My old column, The Sundance Suckers, is as true today as when I wrote it back in 2003. I don’t get all aflutter at the mere mention of the Park City film festival like some media. That’s because I’m much too cynical. If you accept the premise that the film business is the folly of the filthy rich, then the independent-film business must seem the folly of the stupidly rich. Lore has it that, if a sucker is born every minute, all eventually land in Hollywood — with a detour to Park City during January alongside stars and wannabes (hard to tell them apart beneath those real and fake shearlings). As for financing independent films, it’s a case study in pigeon finding. And, in Sundance, birds of a different feather flock together, but they’re still birdbrains for putting money into the lame-ass indieprod biz which coughs up a financial hit maybe five times a year. The rest is money-losing art and vanity.
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