 11pm. This would guarantee two movies a day at the cost of my sleep. But let's be honest - I go to UofT. I sacrificed sleep two years ago. The pass meant one early morning movie and one late night movie. Factor in bus rides, question and answer sessions (Q&As) and line-ups, and I would be getting about 3-4 hours of sleep a night. Sign me up!

My dad and I touched down in Salt Lake City International Airport, and drove to our hotel, The Yarrow, in lovely Park City, Utah. Some facts about Park City: it's supposedly the richest city in America, it hosted events for the 2002 Winter Olympics, and it claims to have the "greatest snow on Earth." It's also the home of Sundance.

My dad began to show me around, and I got a primer on the Park City bus service, which is amazingly free all year round. Where you would normally put your TTC fare is labeled "Donations," and the drivers aren't the surly characters that you typically find operating a streetcar. I even had a stop right outside my hotel, and there were buses named "SFF THEATRE LOOP," which would take riders to seven of the eight Sundance theatres all day long: the Eccles Theatre for premieres and galas, which seats 1270 people (think The Elgin in terms of TIFF); the Egyptian, a quaint little theatre adorned with pyramids and scarabs, and probably the most famous Sundance theatre; the Holiday Village Cinema, a hotel/seedy theatre that housed many midnight screenings and was my most frequented venue due to its location right across from my hotel; the Library Center, a lovely school transformed into a Sundance venue; the Prospector Square Theatre, which my dad and I visited on numerous occasions because of the great steak house nearby; the Racquet Club, a fitness centre that Sundance had made over; and of course, the Yarrow Hotel Theatre, which was where I was staying. The Yarrow was amazing; along with the slick theatre, it had an excellent restaurant and a heated outdoor pool. And last, but certainly not least, there was the Temple Theatre, a Jewish community centre that had to reached by a special bus. Because it was out of the way, most people didn't bother going, but it wasn't even hard to get to - there was a Temple express bus that took you there in minutes.