For the record: I am not much of a party person. At film festivals, Im usually too tired after a day of multiple screenings to leave the hotel at night (I also really, really like room service). As far as real life goes, things were a little different when I was younger and thinner and could digest a lot of cheap liquor in one sitting, but now that Im old and lazy and have more respect my liver's wishes, you've really got to promise a lot to get me leave my house. I'll be the first to cite the Tribeca Film Festival's obsession with spectacle as a major problem, but the organizers' constant need to Do It Bigger does result in some pretty interesting party venues. When I learned that the Turkish Consulate General was throwing the premiere party for Times and Winds at the U.N. on the same night as the Documentary Filmmakers Reception at a historic grand ballroom near Wall Street, I decided to get off my ass, enlist my photographer boyfriend as a plus one, and make a night of it. An illustrated account of my adventures follow. All photos are by Nick Branda.
9:24 PM: After giving my name to each of the three publicists standing outside the Broad Street Ballroom, we pass the clipboard check and are ushered inside. The Grand Ballroom is, uh, grand, and the crowd is, um, sparse.
9:32 PM: We make the requisite visit to the bar; this party is apparently sponsored by Jameson. I do a mental calculation of how much we'll need to drink before we're ready to rock the Turkish Consulate with the appropriate ironic distance.
9:56 PM: I realise (thanks, in part, to a giant light banner on the cieling) that this party has been sponsored by A & E Indie Films, and I procede to track down a friend of a friend who works for A & E. 2006 was a huge year for them at Tribeca, as they funded the breakout hit Jesus Camp. Times have apparently changed. "Usually we throw our own party," Friend of a Friend says wistfully. "This year, we had to share with Axiom." No one seems to know who or what Axiom is, even after one of their representatives picks up a microphone and introduces herself. The A&E gang are awaiting the arrival of Alexis Arquette, whose recent sex change is the subject of the Tribeca doc She's My Brother. When Alexis does show up, she flits in and out of the room several times, a blur of white fur and sequins that proves difficult to capture on film.
10:10 PM: I head back to the bar. The bartenders don't have enough to do to be able to slip into that kind of I'm-too-busy-to-recognize-the-soul-crushing-boredom-of-this-job autopilot, so they're eager to chat. I ask them if they've been working a lot of Tribeca events. The one pouring my drink tells me that this is his first, but he's not expecting to make much money tonight. "I heard last night's parties were ca-RAYYYY-zy," he says. "That means no one's going out tonight, but tomorrow will be hot again." Choosing the wrong night to go out is vintage Karina Longworth.
10:27 PM: I am eating pigs-in-a-blanket and talking to a member of the Tribeca All-Access program, who is waxing rhapsodic about the Festival, which he credits with taking his "career and life from the Stone Age to the Bronze Age in a matter of days." I realise that the music at this party is actually not horrible, and, in fact, bears some resemblance to the Top 25 Most Played list on my iPod. Pigs-in-a-blanket + Echo and the Bunnymen = the best night out in a while. I excuse myself to go thank the DJ.
10:39 PM: The DJ, it turns out, is Sarah "Ultragrrrl" Lewitinn, the blogger/record label impressario/hipster superstar/Gawker punching bag who recently appeared on the cover of the Village Voice chained to a pole, her flimsy, white cleavage-bearing gown in flames. In person, Lewitinn is friendly, funny and unpretentious. Though her name is probably recognizable to anyone in New York under the age of 40, her presence was not advertised in association with this party--Tribeca is clearly a paycheck gig for her. She's huddled behind a giant mixing board with her boyfriend and two friends, sipping white wine and playing songs off a tiny iPod. "We're like the bad kids in the corner back here," she jokes.
11:01 PM: I tell the Ultragrrrl crew that we're headed to another party at the Turkish Consulate. Sarah and her boyfriend get excited about the prospect of Turkish coffee. "I bet that party will go all night," the boyfriend says. "That stuff will keep you up for days." A moment of panic sets in: am I really ready for an all-nighter at the U.N.?
11:22 PM: We get in a cab, headed uptown to the United Nations. I am expecting the Turkish Consulate to look something like this:
11:45 PM: At the Turkish Consolate, we have to pass through a metal detector before they'll let us upstairs to where the party is being held. This is my first clue that my Arabian Nights fantasy might not be coming true.
11:50 PM: We get upstairs to find a somewhat generic-looking loft. There is a conspicuous lack of gold leaf and brightly colored tenting. There is no Turkish coffee, although there is a wide array of exotic apertifs--Jameson being apparently unable to work their corporate colonisation magic on the Turks. Entertainment is provided by an angry-looking man playing a zither:
12:04 PM: I accidentally get into an argument with a representative from the Istanbul Film Festival about Tribeca's role as a show case for world cinema. I realise that being drunk at the United Nations is not nearly as much fun in practice as it sounded in theory, and decide it's time to call it a night.
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