Prince Edward Island is a Canadian Province, and I do love me the Canadians. Terrific job with the Olympics, by the way. You may be our bitch in hockey, but nothing tops your 5½-months pregnant curling chick. That is nutty.Even more preposterous is that my film is still getting into festivals. I used Roman numerals when I began keeping score, because I never imagined it could get past the number I could count on my fingers and toes. Now I’m on track to pass a fellow Roman-numeral train wreck – the Super Bowl – which has 45. Three to tie, four to pass. Game on.
So, how about that Prince Edward Island International Film Festival poster? It made me want to tie a cable-knit sweater around my shoulders, and research what looks like a little piece of northern paradise, which I did (both sweater-up and research), and I found that not a whole heckuva lot has happened in this place since 1867.
In some ways, that’s refreshingly quaint – none of the hassles of modern-day society, and as gorgeous as it always was. On the other hand, P.E. Island may kinda be like Shutter Island, only scarier: no ordering-in Kung Pao chicken, no access to Internet porn. Pass.
It’s an honor. And it never gets old. Thank you.
