After the de rigeur delay at JFK (during which I learned of Tim Russert’s death via a single muted TV in an airport bar otherwise given over to Holland vs. France madness), I arrived in Vegas around 9:30 and went straight to The Palms, homebase of CineVegas and the hotel at which, as a member of the Shorts jury, I have been graciously sequestered

This is only my second trip to the city, but it seems like The Palms is a bit of an anomaly. Of course, a casino is a casino is a casino––there’s no getting around the frosty air-conditioned air, the sense of time having stopped at permanent midnight, the carefully calibrated spectacle apparently meant to foster the illusion that all spending and gambling losses are imaginary (or, at least, less than earth-shatteringly consequential). But at The Palms there are no grandmother types pumping coins into slots, no middle American families crowded around a buffet, no foreign tourists spending obscene amounts of money on luxury kitsch. A spacious, multi-tower complex set several blocks off The Strip, it attracts an almost uniquely young crowd, more or less demographically synonymous with the Real World season that would seem to inspire their tourism. Here the film festival is hidden in plain site, planted in part of the casino’s multiplex and injected into the hotel’s culture; the average Palms guest, if not oblivious, then certainly at least blinded somewhat by the MTV-approved moral suicide mission for which they took the long weekend.

The idea that such an environment could play host to serious films playing to serious cineastes who take it all very seriously might seem incongruous, but so far––and I write this having not seen a single film other than the shorts I’m jurying, though I plan to hit two screenings tonight––this contradiction just seems really exciting. Last night, at the CineVegas 10th Anniversary party, I had conversations about Carlos Reygadas, the degree of wink to the horror element of Baghead, Los Angeles’ newish Silent Movie Theater, and Ronnie Bronstein. Variety’s Robert Koehler valiantly argued the case that CineVegas is the preeminent discovery festival for “semi-narrative and non-narrative” film in North America. Janet Pierson convinced me that I have to see a SXSW 2008 selection that I missed called The Wild Horse Redemption, which she described as “cowboy porn about these felons who become horse whisperers” (hot, right?)

And all of this took place about five paces away from a heavily-bodyguarded Britney Spears.

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• Matt Dentler, whose name has become synonymous with the SXSW Film Festival’s ascendancy over the past several years as both a studio launching pad and a platform for no-budget American indies, is leaving the festival to take a position on a new digital rights wing at sales agency Cinetic. He’ll be replaced at SXSW by Janet Pierson who, with husband John, repped for sale some of the biggest indie success stories of the 90s, including Roger & Me and Slacker. For the full details behind these moves, check out this story at indieWIRE.
• Time Warner has fired roughly 450 of New Line’s 500 employees, as part of their move to fold the long-independent speciality division fully into the corporate beast.  The news has been expected for awhile––so much so that, after the requisite mourning, David Poland’s already looking at mini-studio’s demise as an opportunity to lessen urban blight.
• The Academy has announced some key dates for the 2009 Oscar calendar. Most of note: nominations will be announced two days later than is traditional, in order to give the presidential inauguration on January 20 some breathing room.