I’ve had an intensely lovely seven days here in Reykjavik, few of which I’ve noted on here in large part due to the fact I’ve wanted to spend every free minute sucking in the magic. I’ve written more extensively about the film festival’s hospitality for indieWIRE here, but let me just expand a bit in a less journalist manner. Because Reykjavik is a fabulous film festival and a fabulous town in a fabulous country. And if you ever get a chance to visit any or all of the three, seriously go out of your way. The festival is remarkably intimate and well-organized, and gives you the perfect summer camp vibe that only the best smaller film festivals pull off, and Reykjavik takes it to an extreme by taking said summer camp to the President of Island’s house where said President shakes your hand and lets you roam freely through his entire home. And then on top of that, to have that vibe in a town/country like Reykjavik/Iceland, which is as magical as Bjork has led us all to believe all these years, is severe icing. This city has some of the wildest weekends on earth, its residents are ridiculously charming (except the one that stole my blackberry), and its nearby countryside gives you endless arrays of rainbows, volcanoes, geysers, waterfalls and glaciers. It’s a bit stranger than paradise, but that doesn’t mean it’s not amazing (and Jim Jarmusch would certainly agree – he was the guest of honor at the festival and seemed like he was having a total ball).
I could go on and on, but that would just be gloating. So that’s my little Icelandic love fest. Photos to come later.