Although I have yet to see something really God-awful at the festival, a lot of critics have already given me their picks for worst movie at CineVegas. Apparently, Frownland, All God’s Children Can Dance and In the Land of Merry Misfits would’ve prompted a few walk-outs if critics didn’t have a professional obligation to stay until the end credits.
Personally, I’ve never walked out of a film, although today, for the first time, I failed to walk in to a film.
6 P.M. (approx.): I arrive at the Palms for the Mr. Untouchable screening. My press packet didn’t include a ticket for the film because they had already sold out, so I was advised to arrive early in order to ensure entry. With an hour ’til showtime, I’m feeling pretty safe. I ignore the outdoor parking lot and head straight for the garage.
6:05 P.M. (approx.): Traffic up the ramp is slow-going, but after a few minutes, I pull off on the third floor.
6:15 PM (approx.): I’ve investigated every nook and cranny on the third floor and gotten stuck behind more than a few cars blocking traffic, their blinkers laying claim to parking spaces that don’t appear to be opening up. I head up to the fifth floor.
6:20 P.M. (approx.): Looks like the roof is packed to capacity as well. Waiting to head back down.
6:25 P.M. (approx.): Huh. My car hasn’t moved in five minutes. Startin’ to get a little worried. I’ll circle the roof one more time, and maybe I’ll get lucky.
6:30 P.M. (approx.): As I drive by the elevator again, a chatty couple emerges. “Excuse me, are you parked nearby?” I ask. Ignoring me, they dart across several rows of cars to where I can’t reach them. Am I that intimidating?
6:35 P.M. (approx.): The line of cars waiting to leave the roof still hasn’t moved, but it has gotten longer. My car idles by the elevator until two guys dressed in matching beach outfits appear. “Excuse me, are you parked nearby?” Ignored again. I decide to tail them, a few feet behind. And, yes, I feel like a stalker.
6:36 P.M. (approx.): Dear God, these guys are slow. I’m afraid to look in the rear-view mirror, but I can FEEL the rage of the drivers behind me.
6:37 P.M. (approx.): YES! YES! They’ve reached their car! It’s not a pick-up truck, but it’s one of those cars with sort of a pick-up truck back to it, which they pop open … before climbing in … sitting down … and removing two beers from a cooler. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!
6:40 P.M. (approx.): I’ve never missed a screening, and I’m not about to start now. I decide to park in either a No Parking Zone with diagonal yellow lines or a handicapped spot and risk getting towed.
6:45 P.M. (approx.): Okay, so all those spots are taken, too. And not a handicapped sticker among them. I’m back in line to leave the roof.
6:55 P.M. (approx.): Panic. I’m literally trapped in the parking garage. In 10 minutes, I’ve only moved forward about four car lengths, but now I’m on the ramp. If I wait in line to leave the garage, I’m screwed, so I squeeze between the line of cars and the wall of the ramp in order to reach the fourth floor. It’s my only hope.
7 P.M. (approx.): Most of the cars on this floor are in line to leave, but in each row of parked vehicles, two cars sit on opposite ends of the lane like predators laying in wait for open spaces. At best, I can get in line behind them.
7:05 P.M. (approx.): I officially admit defeat.
7:06 P.M. (precisely): On the back of a power bill, I begin a log to pass the time and, ultimately, to give to my editor to explain why I missed the Mr. Untouchable screening.
7:09 P.M. (precisely): I’m almost next in line to leave the fourth floor. I take a picture of the traffic with my camera phone, intending to show the photo to George Maloof in order to convince him to knock down one of these new towers to make room for a 21-story parking garage.
7:15 P.M. (precisely): On the third floor, a couple of Palms staffers show up to direct traffic. Better late than never.
7:18 P.M. (precisely): One of the Palms guys explains to me that the garage is packed (no way!), and that a car broke down somewhere on the way out, which explains the gridlock.
7:20 P.M. (precisely): I notice that cars have finally stopped entering this deathtrap.
7:22 P.M. (precisely): At the Planet Hollywood party last night, the tables all had tall stacks of Vitaminwater on them, and for some reason I can’t stop thinking about them. I also have the only car in Las Vegas without air conditioning. Connection, perhaps?
7:30 P.M. (precisely): After exactly 90 minutes, my car has returned to Flamingo Road. The Mr. Untouchable screening was, in fact, untouchable (or at least unreachable), so I’ll never know whether it was good or bad, but I can decisively give the Palms parking garage zero stars. - Matthew Scott Hunter