December 21, 2003|Long story short, a few years ago as I was applying for a life insurance policy, I got to know an ex-paramedic who told me that he once answered a call to Denver’s beautiful Brown Palace Hotel. One of its maids had just been let go after working there for decades, whereupon she proceeded to take the elevator to the top floor and jump to her death several stories into the central dining area. “Her face was perfectly preserved, perfectly peaceful,” he said. “When I got there it looked as though she were standing in a hole in the floor, looking up with something like wonder at the ceiling.” I think about this story a lot, it sticks with me for some reason; it has elements of betrayal, death with symbolic meaning, the grotesque–the sort of high human drama at extremis that leaves an indelible imprint on my imagination.

December 14, 2003|Sitting conspicuously on a prominent LoDo street corner, Denver's Nuevo-Mexican restaurant Tamayo is the epitome of hip–so while I was thrilled to be meeting Paul Feig, co-creator of television's "Freaks and Geeks" and "Undeclared", the eatery seemed a little incongruous a setting for a man who's made his mark as champion of the sensitive uncool. Natty in suit and tie and fresh from an introduction (to a group of high-schoolers, natch) of his new film I Am David, Feig impresses with an open intelligence, an engaging charisma, and what appears to be a genuine appreciation for where he is in his career and life. The author of the heartbreaking/hilarious Kick Me: Adventures in Adolescence, Feig is one of our most vital chroniclers of the heartache of youth and the angst of being intelligent in an anti-intellectual world. He stands with the bright lights of the American letter, folks such as Sarah Vowell, Dave Eggers, and David Sedaris, in defining a new collective voice in our popular discourse. The of-the-moment setting didn't seem as incongruous after meeting the wise, funny, and engaging Feig.

November 23, 2003|Backstage at the Auraria Campus of the University of Colorado's newly refurbished King Center is a network of hallways and dressing rooms that remind a little of that part in This is Spinal Tap where the boys get lost on their way to the stage. William H. Macy, taller than I expected and with a force of personality at odds with his milquetoast screen persona, makes a comment about this in a dead-on Nigel Tufnel ("We've got armadillos in our trousers") as we usher the actor to a clips show and awards ceremony at the 26^th Denver International Film Festival, which is honouring him with the event's John Cassavetes Award for contributions to independent cinema. Gracious, humble, genuinely gratified by the tribute, Macy, in a light mood, tells a story about an actor friend who got lost in the tunnels backstage en route to his entrance in a play, erupting triumphantly at last stage left, but alas in the wrong production. "But how was the performance?" I asked. "Compromised," Macy deadpanned.