At 3:45 p.m., the diners at the Brew Pub Cantina in frosty, sunny Park City, Utah, are decked out in ski resort couture, which is all about the furry boots, and tall fur hats borrowed from the set of a James Bond movie. PETA would have a field day. All of New York and Los Angeles has shipped the trendiest and most avant-garde of its population to this quaint, picturesque mountain town for the Sundance Film Festival, a 10-day orgy of movies, parties, and celebrities. Signs that once pointed out bars, shops, and museums have been robed in vibrant vinyl banners identifying them as the temporary homes of the Phillips Lounge, the Heineken Green Room, the Yahoo Café, and the Legacy House. And everyone I pass looks as if they could be "someone." My New York instinct to walk down the street without making eye contact is overridden by the desire to catch sight of someone, anyone famous.
It's celeb-hunting season and I'm armed with the ultimate buckshot: a press pass.
Looking up and down hilly Main Street, nothing has overtly changed since last year when I dutifully played the role of entourage, roadie, and loyal hanger-on for an LA Band, The Jane Does, as they made their triumphant Sundance debut at the premiere and on the soundtrack of the Indie film The Jacket. My tagline of "I'm with the band" has since been replaced with the battle cry of the writer: "I'm with the press!" I find this phrase of endless value except for when it would bar me entry to a super-secret event my eyes are not meant to see. In those instances, my tune changes to "I'm a girl in a push-up bra with nice eyes." That works too, it seems, and well.
Some try hard to stand out. Others try hard to blend in. Emerging actors, budding singers, movies that need production houses, producers who need material ... Everyone who comes to Sundance needs something and it's easy to identify those who need it the most; they're talking the loudest. Then there are the lifestyle companies who seek exposure and product endorsement. The cost of the trip, the staff, and the indiscriminate doling out of "shwag"—it's all worth it for just one picture of Robert Downey Jr. swaggering in his new Linea Pelle belt or Paris sitting pretty with her new Motorola phone or Lia Sophia jewelry.
But something is different this season. On the wind I hear DJs AM, Sam Ronson, and Create. There are Las Vegas nightclubs in our frozen midst, and they're throwing down the beats like so many snowballs. Raising even the lowly temp door person to celebrity status, Vegas nightclubs have arrived, hell-bent on hoisting the Sundance party benchmark into the stratosphere from the second their VIP list hits the clipboard. Tensions run high and emotional fuses burn like flash powder as the velvet ropes seem to tighten around the Vegas staff who were imported to lend a hand and a face to the weekend's events. Our Vegas rules no longer apply; it's hard to enforce Tao and Pure's airtight dress codes in 20-degree weather.
In addition to those two cornerstone clubs, W Residences—the condo component to the W Las Vegas Hotel, Casino and Residences project set to open in early 2009—is putting on a celebrity poker tournament, completing the formidable Vegas trio. Hanging Saturday night and Sunday afternoon with the Edge Resort's Adam Frank and Reagan Silber at the W tent, I am treated to my first bona fide Paris Hilton encounter, not to mention an opportunity to finally shake the golden hand of DJ AM.
At the Hollywood Life House on Monday, housed at the Park City Museum, Pure has deftly arranged an after-premiere party for the film Dreamland, which re-creates the look and feel of the nightclub's Main Room. We mix and mingle with the likes of Matt Dillon and Gina Gershon among the old stone cells in the basement of what used to be the original territorial jail house.
By 1 a.m. I am up to my earmuffs in music, movie, and television star power. I've changed my flight home once and must hide my credit card to keep from considering making a full week of it. All talk on Main Street is about the Vegas parties and how one might even hope to see the inside of one. Like a miniskirt, you're either in or out this season. Somehow, by the grace of Goldberg I am in!
Tao's Andrew Goldberg darts in and out of Harry O's, Park City's largest nightclub and home to Tao for six full nights. I'm waved in for my third consecutive evening with the most casual of gestures, but an important one that catapults me past the multitudes. Inside, my visit reaches its apex as I am shuffled from one celebrity to the next and give in to my girlish urge to grab a photo with Wilmer Valderama. Singers Rob Thomas and G. Love, actors Danny Masterson and Adrian Grenier, and socialite Jack Osbourne are holding court, lending their enthusiasm to the night with their every move.
On the heels of last March's hard-to-miss Vegas presence at the Winter Music Conference, Tao, Pure, and the W signed up separately this year to bring their brand to the pretty people of Sundance. Perhaps next year they—along with the other Vegas nightclubs that will inevitably follow these leaders—will find a way to team up and present a unified Vegas, a warm front to sweep in and once again heat up the cold, cold Sundance nights.