My local movie house is doing a film series called "The Films of My Life", ala François Truffaut's "The Films in My Life".  To quote the cinema's website:  "This series emphasizes the emotional connection between the participants and the works they select."  

          Isabel Allende

             Anne Lamott                

Not everyone asked to participate is an actor.  Next week features novelist Isabel Allende (she chose Shakespeare in Love); and the week after, our local spiritual philosopher and mom, Anne Lamott, presents Bab'Aziz - The Prince Who Contemplated His Soul .

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Last Monday, two days ago, the featured guest was Sean Penn.  A week or so in advance, I went to the website and found only 10 - 10! - tickets left.  So of course, I pounced on two of them.  Asked my co-film-ophile, Sahar, to join me.

We met - reconnoitered - in downtown San Rafael at 5:00.  The movie was to be at 7:00.  First come, first served, so far as the seating went.

We did not want to be in the back.

After a lovely fattoush salad and some sparkling water, we trekked back out into the drizzle that is our weather of late,  picked up the will-call tickets, and found we had to Stay outside till they deigned to let us in.  Luckily, we were so early, we were able to stay under the large, golden awning.

We go into the theater, the fifth and sixth people to enter.   Now, here I should say that Sahar and I differ on how close one should be to the screen.  I'm kind of a sixth row type person; she's easily a 16th.  So we compromised and chose the 10th row.  Center.  The four seats from the aisle in on either side had Reserved signs affixed on them; as did the same in the row ahead and the row behind.  Didn't matter - didn't want aisle - wanted Center.

After chatting mindlessly (we were so early - and I hate getting to movies, or airports, early) for 25 minutes, all the while people-watching (Sahar's born and raised in Marin, and Knows people), I excused myself for the obligatory bathroom + popcorn + tea break.  Asking Sahar if she wants anything, she opts for a glass of water.  Me, I can't do without my popcorn.  And I chose hot tea instead of water 'cause of the rain.  (Chai)

Of course, when I exit the theater, there's lines in the bathroom and at the concession stand.  Another film was beginning at 7:00 as well - and this place is popular.  I order my popcorn and hot tea, ask for some ice water, dose up my tea, grab some napkins, and make my way back, juggling my ticket to Prove that I've paid to be in Theater 1.

When I get to our aisle, I see that the four seats to Sahar's left have filled.  I make eye contact with the balding middle aged man to her immediate left and ask, apologetically, Um, can you hand this over?  I'm holding out the water (the Kansan in me would have waited for his assent; the New Yorker that I became thrust it at him before he could think about it).  He, of course, passes it down. 

Then I announce, I'm sorry, I have to get through here as well.  The four men kind of stumble to their feet, after considering whether they could just squinch up their legs - we all consider that in the theater, don't we - and, probably viewing my bounteous, um, attributes, they stand. 

I turn sideways, inching my way along, clutching my buttered popcorn to my chest, using the hot tea as a balancing aid while simultaneously praying I don't trip, 'cause someone in the row ahead will get scalded.  I take my time, even though I want to rush. 

Phew! 

I sit down.  Sahar is tittering something behind her hand at me, but I am struck dumb:

There, in the row ahead - in fact, I passed immediately behind him - I could have Scalded him! - sits Gus Van Sant!  Now I don't know about you guys, but I Love me some Van Sant.  Always have.  And when I lived in NY, I saw him on the street Twice.  And never got goonstruck.  It's just not allowed in New York.  You play it cool, you look the other way and sneak a peek, but you Never acknowledge you saw or met someone famous.  Here in Cali - maybe because it was unexpected? - I'm all, Lookie!  It's Gus Van Sant!

I'm - I don't want to say hysterically - but vigorously yanking poor Sahar's sleeve and pointing behind my hand.  She's mouthing, What?  What?  I begin to write with my finger in the palm of my other hand - G - U - S.  G - U - S.  She shrugs, finally hisses, "I can't read that!"  So I whisper very lowly, "Look, it's Gus Van Sant!"  (With those sibilant S's, I am sure he can hear me and knows how uncool I've become.)

Sahar, my dear friend Saharina, begins to laugh.  She sotto's: You're pointing out Guh Vah San.... and you just made Sean Penn Stand Up!

I peek down to the end of the aisle.  I can't freaking believe it.  Sitting there, slightly slouched, his hands steepled under his chin, with that distinctive profile, sits Mr. Sean Penn.

I am officially a Dolt.

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The movie that Sean Penn chose is a Russian film from 1985 called "Come and See"  (Idi i smotri, also translated as "Go and Look") , in Russian, Belarusian and German,  with English subtitles.  Directed by Elim Klimov, it's based on a novel by Ales Adamovich, who lived out many stories in the movie, as a Partisan himself.  It's an amazing film, set in 1942, '43 Belarus, which borders Poland.  The Germans, of course, are invading.  This movie features a young man, Florya, who is anxious to serve, and then he, and we, find out what horrors that entails.  It's long, 142 minutes, but I cannot imagine a moment being cut.  Its ponderous pace is necessary.  The shots and cinematography are reminiscent of or reflected in many filmakers' work,  including Terrence Malick, Francis Ford Coppola and Stanley Kubrick.  Its use of light and dark, including sunlight streaming through dark forests; its use of music - including Mozart and Wagner - all are pitch perfect.

I have to say, personally, it became uncomfortable for a time, the violence, the vileness....  But then it becomes a discomfort you should have, if that makes any sense.  Some of the Peace lovers in the crowd had to leave.  It was simply too much.  I say, if we can open people's eyes, it's a small price to pay.

After the movie, Mr. Penn goes up on stage and, with an introduction and some monitoring by Executive Dir. Mark Fishkin, graciously answers questions - including the inane ones - and sincerely discusses the movie and its impact on him as a 20-something young man when he first saw it; and if and how it's reverberated throughout his professional life.

It was a wonderful, beautiful, terribly powerful movie, that I'll highly recommend to all.  And it was great to see Sean Penn up close and personal.  Even though I had my butt in his face, I have the feeling he's forgiven me, 'cause that's just the kind of nice guy he is.