Every year, on the last Sunday in February, six of Australia’s major cities settles down on a blanket with a picnic to watch the work of the top 16 finalists in the worlds largest short film festival, Tropfest.
As a vertically challenged member of society myself, I have a lot of time for short films. There is something clever about a film that can have a beginning, a middle and a satisfying conclusion all in the space of seven minutes. There is also something lazy about a movie that you only have to concentrate on for seven minutes before you get to approve of it or not. As for the whole Tropfest experience? Who wouldn’t want to spend a balmy summer night sprawled in the park, snacking on olives while young up-and-comings proudly display their wares before the titillating announcement of judges’ decisions?
Well this year, with rain looming and little energy for the bustling crowds and 20 minute toilet queues, not me. I had very good intentions of taking the Professor along to the domain to experience one of Sydney’s most popular annual events, allowing him to bask in the glory that is the domain at full capacity, giving him the opportunity to catch glimpses of Hollywood stars and national celebrities, but in the end… I didn’t.
So instead, I cut my coupon out of the Sydney Morning Herald, posted it off and sat back with a cup of tea to wait for Tropfest to come to me. And it did. Oddly it weighed very little and took up virtually no space on my desk as it lay waiting for me to activate it.
Last Saturday, all these months later, the time came for the Professor and I to enjoy our own Tropfest. I planned a surprise picnic to be held on our living room floor with all the trimmings and warmed the DVD player up for a night of short-attention-span fun.
It turned out to be quite the success. We enjoyed a perfect view of the screen, easy access around the facility, our own private bathroom and endured no rain. This year no one stepped in my olives (though the Professor did spill the water flask whilst wielding his long legs around) and there was no waiting with thousands of others for one of Sydney’s phantom trains to take us home afterward.
Maybe next year we'll try the real thing...
As a vertically challenged member of society myself, I have a lot of time for short films. There is something clever about a film that can have a beginning, a middle and a satisfying conclusion all in the space of seven minutes. There is also something lazy about a movie that you only have to concentrate on for seven minutes before you get to approve of it or not. As for the whole Tropfest experience? Who wouldn’t want to spend a balmy summer night sprawled in the park, snacking on olives while young up-and-comings proudly display their wares before the titillating announcement of judges’ decisions?
Well this year, with rain looming and little energy for the bustling crowds and 20 minute toilet queues, not me. I had very good intentions of taking the Professor along to the domain to experience one of Sydney’s most popular annual events, allowing him to bask in the glory that is the domain at full capacity, giving him the opportunity to catch glimpses of Hollywood stars and national celebrities, but in the end… I didn’t.
So instead, I cut my coupon out of the Sydney Morning Herald, posted it off and sat back with a cup of tea to wait for Tropfest to come to me. And it did. Oddly it weighed very little and took up virtually no space on my desk as it lay waiting for me to activate it.
Last Saturday, all these months later, the time came for the Professor and I to enjoy our own Tropfest. I planned a surprise picnic to be held on our living room floor with all the trimmings and warmed the DVD player up for a night of short-attention-span fun.
It turned out to be quite the success. We enjoyed a perfect view of the screen, easy access around the facility, our own private bathroom and endured no rain. This year no one stepped in my olives (though the Professor did spill the water flask whilst wielding his long legs around) and there was no waiting with thousands of others for one of Sydney’s phantom trains to take us home afterward.
Maybe next year we'll try the real thing...
1 comment:
I am so ready to move to a city again. Sounds fantastic.
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