Who Did, and Didn't, Look Good on the Dance Floor
At Sundance it sometimes feels as though there are only two types of festivalgoers: those who come to see films, and those who come to see celebrities. I’d like to think I’m in the former category. When I see someone “famous,” I don’t stop and stare, or point, or attempt a blurry photo with my iPhone. I recognize the face, try to recall where I’ve seen it before, and then maybe—maybe—pass my observation on to a friend.
Unimpressed New Yorker though I am, sometimes the sight of a particular celebrity makes me genuinely giddy. I had such a moment last night at the collagen-injected Kenneth Cole Black/Gen Art party at Greenhouse. It wasn’t Jeff Daniels, sitting on a couch in a Stetson hat and barn coat. Nor Denise Richards, buried in makeup and walking back and forth through the crowd with her It’s Complicated reality TV crew in tow. Nor Efren Ramirez, better known as Pedro in NAPOLEON DYNAMITE, who was busy sexing up a well-endowed actress—whom I couldn’t place—on the dance floor. (For the record, Ramirez is one of the best dancers I’ve ever seen at a club. Absolutely mesmerizing. This video doesn’t do it justice—and that I took it contradicts my opening paragraph—but it’s all I could get before a friend of his blocked me out.)
Who, then, was I so excited to see?
(Wait for it…)
Gaius Charles and Zach Gilford.
I know what you’re thinking: “Who the &%$! are they?” Charles and Gilford are better known as Smash Williams and Matt Saracen, from the best show on television (yes, better than Lost and Mad Men): Friday Night Lights. Admittedly, I’m not sure it was Gilford because I only saw the back of his head, but that was still more exciting than seeing the front of Richards’.
I spent the rest of the night bouncing from club to club, abandoning my everyman persona in favor of a new one: pushy guy with a press pass. (Although, come to think of it, no one ever asked to see my pass. I cut the line merely by pretending to be important.) Nothing particularly interesting to report, except the sight of an out-of-place Shmuley Boteach sitting on a couch at the Axe Fix party, staring at the vacant dance floor. You may remember him as the rabbi who was verbally pummeled in a debate on God with Christopher Hitchens last year. I didn’t get close enough to smell him, but Shmuley didn’t exude enough confidence to suggest he’d sprayed himself with Axe deodorant—which, as we now know, is scientifically proven to get you laid.