WHY THE NEW HAMPSHIRE FILM FESTIVAL IS THE BEST 96 HOURS OF THE YEAR

Kids get Christmas. One day. 

We get the New Hampshire Film Festival. Four days of fun, bliss, and popcorn. 

We win.  And it begins today. 

I look forward to the Festival all year, and so does everyone else I know.  For one glorious weekend, we get to celebrate "artunity" (the perfect blend of  "art" and "community") amidst the richly colored New England foliage.  And feel very urban sophisticated while doing so.  

Although Duncan and I have seen many films at the Festival through the years, there is one that has always been our favorite:  Wild Bill's Run.  It was a documentary, but I still can't believe it wasn't fiction.  

The film tracks a handful of silver-haired men from Minnesota as they attempt to drive their snowmobiles 5,000 miles across the polar ice to Moscow.  And they did it in 1972, during the Cold War, when just "dropping in" on the USSR wasn't exactly encouraged.  As if that wasn't crazy enough, they did it without any prior planning.  They just got up from their recliners one day, and thought it would be a good idea to head out into the frozen tundra.  

Shot in the arctic wilderness, the cinematography, although primitive, was captivating.  I must admit, the (perhaps misguided) adventure is the best example I've ever seen of a group of guys acting out this blog's mantra:  "living purposely, with wild abandon, and deliberate joy."  

They didn't quite make it to Russia, but along the way, they managed to pilfer gas from subterranean fuel depots in Canada, avoid serious illness or injury, and become American folk heroes. 

You'll never see that at your local Cineplex. 

A week ago, I got a copy of the coveted 2016 Film Festival brochure, locked myself in a small room for two hours, and planned out my viewing schedule for the weekend.  The process resembled a full-blown military operation.  Without gunfire. 

I hope to watch at least 20 films, although to do so will probably require that I develop a split personality by Saturday. Nevertheless, I'll try.  And so will others. 

And for 96 hours, I will feel tremendously alive. 

I may even fit in a few of the after-parties. One year, I went to one in a black satin hat with netting over my face. Where else can a middle-aged trust and estate attorney go and feel that cool?  Nowhere legal.  

Thank you, Nicole Gregg, and all of your devoted staff and sponsors, for making the Festival a reality again this year.  We owe you one.  Once again, those of us lucky enough to attend will get to embrace (not so ordinary) eclectic cinematic moments that will make life extraordinary.