EDITOR’S NOTEBOOK

Nancy Cheever

It was a brilliant idea. Bring fresh independent cinema by local

and international filmmakers to Newport Beach and offer it up at some of

the most beautiful theaters in the country. Some of it was gritty and

daring. Some of it was mystical and captivating. And some of it was

downright cheesy.

But the Newport Beach International Film Festival was more than just a

place where stories were told. It was a place where stories were made.

It was the place where Newport Beach jailor David Sperling premiered

his ultra low-budget “Drunk in Public,” an 18-minute short about Mark

David Allen, arrested 97 times for being -- well -- drunk in public. It

was where filmmakers from Ireland, Wales and Taiwan gathered to show

their best in the backdrop of Newport Bay. It was where ordinary people

clanged glasses with Gary Busey and Jack Lemmon. It was where Diane Ladd

said, “Newport Beach is just like Palm Beach, but with a little more

love.” It was where the German cast of “Das Boot” ascended the Edwards

Big Newport driveway with their colorful periscopes poking through their

limousine moon roofs.

It was where a staff of volunteers and film buffs like Balboa Island’s

Pepe Serna turned an outrageous idea into a major contender in the film

fest circuit.

It was two weeks out of the year when Newport Beach turned into a

mini-Cannes, replete with red carpets, opening-night festivities and

awards ceremonies.

And it worked. For four years this town was treated to some of the

best stories from cinematic entrepreneurs from our own backyard and from

many other towns like it around the globe.

But two weeks ago that bright light on Newport’s yearly date book was

dimmed as festival co-founder Jeffrey S. Conner closed its final scene by

filing for bankruptcy.

Whatever the reason for the festival’s demise, one thing is clear: It

surely wasn’t from lack of interest. Attendance at the festival had

increased each year, and film entries jumped from about 200 the first

year to more than 500 this year. Besides, anything new takes time to

catch on.

Orange County boasts one of the largest film-going audiences in the

country and there is a demand for independent films here. Many art house

theaters exist in the Newport-Mesa area. Edwards Lido Village, Edwards

South Coast Village, Edwards Town Center -- they all present little-known

films on the chance that people will go see them. And they do, just not

at the levels of major motion pictures.

Audiences here are sophisticated and cultured and crave good stories.

Like the one Newport Beach’s Alan Fraser told when he turned a

South-Central coin-operated laundry into a forum for the Rodney King

riots.

The demise of the film festival, and the problems of independent film

in general, is money.

That’s because most of the money in film is in the hands of big-budget

motion picture companies that can neatly package a major yawner into a

major winner.

Independent films, however, are made on a shoestring budget by eager

filmmakers who spend their trust funds, max out credit cards and plead

with family and friends for production support. At this year’s

opening-night reception I saw foreign filmmakers in nice suits sporting

hand-held VCRs while later I gave a lift to an American guy who sold his

car to make his first movie.

When you break it all down, it’s money. It’s money that Conner

apparently mismanaged. It’s money that giant movie companies use to lure

in audiences. It’s money that makes stars stars. It’s money that no one

gave to help the growing but struggling festival.

And it’s money -- or probably the lack thereof -- that closed the book

on our film festival stories.

NANCY CHEEVER is the entertainment editor of the Daily Pilot.