Berlin

It’s dingy and dimly lit at the Golden Gate in Berlin. Techno music thumps loudly, and smoke fills the room. It is a far cry from the fancy places we have been eating and hanging out in. But it’s exactly what I am in the mood for. It is 3:30 a.m., I haven’t adjusted to the time difference yet and am not tired.

The entrance is under an overpass and there is no sign on the door. We are not sure we are in the right place getting out of the cab, and I have no concept of where I am geographically in the city. I’m in Berlin for the premiere of “Beautiful Darling,” a feature documentary that I edited and co-produced about Candy Darling, an Andy Warhol superstar.

I had quite the time getting here, and wasn’t ever sure that I would make it in time for our premiere.

It started when I found out my flight was canceled the morning I was supposed to fly. I had expected as much as I watched the snow fall hard onto the streets of New York. I tried in vain for hours to get in touch with a Continental representative to book a new flight, but “due to call volume” I can’t even get myself on hold. Eventually, I try the “President’s Club” number and get through immediately. The guy on the other end of the phone is in Salt Lake City, where I have just returned from; he is very helpful and rebooks my flight.

My new flight has me arriving in Berlin three and a half hours before the premiere; my direct flight now changed to a connecting one through Stockholm. After much deliberation, I decide to wear my suit jacket and carry an extra button-down shirt and tie, in case my bags get lost or I have no time to change. It turns out to make all the difference.

The flight to Stockholm leaves on time. There is a seat open next to me and I watch a few movies and doze in and out of sleep as we make our way across the Atlantic.

I land in Stockholm at 7:30 a.m., but find out quickly that my connection to Berlin is delayed for at least an hour. The woman next to me is reading the International Times and I recognize a still from “Catfish” over her shoulder. There are no more copies so when she catches me staring at the paper I ask her if I can buy it from her. She is a filmmaker with a movie in Berlin and can see the excitement on my face, so she gives it to me.

The excitement of reading about a movie that I edited while in an airport halfway across the world fades when the plane is delayed again. It is snowing in Berlin and it’s another half an hour before I am allowed to board.

We land in Berlin at 11:30 a.m. and I am in a cab heading to the craigslist sublet I have found for myself by 12:15 p.m. I arrive at the apartment at 12:30 p.m. It’s in a residential area called Moabit and the buildings on the street are large and old. The front door is dark wood and locked tight. I find the buzzer and ring it. There is no answer. The streets are empty and my cab has since driven off. I stand for a moment considering my options and buzz again. I am two hours later than expected and a slight sense of dread creeps into my stomach. I turn and head down the block, in search of a payphone.

It takes a block or so to find one and a few tries to figure out how to dial my temporary roommate’s number, but eventually he picks up. He isn’t around his apartment and about to go into a movie. “Can we meet later?” he asks.

I hail another cab and head down to the Potzdamer Platz, where most of the Berlinale screenings take place. I buy a cheap cell phone at an electronics store, and constantly check my watch. An hour to go.

I drag my bag down the street through the snow, looking for a schedule to try to figure out where the theater is. Miraculously, I find myself in front of the “guest services” office and head inside. A small “Beautiful Darling” poster hangs on the wall. They don’t have my credentials yet, but they offer a spot for me to leave my bags and walk me over to the theater to make sure I get in. I am the first one of the crew that arrives; I change my shirt in the theater bathroom and buy a cup of coffee.

I try in vain to get my new cell phone to work, and finally run into some folks from our crew. Their familiar faces are a sight for sore eyes and we mill about in front of the theater. I find my friend Nicky, who is on her way to Beirut and stopping through Berlin to hang out and see the movie, as well as my temporary roommate who has keys for me.

Moments later, I sit down in my seat, jet lagged and tired, but incredibly thankful to be there.

- Zac Stuart-Pontier