In photos, courtesy of your correspondant half-drunk on free Skyy vodka. They’re a sponsor, huh. Free vodka and Stella Artois flowed at the afterparty, which was neatly divided into VIP and non-VIP classes. Us bloggers as citizen media? My ass. More about the bullshit, nice pics of mayors and more ass after the jump.

Photo: San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom opens the 49th SF International Film Fest by honoring the 10-year anniversary of our sister-city relationship between Paris and SF by presenting the mayor of Paris, Bertrand Delanoë, with a pretty shiny gold key to our city.

So SFIFF invited a bunch of local bloggers to cover the festival *as if we were real journaists* and gave people like me and others press packs and kits and stuff. There was a whole complicated and seemingly official form filling out process for “credentials” and a number of us got passes with our pictures on them and we get to see the movies for free. What I realized tonight is that there’s also a whole other section for “real” press — known at the parties and screenings as VIPs — people who have actual access to directors and celebrities at the festival. In other words, not the song and dance they’re giving the bloggers they “invited” to cover the event. In my interview with fesitval director Graham Leggitt I asked him if we’d have “real” access and I should have realized that his answer was a nice wee handjob. Anyway, here’s my story.

I showed up in my SF goth girl garb and found this messy, crappy press autofellatiofest in front of the Castro:

I jumped in the press line just to see what it was like. It was boring. You’re not missing a fucking thing. Being press is *so* not special. Beyond the press line I saw a couple of guys with signs and asked the press people who they were — the press people told me my dress was fabulous and that they didn’t know who the guys were but everyone wanted to know. So, not giving a shit about my “place” in the press line, I went over and chatted with them. They were, in fact, the best part about the movie screening: they were two guys “from Dolores Park” who decided to honor the Parisian sister city anniversary, and made signs and donned “French” outfits. They had cigarettes hanging from their lips the whole time. Tres French!

Newsom made his entrance; it was a press clusterfuck of slightly medium-sized proportions. He looked handsome, had handlers, etc., etc.

See, press — the people who get those celebrity nip-slip photos — are in fact just doing a job. Le sigh.

Then I went in the Castro Theater and sat through an hour of pre-film hyperbole and thanks to sponsors and stuff. I was stoked they mentioned the majorly awesome designers for the SFIFF’s look, local design firm Method. The other really cool part of this was Newsom presenting the French mayor with our city key; the French mayor gave an eloquent speech about the meaning of sister cities and the hope that this kind of goodwill might spread to nations, beyond cities, and for a minute we were filled with hope that we all might just not be in the country with all the angry red square states. A minute.

Shiny key! I was hungry and trying to steal the popcorn bag from the tall guy seated in front of me, but mesmerized by the shiny.

Then we watched the movie. It was long and pretty with Jackie Chan singing (!) and Bollywood choreography but lots of crying and breaking up and more crying and breaking up. In each seat at the Castro there were these massive schwag bags full of like hats and stuff; I saw someone in the next aisle kick over their bag by accident and a mini-bottle of Skyy vodka rolled out and I almost reached in my bag and cracked mine then and there. But I waited. After the film there was an afterparty at the Regency on VanNess; I hung out with my friends who alerted me to the VIP room. I didn’t know there was a special area; being “press” I thought I could go in and cover it; I was so wrong. Welcome to the press caste!

My friends were VIPs; I was just a fake press low-class blogger. I flashed my useless press pass while watching other “real” press people go up the magic stairs. As I was turned away, after my femme-friend went up, I moved to return to the publicity people to see what the deal was — at the exact moment my male pal covertly slipped me his VIP ticket while he was having his other wrist banded with the VIP tag — a seriously awesome move. I snagged his ticket in one smooth fluid movement, went to the publicity people and got the whole “oh! we’re sorry, It’s exclusive! celebrities are up there, it’s private, we’re rully soorrry!” speech. Then I turned around, went back and got my stupid VIP wristband. They were very apologetic when they “realized” I was a VIP.

I asked my friend what went through his mind when he palmed me the pass; it was an experienced move, but no doubt he’s got the routine down, as he’s a DJ at ultra-cool local bar Amnesia. He said, “When they didn’t take the pass away after giving me the wristband I thought, ‘amateurs!”

And guess what — in the VIP area? Same as downstairs, but sweatier because it was upstairs. And no celebrities, and plenty of press. Yeah, so much for being treated like “real” press as bloggers. There was no “there” there. And there would be absolutely nothing at all for me to write about that stupid, poorly-entertained, bored-DJ-spinning, dance floor like your boss’ wedding party if I hadn’t been turned away and snuck in. So fucking lame. Like, that’s the thing about us bloggers — we fucking live in the city we blog in, REALLY live, and we have friends who work for you, or know someone who’s staffing your dumb-ass VIP party.

Anyway, comparing notes with my “VIP” friends we realized that there was some kind of disingenuous insincerity going on. And the VIP party was boring. So we took turns making the VIP section interesting; my friend Minnie Mouse won the photo contest:

And no matter what, always remember that VIP is always to make *some people* feel special, and those people’s parties are boring. It means nothing. Like I said earlier, you aren’t missing a fucking thing.

Related posts:

1. Film Fest: Eric Steel’s “The Bridge”
2. San Francisco International Film Festival
3. S.F. International Asian American Film Festival
4. Coming Up: San Francisco International Film Festival
5. SF360 one city, one film tonight!