I've been hesitant to write the final blog post in the festival because doing so would acknowledge that it's over. But all things must pass. And if you gotta go out, go out with a blowout: the closing night party concluded with a massive electricity blackout at the Lido and surrounding area. Since the party people had their own power supply, though, everybody kept on dancing in the (near) dark.

Earlier in the day, the news came in that the big festival winners were CAPTAIN ABU RAED, the first film from Jordan in 50 years; and FUGITIVE PIECES, the dramatic, nonlinear tale of a World War II survivor who has trouble shaking the past. Best narrative short went to Paul Hough's THE ANGEL. Complete winners list at the end of this post.

Sometimes I wonder about the power of coincidence. Both times I've covered the Newport Beach Film Festival, I have been unable to attend every day because some or other duty at the office ends up taking a lot more of my time than expected. So I was called home on Tuesday, thereby missing both THE REST IS SILENCE (which fest staffer Jay has been recommending to me all week) and THE SEEKERS (made by my friend Diana Ljungaes).

I was fortunate enough to see on the big screen a short that I actually worked on and helped to conceive, entitled THE ANGEL. It would probably be a party foul to technically "review" it, but I will say I was very happy to see it on the big screen. Director Paul Hough (THE BACKYARD) and star Eddie McGee (winner of the very first U.S. "Big Brother" show), both of whom I also worked with on the Fozzy music video "Enemy" (it's on Youtube, look it up), came down for the day and it's always fun to hang with those guys (pictured).

After a full day and night of working on a feature story, though, I was less in a mood to see movies and more in a mood to drink, downing four of Red Robin's "nuclear" ice teas before hitting up the documentary A SNOW MOBILE FOR GEORGE, mainly because I ran into the director in the media lounge and he said I should come. I always do what people tell me, sort of like Ella Enchanted.

Okay, filmgoers, it's time for a linguistics lesson.

CEMENTO ARMATO is the title of an Italian film. In English, would you call that movie...

(a) ARMORED CEMENT

(b) CONCRETE ROMANCE

(c) both of the above

NBFF has opted for (c). But which is it really? IMDB says (b) is the international English title, but use of an online translator indicates that (a) is a more accurate translation.

In the film itself, the line is delivered by a crime boss to describe the city outside his window as being a place where he owns everything, and where anyone who defiles it must pay. The subtitles in this scene translate his description as "armored cement."

Not that this semantic argument is of great import, save for the fact that if it screens again, it might do so under either title.

You hear all the time that men never stop and ask directions. Women use it as proof that we're all stubborn and pointlessly macho. But there's another reason.

Men don't ask for directions because they know that 98% of the time, the response from whoever they ask is going to be something along the lines of "Durrrr....hurrrr....uhhhhh....I dunno."

Point being, the Orange County Museum of Art is directly adjacent to Fashion Island. But God forbid you should actually ask a Fashion Island employee for directions to get to it. Because familiarity with one's immediate surroundings is not a prerequisite for a customer service job. That's why companies outsource 'em to India so much.

OCMA was the site of the Sunday night film fest party, though the picture I've included is actually of a model posing at Friday night's party. I figured readers would like a more naked picture. But it's a trade-off -- no string bikinis at OCMA, but we did get gift bags containing a chocolate bar made with chipotle chilis. Can't wait to give that a bite.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I did promise to talk about the HD deck breakdown on day 1.

I do not understand you festival audiences.

You have standing before you John Ratzenberger, comedic genius from CHEERS and every Pixar feature ever. He’s improvising hilarious off-the-cuff remarks, and undoubtedly has great stories to tell. And what do you do? Ignore him, and ask the director the same stupid questions that get asked at every festival Q&A ever.

“What did you shoot it on?”
“How long did it take?”
“Was it close to the script or was there improvising?”
“How long was post-production?”
“How did you do the lighting?”
“Are there any scenes you had to delete?”

Rumor had it that the Newport Beach Film Festival was looking for a high-profile opening night movie that failed to finally come through, so instead the festival kicked off with SHERMAN'S WAY, which is not to be confused with the Ross McElwee documentary SHERMAN'S MARCH -- their only common factor is that I don't like either one of them.

So no way was I going to actually watch the movie again: the only thing worse than sitting through a movie you don't like is sitting through it again after it starts an hour late following several boring speeches by people not used to public speaking, and lots of shout-outs to sponsors, most of them individually named. I get that this stuff is obligatory, and it's worth sitting through if the movie at the end of it is good. But it was SHERMAN'S WAY.

(And yeah, "the only thing worse" is hyperbole. Torture would be worse. But we're talking within the cinematic realm.)

Though the official schedule of films for the Newport Beach Film Festival is expected out tomorrow, there is one we can confirm right now: 305, subject of a recent OC Weekly cover feature, will be showing on April 28th at 9:30 p.m., as confirmed recently on the movie's official MySpace page. Most of the cast and crew are alumni of Costa Mesa's Vanguard University.

At the time of our feature, it was expected that the Palm Beach Festival in Florida would be the big premiere. But it's good to see some festival love for the local boys in their own backyard.

It's coming sooner than it seems, folks -- OC's crown jewel of film fests comes back around on April 24th. Covering it is one of the highlights of my year, and I certainly hope our coverage is a highlight for readers as well.

But for us to do our job, we need people like you. People who love film and would like to put in a few hours dealing with people like me (I'm polite in person, swear to God). In other words...volunteers.

From the official press release:

Volunteers will have the opportunity to fill many fun positions at the festival, including guest relations, merchandise sales, theater ushering, office reception, and gala and special events staffing. Three to four hour shifts are available in the mornings and evenings. Volunteers must be at least 18 years old. College students and seniors are welcome.

Interested volunteers should attend one of the mandatory orientation sessions:

March 25th at 7:00 PM - Friend's Meeting Room of the Newport Beach Public Library, 1000 Avocado Ave.

March 26th at 7:00 PM - Friend's Meeting Room of the Newport Beach Public Library, 1000 Avocado Ave.

March 29th at 11:00 AM - City Council Chambers in Newport Beach City Hall, 3300 Newport Blvd. on the Peninsula.

April 5th at 11:00 AM - City Council Chambers in Newport Beach City Hall, 3300 Newport Blvd. on the Peninsula.

For additional information contact the Festival office at (949) 253-2880 or visit the website at www.NewportBeachFilmFestival.com

One (or two, depending on how you look at it) of the highlights of the past Newport Beach Film Festival was the Death Note movies, the latest in a powerhouse franchise from Japan that began with comics, then spawned an anime series and many toys, and finally these live-action adaptations. Death Note and Death Note: The Last Name are really more like one big story cut in a half than a story with a sequel; fans of the anime have been hard of them, but I wrote at the time that "for all the twists and reversals, the story is never confusing, and it’s refreshing to see a movie in which the lead characters are smarter than the viewer. It’s like Infernal Affairs/The Departed crossed with Devilman, Primal Fear and Drop Dead Fred. If that combination doesn’t scream “Watch me!” to you, well, you’re wrong."

If you've been wondering when and how you can see it for yourself, wonder no longer. Viz Pictures, who own the rights to the anime, recently acquired the live-action distribution rights as well. They're planning to take it to a few more festivals -- Austin's Fantastic Fest and Vancouver's Asian Film Festival being the first two -- before rolling it out theatrically and on DVD in 2008. Yeah, that's a long time to wait, though I have seen the import Japanese discs for sale at local anime shops, not to mention high-end mini-statues of the death-god Ryuk.

And will the U.S. releases be able to use the Red Hot Chili Peppers songs over the end credits? Stay tuned, but I'd call that unlikely.

Don't miss out on Satoshi Kon's newest anime masterpiece, tonight at 7 p.m. at the Lido Theater, a full month before anyone else in the country gets to see it.

More info here, but it looks like tickets are only available at the box office, not online.

And no, Satoshi didn't pay us to plug his flick. It's just that damn good.

The best place to drink heavily at Fashion Island is...Red Robin. Unexpected, right? But a Jack-and-Diet there will run you $4.79 plus tax, and it comes in a full-size glass. Don't ask why the price is so strangely to-the-penny; just enjoy the fact that it's a cocktail cheaper than many beers. Other cocktails are similarly good value; a rather picky diner specified the ingredients he wanted in a Zombie, and ended up paying just $6, slices of fruit and all. But then he left half of it behind.

I'm not proud to admit I finished it after he left (with the bartender's encouragement, but that's no excuse). Needed the vitamin C from that orange slice and cherry (that is an excuse. Kind of a poor one, but it is, all the same).

In another liquor-related issue: it turns out that there hadn't been Absolut Vodka at the preceding parties because OCMA doesn't have a liquor license to cover anything more than wine and beer...and yet, last night's party was at American Rag, a clothing store, and vodka was being freely poured. Are we to understand that a clothing store has a liquor license that a museum can't get? Apparently.

The main movie of the night, previously much anticipated, was The ArtFusion Experiment, a film by and about tattoo artist Paul Booth, a guy who looks about 300 pounds, with an inked, mostly shaved head that has a small grouping of long dreads hanging out the very back, like a jack to plug him into the Matrix. The experiment mentioned in the title is one of collaborative, spontaneous art, where like minds get together and draw freehand, improvised images as a team. This can be done in tattoo form, or on paper – as previously mentioned here, Booth and company demonstrated their art the night before, on a willing victim.

Booth is great at what he does, and indeed he and other tattoo artists deserve to be recognized by the art world. With that said, the film isn't very good at all. It's possible to agree with every point it raises while wishing that it had more of a story arc, or had been better lit, or had maybe been made by someone other than its own subject. As a home movie, it beats "Dad grilling burgers in the backyard last summer," but as a theatrical movie, it's not worth paying for. Sorry, Kerry King of Slayer – it's cool you produced it and all, and you're playing to the choir here, but I'm just not digging the tune.

Someone still should do a documentary on tattooing – there's a huge market for it, judging by the inked crowd who turned out to a mall multiplex they'd likely never go near any other time. They deserve a good movie. Go make one.

Never trust Moviefone's directions. As an OC noob, I actually expected to get the correct map to Edwards Island Theaters, but the step-by-step instructions left me in the middle of Newport Beach before giving up. Fortunately, I found the Lido Theater, and the owner was more than happy to give me directions for a small fee of $25 that he waived (just for me, I'm sure).

So I made it to the theater well on time -- though a rather odd planning quirk of the festival meant that the will-call desk and the press desk were each on opposite sides of a teeming throng of rich people (dress code was specified as "black-tie optional," so like every other day of my life, I exercised the option not to wear one). This wouldn't be so bad if I had known precisely which desk to go to, or if the people at the desks themselves didn't keep telling me I should be at the other one. But we worked it out, and I only had to push through the throng three times or so.

Nobody ever cares about the opening speeches at film festivals, but here's a synopsis for those who weren't there:

Greg Schwenk, festival director (paraphrased): "Hundreds of people helped make this happen, and I shall thank each and every one of them by name right now!"

Sports Agent Guy, allegedly the basis for Jerry Maguire, and whose name I've forgotten already: "One day this festival is going to be bigger than Sundance and Cannes!"

Chad Lowe (synopsis): "Hey, I'd come down here more often, but man, that freeway traffic sure is bad! Cannes and Sundance are way too corporate. You guys have a purer love of film." The man knows his cheap pops, and we welcomed them.

Then, what sucked is that even though Greg Schwenk had already named every single sponsor, we got commercials for each one on the big screen. Hope that doesn't happen at every screening. It was longer than your average TV commercial break. But finally, Chad Lowe's movie Beautiful Ohio started.

Review to come. For now, let's talk about the after-party, held in the courtyard of the Fashion island mall outside Bloomingdale's, which had installed a runway and prepared a fashion show of some kind for us that nobody seemed to pay much attention to.

 Every year around film festival season, Absolut Vodka busts out a new flavor, and this year it's pear, which is their best choice since Kurant. Unfortunately, there wasn't a wide variety of mixers -- an apple martini made with Absolut Pears ought to be good, and I always like trying flavored vodka with Coke, but no, just cranberry, orange, and soda here. Cranberry works okay, subsuming its flavor almost totally to the almighty pear.

Food = outstanding. I've been to many festivals where some fancy restaurant is advertised as the caterer, only to have them serve just the three crappiest things on their menu (the worst ever was one party I shall not name where all they gave us was polenta, a cheese biscuit, and some endive thing, each totally flavorless and supposedly made by a great restaurant).

Anyway: tuna tartare with wasabi cream. Crab cakes and sea scallops. A chocolate fountain with mochi dippers. And some awesome white trash food too -- pulled pork barbecue, and deep-fried macaroni and cheese. It seems that anything, even county-fair-type food, can be made swanky if you serve it on a black plastic plate and stick a toothpick in it. Not that I'm complaining; the barbecue odor brought back pleasant memories of my uncle's restaurant in southwest Virginia. The only difficulty is trying to eat all this stuff standing up.

At the Thai food booth, I asked the guy what he was serving. "No question, just eat!" he yelled back. "If you like, come back for more and I tell you!" As a fan of live sushi, I was mildly miffed that he didn't trust me to eat weird food...and disappointed when I came back and he told me it was chicken and tamarind-flavored noodles.

Biggest celebrity sighting of the night, other than Beautiful Ohio's Chad Lowe and Michelle Trachtenberg: Robert Davi, who'll always be Franz Sanchez from Licence to Kill in my mind. You cannot miss that face.

When his alcoholic mother irresponsibly leaves the house for the weekend, eleven-year-old Lenny "borrows" his mother's handgun for some afternoon fun. Annoyed by having to watch over his younger brother Joey, Lenny plays a hideously mean prank, convincingly pretending that he's been shot dead by Joey. Convinced that he has become a murderer, Joey runs away to Coney Island, where his grandfather used to live and work as a sideshow midget. There he begins to eke out a new existence with money collected from recycling soda cans. Meanwhile, Lenny realizes his mistake and starts searching for his sibling.

A remake of the 1953 Academy Award nominee of the same name, this new Little Fugitive updates the story with more profanity and references to dangers like pedophilia, but it also captures a neo-realist spirit that has all but vanished from contemporary cinema, save in the films of David Gordon Green and a few others. Aging carnivals are most often the uninspired backdrops for horror movies, but director Joanna Lipper has done her homework on the history of the place, and makes deft use of old anecdotes accompanied by archival footage, none of which feels like an unnecessary tangent from the main tale. The addition of the boys' incarcerated father, as played by Peter Dinklage, similarly adds to the tale.

I haven't seen the 1953 film, which was apparently quite period-specific; judging by some opinions posted online, fans aren't happy that it has been remade. But even if Lipper's film doesn't measure up to its predecessor, it's still a whole lot better than most of the movies currently playing the multiplex near you.

LITTLE FUGITIVE plays Sunday at noon, at Edwards Island. Tickets and more information HERE