This summer my car broke down. My car, a 2001 Ford Taurus, named “The Batmobile” does this a lot, so this wasn’t a huge surprise. It was, however, an enormous frustration, as my job during this one weekend of carelessness was to be a driver for the Provincetown International Film Festival (PIFF). You know, pick up filmmakers and celebrities from the airport, bring them to their hotel, wish we were best friends. My car had been making strange noises since May, and, in typical me fashion, I decided to wait until the last minute (one day into my driving schedule) to check it out. Basically, I failed.
The PIFF is a cool little festival, one that I’ve tried to follow since the year Quentin Tarantino came to town. This year, the “Filmmaker on the Edge” was Darren Aronofsky, and the festival screened both The Wrestler and Black Swan in his honor. They also host an Excellence in Acting award, which this year went to Up In The Air’s Vera Farmiga. The films are usually short, quirky pieces, most of which seamlessly melt away into festival circuit oblivion, while others acquire some kind of pop culture relevance (past films Once and (500) Days of Summer come to mind).
Day One and Only of being a film festival driver started well. It was a beautiful Wednesday afternoon. I had a special sign attached to my car, which meant I could park anywhere to pick up or drop off guests without police interference. I had a snazzy volunteer shirt and wore a lanyard which made me look official. I was picking up filmmaker Ash Christian from the ferry. His film Mangus! is about a half-assed high school production of Jesus Christ Superstar with a paraplegic Jesus. He wanted to know where the hair salon was that was featured on Tabatha’s Salon Takeover; I told him it was next door to his hotel.
After dropping off one more filmmaker at her inn, I was done with my shift, so I took my car to the repair shop. This would prove to be my downfall. The spring near one of my back wheels had snapped in two, and the jagged edge could potentially puncture my tire. Not good, especially with independent filmmakers’ lives on the line. I lost the car for the duration of the festival.
This would have been tragic if this had been my only duty during the PIFF. However, I somehow managed to stumble upon a goldmine of a job: Vera Farmiga and her husband were looking for a babysitter for their two children, and somehow, I managed to snag the gig. This would not be until Friday evening, however, so I had the next two days to occupy myself with films and parties.
The night following my car’s temporary demise, I attended the opening night party with my brother Will, also a volunteer driver. I hobnobbed with Heather Matarazzo, the producer and star of Mangus! (you may remember her as Lilly from The Princess Diaries).
Will approached me and announced that he was going to drive Kathleen Turner back to her hotel and would meet up with me later. Sure, great. Thanks for the invite. See you soon.
After making all of these Mangus! connections, it seemed appropriate to see the movie as soon as financially possible. Will and I attended a screening the following night after we delivered pizzas to all the venues. The film was odd but sweet, the highlight being John Waters as a vision of Jesus in a strip club.
The next day was the first of my two babysitting gigs. Farmiga and hubby were incredibly nice, down-to-earth and actually overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of Provincetown. They had a two-year-old boy and a five-month-old girl. It became apparent that I was their first real babysitter; the pressure was on. The boy was really into Cars and had a toy figure of every character from the first movie. He gleefully told me each car’s name. I mentally began to take notes. He also had code words for what he needed to do, which became important when things like going to the bathroom were suddenly involved (he was semi-potty trained, “semi” being the key word here).
Farmiga’s husband, a synth player for the now-defunct Deadsy, handed me an iPad. “It’s his iPad,” he said, referring to his two-year-old. “It has his Pixar movies on it. He knows how to use it.” The two-year-old suddenly became more awesome than me.
The night ended with the baby not falling asleep and crying her face red just as Mommy walked through the door. Great. I just looked like a terrible babysitter in front of Vera Farmiga. Luckily, I had the next night to restore my reputation as the best damn babysitter the festival had ever seen.
The next day, my other brother and I chased Aronofsky down the street for photos after a screening of Black Swan which emotionally tore me in half. I arrived for Babysitting Gig #2 prepped and ready to wow the parents. Now accustomed to the children, I plopped down next to the boy and his Cars figurines and eagerly asked him where Chick Hicks was. Farmiga laughed, genuinely amused at my interaction with her son.
Hours later, after watching Toy Story in its entirety and the beginning of the first sequel, I realized that both children were asleep, the baby snoozing adorably on my stomach as I lay on the couch. This time, I took no chances and refused to move my body an inch for fear of waking up the baby.
After at least an hour of lying with an infant wrapped around my chest, the parents returned and were astonished. Mr. Deadsy literally put his hand to his mouth, while Farmiga grabbed her camera and started snapping photos. The baby cried upon transfer to her mother, but was quickly calmed. Will finally returned and gave Vera Farmiga and her husband some chocolate chip cookies he had made just for them. They were incredibly gracious.
The next day (the last of the festival), I decided to attend a screening of Farmiga’s directorial debut, Higher Ground. It was an excellent and honest portrayal of Christianity in America, and I am pleased that it is gaining some momentum.
After the screening, Farmiga came on stage for a Q&A. She was somewhat distraught, having just come from a screening of the Iranian film Circumstance, and didn’t look like she was really ready to be there. Then she looked in my direction. “Hi, baby!” she shouted, waving enthusiastically. She turned to the crowd and told them about the sleeping baby experience. I ran into her afterwards and gave her a final hug; the family was leaving for Nantucket the following day for their film festival. Nantucket’s opening film? Cars 2.
I got my car back the next day, after a volunteer-only screening of the Norwegian film Happy, Happy (I can honestly describe the film with the word “delightful”). I wondered how badly it would have gone if I hadn’t brought the car to the shop to be looked at. I might have driven Abigail Breslin somewhere, as she was milling around town, or maybe I could have driven an increasingly cranky Kathleen Turner back to her hotel. There’s always next year.
