Even though it boasts of more movies than ever before, this year’s film festival in Motovun is hampered by unseasonable weather. It is raining every day and it is pretty cold at night. The usual crowds are nowhere to be seen, and I cannot but wonder about the bottom line. Besides the festival organizers, the local people offering beer and kebab to the film aficionados will be losing money this year. What is worse, the movies on offer are neither here nor there. As I browse through it, the festival catalogue comes up with many a funny blurb. Here is one for a film produced with funds from Ireland and Britain:

In a nightclub in Liverpool, Kelly and Victor spot each other across a dance floor. Their attraction is explosive and their sex is dangerous. This relationship is full of desire and their passion rapidly runs out of control.

I can imagine soft pornography of sorts, but I am hardly enticed to watch such a movie. The sexual escapades of two youngsters from Liverpool must be outright revolting, I imagine. But then I come across a blurb for a Russian movie:

The unexpected return of their father stirs mixed emotions in two teenagers. After twelve years of not being around, he takes the boys on a trip that becomes a true test of manhood.

I shudder at the thought of watching two teenagers for an hour and a half. And in Russia, of all places. In fact, I would be prepared to pay good money not to watch such a cinematographic extravagance. Browsing along, I come across yet another movie from Britain:

Combining fiction and reality, private and public, the film shows a day in the life of the celebrated musician Nick Cave. Cave’s narration helps us obtain an insight into his view of the world and life. Above all, it gives us an insight into his songwriting philosophy.

To tell the truth, I cannot imagine getting excited about anyone’s songwriting philosophy, let alone the “celebrated” British musician’s. I do not remember ever hearing of him, either. One way or another, the catalogue is quite a disappointment. Aimless browsing only makes it worse. No matter how many movies are on offer, none of them entice my curiosity. The bulk of them strike me as nothing more than entertainment for fallow youth. In the meanwhile, I am regaled by the boom of music they go for: whoop-whoop-whoop… Night after night, the inane rhythm tells me all I need to know about both the youth assembled for the vaunted festival and the movies they love to watch.