AFI Dallas: A Majestic Night … For TAMALES! TWO FOR A NICKEL, FOUR FOR A DIME!

A great opening night for all at the Majestic Theater in downtown Dallas, as the AFI Dallas ‘08 film festival began — uh, oh, gosh, sorry …

(Sorry. Mickey Rooney is still talking. I’ll wait.)

[Powering on cellphone to check time]

[Adjusting cufflinks]

[Thinking about my 10:30 a.m. meeting]

[Raising eyebrows in conjunction with Mayor Leppert]

[Yes, I know tamales were cheap back in the day.]

[Bold move to chastise the audience there, Mick.]

(Okay, let’s just jump for some bullet highlights of the evening.)

• We arrive to find the Elm Street nearly closed off in front of the Majestic, with paparazzi, spotlights, and plunging necklines in full effect. The boldest fashion choices are made by Brandt Wood, who wore a suit with knickers (he actually pulled it off) and Mayor Tom Leppert, who was rockin’ the pinstripe, complete with padded shoulders. Very Al Capone.
• Early disaster occurred when, with the wife and daughter in tow, I find two tickets and gala passes in my envelope at will call. Great, now I get to the be the Ouche-Day who, in the middle of the big-event chaos, gets to hassle the hard-working AFI staff for extra tickets. The greatness that is Greg Brown, managing director of AFI Dallas, sees me looking confused and scared, snaps his fingers, points at me, and suddenly two AFIers swap out my two seats and passes for a set of three. That’s just quality crisis management.
• Have I mentioned how good the Majestic looks? So much history, so elegant, such a wonderful venue. A true downtown treasure.
• You know what else looked good? Me, in dark blue suit, Q Shirtmakers special (rockin’ the white-collar, white-cuffs look), and a gray-flecked goatee I imported from 2002.
• You know who else looked good? Bill Paxton. Trim, sharp. So doable. My daughter recognized him only as Chet from Weird Science. Ah, legacy.
• To kick things off, we were treated to the musical stylings of the Dallas Symphony Chorus. It was tough getting them all through the small doors in the wings of the theater, and the steep slope they had to navigate after that made just about every one of them nearly trip. (I flinched about 40 times in anticipation of a major spill.) They knocked out a swinging version of “You Can’t Stop the Beat” from the Hairspray soundtrack. There was much butt wiggling in the Celeste aisle.
• Then, sigh, we get to the series of speeches. This is somewhat necessary, as sponsors and big-money donors must be thanked/stroked/air kissed. But, as everyone this morning knows, we’ve got to cut down on the number of speakers and the time it took: well over an hour. A breakdown, with grades:
• Liener Temerlin: Turned 80 yesterday, was funny (noting that now that he’s 80, he never has to wait at the bar for a drink) and thanked all the necessary players. B+
• Ross Perot Jr.: Looked very rich. A half-grade reduction for mentioning Victory Park 18 times. (I had the under.) B-
• Jean Picker Firstenberg, president emerita of AFI: A well-written, well-presented introduction to Mickey Rooney. A half-grade increase for my embarrassment over nearly asking her to move from her front-row seat before I realized the event was open seating on the wings. A-
• Mickey Rooney: Folks, to call his speech disjointed and meandering would do injustice to those terms. At about the 30-minute mark, after he had gone through most of the directors he’s worked with, many of the films he’s done, explained how painful divorces are, how much he loved the tamale salesman (thus the title of this post), how lonely life is for most performers, well, the audience was about to turn on him. A low hum of disgruntlement was audible. That’s when his wife, may the Lord forever bless her caring soul, walked from the back of the theater up onto the stage, and said simply, “and now it’s time to say thank you.” Mick said thank you, God bless America, and God bless George Bush. The applause was a huge release for us all. D for the Mick, A+ for his wife.
• Michael Cain, AFI CEO and Artistic Director: Retread most of the territory covered by Temerlin. C
• Helen Hunt: the (still smoking) star and director of Then She Found Me won new fans when she gave a one-minute thank you speech, then asked that the film get moving. A++
• The film: not my brand of vodka (emotions, romance, family drama) but good stuff, nonetheless. Hunt, Colin Firth, and especially Bette Midler were very strong. Teared up at the end, but take that with a grain of salt, as I’m a ridiculous softie. I tear up when I spread peanut butter.
• The after-gala at Neiman Marcus was star-studded, at least in terms of media folks I know slapping back free cocktails (Big Bob Wilonsky, gesticulating with specs in hand, looking fabulous, as well as Chris Kelly, Todd Camp, Andrew Marton, and other Star-Telegram bigwigs). The sausage was a highlight, as everyone was by now so hungry the first 30 minutes of the party was spent packing our mouths with protein. Or something like that.
• A shout-out to the many young, young women who skipped the movie but showed up at the party, determined to troll for celebs and semi-celebs. We’re Dallas, we’re known for blonde young women who aren’t afraid to test the limits of their strapless gowns, and by gosh, you ladies brought ‘em in full force. We’re a better city for you. Even my wife noted, “These are the smart girls. They bring their boobs here instead of some stupid bar.” Well put.