Scenes From SIFF: Peter’s Opening Weekend Update
The 51st Annual The Seattle International Film Festival
Various Theatres Across Seattle
May 15-25, 2025
As seen at the 51st annual Seattle International Film Festival
I started off this year’s SIFF strong with a back-to-back binge of 40 Acres followed by Spermageddon. I watched them both at SIFF Cinema Downtown, and it’s still hard for me not to call this iconic venue by its original name, Cinerama. It feels like I’m conjuring Lord Voldemort when I accidentally utter it. But as you nestle into one of its plush, red seats and marvel at the shape of the walls and their intricate design, you feel like you’re in a hallowed space—a cinematic portal—a Cine… But whatever. That’s beside the point. My first night at SIFF was fun and pleasantly surprising.
I knew almost nothing about the film 40 Acres when I sat down. I’ve since found out it’s R.T. Thorne’s directorial debut—which is very impressive, because the film looked great. Blending dystopian action and generational drama with some hardcore cannibalism, the story builds toward a satisfying finale. As the credits rolled and the lights came up, the gentleman in front of me leaned over his seat and politely asked, “Excuse me sir, were the cannibals racists? I read somewhere they were racists.” I responded, “I don’t know. The film definitely had a political undertone, but I was coming into this screening blind.” I told him I hadn’t read anything beforehand so I could experience what my friend and fellow NadaMucho.com contributor, Tim Basaraba, calls “Optimum Immersion.” He said, “Ooo. I like that term. That’s good. I’m gonna use it.”
Speaking of Tim—I met him and his wife, username You Don’t Know Shit, shortly after 40 Acres for one of SIFF’s first midnight screenings. Tim had been on his own binge that day, and I’m so glad he and his wife were willing to stay up so late. But to be honest, I’m getting too old for midnight showings. I spent the whole day fretting I’d fall asleep before the credits rolled. Red Bull and grit were going to have to supply some serious wings to fly me past my bedtime—that and my excitement to see one of the more childishly enticing titles of SIFF’s 51st lineup: Spermageddon. Even though I felt like the energy drinks might give me a panic attack, I was glad I got the chance to share a moment with two lovely people in a room full of film buffs. It’s a wonderful experience to laugh along with a large audience, and we couldn’t help but try to “cum up” with clever puns as we made our way to the exits.
That was Friday night. Saturday was a different story. My plan was to see two films in the evening, and I wanted to kick things off with the most intriguing title of this year’s lineup: Fucktoys. Directed by and starring Annapurna Sriram, this John Waters-esque (a director known for transgressive, campy films like Pink Flamingos and Female Trouble) epic quest sounded like 100 minutes of movie magic. Knowing full well that a press pass doesn’t guarantee a seat, I left my house in Tacoma over an hour early. But, of course, traffic sucked. The venue was an AMC theater at the top of Pacific Place. I parked in the garage and made my way to the venue. I figured I’d be fine—it was 4:10 p.m. and the film started at 4:15 p.m. But halfway there, I realized I had left my press pass in the car. Fucktoys!
So back down I went and made it to the theater at about 4:15 p.m. There was a small line. I got in it. I asked a SIFF volunteer if this was the line for… I couldn’t even say its name. He even hesitated, but he confirmed that it was. He said the film was going to start late because the theater was full and they were counting seats to see if any were available. As we waited, the producer of Fucktoys personally spoke with everyone in line. When he approached me, I told him I was press, and he said, “Why didn’t you get in?” To which I replied, “I know, right.” We chatted briefly, and he handed me his business card. While the producer discussed some festival technicalities with the gentleman in front of me, the star/director of the film, Annapurna Sriram, walked up beside them. She was right in front of me. I wanted to say something—congratulate her on the buzz and success of her film. She’s very pretty in person. But I froze, and she left to get dumplings. Fucktoys!
After the crowd dispersed, I felt a bit defeated and went to get some pad thai. As I waited for my meal, I resolved to take action. Using the few bars of service I had, I emailed the producer, asking to schedule an interview—not with Annapurna, but with him. Walking out of the restaurant, as if by fate, I ran into that same producer. And he remembered my name! We ended up talking for about 15 minutes. He shared some inside baseball on independent distribution and the festival scene. It was really fascinating. I told him I’d be in town Wednesday through Saturday and would love to sit down and, as they say, pick his brain. He said he’d email me. Fingers crossed.
Determined not to miss the next film on my list, Arantxa Echevarría’s Undercover, I left Pacific Place and got in line an hour and a half early at the venue that shall not be named. Long story short, I made it in, got a good seat, and even though this wasn’t a midnight showing (it started at 8:30 p.m.), I almost nodded off. But that’s not because it was boring. Quite the opposite. It’s because I’m a boomer trapped in a millennial’s body.
Stay tuned for reviews and more coverage of SIFF 2025 on n-a-d-a-m-u-c-h-o.com. Or check out our weekly Stereo chat, FILM IS DEAD, every Friday at 7 p.m.—plenty of time to get a good night’s rest.