Heeding Spring's Hints

I'm over the moon about how Spring is busting out all over.

Opening all my windows the moment I got up, I eagerly put on short to go for my walk. Near the Library of Virginia, a guy pointed at my shorts and said, "You're glad Spring's here. Look at those pretty legs!"

Better yet, look at how I don't have four layers on top and two on the bottom anymore. Look at how I'm walking on the shady side of the street instead of the sunny side. Look at how Spring fever is oozing out of every pore.

I'm still getting used to having the windows open again, meaning there are constant distractions from bustling Clay Street below.

People walk by singing to the music in their ear buds. The recycling truck clatters along picking up containers formerly full of bottles and cans of beer (lots of students). Bits of conversation drift up as people walk down the street out of ear range. Horse hooves clop by as the mounted police patrol the streets to keep me safe.

It's not that I mind hearing all this, it's just a matter of getting used to it (and gradually tuning it out) after being closed up in the isolation booth of winter on the second floor.

What I knew for sure was that I intended to walk to the Black Maria Film Fest at the Grace Street theater tonight and I left in plenty of time to lollygag.

I browsed the tables outside the quirky Richmond Book Shop, admired fancy cycles in Balance Bike Shop and ogled VCU's Depot, the old streetcar station that's starting to be filled with student art in anticipation of tomorrow night's opening.

It was a splendid day for a second walk.

At the theater, I found a seat among familiar faces from the local art and film scene, students and other grown-ups with an interest in film shorts. This was my eighth year going to the Black Maria and it always delivers satisfying, challenging and creative takes on filmmaking.

This year, as a bonus it was free.

Once again, it was hosted by John Columbus, founder and director of the festival, and after his opening remarks, he made his way up to my row and squeezed by, saying, "I'll sit here."

Now I knew I was in the important row, despite my lack of filmmaking experience.

Well, that's not entirely true. When I was in college, a filmmaking friend had written, directed and produced two films and he'd asked me to be in both, despite an utter lack of acting ability.

If I were to see them today, I'm sure part of me would cringe at my woodenness and part of me would marvel at my youth. But mostly cringe.

Nothing we saw tonight was cringe-worthy, although partly because so many of the shorts were conceptual or abstract in some way.

Using "appropriated" footage (which used to be called found footage before finding came into question), "Inquire Within" showed a series of contrasts, including one of a mean elephant named Topsy being electrocuted in 1903, something I never really needed to see.

"Solaristics" was 48 variations on the theme of the sun and after about 12 - sun through a  windshield, through the slats of a fence, reflected in water-  it lost my interest entirely.

I tried not to let John Columbus see that I was unimpressed.

Far more compelling and upsetting was "Chop," based on a sculptural installation using old chopsticks.

Turns out it was a statement about how we could save 400 million trees if we stopped making disposable chopsticks, something I'd like to think is a reasonable goal.

From the very thought-provoking to the buoyant "Globe Trot" we went for a film made from footage shot in 40 countries of people all doing the same dance. All colors, all ages, all body sizes, all choreographed and edited together. Very cool.

"Night Blooming Flowers" brought us crashing back down to earth with a dreamy meditation on flowers watching the demise of a person in the hospital dying.

John had said that at his age, he was thinking more about death and dying, so perhaps that accounted for the film's inclusion, but with no such thoughts on my mind, I found it a bit of a buzz kill.

Luckily, it was followed by the absolutely delightful film within a film within a film, "Sleight of Hand," a story in stop motion.

A claymation figure (strong-jawed and thick-haired like Dudley DoRight) builds a claymation figure and starts stopping and starting him until he accidentally notices that someone is arranging also him. I found it to be a very clever construct as the camera panned out further and further until we saw the director and crew who had been making him so he could make his own figure.

It was a regular hall of mirrors.

But lest we get too giddy, next up was "Through the Tubes," a closely shot, challengingly surreal piece that wandered through the memory and experiences of an old woman.

Winning my vote for longest, most pretentious and obscure title was "Little Block of Cement with Disheveled Hair Containing the Sea," but it turned out to be an exquisitely shot black and white film chronicling the journey of a horse and dog, both of whom were excellent actors.

As a bonus, there was a pig strolling across a bridge, not something you see every day. All those happy animals almost, but not quite, made up for seeing Topsy shocked to death.

By the time we saw the experimental "Water Color (Fall Creek)," I had little patience for 11.5 minutes of water under a bridge at different times of day and night with changing sound.

But boring water was soon forgotten with the utterly charming "Salmon Deadly Sins," a film made using 5,000 salmon-colored index cards in a flipbook-style movie. Steven Vander Meer began his film with the words, "I love anagrams" and proceeded to show us how much.

Subtly pastel drawings illustrated the seven deadly sins humorously until the finish, which read, "This is the end. Heed its hints."

I did and took the long way home enjoying the cool night air of my last walk of the day.

Spring, please say you're here to stay.

Ides of March

Yes, I know there was a game going on.

Even the VMFA knew about the game, hence the welcome to the Black and Gold Maria Film/Video Fest.

All those other years I attended, it was just the Black Maria Film/Video Fest.

Clearly film types have a sense of humor.

But even with the addition of gold and the smaller-than-usual audience, it was still a stellar night of screen watching.

The animated film "Feral," five years in the making, was unbelievably gorgeous with a simple gray-scale and tonal palette that told the story of trying to tame a wild thing.

My takeaway was don't attempt it.

"Bug People" was all kinds of funny, with a woman sharing stir-fry and taco recipes using bugs and an exterminator extolling the pleasures of his job.

The only part I had a problem with was when a scientist put some kind of 8" worm-like-looking  millipede on the filmmaker's arm and explained that removing it would sound like Velcro.

Not what I want to hear when a bug is removed from a human.

Most evocative of what we saw tonight was "Time Exposure" about the filmmaker's father's photography hobby.

It used vintage photographs and voice-over to trace his passion for picture-taking.

Most hysterical was "Queen of the Night Aria" which had a mother doll singing in Italian, instructing her doll daughter to kill her husband for her.

The brilliance was that they lyrics were subtitled with lines like, "I am really pissed" and "I was a good stay-at-home mom."

Spending two hours watching film shorts is satisfying in that way that reading a good book of short stories is; you get your satisfaction quickly and if something doesn't thrill you, it's over soon.

Once the festival ended, I headed over to Strange Matter and barely got out of the car before I started running into people I knew.

One had just seen my car at the museum a half hour ago. One said, "Hey, Fig!" And one I was introduced to tonight said, "Come on, you're coming with us."

Do I know you?

Conveniently, one of them also asked  if I was going to the Camel for the show.

Doh. Only then did I realize I'd confused my venues tonight.

I still made it to the Camel in time to find friends and catch Way, Shape or Form, whom I'd discovered at Live at Ipanema where I'd become a fan of their pastiche of electronic, jazz and pop.

As a friend later noted, that's the kind of band that could play the Modlin Center and they'd love the sound.

When they finished, Snowy Owls began setting up but it took a while before they began playing.

As I learned later, they'd delayed because there had been a noise complaint to WRIR upstairs and it seemed prudent not to arouse the caller's ire again so quickly.

That and they were waiting for the cop to leave.

But then they began with the full-on fuzz that makes me their devoted fan and all was right with the world.

"We're playing songs off an EP we put out a while ago," leader Matt said,"Back to front if you're keeping score."

I wasn't, I was just glad to be hearing them play, watching Brandon bopping his head as he wailed on the drums while Allen faced him, working off what he saw more than what he could hear.

"The next song is about love and color theory," Matt said. "They go together so well."

Naturally, the artistic nerds in the crowd nodded in agreement.

They treated us to a brand new song, "Kerfluffle," to end their set and it was terrific to hear something I hadn't before.

Apparently the noise complainer had given up because Snowy Owls was followed in short order by Nick Coward and the Last Battle.

It was their CD release show and it seemed like there were a bazillion people on stage.

A friend told me there were eight so I stood on tiptoe to try to see what they all were playing, when I counted nine.

"Whatever it is, it's a full orchestra up there," he cracked.

Indeed. It was cello player Constance Sisk's last show with the band and they'd added two new members, including Troy from Way, Shape or Form.

Just another stellar example of the incestuous world of Richmond musicians and I mean that in the best possible way.

"Hi, we're Nick Coward and the Last Battle and this is "Thieves," Nick said, kicking off a set of new music.

Well, not all that new.

"This song is called "Rock" and it was on our first EP and our second EP and it's on the album," he said. "But we promise not to record it again."

You know, when a song is that good, it's easy to see how it kept getting put on whatever they were working on.

Judging by the crowd's reaction, I think we were all in agreement that the band's full sound, with sax, cello and keyboards adding heft to the guitars, bass and drums, is awfully compelling.

But just so I don't look like a complete music fanatic, let the record show that I did inquire about the score of the game before leaving.

Fortunately, the team was able to pull out another victory without me having to watch.

Now can I go back to my music? I mean, go team.

Far Be It for Me to Spill Anyone's Beans

"You didn't see me here," she said in all seriousness as I took the stool next to her at Amuse's bar.

My plan had been to slip into Amuse for some solo wining and dining before the Black Maria Film Festival downstairs at the VMFA. Instead I stumbled on a friend's girlfriend doing a stealth visit to the museum, one which she had no intention of sharing with her beloved.

I can keep a secret.

Actually, it was a lovely surprise to have the company, although bartender Stephen is a reliable source of interesting conversation. In fact, picking up from a food conversation we had had some months ago, he told me he was preparing to put in a small veggie and herb garden and we discussed that for a bit.

My friend was already enjoying an off-menu wine selection, Jongieux Mondeuse, recommended for its Pinot Noir-like qualities. I was all about some rose and mussels with house made sausage, garlic and butter; this dish is so well executed that I could probably eat it every time I'm at the museum.

As we sat chatting, a good friend walked in with his wife and son to have dinner. He came over to say hi, compliment my hair (I know, what?) and we agreed to meet up next week for dinner.

Conclusion: Amuse is not a good place to go if you are looking to keep your whereabouts private.

But back to the stealthy one. After swearing to never reveal that I had run into her today, I used my bad influence to convince her to join me in a glass of absinthe, her first, after we finished eating.

We watched as Stephen placed our sugar cubes on the slotted spoon and started the iced water drip into our glasses of absinthe. Within moments, the sun had dropped low enough in the sky that it bathed the room in late afternoon light all around us. The absinthe fairy was making her presence known in the room it seemed.

When our drips finished, he set them down in front of us, we looked up at him and at the same instant both saw the reflection of the sunset in the mirror behind the bar.

It was a take-off on the Manet painting, "A Bar at the Folies Bergere," where the barmaid stands in front of the bar mirror which reflects back the crowded room.

We saw not only the faces of the diners, but also this brilliant sunset slipping behind the Pauley Center. I told her that it was a sign that we were meant to be sitting there sipping absinthe and watching the sun set in a bar mirror. Happy Friday indeed.

Her first absinthe experience was as transformative as mine had been. The heady scent, the giddy after affects and the overall sense of gaiety makes it unlike any other spirit's qualities. Or maybe we're just suckers for absinthe.

The Black Maria Film and Video Festival, a thirty-year old event (with this being my fifth year of attendance), was filling up fast when I got downstairs. Organizer John Columbus pointed out that even in this age of youtube, filmmakers still want their work shown in real time in front of a live audience. And here we were.

The program, which showed only eleven of the fifty or so films culled by a jury from the 600 submissions, travels the country. There was everything from animation hand-drawn on celluloid ("House Bunny") to a 60-year old's first film with its Escher-like staircases ("Pinburgh") to a film where the animation was done with fabric and stitches ("The Stitches Speak").

One of the most charming pieces was "Mrs. Buck in Her Prime," about a 104-year old woman who still plays piano at church because, "Playing keeps me limber." Her attitude undoubtedly had a lot to do with her longevity. "I'm having the time of my life!" she exclaimed in her purple suit and piano scarf.

There was enough time to show a bonus film at the end of the program and we were treated to the truly weird "Burning Wigs of Sedition," a campy high seas adventure with singers and dancers that ended with an orgy.

Columbus reminded us that the jury, not him, had chosen it, not that anyone was complaining about seeing it. It was definitely a highlight.

From simulated sex (I think) to blue-eyed soul, I finished my evening at Balliceaux for the Eli "Paperboy" Reid show.

But the show couldn't start until the diners in the back room got out, so I camped at the front bar and enjoyed a piece of four layer cake (amaretto genoise with chocolate butter cream and slivered almonds) until it was safe to go to the back room.

Even then, it took a while before all the tables, chairs and bar stools were cleared out and the show could start. By the time a couple of friends arrived, they said the line to get in snaked through the restaurant and out the front door. I was glad I already had my ticket.

After a showy intro, Reid joined his band onstage and with a James Brown-like shriek (the first of many), began giving us his white boy soul. His band The True Loves were spot on; there's nothing like a horn section to bring it all home.

There were obvious fans in the crowd, including a large group occupying the back table who had driven down from DC to see Paperboy. I heard a fair amount of singing along and saw a lot of dancing ("Bad white people dancing," as my friend noted).

Every few raucous soul numbers were punctuated with a slow soul song, the kind that would have gotten the slow-dancing couples on the floor at a dance. In between, there was a whole lot of shaking going on.

The show was fun, the band was stellar and opinions were mixed on Paperboy. One guitarist friend said, "He didn't fully own the sound, but he was good," and another guitarist opined, "They're a really good cover band." A horn-playing friend said, "The rhythm section is incredibly tight."

As the guy who held the door open for me when I went to leave said, "That was eight dollars worth of entertainment." And so it was.

As a non-musician, I enjoyed the sounds of vintage soul reinterpreted by a 27-year old white boy. It didn't change my world, but it was a thoroughly different way to end a wide-ranging Friday night.

And I don't have to keep any secrets about the people I saw there tonight, at least, not that I know of.

Just the same, you'll note that no names were used in the writing of this post. Just in case.

What Did You Miss Last Night?

This was my second year for the Black Maria Film and Video Festival at the Grace Street Theater.

It's an outstanding chance to see some of the best short form film being made currently and last night did not disappoint.

The highlight was the Grand Prize Selection, Nora. a narrative/dance film shot in South Africa.

It told the story of Nora Chipaumire, a dancer who was born in Zimbabwe in 1965 and now lives in NYC.

The film interspersed modern dance with the story of her life.

Nora's dancing was mesmerizing, as was the majestic African scenery and the film ended with silence at its brilliance from the audience before rapturous applause.

One of the quirkier films shown was The Death of Grandma Gladys, Kate Lain's photographic tribute to her great-grandma.

The pictures show a woman almost always dressed in men's clothes and sometimes kissing another woman.

From these images, Lain tries to draw conclusions which ultimately become a discussion of post-structuralism.

Funny and intriguing at the same time.

This film fest, which travels the country showing a different program in each city, is a once-a-year treat for RVA.

For five bones, it's an evening of superior film making for film geeks.

Even the female ones dressed in men's clothing.