There I was, speeding down I-10, thinking that I would almost miss the beginning of this year’s Independent Spirit Awards. Rushing my way to the massive tent on the beach in Santa Monica, I thought I was in danger of not seeing the full ceremony. I arrived, with minutes to spare. Many minutes, in fact, as Karina Longworth made me realize that the ceremony began at 2 p.m., not 1 p.m. as I somehow thought. Needless to say, I had plenty of downtime before this year’s awards.
One word can properly describe this year’s Spirit Awards: “fuck.” That four-letter word was uttered so many times during the ceremony, I can only imagine the rapid heartbeat of the broadcasters. Host Steve Coogan, winner Mickey Rourke, winner Alex Holdridge; lots of f-bombs, and it was kinda cool. It’s the Spirit Awards for crissake, isn’t that the point? It’s not your mom’s awards show, it’s not for network television, or even primetime cable television. This is an awards ceremony about the liberty to utter an f-bomb if it fits into your acceptance speech. I’m sure the good folks at IFC and AMC would beg to differ, but hopefully they have a sense of humor about it.
Otherwise, in terms of winners, no real shockers but some nice results. The Wrestler won Best Feature, even though I personally prefer its fellow nominees Wendy and Lucy and Ballast. But, what are you gonna do? The Wrestler was there to conquer. Meanwhile, I’m so happy for pals Lynn Shelton, Margaret Brown, and the In Search Of A Midnight Kiss team, who all walked away with Spirit Awards. Bummer to other friends like Anish Savjani (Wendy and Lucy), Lance Hammer (Ballast), Barry Jenkins (Medicine For Melancholy), and Sean Baker (Prince Of Broadway, Take Out), who went home empty-handed. There’s always fucking next year, right?