Unless you count big ticket media conventions like San Diego Comic Con or special screenings in and around Los Angeles, I’ve never actually attended an international film festival before. That is, until last Thursday. My wife and I, celebrating both her birthday and the birthday of our friend Alison (who introduced us over 27 years ago), got together with 13 of our friends and took in a movie in Palm Springs, California. Palm Springs is a ritzy, desert oasis community that was home to showbiz luminaries such as Bing Crosby, Elvis Presley, Elizabeth Taylor, Liberace, Bob Hope and (currently) Leonardo DiCaprio.

Roughly 70 miles east from where I live, and even further from Hollywood, Palm Springs is well known for its sunny remoteness as well as its flat-roofed, mid-century architecture, which is literally everywhere. Honestly, it’s like going back in time to the early 1960s. Seeing the Rat Pack strolling the sidewalks wouldn’t feel entirely odd. The few times I’ve visited Palm Springs in my younger days was usually to visit the famed Aerial Tramway, which offers a spectacular elevated mountain view, especially in winter. But this trip was to take in a movie. Yes, my own city is littered with multiplexes, but this particular Regal Cinemas theater was screening a film out of Venezuela, which was being presented as part of the 37th Annual Palm Springs International Film Festival. In an impressive feat of logistics, all sixteen of us met in Palm Springs at a coffee house across the theater on the morning of January 8th, before we got in line for the movie (no assigned seating for this event, so we had to line up, just as we used to do in olden days, long ago).

Being in such a large group, we couldn’t get an entire row together (not to mention that some of us wanted to sit higher, while some of us didn’t want to tackle a bunch of steps), so my wife and I, and our friend Ali, managed to find three seats together, not uncomfortably close to the screen. Many seats in the auditorium were saved with bright yellow backers for festival benefactors, pass holders and special guests; not for ordinary slobs with single-day tickets, like us. Such reserved seating wasn’t new to me (I’ve enjoyed press seating a few times), but nevertheless, this was my first International Film Festival, however small a slice of one, and it added an air of exclusivity.

******SPOILERS FOR “IT WOULD BE NIGHT IN CARACAS” (2025) ******

The film we were seeing was titled “Aún es de Noche en Caracas,” (“It Would be Night in Caracas”) a 2025 film about the massive humanitarian crisis in 2017 Venezuela. Written and directed by Marité Ugas & Mariana Rondón, this movie couldn’t have been more timely, given last week’s legally and morally dubious raid of Venezuela by the United States, where the country’s corrupt despot, Nicolás Maduro, and his wife, were kidnapped in the middle of the night and taken into custody by the US military on alleged drug-trafficking charges. Accidentally coinciding with the recent real-life drama (which is still making headlines as of this writing), the movie was released last year, and was shot largely in Mexico City, standing in for real locations in Venezuela. The story concerns a young woman named Adelaida (Natalia Reyes) who returns to Caracas for her mother’s funeral, only to be caught up in a violent coup attempt, as street gangs overrun the city–including her late mother’s apartment.

The ruthless gangs force Adelaida to hole up quietly in the next-door apartment of her neighbor and childhood friend, Aurora (Samantha Castillo), whom Adelaida finds dead inside. Tearfully forced to drop Aurora’s lifeless body onto a flaming pyre in the street, a guilt-ridden Adelaida tries venturing outside, only to find a young escaped convict named Santiago (Moisés Angola), who’s been recruited as an agitator by the corrupt junta, and has infiltrated street gangs in order to survive. Santiago forces Adelaida back into Aurora’s apartment, as the two of them attempt to wait out the avalanche of violence which is tearing their city apart. Over a few days, the thirtysomething Adelaida and 24-year old Santiago begin to look out for each other, and they form a bond. The kind of intense bonding that forms between people in combat, or other unimaginable hardships. Adelaida and Santiago even enjoy a brief, stress-relieving dalliance before he decides to take his chances in the street and escape.

Unable to renew her passport and flee Venezuela, Adelaida is forced to steal the late Aurora’s Spanish identity and lie to her family by emulating Aurora’s voice in brief phone conversations. Getting faked papers from a shady but reliable source, Adelaida wears Aurora’s clothes, hairstyle and mannerisms. Aurora used to be called “the Spaniard’s daughter” (also the title of the book on which this film is based, by Karina Sainz Borgo) by Adelaida’s late mother, and that is who Adelaida has to become now. As she makes her way through Caracas airport, Adelaida catches international TV coverage of the violence in the city, where she sees the bloodied body of Santiago, who was killed after their separation. Realizing she’s leaving nothing behind, Adelaida boards her flight to Spain towards an unknown future. The movie doesn’t offer up the black & white moralizing too often seen in American movies. “It Would be Night in Caracas” is a story of a once normal existence now being repainted in ever-darkening shades of desperation.

After the screening ended, audience members were told to make a tear along the right sides of the paper ballots we were given before the movie started. These tears would indicate our enjoyment of the film. My wife and I both tore our ballots as “Excellent,” and deservedly so. After the film, the emcee hosted a Q & A with producer Jill Littman, who helped get this low-budget film financial backing as well as international distribution. As the credits finished rolling, Littman took to the stage, where she told some interesting stories behind the production, including how the recent US raid in Venezuela gave the film some unexpected though distressing new publicity. Part of the movie’s aim was not to make any political statements, which it doesn’t. The movie is centered on characters, not politics. Survival, not statements. In that way, it reminded me of “Not Without My Daughter” (1991) or “Argo” (2012).

Littman also talked about the movie’s shoot, which took place largely in the streets and soundstages of Mexico City, with some stolen second unit footage shot in Venezuela itself, under the pretense of taping a lighthearted TV sitcom (!). Littman then related how some Venezuelan audience members believed the airport scene was actually shot at the real airport in Caracas. Most of the cast were Colombian, Mexican and other South American actors, including a number of native Venezuelans, who gave the film its vibe of authenticity. The film also garnered a special mention at the 2025 Toronto Film Festival.

After that stunning film, all sixteen of us walked a few blocks in sunny, cool but breezy weather (lots of fallen palm fronds) to Sherman’s Bakery and Delicatessen; a famed local hangout for the rich and famous, and an enjoyable place to eat. Waiting only a few minutes, all sixteen of us managed to get seated close together in a single row of tables. This was another logistical miracle for a group as large as ours. My column is not usually a space where I plug restaurants, nor am I being paid for this endorsement, but Sherman’s Deli has a nicely varied menu, including a number of delicious vegetarian options to suit even my picky tastes (six years a vegetarian, and I still can’t stop blathering on about it). My wife and I also split a big, delicious piece of sugar-free chocolate cake, which was so freakishly huge that we had to take half of it home.

Washing my hands in the restroom, I stopped to take pics of the many signed photos of celebrities and athletes on the walls, including Adam West, John Saxon, Beau Bridges, Eric Estrada, Don Rickles, Ed Asner, Rip Taylor, John Travolta, Evander Holyfield, Bruce Davison, Linda Evans, Joan Collins, Red Buttons, the Platters, Jerry Mathers, and several Major League Baseball players (don’t ask me who–not a baseball fan). There were also signed murals of Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley and other famous former Palm Springs residents.

We left later that afternoon for the hour and change drive home along the 60 freeway, as the sun began to set, and the winds kicked up a bit. As we left the parking garage, the surrounding mountains were in pre-magic hour lighting, as the palm trees and mid-century architecture fell into their shadow. It was a gorgeous drive home. Later, I learned some of the red carpet luminaries attending the festival included Michael B. Jordan, Timothée Chalamet, Amanda Seyfried, Elle Fanning, Oscar Isaac and Leonardo DiCaprio. I didn’t see any of them. Just saw an excellent movie with lots of friends, followed by a nice lunch/dinner afterward, and that was just fine. That about sums up my first international film festival, however small a portion of it.

For regular readers, don’t worry. I’ll get back to this column’s usual sci-fi/horror/otherworldly subject matter real soon, but I just wanted to take a few minutes and share my experience with the 37th Annual Palm Springs International Film Festival. Ta ta, darlings... (haha).