But Where Was Bret?

[Celebrity Sightings] Or non-sightings: Last week, a film crew took over Sam Weller's Books downstairs from the City Weekly offices, shooting interiors for a 2009 feature called Gentlemen Broncos, by Napoleon Dynamite's Jared Hess.

No big deal; we didn't think too much of it. Until today, when someone in the office revealed that, on a java run to the Coffee Garden within Weller's, she was told that Flight of the Conchords co-star Jemaine Clement (the tall one with the glasses) was among those being filmed downstairs!

Deep-voiced and somewhat robotic, Clement is a geek-chic sex symbol 'round these parts--had the female (and some male) contingent of the City Weekly office known he was so near, there would have been a riot. Seriously. Crisis averted. (Bill Frost)

Sundance: Down on Main Street

[Film Fest] There's no real need for me to be on Main Street. My movie-watching action revolves almost exclusively around the press screening venues at the Yarrow Hotel and Holiday Theater, and getting here – even by shuttle – takes too long with the crush of traffic.

Yet here I am, because it’s hard not to find the environment perversely fascinating. Main Street becomes a people-watching hub, with its various “swag lounges” (corporate-sponsored getaway spots for people more famous than you) and clubs and restaurants hosting evening parties. Photographers swarm around places where celebrities are suspected to be, and passersby in turn swarm around the photographers, in a sort of paparazzi/rubbernecker perfect storm of starfucking. And maybe you’ll pass by someone, and do a double-take, thinking, “Could Jennifer Aniston really be that short?”

Maybe after 11 festivals I’m a bit more inoculated against the celebrity thing. Not 30 minutes ago, I strolled past Michael Keaton in the lobby of the festival headquarters at the Park City Marriott. He’s surprisingly short, too, but other than noting his lack of verticality, it never occurred to me to do anything but keep walking. I’m not saying that makes me better than someone who might have whipped out a camera-phone. In fact, it probably makes that person better than me, because I don’t even own a camera-phone. I’m just saying that celebrity-spotting here starts to lose its unique fascination after a while. They’re here, they’re in movies, get used to it.

Main Street is also noteworthy for sheer geography. There are too many people trying to navigate sidewalks already choked with the cholesterol of packed snow, they’re lugging around laptops/swag-bags/obscenely over-furred parkas, they’re walking uphill, and the air is thin. And this is during the day, before the sun’s early descent behind the mountains and storefronts makes the temperature drop into something usually associated with Lambeau Field. This is funny on so many levels it probably circles back around to tragic again. And then probably back to gut-bustingly hilarious.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to lug my laptop back down the street and see what other famous person is small enough to fit into my bag. (Scott Renshaw)