2019 Middleburg Film Festival

City folk dream about it and say they would love some “peace and quiet” until they actually experience it. One type of quiet is what your house sounds like when you’re the only one there, your cat is asleep, and the HVAC system is off. That is hushed, but there remains a particular amount of ambient noise buzzing in the background. To save myself the hour plus commute to Middleburg, Virginia, I reserved an Airbnb in an 18th century farmhouse located at the epicenter of the middle of nowhere. It was an active horse farm, had a kennel worth of dogs sleeping on flat surfaces, and it was the second type of quiet. Quiet isn’t even the word for it - it was sensory deprivation. There was a Civil War battle fought nearby and I was ready to hear one of those ghosts sneeze. The house did not have central air, did not have any activity the few hours I was able to sneak back and catch a few hours sleep before the next onslaught of films, and belongs in a different era. It was so silent, it was uncomfortable. It was too quiet. There was no buzz. Be careful what you ask for the next time you dream of solitude. Solitude exists out there and you may not bask in its relaxation too long. It was so quiet, I could not sleep.

Only 15 minutes away in civilization, I only saw eight films. To the layman, “only eight” sounds ridiculous. But there were folks who saw who saw 12 or more. One was a masterpiece, one was a catastrophe, and six ranged from alright to very good. In a rough ranking:

1 - Jojo Rabbit
2 - A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
3 - Parasite
4 - Marriage Story
5 - Waves
6 - The Report
7 - Frankie
8 - The Aeronauts

Jojo Rabbit is phenomenal. It made me laugh out loud and choke up. It takes place in 1945 and it’s uncomfortably applicable to 2019. Both “I Want to Hold Your Hand” by The Beatles and “Heroes” by David Bowie are in German. “Komm gib mir deine Hand!” That is an ear worm. The absurdity and satire are perfect. The shocking revelations and blindsiding twists are gut-punching. I floated out of the theater with the feeling it is always worth slugging through 49 mundane movies for that one which shoots a hole into your soul. Jojo Rabbit did just that.

My podcast co-host and most wonderful movie friend, Hannah Buchdahl, saw Jojo Rabbit at an earlier screening and she knows my tastes. I know what Hannah means when she says, “It’s a Charlie movie.” She told me as I was walking in I was going to love it. Walking out, she saw me in a rare reverie reserved only for films which truly move me. She knew right away how I felt about the film. Anyways…

I keep track of perfect scenes. I have no idea what a perfect scene is, but I know one when I see it. I saw two at the festival. The first was in Jojo Rabbit and it involves the two kids and David Bowie. The second was in A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. Tom Hanks, who pulls off a remarkable performance, has lunch with the film’s real main character and asks him to be silent for a minute. Just sit there, don’t say anything, and think of the people who loved you into being. The film goes mute, Tom Hanks slowly turns his head to stare directly at us, the fourth wall is technically broken, and the audience emits a collective sigh. Tears were shed. I had the privilege of sitting next to Nell Minow, the Movie Mom herself, and saw her dab her eyes with a tissue for the 17th time.

I happened to sit next to Nell again on Sunday morning at the festival’s composer celebration. This year, it was for Terence Blanchard, the jazz trumpeter and pianist known mostly for his collaborations with Spike Lee, but connected this year through his score for Harriet. I was telling Nell about my perfect scene list and mentioned Rocketman was the only other film this year to have one. She knew immediately what scene I was talking about and all I said was the film’s title. Nell said, “The Troubador!” Yes ma’am. When “Crocodile Rock” hits the first chorus, and the audience levitates off the floor, and the “la la la”s are sung in a church choir fashion - well, you’ll know it when you see it. In fact, you’ll feel it when you see it. By the way, Nell is a national treasure. She writes for rogerebert.com and has met eight First Ladies. I believe she is the only person on Earth who could say that and not sound pretentious.

I skipped Friday night’s centerpiece, Harriet, to eat. Bodily functions were starting to shut down. I skipped Saturday night’s main event, Ford v Ferrari, to take my wife and son out to dinner because they drove up to see me and ensure my last night in the farmhouse wouldn’t be so quiet. My festival experience ended with the Blanchard concert and it was the most fitting wrap-up. Watching Blanchard own the trumpet while scenes from Malcom X played for us was truly moving. I haven’t seen Miracle at St. Anna since it came out in 2008, but was transported right back into it by the D.C. Pops Orchestra and Blanchard’s band, the E Collective. Noah Baumbach was there the first night to receive the festival’s Director Spotlight Award. Sterling K. Brown put the audience in the palm of his hand as he played moderator and cracked jokes during Waves’s Q&A, but when Blanchard talked about musicians “putting the heart and soul in movies” and “music’s main role is be the conscience of the film” as he accepted his Distinguished Film Composer Award, we were floating as if we witnessed another perfect scene.

The more you learn about film, the more you will appreciate it. If you will there for Terence Blanchard, a movie’s score will sound different next time. If you were standing in line with a couple hundred other movie lovers comparing notes on greatness and what not to miss, you shared in a camaraderie only those who are addicted to film know about. There are no strangers at the festival. I could start a conversation with anybody about what they were going to see or what they just saw, and they would be more than eager to tell me about it. Everyone couldn’t stop talking about the Fred Rogers silent minute. Even the battlefield ghosts hanging around my Airbnb farmhouse would sit still for that long if Mr. Rogers told them to stop and think.