Pop quiz: where would you go to applaud the death-by-lamp of Corbin Bernsen (his character, not Corbin himself), tap your feet to the sound of Sertanejo music as an orphan teenager summons the devil in the heart of a Brazilian (fictional?) forest, and laugh your heart out at brother-duo of ghost experts with their own reality television show on ghost hunting?
Well, if you got nothing better to do right now no point in scrolling through Netflix’s list of shows because it’s not there. Although I agree Russian Doll is pretty great, Netflix is still pretty mainstream (just don’t tell that to other Millennials yet).
For the ultimate, I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-to-me, why-do-I-still-jump-at-jump-scares experience, you have to hop on a plane to Porto (or a train, if like me you’re traveling from Lisbon).
Convinced that after three editions of Fantasporto (2015, 2016, and 2018) and a lifelong devotion to the festival from afar, I could pick some of the winners based on their synopsis and trailers, I meticulously planned my four days of movies, sprinkled with just enough free time for sightseeing and working.
I reached Porto in the final days of Fantas, as I always do, so my options are limited. In numbers? Three of the seven movies I watched won awards (that’s a much better ratio than previous years).
As with most plans that look great on paper, only day number one was a success. Time for movies? All accounted for. Time for sightseeing? Well, not so much. Time for working? I had to squeeze it in (#FreelancerProblems).
Yes, I’ll get to the movies I saw and the winners in a second. First, let me point out that Fantasporto turns 40 in 2020. Forty years is a long run for a small (in size, not in importance), independent, niche film festival. I just wish the local tourism office would see how many of us travel to Porto to cover or attend the festival in the so-called low season.
But, I don’t want to go down the same road I’ve been down before in the previous years. Why? Because local tourism boards are tone-deaf. They still haven’t received the memo that cultural tourism encompasses so many areas, not just local folklore and shit.
I feel a vein in my neck could pop right now, and there’s no point in bleeding over my keyboard before finishing this blog post, so let’s move on.